"No; but I thought you'd feel better to see me right here," responded the insinuating little party.
"I had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again, Robin.""Everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you can't so you'd better cut and run," said Emil.
"Yes, I can! I tell Teddy lots of ones, all about bears and moons, and little flies that say things when they buzz," protested Rob, bound to stay at any price.
"Tell one now, then, right away," said Dan, preparing to shoulder and bear him off.
"Well, I will; let me fink a minute," and Rob climbed into his mother's lap, where he was cuddled, with the remark"It is a family failing, this getting out of bed at wrong times. Demi used to do it; and as for me, I was hopping in and out all night long.
Meg used to think the house was on fire, and send me down to see, and Iused to stay and enjoy myself, as you mean to, my bad son.""I've finked now," observed Rob, quite at his ease, and eager to win the entree into this delightful circle.
Every one looked and listened with faces full of suppressed merriment as Rob, perched on his mother's knee and wrapped in the gay coverlet, told the following brief but tragic tale with an earnestness that made it very funny:"Once a lady had a million children, and one nice little boy. She went up-stairs and said, 'You mustn't go in the yard.' But he wented, and fell into the pump, and was drowned dead.""Is that all?" asked Franz, as Rob paused out of breath with this startling beginning.
"No, there is another piece of it," and Rob knit his downy eyebrows in the effort to evolve another inspiration.
"What did the lady do when he fell into the pump?" asked his mother, to help him on.
"Oh, she pumped him up, and wrapped him in a newspaper, and put him on a shelf to dry for seed."A general explosion of laughter greeted this surprising conclusion, and Mrs. Jo patted the curly head, as she said, solemnly,"My son, you inherit your mother's gift of story-telling. Go where glory waits thee.""Now I can stay, can't I? Wasn't it a good story?" cried Rob, in high feather at his superb success.
"You can stay till you have eaten these twelve pop-corns," said his mother, expecting to see them vanish at one mouthful.
But Rob was a shrewd little man, and got the better of her by eating them one by one very slowly, and enjoying every minute with all his might.
"Hadn't you better tell the other story, while you wait for him?" said Demi, anxious that no time should be lost.
"I really have nothing but a little tale about a wood-box," said Mrs.
Jo, seeing that Rob had still seven corns to eat.
"Is there a boy in it?"
"It is all boy."
"Is it true?" asked Demi.
"Every bit of it."
"Goody! tell on, please."
"James Snow and his mother lived in a little house, up in New Hampshire.
They were poor, and James had to work to help his mother, but he loved books so well he hated work, and just wanted to sit and study all day long.""How could he! I hate books, and like work," said Dan, objecting to James at the very outset.
"It takes all sorts of people to make a world; workers and students both are needed, and there is room for all. But I think the workers should study some, and the students should know how to work if necessary," answered Mrs. Jo, looking from Dan to Demi with a significant expression.
"I'm sure I do work," and Demi showed three small hard spots in his little palm, with pride.
"And I'm sure I study," added Dan, nodding with a groan toward the blackboard full of neat figures.
"See what James did. He did not mean to be selfish, but his mother was proud of him, and let him do as he liked, working by herself that he might have books and time to read them. One autumn James wanted to go to school, and went to the minister to see if he would help him, about decent clothes and books. Now the minister had heard the gossip about James's idleness, and was not inclined to do much for him, thinking that a boy who neglected his mother, and let her slave for him, was not likely to do very well even at school. But the good man felt more interested when he found how earnest James was, and being rather an odd man, he made this proposal to the boy, to try now sincere he was.
"'I will give you clothes and books on one condition, James.'
"'What is that, sir?' and the boy brightened up at once.
"'You are to keep your mother's wood-box full all winter long, and do it yourself. If you fail, school stops.' James laughed at the queer condition and readily agreed to it, thinking it a very easy one.
"He began school, and for a time got on capitally with the wood-box, for it was autumn, and chips and brushwood were plentiful. He ran out morning and evening and got a basket full, or chopped up the cat sticks for the little cooking stove, and as his mother was careful and saving, the task was not hard. But in November the frost came, the days were dull and cold, and wood went fast. His mother bought a load with her own earnings, but it seemed to melt away, and was nearly gone, before James remembered that he was to get the next. Mrs. Snow was feeble and lame with rheumatism, and unable to work as she had done, so James had to put down the books, and see what he could do.
"It was hard, for he was going on well, and so interested in his lessons that he hated to stop except for food and sleep. But he knew the minister would keep his word, and much against his will James set about earning money in his spare hours, lest the wood-box should get empty. He did all sorts of things, ran errands, took care of a neighbor's cow, helped the old sexton dust and warm the church on Sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel in small quantities. But it was hard work; the days were short, the winter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dear books were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dull duties that never seemed done.
