The old tree saw and heard a good many little scenes and
confidences that summer, because it became the favorite retreat of
all the children, and the willow seemed to enjoy it, for a pleasant
welcome always met them, and the quiet hours spent in its arms
did them all good. It had a great deal of company one Saturday
afternoon, and some little bird reported what went on there.

First came Nan and Daisy with their small tubs and bits of soap,
for now and then they were seized with a tidy fit, and washed up
all their dolls’ clothes in the brook. Asia would not have them
"slopping round" in her kitchen, and the bath-room was forbidden
since Nan forgot to turn off the water till it overflowed and came
gently dripping down through the ceiling. Daisy went
systematically to work, washing first the white and then the
colored things, rinsing them nicely, and hanging them to dry on a
cord fastened from one barberry-bush to another, and pinning them
up with a set of tiny clothes-pins Ned had turned for her. But Nan
put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot
them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, as one doll was named. This took
some time, and when Mrs. Giddy-gaddy came to take out her
clothes, deep green stains appeared on every thing, for she had
forgotten the green silk lining of a certain cape, and its color had
soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises,
and even the best ruffled petticoat.

"Oh me! what a mess!" sighed Nan.

"Lay them on the grass to bleach," said Daisy, with an air of
experience.

"So I will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they don’t
blow away."

The Queen of Babylon’s wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank,
and, turning up their tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed
into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies are apt to do in the
pauses of domestic labor.

"I’m going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow," said
Mrs. Giddy-gaddy, as she transferred the thistledown from her
pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in the process.

"I wouldn’t; Aunt Jo says feather-beds aren’t healthy. I never let my
children sleep on any thing but a mattress," returned Mrs.
Shakespeare Smith, decidedly.

"I don’t care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the
floor, and don’t mind it," (which was quite true). "I can’t afford
nine mattresses, and I like to make beds myself."

"Won’t Tommy charge for the feathers?"

"May be he will, but I shan’t pay him, and he won’t care," returned
Mrs. G., taking a base advantage of the well-known good nature of
T. Bangs.

"I think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green
mark will," observed Mrs. S., looking down from her perch, and
changing the subject, for she and her gossip differed on many
points, and Mrs. Smith was a discreet lady.

"Never mind; I’m tired of dolls, and I guess I shall put them all
away and attend to my farm; I like it rather better than playing
house," said Mrs. G., unconsciously expressing the desire of many
older ladies, who cannot dispose of their families so easily
however.

"But you mustn’t leave them; they will die without their mother,"
cried the tender Mrs. Smith.

"Let ’em die then; I’m tired of fussing over babies, and I’m going to
play with the boys; they need me to see to ’em," returned the
strong-minded lady.

Daisy knew nothing about women’s rights; she quietly took all she
wanted, and no one denied her claim, because she did not
undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously used the
all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any
privilege for which she had proved her fitness. Nan attempted all
sorts of things, undaunted by direful failures, and clamored
fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that the boys did. They
laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against
her meddling with their affairs. But she would not be quenched
and she would be heard, for her will was strong, and she had the
spirit of a rampant reformer. Mrs. Bhaer sympathized with her, but
tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that
she must wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her
freedom before she asked for it. Nan had meek moments when she
agreed to this, and the influences at work upon her were gradually
taking effect. She no longer declared that she would be
engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned her mind to farming, and
found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little body.
It did not quite satisfy her, however; for her sage and sweet
marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care.
She wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and
was never happier than when the little boys brought their cut
fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for her to "mend-up."
Seeing this, Mrs. Jo proposed that she should learn how to do it
nicely, and Nursey had an apt pupil in bandaging, plastering, and
fomenting. The boys began to call her "Dr. Giddy-gaddy," and she
liked it so well that Mrs. Jo one day said to the Professor

"Fritz, I see what we can do for that child. She wants something to
live for even now, and will be one of the sharp, strong,
discontented women if she does not have it. Don’t let us snub her
restless little nature, but do our best to give her the work she likes,
and by and by persuade her father to let her study medicine. She
will make a capital doctor, for she has courage, strong nerves, a
tender heart, and an intense love and pity for the weak and
suffering."

Mr. Bhaer smiled at first, but agreed to try, and gave Nan an
herb-garden, teaching her the various healing properties of the
plants she tended, and letting her try their virtues on the children in
the little illnesses they had from time to time. She learned fast,
remembered well, and showed a sense and interest most
encouraging to her Professor, who did not shut his door in her face
because she was a little woman.

She was thinking of this, as she sat in the willow that day, and
when Daisy said in her gentle way

"I love to keep house, and mean to have a nice one for Demi when
we grow up and live together."

Nan replied with decision

"Well, I haven’t got any brother, and I don’t want any house to fuss
over. I shall have an office, with lots of bottles and drawers and
pestle things in it, and I shall drive round in a horse and chaise and
cure sick people. That will be such fun."

"Ugh! how can you bear the bad-smelling stuff and the nasty little
powders and castor-oil and senna and hive syrup?" cried Daisy,
with a shudder.

"I shan’t have to take any, so I don’t care. Besides, they make
people well, and I like to cure folks. Didn’t my sage-tea make
Mother Bhaer’s headache go away, and my hops stop Ned’s
toothache in five hours? So now!"

"Shall you put leeches on people, and cut off legs and pull out
teeth?" asked Daisy, quaking at the thought.

"Yes, I shall do every thing; I don’t care if the people are all
smashed up, I shall mend them. My grandpa was a doctor, and I
saw him sew a great cut in a man’s cheek, and I held the sponge,
and wasn’t frightened a bit, and Grandpa said I was a brave girl."

"How could you? I’m sorry for sick people, and I like to nurse
them, but it makes my legs shake so I have to run away. I’m not a
brave girl," sighed Daisy.

"Well, you can be my nurse, and cuddle my patients when I have
given them the physic and cut off their legs," said Nan, whose
practice was evidently to be of the heroic kind.

"Ship ahoy! Where are you, Nan?" called a voice from below.

"Here we are."

"Ay, ay!" said the voice, and Emil appeared holding one hand in
the other, with his face puckered up as if in pain.

"Oh, what’s the matter?" cried Daisy, anxiously.

"A confounded splinter in my thumb. Can’t get it out. Take a pick
at it, will you, Nanny?"

"It’s in very deep, and I haven’t any needle," said Nan, examining a
tarry thumb with interest.

"Take a pin," said Emil, in a hurry.

"No, it’s too big and hasn’t got a sharp point."

Here Daisy, who had dived into her pocket, presented a neat little
housewife with four needles in it.

"You are the Posy who always has what we want," said Emil; and
Nan resolved to have a needle-book in her own pocket henceforth,
for just such cases as this were always occurring in her practice.

Daisy covered her eyes, but Nan probed and picked with a steady
hand, while Emil gave directions not down in any medical work or
record.

"Starboard now! Steady, boys, steady! Try another tack. Heave ho!
there she is!"

"Suck it," ordered the Doctor, surveying the splinter with an
experienced eye.

"Too dirty," responded the patient, shaking his bleeding hand.

"Wait; I’ll tie it up if you have got a handkerchief."

"Haven’t; take one of those rags down there."

"Gracious! no, indeed; they are doll’s clothes," cried Daisy,
indignantly.

"Take one of mine; I’d like to have you," said Nan; and swinging
himself down, Emil caught up the first "rag" he saw. It happened
to be the frilled skirt; but Nan tore it up without a murmur; and
when the royal petticoat was turned into a neat little bandage, she
dismissed her patient with the command

"Keep it wet, and let it alone; then it will heal right up, and not be
sore."

"What do you charge?" asked the Commodore, laughing.

"Nothing; I keep a ‘spensary; that is a place where poor people are
doctored free gratis for nothing," explained Nan, with an air.

"Thank you, Doctor Giddy-gaddy. I’ll always call you in when I
come to grief;" and Emil departed, but looked back to say for one
good turn deserves another "Your duds are blowing away, Doctor."

Forgiving the disrespectful word, "duds," the ladies hastily
descended, and, gathering up their wash, retired to the house to fire
up the little stove, and go to ironing.

A passing breath of air shook the old willow, as if it laughed softly
at the childish chatter which went on in the nest, and it had hardly
composed itself when another pair of birds alighted for a
confidential twitter.

"Now, I’ll tell you the secret," began Tommy, who was "swellin’
wisibly" with the importance of his news.

"Tell away," answered Nat, wishing he had brought his fiddle, it
was so shady and quiet here.

"Well, we fellows were talking over the late interesting case of
circumstantial evidence," said Tommy, quoting at random from a
speech Franz had made at the club, "and I proposed giving Dan
something to make up for our suspecting him, to show our respect,
and so on, you know something handsome and useful, that he
could keep always and be proud of. What do you think we chose?"

"A butterfly-net; he wants one ever so much," said Nat, looking a
little disappointed, for he meant to get it himself.

"No, sir; it’s to be a microscope, a real swell one, that we see
what-do-you-call-’ems in water with, and stars, and ant-eggs, and
all sorts of games, you know. Won’t it be a jolly good present?"
said Tommy, rather confusing microscopes and telescopes in his
remarks.

"Tip-top! I’m so glad! Won’t it cost a heap, though?" cried Nat,
feeling that his friend was beginning to be appreciated.

"Of course it will; but we are all going to give something. I headed
the paper with my five dollars; for if it is done at all, it must be
done handsome."

"What! all of it? I never did see such a generous chap as you are;"
and Nat beamed upon him with sincere admiration.

"Well, you see, I’ve been so bothered with my property, that I’m
tired of it, and don’t mean to save up any more, but give it away as
I go along, and then nobody will envy me, or want to steal it, and I
shan’t be suspecting folks and worrying about my old cash,"
replied Tommy, on whom the cares and anxieties of a millionaire
weighed heavily.

"Will Mr. Bhaer let you do it?"

"He thought it was a first-rate plan, and said that some of the best
men he knew preferred to do good with their money instead of
laying it up to be squabbled over when they died."

"Your father is rich; does he do that way?"

"I’m not sure; he gives me all I want; I know that much. I’m going
to talk to him about it when I go home. Anyhow, I shall set him a
good example;" and Tommy was so serious, that Nat did not dare
to laugh, but said, respectfully

"You will be able to do ever so much with your money, won’t
you?"

"So Mr. Bhaer said, and he promised to advise me about useful
ways of spending it. I’m going to begin with Dan; and next time I
get a dollar or so, I shall do something for Dick, he’s such a good
little chap, and only has a cent a week for pocket-money. He can’t
earn much, you know; so I’m going to kind of see to him;" and
good-hearted Tommy quite longed to begin.

"I think that’s a beautiful plan, and I’m not going to try to buy a
fiddle any more; I’m going to get Dan his net all myself, and if
there is any money left, I’ll do something to please poor Billy. He’s
fond of me, and though he isn’t poor, he’d like some little thing
from me, because I can make out what he wants better than the
rest of you." And Nat fell to wondering how much happiness could
be got out of his precious three dollars.

"So I would. Now come and ask Mr. Bhaer if you can’t go in town
with me on Monday afternoon, so you can get the net, while I get
the microscope. Franz and Emil are going too, and we’ll have a
jolly time larking round among the shops."

The lads walked away arm-in-arm, discussing the new plans with
droll importance, yet beginning already to feel the sweet
satisfaction which comes to those who try, no matter how humbly,
to be earthly providences to the poor and helpless, and gild their
mite with the gold of charity before it is laid up where thieves
cannot break through and steal.

"Come up and rest while we sort the leaves; it’s so cool and
pleasant here," said Demi, as he and Dan came sauntering home
from a long walk in the woods.

"All right!" answered Dan, who was a boy of few words, and up
they went.

"What makes birch leaves shake so much more than the others?"
asked inquiring Demi, who was always sure of an answer from
Dan.

"They are hung differently. Don’t you see the stem where it joins
the leaf is sort of pinched one way, and where it joins the twig, it is
pinched another. This makes it waggle with the least bit of wind,
but the elm leaves hang straight, and keep stiller."

"How curious! will this do so?" and Demi held up a sprig of
acacia, which he had broken from a little tree on the lawn, because
it was so pretty.

"No; that belongs to the sort that shuts up when you touch it. Draw
your finger down the middle of the stem, and see if the leaves don’t
curl up," said Dan, who was examining a bit of mica.

Demi tried it, and presently the little leaves did fold together, till
the spray showed a single instead of a double line of leaves.

"I like that; tell me about the others. What do these do?" asked
Demi, taking up a new branch.

"Feed silk-worms; they live on mulberry leaves, till they begin to
spin themselves up. I was in a silk-factory once, and there were
rooms full of shelves all covered with leaves, and worms eating
them so fast that it made a rustle. Sometimes they eat so much
they die. Tell that to Stuffy," and Dan laughed, as he took up
another bit of rock with a lichen on it.

"I know one thing about this mullein leaf: the fairies use them for
blankets," said Demi, who had not quite given up his faith in the
existence of the little folk in green.

"If I had a microscope, I’d show you something prettier than
fairies," said Dan, wondering if he should ever own that coveted
treasure. "I knew an old woman who used mullein leaves for a
night-cap because she had face-ache. She sewed them together,
and wore it all the time."

"How funny! was she your grandmother?"

"Never had any. She was a queer old woman, and lived alone in a
little tumble-down house with nineteen cats. Folks called her a
witch, but she wasn’t, though she looked like an old rag-bag. She
was real kind to me when I lived in that place, and used to let me
get warm at her fire when the folks at the poorhouse were hard on
me."

"Did you live in a poorhouse?"

"A little while. Never mind that I didn’t mean to speak of it;" and
Dan stopped short in his unusual fit of communicativeness.

"Tell about the cats, please," said Demi, feeling that he had asked
an unpleasant question, and sorry for it.

"Nothing to tell; only she had a lot of ’em, and kept ’em in a barrel
nights; and I used to go and tip over the barrel sometimes, and let
’em out all over the house, and then she’d scold, and chase ’em and
put ’em in again, spitting and yowling like fury."

"Was she good to them?" asked Demi, with a hearty child’s laugh,
pleasant to hear.

"Guess she was. Poor old soul! she took in all the lost and sick cats
in the town; and when anybody wanted one they went to Marm
Webber, and she let ’em pick any kind and color they wanted, and
only asked ninepence, she was glad to have her pussies get a good
home."

"I should like to see Marm Webber. Could I, if I went to that
place?"

"She’s dead. All my folks are," said Dan, briefly.

"I’m sorry;" and Demi sat silent a minute, wondering what subject
would be safe to try next. He felt delicate about speaking of the
departed lady, but was very curious about the cats, and could not
resist asking softly

"Did she cure the sick ones?"

"Sometimes. One had a broken leg, and she tied it up to a stick,
and it got well; and another had fits, and she doctored it with yarbs
till it was cured. But some of ’em died, and she buried ’em; and
when they couldn’t get well, she killed ’em easy."

"How?" asked Demi, feeling that there was a peculiar charm about
this old woman, and some sort of joke about the cats, because Dan
was smiling to himself.

"A kind lady, who was fond of cats, told her how, and gave her
some stuff, and sent all her own pussies to be killed that way.
Marm used to put a sponge wet with ether, in the bottom of an old
boot, then poke puss in head downwards. The ether put her to
sleep in a jiffy, and she was drowned in warm water before she
woke up."

"I hope the cats didn’t feel it. I shall tell Daisy about that. You have
known a great many interesting things, haven’t you?" asked Demi,
and fell to meditating on the vast experience of a boy who had run
away more than once, and taken care of himself in a big city.

"Wish I hadn’t sometimes."

"Why? Don’t remembering them feel good?"

"No."

"It’s very singular how hard it is to manage your mind," said Demi,
clasping his hands round his knees, and looking up at the sky as if
for information upon his favorite topic.

"Devilish hard no, I don’t mean that;" and Dan bit his lips, for the
forbidden word slipped out in spite of him, and he wanted to be
more careful with Demi than with any of the other boys.

"I’ll play I didn’t hear it," said Demi; "and you won’t do it again, I’m
sure."

"Not if I can help it. That’s one of the things I don’t want to
remember. I keep pegging away, but it don’t seem to do much
good;" and Dan looked discouraged.

"Yes, it does. You don’t say half so many bad words as you used
to; and Aunt Jo is pleased, because she said it was a hard habit to
break up."

"Did she?" and Dan cheered up a bit.

"You must put swearing away in your fault-drawer, and lock it up;
that’s the way I do with my badness."

"What do you mean?" asked Dan, looking as if he found Demi
almost as amusing as a new sort of cockchafer or beetle.

"Well, it’s one of my private plays, and I’ll tell you, but I think
you’ll laugh at it," began Demi, glad to hold forth on this congenial
subject. "I play that my mind is a round room, and my soul is a
little sort of creature with wings that lives in it. The walls are full
of shelves and drawers, and in them I keep my thoughts, and my
goodness and badness, and all sorts of things. The goods I keep
where I can see them, and the bads I lock up tight, but they get out,
and I have to keep putting them in and squeezing them down, they
are so strong. The thoughts I play with when I am alone or in bed,
and I make up and do what I like with them. Every Sunday I put
my room in order, and talk with the little spirit that lives there, and
tell him what to do. He is very bad sometimes, and won’t mind me,
and I have to scold him, and take him to Grandpa. He always
makes him behave, and be sorry for his faults, because Grandpa
likes this play, and gives me nice things to put in the drawers, and
tells me how to shut up the naughties. Hadn’t you better try that
way? It’s a very good one;" and Demi looked so earnest and full of
faith, that Dan did not laugh at his quaint fancy, but said, soberly,

"I don’t think there is a lock strong enough to keep my badness
shut up. Any way my room is in such a clutter I don’t know how to
clear it up."

"You keep your drawers in the cabinet all spandy nice; why can’t
you do the others?"

"I ain’t used to it. Will you show me how?" and Dan looked as if
inclined to try Demi’s childish way of keeping a soul in order.

"I’d love to, but I don’t know how, except to talk as Grandpa does. I
can’t do it good like him, but I’ll try."

"Don’t tell any one; only now and then we’ll come here and talk
things over, and I’ll pay you for it by telling all I know about my
sort of things. Will that do?" and Dan held out his big, rough hand.

Demi gave his smooth, little hand readily, and the league was
made; for in the happy, peaceful world where the younger boy
lived, lions and lambs played together, and little children
innocently taught their elders.

"Hush!" said Dan, pointing toward the house, as Demi was about
to indulge in another discourse on the best way of getting badness
down, and keeping it down; and peeping from their perch, they
saw Mrs. Jo strolling slowly along, reading as she went, while
Teddy trotted behind her, dragging a little cart upside down.

"Wait till they see us," whispered Demi, and both sat still as the
pair came nearer, Mrs. Jo so absorbed in her book that she would
have walked into the brook if Teddy had not stopped her by saying

"Marmar, I wanter fis."

Mrs. Jo put down the charming book which she had been trying to
read for a week, and looked about her for a fishing-pole, being
used to making toys out of nothing. Before she had broken one
from the hedge, a slender willow bough fell at her feet; and,
looking up, she saw the boys laughing in the nest.

"Up! up!" cried Teddy, stretching his arms and flapping his skirts
as if about to fly.

"I’ll come down and you come up. I must go to Daisy now;" and
Demi departed to rehearse the tale of the nineteen cats, with the
exciting boot-and-barrel episodes.

Teddy was speedily whisked up; and then Dan said, laughing,
"Come, too; there’s plenty of room. I’ll lend you a hand."

Mrs. Jo glanced over her shoulder, but no one was in sight; and
rather liking the joke of the thing, she laughed back, saying, "Well,
if you won’t mention it, I think I will;" and with two nimble steps
was in the willow.

"I haven’t climbed a tree since I was married. I used to be very
fond of it when I was a girl," she said, looking well-pleased with
her shady perch.

"Now, you read if you want to, and I’ll take care of Teddy,"
proposed Dan, beginning to make a fishing-rod for impatient Baby.

"I don’t think I care about it now. What were you and Demi at up
here?" asked Mrs. Jo, thinking, from the sober look on Dan’s face,
that he had something on his mind.

"Oh! we were talking. I’d been telling him about leaves and things,
and he was telling me some of his queer plays. Now, then, Major,
fish away;" and Dan finished off his work by putting a big blue fly
on the bent pin which hung at the end of the cord he had tied to the
willow-rod.

Teddy leaned down from the tree, and was soon wrapt up in
watching for the fish which he felt sure would come. Dan held him
by his little petticoats, lest he should take a "header" into the
brook, and Mrs. Jo soon won him to talk by doing so herself.

"I am so glad you told Demi about ‘leaves and things;’ it is just
what he needs; and I wish you would teach him, and take him to
walk with you."

"I’d like to, he is so bright; but "

"But what?"

"I didn’t think you’d trust me."

"Why not?"

"Well, Demi is so kind of precious, and so good, and I’m such a
bad lot, I thought you’d keep him away from me."

"But you are not a ‘bad lot,’ as you say; and I do trust you, Dan,
entirely, because you honestly try to improve, and do better and
better every week."

"Really?" and Dan looked up at her with the cloud of despondency
lifting from his face.

"Yes; don’t you feel it?"

"I hoped so, but I didn’t know."

"I have been waiting and watching quietly, for I thought I’d give
you a good trial first; and if you stood it, I would give you the best
reward I had. You have stood it well; and now I’m going to trust
not only Demi, but my own boy, to you, because you can teach
them some things better than any of us."

"Can I?" and Dan looked amazed at the idea.

"Demi has lived among older people so much that he needs just
what you have knowledge of common things, strength, and
courage. He thinks you are the bravest boy he ever saw, and
admires your strong way of doing things. Then you know a great
deal about natural objects, and can tell him more wonderful tales
of birds, and bees, and leaves, and animals, than his story-books
give him; and, being true, these stories will teach and do him good.
Don’t you see now how much you can help him, and why I like to
have him with you?"

"But I swear sometimes, and might tell him something wrong. I
wouldn’t mean to, but it might slip out, just as ‘devil’ did a few
minutes ago," said Dan, anxious to do his duty, and let her know
his shortcomings.

"I know you try not to say or do any thing to harm the little fellow,
and here is where I think Demi will help you, because he is so
innocent and wise in his small way, and has what I am trying to
give you, dear, good principles. It is never too early to try and plant
them in a child, and never too late to cultivate them in the most
neglected person. You are only boys yet; you can teach one
another. Demi will unconsciously strengthen your moral sense, you
will strengthen his common sense, and I shall feel as if I had
helped you both."

Words could not express how pleased and touched Dan was by this
confidence and praise. No one had ever trusted him before, no one
had cared to find out and foster the good in him, and no one had
suspected how much there was hidden away in the breast of the
neglected boy, going fast to ruin, yet quick to feel and value
sympathy and help. No honor that he might earn hereafter would
ever be half so precious as the right to teach his few virtues and
small store of learning to the child whom he most respected; and
no more powerful restraint could have been imposed upon him
than the innocent companion confided to his care. He found
courage now to tell Mrs. Jo of the plan already made with Demi,
and she was glad that the first step had been so naturally taken.
Every thing seemed to be working well for Dan, and she rejoiced
over him, because it had seemed a hard task, yet, working on with
a firm belief in the possibility of reformation in far older and
worse subjects than he, there had come this quick and hopeful
change to encourage her. He felt that he had friends now and a
place in the world, something to live and work for, and, though he
said little, all that was best and bravest in a character made old by
a hard experience responded to the love and faith bestowed on
him, and Dan’s salvation was assured.

Their quiet talk was interrupted by a shout of delight from Teddy,
who, to the surprise of every one, did actually catch a trout where
no trout had been seen for years. He was so enchanted with his
splendid success that he insisted on showing his prize to the family
before Asia cooked it for supper; so the three descended and went
happily away together, all satisfied with the work of that half hour.

Ned was the next visitor to the tree, but he only made a short stay,
sitting there at his ease while Dick and Dolly caught a pailful of
grasshoppers and crickets for him. He wanted to play a joke on
Tommy, and intended to tuck up a few dozen of the lively
creatures in his bed, so that when Bangs got in he would speedily
tumble out again, and pass a portion of the night in chasing
"hopper-grasses" round the room. The hunt was soon over, and
having paid the hunters with a few peppermints apiece Ned retired
to make Tommy’s bed.

For an hour the old willow sighed and sung to itself, talked with
the brook, and watched the lengthening shadows as the sun went
down. The first rosy color was touching its graceful branches when
a boy came stealing up the avenue, across the lawn, and, spying
Billy by the brook-side, went to him, saying, in a mysterious tone,

"Go and tell Mr. Bhaer I want to see him down here, please. Don’t
let any one hear."

Billy nodded and ran off, while the boy swung himself up into the
tree, and sat there looking anxious, yet evidently feeling the charm
of the place and hour. In five minutes, Mr. Bhaer appeared, and,
stepping up on the fence, leaned into the nest, saying, kindly,

"I am glad to see you, Jack; but why not come in and meet us all at
once?"

"I wanted to see you first, please, sir. Uncle made me come back. I
know I don’t deserve any thing, but I hope the fellows won’t be
hard upon me."

Poor Jack did not get on very well, but it was evident that he was
sorry and ashamed, and wanted to be received as easily as
possible; for his Uncle had thrashed him well and scolded him
soundly for following the example he himself set. Jack had begged
not to be sent back, but the school was cheap, and Mr. Ford
insisted, so the boy returned as quietly as possible, and took refuge
behind Mr. Bhaer.

"I hope not, but I can’t answer for them, though I will see that they
are not unjust. I think, as Dan and Nat have suffered so much,
being innocent, you should suffer something, being guilty. Don’t
you?" asked Mr. Bhaer, pitying Jack, yet feeling he deserved
punishment for a fault which had so little excuse.

"I suppose so, but I sent Tommy’s money back, and I said I was
sorry, isn’t that enough?" said Jack, rather sullenly; for the boy who
could do so mean a thing was not brave enough to bear the
consequences well.

"No; I think you should ask pardon of all three boys, openly and
honestly. You cannot expect them to respect and trust you for a
time, but you can live down this disgrace if you try, and I will help
you. Stealing and lying are detestable sins, and I hope this will be a
lesson to you. I am glad you are ashamed, it is a good sign; bear it
patiently, and do your best to earn a better reputation."

"I’ll have an auction, and sell off all my goods dirt cheap," said
Jack, showing his repentance in the most characteristic way.

"I think it would be better to give them away, and begin on a new
foundation. Take ‘Honesty is the best policy’ for your motto, and
live up to it in act, and word, and thought, and though you don’t
make a cent of money this summer, you will be a rich boy in the
autumn," said Mr. Bhaer, earnestly.

It was hard, but Jack consented, for he really felt that cheating
didn’t pay, and wanted to win back the friendship of the boys. His
heart clung to his possessions, and he groaned inwardly at the
thought of actually giving away certain precious things. Asking
pardon publicly was easy compared to this; but then he began to
discover that certain other things, invisible, but most valuable,
were better property than knives, fish-hooks, or even money itself.
So he decided to buy up a little integrity, even at a high price, and
secure the respect of his playmates, though it was not a salable
article.

"Well, I’ll do it," he said, with a sudden air of resolution, which
pleased Mr. Bhaer.

"Good! and I’ll stand by you. Now come and begin at once."

And Father Bhaer led the bankrupt boy back into the little world,
which received him coldly at first, but slowly warmed to him,
when he showed that he had profited by the lesson, and was
sincerely anxious to go into a better business with a new
stock-in-trade.