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Today we'll be continuing joe's Boys by Luisa May Alcott chapter 21 a Slaga's Night it was curious to see the change which came over Dan.

After that talk.

A weight seemed off his mind, and though the old impetuous spirit flashed out at times, he seemed intent on trying to show his gratitude and love and honor to these true friends by a new humility and confidence.

Very sweet to them, very helpful to him.

After hearing the story from Mrs.

Joe, the professor and Mr.

Lori made no allusion to it beyond the hearty hand grasp, the look of compassion, the brief word of good cheer in which men convey sympathy, and a redoubled kindness which left no doubt of pardon.

Mr.

Lori began at once to interest influential persons in Dan's mission and set in motion the machinery which needs so much oiling before anything can be done where government is concerned.

Mr.

Bear, with the skill of a true teacher, gave Dan's hungry mind something to do and helped him understand himself by carrying on the good chaplain's task so paternally that the poor fellow often said he felt as if he had found a father.

The boys took him to drive and amused him with their pranks and plans, while the women, old and young, nursed and petted him till he felt like a sultan with a crowd of devoted slaves, obedient to his lightest wish.

A very little of this was enough for Dan, who had a masculine horror of Molly coddling and so brief an acquaintance with illness that he rebelled against the doctor's orders to keep quiet.

And it took all Mrs.

Jo's authority and the girl's ingenuity to keep him from leaving his sofa.

Long before strained back and wounded head were well.

Daisy cooked for him, NAN attended to his medicines.

Josie read aloud to while away the long hours of inaction that hung so heavily on his hands, while Beth brought all her pictures and casts to amuse him and add his special desire, set up a modeling stand in his parlor and began to mold the buffalo head he gave her.

Those afternoons seemed the pleasantest part of his day, and Mrs.

Jo, busy and her study close by, could see the friendly trio and enjoy the pretty pictures they made.

The girls were much flattered by the success of their efforts, and exerted themselves to be very entertaining, consulting Dan's moods with the feminine tact most women creatures learn before they're out of pinafores.

When he was gay, the room rang with laughter.

When gloomy, they read or worked in respectful silence till their sweet patience cheered him up again, and when in pain, they hovered over him like a couple of angels, as he said.

He often called Josie little Mother, but Bess was always Princess, and his manner to the two cousins was quite different.

Josie sometimes freted him with her fussy ways, the long plays she liked to read and the maternal scolding she administered when he broke the rules for having a lord of creation in her power was so delightful to her that she would have ruled him with a rod of iron if he had submitted to Beth in her gentler administrations.

He never showed either impatience or weariness, but obeyed her least word, exerted himself to seem well in her presence, and took such interest in her work that he lay looking at her with unwearied eyes while Josie read to him in her best style.

Unheeded.

Mrs.

Joe observed this and called them Una and the lion, which suited them very well, though the lion's mane was shorn and Una never tried to bridle him.

The elder ladies did their part in providing, delicacies and supplying all his wants, but Mrs.

Meg was busy at home, mrs.

Amy preparing for the trip to Europe in the spring, and Mrs.

Jovering, on the brink of a vortex for the forthcoming book, had been sadly delayed by the late domestic events.

As she sat at her desk settling papers or meditatively nibbling her pen while waiting for the divine athlatis to descend upon her.

She often forgot her fictitious heroes and heroines in studying the live models before her, and thus, by chance, looks, words and gestures discovered a little romance unsuspected by anyone else.

The portier between the rooms was usually drawn aside, giving a view of the group in the large bay window.

Bess at one side in her grey blouse, busy with her tools, josie at the other side with her book.

And between, on the long couch propped with many cushions, lay dan in a mini hued Eastern dressing gown, presented by Mr.

Lori and worn to please the girls, though the invalid much preferred an old jacket with no confounded tail to bother over.

He faced Mrs.

Jo's room, but never seemed to see her, for his eyes were on the slender figure before him, with the pale winter sunshine touching her golden head, and the delicate hands that shaped the clay so deftly.

Josie was just visible, rocking violently in a little chair at the head of the couch, and the steady murmur of her girlish voice was usually the only sound that broke the quiet of the room, unless a sudden discussion arose about the book or the buffalo.

Something in the big eyes, bigger and blacker than ever in the thin white face fixed so steadily on one object had a sort of fascination for Mrs Jo after a time, and she watched the changes in them.

Curiously, for Dan's mind was evidently not on the story, and he often forgot to laugh or exclaim at the comic or exciting crisis.

Sometimes they were soft and wistful, and the watcher was very glad that neither damsel caught that dangerous look, for when they spoke, it vanished.

Sometimes it was full of eager fire, and the color came and went rebelliously, in spite of his attempt to hide it with an impatient gesture of hand or head.

But oftenest it was dark and sad and stern, as if those gloomy eyes looked out of captivity at some forbidden light or joy.

The expression came so often that it worried Mrs.

Jo, and she longed to go and ask him what bitter memory overshadowed those quiet hours.

She knew that his crime and its punishment must lie heavy on his mind, but youth and time and new hopes would bring comfort and help to wear away the first sharpness of the prison brand.

It lifted at other times and seemed almost forgotten when he joked with the boys, talked with old friends, or enjoyed the first snows as he drove out every fair day.

Why should the shadow always fall so darkly on him in the society of these innocent and friendly girls?

They never seemed to see it, and if either looked or spoke, a quick smile came like a sunburst through the clouds to answer them.

Some assist.

Joe went on watching, wondering and discovering, till accident confirmed her fears.

Josie was called away one day and, bess tired of working, offered to take her place if he cared for more reading.

I do.

Your reading suits me better than Joe's.

She goes so fast, my stupid head gets in a muddle and soon begins to ache.

Don't tell her.

She's a dear little soul and so good to sit here with a bear like me.

The smile was ready as bess went to the table for a new book, the last story being finished.

You are not a bear, but very good and patient.

We think it is always hard for a man to be shut up, Mama says, and must be terrible for you, who have always been so free.

If Bess had not been reading titles, she would have seen Dan shrink, as if her last words hurt him.

He made no answer, but other eyes saw and understood why.

He looked as if he would like to spring up and rush away for one of his long races up the hill, as he used to do when the longing for liberty grew uncontrollable.

Moved by sudden impulse, Mrs.

Jo caught up her work basket and went to join her neighbors, feeling that a non conductor might be needed, for Dan looked like a thundercloud full of electricity.

What shall we read, Auntie?

Dan doesn't seem to care.

You know his taste.

Tell me something quiet and pleasant and short.

Josie will be back soon, said Beth, still turning over the books piled on the center table.

Before Mrs.

Jo could answer, Dan pulled a shabby little volume from under his pillow and handing it to her, said, please read the third one.

It's short and pretty.

I'm fond of it.

The book opened at the right place, as if the third story had been often read, and Beth smiled as she saw the name.

My Dan, I shouldn't think you'd care for this romantic German tale.

There's fighting in it, but it is very sentimental.

If I remember it rightly, I know it, but I've read so few stories.

I like the simple ones best.

Had nothing else to read.

Sometimes I guess I know it all by heart and never seem to be tired of those fighting fellows and the fiends and angels and lovely ladies.

You read A Slug as night and see if you don't like it.

Edwald was rather too soft for my fancy, but Froda was first rate, and the spirit with the golden hair always reminded me of you.

Astan spoke, Mrs.

Jo settled herself where she could watch him in the glass, and Bess took a large chair facing him, saying as she put up her hands to retie the ribbon that held the cluster of thick, soft curls at the back of her head.

I hope Aslaga's hair wasn't as troublesome as mine, for it's always tumbling down.

I'll be ready in a minute.

Don't tie it up, please.

Let it hang.

I love to see it shine that way.

It will rest your head and be just right for the story.

Goldilocks, pleaded Dan, using a childish name and looking more like his boyish self than he had done for many a day.

Bess laughed, shook down her pretty hair and began to read, glad to hide her face a little.

Her compliments made her shy, no matter who paid them.

Dan listened intently on, and Mrs.

Jo with eyes that went often from her needle to the glass, could see without turning how he enjoyed every word as if it had more meaning for him than for the other listeners.

His face brightened wonderfully and soon wore the look that came when anything brave or beautiful inspired and touched his better self.

It was Folk's charming story of the night Froda and the fair daughter of Sigurd, who was a sort of spirit appearing to her lover in hours of danger and trial as well as triumph and joy till she became his guide and guard, inspiring him with courage, nobleness and truth, leading him to great deeds in the field, sacrifices for those he loved and victories over himself.

By the gleaming of her golden hair which shone on him in battle dreams and perils by day and night till after death he finds the lovely spirit waiting to receive and to reward him.

Of all the stories in the book, this was the last one would have supposed Dan would like best, and even Mrs.

Jo was surprised at is perceiving the moral of the tale through the delicate imagery and romantic language by which it was illustrated.

But as she looked and listened, she remembered the streak of sentiment and refinement which lay concealed in dan like the gold vein in a rock, making him quick to feel and to enjoy fine color in a flower grace.

In an animal sweetness in women, heroism in men, and all the tender ties that bind heart to heart.

Though he was slow to show it, having no words to express the tastes and instincts which he inherited from his mother.

Suffering of soul and body had tamed his stronger passions, and the atmosphere of love and pity now surrounding him purified and warmed his heart till it began to hunger for the food.

Neglected or denied so long this was plainly written in his too expressive face, as fancying it unseen, he let it tell the longing after beauty, peace and happiness embodied for him in the innocent, fair girl before him.

The conviction of this sad yet natural fact came to Mrs.

Jo with a pang, for she felt how utterly hopeless such a longing was since light and darkness were not further apart than Snow white bess and sin stained Dan.

No dream of such a thing disturbed the young girl as her entire unconsciousness plainly showed.

But how long would it be before the eloquent eyes betrayed the truth?

And then, what disappointment for Dan.

What dismay for Bess, who was as cool and high and pure as her own marbles.

And Shandal thought of love with maidenly reserve.

How hard everything is made for my poor boy.

How can I spoil his little dream and take away the spirit of good he's beginning to love and long for?

When my own dear lads are safely settled, I'll never try another, for these things are heartbreaking and I can't manage anymore, thought Mrs.

Jo as she put the lining into Teddy's coat sleeve upside down.

So perplexed and grieved was she at this new catastrophe.

The story was soon done, and as Beth shook back her hair, Dan asked as eagerly as a boy, don't you like it?

Yes, it's very pretty, and I see the meaning of it.

But undeen was always my favorite.

Of course, that's like you.

Lilies and pearls and souls and pure water syndrome used to be mine.

But I took a fancy to this when I was rather down on my luck one time, and it did me good.

It was so cheerful and sort of spiritual in its meaning, you know.

Bess opened her blue eyes and wonder at this fancy of dance for anything spiritual.

But she only nodded, saying, some of the little songs are sweet and might be set to music.

Dan laughed.

I used to sing the last one to a tune of my own sometimes at sunset listening to celestial lays bending thy unclouded gaze on the pure and living light thou art blessed aslaga's night and I was, he added under his breath as he glanced towards the sunshine dancing on the wall.

This one suits you better now.

I'm glad to please him.

By her interest best read in her soft voice he'll fast, he'll fast.

Ye hero wounds, o knight, be quickly strong, beloved strife for fame and life o Terry, not too long.

I'm no hero, never can be and fame and life can't do much for me.

Never mind.

Read me that paper, please.

This knock on the head has made a regular fool of me.

Man's voice was gentle, but the light was gone out of his face now and he moved restlessly, as if the silken pillows were full of thorns.

Seeing that his mood had changed, Beth quietly put down the book, took up the paper and glanced along the columns for something to suit him.

You don't care for the money market, I know, nor musical news.

Here's a murder.

Used to like those.

Shall I read it?

One man kills another.

No, only a word.

But it gave Mrs.

Joe a thrill, and for a moment she dared not glance at the telltale mirror.

When she did, Dan lay motionless with one hand over his eyes, and Bess was happily reading the art news to ears that never heard a word.

Feeling like a thief who has stolen something very precious, mrs.

Jo slipped away to her study, and before long Bess followed to report that Dan was fast asleep, sending her home with the firm resolve to keep her there as much as possible.

Mother bear had an hour of serious thought, all alone in the red sunset.

And when a sound in the next room led her there, she found that the feigned sleep had become real repose.

For Dan lay breathing heavily with a scarlet spot on either cheek and one hand clenched on his broad breast, yearning over him with a deeper pity than ever before.

She sat in the little chair beside him, trying to see her way out of this tangle till his hand slipped down, and in doing so snapped a cord he wore about his neck and let a small case drop to the floor.

Mrs Jo picked it up and as he did not wake, sat looking at it, idly, wondering what charm it held, for the case was of Indian workmanship, and the broken cord of closely woven grass, sweet scented and pale yellow.

I won't pry into any more of the poor fellow's secrets.

I'll mend and put it back and never let him know I've seen his talisman.

She spoke.

She turned the little wallet to examine the fracture and a card fell into her lap.

It was a photograph cut to fit its covering, and two words were written underneath the face maya Slaga.

For an instant, Mrs Jo fancied that it might be one of herself, for all the boys had them.

But as the thin paper fell away, she saw the picture Demi took of Bess that happy summer day.

There was no doubt now.

And with a sigh, she put it back and was about to slip it into Dan's bosom so that not even a stitch should betray her knowledge, when as she leaned towards him, she saw that he was looking straight at her with an expression that surprised her more than any of the strange ones she had ever seen in that changeful face before.

Your hand slipped down.

It fell.

I was putting it back, explained Mrs Jo, feeling like a naughty child caught in mischief.

You saw the picture?

Yes.

And you know what a fool I am.

Yes, Dan.

And I'm so grieved.

Don't worry about me, I'm all right.

Glad you know, though I never meant to tell you.

Of course, it is only a crazy fancy of mine and nothing can ever come of it.

Never thought there would.

Good Lord.

What could that little angel ever be to me but what she is a sort of dream of all that's sweet and good, more afflicted by the quiet resignation of his look and tone than by the most passionate arger.

Mrs Jo could only say with a face full of sympathy, it is very hard, dear, but there's no other way to look at it.

You are wise and brave enough to see that, and to let the secret be ours alone.

I swear I will.

Not a word nor look, if I can help it.

No one guesses.

And if it troubles no one, is there any harm in my keeping this and taking comfort in the pretty fancy that kept me sane in that cursed place?

Dan's face was eager now, and he hid away the little worn case as if defying any hand to take it from him.

Anxious to know everything before giving counsel or comfort, mrs Jo said quietly, keep it and tell me all about the fancy.

Since I've stumbled on your secret, let me know how it came and how I can help to make it lighter to bear you.

Don't laugh, but I don't mind.

You always did find out our secrets and give us a lift.

Well, I never cared much for books, you know, but down yonder, when the devil tormented me, I had to do something or go stark mad.

So I read both the books you gave me.

One was beyond me till that good old man showed me how to read it.

But the other one, this one was a comfort, I tell you.

It amused me and was as pretty as poetry.

I liked them all, and most wore out syndrome.

See how used up he is?

Then I came to this, and it sort of fitted that other happy part of my life last summer.

Here Dan stopped a moment as the words lingered on his lips.

Then with a long breath, he went on as if it was hard to lay bare, the foolish little romance he had woven about a girl, a picture and a child's story there in the darkness of the place, which was as terrible to him as Dante's Inferno till he found his Beatrice.

I couldn't sleep and had to think about something, so I used to fancy I was Folko and see the shining of a sauga's hair in the sunset on the wall, the gum of the watchman's lamp, and the light that came in at dawn.

My cell was high.

I could see a bit of sky.

Sometimes there was a star in it, and that was most as good as a face.

I set great store by that patch of blue, and when a white cloud went by, I thought it was the prettiest thing in all this world.

I guess I was pretty near a fool.

But those thoughts and things helped me through.

They're all solemn true to me, and I can't let them go.

The dear, shiny head, the white gown, the eyes like stars, and sweet, calm ways that set her as high above me as the moon in heaven.

Don't take it away.

It's only a fancy.

But a man must love something, and I'd better love a spirit like her than any of the poor common girls who would care for me.

The quiet despair in Dan's voice pierced Mrs.

Jo to the heart, but there was no hope, and she gave none.

Yet she felt that he was right and that his hapless affection might do more to uplift and purify him than any other he might know.

Few women would care to marry Dan now, except such as would hinder not help him in the struggle, which life would always be to him.

And it was better to go solitary to his grave than become what she suspected his father had been a handsome, unprincipled, and dangerous man with more than one broken heart to answer for.

Yes, Dan, it is wise to keep this innocent fancy if it helps and comforts you till something more real and possible comes to make you happier.

I wish I could give you any hope, but we both know that the dear child is the apple of her father's eye, the pride of her mother's heart, and that the most perfect lover they can find will hardly seem to them worthy of their precious daughter.

Let her remain for you the high bright star that leads you up and makes you believe in heaven.

Mrs.

Jo broke down there.

It seemed so cruel to destroy the faint hope Dan's eyes betrayed that she could not moralize when she thought of his hard life and lonely future.

Perhaps it was the wisest thing she could have done for inner hearty sympathy.

He found comfort for his own loss and very soon was able to speak again in the manly tone of resignation to the inevitable.

That showed how honest was his effort to give up everything but the pale shadow of what for another might have been a happy possibility.

They talked long and earnestly in the twilight, and the second secret bound them closer than the first, for in it there was neither sin nor shame, only the tender pain and patience which has made saints and heroes far worse men than our poor Dan.

When at length they rose at the summons of a bell, all the sunset glory had departed, and in the wintry sky there hung one star, large, soft and clear, above a snowy world.

Pausing at the window before she dropped the curtains, Mrs.

Jo said cheerfully come and see how beautiful the evening star is, since you love it so.

As he stood behind her, tall and pale like the ghost of his former self, she added softly and remember, dear, if the sweet girl is denied you, the old friend is always here to love and trust and pray for you.

This time she was not disappointed, and had she asked any reward, for many anxieties and cares she received it when Dan's strong arm came round her, as he said in a voice which showed her that she had not labored in vain to pluck her firebrand from the burning.

I never can forget that, for she's helped to save my soul and make me dare to look up there and say God bless her.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

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