ked it very
much.

"Yes, each of you think what you need most, and tell me, and I will help
you to grow it; only you must do your best, or you will turn out like
Tommy's melons, all leaves and no fruit. I will begin with the oldest,
and ask the mother what she will have in her plot, for we are all parts
of the beautiful garden, and may have rich harvests for our Master if we
love Him enough," said Father Bhaer.

"I shall devote the whole of my plot to the largest crop of patience I
can get, for that is what I need most," said Mrs. Jo, so soberly that
the lads fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when
their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse, that
they had helped to use up Mother Bhaer's stock of patience so fast.

Franz wanted perseverance, Tommy steadiness, Ned went in for good
temper, Daisy for industry, Demi for "as much wiseness as Grandpa," and
Nat timidly said he wanted so many things he would let Mr. Bhaer choose
for him. The others chose much the same things, and patience, good
temper, and generosity seemed the favorite crops. One boy wished to like
to get up early, but did not know what name to give that sort of seed;
and poor Stuffy sighed out,

"I wish I loved my lessons as much as I do my dinner, but I can't."

"We will plant self-denial, and hoe it and water it, and make it grow so
well that next Christmas no one will get ill by eating too much dinner.
If you exercise your mind, George, it will get hungry just as your body
does, and you will love books almost as much as my philosopher here,"
said Mr. Bhaer; adding, as he stroked the hair off Demi's fine forehead,
"You are greedy also, my son, and you like to stuff your little mind
full of fairy tales and fancies, as well as George likes to fill his
little stomach with cake and candy. Both are bad, and I want you to
try something better. Arithmetic is not half so pleasant as 'Arabian
Nights,' I know, but it is a very useful thing, and now is the time to
learn it, else you will be ashamed and sorry by and by."

"But, 'Harry and Lucy,' and 'Frank,' are not fairy books, and they
are all full of barometers, and bricks, and shoeing horses, and useful
things, and I'm fond of them; ain't I, Daisy?" said Demi, anxious to
defend himself.

"So they are; but I find you reading 'Roland and Maybird,' a great deal
oftener than 'Harry and Lucy,' and I think you are not half so fond of
'Frank' as you are of 'Sinbad.' Come, I sh