Little Men by Louisa May Alcott (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📕

his partner and patron, but that he was bankrupt in honor, and an outlaw from the business community. No one trusted his word, written or spoken, in spite of his efforts to redeem the past falsehood; the sign was down, the firm broken up, and he a ruined man. The barn, which was the boys' Wall Street, knew him no more. Cockletop and her sisters cackled for him in vain, and really seemed to take his misfortune to heart, for eggs were fewer, and some of the biddies retired in disgust to new nests, which Tommy could not find.

“They trust me,” said Nat, when he heard of it; and though the boys shouted at the idea, Nat found comfort in it, for when one is down in the world, the confidence of even a speckled hen is most consoling.

Tommy took no new partner, however, for distrust had entered in, and poisoned the peace of his once confiding soul. Ned offered to join him, but he declined, saying, with a sense of justice that did him honor,

“It might turn out that Nat didn't take my money, and then we could be partners again. I don't think it will happen, but I will give him a chance, and keep the place open a little longer.”

Billy was the only person whom Bangs felt he could trust in his shop, and Billy was trained to hunt eggs, and hand them over unbroken, being quite satisfied with an apple or a sugar-plum for wages. The morning after Dan's gloomy Sunday, Billy said to his employer, as he displayed the results of a long hunt,

“Only two.”

“It gets worse and worse; I never saw such provoking old hens,” growled Tommy, thinking of the days when he often had six to rejoice over. “Well, put 'em in my hat and give me a new bit of chalk; I must mark 'em up, any way.”

Billy mounted a peck-measure, and looked into the top of the machine, where Tommy kept his writing materials.

“There's lots of money in here,” said Billy.

“No, there isn't. Catch me leaving my cash round again,” returned Tommy.

“I see 'em one, four, eight, two dollars,” persisted Billy, who had not yet mastered the figures correctly.

“What a jack you are!” and Tommy hopped up to get the chalk for himself, but nearly tumbled down again, for there actually were four bright quarters in a row, with a bit of paper on them directed to “Tom Bangs,” that there might be no mistake.

“Thunder turtles!” cried Tommy, and seizing them he dashed into the house, bawling wildly, “It's all right! Got my money! Where's Nat?”

He was soon found, and his surprise and pleasure were so genuine that few doubted his word when he now denied all knowledge of the money.

“How could I put it back when I didn't take it? Do believe me now, and be good to me again,” he said, so imploringly, that Emil slapped him on the back, and declared he would for one.

“So will I, and I'm jolly glad it's not you. But who the dickens is it?” said Tommy, after shaking hands heartily with Nat.

“Never mind, as long as it's found,” said Dan with his eyes fixed on Nat's happy face.

“Well, I like that! I'm not going to have my things hooked, and then brought back like the juggling man's tricks,” cried Tommy, looking at his money as if he suspected witchcraft.

“We'll find him out somehow, though he was sly enough to print this so his writing wouldn't be known,” said Franz, examining the paper.

“Demi prints tip-top,” put in Rob, who had not a very clear idea what the fuss was all about.

“You can't make me believe it's him, not if you talk till you are blue,” said Tommy, and the others hooted at the mere idea; for the little deacon, as they called him, was above suspicion.

Nat felt the difference in the way they spoke of Demi and himself, and would have given all he had or ever hoped to have to be so trusted; for he had learned how easy it is to lose the confidence of others, how very, very hard to win it back, and truth became to him a precious thing since he had suffered from neglecting it.

Mr. Bhaer was very glad one step had been taken in the right direction, and waited hopefully for yet further revelations. They came sooner than he expected, and in a way that surprised and grieved him very much. As they sat at supper that night, a square parcel was handed to Mrs. Bhaer from Mrs. Bates, a neighbor. A note accompanied the parcel, and, while Mr. Bhaer read it, Demi pulled off the wrapper, exclaiming, as he saw its contents,

“Why, it's the book Uncle Teddy gave Dan!”

“The devil!” broke from Dan, for he had not yet quite cured himself of swearing, though he tried very hard.

Mr. Bhaer looked up quickly at the sound. Dan tried to meet his eyes, but could not; his own fell, and he sat biting his lips, getting redder and redder till he was the picture of shame.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Bhaer, anxiously.

“I should have preferred to talk about this in private, but Demi has spoilt that plan, so I may as well have it out now,” said Mr. Bhaer, looking a little stern, as he always did when any meanness or deceit came up for judgment.

“The note is from Mrs. Bates, and she says that her boy Jimmy told her he bought this book of Dan last Saturday. She saw that it was worth much more than a dollar, and thinking there was some mistake, has sent it to me. Did you sell it, Dan?”

“Yes, sir,” was the slow answer.

“Why?”

“Wanted money.”

“For what?”

“To pay somebody.”

“To whom did you owe it?”

“Tommy.”

“Never borrowed a cent of me in his life,” cried Tommy, looked scared, for he guessed what was coming now, and felt that on the whole he would have preferred witchcraft, for he admired Dan immensely.

“Perhaps he took it,” cried Ned, who owed Dan a grudge for the ducking, and, being a mortal boy, liked to pay it off.

“O Dan!” cried Nat, clasping his hands, regardless of the bread and butter in them.

“It is a hard thing to do, but I must have this settled, for I cannot have you watching each other like detectives, and the whole school disturbed in this way, did you put that dollar in the barn this morning?” asked Mr. Bhaer.

Dan looked him straight in the face, and answered steadily, “Yes, I did.”

A murmur went round the table, Tommy dropped his mug with a crash; Daisy cried out, “I knew it wasn't Nat;” Nan began to cry, and Mrs. Jo left the room, looking so disappointed, sorry, and ashamed that Dan could not bear it. He hid his face in his hands a moment, then threw up his head, squared his shoulders as if settling some load upon them, and said, with the dogged look, and half-resolute, half-reckless tone he had used when he first came,

“I did it; now you may do what you like to me, but I won't say another word about it.”

“Not even that you are sorry?” asked Mr. Bhaer, troubled by the change in him.

“I ain't sorry.”

“I'll forgive him without asking,” said Tommy, feeling that it was harder somehow to see brave Dan disgraced than timid Nat.

“Don't want to be forgiven,” returned Dan, gruffly.

“Perhaps you will when you have thought about it quietly by yourself, I won't tell you now how surprised and disappointed I am, but by and by I will come up and talk to you in your room.”

“Won't make any difference,” said Dan, trying to speak defiantly, but failing as he looked at Mr. Bhaer's sorrowful face; and, taking his words for a dismissal, Dan left the room as if he found it impossible to stay.

It would have done him good if he had stayed; for the boys talked the matter over with such sincere regret, and pity, and wonder, it might have touched and won him to ask pardon. No one was glad to find that it was he, not even Nat; for, spite of all his faults, and they were many, every one liked Dan now, because under his rough exterior lay some of the manly virtues which we most admire and love. Mrs. Jo had been the chief prop, as well as cultivator, of Dan; and she took it sadly to heart that her last and most interesting boy had turned out so ill. The theft was bad, but the lying about it, and allowing another to suffer so much from an unjust suspicion was worse; and most discouraging of all was the attempt to restore the money in an underhand way, for it showed not only a want of courage, but a power of deceit that boded ill for the future. Still more trying was his steady refusal to talk of the matter, to ask pardon, or express any remorse. Days passed; and he went about his lessons and his work, silent, grim, and unrepentant. As if taking warning by their treatment of Nat, he asked no sympathy of any one, rejected the advances of the boys, and spent his leisure hours roaming about the fields and woods, trying to find playmates in the birds and beasts, and succeeding better than most boys would have done, because he knew and loved them so well.

“If this goes on much longer, I'm afraid he will run away again, for he is too young to stand a life like this,” said Mr. Bhaer, quite dejected at the failure of all his efforts.

“A little while ago I should have been quite sure that nothing would tempt him away, but now I am ready of any thing, he is so changed,” answered poor Mrs. Jo, who mourned over her boy and could not be comforted, because he shunned her more than any one else, and only looked at her with the half-fierce, half-imploring eyes of a wild animal caught in a trap, when she tried to talk to him alone.

Nat followed him about like a shadow, and Dan did not repulse him as rudely as he did others, but said, in his blunt way, “You are all right; don't worry about me. I can stand it better than you did.”

“But I don't like to have you all alone,” Nat would say, sorrowfully.

“I like it;” and Dan would tramp away, stifling a sigh sometimes, for he was lonely.

Passing through the birch grove one day, he came up on several of the boys, who were amusing themselves by climbing up the trees and swinging down again, as they slender elastic stems bent till their tops touched the ground. Dan paused a minute to watch the fun, without offering to join in it, and as he stood there Jack took his turn. He had unfortunately chosen too large a tree; for when he swung off, it only bent a little way, and left him hanging at a dangerous height.

“Go back; you can't do it!” called Ned from below.

Jack tried, but the twigs slipped from his hands, and he could not get his legs round the trunk. He kicked, and squirmed, and clutched in vain, then gave it up, and hung breathless, saying helplessly,

“Catch me! help me! I must drop!”

“You'll be killed if you do,” cried Ned, frightened out of his wits.

“Hold on!” shouted Dan; and up the tree he went, crashing his way along till he nearly reached Jack, whose face looked up at him, full of fear and hope.

“You'll both come down,” said Ned, dancing with excitement on the slope underneath, while Nat held out his arms, in the wild hope of breaking the fall.

“That's what I want; stand from under,” answered Dan, coolly; and, as he spoke, his added weight bent the tree many feet nearer the earth.

Jack dropped safely; but the birch, lightened of half its load, flew up again so suddenly, that Dan, in the act of