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- CHAPTER THIRTY
-
- Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it
- was considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neigh-
- borhood to be invited to take a table, and everyone was much
- interest in the matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which
- was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows were decidedly
- akimbo at this period of her life, and it took a good many hard
- knocks to teach her how to get on easily. The `haughty, unin-
- teresting creature' was let severely alone, but Amy's talent and
- taste were duly complimented by the offer of the art table, and
- she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate and valu-
- able contributions to it.
-
- Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair
- opened, then there occurred one of the little skirmishes which
- it is almost impossible to avoid, when some five-and-twenty
- women, old and young, with all their private piques and preju-
- dices, try to work together.
-
- May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter
- was a greater favorite than herself, and just at this time
- several trifling circumstances occurred to increase the feeling.
- Amy's dainty pen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed May's painted
- vases--that was one thorn. Then the all conquering Tudor had
- danced four times with Amy at a late party and only once with
- May--that was thorn number two. But the chief grievance that
- rankled in her soul, and gave an excuse for her unfriendly con-
- duct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip had whispered to
- her, that the March girls had made fun of her at the Lambs'.
- All the blame of this should have fallen upon Jo, for her
- naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection,
- and the frolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke to escape. No
- hint of this had reached the culprits, however, and Amy's dismay
- can be imagined,when, the very evening before the fair, as she
- was putting the last touches to her pretty table, Mrs. Chester,
- who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter,
- said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look . . .
-
- "I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young
- ladies about my giving this table to anyone but my girls. As
- this is the most prominent, and some say the most attractive
- table of all, and they are the chief getters-up of the fair, it
- is thought best for them to take this place. I'm sorry, but I
- know you are too sincerely interested in the cause to mind a
- little personal disappointment, and you shall have another table
- if you like."
-
- Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to
- deliver this little speech, but when the time came, she found
- it rather difficult to utter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspic-
- ious eyes looking straight at her full of surprise and trouble.
-
- "Amy felt that there was something behind this, but would
- not guess what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that
- she did, "Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?"
-
- "Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg. It's
- merely a matter of expediency, you see, my girls will naturally
- take the lead, and this table is considered their proper place.
- I think it very appropriate to you, and feel very grateful for
- your efforts to make it so pretty, but we must give up our pri-
- vate wishes, of course, and I will see that you have a good place
- elsewhere. Wouldn't you like the flower table? The little girls
- undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a charm-
- ing thing of it, and the flower table is always attractive you
- know."
-
- "Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which en-
- lightened Amy as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She
- colored angrily, but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm,
- and answered with unexpected amiability . . .
-
- "It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my
- place here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like."
-
- "You can put your own things on your own table, if you
- prefer," began May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she
- looked at the pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint ill-
- uminations Amy had so carefully made and so gracefully arranged.
- She meant it kindly, but Amy mistook her meaning, and said quickly . ..
-
- "Oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping her
- contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling
- that herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgive-
- ness.
-
- "Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak,
- Mama," said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her
- table.
-
- "Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling
- a trifle ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.
-
- The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight,
- which cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and
- she fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not
- artistically. But everything seemed against her. It was late, and
- she was tired. Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to help
- her, and the little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed
- and chattered like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion
- in their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The
- evergreen arch wouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled
- and threatened to tumble down on her head when the hanging baskets
- were filled. Her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sephia
- tear on the Cupid's cheek. She bruised her hands with hammering, and
- got cold working in a draft, which last affliction filled her with
- apprehensions for the morrow. Any girl reader who has suffered like
- afflictions will sympathize with poor Amy and wish her well through
- her task.
-
- There was great indignation at home when she told her story
- that evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she
- had done right. Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all,
- and Jo demanded why she didn't take all her pretty things and leave
- those mean people to get on without her.
-
- "Because they are mean is no reason why i should be. I hate
- such things, and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don't
- intend to show it. They will feel that more than angry speeches
- or huffy actions, won't they, Marmee?"
-
- "That's the right spirit, my dear. A kiss for a blow is always
- best, though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said her
- mother, with the air of one who had learned the difference between
- preaching and practicing.
-
- In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and
- retaliate, Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent
- on conquering her enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to a
- silent reminder that came to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely.
- As she arranged her table that morning, while the little girls were
- in the anteroom filling the baskets, she took up her pet production,
- a little book, the antique cover of which her father had found among
- his treasures, and in which on leaves of vellum she had beautifully
- illuminated different texts. As she turned the pages rich in dainty
- devices with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon one verse that
- made her stop and think. Framed in a brilliant scrollwork of scarlet,
- blue and gold, with little spirits of good will helping one another
- up and down among the thorns and flowers, were the words, "Thou shalt
- love thy neighbor as thyself."
-
- "I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from the
- bright page to May's discontented face behind the big vases, that
- could not hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy
- stood a minute, turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some
- sweet rebuke for all heartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit.
- Many wise and true sermons are preached us every day by unconscious
- ministers in street, school, office, or home. Even a fair table
- may become a pulpit, if it can offer the good and helpful words
- which are never out of season. Amy's conscience preached her a
- little sermon from that text, then and there, and she did what many
- of us do not always do, took the sermon to heart, and straightway
- put it in practice.
-
- A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiring
- the pretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. They
- dropped their voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hear-
- ing one side of the story and judging accordingly. It was not plea-
- sant, but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chance
- offered for proving it. She heard May say sorrowfully . . .
-
- "It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and
- I don't want to fill up with odds and ends. The table was just
- complete then. Now it's spoiled."
-
- "I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggested
- someone.
-
- "How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did not
- finish, for Amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly . . .
-
- "You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want
- them. I was just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for they
- belong to your table rather than mine. Here they are, please take
- them, and forgive me if I was hasty in carrying them away last night."
-
- As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a
- smile, and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a
- friendly thing than it was to stay and be thanked for it.
-
- "Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?" cried one girl.
-
- May's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose
- temper was evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added,
- with a disagreeable laugh, "Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn't
- sell them at her own table."
-
- Now, that was hard. When we make little sacrifices we like
- to have them appreciated, at least, and for a minute Amy was sorry
- she had done it, feeling that virtue was not always its won reward.
- But it is, as she presently discovered, for her spirits began to
- rise, and her table to blossom under her skillful hands, the girls
- were very kind, and that one little act seemed to have cleared the
- atmosphere amazingly.
-
- It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat be-
- hind her table, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted
- very soon. Few cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets
- began to droop long before night.
-
- The art table was the most attractive in the room. There was
- a crowd about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly fly-
- ing to and fro with important faces and rattling money boxes. Amy
- often looked wistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt
- at home and happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do. It
- might seem no hardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe young
- girl, it was not only tedious, but very trying, and the thought of
- Laurie and his friends made it a real martyrdom.
-
- She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale
- and quiet that they knew the day had been a hard one, though she
- made no complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her
- mother gave her an extra cordial cup of tea. Beth helped her dress,
- and made a charming little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished
- her family by getting herself up with unusual care, and hinting
- darkly that the tables were about to be turned.
-
- "Don't do anything rude, pray Jo. I won't have any fuss made,
- so let it all pass and behave yourself," begged Amy, as she departed
- early, hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor
- little table.
-
- "I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to ever
- one I know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible.
- Teddy and his boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time
- yet." returned Jo, leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie. Pre-
- sently the familiar tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to
- meet him.
-
- "Is that my boy?"
-
- "As sure as this is my girl!" And Laurie tucked her hand under
- his arm with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified.
-
- "Oh, teddy, such doings!" And Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly
- zeal.
-
- "A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and
- I'll be hanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, and
- camp down before her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing her
- cause with warmth.
-
- "The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones
- may not arrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but
- I shouldn't wonder if they never came at all. When people do one
- mean thing they are very likely to do another," observed Jo in a
- disgusted tone.
-
- "Didn't Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told
- him to."
-
- "I didn't know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grand-
- pa was poorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did
- want some."
-
- "Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking?
- They are just as much yours as mine. Don't we always go halves in
- everything?" began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn
- thorny.
-
- "Gracious, I hope not! Half of some of your things wouldn't
- suit me at all. But we mustn't stand philandering here. I've got
- to help Amy, so you go and make yourself splendid, and if you'll
- be so very kind as to let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the
- Hall, I'll bless you forever."
-
- "Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively that
- Jo shut the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called
- through the bars, "Go away, Teddy, I'm busy."
-
- Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night,
- for Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a loverly basket
- arranged in his best manner for a centerpiece. Then the March family
- turned out en masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for
- people not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring
- Amy's taste, and apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie
- and his friends gallantly threw themselves into the breach,bought
- up the bouquets, encamped before the table, and made that corner
- the liveliest spot in the room. Amy was in her element now, and out
- of gratitude, if nothing more, was as spritely and gracious as poss-
- ible, coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was
- it's own reward, after all.
-
- Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy was
- happily surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the
- hall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her up-
- on the subject of the Chester change of base. She reproached herself
- for her share of the ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy as
- soon as possible. She also discovered what Amy had done about the
- things in the morning,and considered her a model of magnanimity. As
- she passed the art table, she glanced over it for her sister's
- things, but saw no sign of them. "Tucked away out of sight, I dare
- say," thought Jo, who could forgiver her own wrongs, but hotly re-
- sented any insult offered her family.
-
- "Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?" asked May with
- a conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be
- generous.
-
- "She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and
- now she is enjoying herself. The flower table is always attractive,
- you know, `especially to gentlemen'."
-
- Jo couldn't resist giving that little slap, but May took it
- so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell to praising
- the great vases, which still remained unsold.
-
- "Is Amy's illumination anywhere about" I took a fancy to
- buy that for Father," said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of
- her sister's work.
-
- "Everything of Amy's sold long ago. I took care that the
- right people saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money
- for us," returned May, who had overcome sundry small temptations,
- as well as Amy had, that day.
-
- Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, and
- Amy looked both touched and surprised by the report of May's
- word and manner.
-
- "Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the
- other tables as generously as you have by mine, especially the
- art table," she said, ordering out `Teddy's own', as the girls
- called the college friends.
-
- "`Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table, but
- do your duty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of art
- in every sense of the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as the
- devoted phalanx prepared to take the field.
-
- "To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," said
- little Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender,
- and getting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said . . .
-
- "Very well, my son, for a small boy!" and walked him off, with
- a paternal pat on the head.
-
- "Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping
- of coals of fire on her enemy's head.
-
- To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases,
- but pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemen
- speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and
- wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers,
- painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and approp-
- riate purchases.
-
- Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and
- said something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter
- lady beam with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of
- mingled pride and anxiety, though she did not betray the cause
- of her pleasure till several days later.
-
- The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amy
- goodnight, she did not gush as usual, but gave her an affection-
- ate kiss, and a look which said `forgive and forget'. That satis-
- fied Amy, and when she got home she found the vases paraded on
- the parlor chimney piece with a great bouquet in each. "The
- reward of merit for a magnanimous March," as Laurie announced
- with a flourish.
-
- "You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness
- of character than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You've be-
- haved sweetly, and I respect you with all my heart," said Jo
- warmly, as they brushed their hair together late that night.
-
- "Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive.
- It must have been dreadfully hard, after working so long and set-
- ting your heart on selling your own pretty things. I don't believe
- I could have done it as kindly as you did," added Beth from her
- pillow.
-
- "Why, girls, you needn't praise me so. I only did as I'd
- be done by. You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but
- I mean a true gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do
- it as far as I know how. I can't explain exactly, but I want to
- be above the little meannesses and follies and faults that spoil
- so many women. I'm far from it now, but I do my best, and hope in
- time to be what Mother is."
-
- Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, "I
- understand now what you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again.
- You are getting on faster than you think, and I'll take lessons
- of you in true politeness, for you've learned the secret, I be-
- lieve. Try away, deary, you'll get your reward some day, and
- no one will be more delighted than I shall."
-
- A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it
- hard to be delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs.
- March's face was illuminated to such a degree when she read it
- that Jo and Beth, who were with her, demanded what the glad
- tiding were.
-
- "Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants . . ."
-
- "Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair
- in an uncontrollable rapture.
-
- "No, dear, not you. It's Amy."
-
- "Oh, Mother! She's too young, it's my turn first. I've
- wanted it so long. It would do me so much good, and be so alto-
- gether splendid. I must go!"
-
- "I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly,
- and it is not for us to dictate when she offers such a favor."
-
- "It's always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work.
- It isn't fair, oh, it isn't fair!" cried Jo passionately.
-
- "I'm afraid it's partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke
- to me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too in-
- dependent spirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something you
- had said--`I planned at first to ask Jo, but as `favors burden her',
- and she `hates French', I think I won't venture to invite her. Amy
- is more docile, will make a good companion for Flo, and receive
- gratefully any help the trip may give her."
-
- "Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can't I learn to
- keep it quiet?' groaned Jo, remembering words which had been
- her undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quoted
- phrases, Mrs. March said sorrowfully . . .
-
- "I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this
- time, so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's plea-
- sure by reproaches or regrets."
-
- "I'll try," said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick
- up the basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf out of
- her book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not
- grudge her one minute of happiness. But it won't be easy, for
- it is a dreadful disappointment." And poor Jo bedewed the little
- fat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears.
-
- "Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and
- I'm glad you are not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing
- her, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving face
- that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made her
- want to box her own ears, and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden
- her with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it.
-
- By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in
- the family jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps,
- but without repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young lady
- herself received the news as tidings of great joy, went about
- in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors and
- pack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes,
- money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art
- than herself.
-
- "It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said im-
- pressively, as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my
- career, for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome,
- and will do something to prove it."
-
- "Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes,
- at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.
-
- "Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,"
- replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But
- she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her
- palette as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up her
- hopes.
-
- "No, you won't. You hate hard work, and you'll marry some
- rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your
- days," said Jo.
-
- "Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't be-
- lieve that one will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be
- an artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are,"
- said Amy, smiling, as if the part of Lady Bountiful would suit
- her better than that of a poor drawing teacher.
-
- "Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh. "If you wish it you'll have it,
- for your wishes are always granted--mine never."
-
- "Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her
- nose with her knife.
-
- "Rather!"
-
- "Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in
- the Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so
- many times."
-
- "Thank you. I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful
- day comes, if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague but
- magnificent offer as gratefully as she could.
-
- "There was not much time for preparation, and the house was
- in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the
- last flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her
- refuge, the garret, and cried till she couldn't cry any more.
- Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed. Then
- just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly came
- over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and
- those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the last
- lingerer, saying with a sob . . .
-
- "Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything should
- happen. . . "
-
- "I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I'll come
- and comfort you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would
- be called upon to keep his word.
-
- So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always
- new and beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend
- watched her from the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle
- fortunes would befall the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand
- to them till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine daz-
- zling on the sea.
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
-
- London
-
- Dearest People,
- Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel,
- Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped
- here years ago, and won't go anywhere else. However, we don't
- mean to stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin
- to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give
- you bits out of my notebook, for I've done nothing but sketch
- and scribble since I started.
-
- I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable,
- but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all
- day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Everyone was
- very kind to me, especially the officers. Don't laugh, Jo, gent-
- lemen really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to
- wait upon one, and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to
- make them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death,
- I'm afraid.
-
- Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let
- alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and
- enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid
- air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast horse,
- when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could have come,
- it would have done her so much good. As for Jo, she would have
- gone up and sat on the maintop jib, or whatever the high thing
- is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the
- captain's speaking trumpet, she'd have been in such a state of
- rapture.
-
- It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast,
- and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins
- here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's
- countryseats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks.
- It was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to
- see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so pic-
- turesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.
-
- At Queenstown on of my new acquaintances left us, Mr.
- Lennox, and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney,
- he sighed and and, with a look at me . . .
-
- "Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?
- She lives on the banks of Killarney;
- From the glance of her eye,
- Shun danger and fly,
- For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney."
-
- Wasn't that nonsensical?
-
- We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty,
- noisy place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and
- bought a pair of dogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an
- umbrella, and got shaved `a la mutton chop, the first thing.
- Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton,
- but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the
- little bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said,
- with a grin, "There yer har, sir. I've given `em the latest
- Yankee shine." It amused Uncle immensely. Oh, I must tell you
- what that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came
- on with us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I
- saw in my room was a lovely one, with "Robert Lennox's compli-
- ments," on the card. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like traveling.
-
- I never shall get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was
- like riding through a long picture gallery, full of lovely land-
- scapes. The farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs,
- ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy
- children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil
- than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had
- a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous like Yankee
- biddies. Such perfect color I never saw, the grass so green, sky
- so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, I was in a rapture all
- the way. So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to the
- other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at
- the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep,
- but Uncle read his guidebook, and wouldn't be astonished at any-
- thing. This is the way we went on. Amy, flying up--"Oh, that
- must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!" Flo, dart-
- ing to my window--"How sweet! We must go there sometime, won't we
- Papa?" Uncle, calmly admiring his boots--"No, my dear, not unless
- you want beer, that's a brewery."
-
- A pause--then Flo cried out, "Bless me, there's a gallows and
- a man going up." "Where, where?" shrieks Amy, staring out at two
- tall posts with a crossbeam and some dangling chains. "A colliery,"
- remarks Uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. "Here's a lovely flock
- of lambs all lying down," says Amy. "See, Papa, aren't they
- pretty?" added Flo sentimentally. "Geese, young ladies," returns
- Uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to
- enjoy the FLIRTATIONS OF CAPTAIN CAVENDISH, and I have the scenery
- all to myself.
-
- Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was
- nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked,
- and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some
- new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready.
- A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the
- loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is
- perfectly splendid. Things seem so cheap, nice ribbons only
- sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves
- in Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich?
-
- Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while
- Aunt and Uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned
- afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in
- them alone. It was so droll! For when we were shut in by the
- wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and
- told me to stop him. but he was up outside behind somewhere,
- and I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me
- flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless,
- rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck pace.
- At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on
- poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said . . .
-
- "Now, then, mum?"
-
- I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down
- the door, with an "Aye, aye, mum," the man made his horse walk,
- as if going to a funeral. I poked again and said, "A little
- faster," then off he went, helter-skelter as before, and we
- resigned ourselves to our fate.
-
- Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we
- are more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives
- near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate, and
- the Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I
- saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dow-
- agers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous
- Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and pow-
- dered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children
- I ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep, dandies in queer
- English hats and lavender kids lounging about, and tall soldiers,
- in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side, looking
- so funny I longed to sketch them.
-
- Rotten Row means `Route de Roi', or the king's way, but
- now it's more like a riding school than anything else. The
- horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride
- well, but the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't accord-
- ing to our rules. I longed to show them a tearing American
- gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant
- habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's
- Ark. Everyone rides--old men, stout ladies, little children--
- and the young folks do a deal of flirting here, I say a pair
- exchange rose buds, for it's the thing to wear one in the
- button-hole, and I thought it rather a nice little idea.
-
- In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey, but don't expect me to
- describe it, that's impossible, so I'll only say it was sublime!
- This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an app-
- ropriate end to the happiest day of my life.
-
- It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morn-
- ing without telling you what happened last evening. Who do
- you think came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends,
- Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so surprised, for I shouldn't have
- known them but for the cards. both are tall fellows with whisk-
- ers, Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better,
- for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard
- from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their
- house, but Uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see
- them as we can. They went to the theater with us, and we did
- have such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and
- Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we
- had know each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her,
- and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I
- spoke of Jo, and sent his `respectful compliments to the big hat'.
- Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had
- there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?
-
- Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must
- stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing
- here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head
- a jumble of parks, theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures
- who say "Ah!" and twirl their blond mustaches with the true
- English lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my
- nonsense am, as ever, your loving . . .
- AMY
-
- PARIS
-
- Dear girls,
-
- In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the
- Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I en-
- joyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more
- than anything else, for at Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and
- at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Rey-
- nolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Rich-
- mond Park was charming, for we had a regular English picnic, and
- I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I could copy,
- also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We `did' London
- to our heart's content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry
- to go away, for though English people are slow to take you in,
- when they once make up their minds to do it they cannot be out-
- done in hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in
- Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they
- don't, for Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very
- nice fellows, especially Fred.
-
- Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again,
- saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland.
- Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she
- couldn't say a word. And now we get on nicely, and are very
- glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't
- know what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten
- words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if it
- would make people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is
- old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves
- that we knew a good deal, find we don't, and are very grateful
- to have Fred do the `parley vooing', as Uncle calls it.
-
- Such delightful times as we are having! Sight-seeing from
- morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafes,
- and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy days I
- spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up
- her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no
- soul for art, but I have, and I'm cultivation eye and taste
- as fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people
- better, for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat and gray
- coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush, also Marie
- Antoinette's little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's
- sword, and many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours
- about them when I come, but haven't time to write.
-
- The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of bijouterie
- and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't
- buy them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't
- allow it. Then the Bois and Champs Elysees are tres magnifique.
- I've seen the imperial family several times, the emperor an ugly,
- hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in
- bad taste, I thought--purple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves.
- Little Nap is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor,
- and kissed his hand to the people as he passes in his four-horse
- barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets and a mounted
- guard before and behind.
-
- We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are
- lovely, though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better.
- Pere la Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are
- like small rooms, and looking in, one sees a table, with
- images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners
- to sit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.
-
- Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and sitting on the
- balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It
- is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there when
- too tired with our day's work to go out. Fred is very enter-
- taining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man I
- ever knew--except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I
- wish Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men, however, the
- Vaughns are very rich and come of an excellent family, so I
- won't find fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.
-
- Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland, and as
- we shall travel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty
- letters. I keep my diary, and try to `remember correctly and
- describe clearly all that I see and admire', as Father advised.
- It is good practice for me, and with my sketchbook will give
- you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.
-
- Adieu, I embrace you tenderly.
- VOTRE AMIE
-
- HEIDELBERG
-
- My dear Mamma,
-
- Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to
- tell you what has happened, for some of it is very important,
- as you will see.
-
- The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and en-
- joyed it with all my might. Get Father's old guidebooks and
- read about it. I haven't words beautiful enough to describe it.
- At Coblenz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn,
- with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade.
- It was a moonlight night, and about one o'clock Flo and I were
- waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up,
- and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us Fred and
- the students singing away down below. It was the most romantic
- thing I ever saw--the river, the bridge of boats, the great fort-
- ress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a
- heart of stone.
-
- When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw
- them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies,
- and go laughing away, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next
- morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest
- pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said
- I didn't throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he
- tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again. I'm
- afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to
- look like it.
-
- The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden,
- where Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs some-
- one to look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said
- once she hoped he'd marry soon, and I quite agree with her
- that it would be well for him. Frankfurt was delightful. I
- saw Goeth's house, Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famous
- ARIADNE. It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it
- more if I had known the story better. I didn't like to ask, as
- everyone knew it or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell
- me all about it. I ought to have read more, for I find I don't
- know anything, and it mortifies me.
-
- Now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and Fred
- has just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got
- quite fond of him. I never thought of anything but a traveling
- friendship till the serenade night. Since then I've begun to
- feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adven-
- tures were something more to him than fun. I haven't flirted,
- Mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done
- my very best. I can't help it if people like me. I don't try to
- make them, and it worries me if I don't care for them, though Jo
- says I haven't got any heart. Now I know Mother will shake her
- head, and the girls say, "Oh, the mercenary little wretch!", but
- I've made up my mind, and if Fred asks me, I shall accept him,
- though I'm not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfort-
- ably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very
- rich--ever so much richer than the Laurences. I don't think his
- family would object, and I should be very happy, for they are all
- kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the
- eldest twin, will have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid
- one it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy
- as our big houses, but twice as comfortable and full of solid
- luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for it's
- genuine. I've seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants,
- and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house,
- lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should
- ask! And I'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap
- up so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary,
- but I hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer
- than I can help. One of us must marry well. Meg didn't, Jo
- won't, Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all
- round. I wouldn't marry a man I hated or despised. You may be
- sure of that, and though Fred is not my model hero, he does very
- well, and in time I should get fond enough of him if he was very
- fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I've been turning
- the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to
- help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little things
- showed it. He never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the
- carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone,
- and frowns at anyone else who ventures to speak tome. Yesterday
- at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and then said
- something to his friend, a rakish-looking baron, about `ein wond-
- erschones Blondchen', Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his
- meat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate. He isn't one of the
- cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch
- blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.
-
- Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at
- least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to
- the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking
- about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the
- beautiful gardens made by the elector long ago for his English
- wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine,
- so while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying
- to sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with scarlet
- woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I'd got into a
- romance, sitting there, watching the Meckar rolling through the
- valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and
- waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl. I had a feeling
- that something was going to happen and I was ready for it. I
- didn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little
- excited.
-
- By-and-by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying
- through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I
- forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said
- he'd just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was
- very ill. So he was going at once on the night train and only
- had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and dis-
- appointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as
- he shook hands, and said it in a way that I could not mistake,
- "I shall soon come back, you won't forget me, Amy?"
-
- I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satis-
- fied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-
- byes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much.
- I know he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once
- hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of
- the sort yet a while, for is is a rash boy, and the old gentle-
- man dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in
- Rome, and then, if I don't change my mind, I'll say "Yes, thank
- you," when he says "Will you, please?"
-
- Of course this is all very private, but I wished you to
- know what was going on. Don't be anxious about me, remember I
- am your `prudent Amy', and be sure I will do nothing rashly.
- Send me as much advice as you like. I'll use it if I can. I
- wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me.
-
- Ever your AMY
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
-
- "Jo, I'm anxious about Beth."
-
- "Why, Mother, she has seemed unusually well since the
- babies came."
-
- "It's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits.
- I'm sure there is something on her mind, and I want you to dis-
- cover what it is."
-
- "What makes you think so, Mother?"
-
- "She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father
- as much as she used. I found her crying over the babies the
- other day. When she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and
- now and then I see a look in her face that I don't understand.
- This isn't like Beth, and it worries me."
-
- "Have you asked her about it?'
-
- "I have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my
- questions or looked so distressed that I stopped. I never
- force my children's confidence, and I seldom have to wait
- for long."
-
- Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face
- opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret disquiet-
- ude but Beth's, and after sewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo
- said, "I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams,
- and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why or
- being able to explain them. Why, Mother, Beth's eighteen, but
- we don't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting
- she's a woman."
-
- "So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," re-
- turned her mother with a sigh and a smile.
-
- "Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to
- all sorts of worries, and let your birds hop out of the nest,
- one by one. I promise never to hop very far, if that is any
- comfort to you."
-
- "It's a great comfort, Jo. I always feel strong when you
- are at home, now Meg is gone. Beth is too feeble and Amy too
- young to depend upon, but when the tug comes, you are always
- ready."
-
- "Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there
- must always be one scrub in a family. Amy is splendid in fine
- works and I'm not, but I feel in my element when all the car-
- pets are to be taken up, or half the family fall sick at once.
- Amy is distinguishing herself abroad, but if anything is amiss
- at home, I'm your man."
-
- "I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her
- tender little heart to her Jo sooner than to anyone else. Be
- very kind, and don't let her think anyone watches or talks
- about; her. If she only would get quite strong and cheerful
- again, I shouldn't have a wish in the world."
-
- "Happy woman! I've got heaps."
-
- "My dear, what are they?"
-
- "I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine.
- They are not very wearing, so they'll keep." And Jo stitched away,
- with a wise nod which set her mother's heart at rest about her for
- the present at least.
-
- While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched
- Beth, and after many conflicting conjectures, finally settled
- upon one which seemed to explain the change in her. A slight
- incident gave Jo the clue to the mystery, she thought, and
- lively fancy, loving heart did the rest. She was affecting
- to write busily one Saturday afternoon, when she and Beth were
- alone together. Yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on her
- sister, who seemed unusually quiet. Sitting at the window, Beth's
- work often dropped into her lap, and she leaned her head upon her
- hand, in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on the dull,
- autumnal landscape. Suddenly some one passed below, whistling
- like an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out, "All serene!
- Coming in tonight."
-
- Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the
- passer-by till his quick tramp died away, then said softly as if
- to herself, "How strong and well and happy that dear boy looks."
-
- "Hum!" said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face, for the
- bright color faded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and
- presently a tear lay shining on the window ledge. Beth whisked
- it off, and in her half-averted face read a tender sorrow that
- made her own eyes fill. Fearing to betray herself, she slipped
- away, murmuring something about needing more paper.
-
- "Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!" she said, sitting down in
- her own room, pale with the shock of the discovery which she
- believed she had just made. "I never dreamed of such a thing.
- What will Mother say? I wonder if her . . ." there Jo stopped
- and turned scarlet with a sudden thought. "If he shouldn't love
- back again, how dreadful it would be. He must. I'll make him!"
- And she shook her head threateningly at the picture of the mis-
- chievous-looking boy laughing at her from the wall. "Oh dear, we
- are growing up with a vengeance. Here's Meg married and a mamma,
- Amy flourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love. I'm the only
- one that has sense enough to keep out of mischief." Jo thought
- intently for a minute with her eyes fixed on the picture, then
- she smoothed out her wrinkled forehead and said, with a decided
- nod at the face opposite, "No thank you, sir, you're very
- charming, but you've no more stability than a weathercock. So
- you needn't write touching notes and smile in that insinuating
- way, for it won't do a bit of good, and I won't have it."
-
- Then she sighed, and fell into a reverie from which she
- did not wake till the early twilight sent her down to take new
- observations, which only confirmed her suspicion. Though
- Laurie flirted with Amy and joked with Jo, his manner to Beth
- had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but so was every-
- body's. Therefore, no one thought of imagining that he cared
- more for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression
- had prevailed in the family of late that `our boy' was getting
- fonder than ever of Jo, who, however, wouldn't hear a word upon
- the subject and scolded violently if anyone dared to suggest it.
- If they had known the various tender passages which had been
- nipped in the bud, they would have had the immense satisfaction
- of saying, "I told you so." But Jo hated `philandering', and
- wouldn't allow it, always having a joke or a smile ready at the
- least sign of impending danger.
-
- When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about
- once a month, but these small flames were as brief as ardent,
- did no damage, and much amused Jo, who took great interest in
- the alternations of hop, despair, and resignation, which were
- confided to her in their weekly conferences. But there came a
- time when Laurie ceased to worship at many shrines, hinted
- darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulged occasionally
- in Byronic fits of gloom. Then he avoided the tender subject
- altogether, wrote philosophical notes to Jo, turned studious,
- and gave out that he was going to `dig', intending to graduate
- in a blaze of glory. This suited the young lady better than
- twilight confidences, tender pressures of the hand,, and
- eloquent glances of the eye, for with Jo, brain developed
- earlier than heart, and she preferred imaginary heroes to
- real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be
- shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter
- were less manageable.
-
- Things were in this state when the grand discovery was
- made, and Jo watched Laurie that night as she had never done
- before. If she had not got the new idea into her head, she
- would have seen nothing unusual in the fact that Beth was
- very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her. But having given the
- rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her at a great
- pace, and common sense, being rather weakened by a long course
- or romance writing, did not come to the rescue. As usual Beth
- lay on the sofa and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing
- her with all sorts of gossip, for she depended on her weekly
- `spin', and he never disappointed her. But that evening Jo
- fancied that Beth's eyes rested on the lively, dark face
- beside her with peculiar pleasure, and that she listened with
- intense interest to an account of some exciting cricket match,
- though the phrases, `caught off a tice', `stumped off his ground'',
- and `the leg hit for three', were as intelligible to her as
- Sanskrit. She also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it,
- that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie's manner,
- that he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual,
- was a little absent--minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's
- feet with an assiduity that was really almost tender.
-
- "Who knows? Stranger things have happened," thought Jo,
- as she fussed about the room. "She will make quite an angel
- of him, and he will make life delightfully easy and pleasant
- for the dear, if they only love each other. I don't see how he
- can help it,and I do believe he would if the rest of us were out of
- the way."
-
- As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to
- feel that she ought to dispose of herself with all speed. But
- where should she go? And burning to lay herself upon the shrine
- of sisterly devotion, she sat down to settle that point.
-
- Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa--long,
- broad, well-cushioned, and low, a trifle shabby, as well it might
- be, for the girls had slept and sprawled on it as babies,
- fished over the back, rode on the arms, and had menageries
- under it as children, and rested tired heads, dreamed dreams,
- and listened to tender talk on it as young women. They all loved
- it, for it was a family refuge, and one corner had always been
- Jo's favorite lounging place. Among the many pillows that adorned
- the venerable couch was one, hard, round, covered with prickly
- horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end. This
- repulsive pillow was her especial property, being used as a weapon
- of defense, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much slumber.
-
- Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with
- deep aversion, having been unmercifully pummeled with it in former
- days when romping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it
- from the seat he most coveted next ot Jo in the sofa corner. If
- `the sausage' as the called it, stood on end, it was a sign that
- he might approach and repose, but if it lay flat across the sofa,
- woe to man, woman, or child who dared disturb it! That evening
- Jo forgot to barricade her corner, and had not been in her seat
- five minutes, before a massive form appeared beside her, and with
- both arms spread over the sofa back, both long legs stretched out
- before him, Laurie exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction . . .
-
- "Now, this is filling at the price."
-
- "No slang," snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was
- too late, there was no room for it, and coasting onto the floor,
- it disappeared in a most mysterious manner.
-
- "Come, Jo, don't be thorny. After studying himself to a
- skeleton all the week, a fellow deserves petting and ought to get
- it."
-
- "Beth will pet you. I'm busy."
-
- "No, she's not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort
- of thing, unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it. Have you?
- Do you hate your boy, and want to fire pillows at him?"
-
- Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom
- heard, but Jo quenched `her boy' by turning on him with a stern
- query, "How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?"
-
- "Not one, upon my word. She's engaged. Now then."
-
- "I'm glad of it, that's one of your foolish extravagances,
- sending flowers and things to girls for whom you don't care two
- pins," continued Jo reprovingly.
-
- "Sensible girls for whom I do care whole papers of pins won't
- let me send them `flowers and things', so what can I do? My feel-
- ings need a` vent'."
-
- "Mother doesn't approve of flirting even in fun, and you do
- flirt desperately, Teddy."
-
- "I'd give anything if I could answer, `So do you'. As I can't,
- I'll merely say that I don't see any harm in that pleasant little
- game, if all parties understand that it's only play."
-
- "Well, it does look pleasant, but I can't learn how it's done.
- I've tried, because one feels awkward in company not to do as
- everybody else id doing, but I don't seem to get on", said Jo,
- forgetting to play mentor.
-
- "Take lessons of Amy, she has a regular talent for it."
-
- "Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too
- far. I suppose it's natural to some people to please without
- trying, and others to always say and do the wrong thing in the
- wrong place."
-
- "I'm glad you can't flirt. It's really refreshing to see a
- sensible, straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without
- making a fool of herself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the
- girls I know really do go on at such a rate I'm ashamed of them.
- They don't mean any harm, I'm sure, but if they knew how we
- fellows talked about them afterward, they'd mend their ways, I
- fancy."
-
- "They do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest,
- you fellows get the worst of it, for you are as silly as they,
- every bit. If you behaved properly, they would, but knowing
- you like their nonsense, they keep it up, and then you blame
- them."
-
- "Much you know about it, ma'am," said Laurie in a super-
- ior tone. "We don't like romps and flirts, though we may act
- as if we did sometimes. The pretty, modest girls are never
- talked about, except respectfully, among gentleman. Bless
- your innocent soul! If you could be in my place for a month
- you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon my
- word, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always
- want to say with our friend Cock Robin . . .
-
- "Out upon you, fie upon you,
- Bold-faced jig!"
-
- It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict
- between Laurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of woman-
- kind, and his very natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of
- which fashionable society showed him many samples. Jo knew
- that `young Laurence' was regarded as a most eligible parti
- by worldly mamas, was much smiled upon by their daughters,
- and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a cox-
- comb of him, so she watched him rather jealously, fearing
- he would be spoiled, and rejoiced more than she confessed
- to find that he still believed in modest girls. Returning
- suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping her
- voice, "If you must have a `went', Teddy, go and devote
- yourself to one of the `pretty, modest girls' whom you do
- respect, and not waste your time with the silly ones."
-
- "You really advise it?" And Laurie looked at her with
- an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.
-
- "Yes, I do, but you'd better wait till you are through
- college, on the whole, and be fitting yourself for the place
- meantime. You're not half good enough for--well, whoever
- the modest girl may be." And Jo looked a little queer like-
- wise, for a name had almost escaped her.
-
- "That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of
- humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently
- wound Jo's apron tassel round his finger.
-
- "Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo, adding
- aloud, "Go and sing to me. I'm dying for some music, and
- always like yours."
-
- "I'd rather stay here, thank you."
-
- "Well, you can't, there isn't room. Go and make yourself
- useful, since you are too big to be ornamental. I thought you
- hated to be tied to a woman's apron string?" retorted Jo,
- quoting certain rebellious words of his own.
-
- "Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie
- gave an audacious tweak at the tassel.
-
- "Are you going?" demanded Jo, diving for the pillow.
-
- He fled at once, and the minute it was well, "Up with the
- bonnets of bonnie Dundee," she slipped away to return no more
- till the young gentleman departed in high dudgeon.
-
- Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off
- when the sound of a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's bed-
- side, with the anxious inquiry, "What is it, dear?"
-
- "I thought you were asleep," sobbed Beth.
-
- "Is it the old pain, my precious?'
-
- "No, it's a new one, but I can bear it." And Beth tried
- to check her tears.
-
- "Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did
- the other."
-
- "You can't, there is no cure." There Beth's voice gave
- way, and clinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly
- that Jo was frightened.
-
- "Where is it? Shall I call Mother?"
-
- "No, no, don't call her, don't tell her. I shall be
- better soon. Lie down here and `poor' my head. I'll be
- quiet and go to sleep, indeed I will."
-
- Jo obeyed, but as her hand went softly to and fro across
- Beth's hot forehead and wet eyelids, her heart was very full
- and she longed to speak. But young as she was, Jo had learned
- that hearts, like flowers, cannot be rudely handled, but must
- open naturally, so though she believed she knew the cause of
- Beth's new pain, she only said, in her tenderest tone, "Does
- anything trouble you, deary?"
-
- "Yes, Jo," after a long pause.
-
- "Wouldn't it comfort you to tell me what it is?"
-
- "not now, not yet."
-
- "Then I won't ask, but remember, Bethy,that Mother and
- Jo are always glad to hear and help you, if they can."
-
- "I know it. I'll tell you by-and-by."
-
- "Is the pain better now?"
-
- "Oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, Jo."
-
- "Go to sleep, dear. I'll stay with you."
-
- So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow
- Beth seemed quite herself again, for at eighteen neither heads
- nor hearts ache long, and a loving word can medicine most ills.
-
- But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a
- project for some days, she confided it to her mother.
-
- "You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll
- tell you one of them, Marmee," she began, as they sat along
- together. "I want to go away somewhere this winter for a
- change."
-
- "Why, Jo?" And her mother looked up quickly, as if the
- words suggested a double meaning.
-
- With her eyes on her work Jo answered soberly, "I want
- something new. I feel restless and anxious to be seeing,
- doing, and learning more than I am. I brood too much over
- my own small affairs, and need stirring up, so as I can be
- spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way and try my
- wings."
-
- "Where will you hop?"
-
- "To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is
- it. You know Mrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable
- young person to teach her children and sew. It's rather hard
- to find just the thing, but I think I should suit if I tried."
-
- "My dear, go out to service in that great boarding house!"
- And Mrs. March looked surprised, but not displeased.
-
- "It's not exactly going out to service, for Mrs. Kirke is
- your friend--the kindest soul that ever lived--and would make
- things pleasant for me, I know. Her family is separate from
- the rest, and no one knows me there. Don't care if they do.
- It's honest work, and I'm not ashamed of it."
-
- "Nor I. But your writing?"
-
- "All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new
- things, get new ideas, and even if I haven't much time there,
- I shall bring home quantities of material for my rubbish."
-
- "I have no doubt of it, but are these your only reasons for
- this sudden fancy?'
-
- "No, Mother."
-
- "May I know the others?"
-
- Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with
- sudden color in her cheeks. "It may be vain and wrong to
- say it, but--I'm afraid--Laurie is getting too fond of me."
-
- "Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he
- begins to care for you?' And Mrs. March looked anxious as she
- put the question.
-
- "Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and
- am immensely proud of him, but as for anything more, it's out
- of the question."
-
- "I'm glad of that, Jo."
-
- "Why, please?'
-
- "Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another. As
- friends you are very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow
- over, but I fear you would both rebel if you were mated for life.
- You are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention
- hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a
- relation which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well
- as love."
-
- "That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it.
- I'm glad you think he is only beginning to care for me. It would
- trouble me sadly to make him unhappy, for I couldn't fall in love
- with the dear old fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?"
-
- "You are sure of his feeling for you?"
-
- The color deepened in Jo's cheeks as she answered, with
- the look of mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young
- girls wear when speaking of first lovers, "I'm afraid it is
- so, Mother. He hasn't said anything, but he looks a great deal.
- I think I had better go away before it comes to anything."
-
- "I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go."
-
- Jo looked relieved, and after a pause, said, smiling, "How
- Mrs. Moffat would wonder at your want of management, if she
- knew, and how she will rejoice that Annie may still hope."
-
- "AH, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the
- hope is the same in all--the desire to see their children happy.
- Meg is so, and I am content with her success. You I leave to
- enjoy your liberty till you tire of it, for only then will you
- find that there is something sweeter. Amy is my chief care
- now, but her good sense will help ;her. For Beth, I indulge
- no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems
- brighter this last day or two. Have you spoken to her?'
-
- "Yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell
- me by-and-by. I said no more, for I think I know it," And
- Jo told her little story.
-
- Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic
- a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion
- that for Laurie's sake Jo should go away for a time.
-
- "Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled,
- then I'll run away before he can collect his wits and be tragic.
- Beth must think I'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't
- talk about Laurie to her. But she can pet and comfort him after
- I'm gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion. He's been
- through so many little trials of the sort, he's used to it, and
- will soon get over his lovelornity."
-
- Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the fore-
- boding fear that this `little trial' would be harder than the
- others, and that Laurie would not get over his `lovelornity'
- as easily as heretofore.
-
- The plan was talked over in a family council and agreed
- upon, for Mrs. Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to
- make a pleasant home for her. The teaching would render
- her independent, and such leisure as she got might be made
- profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society would
- be both useful and agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was
- eager to be gone, for the home nest was growing too narrow
- for her restless nature and adventurous spirit. When all was
- settled, with fear and trembling she told Laurie, but to her
- surprise he took it very quietly. He had been graver than
- usual of late, but very pleasant, and when jokingly accused
- of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, "So I am,
- and I mean this one shall stay turned."
-
- Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits
- should come on just then, and made her preparations with a
- lightened heart, for Beth seemed more cheerful, and hoped
- she was doing the best for all.
-
- "One thing I leave in your especial care," she said, the
- night before she left.
-
- "You mean your papers?" asked Beth.
-
- "No, my boy. Be very good to him, won't you?"
-
- "Of course I will, but I can't fill your place, and he'll
- miss you sadly."
-
- "It won't hurt him, so remember, I leave him in your
- charge, to plague, pet, and keep in order."
-
- "I'll do my best, for your sake," promised Beth, wondering
- why Jo looked at her so queerly.
-
- When Laurie said good-by, he whispered significantly, "It
- won't do a bit of good, Jo. My eye is on you, so mind what you
- do, or I'll come and bring you home."
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
-
- New York, November
-
- Dear Marmee and Beth,
-
- I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps
- to tell, though I'm not a fine young lady traveling on the con-
- tinent. When I lost sight of Father's dear old face, I felt a
- trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an
- Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less,
- hadn't diverted my mind, for I amused myself by dropping ginger-
- bread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths
- to roar.
-
- Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I
- cleared up likewise and enjoyed my journey with all my heart.
-
- Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once,
- even in that big house full of strangers. She gave me a funny
- little sky parlor--all she had, but there is a stove in it, and a
- nice table in a sunny window, so I can sit here and write when-
- ever I like. A fine view and a church tower opposite atone for
- the many stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The
- nursery, where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next
- Mrs. Kirke's private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty
- children, rather spoiled, I fancy, but they took to me after
- telling them THE SEVEN BAD PIGS, and I've no doubt I shall make
- a model governess.
-
- I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to
- the great table, and for the present I do, for I am bashful,
- though no one will believe it.
-
- "Now, my dear, make yourself at home," said Mrs. K. in her
- motherly way, "I'm on the drive from morning to night, as you
- may suppose with such a family, but a great anxiety will be off
- my mind if I know the children are safe with you. My rooms are
- always open to you, and your own shall be as comfortable as I
- can make it. There are some pleasant people in the house if you
- feel sociable, and your evenings are always free. Come to me
- if anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can. There's the
- tea bell, I must run and change my cap." And off she bustled,
- leaving me to settle myself in my new nest.
-
- As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked.
- The flights are very long in this tall house, and as I stood
- waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl
- to lumber up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the
- heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put
- it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind
- nod and a foreign accent, "It goes better so. The little back
- is too young to haf such heaviness."
-
- Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for as Father
- says, trifles show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K.,
- that evening, she laughed, and said, "That must have been
- Professor Bhaer, he's always doing things of that sort."
-
- Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good,
- but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself
- and two little orphan nephews whom he is educating here, accord-
- ing to the wishes of his sister, who married an American. Not
- a very romantic story, but it interested me, and I was glad to
- hear that Mrs. K. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars.
- There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean to
- peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost
- forty, so it's no harm, Marmee.
-
- After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I
- attacked the big workbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting
- with my new friend. I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it
- once a week, so goodnight, and more tomorrow.
-
- Tuesday Eve
-
- Had a lively time in my seminary this morning, for the
- children acted like Sancho, and at one time I really thought I
- should shake them all round. Some good angel inspired me to
- try gymnastics,and I kept it up till they were glad to sit down
- and keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them out for a
- walk, and I went to my needlework like little Mabel `with a
- willing mind'. I was thanking my stars that I'd learned to
- make nice buttonholes, when the parlor door opened and shut,
- and someone began to hum, KENNST DU DAS LAND, like a big bum-
- blebee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I couldn't
- resist the temptation, and lifting one end of the curtain
- before the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was there,
- and while he arranged his books, I took a good look at him. A
- regular German--rather stout, with brown hair tumbled all over
- his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I ever
- saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, after
- our sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes were rusty,
- his hands were large, and he hadn't a really handsome feature
- in his face, except his beautiful teeth, yet I liked him, for
- he had a fine head, his linen was very nice, and he looked
- like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat and
- there was a patch on one shoe. He looked sober in spite of
- his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth
- bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him
- like an old friend. Then he smiled, and when a tap came at
- the door, called out in a loud, brisk tone, "Herein!"
-
- I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of
- a child carrying a big book, and stopped, to see what was going
- on.
-
- "Me wants me Bhaer," said the mite, slamming down her book
- and running to meet him.
-
- "Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer. Come, then, and take a goot
- hug from him, my Tina," said the Professor, catching her up
- with a laugh, and holding her so high over his head that she
- had to stoop her little face to kiss him.
-
- "Now me mus tuddy my lessin," went on the funny little
- thing. So he put her up at the table, opened the great dic-
- tionary she had brought, and gave her a paper and pencil, and
- she scribbled away, turning a leaf now and then, and passing
- her little fat finger down the page, as if finding a word,
- so soberly that I nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while
- Mr. Bhaer stood stroking her pretty hair with a fatherly look
- that made me think she must be his own, though she looked more
- French than German.
-
- Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent
- me back to my work, and there I virtuously remained through all
- the noise and gabbling that went on next door. One of the girls
- kept laughing affectedly, and saying, "Now Professor," in a
- coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her German with an
- accent that must have made it hard for him to keep sober.
-
- Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once
- I heard him say emphatically, "No, no, it is not so, you haf
- not attend to what I say,"" and once there was a loud rap, as
- if he struck the table with his book, followed by the despair-
- ing exclamation, ""Prut! It all goes bad this day."
-
- Poor man, I pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took
- just one more peep to see if he survived it. He seemed to have
- thrown himself back in his chair, tired out, and sat there with
- his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put
- his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and
- taking little Tina who had fallen asleep on the sofa in his
- arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life
- of it. Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the five
- o'clock dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, I thought
- I would, just to see what sort of people are under the same
- roof with me. So I made myself respectable and tried to slip
- in behind Mrs. Kirke, but as she is short and I'm tall, my
- efforts at concealment were rather a failure. She gave me a
- seat by her, and after my face cooled off, I plucked up cour-
- age and looked about me. The long table was full, and every--
- one intent on getting their dinner, the gentlemen especially,
- who seemed to be eating on time, for they bolted in every
- sense of the word, vanishing as soon as they were done. There
- was the usual assortment of young men absorbed in themselves,
- young couples absorbed in each other, married ladies in their
- babies, and old gentlemen in politics. I don't think I shall
- care to have much to do with any of them, except one sweet-
- faced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something in her.
-
- Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Pro-
- fessor, shouting answers to the questions of a very inquisitive,
- deaf old gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with
- a Frenchman on the other. If Amy had been here, she'd have
- turned her back on him forever because, sad to relate, he had
- a great appetite, and shoveled in his dinner in a manner which
- would have horrified `her ladyship'. I didn't mind, for I like
- `to see folks eat with a relish', as Hannah says, and the poor
- man must have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all
- day.
-
- As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men
- were settling their hats before the hall mirror, and I heard
- one say low to the other, ""Who's the new party?""
-
- "Governess, or something of that sort."
-
- "What the deuce is she at our table for?"
-
- "Friend of the old lady's."
-
- "Handsome head, but no style."
-
- "Not a bit of it. Give us a light and come on."
-
- I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a gov-
- erness is as good as a clerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't
- style, which is more than some people have, judging from the
- remarks of the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like
- bad chimneys. I hate ordinary people!
-
- Thursday
-
- Yesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing, and
- writing in my little room, which is very cozy, with a light and
- fire. I picked up a few bits of news and was introduced to the
- Professor. It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman
- who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing
- has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the house
- like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is
- very fond of children, though a `bacheldore'. Kitty and Minnie
- Kirk likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of
- stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and
- the splendid tales he tells. The younger men quiz him, it seems,
- call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner
- of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. Kirke
- says, and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him in
- spite of his foreign ways.
-
- The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated, and
- kind. She spoke to me at dinner today (for I went to table
- again, it's such fun to watch people), and asked me to come
- and see her at her room. She has fine books and pictures,
- knows interesting persons, and seems friendly, so I shall make
- myself agreeable, for I do want to get into good society, only
- it isn't the same sort that Amy likes.
-
- I was in our parlor last evening when Mr. Bhaer came in
- with some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn't there, but
- Minnie, who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily.
- "This is Mamma's friend, Miss March."
-
- "Yes, and she's jolly and we like her lots," added Kitty,
- who is and `enfant terrible'.
-
- We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim intro-
- duction and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast.
-
- ""Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees
- Marsch. If so again, call at me and I come," he said, with a
- threatening frown that delighted the little wretches.
-
- I promised I would, and he departed, but it seems as if I
- was doomed to see a good deal of him, for today as I passed
- his door on my way out, by accident I knocked against it with
- my umbrella. It flew open, and there he stood in his dressing
- gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle
- in the other. He didn't seem at all ashamed of it, for when
- I explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all,
- saying in his loud, cheerful way . . .
-
- ""You haf a fine day to make your walk. Bon voyage,
- Mademoiselle.""
-
- I laughed all the way downstairs, but it was a little path-
- etic, also to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes.
- The German gentlemen embroider, I know, but darning hose is
- another thing and not so pretty.
-
- Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss
- Norton, who has a room full of pretty things, and who was very
- charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if
- I would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her
- escort, if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I'm sure
- Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kind-
- ness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such
- people don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully.
-
- When I got back to the nursery there was such an uproar
- in the parlor that I looked in, and there was Mr. Bhaer down
- on his hands and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leading
- him with a jump rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with
- seedcakes, as they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs.
-
- "We are playing nargerie,"" explained Kitty.
-
- "Dis is mine effalunt!" added Tina, holding on by the
- Professor's hair.
-
- "Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday aft-
- ernoon, when Franz and Emil come, doesn't she, Mr. Bhaer?"
- said Minnie.
-
- The `effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any
- of them, and said soberly to me, "I gif you my wort it is so,
- if we make too large a noise you shall say Hush! to us, and we
- go more softly."
-
- I promised to do so, but left the door open and enjoyed the
- fun as much as they did, for a more glorious frolic I never wit-
- nessed. they played tag and soldiers, danced and sang, and when
- it began to grow dark they all piled onto the sofa about the
- Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the storks
- on the chimney tops, and the little `koblods', who ride the
- snowflakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple and
- natural as Germans, don't you?
-
- I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if
- motives of economy didn't stop me, for though I've used thin
- paper and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this
- long letter will need. Pray forward Amy's as soon as you can
- spare them. My small news will sound very flat after her
- splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying
- so hard that he can't find time to write to his friends? Take
- good care of him for me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies,
- and give heaps of love to everyone. From your faithful Jo.
-
- P.S. On reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather
- Bhaery, but I am always interested in odd people, and I really
- had nothing else to write about. Bless you!
-
- DECEMBER
-
- My Precious Betsey,
-
- As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to
- you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings
- on, for though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh,
- be joyful! After what Amy would call Herculaneum efforts, in
- the way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin
- to shoot and my little twigs to bend as I could wish. They are
- not so interesting tome as Tina and the boys, but I do my duty
- by them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly
- little lads, quite after my own heart, for the mixture of
- German and American spirit in the produces a constant state of
- effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether
- spent in the house or out, for on pleasant days they all go to
- walk, like a seminary, with the Professor and myself to keep
- order, and then such fun!
-
- We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take
- lessons. I really couldn't help it, and it all came about in
- such a droll way that I must tell you. To begin at the begin-
- ning, Mrs. Kirke called to me one day as I passed Mr. Bhaer's
- room where she was rummaging.
-
- "Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and
- help me put these books to rights, for I've turned everything
- upside down, trying to discover what he has done with the six
- new handkerchiefs I gave him not long ago."
-
- I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it
- was `a den' to be sure. Books and papers everywhere, a broken
- meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantlepiece as if done
- with, a ragged bird without any tail chirped on one window
- seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other. Half-finished
- boats and bits of string lay among the manuscripts. Dirty
- little boots stood drying before the fire, and traces of the
- dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave of himself,
- were to be seen all over the room. After a grand rummage
- three of the missing articles were found, one over the bird
- cage, one covered with ink, and a third burned brown, having
- been used as a holder.
-
- "Such a man!" laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the
- relics in the rag bay. "I suppose the others are torn up to
- rig ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite tails. It's
- dreadful, but I can't scold him. He's so absent-minded and good-
- natured, he lets those boys ride over him roughshod. I agreed
- to do his washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his
- things and I forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass
- sometimes."
-
- "Let me mend them," said I. "I don't mind it, and he needn't
- know. I'd like to, he's so kind to me about bringing my letters
- and lending books."
-
- So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two
- pairs of the socks, for they were boggled out of shape with his
- queer darns. Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn't find it
- out, but one day last week he caught me at it. Hearing the
- lessons he gives to others has interested and amused me so much
- that I took a fancy to lear, for Tina runs in and out, leaving
- the door open, and I can hear. I had been sitting near this
- door, finishing off the last sock, and trying to understand what
- he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid as I am. The girl
- had gone, and I thought he had also, it was so still, and I was
- busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a most
- absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was
- Mr. Bhaer looking and laughing quietly, while he made signs to
- Tina not to betray him.
-
- "So!" he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, "you
- peep at me, I peep at you, and this is not bad, but see, I am
- not pleasanting when I say, haf you a wish for German?"
-
- "Yes, but you are too busy. I am too stupid to learn," I
- blundered out, as red as a peony.
-
- "Prut! We will make the time, and we fail not to find the
- sense. At efening I shall gif a little lesson with much glad-
- ness, for look you, Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay." And
- he pointed to my work `Yes,' they say to one another, these so
- kind ladies, `he is a stupid old fellow, he will see not what we
- do, he will never observe that his sock heels go not in holes
- any more, he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall,
- and believe that strings make theirselves.' "Ah! But I haf an
- eye, and I see much. I haf a heart, and I feel thanks for this.
- Come, a little lesson then and now, or no more good fairy works
- for me and mine."
-
- Of course I couldn't say anything after that, and as it
- really is a splendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and we
- began. I took four lessons, and then I stuck fast in a gram-
- matical bog. The Professor was very patient with me, but it
- must have been torment to him, and now and then he'd look at me
- with such an expression of mild despair that it was a toss-up
- with me whether to laugh or cry. I tried both ways, and when
- it came to a sniff or utter mortification and woe, he just
- threw the grammar on to the floor and marched out of the room.
- I felt myself disgraced and deserted forever, but didn't blame
- him a particle, and was scrambling my papers together, meaning
- to rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as
- brisk and beaming as if I'd covered myself in glory.
-
- "Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these
- pleasant little MARCHEN together, and dig no more in that dry
- book, that goes in the corner for making us trouble."
-
- He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Andersons's fairy
- tales so invitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than
- ever, and went at my lesson in a neck-or-nothing style that
- seemed to amuse him immensely. I forgot my bashfulness, and
- pegged away (no other word will express it) with all my might,
- tumbling over long words, pronouncing according to inspiration
- of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished reading
- my first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and
- cried out in his hearty way, "Das ist gut!' Now we go well! My
- turn. I do him in German, gif me your ear." And away he went,
- rumbling out the words with his strong voice and a relish which
- was good to see as well as hear. Fortunately the story was the
- CONSTANT TIN SOLDIER, which is droll, you know, so I could laugh,
- and I did, though I didn't understand half he read, for I couldn't
- help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the whole thing so
- comical.
-
- After that we got on better, and now I read my lessons
- pretty well, for this way of studying suits me, and I can see
- that the grammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry as one
- gives pills in jelly. I like it very much, and he doesn't seem
- tired of it yet, which is very good of him, isn't it? I mean
- to give him something on Christmas, for I dare not offer money.
- Tell me something nice, Marmee.
-
- I'm glad Laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given
- up smoking and lets his hair grow. You see Beth manages him
- better than I did. I'm not jealous, dear, do your best, only
- don't make a saint of him. I'm afraid I couldn't like him
- without a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my
- letters. I haven't time to write much, and that will do just
- as well. Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable.
-
- JANUARY
-
- A Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family, which of
- course includes Mr. L. and a young man by the name of Teddy.
- I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle,
- for i didn't get it till night and had given up hoping. Your
- letter came in the morning, but you said nothing about a
- parcel, meaning it for a surprise, so I was disappointed,
- for I'd had a `kind of feeling' that you wouldn't forget me.
- I felt a little low in my mind as I sat up in my room after
- tea, and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was
- brought to me, I just hugged it and pranced. It was so
- homey and refreshing that I sat down on the floor and read
- and looked and ate and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd
- way. The things were just what I wanted, and all the better
- for being made instead of bought. Beth's new `ink bib' was
- capital, and Hannah's box of hard gingerbread will be a
- treasure. I'll be sure and wear the nice flannels you sent,
- Marmee, and read carefully the books Father has marked. Thank
- you all, heaps and heaps!
-
- Speaking of books reminds me that I'm getting rich in that
- line, for on New Year's Day Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine Shakes-
- peare. It is one he values much, and I've often admired it,
- set up in the place of honor with his German Bible, Plato,
- Homer, and Milton, so you may imagine how I felt when he brought
- it down, without its cover, and showed me my own name in it,
- "from my friend Friedrich Bhaer".
-
- "You say often you wish a library. Here I gif you one, for
- between these lids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read
- him well, and he will help you much, for the study of character
- in this book will help you to read it in the world and paint it
- with your pen."
-
- I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about `my
- library', as if I had a hundred books. I never knew how much
- there was in Shakespeare before, but then I never had a Bhaer
- to explain it to me. Now don't laugh at his horrid name. It
- isn't pronounced either Bear or Beer, as people will say it,
- but something between the two, as only Germans can give it.
- I'm glad you both like what I tell you about him, and hope you
- will know him some day. Mother would admire his warm heart,
- Father his wise head. I admire both, and feel rich in my new
- `friend Friedrich Bhaer'.
-
- Not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, I got
- several little things, and put them about the room, where he
- would find them unexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or
- funny, a new standish on his table, a little vase for his
- flower, he always has one, or a bit of green in a glass, to
- keep him fresh, he says, and a holder for his blower, so
- that he needn't burn up what Amy calls `mouchoirs'. I made
- it like those Beth invented, a big butterfly with a fat body,
- and black and yellow wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes.
- It took his fancy immensely, and he put it on his mantlepiece
- as an article of virtue, so it was rather a failure after all.
- Poor as he is, he didn't forget a servant or a child in the
- house, and not a soul here, from the French laundrywoman to
- Miss Norton forgot him. I was so glad of that.
-
- They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time New Year's
- Eve. I didn't mean to go down, having no dress. But at the
- last minute, Mrs. Kirke remembered some old brocades, and Miss
- Norton lent me lace and feathers. So I dressed up as Mrs.
- Malaprop, and sailed in with a mask on. No one knew me, for I
- disguised my voice, and no one dreamed of the silent, haughty
- Miss March (for they think I am very stiff and cool, most of
- them, and so I am to whippersnappers) could dance and dress,
- and burst out into a `nice derangement of epitaphs, like an
- allegory on the banks of the Nile'. I enjoyed it very much,
- and when we unmasked it was fun to see them stare at me. I
- heard one of the young men tell another that he knew I'd been
- an actress, in fact, he thought he remembered seeing me at
- one of the minor theaters. Meg will relish that joke. Mr.
- Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was Titania, a perfect little
- fairy in his arms. To see them dance was `quite a landscape',
- to use a Teddyism.
-
- I had a very happy New Year, after all, and when I thought
- it over in my room, I felt as if I was getting on a little in
- spite of my many failures, for I'm cheerful all the time now,
- work with a will, and take more interest in other people than
- I used to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all! Ever your
- loving . . . Jo
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
-
- Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and
- very busy with the daily work that earned her bread and made it
- sweeter for the effort, Jo still found time for literary labors.
- The purpose which now took possession of her was a natural one
- to a poor and ambitious girl, but the means she took to gain
- her end were not the best. She saw that money conferred power,
- therefore, she resolved to have, not to be used for herself alone,
- but for those whom she loved more than life.
-
- The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth every-
- thing she wanted,from strawberries in winter to an organ in her
- bedroom, going abroad herself, and always having more than enough,
- so that she might indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for
- years Jo's most cherished castle in the air.
-
- The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which
- might, after long traveling and much uphill work, lead to this
- delightful chateau en Espagne. But the novel disaster quenched
- her courage for a time, for public opinion is a giant which has
- frightened stouter-hearted Jacks on bigger beanstalks than hers.
- Like that immortal hero, she reposed awhile after the first
- attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the
- giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the `up again
- and take another' spirit was as strong in Jo as in Jack, so
- she scrambled up on the shady side this time and got more
- booty, but nearly left behind her what was far more precious
- than the moneybags.
-
- She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark
- ages, even all-perfect America read rubbish. She told no one,
- but concocted a `thrilling tale', and boldly carried it her-
- self to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the WEEKLY VOLCANO. She had
- never read SARTOR RESARTUS, but she had a womanly instinct
- that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many
- than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she
- dressed herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself
- that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two
- pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly
- room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of three gen-
- tlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats,
- which articles of dress none of them took the trouble to remove
- on her appearance. somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hes-
- itated on the threshold, murmuring in much embarrassment . . .
-
- "Excuse me, I was looking for the WEEKLY VOLCANO office.
- I wished to see Mr. Dashwood."
-
- Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest
- gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar between his
- fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance expressive
- of nothing but sleep. Feeling that she must get through the
- matter somehow, Jo produced her manuscript and, blushing
- redder and redder with each sentence, blundered out fragments
- of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.
-
- "A friend of mine desired me to offer--a story--just as
- an experiment--would like your opinion--be glad to write more
- if this suits."
-
- While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken
- the manuscript, and was turning over the leaves with a pair
- of rather dirty fingers, and casting critical glances up and
- down the neat pages.
-
- "Not a first attempt, I take it?" observing that the
- pages were numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied
- up with a ribbon--sure sign of a novice.
-
- "No, sir. She has had some experience, and got a prize
- for a tale in the BLARNEYSTONE BANNER."
-
- "Oh, did she?" And Mr. Dashwood gave JO a quick look,
- which seemed to take note of everything she had on, from the
- bow in her bonnet to the buttons on her boots. "Well, you
- can leave it, if you like. We've more of this sort of thing
- on hand than we know what to do with at present, but I'll run
- my eye over it, and give you an answer next week."
-
- Now, Jo did not like to leave it, for Mr. Dashwood didn't
- suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing
- for her to do but bow and walk away, looking particularly tall
- and dignified, as she was apt to do when nettled or abashed.
- Just then she was both, for it was perfectly evident from the
- knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen that her little
- fiction of `my friend' was considered a good joke, and a
- laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as
- he closed the door, completed her discomfiture. Half re-
- solving never to return, she went home, and worked off her
- irritation by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in an
- hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long
- for next week.
-
- When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she
- rejoiced. Mr. Dashwood was much wider awake than before,
- which was agreeable and Mr. Dashwood was not too deeply ab-
- sorbed in a cigar to remember his manners, so the second
- interview was much more comfortable than the first.
-
- "We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't
- object to a few alterations. It's too long, but omitting
- the passages I've marked will make it just the right length,"
- he said, in a businesslike tone.
-
- Jo hardly knew her own MS again, so crumpled and under-
- scored were its pages and paragraphs, but feeling as a tender
- patent might on being asked to cut off her baby's legs in
- order that it might fit into a new cradle, she looked at the
- marked passages and was surprised to find that all the moral
- reflections--which she had carefully put in as ballast for
- much romance--had been stricken out.
-
- "But, Sir, I thought every story should have some sort of
- a moral, so I took care to have a few of my sinners repent."
-
- Mr. Dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for
- Jo had forgotten her `friend', and spoken as only an author
- could.
-
- "People want to be amused, not preached at, you know. Morals
- don't sell nowadays." Which was not quite a correct statement,
- by the way.
-
- "You think it would do with these alterations, then?"
-
- "Yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up--language
- good, and so on," was Mr. Dashwood's affable reply.
-
- "What do you--that is, what compensation--" began Jo, not
- exactly knowing how to express herself.
-
- "Oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for
- things of this sort. Pay when it comes out," returned Mr. Dash-
- wood, as if that point had escaped him. Such trifles do escape
- the editorial mind, it is said.
-
- "Very well, you can have it," said Jo, handing back the
- story with a satisfied air, for after the dollar-a-column work,
- even twenty-five seemed good pay.
-
- "Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one
- better than this?" asked Jo, unconscious of her little slip of
- the tongue, and emboldened by her success.
-
- "Well, we'll look at it. Can't promise to take it. Tell her
- to make it short and spicy, and never mind the moral. What name
- would your friend like to put on it?" in a careless tone.
-
- "None at all, if you please, she doesn't wish her name to
- appear and has no nom de plume," said Jo, blushing in spite of
- herself.
-
- "Just as she likes, of course. The tale will be out next week.
- Will you call for the money, or shall I send it?" asked Mr. Dashwood,
- who felt a natural desire to know who his new contributor might be.
-
- "I'll call. Good morning, Sir."
-
- As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the grace-
- ful remark, "Poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do."
-
- Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury
- her model, Jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of sensa-
- tional literature, but thanks to the life preserver thrown her by
- a friend, she came up again not much the worse for her ducking.
-
- Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her charac-
- ters and scenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duch-
- esses appeared upon her stage, and played their parts with as
- much accuracy and spirit as could be expected. Her readers
- were not particular about such trifles as grammar, punctuation,
- and probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted her to
- fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it necess-
- ary to tell her that the real cause of his hospitality was the
- fact that one of his hacks, on being offered higher wages, had
- basely left him in the lurch.
-
- She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated
- purse grew stout, and the little hoard she was making to take
- Beth to the mountains next summer grew slowly but surely as
- the weeks passed. One thing disturbed her satisfaction, and
- that was that she did not tell them at home. She had a feeling
- that Father and Mother would not approve, and preferred to have
- her own way first, and beg pardon afterward. It was easy to
- keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories. Mr.
- Dashwood had of course found it out very soon, but promised
- to be dumb, and for a wonder kept his word.
-
- She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely
- meant to write nothing of which she would be ashamed, and
- quieted all pricks of conscience by anticipations of the
- happy minute when she should show her earnings and laugh over
- her well-kept secret.
-
- But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as
- thrills could not be produced except by harrowing up the souls
- of the readers, history and romance, land and sea, science and
- art, police records and lunatic asylums, had to be ransacked
- for the purpose. Jo soon found that her innocent experience
- had given her but few glimpses of the tragic world which
- underlies society, so regarding it in a business light, she set
- about supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy.
- Eager to find material for stories, and bent on making them
- original in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched
- newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes. She excited
- the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on
- poisons. She studied faces in the street, and characters,
- good, bad, and indifferent, all about her. She delved in
- the dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so old that
- they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin,
- and misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed. She
- thought she was prospering finely, but unconsciously she was
- beginning to desecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a
- woman's character. She was living in bad society, and imagin-
- ary though it was, its influence affected her, for she was
- feeding heart and fancy on dangerous and unsubstantial food,
- and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by
- a premature acquaintance with the darker side of life, which
- comes soon enough to all of us.
-
- She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much
- describing of other people's passions and feelings set her
- to studying and speculating about her own. a morbid amusement
- in which healthy young minds do not voluntarily indulge. Wrong-
- doing always brings its own punishment, and when Jo most
- needed hers, she got it.
-
- I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her
- to read character, or the natural instinct of a woman for what
- was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary
- heroes with every perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering
- a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imper-
- fections. Mr. Bhaer, in one of their conversations, had advised
- her to study simple, true, and lovely characters, wherever she
- found them, as good training for a writer. Jo took him at his
- word, for she coolly turned round and studied him--a proceeding
- which would have much surprised him, had he know it, for the
- worthy Professor was very humble in his own conceit.
-
- Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He
- was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect
- what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet
- he was as attractive as a genial fire, and people seemed to
- gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth. He was
- poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a
- stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but
- as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face
- looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely for-
- given for his sake. Jo often watched him, trying to discover
- the charm, and at last decided that it was benevolence which
- worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, `it sat with its
- head under its wing', and he turned only his sunny side to the
- world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed
- to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to
- others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the mem-
- orials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes
- were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong
- grasp that was more expressive than words.
-
- His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature
- of the wearer. They looked as if they were at ease, and liked
- to make him comfortable. His capacious waistcoat was sugges-
- tive of a large heart underneath. His rusty coat had a social
- air, and the baggy pockets plainly proved that little hands
- often went in empty and came out full. His very boots were
- benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other
- people's.
-
- "That's it!" said Jo to herself, when she at length dis-
- covered that genuine good will toward one's fellow men could
- beautify and dignify even a stout German teacher, who shoveled
- in his dinner, darned his own socks, and was burdened with the
- name of Bhaer.
-
- Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most
- feminine respect for intellect, and a little discovery which
- she made about the Professor added much to her regard for him.
- He never spoke of himself, and no one ever knew that in his
- native city he had been a man much honored and esteemed for
- learning and integrity, till a countryman came to see him.
- He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with Miss
- Norton divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it,
- and liked it all the better because Mr. Bhaer had never told
- it. She felt proud to know that he was an honored Professor
- in Berlin, though only a poor language-master in America,
- and his homely, hard-working life was much beautified by the
- spice of romance which this discovery gave it.
-
- Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in
- a most unexpected manner. Miss Norton had the entree into
- most society, which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but
- for her. The solitary woman felt an interest in the ambitious
- girl, and kindly conferred many favors of this sort both on Jo
- and the Professor. She took them with her one night to a select
- symposium, held in honor of several celebrities.
-
- Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones
- whom she had worshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off. But
- her reverence for genius received a severe shock that night,
- and it took her some time to recover from the discovery that
- the great creatures were only men and women after all. Imagine
- her dismay, on stealing a glance of timid admiration at the
- poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on `spirit,
- fire, and dew', to behold him devouring his supper with an
- ardor which flushed his intellectual countenance. Turning
- as from a fallen idol, she made other discoveries which
- rapidly dispelled her romantic illusions. The great novelist
- vibrated between two decanters with the regularity of a pen-
- dulum; the famous divine flirted openly with one of the
- Madame de Staels of the age, who looked daggers at another
- Corinne, who was amiably satirizing her, after outmaneuvering
- her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed
- tea Johnsonianly and appeared to slumber, the loquacity of the
- lady rendering speech impossible. The scientific celebrities,
- forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about
- art, while devoting themselves to oysters and ices with char-
- acteristic energy; the young musician, who was charming the
- city like a second Orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen
- of the British nobility present happened to be the most ordi-
- nary man of the party.
-
- Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely
- disillusioned, that she sat down in a corner to recover herself.
- Mr. Bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out of his element,
- and presently several of the philosophers, each mounted on his
- hobby, came ambling up to hold an intellectual tournament in
- the recess. The conversations were miles beyond Jo's compre-
- hension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel were unknown
- gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms, and
- the only thing `evolved from her inner consciousness' was a
- bad headache after it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually
- that the world was being picked to pieces, and put together on
- new and, according to the talkers, on infinitely better princ-
- iples than before, that religion was in a fair way to be
- reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only
- God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any
- sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half pain-
- ful, came over her as she listened with a sense of being turned
- adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a hol-
- iday.
-
- She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and
- found him looking at her with the grimest expression she had
- ever seen him wear. He shook his head and beckoned her to
- come away, but she was fascinated just then by the freedom
- of Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find
- out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon after
- they had annihilated all the old beliefs.
-
- Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his
- own opinions, not because they were unsettled, but too sin-
- cere and earnest to be lightly spoken. As he glanced from Jo
- to several other young people, attracted by the brilliancy
- of the philosophic pyrotechnics,he knit his brows and longed
- to speak, fearing that some inflammable young soul would be
- led astray by the rockets, to find when the display was over
- that they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand.
-
- He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed
- to for an opinion, he blazed up with honest indignation and
- defended religion with all the eloquence of truth--an elo-
- quence which made his broken English musical and his plain
- face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued
- well, but he didn't know when he was beaten and stood to his
- colors like a man. Somehow, as he talked, the world got
- right again to Jo. The old beliefs, that had lasted so long,
- seemed better than the new. God was not a blind force, and
- immortality was not a pretty fable, but a blessed fact. She
- felt as if she had solid ground under her feet again, and
- when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit convinced,
- Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.
-
- She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave
- the Professor her heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him
- an effort to speak out then and there, because his conscience
- would not let him be silent. She began to see that character
- is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty,
- and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined
- it to be, `truth, reverence, and good will', then her friend
- friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great.
-
- This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem,
- she coveted his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friend-
- ship, and just when the wish was sincerest, she came near to
- losing everything. It all grew out of a cocked hat, for one
- evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson with a
- paper soldier cap on his head, which Tina had put there and
- he had forgotten to take off.
-
- "It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming
- down," thought Jo, with a smile, as he said "Goot efening,"
- and sat soberly down, quite unconscious of the ludicrous
- contrast between his subject and his headgear, for he was
- going to read her the DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN.
-
- She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh
- out his big, hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she
- left him to discover it for himself, and presently forgot all
- about it, for to hear a German read Schiller is rather an ab-
- sorbing occupation. After the reading came the lesson, which
- was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night, and
- the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The
- Professor didn't know what to make of her, and stopped at
- last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irre-
- sistible . . .
-
- "Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's
- face? Haf you no respect for me, that you go on so bad?"
-
- "How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take
- your hat off?" said Jo.
-
- Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor
- gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a
- minute, and then threw back his head and laughed like a merry
- bass viol.
-
- "Ah! I see him now, it is that imp Tina who makes me a
- fool with my cap. Well,it is nothing, but see you, if this
- lesson goes not well, you too shall wear him."
-
- But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes be-
- cause Mr. Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and
- unfolding it, said with great disgust, "I wish these papers
- did not come in the house. They are not for children to see,
- nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf no pat-
- ience with those who make this harm."
-
- Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration
- composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villian, and a viper. She
- did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over
- was not one of displeasure but fear, because for a minute
- she fancied the paper was the VOLCANO. It was not, however,
- and her panic subsided as she remembered that even if it
- had been and one of her own tales in it, there would have
- been no name to betray her. She had betrayed herself, how-
- ever, by a look and a blush, for though an absent man, the
- Professor saw a good deal more than people fancied. He
- knew that Jo wrote, and had met her down among the news-
- paper offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it,
- he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see her
- work. Now it occurred to him that she was doing what she
- was ashamed to own, and it troubled him. He did not say to
- himself, "It is none of my business. I've no right to say
- anything," as many people would have done. He only remem-
- bered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from
- mother's love and father's care, and he was moved to help
- her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which
- would prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from
- a puddle. All this flashed through his mind in a minute,
- but not a trace of it appeared in his face, and by the
- time the paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, he
- was ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely . . .
-
- "Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think
- that good young girls should see such things. They are made
- pleasant to some, but I would more rather give my boys gun-
- powder to play with than this bad trash."
-
- "All may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there
- is a demand for it, I don't see any harm in supplying it.
- Many very respectable people make an honest living out of
- what are called sensation stories," said Jo, scratching
- gathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed
- her pin.
-
- "There is a demand for whisky, but I think you and I do
- not care to sell it. If the respectable people knew what harm
- they did, they would not feel that the living was honest. They
- haf no right to put poison in the sugarplum, and let the small
- ones eat it. No, they should think a little, and sweep mud in
- the street before they do this thing."
-
- Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling
- the paper in his hands. Jo sat still, looking as if the fire
- had come to her, for her cheeks burned long after the cocked
- hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlessly up the chimney.
-
- "I should like much to send all the rest after him," mut-
- tered the Professor, coming back with a relieved air.
-
- Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would
- make, and her hard-earned money lay rather heavily on her con-
- science at that minute. Then she thought consolingly to her-
- self, "Mine are not like that, they are only silly, never
- bad, so I won't be worried," and taking up her book, she said,
- with a studious face, "Shall we go on, Sir? I'll be very
- good and proper now."
-
- "I shall hope so," was all he said, but he meant more than
- she imagined, and the grave, kind look he gave her made her
- feel as if the words WEEKLY VOLCANO were printed in large
- type on her forehead.
-
- As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers,
- and carefully reread every one of her stories. Being a little
- shortsighted, Mr. Bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and Jo
- had tried them once, smiling to see how they magnified the
- fine print of her book. Now she seemed to have on the Pro-
- fessor's mental or moral spectacles also, for the faults of
- these poor stories glared at her dreadfully and filled her
- with dismay.
-
- "They are trash, and will soon be worse trash if I go
- on, for each is more sensational than the last. I've gone
- blindly on, hurting myself and other people, for the sake of
- money. I know it's so, for I can't read this stuff in sober
- earnest without being horribly ashamed of it, and what should
- I do if they were seen at home or Mr. Bhaer got hold of them?"
-
- Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bun-
- dle into her stove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the
- blaze.
-
- "Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense.
- I'd better burn the house down, I suppose, than let other
- people blow themselves up with my gunpowder," she thought as
- she watched the DEMON OF THE JURA whisk away, a little black
- cinder with fiery eyes.
-
- But when nothing remained of all her three month's work
- except a heap of ashes and the money in her lap, Jo looked
- sober, as she sat on the floor, wondering what she ought to
- do about her wages.
-
- "I think I haven't done much harm yet, and may keep this
- to pay for my time," she said, after a long meditation, adding
- impatiently, "I almost wish I hadn't any conscience, it's so
- inconvenient. If I didn't care about doing right, and didn't
- feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally.
- I can't help wishing sometimes, that Mother and Father hadn't
- been so particular about such things."
-
- Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that `Father
- and Mother were particular'. and pity from your heart those
- who have no such guardians to hedge them round with prin-
- ciples which may seem like prison walls to impatient youth,
- but which will prove sure foundations to build character upon
- in womanhood.
-
- Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the
- money did not pay for her share of the sensation, but going
- to the other extreme, as is the way with people of her stamp,
- she took a course of Mrs. Sherwood, Miss Edgeworth, and Han-
- nah More, and then produced a tale which might have been
- more properly called an essay or a sermon, so intensely moral
- was it. She had her doubts about it from the beginning, for
- her lively fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the
- new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff
- and cumbrous costume of the last century. She sent this di-
- dactic gem to several markets, but it found no purchaser,
- and she was inclined to agree with Mr. Dashwood that morals
- didn't sell.
-
- Then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have
- disposed of if she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy
- lucre for it. The only person who offered enough to make it
- worth her while to try juvenile literature was a worthy gentle-
- man who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his
- particular belief. But much as she liked to write for child-
- ren, Jo could not consent to depict all her naughty boys as
- being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls because they did
- not go to a particular Sabbath school, nor all the good infants
- who did go as rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded
- gingerbread to escorts of angels when they departed this life
- with psalms or sermons on their lisping tongues. So nothing
- came of these trials, land Jo corked up her inkstand, and
- said in a fit of very wholesome humility . . .
-
- "I don't know anything. I'll wait until I do before I try
- again, and meantime, `sweep mud in the street' if I can't do
- better, that's honest, at least." Which decision proved that
- her second tumble down the beanstalk had done her some good.
-
- While these internal revolutions were going on, her ex-
- ternal life had been as busy and uneventful as usual, and if
- she sometimes looked serious or a little sad no one observed
- it but Professor Bhaer. He did it so quietly that Jo never
- knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by
- his reproof, but she stood the test, and he was satisfied, for
- though no words passed between them, he knew that she had
- given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that
- the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but
- she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among
- newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged patience, which
- assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with
- something useful, if not pleasant.
-
- He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend,
- and Jo was happy, for while her pen lay idle, she was learning
- other lessons besides German, and laying a foundation for the
- sensation story of her own life.
-
- It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not
- leave Mrs. Kirke till June. Everyone seemed sorry when the time
- came. The children were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair
- stuck straight up all over his head, for he always rumpled it
- wildly when disturbed in mind.
-
- "Going home? Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go
- in," he said, when she told him, and sat silently pulling his
- beard in the corner, while she held a little levee on that last
- evening.
-
- She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight,
- and when his turn came, she said warmly, "Now, Sir, you won't
- forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you?
- I'll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to know my
- friend."
-
- "Do you? Shall I come?" he asked, looking down at her with
- an eager expression which she did not see.
-
- "Yes, come next month. Laurie graduates then, and you'd
- enjoy commencement as something new."
-
- "That is your best friend, of whom you speak?" he said in
- an altered tone.
-
- "Yes, my boy Teddy. I'm very proud of him and should like
- you to see him."
-
- Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her
- own pleasure in the prospect of showing them to one another.
- Something in Mr. Bhaer's face suddenly recalled the fact that
- she might find Laurie more than a `best friend', and simply
- because she particularly wished not to look as if anything was
- the matter, she involuntarily began to blush, and the more she
- tried not to, the redder she grew. If it had not been for Tina
- on her knee. She didn't know what would have become of her.
- Fortunately the child was moved to hug her, so she managed to
- hide her face an instant, hoping the Professor did not see it.
- But he did, and his own changed again from that momentary anx-
- iety to its usual expression, as he said cordially . . .
-
- "I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the
- friend much success, and you all happiness. Gott bless you!" And
- with that, he shook hands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away.
-
- But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire
- with the tired look on his face and the `heimweh', or home-
- sickness, lying heavy at his heart. Once, when he remembered
- Jo as she sat with the little child in her lap and that new
- softness in her face, he leaned his head on his hands a minute,
- and then roamed about the room, as if in search of something
- that he could not find.
-
- "It is not for me, I must not hope it now," he said to him-
- self, with a sigh that was almost a groan. Then, as if reproach-
- ing himself for the longing that he could not repress, he went
- and kissed the two tousled heads upon the pillow, took down his
- seldom-used meerschaum, and opened his Plato.
-
- He did his best and did it manfully, but I don't think he
- found that a pair of rampant boys, a pipe, or even the divine
- Plato, were very satisfactory substitutes for wife and child
- at home.
-
- Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see
- Jo off, and thanks to him, she began her solitary journey with
- the pleasant memory of a familiar face smiling its farewell, a
- bunch of violets to keep her company, and best of all, the happy
- thought, "Well, the winter's gone, and I've written no books,
- earned no fortune, but I've made a friend worth having and I'll
- try to keep him all my life."
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
-
- Whatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to
- some purpose that year, for he graduated with honor, and
- gave the Latin oration with the grace of a Phillips and the
- eloquence of a Demosthenes, so his friends said. They were
- all there, his grandfather--oh, so proud--Mr. and Mrs. March,
- John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over him with the
- sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, but
- fail to win from the world by any after-triumphs.
-
- "I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall
- be home early tomorrow. You'll come and meet me as usual,
- girls?" Laurie said, as he put the sisters into the carriage
- after the joys of the day were over. He said `girls', but he
- meant Jo, for she was the only one who kept up the old custom.
- She had not the heart to refuse her splendid, successful boy
- anything, and answered warmly . . .
-
- "I'll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you,
- playing `Hail the conquering hero comes' on a jew's-harp."
-
- Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a
- sudden panic, "Oh, deary me! I know he'll say something, and
- then what shall I do?"
-
- Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her
- fears, and having decided that she wouldn't be vain enough
- to think people were going to propose when she had given them
- every reason to know what her answer would be, she set forth
- at the appointed time, hoping Teddy wouldn't do anything to
- make her hurt his poor feelings. A call at Meg's, and a
- refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, still
- further fortified her for the tete-a-tete, but when she saw
- a stalwart figure looming in the distance, she had a strong
- desire to turn about and run away.
-
- "Where's the jew's-harp, Jo?" cried Laurie, as soon as
- he was within speaking distance.
-
- "I forgot it." And Jo took heart again, for that salutation
- could not be called loverlike.
-
- She always used to take his arm on these occasions, now
- she did not, and he made no complaint, which was a bad sign,
- but talked on rapidly about all sorts of faraway subjects,
- till they turned from the road into the little path that led
- homeward through the grove. Then he walked more slowly, sudd-
- enly lost his fine flow of language, and now and then a dread-
- ful pause occurred. To rescue the conversation from one of
- the wells of silence into which it kept falling, Jo said
- hastily, "Now you must have a good long holiday!"
-
- "I intend to."
-
- Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to
- find him looking down at her with an expression that assured
- her the dreaded moment had come, and made her put out her hand
- with an imploring, "No, Teddy. Please don't!"
-
- "I will, and you must hear me. It's no use, Jo, we've got
- to have it out, and the sooner the better for both of us," he
- answered, getting flushed and excited all at once.
-
- "Say what you like then. I'll listen," said Jo, with a
- desperate sort of patience.
-
- Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant
- to `have it out', if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into
- the subject with characteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice
- that would get choky now and then, in spite of manful efforts to
- keep it steady . ..
-
- "I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo, couldn't help
- it, you've been so good to me. I've tried to show it, but you
- wouldn't let me. Now I'm going to make you hear, and give me an
- answer, for I can't go on so any longer."
-
- "I wanted to save you this. I thought you'd understand . . .
- began Jo, finding it a great deal harder than she expected.
-
- "I know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know
- what they mean. They say no when they mean yes, and drive a
- man out of his wits just for the fun of it," returned Laurie,
- entrenching himself behind an undeniable fact.
-
- "I don't. I never wanted to make you care for me so, and
- I went away to keep you from it if I could."
-
- "I thought so. It was like you, but it was no use. I
- only loved you all the more, and I worked hard to please you,
- and I gave up billiards and everything you didn't like, and
- waited and never complained, for I hoped you'd love me, though
- I'm not half good enough . . ." Here there was a choke that
- couldn't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups while he
- cleared his `confounded throat'.
-
- "You, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and
- I'm so grateful to you, and so proud and fond of you, I don't
- know why I can't love you as you want me to. I've tried, but
- I can't change the feeling, and it would be a lie to say I do
- when I don't."
-
- "Really, truly, Jo?"
-
- He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put
- his question with a look that she did not soon forget.
-
- "Really, truly, dear.""
-
- They were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when
- the last words fell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie dropped
- her hands and turned as if to go on, but for once in his life
- the fence was too much for him. So he just laid his head down
- on the mossy post, and stood so still that Jo was frightened.
-
- "Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill
- myself if it would do any good! I wish you wouldn't take it
- so hard, I can't help it. You know it's impossible for people
- to make themselves love other people if they don't," cried Jo
- inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly patted his shoul-
- der, remembering the time when he had comforted her so long
- ago.
-
- "They do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post.
-
- "I don't believe it's the right sort of love, and I'd
- rather not try it," was the decided answer.
-
- There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on
- the willow by the river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind.
- Presently Jo said very soberly, as she sat down on the step of
- the stile, "Laurie, I want to tell you something."
-
- He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and
- cried out in a fierce tone, "Don't tell me that, Jo, I can't bear
- it now!"
-
- "Tell what?" she asked, wondering at his violence.
-
- "That you love that old man."
-
- "What old man?" demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his
- grandfather.
-
- "That devilish Professor you were always writing about.
- If you say you love him, I know I shall do something desper-
- ate." And he looked as if he would keep his word, as he clenched
- his hands with a wrathful spark in his eyes.
-
- Jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself and said warmly,
- for she too, was getting excited with all this, "Don't swear,
- Teddy! He isn't old, nor anything bad, but good and kind, and
- the best friend I've got, next to you. Pray, don't fly into
- a passion. I want to be kind, but I know I shall get angry if
- you abuse my Professor. I haven't the least idea of loving
- him or anybody else."
-
- "But you will after a while, and then what will become of
- me?"
-
- "You'll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and
- forget all this trouble."
-
- "I can't love anyone else, and I'll never forget you, Jo,
- Never! Never!" with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words.
-
- "What shall I do with him?" sighed Jo, finding that emotions
- were more unmanagable than she expected. "You haven't heard
- what I wanted to tell you. Sit down and listen, for indeed I
- want to do right and make you happy," she said, hoping to soothe
- him with a little reason, which proved that she knew nothing
- about love.
-
- Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw him-
- self down on the grass at her feet, leaned his arm on the lower
- step of the stile, and looked up at her with an expectant face.
- Now that arrangement was not conducive to calm speech or clear
- thought on Jo's part, for how could she say hard things to her
- boy while he watched her with eyes full of love and longing,
- and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or two her hardness
- of heart had wrung from him? She gently turned his head away,
- saying, as she stroked the wavy hair which had been allowed to
- grow for her sake--how touching that was, to be sure!
-
- "I agree with Mother that you and I are not suited to each
- other, because our quick tempers and strong wills would prob-
- ably make us very miserable, if we were so foolish as to . . ."
- Jo paused a little over the last word, but Laurie uttered it
- with a rapturous expression.
-
- "Marry--no we shouldn't! If you loved me, Jo, I should
- be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything you like."
-
- "No, I can't. I've tried and failed, and I won't risk
- our happiness by such a serious experiment. We don't agree and
- we never shall, so we'll be good friends all our lives, but we
- won't go and do anything rash."
-
- "Yes, we will if we get the chance," muttered Laurie re-
- belliously.
-
- "Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the
- case," implored Jo, almost at her wit's end.
-
- "I won't be reasonable. I don't want to take what you
- call `a sensible view'. It won't help me, and it only makes
- it harder. I don't believe you've got any heart."
-
- "I wish I hadn't."
-
- There was a little quiver in Jo's voice, and thinking it a
- good omen, Laurie turned round, bringing all his persuasive
- powers to bear as he said, in the wheedlesome tone that had
- never been so dangerously wheedlesome before, "Don't disappoint
- us, dear! Everyone expects it. Grandpa has set his heart upon
- it, your people like it, and I can't get on without you. Say
- you will, and let's be happy. Do, do!"
-
- Not until months afterward did Jo understand how she had
- the strength of mind to hold fast to the resolution she had
- made when she decided that she did not love her boy, and
- never could. It was very hard to do, but she did it, knowing
- that delay was both useless and cruel.
-
- "I can't say `yes' truly, so I won't say it at all. You'll
- see that I'm right, by-and-by, and thank me for it . . ." she
- began solemnly.
-
- "I'll be hanged if I do!" And Laurie bounced up off the
- grass, burning with indignation at the very idea.
-
- "Yes, you will!" persisted Jo. "You'll get over this after
- a while, and find some lovely accomplished girl, who will adore
- you, and make a fine mistress for your fine house. I shouldn't.
- I'm homely and awkward and odd and old, and you'd be ashamed
- of me, and we should quarrel--we can't help it even now, you see--
- and I shouldn't like elegant society and you would, and you'd
- hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on without it, and we
- should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and everything
- would be horrid!"
-
- "Anything more?" asked asked Laurie, finding it hard to
- listen patiently to this prophetic burst.
-
- "Nothing more, except that I don't believe I shall ever
- marry. I'm happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to
- be in a hurry to give it up for any mortal man."
-
- "I know better!" broke in Laurie. "You think so now,
- but there'll come a time when you will care for somebody, and
- you'll love him tremendously, and live and die for him. I
- know you will, it's your way, and I shall have to stand by
- and see it." And the despairing lover cast his hat upon the
- ground with a gesture that would have seemed comical, if his
- face had not been so tragic.
-
- "Yes, I will live and die for him, if her ever comes and
- makes me love him in spite of myself, and you must do the best
- you can!" cried Jo, losing patience with poor Teddy. "I've
- done my best, but you won't be reasonable, and it's selfish
- of you to keep teasing for what I can't give. I shall always
- be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but I'll never
- marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better for both
- of us--so now!"
-
- That speech was like gunpowder. Laurie looked at her a
- minute as if he did not quite know what to do with himself,
- then turned sharply away, saying in a desperate sort of tone,
- "You'll be sorry some day, Jo."
-
- "Oh, where are you going?" she cried, for his face fright-
- ened her.
-
- "To the devil!" was the consoling answer.
-
- For a minute Jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself
- down the bank toward the river, but it takes much folly, sin
- or misery to send a young man to a violent death, and Laurie
- was not one of the weak sort who are conquered by a single
- failure. He had no thought of a melodramatic plunge, but
- some blind instinct led him to fling hat and coat into his boat,
- and row away with all his might, making better time up the
- river than he had done in any race. Jo drew a long breath and
- unclasped her hands as she watched the poor fellow trying to
- outstrip the trouble which he carried in his heart.
-
- "That will do him good, and he'll come home in such a
- tender, penitent state of mind, that I shan't dare to see him."
- she said, adding, as she went slowly home, feeling as if she
- had murdered some innocent thing, and buried it under the
- leaves. "Now I must go and prepare Mr. Laurence to be very
- kind to my poor boy. I wish he'd love Beth, perhaps he may
- in time, but I begin to think I was mistaken about her. Oh
- dear! How can girls like to have lovers and refuse them? I
- think it's dreadful."
-
- Being sure that no one could do it so well as herself, she
- went straight to Mr. Laurence, told the hard story bravely
- through, and then broke down, crying so dismally over her own
- insensibility that the kind old gentleman, though sorely dis-
- appointed, did not utter a reproach. He found it difficult
- to understand how any girl could help loving Laurie, and hoped
- she would change her mind, but he knew even better than Jo
- that love cannot be forced, so he shook his head sadly and
- resolved to carry his boy out of harm's way, for Young Im-
- petuosity's parting words to Jo disturbed him more than he
- would confess.
-
- When Laurie came home, dead tired but quite composed, his
- grandfather met him as if he knew nothing, and kept up the
- delusion very successfully for an hour or two. But when they
- sat together in the twilight, the time they used to enjoy so
- much, it was hard work for the old man to ramble on as usual,
- and harder still for the young one to listen to praises of
- the last year's success, which to him now seemed like love's
- labor lost. He bore it as long as he could, then went to
- his piano and began to play. The window's were open, and Jo,
- walking in the garden with Beth, for once understood music
- better than her sister, for he played the `SONATA PATHETIQUE',
- and played it as he never did before.
-
- "That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make
- one cry. Give us something gayer, lad," said Mr. Laurence,
- whose kind old heart was full of sympathy, which he longed to
- show but knew not how.
-
- Laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for
- several minutes, and would have got through bravely, if in a
- momentary lull Mrs. March's voice had not been heard calling,
- "Jo, dear, come in. I want you."
-
- Just what Laurie longed to say, with a different meaning!
- As he listened, he lost his place, the music ended with a broken
- chord, and the musician sat silent in the dark.
-
- "I can't stand this," muttered the old gentleman. Up he
- got, groped his way to the piano, laid a kind hand on either
- of the broad shoulders, and said, as gently as a woman, "I
- know, my boy, I know."
-
- No answer for an instant, then Laurie asked sharply, "Who
- told you?"
-
- "Jo herself."
-
- "Then there's an end of it!" And he shook off his grand-
- father's hands with an impatient motion, for though grateful
- for the sympathy, his man's pride could not bear a man's pity.
-
- "Not quite. I want to say one thing, and then there shall
- be an end of it," returned Mr. Laurence with unusual mildness.
- "You won't care to stay at home now, perhaps?"
-
- "I don't intend to run away from a girl. Jo can't prevent
- my seeing her, and I shall stay and do it as long as I like,"
- interrupted Laurie in a defiant tone.
-
- "Not if you are the gentleman I think you. I'm disap-
- pointed, but the girl can't help it, and the only thing left
- for you to do is to go away for a time. Where will you go?"
-
- "Anywhere. I don't care what becomes of me." And Laurie
- got up with a reckless laugh that grated on his grandfather's
- ear.
-
- "Take it like a man, and don't do anything rash, for God's
- sake. Why not go abroad, as you planned, and forget it?"
-
- "I can't."
-
- "But you've been wild to go, and I promised you should
- when you got through college."
-
- "Ah, but I didn't mean to go alone!" And Laurie walked
- fast through the room with an expression which it was well
- his grandfather did not see.
-
- "I don't ask you to go alone. There's someone ready and
- glad to go with you, anywhere in the world."
-
- "Who, Sir?' stopping to listen.
-
- "Myself."
-
- Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his
- hand, saying huskily, "I'm a selfish brute, but--you know--
- Grandfather--"
-
- "Lord help me, yes, I do know, for I've been through it all
- before, once in my own young days, and then with your father.
- Now, my dear boy, just sit quietly down and hear my plan. It's
- all settled, and can be carried out at once," said Mr. Laurence,
- keeping hold of the young man, as if fearful that he would break
- away as his father had done before him.
-
- "Well, sir, what is it?" And Laurie sat down, without a
- sign of interest in face or voice.
-
- "There is business in London that needs looking after. I
- meant you should attend to it, but I can do it better myself,
- and things here will get on very well with Brooke to manage
- them. My partners do almost everything, I'm merely holding
- on until you take my place, and can be off at any time."
-
- "But you hate traveling, Sir. I can't ask it of you at
- your age," began Laurie, who was grateful for the sacrifice,
- but much preferred to go alone, if he went at all.
-
- The old gentleman knew that perfectly well, and particu-
- larly desired to prevent it, for the mood in which he found his
- grandson assured him that it would not be wise to leave him to
- his own devices. So, stifling a natural regret at the thought
- of the home comforts he would leave behind him, he said stoutly,
- Bless your soul, I'm not superannuated yet. I quite enjoy the
- idea. It will do me good, and my old bones won't suffer, for
- traveling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in a chair."
-
- A restless movement from Laurie suggested that his chair
- was not easy, or that he did not like the plan, and made the
- old man add hastily, "I don't mean to be a marplot or a bur-
- den. I go because I think you'd feel happier than if I was
- left behind. I don't intend to gad about with you, but leave
- you free to go where you like, while I amuse myself in my own
- way. I've friends in London and Paris, and should like to
- visit them. Meantime you can go to Italy, Germany, Switzer-
- land, where you will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery,
- and adventures to your heart's content."
-
- Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely
- broken and the world a howling wilderness, but at the sound
- of certain words which the old gentleman artfully introduced
- into his closing sentence, the broken heart gave an unexpected
- leap, and a green oasis or two suddenly appeared in the howling
- wilderness. He sighed, and then said, in a spiritless tone,
- "Just as you like, Sir. It doesn't matter where I go or what
- I do."
-
- "It does to me, remember that, my lad. I give you entire
- liberty, but I trust you to make an honest use of it. Promise
- me that, Laurie."
-
- "Anything you like, Sir."
-
- "Good," thought the old gentleman. "You don't care now,
- but there'll come a time when that promise will keep you out
- of mischief, or I'm much mistaken."
-
- Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck while
- the iron was hot, and before the blighted being recovered spirit
- enough to rebel, they were off. During the time necessary for
- preparation, Laurie bore himself as young gentleman usually do
- in such cases. He was moody, irritable, and pensive by turns,
- lost his appetite, neglected his dress and devoted much time
- to playing tempestuously on his piano, avoided Jo, but con-
- soled himself by staring at her from his window, with a tragic
- face that haunted her dreams by night and oppressed her with a
- heavy sense of guilt by day. Unlike some sufferers, he never
- spoke of his unrequited passion, and would allow no one, not
- even Mrs. March, to attempt consolation or offer sympathy. On
- some accounts, this was a relief to his friends, but the weeks
- before his departure were very uncomfortable, and everyone re-
- joiced that the `poor, dear fellow was going away to forget his
- trouble, and come home happy'. Of course, he smiled darkly at
- their delusion, but passed it by with the sad superiority of
- one who knew that his fidelity like his love was unalterable.
-
- When the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal
- certain inconvenient emotions which seemed inclined to assert
- themselves. This gaiety did not impose upon anybody, but they
- tried to look as if it did for his sake, and he got on very well
- till Mrs. March kissed him, whit a whisper full of motherly
- solicitude. Then feeling that he was going very fast, he hastily
- embraced them all round, not forgetting the afflicted Hannah, and
- ran downstairs as if for his life. Jo followed a minute after to
- wave her hand to him if he looked round. He did look round, came
- back, put his arms about her as she stood on the step above him,
- and looked up at her with a face that made his short appeal elo-
- quent and pathetic.
-
- "Oh, Jo, can't you?"
-
- "Teddy, dear, I wish I could!"
-
- That was all, except a little pause. Then Laurie straightened
- himself up, said, "It's all right, never mind," and went away with-
- out another word. Ah, but it wasn't all right, and Jo did mind, for
- while the curly head lay on her arm a minute after her hard answer,
- she felt as if she had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left
- her without a look behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie never
- would come again.
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
-
- When Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with
- the change in Beth. No one spoke of it or seemed aware of it,
- for it had come too gradually to startle those who saw her
- daily, but to eyes sharpened by absence, it was very plain and
- a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she saw her sister's face.
- It was no paler and but littler thinner than in the autumn, yet
- there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if the mortal
- was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining through
- the frail flesh with an indescribably pathetic beauty. Jo saw
- and felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the first
- impression lost much of its power, for Beth seemed happy, no
- one appeared to doubt that she was better, and presently in
- other cares Jo fora time forgot her fear.
-
- But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the
- vague anxiety returned and haunted her. She had confessed
- her sins and been forgiven, but when she showed her savings
- and proposed a mountain trip, Beth had thanked her heartily,
- but begged not to go so far away from home. Another little
- visit to the seashore would suit her better, and as Grandma
- could not be prevailed upon to leave the babies, Jo took Beth
- down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the
- open air, and let the fresh sea breezes blow a little color
- into her pale cheeks.
-
- It was not a fashionable place, but even among the pleasant
- people there, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for
- one another. Beth was too shy to enjoy society, and Jo too
- wrapped up in her to care for anyone else. So they were all in
- all to each other, and came and went, quite unconscious of the
- interest they exited in those about them, who watched with sym-
- pathetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always
- together, as if they felt instinctively that a long separation
- was not far away.
-
- They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it, for often between
- ourselves and those nearest and dearest to us there exists a re-
- serve which it is very hard to overcome. Jo felt as if a veil
- had fallen between her heart and Beth's, but when she put out
- her hand to lift it up, there seemed something sacred in the
- silence, and she waited for Beth to speak. She wondered, and
- was thankful also, that her parents did not seem to see what
- she saw, and during the quiet weeks when the shadows grew so
- plain to her, she said nothing of it to those at home, be-
- lieving that it would tell itself when Beth came back no better.
- She wondered still more if her sister really guessed the hard
- truth, and what thoughts were passing through her mind during
- the long hours when she lay on the warm rocks with her head in
- Jo's lap, while the winds blew healthfully over her and the sea
- made music at her feet.
-
- One day Beth told her. Jo thought she was asleep, she lay
- so still, and putting down her book, sat looking at her with
- wistful eyes, trying to see signs of hope in the faint color on
- Beth's cheeks. But she could not find enough to satisfy her,
- for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands seemed too feeble
- to hold even the rosy little shells they had been collecting.
- It came to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was
- slowly drifting away form her, and her arms instinctively
- tightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed.
- For a minute her eyes were too dim for seeing, and when they
- cleared, Beth was looking up at her so tenderly that there was
- hardly any need for her to say, "Jo, dear, I'm glad you know
- it. I've tried to tell you, but I couldn't."
-
- There was no answer except her sister's cheek against her
- own, not even tears, for when most deeply moved, Jo did not
- cry. She was the weaker then,land Beth tried to comfort and
- sustain her, with her arms about her and the soothing words
- she whispered in her ear.
-
- "I've known it for a good while, dear, and now I'm used
- to it, it isn't hard to think of or to bear. Try to see it so
- and don't be troubled about me, because it's best, indeed it is."
-
- "Is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, Beth? You
- did not feel it then, land keep it to yourself so long, did you?"
- asked Jo, refusing to see or say that it was best, but glad to
- know that Laurie had no part in Beth's trouble.
-
- "Yes, I gave up hoping then, but I didn't like to own it.
- I tried to think it was a sick fancy, and would not let it
- trouble anyone. But when I saw you all so well and strong and
- full of happy plans, it was hard to feel that I could never be
- like you, and then I was miserable, Jo."
-
- "Oh, Beth, and you didn't tell me, didn't let me comfort and
- help you? How could you shut me out, bear it all alone?"
-
- Jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached
- to think of the solitary struggle that must have gone on while
- Beth learned to say goodbye to health, love, and live, and take
- up her cross so cheerfully.
-
- "Perhaps it was wrong, but I tried to do right. I wasn't sure,
- no one said anything, and I hoped I was mistaken. It would have
- been selfish to frighten you all when Marmee was so anxious about
- Meg, and Amy away, and you so happy with Laurie--at least I thought
- so then."
-
- "And I thought you loved him, Beth, and I went away because
- I couldn't," cried Jo, glad to say all the truth.
-
- Beth looked so amazed at the idea that Jo smiled in spite
- of her pain, and added softly, "Then you didn't, dearie? I was
- afraid it was so, and imagined your poor little heart full of
- lovelornity all that while."
-
- "Why, Jo, how could I, when he was so fond of you?" asked
- Beth, as innocently as a child. "I do love him dearly. He is
- so good to me, how can I help It? But he could never be anything
- to me but my brother. I hope he truly will be, sometime."
-
- "Not through me," said Jo decidedly. "Amy is left for him,
- and they would suit excellently, but I have no heart for such
- things, now. I don't care what becomes of anybody but you, Beth.
- You must get well."
-
- "I want to, oh, so much! I try, but every day I lose a little,
- and feel more sure that I shall never gain it back. It's like the
- tide, Jo, when it turns, it goes slowly, but it can't be stopped.."
-
- "It shall be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nine-
- teen is too young, Beth. I can't let you go. I'll work and pray
- and fight against it. I'll keep you in spite of everything. There
- must be ways, it can't be too late. God won't be so cruel as to
- take you from me," cried poor Jo rebelliously, for her spirit was
- far less piously submissive than Beth's.
-
- Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It
- shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence
- than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or
- explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up
- life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like a confiding child, she
- asked no questions, but left everything to God and nature, Father
- and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only,
- could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and
- the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches,
- only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung
- more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never
- means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to
- Himself. She could not say, "I'm glad to go," for life was very
- sweet for her. She could only sob out, "I try to be willing,"
- while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this
- great sorrow broke over them together.
-
- By and by Beth said, with recovered serenity, "You'll tell
- them this when we go home?"
-
- "I think they will see it without words," sighed Jo, for now
- it seemed to her that Beth changed every day.
-
- "Perhaps not. I've heard that the people who love best are
- often blindest to such things. If they don't see it, you will tell
- them for me. I don't want any secrets, and it's kinder to prepare
- them. Meg has John and the babies to comfort her, but you must
- stand by Father and Mother, won't you Jo?"
-
- "If I can. But, Beth, I don't give up yet. I'm going to be-
- lieve that it is a sick fancy, and not let you think it's true."
- said Jo, trying to speak cheerfully.
-
- Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way,
- "I don't know how to express myself, and shouldn't try to anyone
- but you, because I can't speak out except to my Jo. I only mean
- to say that I have a feeling that it never was intended I should
- live long. I'm not like the rest of you. I never made any plans
- about what I'd do when I grew up. I never thought of being marr-
- ied, as you all did. I couldn't seem to imagine myself anything
- but stupid little Beth, trotting about at home, of no use anywhere
- but there. I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is
- the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should
- be homesick for you even in heaven."
-
- Jo could not speak, and for several minutes there was no
- sound but the sigh of the wind and the lapping of the tide. A
- white-winged gull flew by, with the flash of sunshine on its
- silvery breast. Beth watched it till it vanished, and her eyes
- were full of sadness. A little gray-coated sand bird came trip-
- ping over the beach `peeping' softly to itself, as if enjoying
- the sun and sea. It came quite close to Beth, and looked at her
- with a friendly eye and sat upon a warm stone, dressing its wet
- feathers, quite at home. Beth smiled and felt comforted, for
- the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship and remind
- her that a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed.
-
- "Dear little bird! See, Jo, how tame it is. I like peeps
- better than the gulls. They are not so wild and handsome, but
- they seem happy, confiding little things. I used to call them
- my birds last summer, and Mother said they reminded her of me
- --busy, quaker-colored creatures, always near the shore, and
- always chirping that contented little song of theirs. You are
- the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind,
- flying far out to sea, and happy all alone. Meg is the turtle-
- dove, and Amy is like the lark she write about, trying to get
- up among the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest
- again. Dear little girl! She's so ambitious, but her heart is
- good and tender, and no matter how high she flies, she never
- will forget home. I hope I shall see her again, but she seems
- so far away."
-
- "She is coming in the spring, and I mean that you shall be
- all ready to see and enjoy her. I'm going to have you well and
- rosy by that time." began Jo, feeling that of all the changes
- in Beth, the talking change was the greatest, for it seemed to
- cost no effort now, and she thought aloud in a way quite unlike
- bashful Beth.
-
- "Jo, dear, don't hope any more. It won't do any good. I'm
- sure of that. We won't be miserable, but enjoy being together
- while we wait. We'll have happy times, for I don't suffer much,
- and I think the tide will go out easily, if you help me."
-
- Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that
- silent kiss, she dedicated herself soul and body to Beth.
-
- She was right. There was no need of any words when they
- got home, for Father and Mother saw plainly now what they had
- prayed to be saved from seeing. Tired with her short journey,
- Beth went at once to bed, saying how glad she was to be home,
- and when Jo went down, she found that she would be spared the
- hard task of telling Beth's secret. Her father stood leaning
- his head on the mantelpiece and did not turn as she came in,
- but her mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and Jo
- went to comfort her without a word.
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
-
- At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world
- at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des Anglais--a charming place,
- for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs,
- is bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive,
- lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards and
- the hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many
- costumes worn, and on a sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brill-
- iant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans,
- handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans,
- all drive,sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criti-
- czing the latest celebrity who has arrived--Ristori or Dickens, Victor
- Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands. The equipages are as
- varied as the company and attract as much attention, especially the
- low basket barouches in which ladies drive themselves, with a pair
- of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep their voluminous flounces from
- overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and little grooms on the perch
- behind.
-
- Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked
- slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression
- of countenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an
- Englishman, and had the independent air of an American--a combi-
- nation which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approv-
- ingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with
- rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange flowers in their
- buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches.
- There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the young man took
- little notice of them, except to glance now and then at some blonde
- girl in blue. Presently he strolled out of the promenade and
- stood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go and
- listen to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along the
- beach toward Castle Hill. The quick trot of ponies feet made him
- look up, as one of the little carriages, containing a single
- young lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady was young,
- blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared a minute, then his whole
- face woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried forward
- to meet her.
-
- "Oh, Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!"
- cried Amy, dropping the reins and holding out both hands, to the
- great scandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's
- steps, lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free manners
- of these `mad English'.
-
- "I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas
- with you, and here I am."
-
- "How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are you
- staying?"
-
- "Very well--last night--at the Chauvain. I called at your
- hotel, but you were out."
-
- "I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get
- in and we can talk at our ease. I was going for a drive and
- longing for company. Flo's saving up for tonight."
-
- "What happens then, a ball?"
-
- "A Christmas party at out hotel. There are many Americans
- there, and they give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us,
- of course? Aunt will be charmed."
-
- "Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and
- folding his arms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred
- to drive, for her parasol whip and blue reins over the white
- ponies backs afforded her infinite satisfaction.
-
- "I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to
- Castle Hill. The view is so lovely, and I like to feed the pea-
- cocks. Have you ever been there?"
-
- "Often, years ago, but I don't mind having a look at it."
-
- "Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you,
- your grandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin."
-
- "Yes, I spent a month there and then joined him in Paris,
- where he has settled for the winter. He has friends there and
- finds plenty to amuse him, so I go and come, and we got on cap-
- itally."
-
- "That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something
- in Laurie's manner, though she couldn't tell what.
-
- "Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still,
- so we each suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I am often
- with him, and he enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that
- someone is glad to see me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirty
- old hole, isn't it?" he added, with a look of disgust as they drove
- along the boulevard to the Place Napoleon in the old city.
-
- "The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the
- hills are delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streets
- are my delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession to
- pass. It's going to the Church of St. John."
-
- While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests
- under their canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers,
- and some brotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, Amy watched
- him, and felt a new sort of shyness steal over her, for he was
- changed,and she could not find the merry-faced boy she left in
- the moody-looking man beside her. He was handsomer than ever and
- greatly improved, she thought, but now that the flush of pleasure
- at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless--not sick,
- nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of
- prosperous life should have made him. She couldn't understand it
- and did not venture to ask questions, so she shook her head and
- touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the
- arches of the Paglioni bridge and vanished in the church.
-
- "Que pensez-vous?" she said, airing her French, which had
- improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.
-
- "That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the
- result is charming," replied Laurie, bowing with his hand on
- his heart and an admiring look.
-
- She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did
- not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at
- home, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, and
- tole her she was `altogether jolly', with a hearty smile and an
- approving pat on the head. She didn't like the new tone, for
- though not blase, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.
-
- "If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he's stay
- a boy," she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and
- discomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.
-
- At Avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, giving
- the reins to Laurie,read them luxuriously as they wound up the
- shady road between green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly
- as in June.
-
- "Beth is very poorly, Mother says. I often think I ought to
- go home, but they all say `stay'. So I do, for I shall never have
- another chance like this," said Amy, looking sober over one page.
-
- "I think you are right, there. You could do nothing at home,
- and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well and
- happy, and enjoying so much, my dear."
-
- He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self as
- he said that, and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heart
- was lightened, for the look, the act, the brotherly `my dear',
- seemed to assure her that if any trouble did come, she would not
- be alone in a strange land. Presently she laughed and showed him
- a small sketch of Jo in her scribbling suit, with the bow rampantly
- erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the words, `Genius
- burns!'.
-
- Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket `to keep it
- from blowing away', and listened with interest to the lively letter
- Amy read him.
-
- "This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents
- in the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at
- night," said Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort,
- and a flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely
- waiting to be fed. While Amy stood laughing on the bank above him
- as she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her
- as she had looked at him, with a natural curiosity to see what
- changes time and absence had wrought. He found nothing to perplex
- or disappoint, much to admire and approve, for overlooking a few
- little affectations of speech and manner, she was as sprightly and
- graceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribable something
- in dress and bearing which we call elegance. Always mature for her
- age, she had gained a certain aplomb in both carriage and conversation,
- which made her seem more of a woman of the world than she was, but
- her old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still
- held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign
- polish.
-
- Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the pea-
- cocks, but he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried
- away a pretty little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in the
- sunshine, which brought out the soft hue of her dress, the fresh
- color of her cheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a
- prominent figure in the pleasant scene.
-
- As they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill,
- Amy waved her hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and
- said, pointing here and there, "Do you remember the Cathedral and
- the Corso, the fishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and the
- lovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's Tower, just below, and best
- of all, that speck far out to sea which they say ils Corsica?"
-
- "I remember. It's not much changed," he answered without
- enthusiasm.
-
- "What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" said
- Amy, feeling in good spirits and anxious to see him so also.
-
- "Yes," was all he said,but he turned and strained his eyes to
- see the island which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now made
- interesting in his sight.
-
- "Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell
- me what you have been doing with yourself all this while," said
- Amy, seating herself, ready for a good talk.
-
- But she did not get it, for though he joined her and answered
- all her questions freely, she could only learn that he had roved
- about the Continent and been to Greece. So after idling away an
- hour, they drove home again, and having paid his respects to Mrs.
- Carrol, Laurie left them, promising to return in the evening.
-
- It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately prinked that
- night. Time and absence had done its work on both the young people.
- She had seen her old friend in a new light, not as `our boy', but as
- a handsome and agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural
- desire to find favor in his sight. Amy knew her good points, and
- made the most of them with the taste and skill which is a fortune to
- a poor and pretty woman.
-
- Tarlatan and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herself
- in them on such occasions, and following the sensible English fashion
- of simple dress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes
- with fresh flowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices,
- which were both inexpensive and effective. It must be confessed
- that the artist sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged
- in antique coiffures, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies.
- But, dear heart, we all have out little weaknesses, and find it
- easy to pardon such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their
- comeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their artless vanities.
-
- "I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home,"
- said Amy to herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball dress,
- and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her
- white shoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect.
- Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the
- thick waves and curls into a Hebe-like knot at the back of her head.
-
- "It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to
- make a fright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle,
- puff, or braid, as the latest style commanded.
-
- Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion,
- Amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and
- framed the white shoulders in delicate green vines. Remembering
- the painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers with
- girlish satisfaction, and chassed down the room, admiring her
- aristocratic feet all by herself.
-
- "My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm,
- and the real lace on Aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress.
- If I only had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy,"
- she said, surveying herself with a critical eye and a candle in
- each hand.
-
- In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and
- graceful as she glided away. She seldom ran--it did not suit her
- style, she thought, for being tall, the stately and Junoesque was
- more appropriate than the sportive or piquante. She walked up and
- down the long saloon while waiting for Laurie, and once arranged
- herself under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon her
- hair, then she thought better of it, and went away to the other
- end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have the
- first view a propitious one. It so happened that she could not
- have done a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly she
- did not hear him, and as she stood at the distant window, with
- her head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress, the
- slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective
- as a well-placed statue.
-
- "Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satis-
- faction she liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her.
-
- "Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at
- him, for he too looked unusually debonair, and the thought of
- entering the ballroom on the arm of such a personable man
- caused Amy to pity the four plain Misses Davis from the bottom
- of her heart.
-
- "Here are your flowers. I arranged them myself, remember-
- ing that you didn't like what Hannah calls a `sot-bookay', said
- Laurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she
- had long coveted as she daily passed it in Cardiglia's window.
-
- "How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully. "If I'd
- known you were coming I'd have had something ready for you today,
- though not as pretty as this, I'm afraid."
-
- "Thank you. It isn't what it should be, but you have im-
- proved it," he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her
- wrist.
-
- "Please don't."
-
- "I thought you liked that sort of thing."
-
- "Not from you, it doesn't sound natural, and I like your
- old bluntness better."
-
- "I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief, then
- buttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight,
- just as he used to do when they went to parties together at
- home.
-
- The company assembled in the long salle a manger that
- evening was such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. The
- hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had
- in Nice, and having no prejudice against titles, secured a few
- to add luster to their Christmas ball.
-
- A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an
- hour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's mother
- in black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polish
- count, aged eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pro-
- nounced him, `a fascinating dear', and a German Serene Something,
- having come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what
- he might devour. Baron Rothschild's private secretary, a large-
- nosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if
- his master's name crowned him with a golden halo. A stout
- Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for
- dancing, and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene
- with her little family of eight. Of course, there were many
- light-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-
- looking English ditto, and a few plain but piquante French
- demoiselles, likewise the usual set of traveling young gentle-
- men who disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations
- lined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they danced
- with their daughters.
-
- Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she
- `took the stage' that night, leaning on Laurie's arm. She
- knew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that her
- foot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed the
- delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first
- discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by
- virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the
- Davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort,
- except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she
- bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, which
- was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and
- burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking
- friend might be. With the first burst of the band, Amy's
- color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the
- floor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted Laurie to
- know it. Therefore the shock she received can better be
- imagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquil
- tone, "Do you care to dance?"
-
- "One usually does at a ball."
-
- Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair
- his error as fast as possible.
-
- "I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?"
-
- "I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances
- devinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend," said
- Amy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and show
- Laurie that she was not to be trifled with.
-
- "Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support . ..
-
- A daughter of the gods,
- Devinely tall, and most devinely fair,"
-
- was all the satisfaction she got, however.
-
- The set in which they found themselves was composed of
- English, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through a
- cotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance the
- tarantella with relish. Laurie resigned her to the `nice little
- boy', and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy for
- the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was
- properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself till
- supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence.
- She showed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when he
- strolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a
- glorious polka redowa. But his polite regrets didn't impose
- upon her, and when she galloped away with the Count, she saw
- Laurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.
-
- That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him
- for a long while, except a word now and then when she came to
- her chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or a
- moment's rest. Her anger had a good effect, however, for she
- hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and
- brilliant. Laurie's eyes followed her with pleasure, for she
- neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and
- grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He
- very naturally fell to studying her from this new point of
- view, and before the evening was half over, had decided that
- `little Amy was going to make a very charming woman'.
-
- It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social
- season took possession of everyone, and Christmas merriment made
- all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians
- fiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it, everybody
- danced who could, and those who couldn't admired their
- neighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark with Davises,
- and many Jones gamboled like a flock of young giraffes. The
- golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with
- a dashing frenchwoman who carped the floor with her pink satin
- train. The serene Teuton found the supper table and was happy,
- eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the
- garcons by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor's friend
- covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether
- he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the
- figures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout man
- was charming to behold, for though he `carried weight', he
- danced like an India-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced,
- his face glowed, his bald head shown, his coattails waved wildly,
- his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the music
- stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his
- fellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses.
-
- Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthu-
- siasm but more graceful agility, and Laurie found himself
- involuntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of the
- white slippers as they flew by as indefatigably as if winged.
- When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances
- that he was `desolated to leave so early', she was ready to
- rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.
-
- It had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blighted
- affections find a balm in friendly society, and young nerves
- will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise,
- when subjected to the enchantment of beauty, light, music, and
- motion. Laurie had a waked-up look as he rose to give her his
- seat, and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, she
- said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "Ah, I thought that
- would do him good!"
-
- "You look like Balzac's `FEMME PEINTE PAR ELLE-NENE',"
- he said, as he fanned her with one hand and held her coffee
- cup in the other.
-
- "My rouge won't come off." And Amy rubbed her brilliant
- cheek, and showed him her white glove with a sober simplicity
- that made him laugh outright.
-
- "What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a fold
- of her dress that had blown over his knee.
-
- "Illusion."
-
- "Good name for it. It's very pretty--new thing, isn't it?"
-
- "It's as old as the hills. You have seen it on dozens of
- girls, and you never found out that it was pretty till now?
- Stupide!"
-
- "I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mis-
- take, you see."
-
- "None of that, it is forbidden. I'd rather take coffee
- than compliments just now. No, don't lounge, it makes me
- nervous."
-
- Laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty plate
- feeling an odd sort of pleasure in having `little Amy' order
- him about, for she had lost her shyness now, and felt an
- irrestible desire to trample on him, as girls have a delightful
- way of doing when lords of creation show any signs of subjection.
-
- "Where did you learn all this sort of thing?" he asked with
- a quizzical look.
-
- "As `this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would
- you kindly explain?" returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he
- meant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.
-
- "Well--the general air, the style, the self-possession, the--
- the--illusion--you know", laughed Laurie, breaking down and help-
- ing himself out of his quandary with the new word.
-
- Amy was gratified, but of course didn't show it, and demurely
- answered, "Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self. I
- study as well as play, and as for this"--with a little gesture
- toward her dress--"why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had for
- nothing, and I am used to making the most of my poor little things."
-
- Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't in
- good taste, but Laurie liked her better for it, and found himself
- both admiring and respecting the brave patience that made the most
- of opportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with
- flowers. Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, now
- why he filled up her book with his own name, and devoted himself
- to her for the rest of the evening in the most delightful manner,
- but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was the result
- of one of the new impressions which both of them were unconsciously
- giving and receiving.
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
-
- In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are
- married, when `Vive la liberte!' becomes their motto. In America,
- as everyone knows,girls early sign the declaration of independence,
- and enjoy their freedom with republican zest, but the young matrons
- usually abdicate with the first heir to the throne and go into a
- seclusion almost as close as a French nunnery, though by no means
- as quiet. Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put
- upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is over, and most
- of them might exclaim, as did a very pretty woman the other day,
- "I'm as handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of me be-
- cause I'm married."
-
- Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not
- experience this affliction till her babies were a year old,
- for in her little world primitive customs prevailed, and she
- found herself more admired and beloved than ever.
-
- As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct
- was very strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children,
- to the utter exclusion of everything and everybody else. Day
- and night she brooded over them with tireless devotion and
- anxiety, leaving John to the tender mercies of the help, for
- an Irish lady now presided over the kitchen department. Being
- a domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions he
- had been accustomed to receive, but as he adored his babies, he
- cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a time, supposing with
- masculine ignorance that peace would soon be restored. But
- three months passed, and there was no return of repose. Meg
- looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every minute of
- her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who took
- life `aisy', kept him on short commons. When he went out in
- the morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the cap-
- tive mamma, if he came gaily in at night, eager to embrace his
- family, he was quenched by a "Hush! They are just asleep after
- worrying all day." If he proposed a little amusement at home,
- "No, it would disturb the babies." If he hinted at a lecture
- or a concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and a
- decided "Leave my children for pleasure, never!" His sleep was
- broken by infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing
- noiselessly to and fro in the watches of the night. His meals
- were interrupted by the frequent flight of the presiding genius,
- who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled chirp sounded from
- the nest above. And when he read his paper of an evening,
- Demi's colic got into the shipping list and Daisy's fall affected
- the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in dom-
- estic news.
-
- The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had
- bereft him of his wife, home was merely a nursery and the per-
- petual `hushing' made him feel like a brutal intruder whenever
- he entered the sacred precincts of Babyland. He bore it very
- patiently for six months, and when no signs of amendment appeared,
- he did what other paternal exiles do--tried to get a little com-
- fort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone to housekeeping not
- far off, and John fell into the way of running over for an hour
- or two of an evening, when his own parlor was empty, and his
- own wife singing lullabies that seemed to have no end. Mrs.
- Scott was a lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be
- agreeable, and she performed her mission most successfully. The
- parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboard ready,
- the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little supper
- set forth in tempting style.
-
- John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not
- been so lonely, but as it was he gratefully took the next best
- thing and enjoyed his neighbor's society.
-
- Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and
- found it a relief to know that John was having a good time
- instead of dozing in the parlor, or tramping about the house
- and waking the children. But by-and-by, when the teething
- worry was over and the idols went to sleep at proper hours,
- leaving Mamma time to rest, she began to miss John, and find
- her workbasket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite
- in his old dressing gown, comfortably scorching his slippers
- on the fender. She would not ask him to stay at home, but felt
- injured because he did not know that she wanted him without
- being told, entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited
- for her in vain. She was nervous and worn out with watching
- and worry, and in that unreasonable frame of mind which the best
- of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares oppress
- them. Want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much
- devotion to that idol of American women, the teapot, makes them
- feel as if they were all nerve and no muscle.
-
- "Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting
- old and ugly. John doesn't find me interesting any longer, so
- he leaves his faded wife and goes to see his pretty neighbor,
- who has no incumbrances. Well, the babies love me, they don't
- care if I am thin and pale and haven't time to crimp my hair,
- they are my comfort, and some day John will see what I've
- gladly sacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?"
-
- To which pathetic appeal daisy would answer with a coo,
- or Demi with a crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for
- a maternal revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being.
- But the pain increased as politics absorbed John, who was always
- running over to discuss interesting points with Scott, quite
- unconscious that Meg missed him. Not a word did she say, how-
- ever, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted
- on knowing what the matter was,for Meg's drooping spirits had
- not escaped her observation.
-
- "I wouldn't tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really
- do need advice, for if John goes on much longer I might as well
- be widowed," replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's
- bib with an injured air.
-
- "Goes on how, my dear?" asked her mother anxiously.
-
- "He's away all day, and at night when I want to see him,
- he is continually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair
- that I should have the hardest work, and never any amusement.
- Men are very selfish, even the best of them."
-
- "So are women. Don't blame John till you see where you
- are wrong yourself."
-
- "But it can't be right for him to neglect me."
-
- "Don't you neglect him?"
-
- "Why, Mother, I thought you'd take my part!"
-
- "So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault
- is yours, Meg."
-
- "I don't see how."
-
- "Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it,
- while you made it a point to give him your society of an evening,
- his only leisure time?"
-
- "No, but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend."
-
- "I think you could, dear, and I think you ought. May I
- speak quite freely, and will you remember that it's Mother who
- blames as well as Mother who sympathizes?"
-
- "Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again.
- I often feel as if I needed teaching more than ever since these
- babies look to me for everything."
-
- Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and with a little
- interruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked loving-
- ly together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one
- than ever.
-
- "You have only made the mistake that most young wives make--
- forgotten your duty to your husband in your love for your chil-
- dren. A very natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that
- had better be remedied before you take to different ways, for
- children should draw you nearer than ever, not separate you, as
- if they were all yours, and John had nothing to do but support
- them. I've seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feeling
- sure it would come right in time."
-
- "I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm
- jealous, and I wouldn't insult him by such an idea. He doesn't
- see that I want him, and I don't know how to tell him without
- words."
-
- "Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear,
- he's longing for his little home, but it isn't home without you,
- and you are always in the nursery."
-
- "Oughtn't I to be there?"
-
- "Not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous,
- and then you are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe
- something to John as well as to the babies. Don't neglect hus-
- band for children, don't shut him out of the nursery, but teach
- him how to help in it. His place is there as well as yours, and
- the children need him. Let him feel that he has a part to do, and
- he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you
- all."
-
- "You really think so, Mother?"
-
- "I know it, Meg, for I've tried it, and I seldom give advice
- unless I've proved its practicability. When you and Jo were little,
- I went on just as you are, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless
- I devoted myself wholly to you. Poor Father took to his books,
- after I had refused all offers of help, and left me to try my ex-
- periment alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jo was
- too much for me. I nearly spoiled her by indulgence. You were
- poorly, and I worried about you till I fell sick myself. Then
- Father came to the rescue, quietly managed everything, and made
- himself so helpful that I saw my mistake, and never have been able
- to got on without him since. That is the secret of our home hap-
- piness. He does not let business wean him from the little cares
- and duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic worries
- destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our part alone in
- many things, but at home we work together, always."
-
- "It is so, Mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband
- and children what you have been to yours. Show me how, I'll do
- anything you say."
-
- "You were always my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were
- you, I'd let John have more to do with the management of Demi,
- for the boy needs training, and it's none too soon to begin.
- Then I'd do what I have often proposed,, let Hannah come and
- help you. She is a capital nurse, and you may trust the precious
- babies to her while you do more housework. You need the exercise,
- Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would find his wife again.
- Go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the
- sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no
- fair weather. Then I'd try to take an interest in whatever John
- likes--talk with him, let him read to you, exchange ideas, and
- help each other in that way. Don't shut yourself up in a bandbox
- because you are a woman, but understand what is going on, and
- educate yourself to take your part in the world's work, for it
- all affects you and yours."
-
- "John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if
- I ask questions about politics and things."
-
- "I don't believe he would. Love covers a multitude of sins,
- and of whom could you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and
- see if he doesn't find your society far more agreeable than Mrs.
- Scott's suppers."
-
- "I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I have neglected him sadly,
- but I thought I was right, and he never said anything."
-
- "He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn,
- I fancy. This is just the time, Meg, when young married people
- are apt to grow apart, and the very time when they ought to be
- most together, for the first tenderness soon wears off, unless
- care is taken to preserve it. And no time is so beautiful and
- precious to parents as the first years of the little lives
- given to them to train. Don't let John be a stranger to the
- babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and happy in
- this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and
- through them you will learn to know and love one another as
- you should. Now, dear, good-by. Think over Mother's preach-
- ment, act upon it if it seems good, and God bless you all."
-
- Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it,
- though the first attempt was not made exactly as she planned
- to have it. Of course the children tyrannized over her, and
- ruled the house as soon as they found out that kicking and
- squalling brought them whatever they wanted. Mamma was an
- abject slave to their caprices, but Papa was not so easily
- subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by
- an attempt at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son.
- For Demi inherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of char-
- acter, we won't call it obstinacy, and when he made up his
- little to have or to do anything, all the king's horses and
- all the king's men could not change that pertinacious little
- mind. Mamma thought the dear too young to be taught to con-
- quer his prejudices, but Papa believed that it never was too
- soon to learn obedience. So Master Demi early discovered that
- when he undertook to `wrastle' with `Parpar', he always got
- the worst of it, yet like the Englishman, baby respected the
- man who conquered him, and loved the father whose grave "No,
- no," was more impressive than all Mamma's love pats.
-
- A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved
- to try a social evening with John, so she ordered a nice
- supper, set the parlor in order, dressed herself prettily, and
- put the children to bed early, that nothing should interfere
- with her experiment. But unfortunately Demi's most uncon-
- querable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night
- he decided to go on a rampage. So poor Meg sang and rocked,
- told stories and tried every sleep-prevoking wile she could
- devise, but all in vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut, and long
- after Daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch
- of good nature she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light,
- with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of counten-
- ance.
-
- "Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while Mamma runs
- down and gives poor Papa his tea?" asked Meg, as the hall
- door softly closed, and the well-known step went tip-toeing
- into the dining room.
-
- "Me has tea!" said Demi, preparing to join in the revel.
-
- "No, but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast,
- if you'll go bye-by like Daisy. Will you, lovey?"
-
- "Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep
- and hurry the desired day.
-
- Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped
- away and ran down to greet her husband with a smiling face
- and the little blue bow in her hair which was his especial
- admiration. He saw it at once and said with pleased surprise,
- "Why, little mother, how gay we are tonight. Do you expect
- company?"
-
- "Only you, dear."
-
- "No, I'm tired of being dowdy, so I dressed up as a
- change. You always make yourself nice for table, no matter
- how tired you are, so why shouldn't I when I have the time?'
-
- "I do it out of respect for you, my dear," said old-
- fashioned John.
-
- "Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young
- and pretty again, as she nodded to him over the teapot.
-
- "Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This
- tastes right. I drink your health, dear." And John sipped his
- tea with an air of reposeful rapture, which was of very short
- duration however, for as he put down his cup, the door handle
- rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard, saying im-
- patiently . . .
-
- "Opy doy. Me's tummin!"
-
- "It's that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone,
- and here he is, downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering
- over that canvas," said Meg, answering the call.
-
- "Mornin' now," announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered,
- with his long nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and
- every curl bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing
- the `cakies' with loving glances.
-
- "No, it isn't morning yet. You must go to bed, and not
- trouble poor Mamma. Then you can have the little cake with
- sugar on it."
-
- "Me loves Parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb
- the paternal knee and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook
- his head, and said to Meg. . .
-
- "If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone,
- make him do it, or he will never learn to mind you."
-
- "Yes, of course. Come, Demi." And Meg led her son away,
- feeling a strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped
- beside her, laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to
- be administered as soon as they reached the nursery.
-
- Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman
- actually gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed,
- and forbade any more promenades till morning.
-
- "Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar,
- and regarding his first attempt as eminently successful.
-
- Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing
- pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again and exposed
- the maternal delinquencies by boldly demanding, "More sudar,
- Marmar."
-
- "Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against
- the engaging little sinner. "We shall never know any peace till
- that child learns togo to bed properly. You have made a slave of
- yourself long enough. Give him one lesson, and then there will
- be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leave him, Meg."
-
- "He won't stay there, he never does unless I sit by him."
-
- "I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed,
- as Mamma bids you."
-
- "S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the
- coveted `cakie', and beginning to eat the same with calm aud-
- acity.
-
- "You must never say that to Papa. I shall carry you if you
- don't go yourself."
-
- "Go 'way, me don't love Parpar." And Demi retired to his
- mother's skirts for protection.
-
- But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was de-
- livered over to the enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John,"
- which struck the culprit with dismay, for when Mamma deserted
- him, then the judgment day was at hand. Bereft of his cake,
- defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand to
- that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but
- openly defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the
- way upstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he
- rolled out on the other, and made for the door, only to be
- ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga and
- put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the
- young man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself to
- roaring at the top of his voice. This vocal exercise usually
- conquered Meg, but John sat as unmoved as the post which is
- popularly believed to be deaf. No coaxing, no sugar, no
- lullaby, no story, even the light was put out and only the
- red glow of the fire enlivened the `big dark' which Demi
- regarded with curiosity rather than fear. This new order
- of things disgusted him, and he howled dismally for `Marmar',
- as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of his
- tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The
- plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar went to
- Meg's heart, and she ran up to say beseechingly . . .
-
- "Let me stay with him, he'll be good now, John."
-
- "No, my dear. I've told him he must go to sleep, as you
- bid him, and he must, if I stay here all night."
-
- "But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching her-
- self for deserting her boy.
-
- "No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off and then
- the matter is settled, for he will understand that he has got to
- mind. Don't interfere, I'll manage him."
-
- "He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harsh-
- ness."
-
- "He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoiled by
- indulgence. Go down, my dear, and leave the boy to me."
-
- When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed,
- and never regretted her docility.
-
- "Please let me kiss him once, John?"
-
- "Certainly. Demi, say good night to Mamma, and let her
- go and rest, for she is very tired with taking care of you all
- day."
-
- Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory,
- for after it was given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite
- still at the bottom of the bed, whither he had wriggled in his
- anguish of mind.
-
- "Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying. I'll
- cover him up, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest." thought
- John, creeping to the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious
- heir asleep.
-
- But he wasn't, for the moment his father peeped at him,
- Demi's eyes opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put
- up his arms, saying with a penitent hiccough, "Me's dood, now."
-
- Sitting on the stairs outside Meg wondered at the long
- silence which followed the uproar, and after imagining all
- sorts of impossible accidents, she slipped into the room to
- set her fears at rest. Demi lay fast asleep, not in his usual
- spreadeagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close in
- the circle of his father's arm and holding his father's finger,
- as if he felt that justice was tempered with mercy, and had
- gone to sleep a sadder and wiser baby. So held, John had waited
- with a womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its hold,
- and while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle
- with his son than with his whole day's work.
-
- As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she
- smiled to herself, and then slipped away again, saying in a
- satisfied tone, "I never need fear that John will be too harsh
- with my babies. He does know how to manage them, and will be
- a great help, for Demi is getting too much for me."
-
- When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive
- or reproachful wife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg
- placidly trimming a bonnet, and to be greeted with the re-
- quest to read something about the election, if he was not
- too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some
- kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing
- that Meg was such a transparent little person, she couldn't
- keep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clue would
- soon appear. He read a long debate with the most amiable
- readiness and then explained it in his most lucid manner,
- while Meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelli-
- gent questions, and keep her thoughts from wandering from the
- state of the nation to the state of her bonnet. In her secret
- soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad as mathe-
- matics, and the the mission of politicians seemed to be calling
- each other names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself,
- and when John paused, shook her head and said with what she
- thought diplomatic ambiguity, "Well, I really don't see what
- we are coming to."
-
- John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised
- a pretty little preparation of lace and flowers on her hand,
- and regarded it with the genuine interest which his harangue
- had failed to waken.
-
- "She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and
- like millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John the Just,
- adding aloud, "That's very pretty. Is it what you call a break-
- fast cap?"
-
- "My dear man, it's a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-
- and-theater bonnet."
-
- "I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it
- for one of the flyaway things you sometimes wear. How do you
- keep it on?"
-
- "these bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rose-
- bud, so." And Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet and re-
- garding him with an air of calm satisfaction that was irresistible.
-
- "It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for
- it looks young and happy again." And John kissed the smiling
- face, to the great detriment of the rosebud under the chin.
-
- "I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one
- of the new concerts some night. I really need some music to
- put me in tune. Will you, please?"
-
- "Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you
- like. You have been shut up so long, it will do you no end of
- good, and I shall enjoy it, of all things. What put it into
- your head, little mother?"
-
- "Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told
- her how nervous and cross and out of sorts I felt, and she
- said I needed change and less care, so Hannah is to help me
- with the children, and I'm to see to things about the house more,
- and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me from getting
- to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my time. It's
- only an experiment, John, and I want to try it for your sake
- as much as for mine, because I've neglected you shamefully
- lately, and I'm going to make home what it used to be, if I
- can. You don't object, I hope?"
-
- Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape
- the little bonnet had from utter ruin. All that we have any
- business to know is that John did not appear to object, judg-
- ing from the changes which gradually took place in the house
- and its inmates. It was not all Paradise by any means, but
- everyone was better for the division of labor system. The
- children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, sted-
- fast John brought order and obedience into Babydom, while Meg
- recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of
- wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential
- conversation with her sensible husband. Home grew homelike
- again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg
- with him. The Scotts came to the Brookes' now, and everyone
- found the little house a cheerful place, full of happiness,
- content, and family love. Even Sallie Moffatt liked to go
- there. "It is always so quiet and pleasant here, it does me
- good, Meg," she used to say, looking about her with wistful
- eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use
- it in her great house, full of splendid lonliness, for there
- were no riotous, sunny-faced babies there, and Ned lived in
- a world of lis own, where there was no place for her.
-
- This household happiness did not come all at once, but
- John and Meg had found the key to it, and each year of Marr-
- ied life taught them how to use it, unlocking the treasuries
- of real home love and mutual helpfulness, which the poorest
- may possess, and the richest cannot buy. This is the sort
- of shelf on which young wives and mothers may consent to be
- laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world,
- finding loyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who
- cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age, walking
- side by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful
- friend, who is, in the true sense of the good old Saxon word,
- the `house-band', and learning, as Meg learned, that a woman's
- happiest kingdom is home, her highest honor the art of ruling
- it not as a queen, but as a wise wife and mother.
-
-
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
-
- Laurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained
- a month. He was tired of wandering about alone, and Amy's
- familiar presence seemed to give a homelike charm to the
- foreign scenes in which she bore a part. He rather missed the
- `petting' he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again,
- for no attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were half
- so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amy
- never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to
- see him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was the
- representative of the dear family for whom she longed more
- than she would confess. They naturally took comfort in each
- other's society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing,
- or dawdling, for at Nice no one can be very industrious during
- the gay season. But, while apparently amusing themselves in
- the most careless fashion, they were half-consciously making
- discoveries and forming opinions about each other. Amy rose
- daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers,
- and each felt the truth before a word was spoken. Amy tried
- to please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the many
- pleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little ser-
- vices to which womanly women know how to lend an indescrib-
- able charm. Laurie made no effort of any kind, but just let
- himself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying to
- forget, and feeling that all women owed him a kind word be-
- cause one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to be
- generous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in
- Nice if she would have taken them, but at the same time he
- felt that he could not change the opinion she was forming of
- him, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes that seemed to
- watch him with such half-sorrowful, half-scornful surprise.
-
- "All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I pre-
- ferred to stay at home and write letters. They are done now,
- and I am going to Valrosa to sketch, will you come?' said Amy,
- as she joined Laurie one lovely day when he lounged in as usual
- about noon.
-
- "Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?"
- he answered slowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after
- the glare without.
-
- "I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can
- drive, so you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella,
- and keep your gloves nice," returned Amy, with a sarcastic
- glance at the immaculate kids, which were a weak point with
- Laurie.
-
- "Then I'll go with pleasure." And he put out his hand for
- her sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp . . .
-
- "Don't trouble yourself. It's no exertion to me, but you
- don't look equal to it."
-
- Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace
- as she ran downstairs, but when they got into the carriage he took
- the reins himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold
- his arms and fall asleep on his perch.
-
- The two never quarreled. Amy was too well-bred, and just now
- Laurie was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim
- with an inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they
- went on together in the most amicable manner.
-
- It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the pic-
- turesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient
- monastery, whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to
- them. There a bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat,
- and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while
- his goats skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek,
- mouse-colored donkeys, laden with panniers of freshly cut grass
- passed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between the
- green piles, or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went.
- Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovels
- to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough.
- Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky foliage,
- fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones
- fringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights,
- the Maritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky.
-
- Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of per-
- petual summer roses blossomed everywhere. They overhung the
- archway, thrust themselves between the bars of the great gate
- with a sweet welcome to passers-by, and lined the avenue, winding
- through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill.
- Every shadowy nook, where seats invited one to stop and rest, was
- a mass of bloom, every cool grotto had its marble nymph smiling
- from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson, white,
- or pale pink roses, leaning down to smile at their own beauty.
- Roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbed
- the pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace,
- whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean, and the white-
- walled city on its shore.
-
- "This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it? Did you
- ever see such roses?" asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to en-
- joy the view, and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wander-
- ing by.
-
- "No, nor felt such thorns," returned Laurie, with his thumb
- in his mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet
- flower that grew just beyond his reach.
-
- "Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," said
- Amy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred
- the wall behind her. She put them in his buttonhole as a peace
- offering, and he stood a minute looking down at them with a
- curious expression, for in the Italian part of his nature there
- was a touch of superstition, and he was just then in that state
- of half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, when imaginative young
- men find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere.
- He had thought of Jo in reaching after the thorny red rose, for
- vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like that
- from the greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him were
- the sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridal
- wreaths, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for Jo or
- for himself, but the next instant his American common sense got
- the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh
- than Amy had heard since he came.
-
- "It's good advice, you'd better take it and save your fingers,"
- she said, thinking her speech amused him.
-
- "Thank you, I will," he answered in jest, and a few months
- later he did it in earnest.
-
- "Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?" she asked
- presently, as she settled herself on a rustic seat.
-
- "Very soon."
-
- "You have said that a dozen times within the last three
- weeks."
-
- "I dare say, short answers save trouble."
-
- "He expects you, and you really ought to go."
-
- "Hospitable creature! I know it."
-
- "Then why don't you do it?"
-
- "Natural depravity, I suppose."
-
- "Natural indolence, you mean. It's really dreadful!" And
- Amy looked severe.
-
- "Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I
- went, so I might as well stay and plague you a little longer,
- you can bear it better, in fact I think it agrees with you ex-
- cellently." And Laurie composed himself for a lounge on the
- broad ledge of the balustrade.
-
- Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an
- air of resignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture
- `that boy' and in a minute she began again.
-
- "What are you doing just now?"
-
- "Watching lizards."
-
- "No, no. I mean what do you intend and wish to do?"
-
- "Smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me."
-
- "How provoking you are! I don't approve of cigars and I
- will only allow it on condition that you let me put you into my
- sketch. I need a figure."
-
- "With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me, full-
- length or three-quarters, on my head or my heels? I should
- respectfully suggest a recumbent posture, then put yourself in
- also and call it `Dolce far niente'."
-
- "Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like. I intend to
- work hard," said Amy in her most energetic tone.
-
- "What delightful enthusiasm!" And he leaned against a tall
- urn with an ir of entire satisfaction.
-
- "What would Jo say if she saw you now?" asked Amy impat-
- iently, hoping to stir him up by the mention of her still more
- energetic sister's name.
-
- "As usual, `Go away, Teddy. I'm busy!'" He laughed as he
- spoke, but the laugh was not natural, and a shade passed over
- his face, for the utterance of the familiar name touched the
- wound that was not healed yet. Both tone and shadow struck Amy,
- for she had seen and heard them before, and now she looked up
- in time to catch a new expression on Laurie's face--a hard bitter
- look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone be-
- fore she could study it and the listless expression back again.
- She watched him for a moment with artistic pleasure, thinking
- how like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking in the sun
- with uncovered head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, for
- he seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie.
-
- "You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his
- tomb," she said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined
- against the dark stone.
-
- "Wish I was!"
-
- "That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life.
- You are so changed, I sometimes think--" There Amy stopped,
- with a half-timid, half-wistful look, more significant than her
- unfinished speech.
-
- Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which
- she hesitated to express, and looking straight into her eyes,
- said, just as he used to say it to her mother, "It's all right,
- ma'am."
-
- That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had be-
- gun to worry her lately. It also touched her, and she showed
- that it did, by the cordial tone in which she said . . .
-
- "I'm glad of that! I didn't think you'd been a very bad
- boy, but I fancied you might have wasted money at that wicked
- Baden-Baden, lost your heart to some charming Frenchwoman
- with a husband, or got into some of the scrapes that young men
- seem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour. Don't
- stay out there in the sun, come and lie on the grass here and
- `let us be friendly', as Jo used to say when we got in the sofa
- corner and told secrets."
-
- Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and
- began to amuse himself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of
- Amy's hat, that lay there.
-
- "I'm all ready for the secrets." And he glanced up with
- a decided expression of interest in his eyes.
-
- "I've none to tell. You may begin."
-
- "Haven't one to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'd
- had some news from home.."
-
- "You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hear
- often? I fancied Jo would send you volumes."
-
- "She's very busy. I'm roving about so, it's impossible to
- be regular, you know. When do you begin your great work of art,
- Raphaella?' he asked. changing the subject abruptly after
- another pause, in which he had been wondering if Amy knew his
- secret and wanted to talk about it.
-
- "Never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air.
- "Rome took all the vanity out of me, for after seeing the
- wonders there, I felt too insignificant to live and gave up
- all my foolish hopes in despair."
-
- "Why should you, with so much energy and talent?"
-
- "That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and no
- amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great,or noth-
- ing. I won't be a common-place dauber, so I don't intend to
- try any more."
-
- "And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I
- may ask?"
-
- "Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society,
- if I get the chance."
-
- It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, but
- audacity becomes young people, and Amy's ambition had a good
- foundation. Laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit with
- which she took up a new purpose when a long-cherished one
- died, and spent no time lamenting.
-
- "Good! And here is where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy."
-
- Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a con-
- scious look in her downcast face that made Laurie sit up and
- say gravely, "Now I'm going to play brother, and ask questions.
- May I?"
-
- "I don't promise to answer."
-
- "Your face will, if your tongue won't. You aren't woman of
- the world enough yet to hide your feelings, my dear. I heard
- rumors about Fred and you last year, and it's my private op-
- inion that if he had not been called home so suddenly and
- detained so long, something would have come of it, hey?"
-
- "That's not for me to say," was Amy's grim reply, but her
- lips would smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the
- eye which betrayed that she knew her power and enjoyed the
- knowledge.
-
- "You are not engaged, I hope?" And Laurie looked very
- elder-brotherly and grave all of a sudden.
-
- "No."
-
- "But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down
- on his knees, won't you?"
-
- "Very likely."
-
- "Then you are fond of old Fred?"
-
- "I could be, if I tried."
-
- "But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Bless
- my soul, what unearthly prudence! He's a good fellow, Amy, but
- not the man I fancied you'd like."
-
- "He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners,"
- began Amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling
- a little ashamed of herself, in spite of the sincerity of her
- intentions.
-
- "I understand. Queens of society can't get on without money,
- so you mean to make a good match, and start in that way? Quite
- right and proper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from the
- lips of one of your mother's girls."
-
- "True, nevertheless."
-
- A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was
- uttered contrasted curiously with the young speaker. Laurie
- felt this instinctively and laid himself down again, with a
- sense of disappointment which he could not explain. His look
- and silence, as well as a certain inward self-disapproval,
- ruffled Amy, and made her resolve to deliver her lecture with-
- out delay.
-
- "I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little,"
- she said sharply.
-
- "Do it for me, there's a dear girl."
-
- "I could, if I tried." And she looked as if she would like
- doing it in the most summary style.
-
- "Try, then. I give you leave," returned Laurie, who en-
- joyed having someone to tease, after his long abstinence from
- his favorite pastime.
-
- "You'd be angry in five minutes."
-
- "I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a
- fire. You are as cool and soft as snow."
-
- "You don't know what I can do. Snow produces a glow and
- a tingle, if applied rightly. Your indifference is half af-
- fectation, and a good stirring up would prove it."
-
- "Stir away, it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the
- big man said when his little wife beat him. Regard me in the
- light of a husband or a carpet, and beat till you are tired,
- if that sort of exercise agrees with you."
-
- Being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see him
- shake off the apathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both
- tongue and pencil, and began.
-
- "Flo and I have got a new name for you. It's Lazy Laur-
- ence. How do you like it?"
-
- She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his
- arms under his head, with an imperturbable, "That's not bad.
- Thank you, ladies."
-
- "Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"
-
- "Pining to be told."
-
- "Well, I despise you."
-
- If she had even said `I hate you' in a petulant or co-
- quettish tone, he would have laughed and rather liked it, but
- the grave, almost sad, accent in her voice made him open his
- eyes, and ask quickly . . .
-
- "Why, if you please?"
-
- "Because, with every chance for being good, useful, and
- happy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable."
-
- "Strong language, mademoiselle."
-
- "If you like it, I'll go on."
-
- "Pray do, it's quite interesting."
-
- "I thought you'd find it so. Selfish people always like to
- talk about themselves."
-
- "Am I selfish?" The question slipped out involuntarily and
- in a tone of surprise, for the one virtue on which he prided
- himself was generosity.
-
- "Yes, very selfish," continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice,
- twice as effective just then as an angry one. "I'll show you
- how, for I've studied you while we were frolicking, and I'm
- not at all satisfied with you. Here you have been abroad
- nearly six months, and done nothing but waste time and money
- and disappoint your friends."
-
- "Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year
- grind?"
-
- "You don't look as if you'd had much. At any rate, you are
- none the better for it, as far as I can see. I said when we
- first met that you had improved. Now I take it all back, for I
- don't think you half so nice as when I left you at home. You
- have grown abominably lazy, you like gossip, and waste time on
- frivolous things, you are contented to be petted and admired
- by silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise
- ones. With money, talent, position, health, and beauty, ah
- you like that old Vanity! But it's the truth, so I can't help
- saying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, you
- can find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead of being the man
- you ought to be, you are only . . ." There she stopped, with
- a look that had both pain and pity in it.
-
- "Saint Laurence on a gridiron," added Laurie, blandly
- finishing the sentence. But the lecture began to take effect,
- for there was a wide-awake sparkle in his eyes now and a
- half-angry, half-injured expression replaced the former in-
- difference.
-
- "I supposed you'd take it so. You men tell us we are
- angels, and say we can make you what we will, but the instant
- we honestly try to do you good, you laugh at us and won't
- listen, which proves how much your flattery is worth." Amy
- spoke bitterly, and turned her back on the exasperating
- martyr at her feet.
-
- In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she
- could not draw, and Laurie's voice said, with a droll imitation
- of a penitent child, "I will be good, oh, I will be good!"
-
- But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tapping
- on the outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, "Aren't
- you ashamed of a hand like that? It's as soft and white as a
- woman's, and looks as if it never did anything but wear Jouvin's
- best gloves and pick flowers for ladies. You are not a dandy,
- thank Heaven, so I'm glad to see there are no diamonds or big
- seal rings on it, only the little old one Jo gave you so long
- ago. Dear soul, I wish she was here to help me!"
-
- "So do I!"
-
- The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was
- energy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even Amy. She
- glanced down at him with a new thought in her mind, but he
- was lying with his hat half over his face, as if for shade, and
- his mustache hid his mouth. She only saw his chest rise and
- fall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and the
- hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if to
- hide something too precious or too tender to be spoken of.
- All in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape and
- significance in Amy's mind, and told her what her sister never
- had confided to her. She remembered that Laurie never spoke
- voluntarily of Jo, she recalled the shadow on his face just
- now, the change in his character, and the wearing of the little
- old ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls are
- quick to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy had
- fancied that perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of the
- alteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled,
- and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that could be
- beautifully soft and kind when she chose to make it so.
-
- "I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if
- you weren't the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd be
- very angry with me. But we are all so fond and proud of you,
- I couldn't bear to think they should be disappointed in you at
- home as I have been, though, perhaps they would understand
- the change better than I do."
-
- "I think they would," came from under the hat, in a grim
- tone, quite as touching as a broken one.
-
- "They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering
- and scolding, when I should have been more kind and patient
- than ever. I never did like that Miss Randal and now I hate
- her!" said artful Amy, wishing to be sure of her facts this
- time.
-
- "Hang Miss Randal!" And Laurie knocked the hat off his
- face with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments toward
- that young lady.
-
- "I beg pardon, I thought . . ." And there she paused
- diplomatically.
-
- "No, you didn't, you knew perfectly well I never cared for
- anyone but Jo," Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone,
- and turned his face away as he spoke.
-
- "I did think so, but as they never said anything about it,
- and you came away, I supposed I was mistaken. And Jo wouldn't
- be kind to you? Why, I was sure she loved you dearly."
-
- "She was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky for
- her she didn't love me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow you
- think me. It's her fault though, and you may tell her so."
-
- The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and
- it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply.
-
- "I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross,
- but I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear."
-
- "Don't, that's her name for me!" And Laurie put up his
- hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo's
- half-kind, half-reproachful tone. "Wait till you've tried it
- yourself," he added in a low voice, as he pulled up the grass
- by the handful.
-
- "I'd take it manfully, and be respected if i couldn't be
- loved," said Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing
- about it.
-
- Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remark-
- ably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his
- trouble away to live it down alone. Amy's lecture put the
- Matter in a new light, and for the first time it did look
- weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut
- himself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenly
- shaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to go
- to sleep again. Presently he sat up and asked slowly, "Do
- you think Jo would despise me as you do?"
-
- "Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don't
- you do something splendid, and make her love you?"
-
- "I did my best, but it was no use."
-
- "Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than you
- ought to have done, for your grandfather's sake. It would
- have been shameful to fail after spending so much time and
- money, when everyone knew that you could do well."
-
- "I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me,"
- began Laurie, leaning his head on his hand in a despondent
- attitude.
-
- "No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did
- you good, and proved that you could do something if you tried.
- If you'd only set about another task of some sort, you'd soon
- be your hearty, happy self again, and forget your trouble."
-
- "That's impossible."
-
- "Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders, and
- think, `Much she knows about such things'. I don't pretend
- to be wise, but I am observing, and I see a great deal more
- than you'd imagine. I'm interested in other people's ex-
- periences and inconsistencies, and though I can't explain, I
- remember and use them for my own benefit. Love Jo all your
- days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's
- wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't
- have the one you want. There, I won't lecture any more, for
- I know you'll wake up and be a man in spite of that hard-
- hearted girl."
-
- Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turning
- the little ring on his finger, and Amy put the last touches to
- the hasty sketch she had been working at while she talked.
- Presently she put it on his knee, merely saying, "How do you
- like that?"
-
- He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help
- doing, for it was capitally done, the long, lazy figure on the
- grass, with listless face, half-shut eyes, and one hand holding
- a cigar, from which came the little wreath of smoke that en-
- circled the dreamer's head.
-
- "How well you draw!" he said, with a genuine surprise
- and pleasure at her skill, adding, with a half-laugh, "Yes,
- that's me."
-
- "As you are. This is as you were." And Amy laid another
- sketch beside the one he held.
-
- It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and
- spirit in it which atoned for many faults, and it recalled the
- past so vividly that a sudden change swept over the young
- man's face as he looked. Only a rough sketch of Laurie taming
- a horse. Hat and coat were off, and every line of the active
- figure, resolute face, and commanding attitude was full of
- energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood
- arching his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot
- impatiently pawing the ground, and ears pricked up as if
- listening for the voice that had mastered him. In the ruffled
- mane. The rider's breezy hair and erect attitude, there was a
- suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage,
- and youthful buoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine
- grace of the `DOLCE FAR NIENTE' sketch. Laurie said nothing
- but as his eye went from one to the other, Amy say him flush
- up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the
- little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and
- without waiting for him to speak, she said, in her sprightly
- way . . .
-
- "Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck,
- and we all looked on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Jo
- clapped and pranced, and I sat on the fence and drew you. I
- found that sketch in my portfolio the other day, touched it
- up, and kept it to show you."
-
- "Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then,
- and I congratulate you. May I venture to suggest in ` a
- honeymoon paradise' that five o'clock is the dinner hour at
- your hotel?"
-
- Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile
- and a bow and looked at his watch, as if to remind her that
- even moral lectures should have an end. He tried to resume his
- former easy, indifferent air, but it was an affectation now, for
- the rousing had been more effacious than he would confess. Amy
- felt the shade of coldness in his manner, and said to herself . ..
-
- "Now, I've offended him. Well, if it does him good, I'm
- glad, if it makes him hate me, I'm sorry, but it's true, and
- I can't take back a word of it."
-
- They laughed and chatted all the way home, and little
- Baptist, up behind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle
- were in charming spirits. But both felt ill at ease. The
- friendly frankness was disturbed, the sunshine had a shadow
- over it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was a secret
- discontent in the heart of each.
-
- "Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?" asked Amy, as
- they parted at her aunt's door.
-
- "Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir, madam-
- oiselle." And Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the
- foreign fashion, which became him better than many men. Some-
- thing in his face made Amy say quickly and warmly . . .
-
- "No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good
- old way. I'd rather have a hearty English handshake than
- all the sentimental salutations in France."
-
- "Goodbye, dear." And with these words, uttered in the
- tone she liked, Laurie left her, after a handshake almost pain-
- ful in its heartiness.
-
- Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a
- note which made her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.
-
- My Dear Mentor,
- Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within
- yourself, for `Lazy Laurence' has gone to his grandpa, like
- the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods
- grant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred
- would be benefited by a rouser. Tell him so, with my con-
- gratulations.
- Yours gratefully, TELEMACHUS
-
- "Good boy! I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an ap-
- proving smile. The next minute her face fell as she glanced
- about the empty room, adding, with an involuntary sigh, "Yes,
- I am glad, but how I shall miss him."
-
-