hing like this before, really did not know
whether Mother Bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he
had ever met. He rather inclined to the latter opinion, in spite of her
peculiar tastes, for she had a way of filling up a fellow's plate before
he asked, of laughing at his jokes, gently tweaking him by the ear, or
clapping him on the shoulder, that Nat found very engaging.

"Now, I think you would like to go into the school-room and practise
some of the hymns we are to sing to-night," she said, rightly guessing
the thing of all others that he wanted to do.

Alone with the beloved violin and the music-book propped up before him
in the sunny window, while Spring beauty filled the world outside, and
Sabbath silence reigned within, Nat enjoyed an hour or two of genuine
happiness, learning the sweet old tunes, and forgetting the hard past in
the cheerful present.

When the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one read,
wrote letters home, said their Sunday lessons, or talked quietly to one
another, sitting here and there about the house. At three o'clock the
entire family turned out to walk, for all the active young bodies must
have exercise; and in these walks the active young minds were taught
to see and love the providence of God in the beautiful miracles which
Nature was working before their eyes. Mr. Bhaer always went with them,
and in his simple, fatherly way, found for his flock, "Sermons in
stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything."

Mrs. Bhaer with Daisy and her own two boys drove into town, to pay the
weekly visit to Grandma, which was busy Mother Bhaer's one holiday and
greatest pleasure. Nat was not strong enough for the long walk, and
asked to stay at home with Tommy, who kindly offered to do the honors
of Plumfield. "You've seen the house, so come out and have a look at
the garden, and the barn, and the menagerie," said Tommy, when they were
left alone with Asia, to see that they didn't get into mischief;
for, though Tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned
knickerbockers, accidents of the most direful nature were always
happening to him, no one could exactly tell how.

"What is your menagerie?" asked Nat, as they trotted along the drive
that encircled the house.

"We all have pets, you see, and we keep 'em in the corn-barn, and call
it the menagerie. Here you are. Isn't my guinea-pig a beauty?" and Tommy
proudly presented one of the ugliest s