d!" cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the mood to
understand and value the little story as never before.

"He wasn't rich, was he?" asked Jack.

"No."

"He never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?"

"No."

"He was only good?"

"That's all;" and Franz found himself wishing that Uncle John had done
something to boast of, for it was evident that Jack was disappointed by
his replies.

"Only good. That is all and every thing," said Mr. Bhaer, who had
overheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the minds of
the lads.

"Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why men
honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than rich or
famous. He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so cheerfully,
so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and happy through
poverty and loneliness and years of hard work. He was a good son, and
gave up his own plans to stay and live with his mother while she needed
him. He was a good friend, and taught Laurie much beside his Greek and
Latin, did it unconsciously, perhaps, by showing him an example of an
upright man. He was a faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to
those who employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place.
He was a good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that
Laurie and I learned much of him, and only knew how well he loved his
family, when we discovered all he had done for them, unsuspected and
unassisted."

Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the
moonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice: "As
he lay dying, I said to him, 'Have no care for Meg and the little ones;
I will see that they never want.' Then he smiled and pressed my hand,
and answered, in his cheerful way, 'No need of that; I have cared for
them.' And so he had, for when we looked among his papers, all was in
order, not a debt remained; and safely put away was enough to keep Meg
comfortable and independent. Then we knew why he had lived so plainly,
denied himself so many pleasures, except that of charity, and worked
so hard that I fear he shortened his good life. He never asked help for
himself, though often for others, but bore his own burden and worked
out his own task bravely and quietly. No one can say a word of complaint
against him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when he is
gone, all find so much to love and praise