Two quiet days, and on the third Mr. Bhaer came in just after school,with a note in his hand, looking both moved and pleased.
"I want to read you something, boys," he said; and as they stood roundhim he read this:
"DEAR BROTHER FRITZ, I hear that you do not mean to bring your flocktoday, thinking that I may not like it. Please do. The sight of hisfriends will help Demi through the hard hour, and I want the boys tohear what father says of my John. It will do them good, I know. If theywould sing one of the sweet old hymns you have taught them so well,I should like it better than any other music, and feel that it wasbeautifully suited to the occasion. Please ask them, with my love.
"MEG."
"Will you go?" and Mr. Bhaer looked at the lads, who were greatlytouched by Mrs. Brooke's kind words and wishes.
"Yes," they answered, like one boy; and an hour later they went awaywith Franz to bear their part in John Brooke's simple funeral.
The little house looked as quiet, sunny, and home-like as when Megentered it as a bride, ten years ago, only then it was early summer,and rose blossomed everywhere; now it was early autumn, and dead leavesrustled softly down, leaving the branches bare. The bride was a widownow; but the same beautiful serenity shone in her face, and the sweetresignation of a truly pious soul made her presence a consolation tothose who came to comfort her.
"O Meg! how can you bear it so?" whispered Jo, as she met them at thedoor with a smile of welcome, and no change in her gentle manner, exceptmore gentleness.
"Dear Jo, the love that has blest me for ten happy years supports mestill. It could not die, and John is more my own than ever," whisperedMeg; and in her eyes the tender trust was so beautiful and bright, thatJo believed her, and thanked God for the immortality of love like hers.
They were all there father and mother, Uncle Teddy, and Aunt Amy, oldMr. Laurence, white-haired and feeble now, Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, withtheir flock, and many friends, come to do honor to the dead. One wouldhave said that modest John Brooke, in his busy, quiet, humble life,had had little time to make friends; but now they seemed to startup everywhere, old and young, rich and poor, high and low; for allunconsciously his influence had made itself widely felt, his virtueswere remembered, and his hidden charities rose up to bless him. Thegroup about his coffin was a far more eloquent eulogy than any Mr. Marchcould utter. There were the rich men whom he had served faithfully foryears; the poor old women whom he cherished with his little store, inmemory of his mother; the wife to whom he had given such happiness thatdeath could not mar it utterly; the brothers and sisters in whose heartshe had made a place for ever; the little son and daughter, who alreadyfelt the loss of his strong arm and tender voice; the young children,sobbing for their kindest playmate, and the tall lads, watching withsoftened faces a scene which they never could forget. A very simpleservice, and very short; for the fatherly voice that had faltered in themarriage-sacrament now failed entirely as Mr. March endeavored to payhis tribute of reverence and love to the son whom he most honored.Nothing but the soft coo of Baby Josy's voice up-stairs broke the longhush that followed the last Amen, till, at a sign from Mr. Bhaer, thewell-trained boyish voices broke out in a hymn, so full of lofty cheer,that one by one all joined in it, singing with full hearts, and findingtheir troubled spirits lifted into peace on the wings of that brave,sweet psalm.
As Meg listened, she felt that she had done well; for not only did themoment comfort her with the assurance that John's last lullaby was sungby the young voices he loved so well, but in the faces of the boys shesaw that they had caught a glimpse of the beauty of virtue in its mostimpressive form, and that the memory of the good man lying dead beforethem would live long and helpfully in their remembrance. Daisy's headlay in her lap, and Demi held her hand, looking often at her, with eyesso like his father's, and a little gesture that seemed to say, "Don'tbe troubled, mother; I am here;" and all about her were friends to leanupon and love; so patient, pious Meg put by her heavy grief, feelingthat her best help would be to live for others, as her John had done.
That evening, as the Plumfield boys sat on the steps, as usual, in themild September moonlight, they naturally fell to talking of the event ofthe day.
Emil began by breaking out, in his impetuous way, "Uncle Fritz is thewisest, and Uncle Laurie the jolliest, but Uncle John was the best; andI'd rather be like him than any man I ever saw."
"So would I. Did you hear what those gentlemen said to Grandpa to-day? Iwould like to have that said of me when I was dead;" and Franz felt withregret that he had not appreciated Uncle John enough.
"What did they say?" asked Jack, who had been much impressed by thescenes of the day.
"Why, one of the partners of Mr. Laurence, where Uncle John has beenever so long, was saying that he was conscientious almost to a fault asa business man, and above reproach in all things. Another gentleman saidno money could repay the fidelity and honesty with which Uncle John hadserved him, and then Grandpa told them the best of all. Uncle John oncehad a place in the office of a man who cheated, and when this man wanteduncle to help him do it, uncle wouldn't, though he was offered a bigsalary. The man was angry and said, 'You will never get on in businesswith such strict principles;' and uncle answered back, 'I never will tryto get on without them,' and left the place for a much harder and poorerone."
"Good!" cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the mood tounderstand and value the little story as never before.
"He wasn't rich, was he?" asked Jack.
"No."
"He never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?"
"No."
"He was only good?"
"That's all;" and Franz found himself wishing that Uncle John had donesomething to boast of, for it was evident that Jack was disappointed byhis replies.
"Only good. That is all and every thing," said Mr. Bhaer, who hadoverheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the minds ofthe lads.
"Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why menhonor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than rich orfamous. He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so c
heerfully,so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and happy throughpoverty and loneliness and years of hard work. He was a good son, andgave up his own plans to stay and live with his mother while she neededhim. He was a good friend, and taught Laurie much beside his Greek andLatin, did it unconsciously, perhaps, by showing him an example of anupright man. He was a faithful servant, and made himself so valuable tothose who employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place.He was a good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, thatLaurie and I learned much of him, and only knew how well he loved hisfamily, when we discovered all he had done for them, unsuspected andunassisted."
Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in themoonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice: "Ashe lay dying, I said to him, 'Have no care for Meg and the little ones;I will see that they never want.' Then he smiled and pressed my hand,and answered, in his cheerful way, 'No need of that; I have cared forthem.' And so he had, for when we looked among his papers, all was inorder, not a debt remained; and safely put away was enough to keep Megcomfortable and independent. Then we knew why he had lived so plainly,denied himself so many pleasures, except that of charity, and workedso hard that I fear he shortened his good life. He never asked help forhimself, though often for others, but bore his own burden and workedout his own task bravely and quietly. No one can say a word of complaintagainst him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when he isgone, all find so much to love and praise and honor, that I am proud tohave been his friend, and would rather leave my children the legacy heleaves his than the largest fortune ever made. Yes! Simple, generousgoodness is the best capital to found the business of this life upon. Itlasts when fame and money fail, and is the only riches we can take outof this world with us. Remember that, my boys; and if you want to earnrespect and confidence and love follow in the footsteps of John Brooke."
When Demi returned to school, after some weeks at home, he seemed tohave recovered from his loss with the blessed elasticity of childhood,and so he had in a measure; but he did not forget, for his was a natureinto which things sank deeply, to be pondered over, and absorbed intothe soil where the small virtues were growing fast. He played andstudied, worked and sang, just as before, and few suspected any change;but there was one and Aunt Jo saw it for she watched over the boy withher whole heart, trying to fill John's place in her poor way. He seldomspoke of his loss, but Aunt Jo often heard a stifled sobbing in thelittle bed at night; and when she went to comfort him, all his cry was,"I want my father! oh, I want my father!" for the tie between the twohad been a very tender one, and the child's heart bled when it wasbroken. But time was kind to him, and slowly he came to feel that fatherwas not lost, only invisible for a while, and sure to be found again,well and strong and fond as ever, even though his little son should seethe purple asters blossom on his grave many, many times before they met.To this belief Demi held fast, and in it found both help and comfort,because it led him unconsciously through a tender longing for the fatherwhom he had seen to a childlike trust in the Father whom he had notseen. Both were in heaven, and he prayed to both, trying to be good forlove of them.
The outward change corresponded to the inward, for in those few weeksDemi seemed to have grown tall, and began to drop his childish plays,not as if ashamed of them, as some boys do, but as if he had outgrownthem, and wanted something manlier. He took to the hated arithmetic,and held on so steadily that his uncle was charmed, though he could notunderstand the whim, until Demi said,
"I am going to be a bookkeeper when I grow up, like papa, and I mustknow about figures and things, else I can't have nice, neat ledgers likehis."
At another time he came to his aunt with a very serious face, and said
"What can a small boy do to earn money?"
"Why do you ask, my deary?"
"My father told me to take care of mother and the little girls, and Iwant to, but I don't know how to begin."
"He did not mean now, Demi, but by and by, when you are large."
"But I wish to begin now, if I can, because I think I ought to make somemoney to buy things for the family. I am ten, and other boys no biggerthan I earn pennies sometimes."
"Well, then, suppose you rake up all the dead leaves and cover thestrawberry bed. I'll pay you a dollar for the job," said Aunt Jo.
"Isn't that a great deal? I could do it in one day. You must be fair,and no pay too much, because I want to truly earn it."
"My little John, I will be fair, and not pay a penny too much. Don'twork too hard; and when that is done I will have something else for youto do," said Mrs. Jo, much touched by his desire to help, and his senseof justice, so like his scrupulous father.
When the leaves were done, many barrowloads of chips were wheeled fromthe wood to the shed, and another dollar earned. Then Demi helpedcover the schoolbooks, working in the evenings under Franz's direction,tugging patiently away at each book, letting no one help, and receivinghis wages with such satisfaction that the dingy bills became quiteglorified in his sight.
"Now, I have a dollar for each of them, and I should like to takemy money to mother all myself, so she can see that I have minded myfather."
So Demi made a duteous pilgrimage to his mother, who received his littleearnings as a treasure of great worth, and would have kept it untouched,if Demi had not begged her to buy some useful thing for herself and thewomen-children, whom he felt were left to his care.
This made him very happy, and, though he often forgot hisresponsibilities for a time, the desire to help was still there,strengthening with his years. He always uttered the words "my father"with an air of gentle pride, and often said, as if he claimed a titlefull of honor, "Don't call me Demi any more. I am John Brooke now."So, strengthened by a purpose and a hope, the little lad of ten bravelybegan the world, and entered into his inheritance, the memory of a wiseand tender father, the legacy of an honest name.