Маленькие мужчины / Little men. Уровень 4

When she saw Nat she felt at once that here was a lonely, sick boy who needed just what she loved to give, a home and motherly care. Both she and Mr. Bhaer observed him quietly; and in spite of ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, they saw much about Nat that pleased them. He was a thin, pale boy, of twelve, with blue eyes, and a good forehead under the rough, neglected hair; an anxious, scared face and a sensitive mouth that trembled when a kind glance fell on him.

“He will fiddle all day long if he likes,” said Mrs.

Bhaer to herself, as she saw the eager, happy expression on his face when Tommy talked of the band.

So, after supper, Mrs. Jo appeared with a violin in her hand, and went to Nat, who sat in a corner.

“Now, my lad, we want a violin in our band, and I think you will do it nicely.”

He seized the old fiddle at once, and handled it with care. Music was his passion.

“I’ll do the best I can, ma’am,” was all he said; and then drew the bow across the strings.

There was a great clatter in the room. Nat played softly to himself, forgetting everything in his delight. It was only a simple melody, such as street-musicians play, but it caught the ears of the boys at once, and silenced them. They stood listening with surprise and pleasure. Gradually they got nearer and nearer, and Mr. Bhaer came up to watch the boy. Nat’s eyes shone, his cheeks reddened, and his thin fingers flew.

A hearty round of applause rewarded him, when he stopped.

“You do that very well,” cried Tommy, who considered Nat his protege.

“You will be the first fiddle in my band,” added Franz, with an approving smile.

Mrs. Bhaer whispered to her husband:

“Teddy is right: there’s something in the child.”

Mr. Bhaer nodded his head emphatically, as he clapped Nat on the shoulder, saying, heartily:

“You play well, my son. Come now and play something which we can sing.”

It was the proudest, happiest minute of the poor boy’s life when he was led to the place by the piano, and the lads gathered round.

They chose a song he knew; and soon violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices. It was too much for Nat. As the final shout died away, he dropped the fiddle, and turning to the wall sobbed like a little child.

“My dear, what is it?” asked Mrs. Bhaer, who was singing.

“You are all so kind and it’s so beautiful,” sobbed Nat, coughing till he was breathless.