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- LITTLE WOMEN by LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
-
-
- This text was digitized (typed by hand) by
-
- Ted & Florence Daniel
- New Wave Publishers
- 2103 N. Liberty Street
- Portland OR 97217-4971
- BBS: (503) 286-5577
-
- This text is in the public domain.
-
-
-
- FORWARD
-
- LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 1832-1888
-
- Louisa May Alcott's novel brings to life vividly the life
- of New England during the nineteenth century. A life that
- was tranquil, secure, and productive.
-
- It is little wonder, for she drew on her own and on her
- family's experiences for her work. As one of four daughters
- growing up in Boston.
-
- At the age of eight, she moved with her family to nearby
- Concord. There she spent the happiest years of her younger
- life, even though she experienced the constant threat of pov-
- erty.
-
- She counted as friends the children of Hawthorne and Em-
- erson. The Alcott was only a modest cottage, but the girls
- made use of a neighboring barn to perform plays written by
- Louisa May.
-
- She was educated at home, and became a school teacher in
- Boston. She saw her first story printed in a Boston newspaper
- at the age of twenty. Her first full-length book appeared
- two years later.
-
- Interrupting her career as a writer,she served as a nurse
- in a Washington hospital during the Civil War.
-
- The thing that pleased her most about her writing, as she
- became more and more well known, was the fact that sales of her
- books helped to make life more comfortable and less of a daily
- struggle for her parents in their later years.
-
- LITTLE WOMEN was published in 1869, and has gone on to be-
- come one of America's classics.
-
- This copy of LITTLE WOMEN has been transposed to disk and
- is supplied by NEW WAVE PUBLISHERS, 2103 N. LIBERTY STREET,
- PORTLAND, OR 97217-4971
-
- UPLOADED FROM ELVIRA'S PINNACLE CLUB 286-5577 7 AM - 10 PM
-
-
-
-
- LITTLE WOMEN
-
- c 1869 by
-
- Louisa May Alcott
-
-
- CHAPTER ONE
-
- "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled
- Jo, lying on the rug.
-
- "It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at
- her old dress.
-
- "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of
- pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy,
- with an injured sniff.
-
- "We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth
- contentedly from her corner.
-
- The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened
- at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, "We
- haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time." She
- didn't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking
- of Father far away, where the fighting was.
-
- Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone,
- "You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this
- Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone;
- and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when
- our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much,but we can
- make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am
- afraid I don't" And Meg shook her head,as she thought regretfully
- of all the pretty things she wanted.
-
- "But I don't think the little we should spend would do any
- good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped
- by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or
- you, but I do want to buy UNDINE AND SINTRAM for myself. I've
- wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a bookworm.
-
- "I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a
- little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle
- holder.
-
- "I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I
- really need them," said Amy decidedly.
-
- "Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't
- wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and
- have a little fun. I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried
- Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.
-
- "I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all
- day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the
- complaining tone again.
-
- "You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo.
- "How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy
- old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries
- you till you you're ready to fly out the window or cry?"
-
- "It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and
- keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me
- cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all."
- And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could
- hear that time.
-
- "I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for
- you don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague
- you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and
- label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose
- isn't nice."
-
- "If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as
- if Papa was a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.
-
- "I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it.
- It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,"
- returned Amy, with dignity.
-
- "Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we
- had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How
- happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who
- could remember better times.
-
- "You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier
- than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all
- the time, in spite of their money."
-
- "So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do
- have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly
- set, as Jo would say."
-
- "Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a
- reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.
-
- Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and
- began to whistle.
-
- "Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!"
-
- "That's why I do it."
-
- "I detest rude, unladylike girls!"
-
- "I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"
-
- "Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the
- peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices
- softened to a laugh, and the "pecking" ended for that time.
-
- "Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg,
- beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion."You are old
- enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better,
- Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were a little
- girl, but now you are so tall,and turn up your hair, you should
- remember that you are a young lady."
-
- "I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll
- wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off
- her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. "I hate to think
- I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns,
- and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough to be a
- girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners! I
- can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's
- worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa.
- And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!"
-
- And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled
- like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.
-
- "Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you
- must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and
- playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough
- head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the
- world could not make ungentle in its touch.
-
- "As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether
- to particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll
- grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I
- I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when
- you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad
- as Jo's slang."
-
- "If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?"
- asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.
-
- "You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly,
- and no one contradicted her, for the `Mouse' was the pet of the
- family.
-
- As young readers like to know `how people look', we will
- take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four
- sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the
- December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled
- cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room,though the carpet
- was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or
- two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums
- and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmos-
- phere of home peace pervaded it.
-
- Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty,
- being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a
- sweet mouth, and white hands,of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-
- year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a
- colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs,
- which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical
- nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and
- were by turns fierce,funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair
- was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be
- out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a fly-
- away look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a
- girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it.
- Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-
- haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid
- voice, and a ;peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her
- father called her `Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suited
- her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her
- own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.
- Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own
- opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and
- yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always
- carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What
- the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found
- out.
-
- The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth
- put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old
- shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and
- everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and
- lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being asked,
- and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers
- nearer to the blaze.
-
- "They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair."
-
- "I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth.
-
- "No, I shall!" cried Amy.
-
- "I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided,
- "I'm the man of the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide
- the slippers, for he told me to take special care of Mother while
- he was gone."
-
- "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth, "let's each get her
- something for Christmas,land not get anything for ourselves."
-
- "That's like you, dear! What will we get?" exclaimed Jo.
-
- Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as
- if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I
- shall give her a nice pair of gloves."
-
- "Army shoes, best to be had," cried Jo.
-
- "Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said Beth.
-
- "I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it
- won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," added
- Amy.
-
- "How will we give the things?" asked Meg.
-
- "Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open
- the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birth-
- days?" answered Jo.
-
- "I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the
- chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to
- give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses,
- but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened
- the bundles," said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread
- for tea at the same time.
-
- "Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and
- then surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg.
- There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said
- Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her
- nose in the air.
-
- "I don't mean to act any more after this time. I'm getting
- too old for such things," observed Meg, who was as much a child
- as ever about `dressing-up' frolics.
-
- "You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a
- white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You
- are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of every-
- thing if you quit the boards," said Jo. "We ought to rehearse
- tonight. Come here,Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as
- stiff as a poker in that."
-
- "I can't help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose
- to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I
- can go down easily, I'll drop. If I can't, I shall fall into a
- chair and be graceful. I don't care if Hugo does come at me with
- a pistol," returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power,
- but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking
- by the villain of the piece.
-
- "Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the
- room, crying frantically, `Roderigo` Save me! Save me! and away
- went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.
-
- Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her,
- and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her "Ow!"
- was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and
- anguish. Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright,
- while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun with interest.
-
- "It's no use! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if
- the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come on, Meg."
-
- "Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in
- a speech of two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch,
- chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads,
- with weird effect. Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and
- Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild,"Ha! Ha!"
-
- "It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead villain
- sat up and rubbed his elbows.
-
- "I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things,
- Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed Beth, who firmly
- believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all
- things.
-
- "Not quite," replied Jo modestly. "I do think THE WITCHES CURSE,
- an Operatic Tragedy is rather a nice thing, but I'd like to try
- McBETH, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to
- do the killing part. `Is that a dagger that I see before me?"
- muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had
- seen a famous tragedian do.
-
- "No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead
- of the bread. Beth's stage-struck!" cried Meg, and the rehearsal
- ended in a general burst of laughter.
-
- "Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at
- the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly
- lady with a `can I help you' look about her which was truly delightful.
- She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the
- girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most
- splendid mother in the world.
-
- "Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much to
- do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't come home
- to dinner. Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo,
- you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby."
-
- While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet
- things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy
- chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour
- of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things
- comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo
- brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning,and clattering
- everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro between parlor
- kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as
- she sat with her hands folded.
-
- As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a
- particularly happy face, "I've got a treat for you after supper."
-
- A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine.
- Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held,and
- Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, "A letter! A letter! Three
- cheers for Father!"
-
- "Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall
- get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all
- sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message
- to you girls," said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she
- had got a treasure there.
-
- "Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger
- and simper over your plate, Amy," cried Jo, choking on her tea
- and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet in her
- haste to get at the treat.
-
- Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner
- and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.
-
- "I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain
- when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for
- a soldier," said Meg warmly.
-
- "Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan--what's its
- name? Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him," exclaimed
- Jo, with a groan.
-
- "It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat
- all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,"
- sighed Amy.
-
- "When will he come home, Marmee? asked Beth, with a little
- quiver in her voice.
-
- "Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay
- and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask
- for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and
- hear the letter."
-
- They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth
- at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and
- Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion
- if the letter should happen to be touching. Very few letters were
- written in those hard times that were not touching, especially
- those which fathers sent home. In this one little was said of the
- hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness con-
- quered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descrip-
- tions of camp life, marches, and military news, and only at the end
- did the writer's heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing for
- the little girls at home.
-
- " Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think
- of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort
- in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait
- before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all
- work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will
- remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to
- you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely,
- and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back to them
- I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."
-
- Everybody sniffed when they came to that part. Jo wasn't
- ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and
- Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on
- her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfish girl! But
- I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in me
- by-and-by."
-
- We all will," cried Meg. "I think too much of my looks and
- hate to work, but won't any more, if I can help it."
-
- "I'll try and be what he loves to call me, `a little woman'
- and not be rough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting
- to be somewhere else," said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper
- at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down South.
-
- Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army
- sock and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing
- the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet
- little soul to be all that Father hoped to find her when the year
- brought round the happy coming home.
-
- Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by
- saying in her cheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play
- Pilgrims Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted
- you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens,
- give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel
- through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction,
- up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you
- could collect to make a Celestial City."
-
- "What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting
- Apollyon, and passing through the valley where the hob-goblins
- were," said Jo.
-
- "I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled
- downstairs," said Meg.
-
- "I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of
- the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk
- we had up at the top. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd
- rather like to play it over again," said Amy, who began to talk
- of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve.
-
- "We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play
- we are playing all the time in one way or another. Out burdens are
- here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and
- happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mis-
- takes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little
- pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest,
- and see how far on you can get before Father comes home."
-
- "Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?" asked Amy, who was
- a very literal young lady.
-
- "Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth.
- I rather think she hasn't got any," said her mother.
-
- "Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls
- with nice pianos, and being afraid of people."
-
- Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to
- laugh, but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very
- much.
-
- "Let us do it," said Meg thoughtfully. "It is only another
- name for trying to be good, and the story may help us, for though
- we do want to be good, it's hard work and we forget, and don't do
- our best."
-
- "We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came
- and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our
- roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that?"
- asked Jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to
- the very dull task of doing her duty.
-
- "Look under your pillows christmas morning, and you will
- find your guidebook," replied Mrs. March.
-
- They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the
- table, then out came the four little work baskets, and the needles
- flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting
- sewing, but tonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of
- dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters
- Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally,
- especially when they talked about the different countries as they
- stitched their way through them.
-
- At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they
- went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old
- piano, but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys and
- making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg
- had a voice like a flute, and she and herr mother led the little
- choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs
- at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a
- croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune. They had
- always done this from the time they could lisp . . .
-
- Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar,
-
- and it had become a household custom,, for the mother was a born
- singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice as she went
- about the house singing like a lark, and the last sound at night
- was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for
- that familiar lullaby.
-
-
- CHAPTER TWO
-
- Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morn-
- ing. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she
- felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little
- sock fell down because it was crammed so full of goodies. Then
- she remembered her mother's promise and, slipping her hand under
- her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew
- it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best
- life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for
- any pilgrim going on a long journey. She woke Meg with a "Merry
- Christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-
- covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few
- words written by their mother, which made their one present very
- precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage
- and find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other
- blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the
- east grew rosy with the coming day.
-
- In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and
- pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, espec-
- ially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because
- her advice was so gently given.
-
- "Girls," said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head
- beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond,
- "Mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we
- must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it, but since
- Father went away and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have
- neglected many things. You can do as you please, but I shall keep
- my book on the table here and read a little every morning as soon
- as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through the
- day."
-
- Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her
- arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the
- quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.
-
- "How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll
- help you with the hard words, and they'' explain things if we
- don't understand," whispered Beth, very much impressed by the
- pretty books and her sisters, example.
-
- "I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy. and then the rooms were
- very still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter
- sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces
- with a Christmas greeting.
-
- "Where is Mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to
- thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.
-
- "Goodness only knows. some poor creeter came a-beggin', and
- your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was
- such a woman for givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin',"
- replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born,
- and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.
-
- "She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have
- everything ready," said Meg, looking over the presents which were
- collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be pro-
- duced at the proper time. "why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?"
- she added, as the little flask did not appear.
-
- "She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a
- ribbon on it, or some such notion," replied Jo, dancing about the
- room to take the first stiffness off the new army slippers.
-
- "How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed
- and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself," said Beth,
- looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her
- such labor.
-
- "Bless the child! She's gone and put `Mother' on them in-
- stead of `M. March'. How funny!" cried Jo, taking one up.
-
- "Isn't that right? I thought it was better to do it so,
- because Meg's initials are M.M., and I don't want anyone to use
- these but Marmee," said Beth;, looking troubled.
-
- "It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible
- too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much,
- I know," said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.
-
- "There's Mother. Hide the basket, quick!" cried Jo, as a door
- slammed and steps sounded in the hall.
-
- Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw
- her sisters all waiting for her.
-
- "Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?"
- asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy
- had been out so early.
-
- "Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean anyone should know till
- the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big
- one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not
- to be selfish any more."
-
- As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced
- the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little
- effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo
- pronounced her `a trump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked
- her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.
-
- "You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking
- about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed
- it the minute I was up, and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest
- now."
-
- Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa,
- and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.
-
- "Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our
- books. We read some, and mean to every day," they all cried in
- chorus.
-
- "Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at
- once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word
- before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman
- with a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled into one bed
- to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to
- eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffer-
- ing hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast
- as a Christmas present?"
-
- They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour,
- and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed im-
- petuously, "I'm so glad you came before we began!"
-
- "May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?"
- asked Beth eagerly.
-
- "I shall take the cream and the muffings," added Amy, heroically
- giving up the article she most liked.
-
- Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread
- into one big plate.
-
- "I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied.
- "You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread
- and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime."
-
- They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately
- it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw
- them, and no one laughed at the queer party.
-
- A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no
- fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group
- of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to
- keep warm.
-
- How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls
- went in.
-
- "Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!" said the poor
- woman, crying for joy.
-
- "Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and set them to
- laughing.
-
- In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been
- at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and
- stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs.
- March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises
- of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had
- been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children
- round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing,
- talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.
-
- "Das ist gut!" "Die Engel-kinder!" cried the poor things as
- they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze.
-
- The girls had never been called angel children before, and
- thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered
- a `Sancho' ever since she was born. That was a very happy break-
- fast, though they didn't get any of it. And when they went away,
- leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city
- four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away
- their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk
- on Christmas morning.
-
- "That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I
- like it," said Meg, as they set out their presents while their
- mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.
-
- Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of
- love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall vase of
- red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which
- stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table.
-
- "She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three
- cheers for Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to
- conduct Mother to the seat of honor.
-
- Beth played her gayest march, amy threw open the door, and
- Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both
- surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she
- examined her presents and read the little notes which accompanied
- them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped
- into her pocket, well scented with Amy's cologne, the rose was
- fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a perfect
- fit.
-
- There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining,
- in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so
- pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and
- then all fell to work.
-
- The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that
- the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening
- festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theater,
- and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private per-
- formances, the girls put their wits to work, and necessity being
- the mother of invention, made whatever they needed. Very clever
- were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars, antique lamps
- made of old-fashioned butter boats covered with silver paper,
- gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from
- a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond
- shaped bits left inn sheets when the lids of preserve pots were
- cut out. The big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels.
-
- No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her
- heart's content and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet
- leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an
- actor. These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used
- by an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures and
- appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the company made it
- necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts
- apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work
- they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in
- and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It
- was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and
- employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely,
- or spent in less profitable society.
-
- On christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which
- was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz
- curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a
- good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle
- of lamp smoke,and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to
- get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell
- sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the OPERATIC TRAGEDY began.
-
- "A gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was repre-
- sented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a
- cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes horse
- for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in
- full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over
- it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine
- effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the
- witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first
- thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a
- clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mys-
- terious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much
- agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild
- strain, singing of his hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara,
- and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other.
- The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when
- his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience
- applauded the moment he paused for breath. bowing with the air
- of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and
- ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding, "What ho, minion!
- I need thee!"
-
- Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face,
- a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her
- cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one
- destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised
- both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the
- love philter.
-
- Hither, hither,from thy home,
- Airy sprite, I bid thee come!
- Born of roses, fed on dew,
- Charms and potions canst thou brew?
- Bring me here, with elfin speed,
- The fragrant philter which I need.
- Make it sweet and swift and strong,
- Spirit, answer now my song!
-
- A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the
- cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering
- wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving
- a wand, it sang . . .
-
- Hither I come,
- From my airy home,
- Afar in the silver moon.
- Take the magic spell,
- And use it well,
- Or its power will vanish soon!
-
- And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the
- spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition,
- not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and,
- having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared
- with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions
- in his boots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that
- as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed
- him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then
- the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while dis-
- cussing the merits of the play.
-
- A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again,
- but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery
- had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb.
- A tower rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a
- lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in
- a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in
- gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a
- guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower,
- he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a
- musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of
- the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it,
- threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept
- from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was
- about to leap gracfully down when "Alas! Alas for Zara!" she
- forgot her train. It caught in the window, the tower tottered,
- leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers
- in the ruins.
-
- A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly
- from the wreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you
- so! I told you so!" With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro,
- the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty
- aside . . .
-
- "Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!" and, ordering
- Roderigo up, banished him form the kingdom with wrath and scorn.
- Though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him,
- Roderigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir. This
- dauntless example fired Zara. She also defied her sire, and he
- ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout
- little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very
- much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to
- have made.
-
- Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having
- come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and
- hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the
- the timid little servant, "Bear them to the captives in their cells,
- and tell them I shall come anon." The servant takes Hugo aside to
- tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others which
- are harmless. Ferdinando, the `minion', carries them away, and
- Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo.
- Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits,
- and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies,
- while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite
- power and melody.
-
- This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might
- have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red
- hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called
- before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar,
- whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the
- performance put together.
-
- Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of
- stabbing himself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him.
- Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his
- window, informing him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can
- save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door,
- and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away
- to find and rescue his lady love.
-
- Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro.
- He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and
- after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in
- and demands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich.
- They shout and gesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rod-
- rigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid
- servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has myster-
- iously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeths
- untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if
- he doesn't make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of
- tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with
- the glitter. This entirely softens the stern sire. He consents
- without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls
- upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes
- of the most romantic grace.
-
- Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check,
- for the cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut
- up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don
- Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many
- were speechless with laughter. the excitement had hardly subsided
- when Hannah appeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the
- ladies walk down to supper."
-
- This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the
- table, they looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was
- like Marmee to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine
- as this was unheard of since the departed days of plenty. There was
- ice cream, actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and
- fruit and distracting french bonbons and, in the middle of the
- table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers.
-
- It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the
- table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it
- immensely.
-
- "Is it fairies?" asked Amy.
-
- "Santa Claus," said Beth.
-
- "Mother did it." And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her
- gray beard and white eyebrows.
-
- "Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper," cried Jo, with
- a sudden inspiration.
-
- "All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it," replied Mrs. March.
-
- "The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a
- thing into his head? We don't know him!' exclaimed Meg.
-
- "Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party.
- He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father
- years ago, and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he
- hoped I would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my
- children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day. I
- could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make
- up for the bread-and-milk breakfast."
-
- "That boy; put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital
- fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd
- like to know us but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let
- me speak to him when we pass," said Jo, as the plates went round,
- and the ice began to melt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction.
-
- "You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't
- you?" asked one of the girls. "My mother knows old Mr. Laurence,
- but says he's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors.
- He keeps his grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with
- his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited him to our
- party, but he didn't come. Mother says he's very nice, though he
- never speaks to us girls."
-
- "Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we
- talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally, all about
- cricket, and so on, when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I
- mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, I'm sure he does,"
- said Jo decidedly.
-
- "I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so
- I've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes.
- He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if
- I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful
- as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of
- his own."
-
- "It's a mercy you didn't , Mother!" laughed Jo, looking at
- her boots. "But we'll have another play sometime that he can
- see. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly?"
-
- "I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!"
- And Meg examined her flowers with great interest.
-
- "They are lovely. But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said
- Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.
-
- Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I
- could send my bunch to Father. I'm afraid he isn't having such
- a merry Christmas as we are."
-
-
- CHAPTER THREE
-
- "Jo! Jo! Where are you?" cried Meg at the foot of the garret
- stairs.
-
- "Here!" answered a husky voice from above, and, running up,
- Meg found her sister eating apples and crying over the HEIR OF
- REDCLYFFE, wrapped up in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa
- by the sunny window. This was Jo's favorite refuge, and here she
- loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy
- the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by and didn't
- mind her a particle. As Meg appeared, Scrabble whisked into his
- hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hear the news.
-
- "Such fun! Only see! A regular note of invitation from Mrs.
- Gardiner for tomorrow night!" cried Meg, waving the precious paper
- and then proceeding to read it with girlish delight.
-
- "`Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Jo-
- sephine at a little dance on New Year's Eve.' Marmee is willing we
- should go, now what shall we wear?"
-
- "What's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear
- our poplins, because we haven't got anything else?" answered Jo
- with her mouth full.
-
- "If I only had a silk!" sighed Meg. "Mother says I may when
- I'm eighteen perhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait."
-
- "I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for
- us. Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in
- mine. Whatever shall I do? The burn shows badly, and I can't take
- any out."
-
- "You must sit still all you can and keep your back out of sight.
- The front is all right. I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and
- Marmee will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are
- lovely, and my gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd like."
-
- "Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones,
- so I shall have to go without," said Jo, who never troubled herself
- much about dress.
-
- "You must have gloves, or I won't go," cried Meg decidedly.
- "Gloves are more important than anything else. You can't dance
- without them, and if you don't I should be so mortified."
-
- "Then I'll stay still. I don't care much for company dancing.
- It's no fun to go sailing round. I like to fly about and cut capers."
-
- "You can't ask Mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and
- you are so careless. She said when you spoiled the others that she
- shouldn't get you any more this winter. Can't you make them do?"
-
- "I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know
- how stained they are. That's all I can do. No! I'll tell you how
- we can manage, each wear one good one and carry a bad one. Don't
- you see?"
-
- "Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glove
- dreadfully," began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her.
-
- "Then I'll go without. I don't care what people say!" cried Jo,
- taking up her book.
-
- "You may have it, you may! Only don't stain it, and do behave
- nicely. Don't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say `Christopher
- Columbus!' will you?"
-
- "Don't worry about me. I'll be as prim ad I can and not get
- into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note,
- and let me finish this splendid story."
-
- So Meg went away to `accept with thanks', look over her dress,
- and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo
- finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with
- Scrabble.
-
- On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger
- girls played dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the
- all-important business of `getting ready for the party'. Simple
- as the toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down,
- laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair
- pervaded the house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo
- undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs.
-
- "Ought they to smoke like that?" asked Beth from her perch
- on the bed.
-
- "It's the dampness drying," replied Jo.
-
- "What a queer smell! It's like burned feathers," observed Amy,
- smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air.
-
- "There, now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud
- of little ringlets," said Jo, putting down the tongs.
-
- She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared,
- for the hair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser
- laid a row of little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim.
-
- "Oh, oh, oh! What have you done? I'm spoiled! I can't go! My
- hair, oh, my hair!" wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven
- frizzle on her forehead.
-
- "Just my luck! You shouldn't have asked me to do it. I always
- spoil everything. I'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so
- I've made a mess," groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black
- pancakes with tears of regret.
-
- "It isn't spoiled. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so
- the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the
- last fashion. I've seen many girls do it so," said Amy consolingly.
-
- "Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I'd let my hair
- alone," cried Meg petulantly.
-
- "So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow
- out again," said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.
-
- After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and
- by the united exertions of the entire family Jo's hair was got up
- and her dress on. They looked very well in their simple suits,
- Meg's in silvery drab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and
- the pearl pin. Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen
- collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament.
- Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, and
- all pronounced the effect "quite easy and fine". Meg's high-heeled
- slippers were very tight and hurt her, though she would not own it,
- and Jo's nineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head,
- which was not exactly comfortable, but, dear me, let us be elegant
- or die.
-
- "Have a good time, dearies!" said Mrs. March, as the sisters
- went daintily down the walk. "Don't eat much supper, and come
- away at eleven when I send Hannah for you." As the gate clashed
- behind them, a voice cried from a window . . .
-
- "Girls, girls! Have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?"
-
- "Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers," cried Jo,
- adding with a laugh as they went on, "I do believe Marmee would ask
- that if we were all running away from an earthquake.
-
- "It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a
- real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief,"
- replied Meg, who had a good many little `aristocratic tastes' of
- her own.
-
- "Now don't forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo.
- Is my sash right? And does my hair look very bad?" said Meg, as
- she turned from the glass in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing room after
- a prolonged prink.
-
- "I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong,
- just remind me by a wink, will you?" returned Jo, giving her
- collar a twitch and her head a hasty brush.
-
- "No, winking isn't ladylike. I'll lift my eyebrows if any
- thing is wrong, and nod if you are all right. Now hold your
- shoulder straight, and take short steps, and don't shake hands if
- you are introduced to anyone. It isn't the thing."
-
- "How do you learn all the proper ways? I never can. Isn't
- that music gay?"
-
- Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went
- to parties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an
- event to them. Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them
- kindly and handed them over to the eldest of her six daughters.
- Meg knew Sallie and was at her ease very soon, but Jo, who didn't
- care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back
- carefully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as a
- colt in a flower garden. Half a dozen jovial lads were talking
- about skates in another part of the room, and she longed to go and
- join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life. She tele-
- graphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrows went up so alarmingly
- that she dared not stir. No one came to talk to her, and one by
- one the group dwindled away till she was left alone. She could
- not roam about and amuse herself, for the burned breadth would
- show, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing
- began. Meg was asked at once, and the tight slippers tripped
- about so briskly that none would have guessed the pain their
- wearer suffered smilingly. Jo saw a big red headed youth
- approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engage her, she
- slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy
- herself in peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person had
- chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fell behind her,
- she found herself face to face with the `Laurence boy'.
-
- "Dear me, I didn't know anyone was here!" stammered Jo,
- preparing to back out as speedily as she had bounced in.
-
- But the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked
- a little startled, "Don't mind me, stay if you like."
-
- "Shan't I disturb you?"
-
- "Not a bit. I only came here because I don't know many
- people and felt rather strange at first, you know."
-
- "So did I. Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather."
-
- The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo
- said, trying to be polite and easy, "I think I've had the pleasure
- of seeing you before. You live near us, don't you?"
-
- "Next door." And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's
- prim manner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted
- about cricket when he brought the cat home.
-
- That put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in
- her heartiest way, "We did have such a good time over your nice
- Christmas present."
-
- "Grandpa sent it."
-
- "But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?"
-
- "How is your cat, Miss March?" asked the boy, trying to look
- sober while his black eyes shone with fun.
-
- "Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I'm
- only Jo," returned the young lady.
-
- "I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie."
-
- "Laurie Laurence, what an odd name."
-
- "My first name is theodore, but I don't like it, for the
- fellows called me Dora, so I made the say Laurie instead."
-
- "I hate my name, too, so sentimental! I wish every one would
- say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling
- you Dora?"
-
- "I thrashed `em."
-
- "I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear
- it." And Jo resigned herself with a sigh.
-
- "Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" asked Laurie, looking
- as if he thought the name suited her.
-
- "I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and every-
- one is lively. In a place like this I'm sure to upset something,
- tread on people's toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out
- of mischief and let Meg sail about. Don't you dance?"
-
- "Sometimes. You see I've been abroad a good many years, and
- haven't been into company enough yet to know how you do things here."
-
- "Abroad!." cried Jo. "Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to
- hear people describe their travels."
-
- Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin, but Jo's eager
- questions soon set him going, and he told her how he had been at
- school in Vevay, where the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of
- boats on the lake, and for holiday fun went on walking trips about
- Switzerland with their teachers.
-
- "Don't I wish I'd been there!" cried Jo. "Did you go to Paris?"
-
- "We spent last winter there."
-
- "Can you talk French?"
-
- "We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay."
-
- "Do say some! I can read it, but can't pronounce."
-
- "Quel nom a cetter jeune demoiselle en les pantoulles jolis?"
-
- "How nicely you do it! Let me see . . . you said, `Who is the
- young lady in the pretty slippers', didn't you?"
-
- "Oui, mademoiselle."
-
- "It's my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think
- she is pretty?"
-
- "Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so
- fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady."
-
- Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her
- sister, and stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and
- critisized and chatted till they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie's
- bashfulness soon wore off, for Jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and
- set him at his ease, and Jo was her merry self again, because her
- dress was forgotten and nobody lifted their eyebrows at her. She
- liked the `Laurence boy' better than ever and took several good
- looks at him, so that she might describe him to the girls, for they
- had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were almost unknown
- creatures to them.
-
- "Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose,
- fine teeth, small hands and feet, taller than I am, very polite,
- for a boy, and altogether jolly. Wonder how old he is?"
-
- It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask, but she checked
- herself in time and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a
- round-about way.
-
- "I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging
- away at your books, no, I mean studying hard." And Jo blushed
- at the dreadful `pegging' which had escaped her.
-
- Laurie smiled but didn't seem shocked, and answered with a
- shrug. "Not for a year or two. I won't go before seventeen,
- anyway."
-
- "Aren't you but fifteen?" asked Jo, looking at the tall lad,
- whom she had imagined seventeen already.
-
- "Sixteen, next month."
-
- "How I wish I was going to college! You don't look as if
- you liked it."
-
- "I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don't
- like the way fellows do either, in this country."
-
- "What do you like?"
-
- "To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way."
-
- Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his
- black brows looked rather threatening as he knit them, so she
- changed the subject by saying, as her foot kept time, "That's a
- splendid polka! Why don't you go and try it?"
-
- "If you will come too," he answered, with a gallant little bow.
-
- "I can't, for I told meg I wouldn't, because . . ." There Jo
- stopped, and looked undecided whether to tell or to laugh.
-
- "Because, what?"
-
- "You won't tell?"
-
- "Never!"
-
- "Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so
- I burn my frocks, and I scorched this one, and though it's nicely
- mended, it shows, and Meg told me to keep still so no one would
- see it. You may laugh, if you want to. It is funny, I know."
-
- But Laurie didn't laugh. He only looked dawn a minute, and
- the expression of his face puzzled Jo when he said very gently,
- "Never mind that. I'll tell you how we can manage. There's a long
- hall out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us.
- Please come."
-
- Jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves
- when she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The
- hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well,
- and taught her the German step, which delighted Jo,being full of
- swing and spring> When the music stopped, they sat down on the
- stairs to get their breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account
- of a students' festival at Heidelberg when Meg appeared in search of
- her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a
- side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and
- looking pale.
-
- "I've sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned and
- gave me a sad wrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don't
- know how I'm ever going to get home," she said, rocking to and fro
- in pain.
-
- "I knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly shoes. I'm
- sorry. But I don't see what you can do, except get a carriage, or
- stay here all night," answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as
- she spoke.
-
- "I can't have a carriage without its costing ever so much. I
- dare say I can't get one at all, for most people come in their own,
- and it's a long way to the stable, and no one to send."
-
- "I'll go."
-
- "No, indeed! It's past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can't stop
- here, for the house is full. Sallie has some girls staying with her.
- I'll rest till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can."
-
- "I'll ask Laurie. He will go," said Jo," looking relieved as
- the idea occurred to her.
-
- "Mercy, no! Don't ask or tell anyone. Get me my rubbers, and
- put these slippers with our things. I can't dance anymore, but as
- soon as supper is over, watch for Hannah and tell me the minute she
- comes."
-
- "They are going out to supper now. I'll stay with you. I'd
- rather."
-
- "No, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee. I'm so tired
- I can't stir."
-
- So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blund-
- ering away to the dining room, which she found after going into a
- china closet, and opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner
- was taking a little private refreshment. Making a dart at the
- table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilled,
- thereby making the front of her dress as bad as the back.
-
- "Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!" exclaimed Jo, finish-
- ing Meg's glove by scrubbing her gown with it.
-
- "Can I help you?" said a friendly voice. And there was Laurie,
- with a full cup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other.
-
- "I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and
- someone shook me, and here I am in a nice state," answered Jo,
- glancing dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove.
-
- "Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I
- take it to your sister?"
-
- "Oh, thank you! I'll show you where she is. I don't offer to
- take it myself, for I should only get into another scrape if I did."
-
- Jo led the way, and as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie
- drew up a little table, brought a second installment of coffee and
- ice for Jo, and was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced
- him a `nice boy'. They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes,
- and were in the midst of a quiet game of BUZZ, with two or three
- other young people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg
- forgot her foot and rose so quickly that she was forced to catch
- hold of Jo, with an exclamation of pain.
-
- "Hush! Don't say anything," she whispered, adding aloud, "It's
- nothing. I turned my foot a little, that's all," and limped upstairs
- to put her things on.
-
- Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits' end, till
- se decided to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran
- down and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage.
- It happened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neigh-
- borhood and Jo was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard
- what she said, came up and offered his grandfather's carriage, which
- had just come for him, he said.
-
- "It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?" began Jo. looking
- relieved but hesitating to accept the offer.
-
- "I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home.
- It's all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say."
-
- That settled it, and telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefully
- accepted and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah
- hated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they
- rolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive
- and elegant. Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot up,
- and the girls talked over their party in freedom.
-
- "I had a capital time. Did you?' asked Jo, rumpling up her
- hair, and making herself comfortable.
-
- "Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie's friend, Annie Moffat, took
- a fancy to me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her when
- Sallie does. She is going in the spring when the opera comes, and
- it will be perfectly splendid, if Mother only lets me go," answered
- Meg, cheering up at the thought.
-
- "I saw you dancing with the red headed man I ran away from. Was
- he nice?"
-
- "Oh. very! His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite,
- and I had a delicious redowa with him."
-
- "He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step.
- Laurie and I couldn't help laughing. Did you hear us?"
-
- "No, but it was very rude. What were you about all that time,
- hidden away there?"
-
- Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they
- were at home. With many thanks, they said good night and crept in,
- hoping to disturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two
- little nightcaps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out . . .
-
- "Tell about the party! Tell about the party!"
-
- With what Meg called `a great want of manners' Jo had saved some
- bonbons for the little girls, and they soon subsided, after hearing
- the most thrilling events of the evening.
-
- "I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to
- come home from the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown
- wit a maid to wait on me," said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with
- arnica and brushed her hair.
-
- "I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more
- than we do, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece
- and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough
- to wear them," And I think Jo was quite right.
-
-
- CHAPTER 4
-
- "Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs
- and go on," sighed Meg the morning after the party, for now
- the holidays were over, the week of merrymaking did not fit
- her for going on easily with the task she never liked.
-
- "I wish it was Christmas or New Year's all the time.
- Wouldn't it be fun?" answered Jo, yawning dismally.
-
- "We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now.
- But it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets,
- and go to parties, and drive home, and read and rest,and not
- work. It's like other people, you know, and I always envy
- girls who do such things, I'm so fond of luxury," said Meg,
- trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the least
- shabby.
-
- "Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble but
- shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Mar-
- mee does. I'm sure Aunt March is a regular Old Man of the
- Sea to me, but I suppose when I've learned to carry her with-
- out complaining, she will tumble off, or get so light that I
- shan't mind her."
-
- This idea tickled Jo's fancy and put her in good
- spirits, but Meg didn't brighten, for her burden, consisting
- of four spoiled children, seemed heavier than ever. She had
- not heart enough even to make herself pretty as usual by
- putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hair in the
- most becoming way.
-
- "Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me
- but those cross midgets, and no one cares whether I'm pretty
- or not?" she muttered, shutting her drawer with a jerk. "I
- shall have to toil and moil all my days, with only little
- bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and sour, be-
- cause I'm poor and can't enjoy my life as other girls do.
- It's a shame!"
-
- So Meg went down, wearing an injured look,and wasn't at
- all agreeable at breakfast time. Everyone seemed rather out
- of sorts and inclined to croak.
-
- Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to com-
- fort herself with the cat and three kittens. Amy was frett-
- ing because her lessons were not learned, and she couldn't
- find her rubbers. Jo would whistle and make a great racket
- getting ready.
-
- Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter,
- which must go at once, and Hannah had the grumps, for being
- up late didn't suit her.
-
- "There never was such a cross family!" cried Jo, losing
- her temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken both boot
- lacings, and sat down upon her hat.
-
- "You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, wash-
- ing out the sum that was all wrong with the tears that had
- fallen on her slate.
-
- "Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar
- I'll have them drowned," exclaimed Meg angrily as she tried
- to get rid of the kitten which had scrambled up her back and
- stuck like a burr just out of reach.
-
- Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed
- because she couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was.
-
- "Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this
- off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your
- worry," cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoiled sen-
- tence in her letter.
-
- There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalk-
- ed in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out
- again. These turnovers were an institution, and the girls
- called them `muffs',for they had no others and found the hot
- pies very comforting to their hands on cold mornings.
-
- Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or
- grumpy she might be, for the walk was long and bleak. The
- poor things got no other lunch and were seldom home before
- two.
-
- "Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy.
- Goodbye, Marmee. We are a set of rascals this morning, but
- we'll come home regular angels. Now then, Meg!" And Jo
- tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims were not setting out
- as they ought to do.
-
- They always looked back before turning the corner, for
- their mother was always at the window to nod and smile, and
- wave her hand to them. Somehow it seemed as if they couldn't
- have got through the day without that, for whatever their
- mood might be, the last glimpse of that motherly face was
- sure to affect them like sunshine.
-
- "If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand
- to us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful wretches
- than we are were never seen," cried Jo, taking a remorseful
- satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter wind.
-
- "Don't use such dreadful expressions," replied Meg from
- the depths of the veil in which she had shrouded herself
- like a nun sick of the world.
-
- "I like good strong words that mean something," replied
- Jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her head prepara-
- tory to flying away altogether.
-
- "Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither a
- rascal nor a wretch and I don't choose to be called so."
-
- "You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today be-
- cause you can't sit in the lap of luxury all the time. Poor
- dear, just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revel
- in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers, and
- posies, and red-headed boys to dance with."
-
- "How ridiculous you are, Jo!" But Meg laughed at the
- nonsense and felt better in spite of herself.
-
- "Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs and
- tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state.
- Thank goodness, I can always find something funny to keep me
- up. Don't croak any more, but come home jolly, there's a
- dear."
-
- Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder
- as they parted for the day, each going a different way, each
- hugging her little warm turnover, and each trying to be
- cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, and the un-
- satisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth.
-
- When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an
- unfortunate friend,the two oldest girls begged to be allowed
- to do something toward their own support, at least. Believ-
- ing that they could not begin too early to cultivate energy,
- industry, and independence, their parents consented, and
- both fell to work with the hearty good will which in spite
- of all obstacles is sure to succeed at last.
-
- Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt
- rich with her small salary. As she said, she was `fond of
- luxury', and her chief trouble was poverty. She found it
- harder to bear than the others because she could remember a
- time when home was beautiful,life full of ease and pleasure,
- and want of any kind unknown. She tried not to be envious
- or discontented, but it was very natural that the young girl
- should long for pretty things, gay friends, accomplishments,
- and a happy life. At the Kings' she daily saw all she want-
- ed, for the children's older sisters were just out, and Meg
- caught frequent glimpses of dainty ball dresses and bouquets,
- heard lively gossip about theaters, concerts, sleighing par-
- ties, and merrymakings of all kinds, and saw money lavished
- on trifles which would have been so precious to her. Poor
- Meg seldom complained,but a sense of injustice made her feel
- bitter toward everyone sometimes,for she had not yet learned
- to know how rich she was in the blessings which alone can
- make life happy.
-
- Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed
- an active person to wait upon her. The childless old lady
- had offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came,
- and was much offended because her offer was declined. Other
- friends told the Marches that they had lost all chance of
- being remembered in the rich old lady's will, but the
- unworldly Marches only said . . .
-
- "We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Rich
- or poor, we will keep together and be happy in one another."
-
- The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but hap-
- pening to meet Jo at at a friend's, something in her comical
- face and blunt manners struck the old lady's fancy, and she
- proposed to take her for a companion. This did not suit Jo
- at all, but she accepted the place since nothing better app-
- eared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well
- with her irascible relative. There was an occasional temp-
- est, and once Jo marched home, declaring she couldn't bear
- it longer, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and
- sent for her to come back again with such urgency that she
- could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the
- peppery old lady.
-
- I suspect that the real attraction was a large library
- of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since
- Uncle March died. Jo remembered the kind old gentleman, who
- used to let her build railroads and bridges with his big
- dictionaries, tell her stories about queer pictures in his
- Latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever he
- met her in the street. The dim, dusty room, with the busts
- staring down from the tall bookcases, the cozy chairs, the
- globes, and best of all, the wilderness of books in which
- she could wander where she liked, made the library a region
- of bliss to her.
-
- The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with
- company, Jo hurried to this quiet place,and curling herself
- up in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history,
- travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm. But, like
- all happiness, it did not last long, for as sure as she had
- just reached the heart of the story, the sweetest verse of
- a song, or the most perilous adventure of her traveler, a
- shrill voice called, "Josy-phine! Josy-phine! and she had
- to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the poodle, or
- read Belsham's Essays by the hour together.
-
- Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. What
- it was, she had no idea as yet,but left it for time to tell
- her, and meanwhile, found her greatest affliction in the
- fact that she couldn't read, run, and ride as much as she
- liked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit
- were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a
- series of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic.
- But the training she received at Aunt March's was just what
- she needed, and the thought that she was doing something to
- support herself made her happy in spite of the perpetual
- "Josy-phine!"
-
- Beth was too bashful to go to school.It had been tried,
- but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she did
- her lessons at home with her father. Even when he went away,
- and her mother was called to devote her skill and energy to
- Soldiers' Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herself
- and did the best she could. She was a housewifely little
- creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortable
- for the workers, never thinking of any reward but to be
- loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for
- her little world was peopled with imaginary friends,and she
- was by nature a busy bee. There were six dolls to be taken
- up and dressed every morning, for Beth was a child still
- and and loved her pets as well as ever. Not one whole or
- handsome one among them, all were outcasts till Beth took
- them in, for when her sisters outgrew these idols, they
- passed to her because Amy would have nothing old or ugly.
- Beth cherished them all the more tenderly for that very
- reason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls. No pins
- were ever stuck into their cotton vitals, no harsh words or
- blows were ever given them, no neglect ever saddened the
- heart or the most repulsive, but all were fed and clothed,
- nursed and caressed with an affection which never failed.
- One forlorn fragment of dollanity had belonged to Jo and,
- having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in the rag
- bag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Beth
- and taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, she
- tied on a neat little cap, and as both arms and legs were
- gone,she hid these deficiencies by folding it in a blanket
- and devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid. If any-
- had known the care lavished on that dolly, I think it
- would have touched their hearts, even while they laughed.
- She brought it bits of bouquets, she read to it, took it
- out to breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sang
- it lullabies and never went to be without kissing its dirty
- face and whispering tenderly, "I hope you'll have a good
- night, my poor dear."
-
- Beth had her troubles as well as the others, and not
- being an angel but a very human little girl, she often `wept
- a little weep' as Jo said, because she couldn't take music
- lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly,
- tried so hard to learn, and practiced away so patiently at
- the jingling old instrument, that it did seem as if someone
- (not to hint Aunt March) ought to help her. Nobody did,
- however, and nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the yellow
- keys, that wouldn't keep in tune, when she was all alone.
- She sang like a little lark about her work, never was too
- tired for Marmee and the girls, and day after day said
- hopefully to herself, " I know I'll get my music some time,
- if I'm good."
-
- There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting
- in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully
- that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on
- the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence
- vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.
-
- If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her
- life was, she would have answered at once, "My nose." When
- she was a baby,Jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod,
- and Amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose forever. It
- was not big nor red, like poor `Petrea's', it was only rather
- flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it an
- aristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, and it was
- doing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of a
- Grecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to console
- herself.
-
- "Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided
- talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying
- flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer
- specimens of art. Her teachers complained that instead of
- doing her sums she covered her slate with animals, the blank
- pages of her atlas were used to copy maps on, and caricatures
- of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all
- her books at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons as
- well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being
- a model of deportment. She was a great favorite with her mates,
- being good-tempered and possessing the happy art of pleasing
- without effort. Her little airs and graces were much admired,
- so were her accomplishments, for besides her drawing, she could
- play twelve tunes, crochet, and read French without mispronounc-
- ing more than two-thirds of the words. She had a plaintive
- way of saying, "When Papa was rich we did so-and-so," which
- was very touching, and her long words were considered `perfectly
- elegant' by the girls.
- Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted
- her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely.
- One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities. She had to wear
- her cousin's clothes. Now Florence's mama hadn't a particle of
- taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of
- a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not
- fit. Everything was good, well made, and little worn, but Amy's
- artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when
- her school dress was a dull purple with yellow dots and no
- trimming.
-
- "My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes,
- "is that Mother doesn't take tucks in my dresses whenever I'm
- naughty, as Maria Parks's mother does. My dear, it's really
- dreadful, for sometimes she is so bad her frock is up to her
- knees, and she can't come to school. When I think of this
- deggerredation, I fell that I can bear even my flat nose and
- purple gown with yellow skyrockets on it."
-
- Meg was Amy's confidante and monitor, and by some strange
- attraction of opposites Jo was gentle Beth's. To Jo alone did
- the shy child tell her thoughts, and over her big harum-scarum
- sister Beth unconsciously exercised more influence than anyone
- in the family. The two older girls were a great deal to one
- another, but each took one of the younger sisters into her
- keeping and watched over her in her own way, `playing mother'
- they called it, and put their sisters in the places of
- discarded dolls with the maternal instinct of litte women.
-
- "Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a dismal
- day I'm really dying for some amusement," said Meg, as they sat
- sewing together that evening.
-
- "I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best
- of it,I'll tell you about it," began Jo, who dearly loved to tell
- stories. "I was reading that everlasting Belsham, and droning
- away as I always do, for Aunt soon drops off, and then I take out
- some nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up. I actually
- made myself sleepy, and before she began to nod, I gave such a
- gape that she asked me what I meant by opening my mouth wide
- enough to take the whole book in at once.
-
- "I wish I could, and be done with it," said I, trying not to
- be saucy.
-
- "Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to
- sit and think them over while she just `lost' herself for a moment.
- She never finds herself very soon, so the minute her cap began to
- bob like a top-heavy dahlia, I whipped the VICAR OF WAKEFIELD out
- of my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him and one on Aunt.
- I'd just got to where they all tumbled into the water when I
- forgot and laughed out loud. Aunt woke up and, being more
- good-natured after her nap, told me to read a bit and show what
- frivolous work I preferred to the worthy and instructive Belsham.
- I did my very best, and she liked it, though she only said . . .
-
- "I don't understand what it's all about. Go back and begin
- it, child."
-
- "Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I
- could. Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and
- say meekly, "I'm afraid it tires you, ma'am. Shan't I stop now?"
-
- "She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her
- hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her
- short way, `Finish the chapter, and don't be impertinent, miss'."
-
- "Did she own she liked it?" asked Meg.
-
- "Oh, bless you, no! But she let old Belsham rest, and when I
- ran back after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at
- the Vicar that she didn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall
- because of the good time coming. What a pleasant life she might have
- if only she chose! I don't envy her much, in spite of her money, for
- after all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, I
- think," added Jo.
-
- "That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got something to tell.
- It isn't funny, like Jo's story, but I thought about it a good deal
- as I came home. At the Kings' today I found everybody in a flurry,
- and one of the children said that her oldest brother had done some-
- thing dreadful, and Papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. King
- crying and Mr. King talking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned
- away their faces when they passed me, so I shouldn't see how red and
- swollen their eyes were. I didn't ask any questions, of course, but
- I felt so sorry for them and was rather glad I hadn't any wild
- brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family."
-
- "I think being disgraced in school is a great deal tryinger
- than anything bad boys can do," said Amy, shaking her head, as if
- her experience of life had been a deep one. "Susie Perkins came
- to school today with a lovely red carnelian ring. I wanted it
- dreadfully, and wished I was her with all my might. Well, she
- drew a picture of Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump,
- and the words, `Young ladies, my eye is upon you!' coming out of
- his mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it when all
- of a sudden his eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring up
- her slate. She was parrylized with fright, but she went, and oh,
- what do you think he did? He took her by the ear--the ear! Just
- fancy how horrid!--and led her to the recitation platform, and
- made her stand there half and hour, holding the slate so everyone
- could see."
-
- "Didn't the girls laugh at the picture?" asked Jo, who
- relished the scrape.
-
- "Laugh? Not one! They sat still as mice, and Susie cried
- quarts, I know she did. I didn't envy her then, for I felt that
- millions of carnelian rings wouldn't have made me happy after that.
- I never, never should have got over such a agonizing mortification."
- And Amy went on with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtue
- and the successful utterance of two long words in a breath.
-
- "I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it
- at dinner, but I forgot," said Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basket
- in order as she talked. "When I went to get some oysters for Hannah,
- Mr. Laurence was in the fish shop, but he didn't see me, for I kept
- behind the fish barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter the fishman.
- A poor woman came in with a pail a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he
- would let her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she
- hadn't any dinner for her children, and had been disappointed of a
- day's work. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry and said `No', rather
- crossly, so she was going away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr.
- Laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane and
- held it out to her. She was so glad and surprised she took it
- right into her arms, and thanked him over and over. He told her to
- `go along and cook it', and she hurried off, so happy! Wasn't it
- good of him? Oh, she did look so funny, hugging the big, slippery
- fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed in heaven would be `aisy'."
-
- When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked their mother
- for one, and after a moments thought, she said soberly, "As I sat
- cutting out blue flannel jackets today at the rooms, I felt very
- anxious about Father, and thought how lonely and helpless we should
- be , if anything happened to him. It was not a wise thing to do,
- but I kept on worrying till an old man came in with an order for some
- clothes. He sat down near me, and I began to talk to him, for he
- looked poor and tired and anxious.
-
- "`Have you sons in the army?' I asked,for the note he brought
- was not to me.
- "Yes, ma'am. I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner,
- and I'm going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital.'
- he answered quietly.
-
- "`You have done a great deal for your country, sir,' I said,
- feeling respect now, instead of pity.
-
- "`Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am. I'd go myself, if I was
- any use. As I ain't, I give my boys, and give 'em free.'
-
- "He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad
- to give his all, that I was ashamed of myself. I'd given one man and
- thought it too much, while he gave four without grudging them. I had
- all my girls to comfort me at home, and his last son was waiting,
- miles away, to say good-by to him, perhaps! I felt so rich, so happy
- thinking of my blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him
- some money, and thanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me."
-
- "Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it, like this.
- I like to think about them afterward, if they are real and not too
- preachy," said Jo, after a minute's silence.
-
- Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to
- this little audience for many years, and knew how to please them.
-
- "Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat
- and drink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends
- and parents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented."
- (Here the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sew diligently.) "These girls were anxious to be good and made many
- excellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and were
- constantly saying, `If only we had this,' or `If we could only do
- that,' quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many
- things they actually could do. So they asked an old woman what spell
- they could use to make them happy, and she said, `When you feel
- discontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.'" (Here Jo
- looked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeing
- that the story was not done yet.)
-
- "Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon
- were surprised to see how well off they were. One discovered that
- money couldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses,
- another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with
- her youth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble
- old lady who couldn't enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeable
- as it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to go begging for
- it and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as
- good behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the
- blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they
- should be taken away entirely, instead of increased, and I believe
- they were never disappointed or sorry that they took the old woman's
- advice."
-
- "Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own
- stories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!"
- cried Meg.
-
- "I like that kind of sermon. It's the sort Father used to tell
- us," said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo's
- cushion.
-
- "I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be
- more careful than ever now, for I've had warning from Susies's down-
- fall," said Amy morally.
-
- "We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it. If we do so,
- you just say to us, as old Chloe did in UNCLE TOM, `Tink ob yer
- marcies, chillen! `Tink ob yer marcies!'" added Jo, who could not,
- for the life of her, help getting a morsel of fun out of the little
- sermon, though she took it to heart as much as any of them.
-
-
- CHAPTER FIVE
-
- "What in the world are you going to do now, Jo." asked
- Meg one snowy afternoon,as her sister came tramping through
- the hall, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broom
- in one hand and a shovel in the other.
-
- "Going out for exercise," answered Jo with a mischie-
- vous twinkle in her eyes.
-
- "I should think two long walks this morning would have
- been enough! It's cold and dull out, and I advise you to
- stay warm and dry by the fire, as I do," said Meg with a
- shiver.
-
- "Never take advice! Can't keep still all day, and not
- being a pussycat, I don't like to doze by the fire. I like
- adventures, and I'm going to find some."
-
- Meg went back to toast her feet and read IVANHOE, and Jo
- began to dig paths with great energy. The snow was light, and
- with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden, for
- Beth to walk in when the sun came out and the invalid dolls
- needed air. Now, the garden separated the Marches' house from
- that of Mr. Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which
- was still countrylike, with groves and lawns, large gardens, and
- quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side
- was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed
- of the vines that in summer covered its walls and the flowers,
- which then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone
- mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from
- the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and
- the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains.
-
- Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children
- frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows,
- and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his
- grandson.
-
- To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted
- palace, full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed. She
- had long wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the
- Laurence boy, who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only
- knew how to begin. Since the party, she had been more eager than ever,
- and had planned many ways of making friends with him, but he had not
- been seen lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she
- one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down
- into their garden, where Beth and Amy were snow-balling one another.
-
- "That boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself.
- "His grandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up
- all alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody
- young and lively. I've a great mind to go over and tell the old
- gentleman so!"
-
- The idea amused Jo. who liked to do daring things and was
- always scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of
- `going over' was not forgotten. And when the snowy afternoon came,
- Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off,
- and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she
- paused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower win-
- dows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly
- black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.
-
- "There he is," thought Jo, "Poor boy! All alone and sick this
- dismal day. It's a shame! I'll toss up a snowball and make him look
- out, and then say a kind word to him."
-
- Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once,
- showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big
- eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed,
- and flourished her broom as she called out . . .
-
- "How do you do? Are you sick?"
-
- Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven . . .
-
- "Better, thank you. I've had a bad cold, and been shut up a
- week."
-
- "I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?"
-
- "Nothing. It's dull as tombs up here."
-
- "Don't you read?"
-
- "Not much. They won't let me."
-
- "Can't somebody read to you?"
-
- "Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and
- I hate to ask Brooke all the time."
-
- "Have someone come and see you then."
-
- "There isn't anyone I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, and
- my head is weak."
-
- "Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls
- are quiet and like to play nurse."
-
- "Don't know any."
-
- "You know us," began Jo, then laughed and stopped.
-
- "So I do! Will you come, please?" cried Laurie.
-
- "I'm not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me.
- I'll go ask her. Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till I
- come."
-
- With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house,
- wondering what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter
- of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get
- ready, for as Mrs. March said, he was `a little gentleman'. and did
- honor to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a
- fresh color, and trying tidy up the room, which in spite of half a
- dozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loud
- ring, than a decided voice, asking for `Mr. laurie', and a surprised-
- looking servant came running up to announce a young lady.
-
- "All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo,"said Laurie, going to the
- door of his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and
- quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's three
- kittens in the other.
-
- "Here I am, bag and baggage," she said briskly. "Mother sent her
- love, and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to
- bring some of her blancmange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought
- her cats would be comforting. I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn't
- refuse, she was so anxious to do something."
-
- It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing, for
- in laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew
- sociable at once.
-
- "That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure,
- as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blancmange, surrounded by a
- garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium.
-
- "It isn't anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to show
- it. Tell the girl to put it away for your tea. It's so simple you can
- eat it, and being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore
- throat. What a cozy room this is!"
-
- "It might be it it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy,and
- I don't know how to make them mind. It worries me though."
-
- "I'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the
- hearth brushed, so--and the things made straight on the mantelpiece,
- so--and the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa
- turned from the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now then,
- you're fixed."
-
- And so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked
- things into place and given quite a different air to the room. Laurie
- watched her in respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his
- sofa, he sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully . . .
-
- "How kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please take
- the big chair and let me do something to amuse my company."
-
- "No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" and Jo looked
- affectionately toward some inviting books near by.
-
- "Thank you! I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'd
- rather talk," answered Laurie.
-
- "Not a bit. I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going.
- Beth says I never know when to stop."
-
- "Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and some-
- times goes out with a little basket?" asked Laurie with interest.
-
- "Yes, that's Beth. She's my girl, and a regular good one she
- is, too."
-
- "The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I be-
- lieve?"
-
- Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, "Why, you see I often
- hear you calling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't
- help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such
- good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you
- forget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are.
- And when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to
- see the fire, and you all around the table with your mother. Her
- face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers,
- I can't help watching it. I haven't got any mother, you know."
- And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips
- that he could not control.
-
- The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo's
- warm heart. she had been so simply taught that there was no
- nonsense in her head, and at fifteen she was as innocent and frank
- as any child. Laurie was sick and lonely, and feeling how rich she
- was in home and happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him.
- Her face was very friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle as
- she said . . .
-
- "We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave
- to look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping,
- you'd come over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps
- of good, and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would
- dance. Meg and I would make you laugh over our funny stage
- properties, and we'd have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?"
-
- "I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind,
- though he does not look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much,
- only he's afraid I might be a bother to strangers," began Laurie,
- brightening more and more.
-
- "We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think
- you'd be a bother. We want to know you, and I've been trying to do
- it this ever so long. We haven't been here a great while, you know,
- but we have got acquainted with all our neighbors but you."
-
- "You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much
- what happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you
- know, and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home
- and get on as I can."
-
- "That's bad. You ought to make an effort and go visiting
- everywhere you are asked, then you'll have plenty of friends, and
- pleasant places to go to. Never mind being bashful. It won't last
- long if you keep going."
-
- Laurie turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accused
- of bashfulness, for there was so much good will in Jo it was
- impossible not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were
- meant.
-
- "Do you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject,
- after a little pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jo
- looked about her, well pleased.
-
- "Don't go to school, I'm a businessman--girl, I mean. I go to
- wait on my great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too,"
- answered Jo.
-
- Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering
- just in time that it wasn't manners to make too many inquiries into
- people's affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.
-
- Jo liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at
- Aunt March, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety
- old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the
- library where she reveled.
-
- Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the
- prim old gentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and in the
- middle of a fine speech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his
- great dismay, the boy lay back and laughed till the tears ran
- down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what was
- the matter.
-
- "Oh! That does me no end of good. Tell on, please," he
- said, taking his face out of the sofa cushion, red and shining
- with merriment.
-
- Much elated with her success, Jo did `tell on', all about
- their plays and plans, their hopes and fears for Father, and
- the most interesting events of the little world in which the
- sisters lived. Then they got to talking about books, and to
- Jo's delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as she
- did, and had read even more than herself.
-
- "If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grand-
- father is out, so you needn't be afraid," said Laurie, getting
- up.
-
- "I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a toss of
- the head.
-
- "I don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at her
- with much admiration, though he privately thought she would have
- good reason to be a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she
- met hem in some of his moods.
-
- The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie
- led the way from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine what-
- ever struck her fancy. And so, at last they came to the library,
- where she clapped her hands and pranced, as she always did when
- especially delighted. It was lined with books, and there were
- pictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full of
- coins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queer tables,
- and bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quaint
- tiles all round it.
-
- "What richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a
- velour chair and gazing about her with an air of intense satis-
- faction. "Theodore Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in
- the world," she added impressively.
-
- "A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his head
- as he perched on a table opposite.
-
- Before he could more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaiming
- with alarm, "Mercy me! It's your grandpa!"
-
- "Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you
- know," returned the boy, looking wicked.
-
- "I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know
- why I should be. Marmee said I might come, and I don't think
- you're any the worse for it," said Jo, composing herself, though
- she kept her eyes on the door.
-
- "I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged.
- I'm only afraid you are very tired of talking to me. It was so
- pleasant, I couldn't bear to stop," said Laurie gratefully.
-
- "The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as she
- spoke.
-
- "Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I
- must see him," said Laurie.
-
- "Don't mind me. I'm happy as a cricket here," answered Jo.
-
- Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way.
- She was standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman when
- the door opened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, "I'm
- sure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes,
- though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will
- of his own. He isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him."
-
- "Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there,
- to her great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.
-
- Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her
- heart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had
- said. For a minute a wild desire to run away possessed her, but
- that was cowardly, and the girls would laugh at her, so she resolved
- to stay and get out of the scrape as she could. A second look showed
- her that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder even
- than the painted ones, and there was a sly twinkle in them, which
- lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever,
- as the old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful pause, "So
- you're not afraid of me, hey?"
-
- "Not much, sir."
-
- "And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?"
-
- "Not quite, sir."
-
- "And I've got a tremendous will, have I?"
-
- "I only said I thought so."
-
- "But you like me in spite of it?"
-
- "Yes, I do, sir."
-
- That answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh,
- shook hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned
- up her face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod,
- "You've got your grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. He
- was a fine man, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and an
- honest one, and I was proud to be his friend."
-
- "Thank you, sir," And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for
- it suited her exactly.
-
- "What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was the
- next question, sharply put.
-
- "Only trying to be neighborly, sir." And Jo to how her visit
- came about.
-
- "You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?"
-
- "Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do
- him good perhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad to
- help if we could, for we don't forget the splendid Christmas present
- you sent us," said Jo eagerly.
-
- "Tut, tut, tut! That was the boy's affair. How is the poor
- woman?"
-
- "Doing nicely, sir." And off went Jo, talking very fast, as
- she told all about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested
- richer friends than they were.
-
- "Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see
- your mother some fine day. Tell her so. There's the tea bell,
- we have it early on the boy's account. Come down and go on being
- neighborly."
-
- "If you'd like to have me, sir."
-
- "Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't." And Mr. Laurence offered
- her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy.
-
- "What would Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marched
- away, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling
- the story at home.
-
- "Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the
- old gentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with
- a start of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with
- his redoubtable grandfather.
-
- "I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a
- triumphant little glance.
-
- "That's evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to
- your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman." And having pulled
- the boy's hair by way of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while
- Laurie went through a series of comic evolutions behind their
- backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo.
-
- The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four
- cups of tea, but he watched the young people, who soon chatted
- away like old friends, and the change in his grandson did not
- escape him. There was color, light, and life in the boy's face
- now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.
-
- "She's right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these little
- girls can do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and
- listened. He liked Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, and
- she seemed to understand the boy almost as well as if she had
- been one herself.
-
- If the Laurences had been what Jo called `prim and poky',
- she would not have got on at all, for such people always made
- her shy and awkward. But finding them free and easy, she was
- so herself, and made a good impression. When they rose she
- proposed to go, but Laurie said he had something more to show
- her, and took her away to the conservatory, which had been
- lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, as
- she went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on
- either side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful
- vines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut the
- finest flowers till his hands were full. Then he tied them up,
- saying, with the happy look Jo liked to see, "Please give these
- to your mother, and tell her I like the medicine she sent me very
- much."
-
- They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great
- drawing room, by Jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grand
- piano, which stood open.
-
- "Do you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful
- expression.
-
- "Sometimes," he answered modestly.
-
- "Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth."
-
- "Won't you first?"
-
- "Don't know how. Too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly."
-
- So Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously
- buried in heliotrope and tea roses. Her respect and regard for
- the `Laurence' boy increased very much, for he played remarkably well
- and didn't put on any airs. She wished Beth could hear him, but
- she did not say so, only praised him till he was quite abashed, and
- his grandfather came to his rescue.
-
- "That will do, that will do, young lady. too many sugarplums
- are not good for him. His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do
- as well in more important things. Going? well, I'm much obliged
- to you, and I hope you'll come again. My respects to your mother.
- Good night, Doctor Jo."
-
- He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not
- please him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she
- had said something amiss. He shook his head.
-
- "No, it was me. He doesn't like to hear me play."
-
- "Why not?"
-
- "I'll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I
- can't."
-
- "No need of that. I am not a young lady, and it's only a
- step. Take care of yourself, won't you?"
-
- "Yes, but you will come again, I hope?"
-
- "If you promise to come and see us after you are well."
-
- "I will."
-
- "Good night, Laurie!"
-
- "Good night, Jo, good night!"
-
- When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family
- felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something
- very attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge.
- Mrs. March wanted to talk of her father with the old man who had
- not forgotten him, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory, Beth
- sighed for the grand piano. and Amy was eager to see the fine
- pictures and statues.
-
- "Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?"
- asked Jo, who was of an inquiring disposition.
-
- "I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's
- father, married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the
- old man, who is very proud. The lady was good and lovely and
- accomplished, but he did not like her, and never saw his son after
- he married. They both died when Laurie was a little child, and
- then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was born
- in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing
- him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by his
- love of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say his grand-
- father fears that he may want to be a musician. At any rate, his
- skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he `glowered'
- as Jo said."
-
- "Dear me, how romantic!" exclaimed Meg.
-
- "How silly!" said Jo. "Let him be a musician if he wants to,
- and not plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates
- to go."
-
- "That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners,
- I suppose. Italians are always nice, " said Meg, who was a little
- sentimental.
-
- "What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never
- spoke to him, hardly," cried Jo, who was not sentimental.
-
- "I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows
- how to behave. That was a nice little speech about the medicine
- Mother sent him."
-
- "He meant the blanc mange, I suppose."
-
- "How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course."
-
- "Did he?" And Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred
- to her before.
-
- "I never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment when
- you get it," said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all
- about the matter.
-
- "I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to
- be silly and spoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy and I like him,
- and I won't have any sentimental stuff about compliments and such
- rubbish. We'll all be good to him because he hasn't got any mother,
- and he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?"
-
- "Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg
- will remember that children should be children as long as they can."
-
- "I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet,"
- observed Amy. "What do you say, Beth?"
-
- "I was thinking about our `PILGRIM'S PROGRESS'," answered Beth,
- who had not heard a word. "How we got out of the Slough and through
- the Wicket Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by
- trying, and that maybe the house over there, full of splendid things,
- is going to be our Palace Beautiful."
-
- "We have got to get by the lions first," said Jo, as if she
- rather liked the prospect.
-
-
- CHAPTER SIX
-
- The big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took
- some time for all to get in, and Beth found it very hard to pass
- the lions. Old Mr. Laurence was the biggest one, but after he
- had called, said something funny or kind to each one of the girls,
- and talked over old times with their mother, nobody felt much
- afraid of him, except timid Beth. The other lion was the fact that
- they were poor and Laurie rich, for this made them shy of accepting
- favors which they could not return. But, after a while, they found
- that he considered them the benefactors, and could not do enough to
- show how grateful he was for Mrs. March's motherly welcome, their
- cheerful society, and the comfort he took in that humble home of
- theirs. So they soon forgot their pride and interchanged kindnesses
- without stopping to think which was the greater.
-
- All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time, for the
- new friendship flourished like grass in spring. Every one liked
- Laurie, and he privately informed his tutor that "the Marches were
- regularly splendid girls." With the delightful enthusiasm of youth,
- they took the solitary boy into their midst and made much of him,
- and he found something very charming in the innocent companionship
- of these simple-hearted girls. Never having known mother or sisters,
- he was quick to feel the influences they brought about him, and
- their busy, lively ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led.
- He was tired of books, and found people so interesting now that Mr.
- Brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactory reports, for Laurie
- was always playing truant and running over to the Marches'.
-
- "Never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it up afterward,"
- said the old gentleman. "The good lady next door says he is studying
- too hard and needs young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect
- she is right, and that I've been coddling the fellow as if I'd been
- his grandmother. Let him do what he likes, as long as he is happy.
- He can't get into mischief in that little nunnery over there, and
- Mrs. March is doing more for him than we can."
-
- What good times they had, to be sure. Such plays and tableaux,
- such sleigh rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in
- the old parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the
- great house. Meg could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked
- and revel in bouquets, Jo browsed over the new library voraciously,
- and convulsed the old gentleman with her criticisms, Amy copied
- pictures and enjoyed beauty to her heart's content, and Laurie
- played `lord of the manor' in the most delightful style.
-
- But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not
- pluck up courage to go to the `Mansion of Bliss', as Meg called
- it. She went once with Jo, but the old gentleman, not being
- aware of her infirmity, stared at her so hard from under his
- heavy eyebrows, and said "Hey!" so loud, that he frightened her
- so much her `feet chattered on the floor', she never told her
- mother, and she ran away, declaring she would never go there
- any more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or entice-
- ments could overcome her fear, till, the fact coming to Mr.
- Laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending
- matters. During one of the brief calls he made, he artfully
- led the conversation to music, and talked away about great
- singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had heard, and told
- such charming anecdotes that Beth found it impossible to stay
- in her distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if
- fascinated. At the back of his chair she stopped and stood
- listening, with her great eyes wide open and her cheeks red
- with excitement of this unusual performance. Taking no more
- notice of her than if she had been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on
- about Laurie's lessons and teachers. And presently, as if the
- idea had just occurred to him, he said to Mrs. March . . .
-
- "The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for
- he was getting too fond of it. But the piano suffers for want
- of use. Wouldn't some of your girls like to run over, and
- practice on it now and then, just to keep it in tune, you know,
- ma`am?"
-
- Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly
- together to keep from clapping them, for this was an irresistible
- temptation, and the thought of practicing on that splendid
- instrument quite took her breath away. Before Mrs. March could
- reply, Mr. Laurence went on with an odd little nod and smile. . .
-
- "They needn't see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time.
- For I'm shut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie
- is out a great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing
- room after nine o'clock."
-
- Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak,
- for that last arrangement left nothing to be desired. "Please, tell
- the young ladies what I say, and if they don't care to come, why,
- never mind." Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked
- up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest
- yet timid way . . .
-
- "Oh sir, they do care, very very much!"
-
- "Are you the musical girl?" he asked, without any startling
- "Hey!" as he looked down at her very kindly.
-
- "I'm Beth. I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite
- sure nobody will hear me, and be disturbed," she added, fearing to
- be rude, and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke.
-
- "Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so
- come and drum away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to
- you."
-
- "How kind you are, sir!"
-
- Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore, but
- she was not frightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze
- because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had
- given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her fore-
- head, and, stooping down, he kissed herr, saying, in a tone few
- people ever heard . . .
-
- "I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you,
- my dear! Good day. madam." And away he went, in a great hurry.
-
- Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to
- impart the glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls
- were not home. How blithely she sang that evening, and how they
- all laughed at her because she woke Amy in the night by playing
- the piano on her face in her sleep. Next day, having seen both
- the old and young gentleman out of the house, Beth, after two or
- three retreats, fairly got in at the side door, and made her way
- as noiselessly as any mouse to the drawing room where her idol
- stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay
- on the piano, and with trembling fingers and frequent stops to
- listen and look about, Beth at last touched the great instrument,
- and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but
- the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like
- the voice of a beloved friend.
-
- She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner, but she
- had no appetite,and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general
- state of beatitude.
-
- After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge
- nearly every day, and the great drawing room was haunted by a tuneful
- spirit that came and went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laurence
- opened his study door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked. She
- never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away.
- She never suspected that the exercise books and new songs which she
- found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit, and when
- he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he
- was to tell things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself
- heartily, and found, what isn't always the case, that her granted
- wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was so grateful
- for this blessing that a greater was given her. At any rate she
- deserved both.
-
- "Mother, I'm going to work Mr. Laurence a pair of slippers. He
- is so kind to me, I must thank him, and I don't know any other way.
- Can I do it?" asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his.
-
- "Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of
- thanking him. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for
- the making up," replied Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in
- granting Beth's requests because she so seldom asked anything for
- herself.
-
- After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was
- chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun. A cluster of
- grave yet cheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced
- very appropriate and pretty, and beth worked away early and late, with
- occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needlewoman,
- and they were finished before anyone got tired of them. Then she wrote
- a short, simple note, and with Laurie's help, got them smuggled onto
- the study table one morning before the old gentleman was up.
-
- When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would
- happen. All day passed a a part of the next before any acknowledge-
- ment arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her
- crochety friend. On the afternoon of the second day, she went out
- to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily
- exercise. As she came up the street, on her return, she saw three,
- yes, four heads popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the
- moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful
- voices screamed . . .
-
- "Here's a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read
- it!"
-
- "Oh, Beth, he's sent you . . ." began Amy, gesticulating with
- unseemly energy, but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by
- slamming down the window.
-
- Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door her
- sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession,
- all pointing and all saying at once, "Look there! Look there!" Beth
- did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise, for there stood
- a little cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed
- like a sign board to "Miss Elizabeth March."
-
- "For me?" gasped Beth, holding onto Jo and feeling as if she
- should tumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether.
-
- "Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't
- you think he's the dearest old man in the world? Here's the key in
- the letter. We didn't open it, but we are dying to know what he says,"
- cried Jo, hugging her sister and offering the note.
-
- "You read it! I can't, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!"
- and Beth hid her face in Jo's apron, quite upset by her present.
-
- Jo opened the paper and began to laugh, for the first worked she
- saw were . . .
-
- "Miss March:
- "Dear Madam--"
- "How nice it sounds! I wish someone would write to me so!" said
- Amy, who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant.
-
- "`I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had
- any that suited me so well as yours,'" continues Jo. "`Heartsease is
- my favorite flower, and these will always remind me of the gentle
- giver. I like to pay my debts, so I know you will allow `the old
- gentleman' to send you something which once belonged to the little
- grand daughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain
- "`Your grateful friend and humble servant,
- "`JAMES LAURENCE'
-
- "There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm sure! Laurie
- told me how fond Mr.Laurence used to be of the child who died, and
- how he kept all her little things carefully. Just think, he's given
- you her piano. That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music,"
- said Jo, trying to soothe Beth, who trembled and looked more excited
- than she had ever been before.
-
- "See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green
- sild, puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty
- rack and stool, all complete," added Meg, opening the instrument
- and displaying its beauties.
-
- "`Your humble servant, James Laurence'. Only think of his
- writing that to you. I'll tell the girls. They'll think it's
- splendid," said Amy, much impressed by the note.
-
- "Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of the baby pianny,"
- said Hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows.
-
- So Beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable
- piano ever heard. It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-
- pie order, but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm lay in the
- happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly
- touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the bright
- pedals.
-
- "You'll have to go and thank him," said Jo, by way of a joke,
- for the idea of the child's really going never entered her head.
-
- "Yes, I mean to. I guess I'll go no, before I get frightened
- thinking about it." And, to the utter amazement of the assembled
- family, Beth walked deliberately down the garden, through the
- hedge, and in at the Laurences' door.
-
- "Well, I wish I may die if it ain't the queerest thing I ever
- see! The pianny has turned her head! She'd never have gone in
- her right mind," cried Hannah, staring after her, while the girls
- were rendered quite speechless by the miracle.
-
- They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what
- Beth did afterward. If you will believe me, she went and knocked
- at the study door before she gave herself time to think, and when
- a gruff voice called out, "come in!" she did go in, right up to
- Mr. Laurence, who looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand,
- saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, "I came to thank you,
- sir, for. . ." But she didn't finish, for he looked so friendly that
- she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lost the
- little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck and kissed
- him.
-
- If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old
- gentleman wouldn't have been more astonished. But he liked it.
- Oh, dear, yes, he liked it amazingly! And was so touched and
- pleased by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness
- vanished, and he just set her on his knee, and laid his
- wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his
- own little grand daughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him
- from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if
- she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and
- gratitude can conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with
- her to her own gate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat
- as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like
- a handsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he was.
-
- When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig,
- by way of expressing her satisfaction, Amy nearly fell out of the
- window in her surprise, and Meg exclaimed, with up-lifted hands,
- "Well, I do believe the world is coming to an end.
-
-
- CHAPTER SEVEN
-
- "That boy is a perfect cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy one day,
- as Laurie clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip
- as he passed.
-
- "How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? And
- very handsome ones they are, too," cried Jo, who resented any
- slighting remarks about her friend.
-
- "I didn't day anything about his eyes, and I don't see why
- you need fire up when I admire his riding."
-
- "Oh, my goodness! That little goose means a centaur, and she
- called him a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter.
-
- "You needn't be so rude, it's only a `lapse of lingy', as Mr.
- Davis says," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin. "I just
- wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she
- added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
-
- "Why?" asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh
- at Amy's second blunder.
-
- "I need it so much. I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be
- my turn to have the rag money for a month."
-
- "In debt, Amy? What do you mean?" And Meg looked sober.
-
- "Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay
- them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having
- anything charged at the shop."
-
- "Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used
- to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls." And Meg tried to
- keep her countenance, Amy looked so grave and important.
-
- "Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless
- you want to be thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing
- but limes now, for everyone is sucking them in their desks in
- schooltime, and trading them off for pencils, bead rings, paper
- dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another,
- she gives her a lime. If she's mad with her, she eats one before
- her face, and doesn't offer even a suck. They treat by turns,
- and I've had ever so many but haven't returned them, and I ought
- for they are debts of honor, you know."
-
- "How much will pay them off and restore your credit?" asked
- Meg, taking out her purse."
-
- "A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over
- for a treat for you. Don't you like limes?"
-
- "Not much. You may have my share. Here's the money. Make it
- last as long as you can, for it isn't very plenty, you know."
-
- "Oh, thank you! It must be so nice to have pocket money! I'll
- have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I felt
- delicate about taking any, as I couldn't return them, and I'm
- actually suffering for one."
-
- Next day Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist the
- temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper
- parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk.
- During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty-
- four delicious limes (she ate one on the way) and was going to
- treat circulated through her `set', and the attentions of her friends
- became quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her next party
- on the spot. Mary Kinglsey insisted on lending her her watch till
- recess, and Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted
- Amy upon her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet and offered
- to furnish answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not for-
- gotten Miss Snow's cutting remarks about `some persons whose noses
- were not too flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people
- who were not too proud to ask for them', and she instantly crushed
- `that Snow girl's' hopes by the withering telegram, "You needn't be
- so polite all of a sudden, for you won't get any."
-
- A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that
- morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise, which
- honor to her foe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss
- March to assume the airs of a studious young peacock. But, alas,
- alas! Pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful Snow turned the
- tables with disastrous success. No sooner had the guest paid the
- usual stale compliments and bowed himself out, than Jenny, under
- pretense of asking an important question, informed Mr. Davis, the
- teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk.
-
- Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and
- solemnly vowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found
- breaking the law. This much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing
- chewing gum after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the
- confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a private post
- office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and cari-
- catures, and done all that one man could do to keep half a hundred
- rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human patience,
- goodness knows, but girls are infinitely more so, especially to
- nervous gentlemen with tyrannical tempers and no more talent for
- teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek,
- Latin, algebra, and ologies of all sorts so he was called a fine
- teacher, and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not con-
- sidered of any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate
- moment for denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had
- evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning, there was an
- east wind, which always affected his neuralgia, and his pupils had
- not done him the credit which he felt he deserved. Therefore, to
- use the expressive, if not elegant, language of a schoolgirl, "He
- was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear". The word `limes'
- was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on
- his desk with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat with
- unusual rapidity.
-
- "Young ladies, attention, if you please!"
-
- At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue,
- black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful
- countenance.
-
- "Miss March, come to the desk."
-
- Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear
- oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience.
-
- "Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the
- unexpected command which arrested her before she got out of her seat.
-
- "Don't take all." whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great
- presence of mind.
-
- Amy hastily shook out half a dozen and laid the rest down before
- Mr. Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent
- when that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis
- particularly detested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust
- added to his wrath.
-
- "Is that all?"
-
- "Not quite," stammered Amy.
-
- "Bring the rest immediately."
-
- With a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed.
-
- "You are sure there are no more?'
-
- "I never lie, sir."
-
- "So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and
- throw them out of the window."
-
- There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust,
- as the last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing
- lips. Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful
- times, and as each doomed couple, looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell
- from her reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish
- of the girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over
- by the little Irish children, who were their sworn foes. This--this
- was too much. All flashed indignant or appealing glances at the in-
- exorable Davis, and one passionate lime lover burst into tears.
-
- As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous
- "Hem!" and said, in his most impressive manner . . .
-
- "Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I
- am sorry this has happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed,
- and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand."
-
- Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an
- imploring look which pleaded for her better than the words she could
- not utter. She was rather a favorite with `old Davis', as, of course,
- he was called, and it's my private belief that he would have broken
- his word if the indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not
- found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the
- irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
-
- "Your hand, Miss March!" was the only answer her mute appeal
- received, and too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw
- bach her head defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling
- blows on her little palm. They were neither many nor heavy,but that
- made no difference to her. For the first time in her life she had
- been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had
- knocked her down.
-
- "You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis,
- resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun.
-
- That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her
- seat, and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied
- ones of her few enemies, but to face the whole school, with that
- shame fresh upon her, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt
- as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break her heart
- with crying. A bitter sense of wrong and the thought of Jenny Snow
- helped her to bear it, and, taking the ignominious place, she fixed
- her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces,
- and stood there, so motionless and white that the girls found it
- hard to study with that pathetic figure before them.
-
- During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive
- little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot. To
- others it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was
- a hard experience, for during the twelve years of her life she had been
- governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched her
- before. The smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were forgotten
- in the sting of the thought, "I shall have to tell at home, and they
- will be so disappointed in me!"
-
- The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at
- last, and the word `Recess!' had never seemed so welcome to her before.
-
- "You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt,
- uncomfortable.
-
- He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as
- she went, without a word to anyone, straight into the anteroom,
- snatched her things, and left the place "forever," as she passionately
- declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home, and
- when the older girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting
- was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed,
- and comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner.
- Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, Beth felt
- that even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like
- this, Jo wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay,
- and Hannah shook her fist at the `villain' and pounded potatoes for
- dinner as if she had him under her pestle.
-
- No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates, but
- the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite be-
- nignant in the afternoon, also unusually nervous. Just before
- school closed, Jo appeared, wearing a grim expression as she
- stalked up to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother,
- then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully scraping
- the mud from her boots on the door mat, as if she shook that dust
- of the place off her feet.
-
- "Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to
- study a little every day with Beth," said Mrs. March that evening.
- "I don't approve of corporal punishment, especially for girls. I
- dislike Mr. Davis's manner of teaching and don't think the girls
- you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall ask your
- father's advice before I send you anywhere else."
-
- "That's good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil
- his old school. It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely
- limes," sighed Amy, with the air of a martyr.
-
- "I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and
- deserved some punishment for disobedience," was the severe reply,
- which rather disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but
- sympathy.
-
- "Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole
- school?" cried Amy.
-
- "I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault,"
- replied her mother, "but I'm not sure that it won't do you more
- good than a molder method. You are getting to be rather conceited,
- my dear, and it is quite time you set about correcting it. You
- have a good many little gifts and virtues,but there is no need of
- parading them, for conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not
- much danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long,
- even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well
- should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power is modesty."
-
- "So it is!" cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner
- with Jo. "I knew a girl once, who had a really remarkable talent
- for music, and she didn't know it, never guessed what sweet little
- things she composed when she was alone, and wouldn't have believed
- it if anyone had told her."
-
- "I wish I'd known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped
- me, I'm so stupid," said Beth, who stood beside him, listening
- eagerly.
-
- "You do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else
- could," answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous
- meaning in his merry black eyes that Beth suddenly turned very
- red, and hid her face in the sofa cushion, quite overcome by such
- an unexpected discovery.
-
- Jo let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth,
- who could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compl-
- iment. So Laurie did his best, and sang delightfully, being in a
- particularly lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the
- moody side of his character. When he was gone, amy, who had been
- pensive all evening, said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea,
- "Is Laurie an accomplished boy?"
-
- "Yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent.
- He will make a fine man, if not spoiled by petting," replied her
- mother.
-
- "And he isn't conceited, is he?" asked Amy.
-
- "Not in the least. That is why he is so charming and we all
- like him so much."
-
- "I see. It's nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but
- not to show off or get perked up," said Amy thoughtfully.
-
- "These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner
- and conversations, if modestly used, but it is not necessary to
- display them," said Mrs. March.
-
- "Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns
- and ribbons at once, that folks may know you've got them," added Jo,
- and the lecture ended in a laugh.
-
-
- CHAPTER EIGHT
-
- "Girls, where are you going?" asked Amy, coming into their
- room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to
- go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.
-
- "Never mind. Little girls shouldn't ask questions," returned
- Jo sharply.
-
- Now if there is anything mortifying to out feelings when we
- are young, it is to be told that, and to be bidden to "run away,
- dear" is still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult,
- and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour.
- Turning to Meg, who never refused her anything very long, she said
- coaxingly, "Do tell me! I should think you might let me go, too,
- for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I haven't got anything to
- do, and am so lonely."
-
- "I can't, dear, because you aren't invited," began Meg, but
- Jo broke in impatiently, "Now, Meg, be quiet or you will spoil it
- all. You can't go, Amy, so don't be a baby and whine about it."
-
- "You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You
- were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and
- you stopped when I came in. Aren't you going with him?"
-
- "Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering."
-
- Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a
- fan into her pocket.
-
- "I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see the
- SEVEN CASTLES!" she cried, adding resolutely, "and I shall go,
- for Mother said I might see it, and I've got my rag money, and
- it was mean not to tell me in time."
-
- "Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child," said Meg
- soothingly. "Mother doesn't wish you to go this week, because
- your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this
- fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and
- have a nice time."
-
- "I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie.
- Please let me. I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut
- up, I'm dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I'll be ever so good,"
- pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could.
-
- "Suppose we take her. I don't believe Mother would mind,
- if we bundle her up well," began Meg.
-
- "If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it,
- and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and
- drag in Amy. I should think she'd hate to poke herself where
- she isn't wanted," said Jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble
- of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoy herself.
-
- Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots
- on, saying, in her most aggravating way, "I shall go. Meg says I
- may, and if I pay for myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it."
-
- "You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you
- mustn't sit alone, so Laurie will give you his place, and that
- will spoil our pleasure. Or he'll get another seat for you, and
- that isn't proper when you weren't asked. You shan't stir a
- step, so you may just stay where you are," scolded Jo, crosser
- than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry.
-
- Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry
- and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and
- the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing. For
- now and then she forgot her grown-up ways and acted like a
- spoiled child. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called
- over the banisters in a threatening tone, "You'll be sorry for
- this, Jo March, see if you ain't."
-
- "Fiddlesticks!" returned Jo, slamming the door.
-
- They had a charming time, for THE SEVEN CASTLES OF THE
- DIAMOND LAKE was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish.
- But in spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and the
- gorgeous princes and princesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of
- bitterness in it. The fairy queen's yellow curls reminded her
- of Amy, and between the acts she amused herself with wondering
- what her sister would do to make her `sorry for it'. She and
- Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives,
- for both had quick tempers and were apt to be violent when fairly
- roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and semioccasional
- explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterward.
- Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had hard
- times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting
- her into trouble. Her anger never lasted long, and having humbly
- confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to do better.
- Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a
- fury because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried
- desperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to
- flame up and defeat her, and it took years of patient effort to
- subdue it.
-
- When they got home, they found amy reading in the parlor.
- She assumed an injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes
- from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity
- might have conquered resentment, if Beth had not been there to
- inquire and receive a glowing description of the play. On going
- up to put away her best hat, Jo's first look was toward the
- bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy had soothed her feelings
- by turning Jo's top drawer upside down on the floor. Everything
- was in its place, however, and after a hasty glance into her
- various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had
- forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.
-
- There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery
- which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together,
- late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited
- and demanding breathlessly, "Has anyone taken my book?"
-
- Meg and Beth said, "No." at once, and looked surprised. Amy
- poked the fire and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise and was
- down upon her in a minute.
-
- "Amy, you've got it!"
-
- "No, I haven't."
-
- "You know where it is, then!"
-
- "No, I don't."
-
- "That's a fib!" cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and
- looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.
-
- "It isn't. I haven't got it, don't know where it is now, and
- don't care."
-
- "You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once,
- or I'll make you." And Jo gave her a slight shake.
-
- "Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old
- book again," cried Amy, getting excited in her turn.
-
- "why not?"
-
- "I burned it up."
-
- "What! My little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and
- meant to finish before Father got home? Have you really burned it?"
- said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands
- clutched Amy nervously.
-
- "Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross
- yesterday, and I have, so . . ."
-
- Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered her, and
- she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a
- passion of grief and anger . . .
-
- "You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and
- I'll never forgive you as long as I live."
-
- Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was
- quite beside herself, and with a parting box on her sister's ear,
- she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and
- finished her fight alone.
-
- The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and,
- having heard the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong
- she had done her sister. Jo's book was the pride of her heart,
- and was regarded by her family as a literary sprout of great
- promise. It was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but Jo
- had worked over them patiently, putting her whole heart into
- her work, hoping to make something good enough to print. She
- had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old
- manuscript, so that Amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work
- of several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo
- it was a dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never could be
- made up to her. Beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and Meg
- refused to defend her pet. Mrs. March looked grave and grieved,
- and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon
- for the act which she now regretted more than any of them.
-
- When the tea bell rang, Jo appeared, looking so grim and
- unapproachable that it took all Amy's courage to say meekly . . .
-
- "Please forgive me, Jo. I'm very, very sorry."
-
- "I never shall forgive you," was Jo's stern answer, and
- from that moment she ignored Amy entirely.
-
- No one spoke of the great trouble, not even Mrs. March, for
- all had learned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words
- were wasted, and the wisest course was to wait till some little
- accident, or her own generous nature, softened Jo's resentment
- and healed the breach. It was not a happy evening, for though
- they sewed as usual, while their mother read aloud from Bremer,
- Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting, and the sweet home
- peace was disturbed. They felt this most when singing time came,
- for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy broke
- down, so Meg and Mother sang alone. But in spite of their efforts
- to be as cheery as larks, the flutelike voices did not seem to
- chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune.
-
- As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently,
- "My dear, don't let the sun go down upon your anger. Forgive each
- other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow."
-
- Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and
- cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weak-
- ness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't
- quite forgive yet. So she winked hard, shook her head, and said
- gruffly because Amy was listening, "It was an abominable thing,
- and she doesn't deserve to be forgiven."
-
- With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry
- or confidential gossip that night.
-
- Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been
- repulsed, and began to wish she had not humbled herself, to feel
- more injured than ever, and to plume herself on her superior
- virtue in a way which was particularly exasperating. Jo still
- looked like a thunder cloud, and nothing went well all day. It
- was bitter cold in the morning, she dropped her precious turnover
- in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of the fidgets, Meg was
- sensitive, Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home,
- and Amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking
- about being good and yet wouldn't even try when other people set
- them a virtuous example.
-
- "Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to go skating. He
- is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know," said
- Jo to herself, and off she went.
-
- Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient
- exclamation.
-
- "There! She promised I should go next time, for this is the
- last ice we shall have. But it's no use to ask such a crosspatch
- to take me."
-
- "Don't say that. You were very naughty, and it is hard to
- forgive the loss of her precious little book, but I think she
- might do it now, and I guess she will, if you try her at the
- right minute," said Meg. "Go after them. Don't say anything till
- Jo has got good-natured with Laurie, than take a quiet minute and
- just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and I'm sure she'll be
- friends again with all her heart."
-
- "I'll try," said Amy, for the advice suited her, and after a
- flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, who were just
- disappearing over the hill.
-
- It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy
- reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back. Laurie did
- not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the
- ice, for a warm spell had preceded the cold snap.
-
- "I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right before
- we begin to race," Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like
- a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.
-
- Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and
- blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but Jo
- never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a
- bitter, unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister's troubles.
- She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession
- of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do unless cast out at
- once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back . . .
-
- "Keep near the shore. It isn't safe in the middle."
-
- Jo heard, but Amy was struggling to her feet and did not catch
- a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was
- harboring said in her ear . . .
-
- "No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of
- herself."
-
- Laurie had vanished round the bend, Jo was just at the turn,
- and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the the smoother ice in
- the middle of the river. For a minute Jo stood still with a
- strange feeling in her heart, then she resolved to go on,but
- something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw
- up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, the
- splash of water, and a cry that made Jo's heart stand still with
- fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone. She tried
- to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them,
- and for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring with a
- terror-stricken face at the little blue hood above the black water.
- Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie's voice cried out . . .
-
- "Bring a rail. Quick, quick!"
-
- How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes
- she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite
- self-possessed, and lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey
- stick till Jo dragged a rail from the fence, and together they
- got the child out, more frightened than hurt.
-
- "Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can. Pile our
- things on her, while I get off these confounded skates," cried
- Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps
- which never seemed so intricate before.
-
- Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home, and after
- an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets before
- a hot fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown
- about, looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress
- torn, and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refrac-
- tory buckles. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet,
- and Mrs. March sitting by the bed, she called Jo to her and began
- to bind up the hurt hands.
-
- "Are you sure she is safe?" whispered Jo, looking remorse-
- fully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from
- her sight forever under the treacherous ice.
-
- "Quite safe, dear. she is not hurt, and won't even take cold,
- I think, you were so sensible in covering and getting her home
- quickly," replied her mother cheerfully.
-
- "Laurie did it all. I only let her go. Mother, if she should
- die, it would be my fault." And Jo dropped down beside the bed in
- a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly
- condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for
- being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.
-
- "It's my dreadful temper! I try to cure it, I think I have,
- and then it breaks out worse than ever. OH, Mother, what shall I
- do? What shall I do?" cried poor Jo, in despair.
-
- "Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never
- think it is impossible to conquer your fault," said Mrs. March,
- drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek
- so tenderly that Jo cried even harder.
-
- "You don't know, you can't guess how bad it is! It seems as
- if I could do anything when I'm in a passion. I get so savage, I
- could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something
- dreadful some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me.
- Oh, Mother, help me, do help me!"
-
- "I will, my child, I will. Don't cry so bitterly, but remember
- this day, and resolve with all your soul that you will never know
- another like it. Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far
- greater than yours, and it often takes us all our lives to conquer
- them. You think your temper is the worst in the world,but mine
- used to be just like it."
-
- "Yours, Mother? Why, you are never angry!" And for the
- moment Jo forgot remorse in surprise.
-
- "I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only
- succeeded in controlling it. I am angry nearly every day of my
- life, Jo, but I have learned not to show it, and I still hope to
- learn not to feel it, though it may take me another forty years
- to do so."
-
- The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well
- was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest
- reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confi-
- dence given her. The knowledge that her mother had a fault like
- hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and
- strengthened her resolution to cure it, though forty years seemed
- rather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen.
-
- "Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together
- and go out of the room sometimes, when Aunt March scolds or people
- worry you?" asked Jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother
- than ever before.
-
- "Yes, I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my
- lips, and when I feel that they mean to break out against my will,
- I just go away for a minute, and give myself a little shake for
- being so weak and wicked," answered Mrs. March with a sigh and a
- smile, as she smoothed and fastened up Jo's disheveled hair.
-
- "How did you learn to keep still? That is what troubles me,
- for the sharp words fly out before I know what I'm about, and the
- more I say the worse I get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's
- feelings and say dreadful things. Tell me how you do it, Marmee
- dear."
-
- "My good mother used to help me . . ."
-
- "As you do us . . ." interrupted Jo, with a grateful kiss.
-
- "But I lost her when I was a little older than you are, and
- for years had to struggle on alone, for I was too proud to confess
- my weakness to anyone else. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good
- many bitter tears over my failures, for in spite of my efforts I
- never seemed to get on. Then your father came, and I was so happy
- that i found it easy to be good. But by-and-by, when I had four
- little daughters round me and we were poor, then the old trouble
- began again, for I am not patient by nature, and it tried me very
- much to see my children wanting anything."
-
- "Poor Mother! What helped you then?"
-
- "Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or
- complains, but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully
- that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and
- comforted me, and showed me that I must try to practice all the
- virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their
- example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own.
- A startled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke sharply
- rebuked me more than any words could have done, and the love,
- respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I
- could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them
- copy."
-
- "Oh, Mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be
- satisfied," cried Jo, much touched.
-
- "I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must
- keep watch over your `bosom enemy', as father calls it, or it
- may sadden, if not spoil your life. You have had a warning.
- Remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this quick
- temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you
- have known today."
-
- "I will try, Mother, I truly will. But you must help me,
- remind me, and keep me from flying out. I used to see Father
- sometimes put his finger on his lips, and look at you with a
- very kind but sober face, and you always folded your lips tight
- and went away. Was he reminding you then?" asked Jo softly.
-
- "Yes. I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it,
- but saved me from many a sharp word by that little gesture
- and kind look."
-
- Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled
- as she spoke, and fearing that she had said too much, she
- whispered anxiously, "Was it wrong to watch you and to speak of
- it? I didn't mean to be rude, but it's so comfortable to say all
- I think to you, and feel so safe and happy here."
-
- "Mu Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my
- greatest happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me
- and know how much I love them."
-
- "I thought I'd grieved you."
-
- "No, dear, but speaking of Father reminded me how much I
- miss him, how much I owe him, and how faithfully I should watch
- and work to keep his little daughters safe and good for him."
-
- "Yet you told him to go, Mother, and didn't cry when he
- went, and never complain now, or seem as if you needed any help,"
- said Jo, wondering.
-
- "I gave my best to the country I love, and kept my tears
- till he was gone. Why should I complain, when we both have
- merely done our duty and will surely be the happier for it in
- the end? If I don't seem to need help, it is because I have a
- better friend, even than Father, to comfort and sustain me. My
- child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning
- and may be many, but you can overcome and outlive them all if
- you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly
- Father as you do that of your earthly one. The more you love
- and trust Him, and the less you will depend on human power and
- wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be
- taken from you, but my become the source of lifelong peace,
- happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God
- with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as
- freely and confidingly as you come to your mother."
-
- Jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and in the
- silence which followed the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed
- left her heart without words. For in that sad yet happy hour,
- she had learned not only the bitterness of remorse and despair,
- but the sweetness of self-denial and self-control, and led by
- her mother's hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friend who always
- welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of any father,
- tenderer than that of any mother.
-
- Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin
- at once to mend her fault,l Jo looked up with an expression on her
- face which it had never worn before.
-
- "I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her,
- and today, if it hadn't been for Laurie, it might have been too
- late! How could I be so wicked?" said Jo, half aloud, as she
- leaned over her sister softly stroking the wet hair scattered on
- the pillow.
-
- As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms,
- with a smile that went straight to Jo's heart. Neither said a
- word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets,
- and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.
-
-
- CHAPTER NINE
-
- "I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that
- those children should have the measles just now," said Meg, one
- April day, as she stood packing the `go abroady' trunk in her room,
- surrounded by her sisters.
-
- "And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A
- whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied Jo,
- looking like a windmill as she folded skirts with her long arms.
-
- "And such lovely weather, I'm so glad of that," added Beth,
- tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for
- the great occasion.
-
- "I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these
- nice things," said Amy with her mouth full of pins, as she
- artistically replenished her sister's cushion.
-
- "I wish you were all going, but as you can't, I shall keep
- my adventures to tell you when I come back. I'm sure it's the
- least I can do when you have been so kind, lending me things
- and helping me get ready," said Meg, glancing round the room
- at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their
- eyes.
-
- "What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?" asked
- Amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar
- chest in which Mrs. March kept a few relics of past splendor, as
- gifts for her girls when the proper time came.
-
- "A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a
- lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk, but there isn't
- time to make it over, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan."
-
-
- "It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will
- set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn't smashed my coral bracelet,
- for you might have had it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend,
- but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much
- use.
-
- "There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure
- chest, but Mother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament
- for a young girl, and Laurie promised to send me all I want,"
- replied Meg. "Now, let me see, there's my new gray walking suit,
- just curl up the feather in my hat, Beth, then my poplin for
- Sunday and the small party, it looks heavy for spring, doesn't
- it? The violet silk would be so nice. Oh, dear!"
-
- "Never mind, you've got the tarlatan for the big party, and
- you always look like an angel in white," said Amy, brooding
- over the little store of finery in which her soul delighted.
-
- "It isn't low-necked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it
- will have to do. My blue housedress looks so well, turned and
- freshly trimmed, that I feel as if I'd got a new one. My silk
- sacque isn't a bit the fashion, and my bonnet doesn't look like
- Sallie's. I didn't like to say anything, but I was sadly dis-
- appointed in my umbrella. I told Mother black with a white
- handle, but she forgot and bought a green one with a yellowish
- handle. It's strong and neat, so I ought not to complain, but I
- know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie's silk one with a
- gold top," sighed Meg, surveying the little umbrella with great
- disfavor.
-
- "Change it," advised Jo.
-
- "I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she
- took so much pains to get my things. It's a nonsensical notion
- of mine, and I'm not going to give up to it. My silk stockings
- and two pairs of new gloves are my comfort. You are a dear to
- lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich and sort of elegant, with
- two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for common." And
- Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove box.
-
- "Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her nightcaps.
- Would you put some on mine?" she asked, as Beth brought up a
- pile of snowy muslins, fresh from Hannah's hands.
-
- "No, I wouldn't, for the smart caps won't match the plain
- gowns without any trimming on them. Poor folks shouldn't rig,"
- said Jo decidedly.
-
- "I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have real lace
- on my clothes and bows on my caps?" said Meg impatiently.
-
- "You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if
- you could only go to Annie Moffat's," observed Beth in her quiet
- way.
-
- "So I did! Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does
- seem as if the more one gets the more one wants, doesn't it? There
- now, the trays are ready, and everything in but my ball dress,
- which I shall leave for Mother to pack," said Meg, cheering up, as
- she glanced from the half-filled trunk to the many times pressed
- and mended white tarlatan, which she called her `ball dress' with
- an important air.
-
- The next day was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fort-
- night of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the
- visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back
- more discontented than she went. But she begged so hard, and
- Sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure
- seemed so delightful after a winter of irksome work that the mother
- yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashion-
- able life.
-
- The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather
- daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance
- of its occupants. But they were kindly people, in spite of the
- frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease.
- Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not
- particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and that all their
- gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which
- they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously,
- drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every day, and do
- nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly, and soon she
- began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her,
- to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, crimp her
- hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well as
- she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat's pretty things, the
- more she envied her and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare
- and dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and
- she felt that she was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in
- spite of the new gloves and silk stockings.
-
- She had not much time for repining, however, for the three
- young girls were busily employed in `having a good time'. They
- shopped, walked, rode, and called all day, went to theaters and
- operas or frolicked at home in the evening, for Annie had many
- friends and knew how to entertain them. Her older sisters were
- very fine young ladies, and one was engaged, which was extremely
- interesting and romantic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat was a fat,
- jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, and Mrs. Moffat, a fat,
- jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg as her daughter
- had done. Everyone petted her, and `Daisey', as they called her,
- was in a fair way to have her head turned.
-
- When the evening for the small party came, she found that
- the poplin wouldn't do at all, for the other girls were putting
- on thin dresses and making themselves very fine indeed. So out
- came the tarlatan, looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever
- beside Sallie's crisp new one. Meg saw the girls glance at it
- and then at one another, and her cheeks began to burn, for with
- all her gentleness she was very proud. No one said a word about
- it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and Annie to tie her
- sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised her white arms. But
- in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her
- heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the others
- laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies. The
- hard, bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid
- brought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had
- the cover off, and all were exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath,
- and fern within.
-
- "It's for Belle, of course, George always sends her some,
- but these are altogether ravishing," cried Annie, with a great
- sniff.
-
- "They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note,"
- put in the maid, holding it to Meg.
-
- "What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a lover,"
- cried the girls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity
- and surprise.
-
- "The note is from Mother, and the flowers from Laurie," said
- Meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her.
-
- "Oh, indeed!" said Annie with a funny look, as Meg slipped
- the note into her pocket as a sort of talisman against envy,
- vanity, and false pride, for the few loving words had done her
- good, and the flowers cheered her up by their beauty.
-
- Feeling almost happy again,she laid by a few ferns and roses
- for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for
- the breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so
- prettily that Clara, the elder sister, told her she was `the
- sweetest little thing she ever saw', and they looked quite
- charmed with her small attention. Somehow the kind act finished
- her despondency, and when all the rest went to show themselves
- to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed face in the mirror,
- as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair and fastened
- the roses in the dress that didn't strike her as so very shabby
- now.
-
- She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced
- to her heart's content. Everyone was very kind, and she had
- three compliments. Annie made her sing, and some one said she
- had a remarkably fine voice. Major Lincoln asked who `the fresh
- little girl with the beautiful eyes' was, and Mr. Moffat insisted
- on dancing with her because she `didn't dawdle, but had some spring
- in her', as he gracefully expressed it. So altogether she had a
- very nice time, till she overheard a bit of conversation, which
- disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just inside the conserv-
- atory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she
- heard a voice ask on the other side of the flowery wall . . .
-
- "How old is he?"
-
- "Sixteen or seventeen, I should say," replied another voice.
-
- "It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't
- it? Sallie says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite
- dotes on them."
-
- "Mrs. M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her
- cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently doesn't think of it
- yet," said Mrs. Moffat.
-
- "She told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and
- colored up when the flowers came quite prettily. Poor thing!
- She'd be so nice if she was only got up in style. Do you think
- she'd be offended if we offered to lend her a dress for Thursday?"
- asked another voice.
-
- "She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy
- tarlatan is all she has got. She may tear it tonight, and that
- will be a good excuse for offering a decent one."
-
- Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed
- and rather agitated. She was proud, and her pride was useful
- just then, for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and
- disgust at what she had just heard. For, innocent and unsuspicious
- as she was, she could not help understanding the gossip of her
- friends. She tried to forget it, but could not, and kept repeating
- to herself, "Mrs. M. has made her plans," "that fib about her
- mamma," and 'dowdy tarlatan," till she was ready to cry and rush
- home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was imposs-
- ible, she did her best to seem gay, and being rather excited, she
- succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she was making.
- She was very glad when it was all over and she was quiet in her bed,
- where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached and
- her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish,
- yet well meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and much
- disturbed the peace of the old one in which till now she had lived
- as happily as a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was
- spoiled by the silly speeches she had overheard. Her faith in her
- mother was a little shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her
- by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by herself, and the sensible
- resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suited
- a poor man's daughter was weakened by the unnecessary pity of
- girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities
- under heaven.
-
- Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy,
- half resentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for
- not speaking out frankly and setting everything right. Everybody
- dawdled that morning, and it was noon before the girls found
- energy enough even to take up their worsted work. Something in
- the manner of her friends struck Meg at once. They treated her
- with more respect, she thought, took quite a tender interest in
- what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly betrayed
- curiosity. All this surprised and flattered her, though she did
- not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from her writing, and
- said, with a sentimental air . . .
-
- "Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr.
- Laurence, for Thursday. We should like to know him, and it's only
- a proper compliment to you."
-
- Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made
- her reply demurely, "You are very kind, but I'm afraid he won't
- come."
-
- "Why not, Cherie?" asked Miss Belle.
-
- "He's too old."
-
- "My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to
- know!" cried Miss Clara.
-
- "Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, counting stitches
- to hide the merriment in her eyes.
-
- "You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man,"
- exclaimed Miss Belle, laughing.
-
- "There isn't any, Laurie is only a little boy." And Meg
- laughed also at the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she
- thus described her supposed lover.
-
- "About you age," Nan said.
-
- "Nearer my sister Jo's, I am seventeen in August," returned
- Meg, tossing her head.
-
- "It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" said
- Annie, looking wise about nothing.
-
- "Yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and
- we are so fond of them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends,
- you know, so it is quite natural that we children should play to-
- gether." And Meg hoped they would say no more.
-
- "It's evident Daisy isn't out yet," said Miss Clara to Belle
- with a nod.
-
- "Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned
- Miss Belle with a shrug.
-
- "I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls. Can
- I do anything for you, young ladies?" asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering
- in like an elephant in silk and lace.
-
- "No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie. "I've got my new
- pink silk for Thursday and don't want a thing."
-
- "Nor I . . ." began Meg, but stopped because it occurred to
- her that she did want several things and could not have them.
-
- "What shall you wear?" asked Sallie.
-
- "My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen, it
- got sadly torn last night," said Meg, trying to speak quite easily,
- but feeling very uncomfortable.
-
- "Why don't you send home for another?" said Sallie, who was
- not an observing young lady.
-
- "I haven't got any other." It cost Meg an effort to say that,
- but Sallie did not see it and exclaimed in amiable surprise, "Only
- that?" How funny . . ." She did not finish her speech, for Belle
- shook her head at her and broke in, saying kindly . . .
-
- "Not at all. Where is the use of having a lot of dresses
- when she isn't out yet? There's no need of sending home, Daisy,
- even if you had a dozen, for I've got a sweet blue silk laid away,
- which I've outgrown, and you shall wear it to please me, won't
- you, dear?"
-
- "You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress if you
- don't, it does well enough for a little girl like me," said Meg.
-
- "Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style.
- I admire to do it, and you'd be a regular little beauty with a
- touch here and there. I shan't let anyone see you till you are
- done, and then we'll burst upon them like Cinderella and her
- godmother going to the ball," said Belle in her persuasive tone.
-
- Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to
- see if she would be `a little beauty' after touching up caused
- her to accept and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings
- toward the Moffats.
-
- On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid,
- and between them they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped
- and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some
- fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make
- them redder, and Hortense would have added `a soupcon of rouge',
- if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress,
- which was so tight she could hardly breathe and so low in the
- neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. A set
- of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and
- even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink
- silk which did not show. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the
- bosom and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty,
- white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied
- the last wish of her heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan,
- and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and Miss
- Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with
- a newly dressed doll.
-
- "Mademoiselle is chatmante, tres jolie, is she not?" cried
- Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.
-
- "Come and show yourself," said Miss Belle, leading the way
- to the room where the others were waiting.
-
- As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing,
- her earrings tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating,
- she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for the mirror
- had plainly told her that she was `a little beauty'. Her friends
- repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several
- minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable, enjoying her
- borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.
-
- "While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her
- skirt and those French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take
- your silver butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side
- of her head, Clara, and don't any of you disturb the charming work
- of my hands," said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased
- with her success.
-
- "You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice.
- I'm nowhere beside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you're
- quite French, I assure you. Let your flowers hang, don't be so
- careful of them, and be sure you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying
- not to care that Meg was prettier than herself.
-
- Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely
- downstairs and sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and
- a few early guests were assembled. She very soon discovered that
- there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class
- of people and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who
- had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of
- a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at
- the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced,
- and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, and
- several old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest
- of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest. She
- heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them . . .
-
- "Daisy March--father a colonel in the army--one of our first
- families, but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of
- the Laurences; sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild
- about her."
-
- "Dear me!" said the old lady, putting up her glass for
- another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not
- heard and been rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat's fibs.
-
- The `queer feeling' did not pass away, but she imagined
- herself acting the new part of fine lady and so got on pretty
- well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, the train kept
- getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her
- earrings should fly off and get lost or broken. She was flirting
- her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman
- who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and
- looked confused, for just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was
- staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also,
- she thought, for though he bowed and smiled, yet something in
- his honest eyes made her blush and wish she had her old dress on.
- To complete her confusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both
- glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked
- unusually boyish and shy.
-
- "Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head. I won't
- care for it, or let it change me a bit," thought Meg, and rustled
- across the room to shake hands with her friend.
-
- "I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't." she said,
- with her most grown-up air.
-
- "Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I
- did," answered Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though
- he half smiled at her maternal tone.
-
- "What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of curiosity to
- know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him for the
- first time.
-
- "I shall say I didn't know you, for you look so grown-up and
- unlike yourself, I'm quite afraid of you," he said, fumbling at
- his glove button.
-
- "How absurd of you! The girls dressed me up for fun, and I
- rather like it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me?" said Meg, bent
- on making him say whether he thought her improved or not.
-
- "Yes, I think she would," returned Laurie gravely.
-
- "Don't you like me so?' asked Meg.
-
- "No, I don't," was the blunt reply.
-
- "Why not?" in an anxious tone.
-
- He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantas-
- tically trimmed dress with an expression that abashed her more
- than his answer, which had not particle of his usual politeness
- in it.
-
- "I don't like fuss and feathers."
-
- That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself,
- and Meg walked away, saying petulantly, "You are the rudest boy I
- ever saw."
-
- Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window
- to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably
- brilliant color. As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by, and
- a minute after she heard him saying to his mother . . .
-
- "They are making a fool of that little girl. I wanted you
- to see her, but they have spoiled her entirely. She's nothing
- but a doll tonight."
-
- "Oh, dear!" sighed Meg. "I wish I'd been sensible and worn
- my own things, then I should not have disgusted other people, or
- felt so uncomfortable and ashamed of myself."
-
- She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half
- hidden by the curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz
- had begun, till some one touched her, and turning, she saw
- Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, with his very best bow
- and his hand out . . .
-
- "Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me."
-
- "I'm afraid it will be to disagreeable to you," said Meg,
- trying to look offended and failing entirely.
-
- "Not a bit of it, I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll be good.
- I don't like your gown, but I do think you are just splendid."
- And he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his
- admiration.
-
- Meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting
- to catch the time, "Take care my skirt doesn't trip you up. It's
- the plague of my life and I was a goose to wear it."
-
- "Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said
- Laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently
- approved of.
-
- Away they went fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced
- at home, they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were
- a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round,
- feeling more friendly than ever after their small tiff.
-
- "Laurie,I want you to do me a favor, will you?' said Meg,
- as he stood fanning her when her breath gave out, which it did
- very soon though she would not own why.
-
- "Won't I!" said Laurie, with alacrity.
-
- "Please don't tell them at home about my dress tonight.
- They won't understand the joke, and it will worry Mother.'
-
- "Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so plainly
- that Meg hastily added . . .
-
- "I shall tell them myself all about it, and `fess' to Mother
- how silly I've been. But I'd rather do it myself. So you'll not
- tell, will you?"
-
- "I give you my word I won't, only what shall I say when
- they ask me?"
-
- "Just say I looked pretty well and was having a good time."
-
- "I'll say the first with all my heart, but how about the
- other? You don't look as if you were having a good time. Are
- you?' And Laurie looked at her with an expression which made her
- answer in a whisper . . .
-
- "No, not just now. Don't think I'm horrid. I only wanted
- a little fun, but this sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm getting
- tired of it."
-
- "Here comes Ned Moffat. What does he want?" said Laurie,
- knitting his black brows as if he did not regard his young host
- in the light of a pleasant addition to the party.
-
- "He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's
- coming for them. What a bore!" said Meg, assuming a languid air
- which amused Laurie immensely.
-
- He did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw
- her drinking champagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were
- behaving `like a pair of fools', as Laurie said to himself, for
- he felt a brotherly sort of right to watch over the Marches and
- fight their battles whenever a defender was needed.
-
- "You'll have a splitting headache tomorrow, if you drink
- much of that. I wouldn't, Meg, your mother doesn't like it, you
- know," he whispered, leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to
- refill her glass and Fisher stooped to pick up her fan.
-
- "I'm not Meg tonight, I'm `a doll' who does all sorts of
- crazy things. Tomorrow I shall put away my `fuss and feathers'
- and be desperately good again," se answered with an affected
- little laugh.
-
- "Wish tomorrow was here,then," muttered Laurie, walking off,
- ill-pleased at the change he saw in her.
-
- Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other
- girls did. After supper she undertook the German, and blundered
- through it, nearly upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and
- romping in a way that scandalized Laurie, who looked on and medi-
- tated a lecture. But he got no chance to deliver it, for Meg kept
- away from him till he came to say good night.
-
- "Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the splitting
- headache had already begun.
-
- "Silence a` la mort," replied Laurie, with a melodramatic
- flourish, as he went away.
-
- This little bit of byplay excited Annie's curiosity, but Meg
- was too tired for gossip and went to bed, feeling as if she had
- been to a masquerade and hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she
- expected. She was sick all the next day, and on Saturday went home,
- quite used up with her fortnight's fun and feeling that she had
- `sat in the lap of luxury' long enough.
-
- "It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company
- manners on all the time. Home is a nice place, though it isn't
- splendid," said Meg, looking about her with a restful expression,
- as she sat with her mother and Jo on the Sunday evening.
-
- "I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home
- would seem dull and poor to you after your fine quarters," replied
- her mother, who had given her many anxious looks that day. For
- motherly eyes are quick to see any change in children's faces.
-
- Meg had told her adventures gayly and said over and over what
- a charming time she had had, but something still seemed to weigh
- upon her spirits, and when the younger girls were gone to bed, she
- sat thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little and looking
- worried. As the clock struck nine and Jo proposed bed, Meg
- suddenly left her chair and, taking Beth's stool, leaned her elbows
- on her mother's knee, saying bravely . . .
-
- "Marmee, I want to `fess'."
-
- "I thought so. What is it, dear?"
-
- "Shall I go away?" asked Jo discreetly.
-
- "Of course not. Don't I always tell you everything? I was
- ashamed to speak of it before the younger children, but I want you
- to know all the dreadful things I did at the Moffats'."
-
- "We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling but looking a
- little anxious.
-
- "I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that
- they powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a
- fashion plate. Laurie thought I wasn't proper. I know he did,
- though he didn't say so, and one man called me `a doll'. I knew
- it was silly, but they flattered me and said I was a beauty, and
- quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a fool of me."
-
- "Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at
- the downcast face of her pretty daughter, and could not find it
- in her heart to blame her little follies.
-
- "No, I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and
- was altogether abominable," said Meg self-reproachfully.
-
- "There is something more, I think." And Mrs. March smoothed
- the soft cheek,which suddenly grew rosy as Meg answered slowly . . .
-
- "Yes. It's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate
- to have people say and think such things about us and Laurie."
-
- Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the
- Moffats', and as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly,
- as if ill pleased that such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent
- mind.
-
- "Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried
- Jo indignantly. "Why didn't you pop out and tell them so on the
- spot?'
-
- "I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help
- hearing at first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't
- remember that I ought to go away."
-
- "Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to
- settle such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having `plans' and being
- kind to Laurie because he's rich and may marry us by-and-by! Won't
- he shout when I tell him what those silly things say about us poor
- children?" And Jo laughed, as if on second thoughts the thing
- struck her as a good joke.
-
- "If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you! She mustn't,
- must she, Mother?" said Meg, looking distressed.
-
- "No, never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon
- as you can," said Mrs. March gravely. "I was very unwise to let
- you go among people of whom I know so little, kind, I dare say,
- but worldly, ill-bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young
- people. I am more sorry than I can express for the mischief this
- visit may have done you, Meg."
-
- "Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me. I'll forget all the
- bad and remember only the good, for I did enjoy a great deal, and
- thank you very much for letting me go. I'll not be sentimental or
- dissatisfied, Mother. I know I'm a silly little girl, and I'll
- stay with you till I'm fit to take care of myself. But it is nice
- to be praised and admired, and I can't help saying I like it," said
- Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession.
-
- "That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking
- does not become a passion and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly
- things. Learn to know and value the praise which is worth having,
- and to excite the admiration of excellent people by being modest
- as well as pretty, Meg."
-
- Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands
- behind her, looking both interested and a little perplexed, for it
- was a new thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration,
- lovers, and things of that sort. And Jo felt as if during that
- fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away
- from her into a world where she could not follow.
-
- "Mother, do you have `plans', as Mrs. Moffat said?" asked Meg
- bashfully.
-
- "Yes, my dear, I have a great many, all mothers do, but mine
- differ somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I will tell you
- some of them, for the time has come when a word may set this
- romantic little head and heart of yours right, on a very serious
- subject. You are young, Meg, but not too young to understand me,
- and mothers' lips are the fittest to speak of such things to girls
- like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen to
- my `plans' and help me carry them out, if they are good."
-
- Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she
- thought they were about to join in some very solemn affair. Hold-
- ing a hand of each, and watching the two young faces wistfully,
- Mrs. March said, in her serious yet cheery way . . .
-
- "I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good.
- To be admired, loved, and respected. To have a happy youth, to
- be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives,
- with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send.
- To be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing
- which can happen to a woman, and I sincerely hope my girls may
- know this beautiful experience. It is natural to think of it, Meg,
- right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for it, so that
- when the happy time comes, you may feel ready for the duties and
- worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not
- to have you make a dash in the world, marry rich men merely because
- they are rich, or have splendid houses, which are not homes because
- love is wanting. Money is a needful and precious thing, and when
- well used, a noble thing, but I never want you to think it is the
- first or only prize to strive for. I'd rather see you poor men's
- wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones,
- without self-respect and peace."
-
- "Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they
- put themselves forward," sighed Meg.
-
- "Then we'll be old maids," said Jo stoutly.
-
- "right, Jo. Better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or
- unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. March
- decidedly. "Don't be troubled, Meg, poverty seldom daunts a sincere
- lover. Some of the best and most honored women I know were poor
- girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids.
- Leave these things to time. Make this home happy, so that you may
- be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented
- here if they are not. One thing remember, my girls. Mother is
- always ready to be your confidante, Father to be your friend, and
- both of hope and trust that our daughters, whether married or single,
- will be the pride and comfort of out lives."
-
- "We will, Marmee, we will!" cried both, with all their hearts,
- as she bade them good night.
-
-