“Hear! hear!” cried Mr. Bhaer.
“Speech! speech!” added Mrs. Jo.
“Can’t, I’m too bashful. You give them a lecture yourself—you are used to it,” Mr. Laurie answered, retreating towards the window, meaning to escape. But she held him fast, and said, laughing as she looked at the dozen pairs of dirty hands about her,—
“If I did lecture, it would be on the chemical and cleansing properties of soap. Come now, as the founder of the institution, you really ought to give us a few moral remarks, and we will applaud tremendously.”
Seeing that there was no way of escaping, Mr. Laurie looked up at Polly hanging overhead, seemed to find inspiration in the brilliant old bird, and sitting down upon the table, said, in his pleasant way,—
“There is one thing I’d like to suggest, boys, and that is, I want you to get some good as well as much pleasure out of this. Just putting curious or pretty things here won’t do it; so suppose you read up about them, so that when anybody asks questions you can answer them, and understand the matter. I used to like these things myself, and should enjoy hearing about them now, for I’ve forgotten all I once knew. It wasn’t much, was it, Jo? Here’s Dan now, full of stories about birds, and bugs, and so on; let him take care of the museum, and once a week the rest of you take turns to read a composition, or tell about some animal, mineral, or vegetable. We should all like that, and I think it would put considerable useful knowledge into our heads. What do you say, Professor?”
“I’d like it much, and will give the lads all the help I can. But they will need books to read up these new subjects, and we have not many, I fear,” began Mr. Bhaer, looking much pleased, and planning many fine lectures on geology, which he liked. “We should have a library for the special purpose.”
“Is that a useful sort of book, Dan?” asked Mr. Laurie, pointing to the volume that lay open by the cabinet.
“Oh, yes! it tells all I want to know about insects. I had it here to see how to fix the butterflies right. I covered it, so it is not hurt;” and Dan caught it up, fearing the lender might think him careless.
“Give it here a minute;” and, pulling out his pencil, Mr. Laurie wrote Dan’s name in it, saying, as he set the book up on one of the corner shelves, where nothing stood but a stuffed bird without a tail, “There, that is the beginning of the museum library. I’ll hunt up some more books, and Demi shall keep them in order. Where are those jolly little books we used to read, Jo? ‘Insect Architecture’ or some such name,—all about ants having battles, and bees having queens, and crickets eating holes in our clothes and stealing milk, and larks of that sort.”