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best for love of me and Father Bhaer. I don’t show my records to any but the one to whom each belongs. I call this my conscience book[6]; and only you and I will ever know what is written on the page below your name. Whether you will be pleased or ashamed to read it next Sunday depends on yourself. I think it will be a good report. I hope you will be quite contented if you keep our few rules, live happily with the boys, and learn something.”

      “I’ll try ma’am,” said Nat.

      “I really don’t know which I like best, writing or boys,” she said, laughing. “Yes, I know many people think boys are a nuisance, but that is because they don’t understand them.”

      Nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know whether Mother Bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he had ever met.

      “Now, I think you will go into the school-room and practise some of the hymns we will sing tonight,” she said.

      When the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one read, wrote letters home, or talked quietly to one another, sitting here and there about the house. At three o’clock the entire family went to walk. Nat was not strong enough for the long walk, and asked to stay at home with Tommy, who kindly offered to show him Plumfield.

      “You’ve seen the house, so come out and have a look at the garden, and the barn, and the menagerie,” said Tommy.

      “What is your menagerie?” asked Nat, as they trotted along the road that encircled the house.

      “We all have pets, you see, and we keep them in the corn-barn, and call it the menagerie. Here you are. Isn’t my guinea-pig[7] a beauty?” and Tommy proudly presented one of the ugliest animal that Nat ever saw.

      “Those white mice are Rob’s, Franz gave them to him. The rabbits are Ned’s, and the bantams outside are Stuffy’s. That box is Demi’s turtle-tank.”

      “What is in this box?” asked Nat, stopping before a large deep one, half-full of earth.

      “Oh, that’s Jack Ford’s worm-shop[8]. He digs heaps of them and keeps them here, and when we want to go fishing with, we buy some of him. It saves lots of trouble, only he charged too much for them. Now, I own two hens, those gray ones with top knots, and I sell Mrs. Bhaer the eggs, but I never ask her more than twenty-five cents a dozen, never!” cried Tommy.

      “Who owns the dogs?” asked Nat.

      “The big dog is Emil’s. His name is Christopher Columbus,” answered Tommy. “The white pup is Rob’s, and the yellow one is Teddy’s. A man was going to drown them in our pond, and Papa Bhaer didn’t let him. Their names are Castor and Pollux.”

      Nat climbed up a ladder, put his head through a trap door and looked at the pretty doves.

      “How do you get these animals?” he asked, when he joined Tommy in the barn.

      “We find them or buy them, or folks give them to us. My father sends me mine,” said Tommy, with the air of a millionaire.

      Nat sighed, for he had neither father nor money, nothing in the wide world but an old empty pocketbook. Tommy understood the sigh which followed his answer,

      “Look here, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you hunt eggs for me – I hate it – I’ll give you one egg out of every dozen. When you have twelve, Mother Bhaer will give you twenty-five cents for them, and then you can buy what you like.”

      “I’ll do it! What a kind fellow you are, Tommy!” cried Nat, quite dazzled by this brilliant offer.

      “Pooh! You begin now and rummage the barn, and I’ll wait here for you. Granny is cackling, so you’re find one somewhere,” and Tommy threw himself down on the hay.

      Nat joyfully began his search, and he found two fine eggs.

      “You may have one and I’ll have the other, and tomorrow we’ll start again. Here, you chalk your accounts up near mine,” said Tommy.

      Then Tommy took Nat to an old willow-tree. From the fence it was an easy scramble into a wide niche between the three big branches. Here little seats had been fixed,

      “This is Demi’s and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up unless we let them, except Daisy,” said Tommy.

      “Oh, it’s just beautiful!” cried Nat. “I hope you’ll let me up sometimes. I never saw such a nice place in all my life. I’d like to be a bird, and live here always.”

      “It is pretty nice. You can come if Demi doesn’t mind, and I guess he won’t, because he said last night that he liked you.”

      “Did he?” and Nat smiled with pleasure.

      “Yes; Demi likes quiet boys. And you can read books together.”

      “I can’t read very well; I never had any time, you know.”

      Punishment

      Nat was very fond of Mrs. Bhaer, but found something even more attractive in the good professor, who took fatherly care of the shy feeble boy. Father Bhaer took pleasure in fostering poor Nat’s virtues, and in curing his faults, finding his new pupil as docile and affectionate as a girl. He often called Nat his “daughter” when speaking of him to Mrs. Jo.

      One fault of Nat’s gave the Bhaers much anxiety. Nat sometimes told lies[9]. A lie is a lie, it is not right, and everybody knows it.

      “Watch your tongue, and eyes, and hands, for it is easy to tell, and look, and act untruth,” said Mr. Bhaer to Nat one day.

      “I know it. I used to tell lies because I was afraid of father and Nicolo, and now I do sometimes because the boys laugh at me. I know it’s bad, but I forget,” Nat looked much depressed by his sins.

      “When I was a little lad I used to tell lies! Ach! But my old grandmother cured me of it. How? My parents cried, and punished, but still did I forget as you. Then said the dear old grandmother, ‘I shall help you to remember’. With that she drew out my tongue and snipped the end with her scissors till the blood ran. That was terrible, you may believe, but it did me much good, because it was sore for days, and every word I said came so slowly that I had time to think. After that I was more careful, for I feared the big scissors.”

      “I never had any grandmothers, but if you think it will cure me, I’ll let you snip my tongue,” said Nat, heroically, for he dreaded pain.

      Mr. Bhaer smiled, but shook his head.

      “I have a better way than that, I tried it once before and it worked well. See now, when you tell a lie I will not punish you, but you will punish me.”

      “How?” asked Nat.

      “You will ferule me in the good old-fashioned way; I seldom do it myself, but it may make you remember better to give me pain than to feel it yourself.”

      “Strike you? Oh, I can’t!” cried Nat.

      “Then watch your tongue. I have no wish to be hurt, but I will gladly bear much pain to cure this fault.”

      This suggestion made such an impression on Nat, that for a long time he watched upon his lips, and was desperately accurate. But alas! One sad day, when Emil threatened to thrash him, if it was he who had run over his garden and broken down his best hills of corn, Nat declared he didn’t, and then was ashamed to own up that he did do it, when Jack was chasing him the night before.

      He thought no one saw it, but Tommy happened to see him, and when Emil spoke of it a day or two later, Tommy gave his evidence, and Mr. Bhaer heard it. School was over, and Mr. Bhaer took Nat by the hand and led him into the school and shut the door.

      “You remember what I told you last time?” said Mr. Bhaer, sorrowfully, not angrily.

      “Yes; but please don’t make me beat you,” cried Nat, with

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