' .v-SM _ ifySfrih'' Illll® * 1 bsHk^b wrawr ♦'rijr^i'' ^HHr ■* Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill https://archive.org/details/littlewomenormeg00alco_1 . ' * ■ * Little Women Slltil Little Women OR Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy Louisa M. Alcott Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1918 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1868 and 1869, by LOUISA M. ALCOTT, In the Clerk’s office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts* Copyright, 18 So , By Louisa M. Alcott. Copyright , i8q6, By J. S. P. Alcott. Copyright , iqo2, jqio, By Little, Brown, and Company, All rights reserved Printers B. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U. 8. A. P reface u Go then , my little Book , and show to all That entertain and bid thee welcome shall , What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast; And wish what thou dost show them may be blest To them for good , may make them choose to be Pilgrims better , by far, than thee or me. Tell them of Mercy; she is one Who early hath her pilgrimage begun. Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize The world which is to co?ne, and so be wise; For little tripping maids may follow God Along the ways which saintly feet have trod.” Adapted from John Bunyan. Contents Part First Chapter Page I. Playing Pilgrims . i II. A Merry Christmas.15 III. The Laurence Boy.28 IV. Burdens.42 V. Being Neighborly.57 VI. Beth finds the Palace Beautiful .... 72 VII. Amy’s Valley of Humiliation.81 VIII. Jo meets Apollyon.90 IX. Meg goes to Vanity Fair .103 X. The P. C. and P. 0 .124 XI. Experiments. 134 XII. Camp Laurence. 149 XIII. Castles in the Air. 173 XIV. Secrets.185 XV. A Telegram. 197 ♦ XVI. Letters.208 XVII. Little Faithful.217 XVIII. Dark Days.226 XIX. Amy’s Will .237 XX. Confidential.247 XXL Laurie makes Mischief and Jo makes Peace 256 XXII. Pleasant Meadows. 2 7 l XXIII. Aunt March settles the Question .... 279 viii Contents Part Second Chapter Page XXIV. Gossip.295 XXV. The First Wedding.310 XXVI. Artistic Attempts.318 XXVII. Literary Lessons.331 XXVIII. Domestic Experiences.341 XXIX. Calls.359 XXX. Consequences.375 XXXI. Our Foreign Correspondent.390 XXXII. Tender Troubles.403 XXXIII. Jo’s Journal.418 XXXIV. A Friend.433 XXXV. Heartache.452 XXXVI. Beth’s Secret.466 XXXVII. New Impressions.473 XXXVIII. On the Shelf.487 XXXIX. Lazy Laurence.503 XL. The Valley of the Shadow.520 XLI. Learning to Forget.527 XLII. All Alone.543 XLIII. Surprises.553 XLIV. My Lord and Lady.573 XLV. Daisy and Demi.579 XLVI. Under the Umbrella.587 XLVII. Harvest Time.604 List of Illustrations I From Drawings by Alice Barber Stephens Page “ They turned to welcome a tall motherly lady ” . Frontispiece “‘A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardner for to¬ morrow nigh*P cried Meg”. 29 *“ Finish the chapter, and don’t be impertinent, Miss’” . . 52 “ He just set her on his knee and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one ”.80 “ ‘ O mother, what shall I do ? what shall I do ? ’ cried poor Jo ”. 99 “Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away ” . . . 185 “Wrapping her head in the paper, she bedewed her little story with a few natural tears”.197 v ‘She talked away all the time the man clipped, and diverted my mind nicely ’ ”.205 “ It was her favorite amusement to array herself in the faded brocades ”.243 “ She just tucked her cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest”.3 T ^ “‘I’m perfectly miserable ; but if you consider me present¬ able, I die happy’ ”.362 “ ‘ O Teddy, I *m so sorry, so desperately sorry’ ” . . . . 4 55 “ A flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed ”. 477 “Jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag-bag and cried 55 2 “‘Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz ? 59 ^ Little LFomen CHAPTER I PLAYING PILGRIMS 41 HRISTMAS won’t be Christmas without any I presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. “It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. “ I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured sniff. “ We’ve got father and mother and each other,” said Beth contentedly, from her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly,— “ We have n’t got father, and shall not have him for a long time.” She did n’t say “ perhaps never,” but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was. Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, — “ You know the reason mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for every one ; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men 2 Little Women are suffering so in the army. We can’t do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t; ” and Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted. “ But I don’t think the little we should spend would do any good. We’ve each got a dollar, and the army would n’t be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself; I’ve wanted it so long,” said Jo, who was a bookworm. “ I planned to spend mine in new music,” said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth¬ brush and kettle-holder. “ I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing-pencils; I really need them,” said Amy decidedly. “ Mother did n’t say anything about our money, and she won’t wish us to give up everything. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little fun; I’m sure we work hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner. “ I know / do, — teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I ’m longing to enjoy myself at home,” began Meg, in the complaining tone again. “You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. “ How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you ’re ready to fly out of the window or cry?” “ It’s naughty to fret; but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross ; and my hands get so stiff, I can't practise well at all ; ” and Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time. Playing Pilgrims 3 “ I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” cried Amy; “ for you don’t have to go to school with imper¬ tinent girls, who plague you if you don’t know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he is n’t rich, and insult you when your nose is n’t • }) nice. “ If you mean libel , I’d say so, and not talk about labels , as if papa was a pickle-bottle,” advised Jo, laughing. “ I know what I mean, and you need n’t be statirical about it. It’s proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary ,” returned Amy, with dignity. “ Don’t peck at one another, children. Don’t you wish we had the money papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me ! how happy and good we’d be, if we had no worries! ” said Meg, who could remember better times. “You said, the other day, you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money.” “ So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are; for, though we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.” “ Jo does use such slang words ! ” observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle. “ Don’t, Jo ; it’s so boyish ! ” “That’s why I do it.” “ I detest rude, unlady-like girls! ” “ I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits! ” “ ‘ Birds in their little nests agree,’ ” sang Beth, the peace-maker, with such a funny face that both sharp 4 Little Women voices softened to a laugh, and the “ pecking ” ended for that time. “ Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,” said Meg s beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn’t matter so much when you were a little girl; but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.” “ I’m not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I ’ll wear it in two tails till I’m twenty,” cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. “ I hate to think I’ve got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China-aster ! It’s bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boys’ games and work and manners ! I can’t get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it’s worse than ever now, for I’m dying to go and fight with papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman ! ” And Jo shook the blue army-sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room. “Poor Jo! It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped; so you must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls,” said Beth, stroking the rough head at her knee with a hand that all the dish-washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its touch. “As for you, Amy,” continued Meg, “you are alto¬ gether too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now; but you ’ll grow up an affected little goose, if you don’t take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don’t try to be elegant; but your absurd words are as bad as Jo’s slang.” Playing Pilgrims 5 “If Jo is a tom-boy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?” asked Beth, ready to share the lecture. “You’re a dear, and nothing else,” answered Meg warmly; and no one contradicted her, for the “ Mouse ” was the pet of the family. As young readers like to know “ how people look,” we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable old room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain ; for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmos¬ phere of home-peace pervaded it. Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft, brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt; for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty; but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a fly-away look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman, and did n’t like it. Elizabeth — or Beth, as every one called her — was a rosy, smooth¬ haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her “Little Tran- 6 Little Women quillity,” and the name suited her excellently; for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only ven¬ turing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important per¬ son, — in her own opinion at least. A regular snow- maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair, curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out. The clock struck six; and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls; for mother was coming, and every one brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy-chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze. “ They are quite worn out; Marmee must have a new pair.” “ I thought I’d get her some with my dollar,” said Beth. “ No, I shall! ” cried Amy. “ I’m the oldest,” began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided — “ I ’m the man of the family now papa is away, and 1 shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special care of mother while he was gone.” “ I ’ll tell you what we ’ll do,” said Beth ; “ let’s each get her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.” “That’s like you, dear! What will we get? "ex¬ claimed Jo. Playing Pilgrims 7 Every one thought soberly for a minute; then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, “ I shall give her a nice pair of gloves.” “ Army shoes, best to be had,” cried Jo. “ Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,” said Beth. “ I ’ll get a little bottle of cologne; she likes it, and it won’t cost much, so I ’ll have some left to buy my pen¬ cils,” added Amy. “ How will we give the things? ” asked Meg. “ Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Don’t you remember how we used to do on our birthdays? ” answered Jo. “I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the big chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,” said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea, at the same time. “ Let Marmee think we are getting things for our¬ selves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping to-morrow afternoon, Meg; there is so much to do about the play for Christmas night,” said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back and her nose in the air. “ I don’t mean to act any more after this time; I’m getting too old for such things,” observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about “ dressing-up ” frolics. “ You won’t stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actress we’ve got, and there ’ll be an end of everything if you quit the boards,” said Jo. “ We ought to rehearse to-night, 8 Little Women Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that.” “ I can’t help it; I never saw anyone faint, and I don’t choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I ’ll drop ; if I can’t, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful; I don’t care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol,” returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece. “Do it this way; clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room , crying frantically, • ‘ Roderigo ! save me! save me!’” and away went Jo, with a melodra¬ matic scream which was truly thrilling. Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery; and her “ Ow! ” was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outri ght, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun, with interest. “ It’s no use ! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laugh, don’t blame me. Come on, Meg.” Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break; Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect; Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild “ Ha! ha! ” “ It’s the best we’ve had yet,” said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows. “ I don’t see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You ’re a regular Shakespeare ! ” exclaimed Playing Pilgrims 9 Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things. “ Not quite,” replied Jo modestly. “I do think, ‘ The Witch’s Curse, an Operatic Tragedy,’ is rather a nice thing; but I’d like to try Macbeth, if we only had a trap-door for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part. ‘ Is that a.dagger that I see before me?’” muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. “ No, it’s the toasting fork, with mother’s shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth’s stage-struck!” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter. “ Glad to find you so merry, my girls,” said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady, with a “ can-I-help-you ” look about her which was truly delightful. She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world. “Well, dearies, how have you got on to-day? There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go to¬ morrow, that I did n’t come home to dinner. Has any one called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby.” While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea-table; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, overturning, and clatter¬ ing everything she touched; Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy; while io Little Women Amy gave directions to every one, as she sat with her hands folded. As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, “ I Ve got a treat for you after supper.” A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sun¬ shine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the bis¬ cuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, “ A letter ! a letter! Three cheers for father! ” “ Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls,” said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there. “ Hurry and get done! Don’t stop to quirk your little finger, and simper over your plate, Amy,” cried Jo, choking in her tea, and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet, in her haste to get at the treat. Beth ate no more, but crept away, to sit in her shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready. “ I think it was so splendid in father to go as a chap¬ lain when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier,” said Meg warmly. “Don’t I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan — what’s its name? or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him,” exclaimed Jo, with a groan. “ It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,” sighed Amy. “When will he come home, Marmee?” asked Beth, with a little quiver in her voice. “ Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He Playing Pilgrims 11 will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won’t ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter.” They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesick¬ ness conquered; it was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news; and only at the end did the writer’s heart over¬ flow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home. “ Give them all my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will remem¬ ber all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully, that when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women.” Everybody sniffed when they came to that part; Jo was n’t ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother’s shoulder and sobbed out, “ I am a selfish girl! but I ’ll truly try to be better, so he may n’t be disappointed in me by and by.” “ We all will! ” cried Meg. “ I think too much of my 12 Little Women looks, and hate to work, but won’t any more, if I can help it.” “ I ’ll try and be what he loves to call me, ‘ a little woman,’ and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else,” said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down South. Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army-sock, and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy coming home. Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo’s words, by saying in her cheery voice, “ Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrim’s Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my piece-bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the house-top, where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a Celes¬ tial City.” “ What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fight¬ ing Apollyon, and passing through the Valley where the hobgoblins were ! ” said Jo. “ I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs,” said Meg. “ My favorite part was when we came out on the flat roof where our flowers and arbors and pretty things were, and all stood and sung for joy up there in the sunshine,” said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant moment had come back to her. “ I don’t remember much about it, except that I was Playing Pilgrims i 3 afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the top. If I wasn’t too old for such things, I’d rather like to play it over again,” said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve. “We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before father comes home.” “Really, mother? Where are our bundles?” asked Amy, who was a very literal young lady. “ Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth; I rather think she hasn’t got any,” said her mother. “Yes, I have; mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people.” Beth’s bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh; but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much. “Let us do it,” said Meg thoughtfully. “It is only another name for trying to be good, and the story may help us; for though we do want to be good, it’s hard work, and we forget, and don’t do our best.” “ We were in the Slough of Despond to-night, and mother came and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that? ” asked Jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty. 14 Little Women “ Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, and you will find your guide-book,” replied Mrs. March. They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table; then out came the four little work- baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but to¬ night no one grumbled. They adopted Jo’s plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them. At nine they stopped work, and sung, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano; but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys, and making a pleasant accom¬ paniment to the simple songs they sung. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoilt the most pensive tune.. They had always done this from the time they could lisp “ Crinkle, crinkle, ’ittle ’tar,” and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice, as she went about the house singing like a lark; and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby A Merry Christmas 15 CHAPTER II A MERRY CHRISTMAS J O was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christ¬ mas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother’s promise, and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any pilgrim going the long journey. She woke Meg with a “ Merry Christmas,” and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke, to rummage and find their little books also, —• one dove-colored, the other blue; and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day. In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given. “ Girls,” said Meg seriously, looking from the tum¬ bled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, “ mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it; but since father went away, and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected x 6 Little Women many things. You can do as you please; but I sh; keep my book on the table here, and read a little eve morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do n good, and help me through the day.” Then she opened her new book and began to rea Jo put her arm round her, and, leaning cheek to chee read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen < her restless face. “ How good Meg is ! Come, Amy, let’s do as th( do. I ’ll help you with the hard words, and they ’ll e: plain things if we don’t understand,” whispered Bet very much impressed by the pretty books and her sistei example. “ I’m glad mine is blue,” said Amy; and then tl rooms were very still while the pages were softly turne and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the brig' heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting. “Where is mother?” asked Meg, as she and Jo n down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later. “ Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter con a-beggin’, and your ma went straight off to see what w; needed. There never was such a woman for givi away vittles and drink, clothes and firin’, ” replie Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg w; born, and was considered by them all more as a frier than a servant. “ She will be back soon, I think; so fry your cake and have everything ready,” said Meg, looking over tf presents which were collected in a basket and kept und( the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper timi “ Why, where is Amy’s bottle of cologne?” she adde< as the little flask did not appear. “ She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it t put a ribbon on it, or some such notion,” replied J< A Merry Christmas 17 dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army-slippers. “ How nice my handkerchiefs look, don’t they? Han¬ nah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself, said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor. “Bless the child! she’s gone and put ‘Mother’ on them instead of ‘ M. March.’ How funny! ’’ cried Jo, taking up one. “Isn’t it right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg’s initials are ‘ M. M.,’ and I don’t want any one to use these but Marmee,” said Beth, looking troubled. “ It’s all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, — quite sensible, too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know,” said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth. “ There’s mother. Hide the basket, quick ! ” cried Jo, as a door slammed, and steps sounded in the hall. Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her. “ Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?” asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early. “ Don’t laugh at me, Jo ! I did n’t mean any one should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I’m truly trying not to be selfish any more.” As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one ; and looked so earnest and hum¬ ble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her “ a trump,” while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle. 2 1 8 Little Women “ You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the minute I was up: and I ’m so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.” Another bang of the street-door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast. “ Merry Christmas, Marmee ! Many of them ! Thank you for our books; we read some, and mean to every day,” they cried, in chorus. “ Merry Christmas, little daughters ! I ’m glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there ; and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present? ” They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke; only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, — “ I ’m so glad you came before we began! ” “ May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children ? ” asked Beth eagerly. “/ shall take the cream and the muffins,” added Amy heroically giving up the articles she most liked. Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate. “ I thought you ’d do it,” said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. “ You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinner-time.” They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back A Merry Christmas ig streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party. A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken win¬ dows, no fire, ragged bed-clothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm. How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in ! “ Ach, mein Gott! it is good angels come to us ! ” said the poor woman, crying for joy. “ Funny angels in hoods and mittens,” said Jo, and set them laughing. In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls, meantime, spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, — laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English. “ Das ist gut! ” “ Die Engel-kinder ! ” cried the poor things, as they ate, and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered a “ Sancho ” ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they did n’t get any of it; and when they went away, leaving com¬ fort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning. 20 Little Worn en “ That’s loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it,” said Meg, as they set out their presents, while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels. Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles; and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table. “ She ’s coming ! Strike up, Beth ! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee ! ” cried Jo, prancing about, while Meg went to conduct mother to the seat of honor. Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched; and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents, and read the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy’s cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a “ perfect fit.” There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home-festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work. The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to prepara¬ tions for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theatre, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and — necessity being the mother of invention — made whatever they needed. Very clever A Merry Christmas 2 1 were some of their productions, — pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter-boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cot¬ ton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond-shaped bits, left in sheets when the lids of tin preserve-pots were cut out. The furniture was used to being turned topsy-turvy, and the big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels. No gentlemen were admitted ; so Jo played male parts to her heart’s content, and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet-leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Jo’s chief treasures, and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the com¬ pany made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece; and they certainly de¬ served some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage be¬ sides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society. On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled on to the bed which was the dress-circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp-smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the Operatic Tragedy began. Little Women 2 2 “ A gloomy wood,” according to the one play-bill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes-horse for a roof, bureaus for walls; and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it, and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark, and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside; then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouched hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, sing¬ ing of his hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo’s voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impres¬ sive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern, and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding “ What ho, minion ! I need thee ! ” Out came Meg, with gray horse-hair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter: — “ Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come ! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew ? 2 3 A Merry Christmas Bring me here, with elfin speed, The fragrant philter which I need; Make it sweet and swift and strong, Spirit, answer now my song ! ” A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang,— “ Hither I come, From my airy home, Afar in the silver moon. Take the magic spell, And use it well, Or its power will vanish soon ! ” And, dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch’s feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar pro¬ duced another apparition, — not a lovely one ; for, with a bang, an ugly black imp appeared, and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo, and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots,- Hugo departed; and Hagar informed the audience that, as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she has cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play. A good deal of hammering went on before the cur¬ tain rose again; but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage-carpentering had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb ! A tower rose to the ceiling; half-way up appeared a window, with a lamp burning at it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous Little Women 24 array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut love-locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied, and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope-ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo’s shoul¬ der, and was about to leap gracefully down, when, “Alas! alas for Zara!” she forgot her train, — it caught in the window; the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins! A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck, and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, “ I told you so ! I told you so ! ” With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside, — “Don’t laugh!- Act as if it was all right!”—and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by the fall of the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old gentleman, and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara: she also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains, and led them away, looking very much frightened, and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made. Act third was the castle hall; and here Hagar ap¬ peared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming, and hides; sees him put the potions into two cups of wine, and bid the timid little servant “ Bear them to the captives in their cells, and A Merry Christmas 25 tell them I shall come anon.” The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the “ minion,” carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and, after a good deal of clutching and stamp- ing, falls flat and dies; while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody. This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long hair rather marred the effect of the villain’s death. He was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together. Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself, because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true, but in danger, and he can save her, if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains, and rushes away to find and rescue his lady-love. Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won’t hear of it; and, after a touching appeal, is about to faint, when Roderigo dashes in and demands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously, but cannot agree, and Roderigo is about to bear away the ex¬ hausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she 2 6 Little Women bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair, and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he does n’t make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage, till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the “ stern sire ” : he consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro’s blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace. Tumultuous applause followed, but received an un¬ expected check; for the cot-bed, on which the “ dress- circle ” was built, suddenly shut up, and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided, when Hannah appeared, with “ Mrs. March’s compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper.” This was a surprise, even to the actors; and, when they saw the table, they looked at one another in raptur¬ ous amazement. It was like Marmee to get up a little treat for them; but anything so fine as this was unheard- of since the departed days of plenty. There was ice¬ cream, — actually two dishes of it, pink and white, —• and cake and fruit and distracting French bonbons, and, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot¬ house flowers ! It quite took their breath away; and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely. “ Is it fairies? ” asked Amy. “It’s Santa Claus,” said Beth. “Mother did it; ” and Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows. A Merry Christmas 27 Aunt March had a good fit, and sent the supper,” cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration. “ All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it,” replied Mrs. March. “ The Laurence boy’s grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don’t know him ! ” exclaimed Meg. “ Hannah told one of his servants about your break¬ fast party. He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father, years ago; and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allow' him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse; and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk breakfast.” “ That boy put it into his head, I know he did ! He’s a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he’d like to know us; but he’s bashful, and Meg is so prim she won’t let me speak to him when we pass,” said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with “ Ohs ! ” and “ Alls! ” of satisfaction. “ You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don’t you?” asked one of the girls. “My mother knows old Mr. Laurence; but says he’s very proud, and does n’t like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps his grandson shut up, when he is n’t riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he did n’t come. Mother says he’s very nice, though he never speaks to us girls.” “ Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence, and were getting on 28 Little Women capitally, — all about cricket, and so on, — when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day; for he needs fun, I’m sure he does,” said Jo decidedly. “ I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentle¬ man ; so I’ve no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He brought the flowers himself; and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic, and evidently having none of his own.” “ It’s a mercy you did n’t, mother ! ” laughed Jo, look¬ ing at her boots. “ But we ’ll have another play, some¬ time, that he can see. Perhaps he ’ll help act; would n’t that be jolly? ” “ I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is! ” And Meg examined her flowers with great interest. “ They are lovely ! But Beth’s roses are sweeter to me,” said Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt. Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, “ I wish I could send my bunch to father. I’m afraid he is n’t having such a merry Christmas as we are.” CHAPTER III THE LAURENCE BOY O ! Jo ! where are you ? ” cried Meg, at the foot of the garret stairs. “ Here! ” answered a husky voice from above; and, running up, Meg found her sister eating apples and X ■■ • The Laurence Boy 29 crying over the “ Heir of Redclyffe,” wrapped up in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny win¬ dow. This was Jo’s favorite refuge ; and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by, and did n’t mind her a particle. As Meg ap¬ peared, Scrabble whisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks, and waited to hear the news. “ Such fun! only see! a regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner for to-morrow night! ” cried Meg, waving the precious paper, and then proceeding to read it, with girlish delight. “ ‘ Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephine at a little dance on New-Year’s Eve.’ Marmee is willing we should go; now what shall we wear? ” “ What’s the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear our poplins, because we have n’t got anything else?” answered Jo, with her mouth full. “ If I only had a silk ! ” sighed Meg. “ Mother says I may when I ’m eighteen, perhaps; but two years is an everlasting time to wait.” “ I ’m sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us. Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine. Whatever shall I do? the burn shows badly, and I can’t take any out.” “ You must sit still all you can, and keep your back out of sight; the front is all right. I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will do, though they are n’t as nice as I’d like.” “ Mine are spoilt with lemonade, and I can’t get any new ones, so I shall have to go without,” said Jo, who never troubled herself much about dress. Little Women 30 “ You must have gloves, or I won’t go,” cried Meg decidedly. “ Gloves are more important than anything else; you can’t dance without them, and if you don’t I should be so mortified.” “ Then I ’ll stay still. I don’t care much for com¬ pany dancing; it’s no fun to go sailing round; I like to fly about and cut capers.” “You can’t ask mother for new ones, they are so ex¬ pensive, and you are so careless. She said, when you spoilt the others, that she should n’t get you any more this winter. Can’t you make them do?” asked Meg anxiously. “ I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how stained they are; that’s all I can do. No ! I ’ll tell you how we can manage —each wear one good one and carry a bad one; don’t you see? ” “Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glove dreadfully,” began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her. “Then I’ll go without. I don’t care what people say ! ” cried Jo, taking up her book. “You may have it, you may! only don’t stain it, and do behave nicely. Don’t put your hands behind you, or stare, or say ‘ Christopher Columbus ! ’ will you? ” “ Don’t worry about me ; I ’ll be as prim as I can, and not get into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note, and let me finish this splendid story.” So Meg went away to “ accept with thanks,” look over her dress, and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill; while Jo finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble. On New-Year’s Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls played dressing-maids, and the two elder were absorbed in the all-important business of The Laurence Boy 3 1 “getting ready for the party.” Simple as the toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burnt hair pervaded the house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs. “Ought they to smoke like that?” asked Beth, from her perch on the bed. “ It’s the dampness drying,” replied Jo. “ What a queer smell! it’s like burnt feathers,” ob¬ served Amy, smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air. “There, now I ’ll take off the papers and you ’ll see a cloud of little ringlets,” said Jo, putting down the tongs. She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the hair came with the papers, and the horrified hair-dresser laid a row of little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim. “Oh, oh, oh! what have you done? I’m spoilt! I can’t go ! My hair, oh, my hair ! ” wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her forehead. “Just my luck! you shouldn’t have asked me to do it; I always spoil everything. I’m so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I’ve made a mess,” groaned poor Jo, regarding the black pancakes with tears of regret. “It isn’t spoilt; just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion. I’ve seen many girls do it so,” said Amy consolingly. “ Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I’d let my hair alone,” cried Meg petulantly. “ So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again,” said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep. Little Women 32 After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the united exertions of the family Jo’s hair was got up and her dress on. They looked very well in their simple suits, — Meg in silvery drab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and a pearl pin; Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysan¬ themum or two for her only ornament. Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect u quite easy and fine.” Meg’s high-heeled slippers were very tight, and hurt her, though she would not own it, and Jo’s nineteen hair¬ pins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which was not exactly comfortable; but, dear me, let us be elegant or die ! “ Have a good time, dearies ! ” said Mrs. March, as the sisters went daintily down the walk. “ Don’t eat much supper, and come away at eleven, when I send Hannah for you.” As the gate clashed behind them, a voice cried from a window, — “ Girls, girls ! have you both got nice pocket-handker¬ chiefs?” “ Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers,” cried Jo, adding, with a laugh, as they went on, “ I do believe Marmee would ask that if we were all running away from an earthquake.” “ It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief,” replied Meg, who had a good many little “ aristocratic tastes ” of her own. “Now don’t forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo. Is my sash right? and does my hair look very bad?” said Meg, as she turned from the glass in Mrs. Gardiner’s dressing-room, after a prolonged prink. “ I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything The Laurence Boy 33 wrong, just remind me by a wink, will you?” returned Jo, giving her collar a twitch and her head a hasty brush. “ No, winking is n’t lady-like ; I ’ll lift my eyebrows if anything is wrong, and nod if you are all right. Now hold your shoulders straight, and take short steps, and don’t shake hands if you are introduced to any one: it is n’t the thing.” “ How 7 do you learn all the proper ways? I never can. Is n’t that music gay? ” Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to parties, and, informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to them. Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly, and handed them over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie, and was at her ease very soon; but Jo, who did n’t care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back care¬ fully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower-garden. Half a dozen jovial lads were talking about skates in another part of the room, and she longed to go and join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life. She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrows went up so alarmingly that she dared not Stir. No one came to talk to her, and one by one the group near her dwindled away, till she was left alone. She could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burnt breadth would show, so she stared at people rather r orlornly till the dancing began. Meg was asked at once, ind the tight slippers tripped about so briskly that none would have guessed the pain their wearer suffered smil¬ ingly. Jo saw a big red-headed youth approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person had chosen the same refuge; for, as the curtain fell 3 34 Little Women behind her, she found herself face to face with the “ Laurence boy.” “ Dear me, I did n’t know any one was here ! ” stam¬ mered Jo, preparing to back out as speedily as she had bounced in. But the boy laughed, and said pleasantly, though he looked a little startled, — “ Don’t mind me; stay, if you like.” “ Sha’n’t I disturb you? ” “ Not a bit; I only came here because I don’t know many people, and felt rather strange at first, you know.” “ So did I. Don’t go away, please, unless you’d rather.” The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to be polite and easy, — “ I think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you before; you live near us, don’t you? ” “Next door;” and he looked up and laughed out¬ right, for Jo’s prim manner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted about cricket when he brought the cat home. That put Jo at her ease; and she laughed too, as she said, in her heartiest way, — “ We did have such a good time over your nice Christ¬ mas present.” “ Grandpa sent it.” “But you put it into his head, did n’t you, now?” “How is your cat, Miss March?” asked the boy, trying to look sober, while his black eyes shone with fun. “ Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence ; but I am not Miss March, I’m only Jo,” returned the young lady. “ I’m not Mr. Laurence, I’m only Laurie.” 35 The Laurence Boy “ Laurie Laurence,— what an odd name ! ” “ My first name is Theodore, but I don’t like it, for the fellows call me Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead.” “ I hate my name, too — so sentimental! I wish every one would say Jo, instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora? ” “ I thrashed ’em.” “ I can’t thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it; ” and Jo resigned herself with a sigh. “Don’t you like to dance, Miss Jo?” asked Laurie, looking as if he thought the name suited her. “ I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and every one is lively. In a place like this I’m sure to up¬ set something, tread on people’s toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out of mischief, and let Meg sail about. Don’t you dance? ” “ Sometimes; you see I’ve been abroad a good many years, and have n’t been into company enough yet to know how you do things here.” “ Abroad ! ” cried Jo. “ Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people describe their travels.” Laurie didn’t seem to know where to begin; but Jo’s eager questions soon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay, where the boys never wore hats, and had a fleet of boats on the lake, and for holiday fun went walking trips about Switzerland with their teachers. “ Don’t I wish I’d been there ! ” cried Jo. “ Did you go to Paris? ” “ We spent last winter there.” “ Can you talk French? ” “ We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay.” Little Women 36 “ Do say some ! I can read it, but can’t pronounce.” “ Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis? ” said Laurie good-naturedly. “ How nicely you do it! Let me see, — you said, 4 Who is the young lady in the pretty slippers,’ did n’t you ? ” “ Oui, mademoiselle.” “It’s my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think she is pretty? ” “Yes; she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady.” Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and criticised and chatted, till they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie’s bashfulness soon wore off; for Jo’s gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and Jo was her merry self again, because her diess was forgotten, and nobody lifted their eyebrows at her. She liked the “ Laurence boy ” better than ever, and took several good looks at him, so that she might de¬ scribe him to the girls; for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were almost unknown creatures to them. “ Curly black hair; brown skin; big, black eyes; handsome nose; fine teeth; small hands and feet; taller than I am; very polite, for a boy, and altogether jolly. Wonder how old he is?” It was on the tip of Jo’s tongue to ask; but she checked herself in time, and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a roundabout way. “ I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging away at your books, — no, I mean studying hard ; ” and Jo blushed at the dreadful “ pegging” which had escaped her. The Laurence Boy 37 Laurie smiled, but did n’t seem shocked, and answered, with a shrug, — “ Not for a year or two; I won’t go before seventeen, anyway.” “Aren’t you but fifteen?” asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she had imagined seventeen already. “ Sixteen, next month.” “ How I wish I was going to college ! You don’t look as if you liked it.” “ I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don’t like the way fellows do either, in this country.” “ What do you like? ” “ To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way.” Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was; but his black brows looked rather threatening as he knit them; so she changed the subject by saying, as her foot kept time, “ That’s a splendid polka ! Why don’t you go and try it? ” “ If you will come too,” he answered, with a gallant little bow. “I can’t; for I told Meg I wouldn’t, because—” There Jo stopped, and looked undecided whether to tell or to laugh. “ Because what?” asked Laurie curiously. “ You won’t tell ? ” “ Never! ” “ Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn my frocks, and I scorched this one; and, though it’s nicely mended, it shows, and Meg told me to keep still, so no one would see it. You may laugh, if you want to; it is funny, I know.” But Laurie didn’t laugh; he only looked down a Little Women 38 minute, and the expression of his face puzzled Jo, when he said very gently, — “ Never mind that; I ’ll tell you how we can manage: there’s a long hall out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please come? ” Jo thanked him, and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves, when she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The hall was empty, and they had a grand polka; for Laurie danced well, and taught her the German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and spring. When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath; and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students’ festival at Heidelberg, when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale. “ I Ve sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned, and gave me a sad wrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to get home,” she said, rocking to and fro in pain. “ I knew you’d hurt your feet with those silly shoes. I’m sorry. But I don’t see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night,” answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke. “ I can’t have a carriage, without its costing ever so much. I dare say I can’t get one at all; for most people come in their own, and it’s a long way to the stable, and no one to send.” “I’ll go.” “ No, indeed ! It’s past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can’t stop here, for the house is full. Sallie has some girls staying with her. I ’ll rest till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can.” The Laurence Boy 39 “ I ’ll ask Laurie ; he will go,” said Jo, looking relieved as the idea occurred to her. “ Mercy, no ! Don’t ask or tell any one. Get me my rubbers, and put these slippers with our things. I can’t dance any more; but as soon as supper is over, watch for Hannah, and tell me the minute she comes.” “ They are going out to supper now. I ’ll stay with you ; I ’d rather.” “ No, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee. I ’m so tired, I can’t stir ! ” So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering away to the dining-room, which she found after going into a china-closet, and opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner was taking a little private refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilt, thereby making the front of her dress as bad as the back. “ Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am! ” exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg’s glove by scrubbing her gown with it. “ Can I help you ? ” said a friendly voice; and there was Laurie, with a full cup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other. “ I was' trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and some one shook me; and here I am, in a nice state,” answered Jo, glancing dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove. “ Too bad ! I was looking for some one to give this to. May I take it to your sister? ” “ Oh, thank you ! I ’ll show you where she is. I don’t offer to take it myself, for I should only get into another scrape if I did.” Jo led the way; and, as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie drew up a little table, brought a second instalment of coffee and ice for Jo, and was so obliging that even Little Women 40 particular Meg pronounced him a “ nice boy.” They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the midst of a quiet game of “ Buzz,” with two or three other young people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot, and rose so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of Jo, with an exclama¬ tion of pain. “ Hush ! Don’t say anything,” she whispered, adding aloud, “ It’s nothing. I turned my foot a little, that’s all; ” and limped upstairs to put her things on. Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits’ end, till she decided to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down, and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It happened to be a hired waiter, who knew nothing about the neigh¬ borhood ; and Jo was looking round for help, when Laurie, w r ho had heard what she said, came up, and offered his grandfather’s carriage, which had just come for him, he said. “ It’s so early! • You can’t mean to go yet?” began Jo, looking relieved, but hesitating to accept the offer. “ I always go early, — I do, truly ! Please let me take you home? It’s all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say.” That settled it; and, telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefully accepted, and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah hated rain as much as a cat does; so she made no trouble, and they rolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and ele¬ gant. Laurie went on the box; so Meg could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their party in freedom. “I had a capital time. Did you?” asked Jo, rum¬ pling up her hair, and making herself comfortable. “ Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie’s friend, Annie Moffat, The Laurence Boy 41 took a fancy to me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her, when Sallie does. She is going in the spring, when the opera comes; and it will be perfectly splendid, if mother only lets me go/’ answered Meg, cheering up at the thought. “ I saw you dancing with the red-headed man I ran away from. Was he nice?” “ Oh, very ! His hair is auburn, not red; and he was very polite, and I had a delicious redowa with him.” “ He looked like a grasshopper in a fit, when he did the new step. Laurie and I could n’t help laughing. Did you hear us?” “ No ; but it was very rude. What were you about all that time, hidden away there? ” Jo told her adventures, and, by the time she had fin¬ ished, they were at home. With many thanks, they said “ Good-night,” and crept in, hoping to disturb no one; but the instant their door creaked, two little night-caps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out, — “Tell about the party! tell about the party! ” With what Meg called “ a great want of manners,” Jo had saved some bonbons for the little girls; and they soon subsided, after hearing the most thrilling events of the evening. “ I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home from the party in a carriage, and sit in my dressing-gown, with a maid to wait on me,” said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica, and brushed her hair. “ I don’t believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do, in spite of our burnt hair, old gowns, one glove apiece, and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them.” And I think Jo was quite right. 42 Little Women CHAPTER IV BURDENS ** H dear, how hard it does seem to take up our H I packs and go on,” sighed Meg, the morning after the party; for, now the holidays were over, the week of merry-making did not fit her for go¬ ing on easily with the task she never liked. “I wish it was Christmas or New-Year all the time; would n’t it be fun? ” answered Jo, yawning dismally. “ We should n’t enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home, and read and rest, and not work. It’s like other people, you know, and I always envy girls who do such things; I’m so fond of luxury,” said Meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the least shabby. “Well, we can’t have it, so don’t let us grumble, but shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does. I’m sure Aunt March is a regular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I’ve learned to carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or get so light that I sha’n’t mind her.” This idea tickled Jo’s fancy, and put her in good spirits ; but Meg did n’t brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoilt children, seemed heavier than ever. She had n’t heart enough even to make herself pretty, as usual, by putting on a blue neck-ribbon, and dressing her hair in the most becoming way. “ Where’s the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross midgets, and no one cares whether I’m pretty or not?” she muttered, shutting her drawer Burdens 43 with a jerk. “ I shall have to toil and moil all my days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and sour, because I ’m poor, and can’t enjoy my life as other girls do. It’s a shame ! ” So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and was n’t at all agreeable at breakfast-time. Every one seemed rather out of sorts, and inclined to croak. Beth had a headache, and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself with the cat and three kittens ; Amy was fretting because her lessons were not learned, and she could n’t find her rubbers; Jo would whistle and make a great racket getting ready; Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at once; and Hannah had the grumps, for being up late did n’t suit her. “There never was such a cross family!” cried Jo, losing her temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken both boot-lacings, and sat down upon her hat. “You’re the crossest person in it!” returned Amy, washing out the sum, that was all wrong, with the tears that had fallen on her slate. “ Beth, if you don’t keep these horrid cats down cellar I ’ll have them drowned,” exclaimed Meg angrily, as she tried to get rid of the kitten, which had scrambled up her back, and stuck like a burr just out of reach. Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed, because she could n’t remember how much nine times twelve was. “ Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute ! I must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry,” cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoilt sentence in her letter. There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laid two hot turn-overs on the table, and stalked out again. These turn-overs were an institu Little Women 44 tion; and the girls called them “ muffs,” for they had no others, and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on cold mornings. Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy she might be, for the walk was long and bleak; the poor things got no other lunch, and were seldom home before two. “ Cuddle your cats, and get over your headache, Bethy. Good-by, Marmee; we are a set of rascals this morning, but we ’ll come home regular angels. Now then, Meg ! ” and Jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims were not setting out as they ought to do. They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was always at the window, to nod and smile, and wave her hand to them. Somehow it seemed as if they could n’t have got through the day without that; for, whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of that motherly face was sure to affect them like sun¬ shine. “ If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful wretches than we are were never seen,” cried Jo, taking a remorse ful satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter wind. “ Don’t use such dreadful expressions,” said Meg, from the depths of the veil in which she had shrouded herself like a nun sick of the world. “ I like good strong words, that mean something,” replied Jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her head, preparatory to flying away altogether. “ Call yourself any names you like; but / am neither a rascal nor a wretch, and I don’t choose to be called so.” “ You ’re a blighted being, and decidedly cross to-day because you can’t sit in the lap of luxury all the time. Poor dear, just wait till I make my fortune, and you Burdens 45 shall revel in carriages and ice-cream and high-heeled slippers and posies and red-headed boys to dance with.” “ How ridiculous you are, Jo! ” but Meg laughed at the nonsense, and felt better in spite of herself. “ Lucky for you I am ; for if I put on crushed airs, and tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state. Thank goodness, I can always find something funny to keep me up. Don’t croak any more, but come home jolly, there ’s a dear.” Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for the day, each going a different way, each hugging her little warm turn-over, and each trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, and the unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth. When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something toward their own support, at least. Believing that they could not begin too early to cultivate energy, industry, and independence, their parents consented, and both fell to work with the hearty good-will which in spite of all obstacles, is sure to sue’ ceed at last. Margaret found a place as nursery gov¬ erness, and felt rich with her small salary. As she said, she was “ fond of luxury,” and her chief trouble was poverty. She found it harder to bear than the others, because she could remember a time when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, and want of any kind unknown. She tried not to be envious or discon¬ tented, but it was very natural that the young girl should long for pretty things, gay friends, accomplishments, and a happy life. At the Kings’ she daily saw all she wanted, for the children’s older sisters were just out, and Meg caught frequent glimpses of dainty ball-dresses and bouquets, heard lively gossip about theatres, concerts, Little Women 46 sleighing parties, and merry-makings of all kinds, and saw money lavished on trifles which would have been so precious to her. Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward every one sometimes, for she had not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which alone can make life happy. Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame, and needed an active person to wait upon her. The childless old lady had offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her offer was declined. Other friends told the Marches that they had lost all chance of being remembered in the rich old lady’s will; but the unworldly Marches only said, — “ We can’t give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Rich or poor, we will keep together and be happy in one another.” The old lady would n’t speak to them for a time, but happening to meet Jo at a friend’s, something in her comical face and blunt manners struck the old lady’s fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion. This did not suit Jo at all; but she accepted the place since nothing better appeared, and, to every one’s sur¬ prise, got on remarkably well with her irascible relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo had marched home, declaring she could n’t bear it any longer ; but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and sent for her back again with such urgency that she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery old lady. I suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died. Jo remembered the kind old gen- Burdens 47 tleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about the queer pictures in his Latin books, and buy her cards of ginger¬ bread whenever he met her in the street. The dim, dusty room, with the busts staring down from the tall book-cases, the cosey chairs, the globes, and, best of all, the wilderness of books, in which she could wander where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her. The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and, curling herself up in the easy-chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures, like a regular book-worm. But, like all happiness, it did not last long; for as sure as she had just reached the heart of the story, the sweet¬ est verse of the song, or the most perilous adventure of her traveller, a shrill voice called, “Josy-phine! Josy- phine ! ” and she had to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the poodle, or read Belsham’s Essays by the hour together. Jo’s ambition was to do something very splendid ; what it was she had no idea, as yet, but left it for time to tell her; and, meanwhile, found her greatest affliction in the fact that she could n’t read, run, and ride as much as she liked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic. But the training she received at Aunt March s was just what she needed, and the thought that she was doing something to sup¬ port herself made her happy, in spite of the perpetual “ Josy-phine ! ” Beth was too bashful to go to school; it had been tried, but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home, with her father. Even Little Women 48 when he went away, and her mother was called to de¬ vote her skill and energy to Soldiers’ Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herself, and did the best she could. She was a housewifely little creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortable for the work¬ ers, never thinking of any reward but to be loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for her little world was peopled with imaginary friends, and she was by nature a busy bee. There were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morning, for Beth was a child still, and loved her pets as well as ever. Not one whole or handsome one among them; all were outcasts till Beth took them in; for, when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to her, because Amy would have nothing old or ugly. Beth cherished them all the more tenderly for that very reason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls. No pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals; no harsh words or blows were ever given them; no neglect ever saddened the heart of the most repulsive: but all were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed, with an affection which never failed. One forlorn fragment of dollanity had belonged to Jo; and, having led a tem¬ pestuous life, was left a wreck in the ragbag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Beth, and taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, she tied on a neat little cap, and, as both arms and legs were gone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in a blanket, and devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid. If any one had known the care lavished on that dolly, ] think it would have touched their hearts, even while they laughed. She brought it bits of bouquets; she read to it, took it out to breathe the air, hidden under her coat; she sung it lullabys, and never went to bed without kissing its dirty face, and whispering ten- Burdens 49 derly, “ I hope you ’ll have a good night, my poor dear.” Beth had her troubles as well as the others; and not being an angel, but a very human little girl, she often “ wept a little weep,” as Jo said, because she could n’t take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and practised away so patiently at the jingling old instrument, that it did seem as if some one (not to hint Aunt March) ought to help her, Nobody did, however, and nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the yellow keys, that would n’t keep in tune, when she was all alone. She sang like a little lark about her work, never was too tired to play for Marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, “ I know I ’ll get my music some time, if I’m good.” There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sun¬ shiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind. If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her file was, she would have answered at once, “ My nose.” When she was a baby, Jo had accidentally dropped her into the coal-hod, and Amy insisted tha' the fall had ruined , her nose forever. It was not big, nor red, like poor “ Petrea’s ”; it was only rather flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it an aristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, and it was doing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of a Grecian nose, and drew whole sheets of hand¬ some ones to console herself. “ Little Raphael,” as her sisters called her, had a 4 Little Women 5° decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art. Her teachers com¬ plained that, instead of doing her sums, she covered her slate with animals; the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy maps on; and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all her books at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons as well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being a model of deportment. She was a great favorite with her mates, being good-tempered, and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort. Her little airs and graces were much admired, so were her accomplishments; for beside her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, crochet, and read French without mis¬ pronouncing more than two thirds of the words. She had a plaintive way of saying, “ When papa was rich we did so-and-so,” which was very touching ; and her long words were considered “ perfectly elegant ” by the girls. Amy was in a fair way to be spoilt; for every one petted her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely. One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities ; she had to wear her cousin’s clothes. Now Florence’s mamma had n’t a particle of taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit. Everything was good, well made, and little worn; but Amy’s artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull purple, with yellow dots, and no trimming. “ My only comfort,” she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, “ is, that mother don’t take tucks in my dresses whenever I’m naughty, as Maria Parks’ mother does. My dear, it’s really dreadful; for sometimes she is so Burdens 5 1 bad, her frock is up to her knees, and she can’t come to school. When I think of this deggerredation , I feel that I can bear even my flat nose and purple gown, with yellow sky-rockets on it.” Meg was Amy’s confidant and monitor, and, by some strange attraction of opposites, Jo was gentle Beth’s. To Jo alone did the shy child tell her thoughts; and over her big, harum-scarum sister, Beth unconsciously exercised more influence than any one in the family. The two older girls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger into her keeping, and watched over her in her own way; “ playing mother” they called it, and put their sisters in the places of dis¬ carded dolls, with the maternal instinct of little women. “Has anybody got anything to tell? It’s been such a dismal day I’m really dying for some amusement,” said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening. “ I had a queer time with aunt to-day, and, as I got the best of it, I ’ll tell you about it,” began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories. “ I was reading that ever¬ lasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for aunt soon drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up. I actually made myself sleepy; and, before she began to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by open¬ ing my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once. “ ‘ I wish I could, and be done with it,’ said I, trying not to be saucy. “ Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and think them over while she just ‘ lost’ herself for a moment. She never finds herself very soon ; so the minute her cap began to bob, like a top- heavy dahlia, I whipped the ‘ Vicar of Wakefield ’ out of Little Women 5 2 my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him, and one on aunt. I’d just got to where they all tumbled into the water, when I forgot, and laughed out loud. Aunt woke up; and, being more good-natured after her nap, told me to read a bit, and show what frivolous work I preferred to the worthy and instructive Belsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, though she only said, — “ ‘ I don’t understand what it’s all about. Go back and begin it, child.’ “ Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could. Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, ‘ I’m afraid it tires you, ma’am ; sha’n’t I stop now? ’ “ She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way, — “ ‘ Finish the chapter, and don’t be impertinent, miss.’ ” “ Did she own she liked it? ” asked Meg. “Oh, bless you, no! but she let old Belsham rest; and, when I ran back after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicar that she did n’t hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall, because of the good time coming. What a pleasant life she might have, if she only chose. I don’t envy her much, in spite of her money, for after all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, I think,” added Jo. “ That reminds me,” said Meg, “ that I’ve got some¬ thing to tell. It is n’t funny, like Jo’s story, but I thought about it a good deal as I came home. At the Kings’ to-day I found everybody in a flurry, and one of the children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. King talking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they Burdens 53 passed me, so I should n’t see how red their eyes were. I did n’t ask any questions, of course; but I felt so sorry for them, and was rather glad I had n’t any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family.” “ I think being disgraced in school is a great deal tr yinger than anything bad boys can do,” said Amy, shaking her head, as if her experience of life had been a deep one. “ Susie Perkins came to school to-day with a lovely red carnelian ring; I wanted it dreadfully, and wished I was her with all my might. Well, she drew a picture of Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, ‘Young ladies, my eye is upon you ! ’ coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it, when all of a sudden his eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was parryllzed with fright, but she went, and oh, what do you think he did? He took her by the ear, — the ear ! just fancy how horrid ! •— and led her to the reci¬ tation platform, and made her stand there half an houq holding that slate so every one could see.” “ Did n’t the girls laugh at the picture?” asked Jo, who relished the scrape. “ Laugh? Not one! They sat as still as mice; and Susie cried quarts, I know she did. I did n’t envy her then ; for I felt that millions of carnelian rings would n’t have made me happy, after that. I never, never should have got over such a agonizing mortification.” And Amy went on with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtue, and the successful utterance of two long words in a breath. “ I saw something that I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot,” said Beth, put¬ ting Jo’s topsy-turvy basket in order as she talked. “ When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. Little Women 54 Laurence was In the fish-shop; but he did n’t see me, for I kept behind a barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter, the fish-man. A poor woman came in, with a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she had n’t any dinner for her children, and had been dis¬ appointed of a day’s work. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry, and said ‘ No,’ rather crossly; so she was going away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane, and held it out to her. She was so glad and surprised, she took it right in her arms, and thanked him over and over. He told her to * go along and cook it,’ and she hurried off, so happy! Was n’t it good of him? Oh, she did look so funny, hugging the big, slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence’s bed in heaven would be ‘ aisy.’ ” When they had laughed at Beth’s story, they asked their mother for one; and, after a moment’s thought, she said soberly,— “ As I sat cutting out blue flannel jackets to-day, at the rooms, I felt very anxious about father, and thought how lonely and helpless we should be, if anything hap¬ pened to him. It was not a wise thing to do; but I kept on worrying, till an old man came in, with an order for some clothes. He sat down near me, and I began to talk to him; for he looked poor and tired and anxious. “‘Have you sons in the army?’ I asked; for the note he brought was not to me. “ ‘ Yes, ma’am. I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner, and I’m going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital,’ he answered quietly. “‘You have done a great deal for your country, sir/ I said, feeling respect now, instead of pity. Burdens 55 “‘Not a mite more than I ought, ma’am. I’d go myself, if I was any use; as I ain’t, I give my boys, and give ’em free.’ “He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to give his all, that I was ashamed of myself. I’d given one man, and thought it too much, while he gave four, without grudging them. I had all my girls to comfort me at home; and his last son was waiting, miles away, to say ‘ good-by ’ to him, perhaps! I felt so rich, so happy, thinking of my blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him some money, and thanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me.” “Tell another story, mother, — one with a moral to it, like this. I like to think about them afterwards, if they are real, and not too preachy,” said Jo, after a minute’s silence. Mrs. March smiled, and began at once; for she had told stories to this little audience for many years, and knew how to please them. “ Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat and drink and wear, a good many com¬ forts and pleasures, kind friends and parents, who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented.” (Here the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sew diligently.) “ These girls were anxious to be good, and made many excellent resolutions; but they did not keep them very well, and were constantly say* ing, ‘ If we only had this,’ or ‘ If we could only do that,’ quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many pleasant things they actually could do. So they asked an old woman w'hat spell they could use to make them happy, and she said, ‘ When you feel dis¬ contented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.’ ” Little Women 5 6 (Here Jo looked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeing that the story was not done yet.) “ Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon were surprised to see how r well off they were. One discovered that money could n’t keep shame and sorrow out of rich people’s houses ; another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with her youth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble old lady, who couldn’t enjoy her comforts; a third that, disagreeable as it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to have to go begging for it; and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as good behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of increased; and I believe they were never disappointed, or sorry that they took the old woman’s advice.” “ Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance! ” cried Meg. “ I like that kind of sermon. It’s the sort father used to tell us,” said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo’s cushion. “ I don’t complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be more careful than ever now; for I’ve had warning from Susie’s downfall,” said Amy morally. “ We needed that lesson, and we won’t forget it. If we do, you just say to us, as old Chloe did in ‘Uncle Tom,’ ‘ Tink ob yer marcies, chillen ! tink ob yer mar- cies ! ’ ” added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took it to heart as much as any of them. Being Neighborly 57 CHAPTER V BEING NEIGHBORLY HAT in the world are you going to do now, Jo?” asked Meg, one snowy afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other. “ Going out for exercise,” answered Jo, with a mis¬ chievous twinkle in her eyes. “ I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It’s cold and dull out; and I advise you to stay, warm and dry, by the fire, as I do,” said Meg, with a shiver. “ Never take advice ! Can’t keep still all day, and, not being a pussy-cat, I don’t like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I’m going to find some.” Meg went back to toast her feet and read “ Ivanhoe”; and Jo began to dig paths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun came out; and the invalid dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated the Marches’ house from that of Mr. Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still country-like, with groves and lawns, large gardens, and quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls, and the flowers which then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach-house and well-kept Little Women 58 grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains. Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house; for no children frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson. To Jo’s lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, full of splendors and delights, which no one enjoyed. She had long wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the “ Laurence boy,” who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the party, she had been more eager than ever, and had planned many ways of making friends with him; but he had not been seen lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wist¬ fully down into their garden, where Beth and Amy were snowballing one another. “That boy is suffering for society and fun,” she said to herself. “ His grandpa does not know what’s good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and lively. I’ve a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so ! ” The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things, and was always scandalizing Meg by her queer perform¬ ances. The plan of “ going over ” was not forgotten; and when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Laurence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused, and took a survey. All quiet, — cur¬ tains down at the lower windows; servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head lean¬ ing on a thin hand at the upper window. Being Neighborly 59 “There he is,” thought Jo, “ poor boy ! all alone and sick this dismal day. It’s a shame ! I ’ll toss up a snow¬ ball, and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him.” Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called out, — “ How do you do? Are you sick? ” Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven, — “Better, thank you. I’ve had a bad cold, and been ‘ shut up a week.” “ I’m sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?” “ Nothing; it’s as dull as tombs up here.” “ Don’t you read ? ” “Not much; they won’t let me.” “ Can’t somebody read to you? ” “ Grandpa does, sometimes; but my books don’t in¬ terest him, and I hate to ask Brooke all the time. “ Have some one come and see you, then.” “There isn’t any one I’d like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak. “ Is n’t there some nice girl who’d read and amuse you? Girls are quiet, and like to play nurse. “ Don’t know any.” “You know us,” began Jo, then laughed, and stopped. “ So I do ! Will you come, please? ” cried Laurie. “ I’m not quiet and nice; but I ’ll come, if mother will let me. I ’ll go ask her. Shut that window, like a good boy, and wait till I come.” With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her 6o Little Women Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready; for, as Mrs. March said, he was “ a little gentleman,” and did honor to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh collar, and trying to tidy up the room, which, in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, then a decided voice, asking for “ Mr. Laurie,” and a surprised- looking servant came running up to announce a young lady. “All right, show her up, it’s Miss Jo,” said Laurie, going to the door of his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and kind and quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth’s three kittens in the other. “ Here I am, bag and baggage,” she said briskly. “ Mother sent her love, and was glad if I could do any¬ thing for you. Meg wanted me to bring some of her blanc-mange ; she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats would be comforting. I knew you’d laugh at them, but I could n’t refuse, she was so anxious to do something. ” It so happened that Beth’s funny loan was just the thing; for, in laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once. “ That looks too pretty to eat,” he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blanc-mange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium. “ It is n’t anything, only they all felt kindly, and wanted to show it. Tell the girl to put it away for your tea: it's so simple, you can eat it; and, being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat. What a cosey room this is! ” Being Neighborly 61 “ It might be if it was kept nice; but the maids are lazy, and I don’t know how to make them mind. It worries me, though.” “ I ’ll right it up in two minutes; for it only needs to have the hearth brushed, so,—and the things made straight on the mantel-piece, so, — and the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now, then, you ’re fixed.” And so he was; for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked things into place, and given quite a different air to the room. Laurie watched her in respectful silence; and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully, — “ How kind you are ! Yes, that’s what it wanted. Now please take the big chair, and let me do something to amuse my company.” “No; I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?” and Jo looked affectionately toward some inviting books near by. “ Thank you ; I’ve read all those, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk,” answered Laurie. “Not a bit; I’ll talk all day if you’ll only set me going. Beth says I never know when to stop.” “ Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home a good deal, and sometimes goes out with a little basket? ” asked Laurie, with interest. “ Yes, that’s Beth ; she’s my girl, and a regular good one she is, too.” “ The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe ? ” “ How did you find that out? ” Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, “ Why, you 62 Little Women see, I often hear you calling to one another, and when I’m alone up here, I can’t help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are; and when the lamps are lighted, it’s like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all round the table with your mother ; her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can’t help watching it. I haven’t got any mother, you know; ” and Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips that he could not control. The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo’s warm heart. She had been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, and at fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was sick and lonely; and, feeling how rich she was in home-love and happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him. Her face was very friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle as she said, — “We ’ll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you’d come over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she’d do you heaps of good, and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would dance; Meg and I would make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we’d have jolly times. Wouldn’t your grandpa let you?” “I think he would, if your mother asked him. He’s very kind, though he does not look so; and he. lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he’s afraid I might be a bother to strangers,” began Laurie, brightening more and more. “ We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you Being Neighborly need n’t think you ’d be a bother. We want to know you, and I’ve been trying to do it this ever so long. We have n’t been here a great while, you know, but we have got acquainted with all our neighbors but you.” “ You see grandpa lives among his books, and does n’t mind much what happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, does n’t stay here, you know, and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as I can.” “That’s bad. You ought to make an effort, and go visiting everywhere you are asked; then you ’ll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to. Never mind being bashful; it won’t last long if you keep going.” Laurie turned red again, but was n’t offended at being accused of bashfulness ; for there was so much good-will in Jo, it was impossible not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant. “ Do you like your school? ” asked the boy, changing the subject, after a little pause, during which he stared at the fire, and Jo looked about her, well pleased. “ Don’t go to school; I ’m a business man - girl I mean. I go to wait on my great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too,” answered Jo. Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question ; but remembering just in time that it was n’t manners to make too many inquiries into people’s affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable. Jo liked his good breeding, and didn’t mind having a laugh at Aunt March, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the library where she revelled. Laurie enjoyed that immensely ; and when she told about the prim old gentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and, in the middle of a fine Little Women 64 speech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what was the matter. “Oh! that does me no end of good. Tell on, please,” he said, taking his face out of the sofa-cushion, red and shining with merriment. Much elated with her success, Jo did “tell on,” all about their plays and plans, their hopes and fears tor father, and the most interesting events of the little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to talking about books; and to Jo’s delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as she did, and had read even more than herself. “ If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandpa is out, so you need n’t be afraid,” said Laurie, getting up. “ I’m not afraid of anything,” returned Jo, with a toss of the head. “ I don’t believe you are ! ” exclaimed the boy, look¬ ing at her with much admiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to be a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some of his moods. The atmosphere of the whole house being summer- like, Laurie led the way from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy; and so at last they came to the library, where she clapped her hands, and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted. It was lined with books, and there were pictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and sleepy-hollow chairs, and queer tables, and bronzes ; and, best of all, a great open fireplace, with quaint tiles ail round it. Being Neighborly “ What richness ! ” sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velvet chair, and gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction. “ Theodore Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world,” she added im- pressively. A fellow can t live on books,” said Laurie, shaking his head, as he perched on a table opposite. Before he could say more, a bell rung, and Jo flew up, exclaiming with alarm, “Mercy me! it’s your grandpa ! ” “ Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you know,” returned the boy, looking wicked. “ I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don’t know why I should be. Marmee said I might come, and I don’t think you ’re any the worse for it,” said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door. “I’m a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I’m only afraid you are very tired talking to me; it was so pleasant, I could n’t bear to stop,” said Laurie gratefully. “ The doctor to see you, sir,” and the maid beckoned as she spoke. “Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I sup¬ pose I must see him,” said Laurie. “ Don’t mind me. I’m as happy as a cricket here,” answered Jo. Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She was standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman, when the door opened again, and, without turning, she said decidedly, “ I ’m sure now that I should n’t be afraid of him, for he’s got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own. He is n’t as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him.” 5 66 Little Women “ Thank you, ma’am,” said a gruff voice behind her; and there, to her great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence. Poor Jo blushed till she could n’t blush any redder, and her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said. For a minute a wild desire to run away possessed her; but that was cowardly, and the girls would laugh at her: so she resolved to stay, and get out of the scrape as she could. A second look showed her that the living eyes, under the bushy gray eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones; and there was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the old gentleman said abruptly, after that dreadful pause, “ So you ’re not afraid of me, hey? ” “ Not much, sir.” “ And you don’t think me as handsome as your grand¬ father? ” “ Not quite, sir.” “ And I’ve got a tremendous will, have I ? ” “ I only said I thought so.” “ But you like me, in spite of it? ” “Yes, I do, sir.” That answer pleased the old gentleman; he gave a short laugh, shook hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying, with a nod, “You’ve got your grandfather’s spirit, if you have n’t his face. He was a fine man, my dear; but, what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, and I was proud to be his friend.” “Thank you, sir;” and Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited her exactly. “ What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?” was the next question, sharply put. Being Neighborly “ Only trying to be neighborly, sir; ” and Jo told how her visit came about. “ You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you ? ” “Yes, sir; he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good perhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad to help if w T e could, for we don’t forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us,” said Jo eagerly. “ Tut, tut, tut! that was the boy’s affair. How is the poor woman? ” “Doing nicely, sir; ” and off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than they were. “Just her father’s way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother some fine day. Tell her so. There’s the tea-bell; we have it early, on the boy’s account. Come down, and go on being neighborly.” “ If you’d like to have me, sir.” “ Should n’t ask you, if I did n’t; ” and Mr. Laurence offered her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy. “What would Meg say to this?” thought Jo, as she was marched away, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story at home. “ Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?” said the old gentleman, as Laurie came run¬ ning downstairs, and brought up with a start of surprise at the astonishing sight of Jo arm-in-arm with his re¬ doubtable grandfather. “I didn’t know you’d come, sir,” he began, as Jo gave him a triumphant little glance. “ That’s evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman; ” and having pulled the boy’s hair by way of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a series 68 Little Women of comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo. The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but he watched the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, and the change in his grandson did not escape him. There was color, light, and life in the boy’s face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh. “ She’s right; the lad is lonely. I ’ll see what these little girls can do for him,” thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened. He liked Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him; and she seemed to understand the boy almost as well as if she had been one herself. If the Laurences had been what Jo called “ prim and poky,” she would not have got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward ; but finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good impression. When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he had something more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory, which had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, as she went up and down the walks, enjoying the bloom¬ ing walls on either side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful vines and trees that hung above her, — while her new friend cut the finest flowers till his hands were full; then he tied them up, saying, with the happy look Jo liked to see, “ Please give these to your mother, and tell her I like the medicine she sent me very much.” They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great drawing-room, but Jo’s attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, which stood open. “ Do you play?” she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful expression. 6 9 Being Neighborly “ Sometimes,” he answered modestly. “ Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth.” “ Won’t you first? ” “Don’t know how; too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly.” So Laurie played, and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in heliotrope and tea-roses. Her re¬ spect and regard for the “ Laurence boy ” increased very much, for he played remarkably well, and did n’t put on any airs. She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so; only praised him till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came to the rescue. “ That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugar-plums are ..Ot good for him. His music is n’t bad, but I hope he will do as well in more important things. Going? Well, I’m much obliged to you, and I hope you ’ll come again. My respects to your mother. Good-night, Doctor Jo.” He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said anything amiss. He shook his head. “ No, it was rne ; he does n’t like to hear me play.” “ Why not? ” “ I ’ll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can’t.” “No need of that; I am not a young lady, and it’s only a step. Take care of yourself, won’t you? ” “Yes; but you will come again, I hope? ” “ If you promise to come and see us after you are well .' 1 “ I will.” “ Good-night, Laurie ! ” “ Good-night, Jo, good-night! ” When all the afternoon’s adventures had been told, the Little Women 70 family felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talk of her father with the old man who had not forgotten him; Meg longed to walk in the conservatory; Beth sighed for the grand piano; and Amy was eager to see the fine pictures and statues. “ Mother, why did n’t Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?” asked Jo, who was of an inquiring disposition. “ I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie’s father, married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not like her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died when Laurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician; at any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he ‘ glowered,’ as Jo said.” “ Dear me, how romantic! ” exclaimed Meg. “ How silly ! ” said Jo. “Let him be a musician, if he wants to, and not plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go.” “ That’s why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I suppose. Italians are always nice,” said Meg, who was a little sentimental. “ What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to him, hardly,” cried Jo, who was not sentimental. “ I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that Being Neighborly 71 he knows how to behave. That was a nice little speech about the medicine mother sent him.” “ He meant the blanc-mange, I suppose.” “ How stupid you are, child ! He meant you, of course.” “ Did he ? ” and Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to her before. “ I never saw such a girl! You don’t know a com¬ pliment when you get it,” said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter. “ I think they are great nonsense, and I ’ll thank you not to be silly, and spoil my fun. Laurie’s a nice boy, and I like him, and I won’t have any sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish. We ’ll all be good to him, because he has n’t got any mother, and he may come over and see us, may n’t he, Marmee? ” “ Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg will remember that children should be chil¬ dren as long as they can.” “ I don’t call myself a child, and I’m not in my teena yet,” observed Amy. “ What do you say, Beth?” “ I was thinking about our ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ” an¬ swered Beth, who had not heard a word. “ Plow we got out of the Slough and through the Wicket Gate by re¬ solving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying; and that maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our Palace Beautiful.” “ We have got to get by the lions, first,” said Jo, as if she rather liked the prospect. 7 2 Little Women CHAPTER VI BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL r~ | ^HE big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some time for all to get in, Jl_ and Beth found it very hard to pass the lions. Old Mr. Laurence was the biggest one; but after he had called, said something funny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid Beth. The other lion was the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich; for this made them shy of accepting favors which they could not return. But, after a while, they found that he considered them the benefactors, and could not do enough to' show how grateful he was for Mrs. March’s motherly welcome, their cheerful so¬ ciety, and the comfort he took in that humble home of theirs. So they soon forgot their pride, and inter¬ changed kindnesses without stopping to think which was the greater. All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time ; for the new friendship flourished like grass in spring. Every one liked Laurie, and he privately informed his tutor that “ the Marches were regularly splendid girls.” With the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they took the solitary boy into their midst, and made much of him, and he found something very charming in the innocent companionship of these simple-hearted girls. Never having known mother or sisters, he was quick to feel the influences they brought about him; and their busy, lively ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led. He was tired of books, and found people so inter- Beth Finds the Palace Beautiful 73 esting now that Mr. Brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactory reports; for Laurie was always playing truant, and running over to the Marches’. “Never mind; let him take a holiday, and make it up afterwards,” said the old gentleman. “ The good lady next door says he is studying too hard, and needs young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect she is right, and that I’ve been coddling the fellow as if I’d been his grandmother. Let him do what he likes, as long as he is happy. He can’t get into mischief in that little nunnery over there; and Mrs. March is doing more for him than we can.” What good times they had, to be sure ! Such plays and tableaux, such sleigh-rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the old parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked, and revel in bouquets; Jo browsed over the new library vora¬ ciously, and convulsed the old gentleman with her criticisms; Amy copied pictures, and enjoyed beauty to her heart’s content; and Laurie played “ lord of the manor ” in the most delightful style. But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck up courage to go to the “ Mansion of Bliss,” as Meg called it. She went once with Jo; but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared at her so hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said “ Hey ! ” so loud, that he frightened her so much her “ feet chattered on the floor,” she told her mother; and she ran away, declaring she would never go there any more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or enticements could overcome her fear, till, the fact com¬ ing to Mr. Laurence’s ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending matters. During one of the brief Little Women 74 calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and talked away about great singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had heard, and told such charming anec¬ dotes that Beth found it impossible to stay in her distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fascinated. At the back of his chair she stopped and stood listen¬ ing, with her great eyes wide open, and her cheeks red with the excitement of this unusual performance. Tak¬ ing no more notice of her than if she had bee ,x a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie’s lessons and teachers; and presently, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he said to Mrs. March,— “ The boy neglects his music now, and I ’m glad of it, for he was getting too fond of it. But the piano suffers for want of use. Would n’t some of your girls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, just to keep it in tune, you know, ma’am? ” Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keep from clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation; and the thought of practising on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away. Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence went on with an odd little nod and smile,— “ They need n’t see or speak to any one, but run in at any time; for I’m shut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out a great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing-room after nine o’clock.” Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for that last arrangement left nothing to be desired. “ Please tell the young ladies what I say; and if they don’t care to come, why, never rrdnd.” Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way, — Beth Finds the Palace Beautiful 75 “ O sir, they do care, very, very much ! ” “ Are you the musical girl?” he asked, without any startling “Hey!” as he looked down at her very kindly. “ I’m Beth. I love it dearly, and I ’ll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me —and be disturbed,” she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke. “ Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day; so come, and drum away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you.” “ How kind you are, sir! ” Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore; but she was not frightened now, and gave the big hand a grateful squeeze, because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her fore¬ head, and, stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard,— “ I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! Good day, madam; ” and away he went, in a great hurry. Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not at home. How blithely she sung that evening, and how they all laughed at her, because she woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the side-door, and made her way, as noiselessly as any mouse, to the drawing¬ room, where her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano; and, with trembling fingers, and frequent stops to listen and look Little Women 76 about, Beth at last touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend. She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to din¬ ner; but she had no appetite, and could only sit and smile upon every one in a general state of beatitude. After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing-room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that came and went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laurence often opened his study-door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked; she never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away; she never suspected that the exercise- books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit; and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind, he was to tell things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what is n’t always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing that a greater was given her; at any rate, she deserved both. “ Mother, I’m going to work Mr. Laurence a pair of slippers. He is so kind to me, I must thank him, and I don’t know any other way. Can I do it?” asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his. “Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking him. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for the making up,” replied Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting Beth’s requests, because she so seldom asked anything for herself. After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the Beth Finds the Palace Beautiful 77 pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet cheerful pansies, on a deeper purple ground, was pronounced very appropriate and pretty; and Beth worked away early and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needle-woman, and they were finished before any one got tired of them. Then she wrote a very short, simple note, and, with Laurie’s help, got them smuggled on to the study-table one morning before the old gentleman was up. When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen. All that day passed, and a part of the next, before any acknowledgment arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crotchety friend. On the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four, heads popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed, — “ Here’s a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it! ” “ O Beth, he’s sent you— ” began Amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy; but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming down the window. Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door, her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all pointing, and all saying at once, “ Look there ! look there ! ” Beth did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise; for there stood a little cabinet- piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed, like a sign-board, to “ Miss Elizabeth March.” “For me?” gasped Beth, holding on to Jo, and feel- 7 8 Little Women ing as if she should tumble down, it was such an over¬ whelming thing altogether. “ Yes; all for you, my precious ! Isn’t it splendid of him? Don’t you think he ’s the dearest old man in the world? Here’s the key in the letter. We did n’t open it, but we are dying to know what he says,” cried Jo, hugging her sister, and offering the note. “ You read it! I can’t, I feel so queer ! Oh, it is too lovely! ” and Beth hid her face in Jo’s apron, quite up¬ set by her present. Jo opened the paper, and began to laugh, for the first words she saw were, — “ Miss March : “ Dear Mada??i , — ” “ How nice it sounds ! I wish some one would write to me so ! ” said Amy, who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant. “‘1 have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had any that suited me so well as yours,’ ” continued Jo. “ ‘ Heart’s-ease is my favorite flower, and these will always remind me of the gentle giver. I like to pay my debts; so I know you will allow “ the old gentleman ” to send you some¬ thing which once belonged to the little granddaughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain “ 1 Your grateful friend and humble servant, “ ‘ James Laurence.’ “There, Beth, that’s an honor to be proud of, I’m sure ! Laurie told me how fond Mr. Laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he kept all her little things carefully. Just think, he’s given you her piano. That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music,” Beth Finds the Palace Beautiful 79 said Jo, trying to soothe Beth, who trembled, and looked more excited than she had ever been before. “ See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green silk, puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete,” added Meg, opening the instrument and displaying its beauties. “ * Your humble servant, James Laurence ’; only think of his writing that to you. I ’ll tell the girls. They ’ll think it’s splendid,” said Amy, much impressed by the note. “Try it, honey. Let’s hear the sound of the baby- pianny,” said Hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows. So Beth tried it; and every one pronounced it the most remarkable piano ever heard. It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-pie order; but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm of it lay in the happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the bright pedals. “You’ll have to go and thank him,” said Jo, by way of a joke; for the idea of the child’s really going never entered her head. “ Yes, I mean to. ’ I guess I ’ll go now, before I get frightened thinking about it.” And, to the utter amaze¬ ment of the assembled family, Beth walked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the Lau¬ rences’ door. “ Well, I wish I may die if it ain’t the queerest thing I ever see! The pianny has turned her head ! She’d never have gone in her right mind,” cried Hannah, star¬ ing after her, while the girls were rendered quite speech¬ less by the miracle. 8 o Little Women They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth did afterward. If you will believe me, she went and knocked at the study-door before she gave herself time to think; and when a gruff voice called out, “ Come in ! ” she did go in, right up to Mr. Laurence, who looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, “ I came to thank you, sir, for— ” But she did n’t finish; for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speech, and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck, and kissed him. If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman would n’t have been more astonished; but he liked it, — oh, dear, yes, he liked it amazingly ! — and was so touched and pleased by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness vanished; and he just set her on his knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little grand¬ daughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cosily as if she had known him all her life; for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like a handsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he was. When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way of expressing her satisfaction; Amy nearly fell out of the window in her surprise ; and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, “ Well* I do believe the world is coming to an end! ” Amy’s Valley ol Humiliation 81 CHAPTER VII AMY’S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION M F I ^HAT boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn’t he?” said Amy, one day, as Laurie clattered by JL on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as ke passed. tc How dare you say so, when he ’s got both his eyes? and very handsome ones they are, too,” cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend. “ I did n’t say anything about his eyes, and I don’t see why you need fire up when I admire his riding.” “ Oh, my goodness ! that little goose means a cem taur, and she called him a Cyclops,” exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter. “ You need n’t be so rude ; it J s only a ‘ lapse of lingy,’ a«? Mr. Davis says,” retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin. “ I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse,” she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear. “Why?” asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy’s second blunder. “ I need it so much; I’m dreadfully in debt, and it won’t be my turn to have the rag-money for a month.” “In debt, Amy? What do you mean?” and Meg looked sober. “ Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can’t pay them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything charged at the shop.” “Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls; ” 6 82 Little Women and Meg tried to keep her countenance, Amy looked so grave and important. “ Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do it, too. It’s nothing but limes now, for every one is sucking them in their desks in school-time, and trading them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper dolls, or some¬ thing else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she gives her a lime; if she’s mad with her, she eats one before her face, and don’t offer even a suck. They treat by turns; and I’ve had ever so many, but have n’t returned them ; and I ought, for they are debts of honor, you know.” “ How much will pay them off, and restore your credit? ” asked Meg, taking out her purse. “ A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treat for you. Don’t you like limes?” “Not much; you may have my share. Here’s the money. Make it last as long as you can, for it is n’t very plenty, you know.” “ Oh, thank you ! It must be so nice to have pocket- money ! I ’ll have a grand feast, for I have n’t tasted a lime this week. I felt delicate about taking any, as I could n’t return them, and I’m actually suffering for one.” Next day Amy was rather late at school; but could not resist the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. Durinsr the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty- four delicious limes (she ate one on the way), and was going to treat, circulated through her “ set,” and the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her next party on the spot; Amy’s Valley of Humiliation 83 Mary Kingsley insisted on lending her her watch till 1 ecess, and Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy upon her limeless 'state, promptly buried the hatchet, and offered to furnish answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow’s cutting remarks about “ some persons whose noses were not too flat to smell other people s limes, and stuck-up people, who were not too proud to ask for them;” and she instantly crushed “ thM Snow girl’s ” hopes by the withering telegram, “You needn’t be so polite all of a sudden, for you won’t get any.” A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and Amy’s beautifully drawn maps received praise, which honor to her foe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assume the airs of a studious young peacock. But, alas, alas! pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. No sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments, and bowed him¬ self out, than Jenny, under pretence of asking an im¬ portant question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk. Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly vowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking the law. This much- enduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing-gum after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a private post-office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human patience, goodness knows ! but girls are infinitely more so, espe- Little Women 84 dally to nervous gentlemen, with tyrannical tempers, and no more talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, Algebra, and ologies of all sorts, so he was called a fine teacher; and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not considered of any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment for denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning; there was an east wind, which always affected his neuralgia; and his pupils had not done him the credit which he felt he deserved: there¬ fore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, language of a school-girl, “ he was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear.” The word ‘Mimes ” was like fire to powder; his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat with unusual rapidity. “Young ladies, attention, if you please ! ” At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs ot blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance. “ Miss March, come to the desk.” Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience. “ Bring with you the limes you have in your desk,” was the unexpected command which arrested her before she got out of her seat. “ Don’t take all,” whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence of mind. Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the rest down before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent when that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis particularly de« Amy’s Valley of Humiliation 85 tested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust added to his wrath. “ Is that all? ” “ Not quite,” stammered Amy. “ Bring the rest immediately.” With a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed. “ You are sure there are no more?” “ I never lie, sir.” “ So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window.” There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as the last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips. Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times; and as each doomed couple — looking oh ! so plump and juicy — fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over by the little Irish children, who were their sworn foes. This — this was too much ; all flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable.Davis, and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears. As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous “ Hem ! ” and said, in his most impressive manner, — “ Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has happened; but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand.” Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring look which pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter. She was rather a favorite with “ old Davis,” as, of course, he was called, and it’s my private belief that he would have broken his 86 Little Women word if the indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit’s fate. “ Your hand, Miss March! ” was the only answer her mute appeal received ; and, too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw back her head defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on her little palm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the first time in her life she had been struck; and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down. “You will now stand on the platform till recess,” said Mr. Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun. That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies; but to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon her, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong, and the thought of Jenny Snow, helped her to bear it; and, taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on the stove-funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, so motionless and white that the girls found it very hard to study, with that pathetic figure before them. During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot. To others it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard experience; for during the twelve years of her life she had been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched her before. The smart of her hand and Amy’s Valley of Humiliation 87 the ache of her heart were forgotten in the sting of the thought,— “ I shall have to tell at home, and they will be so dis¬ appointed in me ! ” The fifteen minutes seemed an hour; but they came to an end at last, and the word “ Recess! ” had never seemed so welcome to her before. “You can go, Miss March,” said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable. He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, without a word to any one, straight into the ante-room, snatched her things, and left the place “ forever,” as she passionately declared to her¬ self. She was in a sad state when she got home; and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an indigna¬ tion meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much, but looked disturbed, and comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears; Beth felt that even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this; Jo wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay; and Hannah shook her fist at the “ villain,” and pounded potatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle. No notice was taken of Amy’s flight, except by her mates; but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant in the afternoon, also un¬ usually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo appeared, wearing a grim expression, as she stalked up to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother; then collected Amy’s property, and departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door-mat, as if she shook the dust of the place off her feet. “Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I 88 Little Women want you to study a little every day, with Beth,” said Mrs. March, that evening. “ I don’t approve of cor¬ poral punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. Davis’s manner of teaching, and don’t think the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall ask your father’s advice before I send you anywhere else.” “ That’s good ! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school. It’s perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes,” sighed Amy, with the air of a martyr. “ I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved some punishment for disobedience,” was the severe reply, which rather disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy. “ Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole school?” cried Amy. “ I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault,” replied her mother; “but I’m not sure that it won’t do you more good than a milder method. You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quite time you set about correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long; even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power is modesty.” “ So it is ! ” cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. “I knew a girl, once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she did n’t know it; never guessed what sweet little things she composed when she was alone, and would n’t have believed it if any one had told her.” “ I wish I’d known that nice girl; maybe she would Amy’s Valley of Humiliation 89 have helped me, I’m so stupid,” said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly. “ You do know her, and she helps you better than any one else could,” answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in his merry black eyes, that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face in the sofa-cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected dis¬ covery. Jo let Laurie win the game, to pay for that praise of her Beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So Laurie did his best, and sung delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his character. When he was gone, Amy, who had been pensive all the evening, said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, — “ Is Laurie an accomplished boy?” “Yes ; he has had an excellent education, and has much talent; he will make a fine man, if not spoilt by petting,” replied her mother. “ And he is n’t conceited, is he? ” asked Amy. “ Not in the least; that is why he is so charming, and we all like him so much.” “ I see; it *s nice to have accomplishments, and be elegant; but not to show off, or get perked up,” said Amy thoughtfully. “ These things are always seen and felt in a person’s manner and conversation, if modestly used; but it is not necessary to display them,” said Mrs. March. “ Any more than it’s proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and ribbons at once, that folks may know you’ve got them,” added Jo; and the lecture ended in a laugh. 90 Little Women CHAPTER VIII JO MEETS APOLLYON a IRLS, where are you going?” asked Amy, H coming into their room one Saturday after- noon, and finding them getting ready to go out, with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity. “Never mind; little girls shouldn’t ask questions,” returned Jo sharply. Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings, when we are young, it is to be told that; and to be bid¬ den to “ run away, dear,” is still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who never refused her anything very long, she said coax- ingly, “ Do tell me! I should think you might let me go, too ; for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I have n’t got anything to do, and am so lonely.” “ I can’t, dear, because you are n’t invited,” began Meg; but Jo broke in impatiently, “ Now, Meg, be quiet, or you will spoil it all. You can’t go, Amy; so don’t be a baby, and whine about it.” “ You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are; you were whispering and laughing together, on the sofa, last night, and you stopped when I came in. Are n’t you going with him? ” “Yes, we are; now do be still, and stop bothering.” Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket. “ I know! I know! you ’re going to the theatre to see the ‘ Seven Castles ! ’ ” she cried; adding resolutely, “ and I shall go, for mother said I might see it; and I ’ve Jo Meets Apollyon 91 £ot my rag-money, and it was mean not to tell me in time.” “Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,” said Meg soothingly. “ Mother does n’t wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.” “ I don’t like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me ; I’ve been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I’m dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I ’ll be ever so good,” pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could. “ Suppose we take her. I don’t believe mother would mind, if we bundle her up well,” began Meg. “ If she goes I sha’n’t; and if I don’t, Laurie won’t like it; and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she’d hate to poke herself where she is n’t wanted,” said Jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child, when she wanted to enjoy herself. Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, “ I shall go; Meg says I may; and if I pay for myself, Laurie hasn’t anything to do with it.” “You can’t sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you must n’t sit alone; so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our pleasure; or he ’ll get another seat for you, and that is n’t proper, when you were n’t asked. You sha’n’t stir a step; so you may just stay where you are,” scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry. Sitting on the floor, with one boot on, Amy began to cry, and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving 92 Little Women their sister wailing; for now and then she forgot her grown-up ways, and acted like a spoilt child. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called over the banisters, in a threatening tone, “ You ’ll be sorry for this, Jo March; see if you ain’t.” “ Fiddlesticks ! ” returned Jo, slamming the door. They had a charming time, for “ The Seven Castles of the Diamond Lake ” were as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. But, in spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and gorgeous princes and princesses, Jo’s pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it; the fairy queen’s yellow curls reminded her of Amy; and between the acts she amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her “ sorry for it.” She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives, for both had quick tempers, and were apt to be violent when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and semi-occasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble; her anger, never lasted long, and, having humbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented, and tried to do better. Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a fury, because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried desper¬ ately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her; and it took years of patient effort to subdue it. When they got home, they found Amy reading in the parlor. She assumed an injured air as they came in; never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire, and Jo Meets Apollyon • 93 receive a glowing description of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo’s first look was toward the bureau; for, in their last quarrel, Amy had soothed her feelings by turning Jo’s top drawer upside down on the floor. Everything was in its place, however; and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs. There Jo was mistaken; for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited, and demanding breathlessly, “ Has any one taken my book ?” Meg and Beth said “ No,” at once, and looked sur¬ prised ; Amy poked the fire, and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise, and was down upon her in a minute. “ Amy, you’ve got it! ” “ No, I have n’t.” “ You know where it is, then ! ” “ No, I don’t.” “ That’s a fib ! ” cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy. “ It is n’t. I have n’t got it, don’t know where it is now, and don't care.” “ You know something about it, and you’d better tell at once, or I ’ll make you,” and Jo gave her a slight shake. “ Scold as much as you like, you ’ll never see your silly old book again,” cried Amy, getting excited in her turn. “ Why not? ” “ I burnt it up.” “ What! my little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before father got home? Have Little Women 94 you really burnt it?” said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously. “ Yes, I did ! I told you I’d make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so — ” Amy got no farther, for Jo’s hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head; crying, in a passion of grief and anger, — “ You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I ’ll never forgive you as long as I live.” Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself; and, with a parting box on her sister’s ear, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone. The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister. Jo’s book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her family as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting her whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to print. She had just copied them with great care, and had de¬ stroyed the old manuscript, so that Amy’s bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a dreadful calam¬ ity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and Meg refused to defend her pet; Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted more than any of them. When the tea-bell rung, Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable that it took all Amy’s courage to say meekly, — 95 Jo Meets Apollyon “ Please forgive me, Jo; I’m very, very sorry.” “I never shall forgive you,” was Jo’s stern answer; and, from that moment, she ignored Amy entirely. No one spoke of the great trouble, — not even Mrs. March, — for all had learned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words were wasted; and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her own generous nature, softened Jo’s resentment, and healed the breach. It w^as not a happy evening; for, though they sewed as usual, while their mother read aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting, and the sweet home-peace was disturbed. They felt this most when singing-time came; for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy broke down, so Meg and mother sung alone. But, in spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flute-like voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune. As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whis¬ pered gently, — “ My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, help each other, and begin again to-morrow.” Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away; but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply in¬ jured that she reall y couldn't quite forgive yet. So she winked hard, shook her head, and said, gruffly because Amy was listening, — “ It was an abominable thing, and she don’t deserve to be forgiven.” With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night. Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace Little Women 96 had been repulsed, and began to wish she had not hum* bled herself, to feel more injured than ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which was particu¬ larly exasperating. Jo still looked like a thunder-cloud, and nothing went well all day. It was bitter cold in the morning; she dropped her precious turn-over in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of fidgets, Meg was pensive, Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home, and Amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking about being good, and yet would n’t try, when other people set them a virtuous example. “ Everybody is so hateful, I ’ll ask Laurie to go skat¬ ing. He is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know,” said Jo to herself, and off she went. Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation, — “ There! she promised I should go next time, lor this is the last ice we shall have. But it’s no use to ask such a cross-patch to take me.” “Don’t say that; you were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book; but I think she might do it now, and I guess she will, if you try her at the right minute,” said Meg. “ Go after them ; don’t say anything till Jo has got good-natured with Laurie, then take a quiet minute, and just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and I’m sure she ’ll be friends again, with all her heart.” “I ’ll try,” said Amy, for the advice suited her; and, after a flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing over the hill. It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back; Laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating Jo Meets Apollyon 97 along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spell had preceded the cold snap. “ I ’ll go on to the first bend, and see if it’s all right, before we begin to race,” Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young Russian, in his fur- trimmed coat and cap. Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing her fingers, as she tried to put her skates on; but Jo never turned, and went slowly zigzag- ing down the rive?, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of sat¬ isfaction in her sister’s troubles. She had cherished her anger till it grew strong, and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do, unless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back, — “ Keep near the shore; it is n’t safe in the middle.” t Jo heard, but Amy was just struggling to her feet, and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear, — “No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself.” Laurie had vanished round the bend; Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the river. For a minute Jo stood still, with a strange feeling at her heart; then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with the sudden crash of rotten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that made Jo’s heart stand still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone ; she tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them; and, for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring, with a terror- stricken face, at the little blue hood above the black 1 Little Women 98 water. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie’s voice cried out, —- “ Bring a rail; quick, quick ! ” How she did it, she never knew; but for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and, lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey till Jo dragged a rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, more frightened than hurt. “ Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can ; pile our things on her, while I get off these confounded skates,” cried Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps, which never seemed so intricate before. Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home; and, after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets, before a hot fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken; but flown about, looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails, and refractory buckles. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the bed, she called Jo to her, and began to bind up the hurt hands. “ Are you sure she is safe?” whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight forever under the treacherous ice. “ Quite safe, dear; she is not hurt, and won’t even take cold, I think, you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly,” replied her mother cheer¬ fully. “Laurie did it all; I only let her go. Mother, if she should die, it would be my fault”; and Jo dropped down beside the bed, in a passion of penitent tears, Jo Meets Apollyon 99 telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for be¬ ing spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her. “It’s my dreadful temper! I try to cure it; I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. O mother, what shall I do? what shall I do?” cried poor Jo, in despair. “ Watch and pray, dear; never get tired of trying; and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault,” said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder, and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried harder than ever. “You don’t know, you can’t guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I’m in a passion; I get so savage, I could hurt any one, and enjoy it. I’m afraid I shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me. O mother, help me, do help me ! ” “ I will, my child, I will. Don’t cry so^ bitterly, but remember this day, and resolve, with all your soul, that you will never know another like it. Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater than yours, and it often takes us all our lives to conquer them. You think your temper is the worst in the world; but mine used to be just like it.” “Yours, mother? Why, you are never angry! ” and, for the moment, Jo forgot remorse in surprise. “ I’ve been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded in controlling it. I am angry nearly every day of my life, Jo; but I have learned not to show it; and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another forty years to do so.” The patience and the humility of the face she loved so xoo Little Women well was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her; the knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her reso¬ lution to cure it; though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray, to a girl of fifteen. “ Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together, and go out of the room sometimes, when Aunt March scolds, or people worry you? ” asked Jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever before. “ Yes, I Ve learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips ; and when I feel that they mean to break out against my will, I just go away a minute, and give myself a little shake, for being so weak and wicked,” answered Mrs. March, with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothed and fastened up Jo’s dishevelled hair. “How did you learn to keep still? That is what troubles me — for the sharp words fly out before I know what I ’m about; and the more I say the worse I get, till it’s a pleasure to hurt people’s feelings, and say dreadful things. Tell me how you do it, Marmee dear.” “ My good mother used to help me -— ” “ As you do us — ” interrupted Jo, with a grateful kiss. “ But I lost her when I was a little older than you are, and for years had to struggle on alone, for I was too proud to confess my weakness to any one else. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tears over my failures; for, in spite of my efforts, I never seemed to get on. Then your father came, and I was so happy that I found it easy to be good. But by and by, when I had four little daughters round me, and we were poor, then the old trouble began again; for I am not patient IOI Jo Meets ApolJyon by nature, and it tried me very much to see my children wanting anything.” “ Poor mother ! what helped you then? ” “Your father, Jo. He never loses patience,—never doubts or complains, — but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully, that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed me that I must try to practise all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own ; a startled or surprised look from one of you, when I spoke sharply, rebuked me more than any words could have done; and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.” “ O mother, if I’m ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied,” cried Jo, much touched. “ I hope you will be a great deal better, dear; but you must keep watch over your ‘ bosom enemy,’ as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. You have had a warning; remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have known to-day.” “ I will try, mother; I truly will. But you must help me, remind me, and keep me from flying out. I used to see father sometimes put his finger on his lips, and look at you with a very kind, but sober face, and you always folded your lips tight or went away: was he reminding you then? ” asked Jo softly. “ Yes ; I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved me from many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look.” Jo saw that her mother’s eyes filled and her lips trem- 102 Little Women bled, as she spoke; and, fearing that she had said too much, she whispered anxiously, “ Was it wrong to watch you, and to speak of it? I did n’t mean to be rude, but it’s so comfortable to say all I think to you, and feel so safe and happy here.” “ My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatest happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me, and know how much I love them.” “ I thought I’d grieved you.” “No, dear; but speaking of father reminded me how much I miss him, how much I owe him, and how faithfully I should watch and work to keep his little daughters safe and good for him.” “ Yet you told him to go, mother, and did n’t cry when he went, and never complain now, or seem as if you needed any help,” said Jo, wondering. “ I gave my best to the country I love, and kept my tears till he was gone. Why shoyld I complain, when we both have merely done our duty and will surely be the happier for it in the end? If I don’t seem to need help, it is because I have a better friend, even than father, to comfort and sustain me. My child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning, and may be many; but you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do that of your earthly one. The more you love and trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother.” Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 103 Jo’s only answer was to hold her mother close, and, in the silence which followed, the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed left her heart without words ; for in that sad, yet happy hour, she had learned not only the bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of self-denial and self-control; and, led by her mother’s hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friend who welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of any father, tenderer than that of any mother. Amy stirred, and sighed in her sleep ; and, as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault, Jo looked up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before. “ I let the sun go down on my anger; I would n’t forgive her, and to-day, if it had n’t been for Laurie, it might have been too late ! How could I be so wicked ? ” said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister, softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow. As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo’s heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss. CHAPTER IX MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR “ TT DO think it was the most fortunate thing in the I world that those children should have the measles M just now,” said Meg, one April day, as she stood packing the “ go abroady ” trunk in her room, surrounded by her sisters. “ And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her prom- Little Women 104 ise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid/' replied Jo, looking like a windmill, as she folded skirts with her long arms. “And such lovely weather; I’m so glad of that,” added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her J o best box, lent for the great occasion. “ I wish I was going to have a fine time, and wear all these nice things,” said Amy, with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister’s cushion. “ I wish you were all going; but, as you can’t, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I ’m sure it’s the least I can do, when you have been so kind, lending me things, and helping me get ready,” said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes. “What did mother give you out of the treasure-box? ” asked Amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest, in which Mrs. March kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came. “ A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk ; but there is n’t time to make it over, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan.” “ It will look nicely over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off" beautifully. I wish I had n’t smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had it,” said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use. “ There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure-box ; but mother said real flowers were the pret¬ tiest ornament for a young girl, and Laurie promised to send me all I want,” replied Meg. “Now, let me see; there’s my new gray walking-suit—just curl up the Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 105 feather in my hat, Beth,—then my poplin, for Sun* day, and the small party, — it looks heavy for spring, doesn’t it? The violet silk would be so nice; oh, dear! ” “ Never mind; you’ve got the tarlatan for the big party, and you always look like an angel in white,” said Amy, brooding over the little store of finery in which her soul delighted. “It isn’t low-necked, and it doesn’t sweep enough, but it will have to do. My blue house-dress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, that I feel as if I’d got a new one. My silk sacque is n't a bit the fashion, and my bonnet does n’t look like Sallie’s ; I did n’t like to say anything, but I was sadly disappointed in my umbrella. I told mother black, with a white handle, but she forgot, and bo ught a green one, with a yellowish handle. It’s strong and neat, so I ought not to complain, but I know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie’s silk one with a gold top,” sighed Meg, surveying the little umbrella with great disfavor. “ Change it,” advised Jo. “ I won’t be so silly, or hurt Marmee’s feelings, when she took so much pains to get my things. It’s a non¬ sensical notion of mine, and I ’m not going to give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves are my comfort. You are a dear, to lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich, and sort of elegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for common; ” and Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove-box. “ Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her night¬ caps; would you put some on mine?” she asked, as Beth brought up a pile of snowy muslins, fresh from Hannah’s hands. “ No, I would n’t; for the smart caps won’t match the io6 Little Women plain gowns, without any trimming on them. Poor folks should n’t rig,” said Jo decidedly. “ I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have real lace on my clothes, and bows on my caps? ” said Meg impatiently. “You said the other day that you’d be perfectly happy if you could only go to Annie Moffat’s,” observed Beth, in her quiet way. “ So I did ! Well, I am happy, and I ivorit fret; but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants, doesn’t it? There, now, the trays are ready, and every¬ thing in but my ball-dress, which I shall leave for mother to pack,” said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from the half-filled trunk to the many-times pressed and mended white tarlatan, which she called her “ ball-dress,” with an important air. The next day was fine, and Meg departed, in style, for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented than she went. But she had begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter of irksome work, that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashionable life. The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly culti¬ vated or intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptiv Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 107 ously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly; and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her ; to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well as she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat’s pretty things, the more she envied her, and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare and dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a very desti¬ tute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new gloves and silk stockings. She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls were busily employed in “ having a good time.” They shopped, walked, rode, and called all day; went to theatres and operas, or frolicked at home in the evening; for Annie had many friends, and knew how to entertain them. Her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and one was engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father; and Mrs. Moffat, a fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg as her daughter had done. Every one petted her; and “ Daisy,” as they called her, was in a fair way to have her head turned. When the evening for the “small party” came, she found that the poplin would n’t do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dresses, and making themselves I very fine indeed ; so out came the tarlatan, looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie’s crisp new one. Meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her cheeks began to burn, for, with all her gentleness, she was very proud. No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and Annie io8 Little Women to tie her sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised hei white arms ; but in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies. The hard, bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had the cover off, and all were exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within. “ It’s for Belle, of course; George always sends her some, but these are altogether ravishing/’ cried Annie, with a great sniff. “ They are for Miss March, the man said. And here ’s a note,” put in the maid, holding it to Meg. “ What fun ! Who are they from? Did n’t know you had a lover,” cried the girls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise. “ The note is from mother, and the flowers from Laurie,” said Meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her. “ Oh, indeed ! ” said Annie, with a funny look, as Meg slipped the note into her pocket, as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false pride; for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her up by their beauty. Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that Clara, the elder sister, told her she was “ the sweetest little thing she ever saw; ” and they looked quite charmed with her small attention. Somehow the kind act finished her despondency; and when all the rest went to show them¬ selves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed face Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 109 in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair, and fastened the roses in the dress that did n’t strike her as so very shabby now. She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her heart’s content; every one was very kind, and she had three compliments. Annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice; Major Lincoln asked who “ the fresh little girl, with the beautiful eyes,” was; and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing with her, because she “ did n’t dawdle, but had some spring in her,” as he gracefully expressed it. So, altogether, she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of a conversation, which disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just inside the conserva¬ tory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she heard a voice ask, on the other side of the flowery wall, —- “ How old is he?” “ Sixteen or seventeen, I should say,” replied another voice. “ It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn’t it? Sallie says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them.” “ Mrs. M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently doesn’t think of it yet,” said Mrs. Moffat. “ She told that fib about her mamma, as if she did know, and colored up when the flowers came, quite prettily. Poor thing! she ’d be so nice if she was only got up in style. Do you think she ’d be offended if we offered to lend her a dress for Thursday? ” asked another voice. “ She’s proud, but I don’t believe she’d mind, for that dowdy tarlatan is all she has got. She may tear it i i o Little Women to-night, and that will be a good excuse for offering a decent one.” “We ’ll see. I shall ask young Laurence, as a com¬ pliment to her, and we ’ll have fun about it afterward.” Here Meg’s partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather agitated. She was proud, and her pride was useful just then, for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had just heard; for, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not help understanding the gossip of her friends. She tried to forget it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, “ Mrs. M. has made her plans,” “ that fib about her mamma,” and “ dowdy tarlatan,” till she was ready to cry, and rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay; and, being rather excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she was making. She was very glad when it was all over, and she was quiet in her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached and her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish, yet well-meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and much disturbed the peace of the old one, in which, till now, she had lived as happily as a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoilt by the silly speeches she had overheard; her faith in her mother was a little shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by herself; and the sensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suited a poor man’s daughter, was weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under heaven. Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy¬ eyed, unhappy, half resentful toward her friends, and half Meg Goes to Vanity Fair hi ashamed of herself for not speaking out frankly, and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled that morn¬ ing, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even to take up their worsted work. Something in the manner of her friends struck Meg at once; they treated her with more respect, she thought; took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered her, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from her writing, and said, with a senti¬ mental air, — “ Daisy, dear, I’ve sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, for Thursday. We should like to know him, and it’s only a proper compliment to you.” Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply demurely, — “ You are very kind, but I’m afraid he won’t come.” “ Why not, cherie ?” asked Miss Belle. “ He’s too old.” “My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to know! ” cried Miss Clara. “ Nearly seventy, I believe,” answered Meg, counting stitches, to hide the merriment in her eyes. “ You sly creature ! Of course we meant the young man,” exclaimed Miss Belle, laughing. “ There is n’t any; Laurie is only a little boy,” and Meg laughed also at the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her supposed lover. “ About your age,” Nan said. “Nearer my sister Jo’s; I am seventeen in August,” returned Meg, tossing her head. “ It’s very nice of him to send you flowers, is n’t it? M said Annie, looking wise about nothing. “Yes, he often does, to all of us; for their house is 1X2 Little Women full, and we are so fond of them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know, so it is quite natural that we children should play together; ” and Meg hoped they would say no more. “ It’s evident Daisy isn’t out yet,” said Miss Clara to Belle, with a nod. “ Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round,” re¬ turned Miss Belle, with a shrug. “ I’m going out to get some little matters for my girls ; can I do anything for you, young ladies?” asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in, like an elephant, in silk and lace. “ No, thank you, ma’am,” replied Sallie. “ I’ve got my new pink silk for Thursday, and don’t want a thing.” “Nor I, — ” began Meg, but stopped, because it occurred to her that she did want several things, and could not have them. “ What shall you wear? ” asked Sallie. “ My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen; it got sadly torn last night,” said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling very uncomfortable. “ Why don’t you send home for another? ” said Sallie, who was not an observing young lady. “ I have n’t got any other.” It cost Meg an effort to say that, but Sallie did not see it, and exclaimed, in amiable surprise, — “Only that? How funny — ” She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook her head at her, and broke in, saying kindly, — “ Not at all; where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she is n’t out? There’s no need of send¬ ing home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, for I’ve got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I’ve outgrown, and you shall wear it, to please me, won’t you, dear?” “You are very kind, but I don’t mind my old dress, Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 113 if you don’t; it does well enough for a little girl like me,” said Meg. “ Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to do it, and you’d be a regular little beauty, with a touch here and there. I shan’t let any one see you till you are done, and then we ’ll burst upon them like Cinderella and her godmother, going to the ball,” said Belle, in her persuasive tone. Meg couldn’t refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if she would be “ a little beauty ” after touching up, caused her to accept, and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings towards the Moffats. On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid; and, between them, they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped and curled her hair, they pol¬ ished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve, to make them redder, and Hortense would have added “ a soiipqon of rouge,” if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly breathe, and so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. A set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even ear-rings, for Hortense tied them on, with a bit of pink silk, which did not show. A cluster of tea-rosebuds at the bosom, and a ruche , reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled blue silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A laced handker¬ chief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a silver holder fin¬ ished her off; and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll. “Mademoiselle is charmante, tres jolie, is she not?” cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rap¬ ture. 8 Little Women 114 “ Come and show yourself,” said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting. As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trail¬ ing, her ear-rings tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her “ fun ” had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that she was “ a little beauty.” Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically; and, for several minutes, she stood, like the jackdaw in the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies. “While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the manage¬ ment of her skirt, and those French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take your silver butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head, Clara, and don’t any of you disturb the charming work of my hands,” said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success. “ I’m afraid to go down, I feel so queer and stiff and half-dressed,” said Meg to Sallie, as the bell rang, and Mrs. Moffat sent to ask the young ladies to appear at once. “ You don’t look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I’m nowhere beside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you ’re quite French, I assure you. Let your flowers hang; don’t be so careful of them, and be sure you don’t trip,” returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was prettier than herself. Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely down stairs, and sailed into the drawing-rooms, where the Moffats and a few early guests were assem¬ bled. She very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people, and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 115 affectionate all of a sudden; several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her; and several old ladies, who sat on sofas, and criticised the rest of the party, inquired who she was, with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them, — “ Daisy March — father a colonel in the army — one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences; sweet creature, I as¬ sure you; my Ned is quite wild about her.” “ Dear me ! ” said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard, and been rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat’s fibs. The “ queer feeling ” did not pass away, but she imag¬ ined herself acting the new part of fine lady, and so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side- ache, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her ear-rings should fly off, and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan, and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing, and looked confused; for, just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disap¬ proval also, she thought; for, though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush, and wish she had her old dress on. To complete her confusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish and shy. “ Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head! I won’t care for it, or let it change me a bit,” thought 116 Little Women Meg, and rustled across the room to shake hands with her friend. “ I ’m glad you came, I was afraid you would n’t,” she said, with her most grown-up air. “ Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did; ” answered Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her maternal tone. “ What shall you tell her ? ” asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him, for the first time. “ I shall say I did n’t know you; for you look so grown-up, and unlike yourself, I’m quite afraid of you,” he said, fumbling at his glove-button. “ How absurd of you ! The girls dressed me up for fun, and I rather like it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me? ” said Meg, bent on making him say whether he thought her improved or not. “ Yes, I think she w r ould,” returned Laurie gravely. “ Don’t you like me so? ” asked Meg. “ No, I don’t,” was the blunt reply. “Why not? ” in an anxious tone. He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantastically trimmed dress, with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, which had not a par¬ ticle of his usual politeness about it. “ I don’t like fuss and feathers.” That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself; and Meg walked away, saying petulantly, — “You are the rudest boy I ever saw.” Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window, to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliant color. As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by; and, a minute after, she heard him saying to his mother, — Meg Goes to Vanity F'air 117 “ They are making a fool of that little girl; I wanted you to see her, but they have spoilt her entirely; she’s nothing but a doll, to-night.” “ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Meg; “ I wish I ’d been sensible, and worn my own things; then I should not have dis¬ gusted other people, or felt so uncomfortable and ashamed myself.” She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till some one touched her; and, turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, with his very best bow, and his hand out, — “ Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me.” “ I ’m afraid it will be too disagreeable to you,” said Meg, trying to look offended, and failing entirely. “ Not a bit of it; I’m dying to do it. Come, I ’ll be good ; I don’t like your gown, but I do think you are — just splendid;” and he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his admiration. Meg smiled and relented, and whispered, as they stood waiting to catch the time,— “Take care my skirt don’t trip you up; it’s the plague of my life, and I was a goose to wear it.” “ Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful,” said Laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of. Away they went, fleetly and gracefully; for, having practised at home, they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more friendly than ever after their small tiff. “Laurie, I want you to do me a favor; will you?” said Meg, as he stood fanning her, when her breath 118 Little Women gave out, which it did very soon, though she would not own why. “ Won’t I! ” said Laurie, with alacrity. “ Please don’t tell them at home about my dress to¬ night. They won’t understand the joke, and it will worry mother.” “ Then why did you do it ? ” said Laurie’s eyes, so plainly that Meg hastily added, — “ I shall tell them, myself, all about it, and ‘ ’fess ’ to mother how silly I’ve been. But 1 ’d rather do it my¬ self; so you ’ll not tell, will you? ” “ I give you my word I won’t; only what shall I say when they ask me ? ” “Just say I looked pretty well, and was having a good time.” “ I ’ll say the first, with all my heart; but how about the other? You don’t look as if you were having a good time; are you ? ” and Laurie looked at her with an expression which made her answer, in a whisper, — “ No ; not just now. Don’t think I ’m horrid ; I only wanted a little fun, but this sort does n’t pay, I find, and I’m getting tired of it.” “Here comes Ned Moffat; what does he want?” said Laurie, knitting his black brows, as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a pleasant addition to the party. “ He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he’s coming for them. What a bore ! ” said Meg, assuming a languid air, which amused Laurie immensely. He did not speak to her again till supper-time, when he saw her drinking champagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving “ like a pair of fools,” as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 119 right to watch over the Marches, and fight their battles whenever a defender was needed. “ You ’ll have a splitting headache to-morrow, if you drink much of that. I wouldn’t, Meg; your mother does n’t like it, you know,” he whispered, leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass, and Fisher stooped to pick up her fan. ‘‘I’m not Meg, to-night; I’m ‘a doll,’ who does all sorts of crazy things. To-morrow I shall put away my ‘ fuss and feathers,’ and be desperately good again,” she answered, with an affected little laugh. “ Wish to-morrow was here, then,” muttered Laurie, walking off, ill-pleased at the change he saw in her. Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did; after supper she undertook the Ger¬ man, and blundered through it, nearly upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way that scandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture. But he got no chance to deliver it, for Meg kept away from him till he came to say good-night. “ Remember! ” she said, trying to smile, for the split¬ ting headache had already begun. “ Silence a la mort,” replied Laurie, with a melodra¬ matic flourish, as he went away. This little bit of by-play excited Annie’s curiosity; but Meg was too tired for gossip, and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to a masquerade, and had n’t enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was sick all the next day, and on Saturday went home, quite used up with her fortnight’s fun, and feeling that she had “ sat in the lap of luxury” long enough. “ It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on all the time. Home is a nice place, though it is n’t splendid,” said Meg, looking 120 Little Women about her with a restful expression, as she sat with he! mother and Jo on the Sunday evening. “ I’m glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seem dull and poor to you, after your fine quarters,” replied her mother, who had given her many anxious looks that day; for motherly eyes are quick to see any change in children’s faces. Meg had told her adventures gayly, and said over and over what a charming time she had had; but something still seemed to weigh upon her spirits, and, when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little, and looking worried. As the clock struck nine, and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left her chair, and, taking Beth’s stool, leaned her elbows on her mother’s knee, saying bravely, — “ Marmee, I want to ‘ ’fess.’ ” “ I thought so; what is it, dear?” “ Shall I go away ? ” asked Jo discreetly. “ Of course not; don’t I always tell you everything ? I was ashamed to speak of it before the children, but I want you to know all the dreadful things I did at the Moffats’.” “ We are prepared,” said Mrs. March, smiling, but looking a little anxious. “ I told you they dressed me up, but I did n’t tell you that they powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a fashion-plate. Laurie thought I was n’t proper; I know he did, though he did n’t say so, and one man called me ‘ a doll.’ I knew it was silly, but they flattered me, and said I was a beauty, and quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a fool of me.” “ Is that all ? ” asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast face of her pretty daughter, Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 121 and could not find it in her heart to blame her little follies. “No; I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was altogether abominable,” said Meg self- reproachfully. “ There is something more, I think; ” and Mrs. March smoothed the soft cheek, which suddenly grew rosy, as Meg answered slowly, — “ Yes; it’s very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have people say and think such things about us and Laurie.” Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats’; and, as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill pleased that such ideas should be put into Meg’s innocent mind. “ Well, if that is n’t the greatest rubbish I ever heard,” cried Jo indignantly. “ Why did n’t you pop out and tell them so, on the spot ? ” “ I could n’t, it was so embarrassing for me. I could n’t help hearing, at first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I did n’t remember that I ought to go away.” “Just wait till / see Annie Moffat, and I ’ll show you how to settle such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having 4 plans,’ and being kind to Laurie, because he’s rich, and may marry us by and by! Won’t he shout, when I tell him what those silly things say about us poor children ?” and Jo laughed, as if, on second thoughts, the thing struck her as a good joke. “ If you tell Laurie, I ’ll never forgive you ! She mustn’t, must she, mother?” said Meg, looking distressed. “No; never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you can,” said Mrs. March gravely. “ I was 12 2 Little Women very unwise to let you go among people of whom 1 know so little, — kind, I dare say, but worldly, ill-bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young people. I am more sorry than I can express for the mischief this visit may have done you, Meg.” “ Don’t be sorry, I won’t let it hurt me; I ’ll forget all the bad, and remember only the good ; for I did enjoy a great deal, and thank you very much for letting me go. I’ll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, mother; I know I ’m a silly little girl, and I ’ll stay with you till I ’m fit to take care of myself. But it is nice to be praised and admired, and I can’t help saying I like it,” said Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession. “ That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does not become a passion, and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things. Learn to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite the admiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty, Meg.” Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behind her, looking both interested and a little perplexed; for it was a new thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of that sort; and Jo felt as if, during that fort¬ night, her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into a world where she could not follow. “ Mother, do you have ‘ plans,’ as Mrs. Moffat said?” asked Meg bashfully. “ Yes, my dear, I have a great many; all mothers do, but mine differ somewhat from Mrs. Moffat’s, I suspect. I will tell you some of them, for the time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and heart of yours right, on a very serious subject. You are Meg Goes to Vanity Fair 123 young, Meg, but not too young to understand me; and mothers’ lips are the fittest to speak of such things to girls like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen to my ‘ plans,’ and help me carry them out, if they are good.” Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought they were about to join in some very solemn affair.. Holding a hand of each, and watching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her serious yet cheery way, — “ I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good; to be admired, loved, and respected; to have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman; and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience. It is natural to think of it, Meg; right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for it; so that, when the happy time comes, you may feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in the world, — marry rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendid houses, which are not homes because love is wanting. Money is a needful and precious thing, —and, when well used, a noble thing, —but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for. I ’d rather see you poor men’s wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace.” “ Poor girls don’t stand any chance, Belle says, unless they put themselves forward,” sighed Meg. * “ Then we ’ll be old maids,” said Jo stoutly. Little Women i 24 “ Right, Jo; better be happy old maids than un¬ happy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands,” said Mrs. March decidedly. “ Don’t be troubled, Meg; poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the best and most honored women I know were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these things to time; make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not. One thing remember, my girls: mother is always ready to be your confidant, father to be your friend ; and both of us trust and hope that our daugh¬ ters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives.” “We will, Marmee, we will!” cried both, with all their hearts, as she bade them good-night. CHAPTER X THE P. C. AND P. O. A S spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, “ I’d know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see ’em in Chiny; ” and so she might, for the girls’ tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg’s had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree in it. Jo’s bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments; this year it was to be a plantation The P. C. and P. O. 125 of sun-flowers, the seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant were to feed “ Aunt Cockle-top,” and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned, fragrant flowers in her garden, — sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the bird, and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, — rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at, — with honeysuckles and morning-glories hang¬ ing their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it; tall, white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there. Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower-hunts employed the fine days; and for rainy ones, they had house diversions, — some old, some new, — all more or less original. One of these was the “P. C.”; for, as secret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one; and, as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table, on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big “ P. C.” in dif¬ ferent colors on each, and the weekly newspaper, called 44 The Pickwick Portfolio,” to which all contributed something; while Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o’clock, the four members as¬ cended to the club-room, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick; Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass; Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman; and Amy, who was always trying to do what she could n’t, was Nathaniel 126 Little Women Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they goodnaturedly reminded each other of their faults and short-comings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spec¬ tacles without any glasses, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read: — o. l2 7 The P. C. and P. “Cfie PtcIUnt'cfe portfolio” MAY 20, 18— fact’s Corner. ANNIVERSARY ODE. Again we meet to celebrate With badge and solemn rite, Our fifty-second anniversary, In Pickwick Hall, to-night. We all are here in perfect health, None gone from our small band; Again we see each well-known face, And press each friendly hand. Our Pickwick, always at his post, With reverence we greet, As, spectacles on nose, he reads Our well-filled weekly sheet. Although he suffers from a cold, We joy to hear him speak, For words of wisdom from him fall, In spite of croak or squeak. Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high, With elephantine grace, And beams upon the company, With brown and jovial face. Poetic fire lights up his eye, He struggles ’gainst his lot. Behold ambition on his brow, And on his nose a blot! Next our peaceful Tupman comes, So rosy, plump, and sweet, Who chokes with laughter at the puns, And tumbles off his seat. Prim little Winkle too is here, With every hair in place, A model of propriety, Though he hates to wash his face. The year is gone, we still unite To joke and laugh and read, And tread the path of literature That doth to glory lead. Long may our paper prosper well, Our club unbroken be, And coming years their blessings pour On the useful, gay “ P. C.” A. Snodgrass. -♦- THE MASKED MARRIAGE. A TALE OF VENICE. Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count de Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves Little Women 128 and pages, monks and flower-girls, all mingled gayly in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air ; and so with mirth and music the mas¬ querade went on. “ Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola to-night ? ” asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm. “Yes; is she not lovely, though so sad! Her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates.” “ By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stem father bestows her hand,” re¬ turned the troubadour. “ ’T is whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old count,” said the lady, as they joined the dance. The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and, withdrawing the young pair to an alcove hung with pur¬ ple velvet, he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell upon the gay throng ; and not a sound, but the dash of foun¬ tains or the rustle of orange-groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus “My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait your services.” All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a low murmur of amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an explanation. “ Gladly would I give it if I could; but I only know that it was the whim pf my timid Viola, and I yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end. Unmask, and receive my blessing.” But neither bent the knee; for the young bridegroom replied, in a tone that startled all listeners, as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand Devereux, the artist lover; and, leaning on the breast where now flashed the star of an English earl, was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty. “ My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a fortune as the Count Antonio. I can do more; for even your ambitious soul cannot re¬ fuse the EarL of Devereux and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady, now my wife.” The count stood like one changed to stone; and, turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, “To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your woo¬ ing may prosper as mine has done ; and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have, by this masked marriage.” S. Pickwick. -•- Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel ? It is full of unruly members. -•- THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH. Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. A grocer- man bought and put it in his shop, The P. C. and P. O. 129 That same morning, a little girl, in a brown hat and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the big pot; mashed some of it, with salt and butter, for dinner; and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers ; put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice; and next day it was eaten by a family named March. T. Tupman. - ♦ - Mr. Pickwick, Sir: — I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner I mean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes won’t write his piece in this fine paper I hope you will pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can’t write out of his head as he has so many les¬ sons to do and no brains in future I will try to take time by the fetlock and pre¬ pare some work which will be all commy la fo that means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school time Yours respectably, N. Winkle. [The above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it would be well.] - ♦ - A SAD ACCIDENT. On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress. On rushing, in a body, to the cellar, we discovered our beloved President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes; for in his fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous situa¬ tion, it was discovered that he had suf¬ fered no injury but several bruises ; and, we are happy to add, is now doing well. Ed. —«— THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT. It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious disap¬ pearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large circle of warm and admir¬ ing friends; for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues en¬ deared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole com¬ munity. When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher’s cart ; and it is feared that some vil¬ lain, tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no trace of her has been discovered ; and we relinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever. -♦- A sympathizing friend sends the fol* lowing gem: — 9 130 Little Women A LAMENT FOR S. B. PAT PAW. We mount the loss of our little pet, And sigh o’er her hapless fate, For never more by the fire she ’ll sit, Nor play by the old green gate. The little grave where her infant sleeps Is ’neath the chestnut tree; But o’er her grave we may not weep, We know not where it may be. Her empty bed, her idle ball, Will never see her more; No gentle tap, no loving purr Is heard at the parlor-door. Another cat comes after her mice, A cat with a dirty face; But she does not hunt as our darling did, Nor play with her airy grace. Her stealthy paws tread the very hall Where Snowball used to play, But she only spits at the dogs our pet So gallantly drove away. She is useful and mild, and does her best, But she is not fair to see ; And we cannot give her your place, dear, Nor worship her as we worship thee. A. S. ADVERTISEMENTS, Miss Oranthy Bluggage, the accomplished Strong-Minded Lecturer, will deliver her famous Lecture on “ Woman and Her Position,” at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual performances. A Weekly Meeting will be held at Kitchen Place, to teach young ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will pre¬ side ; and all are invited to attend. The Dustpan Society will meet on Wednesday next, and parade in the upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely. Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new assortment of Doll’s Millinery next week. The latest Paris Fashions have arrived, and orders are respectfully so¬ licited. A New Play will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage. “ The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger,” is the name of this thrilling drama! ! ! HINTS. If S. P. did n’t use so much soap on his hands, he would n’t always be late at breakfast. A. S. is requested not to whistle in the street. T. T., please don’t forget Amy’s napkin. N. W. must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks. -♦- WEEKLY REPORT. Meg — Good. Jo — Bad. Beth — Very good. Amy — Middling. The P. C. and P. O. 13 As the President finished reading the paper (which 1 beg leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bojia fide girls once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose to make a proposition. “ Mr. President and gentlemen,” he began, assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone, “ I wish to propose the admission of a new member, — one who highly de¬ serves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I pro¬ pose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him.” Jo’s sudden change of tone made the girls laugh; but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass took his seat. “ We ’ll put it to vote,” said the President. “ All in favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying ‘ Ay.’ ” A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to every¬ body’s surprise, by a timid one from Beth. “ Contrary minded say ‘ No.’ ” Meg and Amy were contrary minded; and Mr. Winkle rose to say, with great elegance, “We don’t wish any boys ; they only joke and bounce about. This is a ladies’ club, and we wish to be private and proper.” “ I’m afraid he ’ll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward,” observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she always did when doubtful. Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. “ Sir, I give you my word as a gentleman, Laurie won’t do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and he ’ll give a tone to our contributions, and keep us from being sentimental, don’t you see? We can do so little for him, Little Women 1 3 2 and he does so much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here, and make him welcome if he comes.” This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind. “ Yes, we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I say he may come, and his grandpa, too, if he likes.” This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her seat to shake hands approvingly. “ Now then, vote again. Everybody remember it’s our Laurie, and say ‘ Ay ! ’ ” cried Snodgrass excitedly. “ Ay ! ay ! ay ! ” replied three voices at once. “ Good ! Bless you ! Now, as there’s nothing like i taking time by the fetlock ,’ as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present the new member; ” and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag-bag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter. “You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?” cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend tri¬ umphantly forth; and, producing both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy. “ The coolness of you two rascals is amazing,” began Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile. But the new member w^s equal to the occasion; and, rising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said, in the most engag¬ ing manner, “ Mr. President and ladies, — I beg pardon, gentlemen, — allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club.” “ Good ! good ! ” cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming-pan on which she leaned. “ My faithful friend and noble patron,” continued The P. C. and P. O. 133 Laurie, with a wave of the hand, “ who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of to-night. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing.” “ Come now, don’t lay it all on yourself; you know I proposed the cupboard,” broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly. “ Never you mind what she says. I’m the wretch that did it, sir,” said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. “ But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth dewote myself to the interest of this immortal club.” Hear ! hear ! ” cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warm¬ ing-pan like a cymbal. “ Go on, go on ! ” added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed benignly. “ I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of pro¬ moting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post-office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden; a fine, spacious building, with padlocks on the doors, and every convenience for the mails, — also the females, if I may be allowed the expression. It’s the old martin-house ; but I’ve stopped up the door, and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there; and, as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present the club key; and, with many thanks for your favor, take my seat.” Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table, and subsided; the warming-pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and every one Little Women 13 + came out surprising, for every one did her best; so it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add “spirit” to the meetings, and “a tone” to the paper; for his orations convulsed his hearers, and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare; and remodelled her own works with good effect, she thought. The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden-seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah’s charms, actually sent a love-letter to Jo’s care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many love-letters that little post-office would hold in the years to come ! CHAPTER XI EXPERIMENTS HE first of June ! The Kings are off to the sea-shore to-morrow, and I’m free. Three months’ vacation,—how I shall enjoy it! ” exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo Experiments 135 laid upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party. “ Aunt March went to-day, for which, oh, be joyful! ” said Jo. “I was mortally afraid she’d ask me to go with her; if she had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it; but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I’d rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she’d find it impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for, as it drove off, she popped out her head, saying, ‘Josyphine, won’t you—?’ I didn’t hear any more, for I basely turned and fled; I did actually run, and whisked round the corner, where I felt safe.” “ Poor old Jo ! she came in looking as if bears were after her,” said Beth, as she cuddled her sister’s feet with a motherly air. “ Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not ? ” ob¬ served Amy, tasting her mixture critically. “ She means vampire , not sea-weed ; but it does n’t matter; it’s too warm to be particular about one’s parts of speech,” murmured Jo. “ What shall you do all your vacation ? ” asked Amy, changing the subject, with tact. “ I shall lie abed late, and do nothing,” replied Meg, from the depths of the rocking-chair. “ I’ve been routed up early all winter, and had to spend my days working for other people; so now I’m going to rest and revel to my heart’s content.” “No,” said Jo; “that dozy way wouldn’t suit me, I’ve laid in a heap of books, and I’m going to improve Little Women 136 my shining hours reading on my perch in the ®ld apple* tree, when I’m not having 1 — ” “ Don’t say * larks ! ’ ” implored Amy, as a return snub for the “samphire” correction. “I’ll say ‘ nightingales,’ then, with Laurie; that’s proper and appropriate, since he’s a warbler.” “ Don’t let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time, and rest, as the girls mean to,” proposed Amy. “ Well, I will, if mother does n’t mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer; they are dreadfully out of order, and really suffering for clothes. ” “ May we, mother ? ” asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing, in what they called “ Marmee’s corner.” “ You may try your experiment for a week, and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play '” “ Oh, dear, no ! it will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Meg complacently. “ I now propose a toast, as my 4 friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp,’ says. Fun forever, and no grubbing!” cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went round. They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o’clock ; her solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and untidy; for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy’s books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but “ Marmee’s corner,” which looked as usual; and there Meg sat, to “ rest and read,” which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty summer dresses Experiments 137 she would get with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river, with Laurie, and the afternoon reading and crying over “ The Wide, Wide World,” up in the apple- tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet, where her family resided; but, getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy, and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw, under the honeysuckles, hoping some one would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping. At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the afternoon, and got a “ sweet blue muslin,” had discovered, after she had cut the breadths off, that it would n’t wash, which mishap made her slightly cross. Jo had burnt the skin off her nose boating, and got a raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of her closet, and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once; and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy Brown’s party was to be the next day; and now, like Flora McFlimsey, she had “ nothing to wear.” But these were mere trifles; and they assured their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and, with Hannah’s help, did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant, and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was aston¬ ishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the “resting and revelling” process. The days kept getting longer and longer; the weather Little Women 138 was unusually variable, and so were tempers; an un¬ settled feeling possessed every one, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes, in her attempts to furbish them up a la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was sick of books; got so fidgety that even good- natured Laurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was con¬ stantly forgetting that it was to be allplay y and no work , and fell back into her old ways now and then; but something in the air affected her, and, more than once, her tranquillity was much disturbed ; so much so, that, on one occasion, she actually shook poor dear Joanna, and told her she was “ a fright.” Amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small; and when her sisters left her to amuse and care for herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self a great burden. She did n’t like dolls, fairy-tales were childish, and one could n’t draw all the time; tea-parties did n’t amount to much, neither did picnics, unless very well conducted. “ If one could have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go travelling, the summer would be delight¬ ful; but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz,” complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui . No one would own that they were tired of the experi¬ ment; but, by Friday night, each acknowledged to her¬ self that she was glad the week was nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off Experiments 139 the trial in an appropriate manner; so she gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system. When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining-room, and no mother anywhere to be seen. “Mercy on us! what has happened?” cried Jo, staring about her in dismay. Meg ran upstairs, and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed. “ Mother isn’t sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay quietly in her room all day, and let us do the best we can. It’s a very queer thing for her to do, she does n’t act a bit like herself; but she says it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn’t grumble, but take care of ourselves.” “ That’s easy enough, and I like the idea; I’m aching for something to do — that is, some new amusement, you know,” added Jo quickly. In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah’s saying, “ Housekeeping ain’t no joke.” There was plenty of food in the larder, and, while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast, wondering, as they did so, why servants ever talked about hard work. “ I shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of her, for she’d take care of herself,” said Meg, who presided, and felt quite matronly behind the teapot. So a tray was fitted out before any one began, and taken up, with the cook’s compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelette scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus; but Mrs. March received her Little Women 140 repast with thanks, and laughed heartily over it after Jo was gone. “ Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I ’m afraid; but they won’t suffer, and it will do them good,” she said, producing the more palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt,—a motherly little deception, for which they were grateful. Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook at her failures. “ Never mind, I ’ll get the dinner, and be servant; you be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders,” said Jo, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs. This obliging offer was gladly accepted ; and Mar¬ garet retired to the parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofa, and shutting the blinds, to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with per¬ fect faith in her own powers, and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to dinner. “ You ’d better see what you have got before you think of having company,” said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act. “ Oh, there ’s corned beef and plenty of potatoes ; and I shall get some asparagus, and a lobster, ‘ for a relish,’ as Hannah says. We ’ll have lettuce, and make a salad. I don’t know how, but the book tells. I ’ll have blanc¬ mange and strawberries for dessert; and coffee, too, if you want to be elegant.” “ Don’t try too many messes, Jo, for you can’t make anything but gingerbread and molasses candy, fit to eat. I wash my hands of the dinner-party; and, since you Experiments 14.1 have asked Laurie on your own responsibility, you may just take care of him.” “ I don’t want you to do anything but be civil to him, and help to the pudding. You ’ll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won’t you? ” asked Jo, rather hurt. “ Yes; but I don’t know much, except about bread, and a few trifles. You had better ask mother’s leave before you order anything,” returned Meg prudently. “ Of course I shall; I’m not a fool,” and Jo went off* in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers. “ Get what you like, and don’t disturb me; I’m go¬ ing out to dinner, and can’t worry about things at home,” said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to her. “ I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I’m going to take a vacation to-day, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself.” The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably, and reading, early in the morning, made Jo feel as if some natural phenomenon had occurred; for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would hardly have seemed stranger. “ Everything is out of sorts, somehow,” she said to herself, going down stairs. “There’s Beth crying; that’s a sure sign that something is wrong with this family. If Amy is bothering, I ’ll shake her.” Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried I into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with his little claws pathetic¬ ally extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he had died. “ It’s all my fault— I forgot him — there is n’t a seed or a drop left. O Pip ! O Pip ! how could I be so cruel to you? ” cried Beth, taking the poor thing in her hands, ; and trying to restore him. Little Women 142 Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino-box for a coffin. “ Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive,” said Amy hopefully. “He ’s been starved, and he sha’n’t be baked, now he’s dead. I ’ll make him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden; and I ’ll never have another bird, never, my Pip ! for I am too bad to own one,” murmured Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands. “ The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go. Now, don’t cry, Bethy; it’s a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has had the worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box; and, after the dinner-party, we ’ll have a nice little funeral,” said Jo, beginning to feel as if she had under¬ taken a good deal. Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron, she fell to work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when she discovered that the fire was out. “ Here’s a sweet prospect! ” muttered Jo, slamming the stove-door open, and poking vigorously among the cinders. Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the water heated. The walk revived her spirits; and, flattering herself that she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid strawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived, and the stove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had worked it up Experiments 143 early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and for¬ gotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, when the door flew open, and a floury, crocky, flushed, and dishevelled figure appeared, demanding tartly, — • “ I say, is n’t bread 4 riz ’ enough when it runs over the pans ?” Sallie began to laugh; but Meg nodded, and lifted her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish, and put the sour bread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding-sheet, while the dear departed lay in state in the domino-box. A strange sense of helplessness fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner; and despair seized them, when, a few minutes later, Miss Crocker appeared, and said she’d come to dinner. Now, this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything, and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor, and had few friends. So Meg gave her the easy-chair, and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, criticised everything, and told stories of the people whom she knew. Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which Jo underwent that morning; and the dinner she served up became a standing joke. Fear¬ ing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered that something more than energy and good¬ will is necessary to make a cook. She boiled the as¬ paragus for an hour, and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread Little Women 144 burnt black; for the salad-dressing so aggravated her, that she let everything else go till she had convinced herself that she could not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked, till it was unshelled, and its meagre proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce-leaves. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at last. The blanc-mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully “ deaconed.” “ Well, they can eat beef, and bread and butter, if they are hungry; only it’s mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing,” thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood, hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread for Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose curious eyes would mark all failures, and whose tattling tongue would report them far and wide. Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after another was tasted and left; while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, Miss Crocker pursed up her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all his might, to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo’s one strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath, as the pretty glass plates went round, and every one looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who had refused, thinking there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was a Experiments 14.5 slight pucker about his mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately. “ Oh, what is it? ” exclaimed Jo, trembling. “ Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour,” replied Meg, with a tragic gesture. Jo uttered a groan, and fell back in her chair; remem¬ bering that she had given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator. She turned scarlet, and was on the verge of crying, when she met Laurie’s eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts; the comical side of the affair sud¬ denly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So did every one else, even Croaker,” as the girls called the old lady; and the unfortunate dinner ended gayly, with bread and butter, olives and fun. “ I have n’t strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral,” said Jo, as they rose; and Miss Crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend’s dinner- table. They did sober themselves, for Beth’s sake; Laurie dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears, by his tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo, while she struggled with the dinner: —* “ Here lies Pip March, Who died the 7th of June; Loved and lamented sore, And not forgotten soon.” 10 Little Women 146 At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster; but there was no place of repose, for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon, and left them so tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper. Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the afternoon; and a glance at ,the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the ex¬ periment. Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them ; then tea must be got, errands done ; and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected till the last minute. As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered in the porch where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled. “What a dreadful day this has been!” begun Jo, usually the first to speak. “ It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfort¬ able,” said Meg. “ Not a bit like home,” added Amy. “ It can’t seem so without Marmee and little Pip,” sighed Beth, glancing, with full eyes, at the empty cage above her head. “ Here’s mother, dear, and you shall have another bird to-morrow, if you want it.” As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs. Experiments 147 4 * . ' BE Amy’s Will 243 In her first effort at being very, very good, she de« cided to make her will, as Aunt March had done; so that if she did fall ill and die, her possessions might be justly and generously divided. It cost her a pang even to think of giving up the little treasures which in her eyes were as precious as the old lady’s jewels. During one of her play-hours she wrote out the im¬ portant document as w r ell as she could, with some help from Esther as to certain legal terms, and, when the good- natured Frenchwoman had signed her name, Amy felt relieved, and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as a second witness. As it was a rainy day, she went up¬ stairs to amuse herself in one of the large chambers, and took Polly with her for company. In this room there was a wardrobe full of old-fashioned costumes, with which Esther allowed her to play, and it was her favorite amuse¬ ment to array herself in the faded brocades, and parade up and down before the long mirror, making stately cour¬ tesies, and sweeping her train about, with a rustle which delighted her ears. So busy was she on this day that she did not hear Laurie’s ring, nor see his face peeping in at her, as she gravely promenaded to and fro, flirting her fan and tossing her head, on which she wore a great pink turban, contrasting oddly with her blue brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat. She was obliged to walk care¬ fully, for she had on high-heeled shoes, and, as Laurie told Jo afterward, it was a comical sight to see her mince along in her gay suit, with Polly sidling and bridling just behind her, imitating her as well as he could, and occa¬ sionally stopping to laugh or exclaim, “ Ain’t we fine? Get along, you fright! Hold your tongue ! Kiss me, dear ! Ha ! ha ! ” Having with difficulty restrained an explosion of merri- Little Women 2 44 ment, lest it should offend her majesty, Laurie tapped, and was graciously received. “ Sit down and rest while I put these things away; then I want to consult you about a very serious matter,” said Amy, when she had shown her splendor, and driven Polly into a corner. “That bird is the trial of my life,” she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while Laurie seated himself astride of a chair. “Yester¬ day, when aunt was asleep, and I was trying to be as still as a mouse, Polly began to squall and flap about in his cage; so I went to let him out, and found a big spider there. I poked it out, and it ran under the bookcase; Polly marched straight after it, stooped down and peeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny way, with a cock of his eye, ‘ Come out and take a walk, my dear.’ I couldn't help laughing, which made Poll swear, and aunt woke up and scolded us both.” “Did the spider accept the old fellow’s invitation?” asked Laurie, yawning. “Yes; out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, and scrambled up on aunt’s chair, calling out, ‘ Catch her ! catch her ! catch her! ’ as I chased the spider.” “ That’s a lie ! Oh lor! ” cried the parrot, pecking at Laurie’s toes. “ I’d wring your neck if you were mine, you old tor¬ ment,” cried Laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side, and gravely croaked, “ Allyluyer! bless your buttons, dear ! ” “ Now I ’m ready,” said Amy, shutting the wardrobe, and taking a paper out of her pocket. “ I want you to read that, please, and tell me if it is legal and right. I felt that I ought to do it, for life is uncertain and I don’t want any ill-feeling over my tomb.” Amy’s Will 245 Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pen- sive speaker, read the following document, with praise- worthy gravity, considering the spelling: — “MY LAST WILL AND TESTIMENT. “ I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do give and bequeethe all my earthly property — viz. to wit: — namely “ To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art, including frames. Also my $100, to do what he likes with. “ To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets, — also my likeness, and my medal, with much love. “To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise ring (if I get it), also my green box with the doves on it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her ‘little girl.’ “To Jo I leave my breast-pin, the one mended with seal¬ ing wax, also my bronze inkstand — she lost the cover — and my most precious plaster rabbit, because I am sorry I burnt up her story. “To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls and the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can wear them being thin when she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna. “To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my paper marshay portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it had n’t any neck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best. “ To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which will be nice Little Women for his pens and remind him of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family, specially Beth. «I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blu6 silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss. “To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patch work I leave hoping she ‘ will remember me, when it you see.’ “ And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all will be satisfied and not blame the dead. I forgive every one, and trust we may all meet when the trump shall sound. Amen. “ To this will and testiment 1 set my hand and seal on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861. “Amy Curtis March. “ Witnesses : s Estelle Valnor, Theodore Laurence.” The last name was written in pencil, and Amy ex¬ plained that he was to rewrite it in ink, and seal it up for her properly. “ What put it into your head? Did any one tell you about Beth’s giving away her things?” asked Laurie soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape, with sealing-wax, a taper, and a standish before him. She explained; and then asked anxiously, “ What about Beth?” “ I’m sorry I spoke; but as I did, I’ll tell you. She felt so ill one day that she told Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats to you, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of us, and her best love to grandpa. She never thought jof a will.” Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till a great tear dropped on the paper. Amy’s Confidential 247 face was full of trouble ; but she only said, “ Don’t people put sort of postscrips to their wills, sometimes? ” “ Yes; ‘ codicils,’ they call them.” “ Put one in mine then — that I wish all my curls cut off, and given round to my friends. I forgot it; but I want it done, though it will spoil my looks.” Laurie added it, smiling at Amy’s last and greatest sac¬ rifice. Then he amused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials. But when he came to go, Amy held him back to whisper, with trembling lips, “ Is there really any danger about Beth?” “ I’m afraid there is; but we must hope for the best, so don’t cry, dear; ” and Laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly gesture which was very comforting. When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and, sitting in the twilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart, feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the loss of her gentle little sister. CHAPTER XX CONFIDENTIAL 1 I DON’T think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the mother and daughters; such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that the house was full of gen¬ uine happiness, and that Meg’s tender hope was real¬ ized ; for when Beth woke from that long, healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the little rose and mother’s face. Too weak to wonder at any- Little Women 248 thing, she only smiled, and nestled close into the loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the girls waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin hand which clung to hers even in sleep. Hannah had “ dished up ” an astonishing breakfast for the traveller, finding it impossible to vent her ex¬ citement in any other way; and Meg and Jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account of father’s state, Mr. Brooke’s promise to stay and nurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie’s hopeful face had given her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold. What a strange, yet pleasant day that was! so bril¬ liant and gay without, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow; so quiet and reposeful within, for every one slept, spent with watching, and a Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off, Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten boats, safe at an¬ chor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave Beth’s side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered treasure. Laurie, meanwhile, posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well that Aunt March actually “ sniffed ” herself, and never once said, “ I told you so.” Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her tears quickly, restrained her im¬ patience to see her mother, and never even thought of Confidential 249 I the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in Laurie’s opinion, that she behaved “ like a capital little woman.” Even Polly seemed impressed, for he called her “ good girl,” blessed her buttons, and begged her to “come and take a walk, dear,” in his most affable tone. She would very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright wintry weather; but, discovering that Laurie was drop¬ ping with sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time about it; and, when she returned, he was stretched out, with both arms under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the curtains, and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity. After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake till night, and I ’m not sure that he would, had he not been effectually roused by Amy’s cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were a good many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in her mother’s lap and told her trials, re¬ ceiving consolation and compensation in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses. They were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not ob¬ ject when its purpose was explained to her. “ On the contrary, I like it very much, dear,” looking from the dusty rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its garland of evergreen. “ It is an excellent plan to have some place where we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear them if we ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is learning this?” “ Yes, mother; and when I go home I mean to have a Little Women 250 corner in the big closet to put my books, and the copy of that picture which I’ve tried to make. The woman’s face is not good, — it’s too beautiful for me to draw, — but the baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to think lie was a little child once, for then I don’t seem so far away, and that helps me.” As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ-child on his mother’s knee, Mrs. March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She said nothing, but Amy understood the look, and, after a minute’s pause, she added gravely, — “ I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave me the ring to-day; she called me to her and kissed me, and put it on my finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she’d like to keep me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it’s too big. I ’d like to wear them, mother; can I?” “ They are very pretty, but I think you ’re rather too young for such ornaments, Amy,” said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand, with the band of sky- blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard, formed of two tiny, golden hands clasped together. “ I ’ll try not to be vain,” said Amy. “ I don’t think I like it only because it’s so pretty; but I want to wear it as the girl in the story wore her bracelet, to remind me of something.” “Do you mean Aunt March?” asked her mother, laughing. “ No, to remind me not to be selfish.” Amy looked so earnest and sincere about it, that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to the little plan. “ I’ve thought a great deal lately about my ‘ bundle of naughties,’ and being selfish is the largest one in it; so I’m going to try hard to cure it, if I can. Beth is n’t Confidential 25 1 selfish, and that’s the reason every one loves her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People would n’t feel half so bad about me if I was sick, and I don’t deserve to have them ; but I’d like to be loved and missed by a great many friends, so I ’m going to try and be like Beth all I can. I ’m apt to forget my resolutions ; but if I had something always about me to remind me, I guess I should do better. May I try this way?” “Yes; but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear your ring, dear, and do your best; I think you will prosper, for the sincere wish to be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again.” That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, to report the traveller’s safe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into Beth’s room, and, finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look. “What is it, deary?” asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a face which invited confidence. “ I want to tell you something, mother.” “ About Meg? ” “ How quickly you guessed ! Yes, it’s about her, and though it’s a little thing, it fidgets me.” “ Beth is asleep ; speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn’t been here, I hope?” asked Mrs. March rather sharply. “ No, I should have shut the door in his face if he had,” said Jo, settling herself on the floor at her mother’s feet. “ Last summer Meg left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences’, and only one was returned. We forgot all about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke had it. He kept it in his waistcoat pocket, and once it fell out, Little Women 252 and Teddy joked him about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, but did n’t dare say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now, isn’t it a dreadful state of things ? ” “Do you think Meg cares for him?” asked Mrs. March, with an anxious look. “ Mercy me ! I don’t know anything about love and such nonsense!” cried Jo, with a funny mixture of in¬ terest and contempt. “ In novels, the girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and acting like fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort: she eats and drinks and sleeps, like a sensible creature; she looks straight in my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to do it, but he does n’t mind me as he ought.” “ Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in John? ” “ Who?” cried Jo, staring. “Mr. Brooke. I call him ‘John’ now; we fell into the way of doing so at the hospital, and he likes it.” “ Oh, dear ! I know you ’ll take his part: he ’s been good to father, and you won’t send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean thing! to go petting papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into liking him; ” and Jo pulled her hair again with a wrath¬ ful tweak. “ My dear, don’t get angry about it, and I will tell you how it happened. John went with me at Mr. Laurence’s request, and was so devoted to poor father that we could n’t help getting fond of him. He was perfectly open and honorable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked her to marry him. He only wanted our leave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love Confidential 253 him if he could. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listen to him; but I will not consent to Meg’s engaging herself so young.” “Of course not; it would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief brewing; I felt it; and now it’s worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family.” This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile; but she said gravely, “Jo, I confide in you, and don’t wish you to say anything to Meg yet. When John comes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of her feelings toward him.” “ She ’ll see his in those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then it will be all up with her. She’s got such a soft heart, it will melt like butter in the sun if any one looks sentimentally at her. • She read the short reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched me when I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and does n’t think John an ugly name, and she ’ll go and fall in love, and there’s an end of peace and fun, and cosey times together. I see it all! they ’ll go lovering around the house, and we shall have to dodge; Meg will be absorbed, and no good to me any more; Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carry her off, and make a hole in the family; and I shall break my heart, and everything will be abominably uncomfortable. Oh, dear me ! why were n’t we all boys, then there would n’t be any bother.” Jo leaned her chin on her knees, in a disconsolate attitude, and shook her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up with an air of relief. “You don’t like it, mother? I’m glad of it. Let’s send him about his business, and not tell Meg a word 254 Little Women of it, but all be happy together as we always have been.” “ I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to homes of your own, in time; but I do want to keep my girls as long as I can; and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only seventeen, and it will be some years before John can make a home for her. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind herself in any way, nor be married, before twenty. If she and John love one another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so. She is conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly. My pretty, , tender-hearted girl! I hope things will go happily with her.” “Hadn’t you rather have her marry a rich man?” asked Jo, as her mother’s voice faltered a little over the last words. “ Money is a good and useful thing, Jo; and I hope my girls will never feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much. I should like to know that John was firmly established in some good business, which gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and make Meg comfortable. I’m not ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionable position, or a great name for my girls. If rank and money come with love and virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your good fortune; but I know, by experience, how much genuine happiness can be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and some priva¬ tions give sweetness to the few pleasures. I am content to see Meg begin humbly, for, if I am not mistaken, she will be rich in the possession of a good man’s heart, and that is better than a fortune.” “ I understand, mother, and quite agree; but I ’m dis- Confidential 2 55 appointed about Meg, for I’d planned to have her marry Teddy by and by, and sit in the lap of luxury all her days. Would n’t it be nice? ” asked Jo, looking up, with a brighter face. “ He is younger than she, you know,” began Mrs. March ; but Jo broke in, — “ Only a little; he’s old for his age, and tall; and can be quite grown-up in his manners if he likes. Then he’s rich and generous and good, and loves us all; and / say it’s a pity my plan is spoilt.” “ I’m afraid Laurie is hardly grown up enough for Meg, and altogether too much of a weathercock, just now, for any one to depend on. Don’t make plans, Jo; but let time and their own hearts mate your friends. We can’t meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get ‘ romantic rubbish,’ as you call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship.” “Well, I won’t; but I hate to see things going all criss-cross and getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten it out. I wish wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats, —• more’s the pity! ” “What’s that about flat-irons and cats? ” asked Meg, as she crept into the room, with the finished letter in her hand. “ Only one of my stupid speeches. I’m going to bed; come, Peggy,” said Jo, unfolding herself, like an animated puzzle. “ Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love to John,” said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter, and gave it back. “ Do you call him ‘ John ’ ? ” asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes looking down into her mother’s. Little Women 256 “Yes; he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him,” replied Mrs. March, returning the look with a keen one. “ I’m glad of that, he is so lonely. Good-night, mother, dear. It is so inexpressibly comfortable to have you here,” was Meg’s quiet answer. The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one; and, as she went away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, “ She does not love John yet, but will soon learn to.” CHAPTER XXI LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE O’S face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to olF look mysterious and important. Meg observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told every¬ thing if she did not ask. She was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo assumed a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in her turn assumed an air of dignified reserve, and devoted herself to her mother. This left Jo to her own devices; for Mrs. March had taken her place as nurse, and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long confinement. Amy being gone, Laurie was her only refuge; and, much as she enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he was an incorrigible tease, and she feared he would coax her secret from her. Laurie Makes Mischief 257 She was quite right; for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected a mystery than he set himself to find it out, and led Jo a trying life of it. He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected in¬ difference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared he knew, then that he did n’t care; and, at last, by dint of perseverance, he satisfied himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke. Feeling indignant that he was not taken into his tutor’s confidence, he set his wits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the slight. Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter, and was absorbed in preparations for her father’s re¬ turn ; but all of a sudden a change seemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike herself. She started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very quiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on her face. To her mother’s inquiries she answered that she was quite well, and Jo’s she silenced by begging to be let alone. “ She feels it in the air—love, I mean — and she’s going very fast. She’s got most of the symptoms, — is twittery and cross, does n’t eat, lies awake, and mopes in corners. I caught her singing that song he gave her, and once she said ‘John,’ as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy. Whatever shall we do?” said Jo, looking ready for any measures, however violent. “ Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and patient, and father’s coming will settle everything,” replied her mother. “ Here’s a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How odd ! Teddy never seals mine,” said Jo, next day, as she distributed the contents of the little post-office. Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, 17 258 Little Women when a sound from Meg made them look up to see her staring at her note, with a frightened face. “ My child, what is it?” cried her mother, running to her, while Jo tried to take the paper which had done the mischief. “ It’s all a mistake — he did n’t send it. O Jo, how could you do it?” and Meg hid her face in her hands, crying as if her heart was quite broken. “Me! I’ve done nothing 1 What’s she talking about?” cried Jo, bewildered. Meg’s mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note from her pocket, and threw it at Jo, say¬ ing reproachfully, —• “ You wrote it, and that bad boy helped you. How could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel to us both?” Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note, which was written in a peculiar hand. “ My Dearest Margaret, — “ I can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate before I return. I dare not tell your parents yet, but I think they would consent if they knew that we adored one another. Mr. Laurence will help me to some good place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make me happy. I implore you to say nothing to your family yet, but to send one word of hope through Laurie to “ Your devoted John.” “ Oh, the little villain ! that’s the way he meant to pay me for keeping my word to mother. I ’ll give him a hearty scolding, and bring him over to beg par¬ don,” cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice. But her mother held her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore, — “ Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first. You have Laurie Makes Mischief 259 played so many pranks, that I am afraid you have had a hand in this.” “ On my word, mother, I have n’t! I never saw that note before, and don’t know anything about it, as true as I live ! ” said Jo, so earnestly that they believed her. “ If I had taken a part in it I’d have done it better than r this, and have written a sensible note. I should think you’d have known Mr. Brooke would n’t write such stuff as that,” she added, scornfully tossing down the paper. “It’s like his writing,” faltered Meg, comparing it with the note in her hand. “ O Meg, you did n’t answer it?” cried Mrs. March quickly. “ Yes, I did ! ” and Meg hid her face again, overcome with shame. “ Here’s a scrape ! Do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain, and be lectured. I can’t rest till I get hold of him; ” and Jo made for the door again. “ Hush ! let me manage this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret, tell me the whole story,” com¬ manded Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg, yet keeping hold of Jo, lest she should fly off. “ I received the first letter from Laurie, who did n’t look as if he knew anything about it,” began Meg, with¬ out looking up. “ I was worried at first, and meant to tell you ; then I remembered how you liked Mr. Brooke, so I thought you would n’t mind if I kept my little secret for a few days. I’m so silly that I liked to think no one knew; and, while I was deciding what to say, I felt like the girls in books, who have such things to do. Forgive me, mother, I’m paid for my silliness now; I never can look him in the face again.” “ What did you say to him? ” asked Mrs. March. “ I only said I was too young to do anything about it 260 Little Women yet; that I did n’t wish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father. I was very grateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, for a long while.” Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped her hands, exclaiming, with a laugh, — “You are almost e^qual to Caroline Percy, who was a pattern of prudence ! Tell on, Meg. What did he say to that?” “ He writes in a different way entirely, telling me that he never sent any love-letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, Jo, should take such liberties with our names. It’s very kind and respectful, but think how dreadful for me ! ” Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jo tramped about the room, calling Laurie names. All of a sudden she stopped, caught up the two notes, and, after looking at them closely, said de¬ cidedly, “ I don’t believe Brooke ever saw either of these letters. Teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me with, because I would n’t tell him my secret.” “ Don’t have any secrets, Jo; tell it to mother, and keep out of trouble, as I should have done,” said Meg warningly. “ Bless you, child ! Mother told me.” “ That will do, Jo. I ’ll comfort Meg while you go and get Laurie. I shall sift the matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks at once.” Away ran Jo, and Mrs. March gently told Meg Mr. Brooke’s real feelings. “Now, dear, what are your own? Do you love him enough to wait till he can make a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for the present?” Laurie Makes Mischief 261 “ I ’ve been so scared and worried, I don’t want to have anything to do with lovers for a long while, — per¬ haps never,” answered Meg petulantly. “ If John doesn't know anything about this nonsense, don’t tell him, and make Jo and Laurie hold their tongues. I won’t be deceived and plagued and made a fool of, — it’s a shame ! ” Seeing that Meg’s usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt by this mischievous joke, Mrs. March soothed her by promises of entire silence, and great discretion for the future. The instant Laurie’s step was heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March received the culprit alone. Jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing he would n’t come; but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March’s face, and stood twirling his hat, with a guilty air which convicted him at once. Jo was dismissed, but chose to march up and down the hall like a sentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt. The sound of voices in the parlor rose and fell for half an hour; but what happened during that interview the girls never knew. When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother, with such a penitent face that Jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think it wise to betray the fact. Meg received his humble apology, and was much comforted by the assurance that Brooke knew nothing of the joke. “ I ’ll never tell him to my dying day, — wild horses sha’n’t drag it out of me; so you’ll forgive me, Meg, and I ’ll do anything to show how out-and-out sorry I am,” he added, looking very much ashamed of himself. “I’ll try; but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do. I did n’t think you could be so sly and malicious g 262 Little Women Laurie,” replied Meg, trying to hide her maidenly con* fusion under a gravely reproachful air. “ It was altogether abominable, and I don’t deserve to be spoken to for a month; but you will, though, won’t you?” and Laurie folded his hands together with such an imploring gesture, as he spoke in his irresistibly per¬ suasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him, in spite of his scandalous behavior. Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March’s grave face relaxed, in spite of her efforts to keep sober, when she heard him declare that he would atone for his sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a worm before the injured damsel. Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, and succeeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entire disapprobation. Laurie looked at her once or twice, but, as she showed no sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till the others were done with him, when he made her a low bow, and walked off without a word. As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving; and when Meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely, and longed for Teddy. After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, and, armed with a book to return, went over to the big house. “ Is Mr. Laurence in?” asked Jo, of a housemaid, who was coming downstairs. “ Yes, miss ; but I don’t believe he ’s seeable just yet.” “ Why not? is he ill? ” “ La, no, miss, but he ’s had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one of his tantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so I dursn’t go nigh him.” “ Where is Laurie? ” Shut up in his room, and he won’t answer, though Laurie Makes Mischief 263 I’ve been a-tapping. I don’t know what’s to become of the dinner, for it’s ready, and there’s no one to eat it.” “ I ’ll go and see what the matter is. I’m not afraid of either of them.” Up went Jo, and knocked smartly on the door of Laurie’s little study. “ Stop that, or I ’ll open the door and make you ! ” called out the young gentleman, in a threatening tone. Jo immediately knocked again; the door flew open, and in she bounced, before Laurie could recover from his surprise. Seeing that he really was out of temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contrite expression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly, “ Please forgive me for being so cross. I came to make it up, and can’t go away till I have.” “It’s all right. Get up, and don’t be a goose, Jo,” was the cavalier reply to her petition. “ Thank you ; I will. Could I ask what’s the matter? You don’t look exactly easy in your mind.” “ I’ve been shaken, and I won’t bear it! ” growled Laurie indignantly. “ Who did it? ” demanded Jo. “ Grandfather; if it had been any one else I’d have—” and the injured youth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm. “ That’s nothing; I often shake you, and you don’t mind,” said Jo soothingly. “ Pooh ! you ’re a girl, and it’s fun; but I ’ll allow no man to shake me .” “ I don’t think any one would care to try it, if you looked as much like a thunder-cloud as you do now. Why were you treated so?” “Just because I would n’t say what your mother wanted Little Women 2 64 me for. I ’d promised not to tell, and of course I was n’t going to break my word.” “ Could n’t you satisfy your grandpa in any other way? “No; he would have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I’d have told my part of the scrape, if I could without bringing Meg in. As I could n’t, I held my tongue, and bore the scolding till the old gentleman collared me. Then I got angry, and bolted, for fear I should forget myself.” “ It was n’t nice, but he’s sorry, I know; so go down and make up. I ’ll help you.” “ Hanged if I do ! I’m not going to be lectured and pummelled by every one, just for a bit of a frolic. I was sorry about Meg, and begged pardon like a man; but I won’t do it again, when I was n’t in the wrong.” “ He did n’t know that.” “ He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a baby. It’s no use, Jo; he ’s got to learn that I’m able to take care of myself, and don’t need any one’s apron-string to hold on by.” “ What pepper-pots you are ! ” sighed Jo. “ How do you mean to settle this affair?” “ Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can’t tell him what the fuss’s about.” “ Bless you ! he wont do that.” “ I won’t go down till he does.” “Now, Teddy, be sensible; let it pass, and I’ll ex^ plain what I can. You can’t stay here, so what’s the use of being melodramatic?” “ I don’t intend to stay here long, any way. I ’ll slip off and take a journey somewhere, and when grandpa misses me he ’ll come round fast enough.” “ I dare say; but you ought not to go and worry him.” Laurie Makes Mischief 265 “ Don’t preach. I ’ll go to Washington and see Brooke; it’s gay there, and I ’ll enjoy myself after the troubles.” “ What fun you’d have ! I wish I could run off too,” said Jo, forgetting her part of Mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital. “Come on, then! Why not? You go and surprise your father, and I ’ll stir up old Brooke. It would be a glorious joke ; let’s do it, Jo. We ’ll leave a letter say¬ ing we are all right, and trot off at once. I’ve got money enough; it will do you good, and be no harm, as you go to your father.” For a moment Jo looked as if she would agree; for, wild as the plan was, it just suited her. She was tired of care and confinement, longed for change, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novel charms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun. Her eyes kindled as they turned wistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old house opposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision. “ If I was a boy, we’d run away together, and have a capital time; but as I ’m a miserable girl, I must be proper, and stop at home. Don’t tempt me, Teddy, it’s a crazy plan.” “That’s the fun of it,” began Laurie, who had got a wilful fit on him, and was possessed to break out of bounds in some way. “Hold your tongue!” cried Jo, covering her ears. “ ‘ Prunes and prisms ’ are my doom, and I may as well make up my mind to it. I came here to moralize, not to hear about things that make me skip to think of.” “ I know Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but I thought you had more spirit,” began Laurie insinu- 266 Little Women “Bad boy, be quiet! Sit down and think of your own sins, don’t go making me add to mine. If I get your grandpa to apologize for the shaking, will you give up running away?” asked Jo seriously. “ Yes, but you won’t do it,” answered Laurie, who wished “ to make up,” but felt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first. “ If I can manage the young one I can the old one,” muttered Jo, as she walked away, leaving Laurie bent over a railroad map, with his head propped up on both hands. “ Come in ! ” and Mr. Laurence’s gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, as Jo tapped at his door. “ It’s only me, sir, come to return a book,” she said blandly, as she entered. “ Want any more? ” asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but trying not to show it. “ Yes, please. I like old Sam so well, I think I ’ll try the second volume,” returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second dose of Boswell’s “Johnson,” as he had recommended that lively work. The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little, as he rolled the steps toward the shelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed. Jo skipped up, and, sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was really won¬ dering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in her mind; for, after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced round on her, speaking so abruptly that “ Rasselas ” tumbled face downward on the floor. “What has that boy been about? Don’t try to shield him. I know he has been in mischief by the way he acted when he came home. I can’t get a word from Laurie Makes Mischief 267 him; and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him he bolted upstairs, and locked himself into his room.” “ He did do wrong, but we forgave him, and all prom¬ ised not to say a word to any one,” began Jo reluctantly. “ That won’t do ; he shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you soft-hearted girls. It he s done any¬ thing amiss, he shall confess, beg pardon, and be pun¬ ished. Out with it, Jo, I won’t be kept in the dark. Mr. Laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that Jo would have gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and brave it out. “ Indeed, sir, I cannot tell; mother forbade it. Laurie has confessed, asked pardon, and been punished quite enough. We don’t keep silence to shield him, but some one else, and it will make more trouble if you interfere. Please don’t; it was partly my fault, but it’s all right now; so let’s forget it, and talk about the ‘ Rambler,’ or some¬ thing pleasant.” “ Hang the ‘ Rambler! * come down and give me your word that this harum-scarum boy of mine has n’t done anything ungrateful or impertinent. If he has, after all your kindness to him, I ’ll thrash him with my own hands.” The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew the irascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to the con¬ trary. She obediently descended, and made as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg or forget¬ ting the truth. “ Hum — ha — well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not from obstinacy, I ’ll forgive him. He’s a stubborn fellow, and hard to manage,” said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he had 268 Little Women been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air of relief. “ So am I; but a kind word will govern me when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could n’t,” said Jo, trying to say a kind word for her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another. “You think I’m not kind to him, hey?” was the sharp answer. “ Oh, dear, no, sir; you are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries your patience. Don’t you think you are? ” Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief and surprise, the old gentle¬ man only threw his spectacles on to the table with a rattle, and exclaimed frankly, — “You’re right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and I don’t know how it will end, if we go on so.” “ I ’ll tell you, he ’ll run away.” Jo was sorry for that speech the minute it was made; she meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear much restraint, and hoped he would be more forbearing with the lad. Mr. Laurence’s ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a troubled glance at the picture of a hand¬ some man, which hung over his table. It was Laurie’s father, who had run away in his youth, and married against the imperious old man’s will. Jo fancied he re¬ membered and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue. “ He won’t do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of study¬ ing. I often think I should 'like to, especially since my hair was cut; so, if you ever miss us, you may advertise Laurie Makes Mischief 269 for two boys, and look among the ships bound for India.” She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently taking the whole as a joke. “ You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? Where ’s your respect for me, and your proper bringing up? Bless the boys and girls ! What torments they are ; yet we can’t do without them,” he said, pinching her cheeks good-humoredly. “ Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it’s all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his grandfather. I won’t bear it.” “He won’t come, sir; he feels badly because you did n’t believe him when he said he could n’t tell. I think the shaking hurt his feelings very much.” Jo tried to look pathetic, but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began to laugh, and she knew the day was won. “ I’m sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, I suppose. What the dickens does the fellow expect? ” and the old gentleman looked a trifle ashamed* of his own testiness. “ If I were you, I’d write him an apology, sir. He says he won’t come down till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in an absurd way. A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and bring him down quite amiable. Try it; he likes fun, and this way is better than talking. I ’ll carry it up, and teach him his duty.” Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying slowly, “You’re a sly puss, but I don’t mind being managed by you and Beth. Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this nonsense.” The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to another after offering some deep insult. Jo Little Women 270 dropped a kiss on the top of Mr. Laurence’s bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under Laurie’s door, advis* ing him through the key-hole, to be submissive, decorous, and a few other agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door locked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly away, when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, “ What a good fellow you are, Jo ! Did you get blown up?” he added, laughing. “No; he was pretty mild, on the whole.” “ Ah ! I got it all round; even you cast me off over there, and I felt just ready to go to the deuce,” he began apologetically. “ Don’t talk in that way; turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, my son.” “ I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copy-books; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end,” he said dolefully. “ Go and eat your dinner; you ’ll feel better after it. Men always croak when they are hungry,” and Jo whisked out at the front door after that. “ That’s a ‘ label ’ on my ‘ sect,’ ” answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he went to partake of humble-pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the rest of the day. Every one thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over; but the mischief was done, for, though others forgot it, Meg remembered. She never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good deal, dreamed dreams more than ever; and once Jo, rum- maging her sister’s desk for stamps, found a bit of paper Pleasant Meadows 271 scribbled over with the words, “Mrs. John Brooke;” whereat she groaned tragically, and cast it into the fire, feeling that Laurie’s prank had hastened the evil day for hen CHAPTER XXII PLEASANT MEADOWS L IKE sunshine after storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The invalids improved rap¬ idly, and Mr. March began to talk of returning early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats, at first, and, in time, with doll’s sewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her a daily airing about the house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burnt her white hands cooking delicate messes for “the dear; ’’ while Amy, a loyal slave of the ring, cele¬ brated her return by giving away as many of her treas¬ ures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept. As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had bonfires, sky-rockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way. After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered effectually quenched, and went about with forlorn faces, which were rather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together. Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered 272 Little Women in a splendid Christmas Day. Hannah “ felt in her bones ” that it was going to be an unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand suc¬ cess. To begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them; then Beth felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother’s gift, — a soft crimson merino wrapper, —was borne in triumph to the window to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had done their best to be worthy of the name, for, like elves, they had worked by night, and conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden stood a stately snow-maiden, crowned with holly, bear¬ ing a basket of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of new music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas carol issuing from her lips, on a pink paper streamer: — “THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH. “God bless you, dear Queen Bess ! May nothing you dismay, But health and peace and happiness Be yours, this Christmas Day. 44 Here’s fruit to feed our busy bee, And flowers for her nose; Here’s music for her pianee, An Afghan for her toes. “ A portrait of Joanna, see, By Raphael No. 2, Who labored with great industry To make it fair and true. u Accept a ribbon red, I beg, For Madam Furrer’s tail; And ice-cream made by lovely Peg,— A Mont Blanc in a pail. Pleasant Meadows 2?3 “ Their dearest love my makers laid Within my breast of snow : Accept it, and the Alpine maid, From Laurie and from Jo.” How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presented them ! “ I ’m so full of happiness, that, if father was only here, I could n’t hold one drop more,” said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the “Jungfrau ” had sent her. “ So am I,” added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the long-desired Undine and Sintram. “ I’m sure I am,” echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her, in a pretty frame. “ Of course I am ! ” cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first silk dress; for Mr. Laurence had in¬ sisted on giving it. “ How can / be otherwise?” said Mrs. March grate¬ fully, as her eyes went from her husband’s letter to Beth’s smiling face, and her hand caressed the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which the girls had just fastened on her breast. Now and then, in this work-a-day world, things do happen in the delightful story-book fashion, and what a comfort that is. Half an hour after every one had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door, and popped his head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault and uttered an Indian war-whoop; for his face was so full of suppressed ex- 18 Little Women 274 citement and his voice so treacherously joyful, that every one jumped up, though he only said, in a queer, breath¬ less voice, “ Here’s another Christmas present for the March family.” Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of an¬ other tall man, who tried to say something and could n’t. Of course there was a general stampede; and for sev¬ eral minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms; Jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored by Laurie in the china- closet; Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained; and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and, never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father’s boots in the most touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, “Hush! remember Beth!” But it was too late; the study door flew open, the little red wrapper appeared on the threshold, —joy put strength into the feeble limbs,— and Beth ran straight into her father’s arms. Never mind what happened just after that; for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness of the past, and leaving only the sweetness of the present. It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set every¬ body straight again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, which she had for¬ gotten to put down when she rushed up from the kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Pleasant Meadows 275 Brooke suddenly remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and, seizing Laurie, he precipitately retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, which they did, by both sitting in one big chair, and talking hard. Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had been al¬ lowed by his doctor to take advantage of it; how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just there, and, after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you to imagine; also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head, and asked, rather abruptly, if he would n’t have something to eat. Jo saw and understood the look; and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef-tea, muttering to herself, as she slammed the door, “ I hate estimable young men with brown eyes ! ” There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat turkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned, and decorated; so was the plum-pudding, which quite melted in one’s mouth; likewise the jellies, in which Amy revelled like a fly in a honey-pot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said, “ For my mind was that flustered, mum, that it’s a merrycle I did n’t roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin’ of it in a cloth.” Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, — at whom Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie’s infinite amusement. Two easy-chairs stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit Little Women 276 They drank healths, told stories, sung songs, “ remi¬ nisced/’ as the old folks say, and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh-ride had been planned, but the girls would not leave their father; so the guests departed early, and, as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire. “Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected to have. Do you remember?” asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had followed a long conversation about many things. “ Rather a pleasant year on the whole ! ” said Meg, smiling at the fire, and congratulating herself on hav¬ ing treated Mr. Brooke with dignity. “ I think it’s been a pretty hard one,” observed Amy, watching the light shine on her ring, with thoughtful eyes. “I’m glad it’s over, because we’ve got you back,” whispered Beth, who sat on her father’s knee. “ Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pil¬ grims, especially the latter part of it. But you have got on bravely; and I think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon,” said Mr. March, looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him. “ How do you know? Did mother tell you? ” asked Jo. “ Not much ; straws show which way the wind blows, and I’ve made several discoveries to-day.” “ Oh, tell us what they are! ” cried Meg, who sat beside him. “ Here is one; ” and taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or three little hard spots on the palm. “ I remember a time when Pleasant Meadows 277 this hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now, — for in these seeming blemishes 1 read a little history. A burnt-offering has been made of vanity; this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters; and I’m sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long time, so much good¬ will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments. I’m proud to shake this good, industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away.” If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it in the hearty pressure of her father’s hand and the approving smile he gave her. “What about Jo? Please say something nice; for she has tried so hard, and been so very, very good to me,” said Beth, in her father’s ear. He laughed, and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with an unusually mild expression in her brown face. “ In spite of the curly crop, I don’t see the ‘son Jo’ whom I left a year ago,” said Mr. March. “ I see a young lady who pins her collar straight, laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on the rug as she used to do. Her face is rather thin and pale, just now, with watching and anxiety; but I like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower; she does n’t bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which delights me. I rather miss my wild girl; but if I get a strong, helpful, tender-hearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don’t know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in all Little Women 278 Washington I could n’t find anything beautiful enough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars which my good girl sent me.” Jo’s keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy in the firelight, as she received her father’s praise, feeling that she did deserve a portion of it. “ Now Beth,” said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait. “ There’s so little of her, I’m afraid to say much, for fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be,” began their father cheerfully; but recollecting how nearly he had lost her, he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own, “ I’ve got you safe, my Beth, and I ’ll keep you so, please God.” After a minute’s silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair, — “ I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place to-night, and has waited on every one with patience and good-humor. I also observe that she does not fret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears ; so I con¬ clude that she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mould her character as carefully as she moulds her little clay fig¬ ures. I am glad of this; for though I should be very proud of a graceful statue made by her, I shall be infi¬ nitely prouder of a lovable daughter, with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others.” “ What are you thinking of, Beth? ” asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her father and told about her ring. “ I read in ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress ’ to-day, how, after Aunt March Settles the Question 279 many troubles, Christian and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow, where lilies bloomed all the year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey’s end,” answered Beth; adding, as she slipped out of her father’s arms, and went slowly to the instrument, “ It’s singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I ’ll try to sing the song of the shepherd-boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for father, because he likes the verses.” So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and, in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sung to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for her: — “ He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride ; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. et I am content with what I have, Little be it or much ; And, Lord ! contentment still I crave, Because Thou savest such. “ Fulness to them a burden is, That go on pilgrimage ; H ere little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age ! ” CHAPTER XXIII AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION L IKE bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in 3 28 o Little Women fair way to be killed by kindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth’s sofa, with the other three close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then, “ to peek at the dear man,” nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness. But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes fol¬ lowed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke’s umbrella, which had been left in the hall; Meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when John’s name was mentioned; Amy said “ Every one seemed waiting for something, and could n’t settle down, which was queer, since father was safe at home,” and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn’t run over as usual. Laurie went by in the afternoon, and, seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a melo¬ dramatic fit, for he fell down upon one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon; and when Meg told him to behave himself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair. “ What does the goose mean?” said Meg, laughing, and trying to look unconscious. “ He’s showing you how your John will go on by and by. Touching, is n’t it?” answered Jo scornfully. “ Don’t say my John , it is n’t proper or true; ” but Meg’s voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her. “ Please don’t plague me, Jo; I’ve told you I don’t care much about him, and there is n’t to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before.” Aunt March Settles the Question 281 “ We can’t, for something has been said, and Laurie’s mischief has spoilt you for me. I see it, and so does mother; you are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I don’t mean to plague you, and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait; so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly,” said Jo pettishly. “ / can’t say or do anything till he speaks, and he won’t, because father said I was too young,” began Meg, bending over her work, with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point. “ If he did speak, you would n’t know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided, No.” “ I’m not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, for I’ve planned it all, so I need n’t be taken unawares; there’s no knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared.” Jo could n’t help smiling at the important air which Meg had unconsciously assumed, and which was as Decoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks. “ Would you mind telling me what you’d say? ” asked Jo more respectfully. “ Not at all; you are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidant, and my experience will be useful to you by and by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this sort.” “ Don’t mean to have any; it’s fun to watch other people philander, but I should feel like a fool doing it myself,” said Jo, looking alarmed at the thought. “ I think not, if you liked any one very much, and he liked you.” Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane, where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight. 282 Little Women “ I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man,” said Jo, rudely shortening her sister’s little reverie. “ Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, * Thank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with father that I am too young to enter into any en¬ gagement at present; so please say no more, but let us be friends as we were.’ ” “ Hum ! that’s stiff and cool enough. I don’t believe you ’ll ever say it, and I know he won’t be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, you ’ll give in, rather than hurt his feelings.” “ No, I won’t. I shall tell him I’ve made up my mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity.” Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat, and begin to sew as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time. Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and, when some one gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect, which was anything but hospitable. “Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella,— that is, to see how your father finds himself to-day,” said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eye went from one tell-tale face to the other. “It’s very well, he’s in the rack, I ’ll get him, and tell it you are here,” and having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle towards the door, murmuring, — “ Mother will like to see you. Pray sit down, I ’ll call her.” “Don’t go; are you afraid of me, Margaret?” and Aunt March Settles the Question 283 Mr. Brooke looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said gratefully, — “ How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to father? I only wish I could thank you for it.” “ Shall I tell you how?” asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the brown eyes, that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen. “ Oh no, please don’t— I’d rather not,” she said, try¬ ing to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial. “ I won’t trouble you, I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. I love you so much, dear,” added Mr. Brooke tenderly. This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn’t make it; she forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, “ I don’t know,” so softly, that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply. He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said, in his most persuasive tone, “Will you try and find out? I want to know so much; for I can’t go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the end or not.” “ I’m too young,” faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it. Little Women 284 “ I ’ll wait; and in the meantime, you could be learn¬ ing to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?'' “ Not if I chose to learn it, but — ” “ Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German,” broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face, as he bent to look into it. His tone was properly beseeching; but, stealing a shy look at him, Meg saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of one who -had no doubt of his success. This nettled her; Annie Moffat’s foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little women, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her. She felt excited and strange, and, not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, “ I don't choose. Please go away and let me be! ” Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered him. “Do you really mean that?” he asked anxiously, following her as she walked away. “Yes, I do; I don’t want to be worried about such things. Father says I needn’t; it’s too soon and I’d rather not.” “ May n’t I hope you ’ll change your mind by and by? I ’ll wait, and say nothing till you have had more time. Don’t play with me, Meg. I did n’t think that of you.” “ Don’t think of me at all. I’d rather you would n’t,” said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her lover’s patience and her own power. Aunt March Settles the Question 285 He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired; but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room, as they did; he just stood looking at her so wist¬ fully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of her. What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute. The old lady could n’t resist her longing to see her nephew; for she had met Laurie as she took her airing, and, hearing of Mr. March’s arrival, drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study. “Bless me, what’s all this? ” cried the old lady, with a rap of her cane, as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady. “ It’s father’s friend. I’m so surprised to see you ! ” stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now. “ That’s evident,” returned Aunt March, sitting down. “ But what is father’s friend saying to make you look like a peony? There’s mischief going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is,” with another rap. “We were merely talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella,” began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house. “Brooke? That boy’s tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your father’s letters, and I made her tell me. You haven’t gone and accepted him, child?” cried Aunt March, looking scandalized. 286 Little Women “Hush! he’ll hear. Sha’n’t I call mother?” said Meg, much troubled. “ Not yet. I’ve something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one penny of my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl,” said the old lady impressively. Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love. If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she could n’t think of it; but as she was peremptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and, being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit. “ I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to any one you like,” she said, nodding her head with a resolute air. “ Highty tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, miss? You ’ll be sorry for it, by and by, when you’ve tried love in a cottage, and found it a failure.” “ It can’t be a worse one than some people find in big houses,” retorted Meg. Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and inde¬ pendent,— so glad to defend John, and assert her right to love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and, after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying, as mildly as she could, “ Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable, and take my advice. I mean it Aunt March Settles the Question 287 kindly, and don’t want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning. You ought to marry well, and help your family; it’s your duty to make a rich match, and it ought to be impressed upon you.” “ Father and mother don’t think so; they like John, though he is poor.” “ Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than two babies.” “ I’m glad of it,” cried Meg stoutly. Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. “ This Rook is poor, and has n’t got any rich relations, has he?” “ No; but he has many warm friends.” “ You can’t live on friends; try it, and see how cool they’ll grow. He hasn’t any business, has he?” “ Not yet; Mr. Laurence is going to help him.” “ That won’t last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow, and not to be depended on. So you intend to marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought you had more sense, Meg.” “ I could n’t do better if I waited half my life ! John is good and wise; he’s got heaps of talent; he’s willing to work, and sure to get on, he’s so energetic and brave. Every one likes and respects him, and I’m proud to think he cares for me, though I’m so poor and young and silly,” said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness. “ He knows you have got rich relations, child; that’s the secret of his liking, I suspect.” “ Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, and I won’t listen to you a tninute if you talk so,” cried Meg indignantly, forgetting 288 Little Women everything but the injustice of the old lady’s suspicions. “ My John would n’t marry for money, any more than 1 would. We are willing to work, and we mean to wait. I’m not afraid of being poor, for I’ve been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him, because he loves me, and I —” Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she had n’t made up her mind; that she had told “her John” to go away, and that he might be over¬ hearing her inconsistent remarks. Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl’s happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour. “ Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair ! You are a wilful child, and you’ve lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I won’t stop; I’m disappointed in you, and have n’t spirits to see your father now. Don’t expect anything from me when you are married; your Mr. Book’s friends must take care of you. I’m done with you forever.” And, slamming the door in Meg’s face, Aunt March drove off in high dudgeon. She seemed to take all the girl’s courage with her; for, when left alone, Meg stood a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry. Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said, all in one breath, “ I couldn’t help hearing, Meg. Thank you for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for me a little bit.” “ I did n’t know how much, till she abused you,” began Meg. “ And I need n’t go away, but may stay and be happy, may I, dear? ” Aunt March Settles the Question 289 Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herself forever in Jo’s eyes by meekly whispering, “ Yes, John,” and hiding her face on Mr. Brooke’s waistcoat. Fifteen minutes after Aunt March’s departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and, hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, “ She has seen him away as we planned, and that affair is settled. I ’ll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it.” But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was trans¬ fixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy, and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strong-minded sister enthroned upon his knee, and wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower-bath had sud¬ denly fallen upon her, — for such an unexpected turn¬ ing of the tables actually took her breath away. At the odd sound, the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy; but “ that man,” as Jo called him, actually laughed, and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished new-comer, “ Sister Jo, congratu¬ late us ! ” That was adding insult to injury, — it was altogether too much, — and, making some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing up¬ stairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically, as she burst into the room, “ Oh, do somebody go down >9 2 qo Little Women ✓ quick; John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it! ” Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed; and, casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded tem¬ pestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them; so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to the rats. Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon; but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it. The tea-bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both looking so happy that Jo had n’t the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy was very much impressed by John’s devotion and Meg’s dignity, Beth beamed at them from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident Aunt March was right in calling them as “ unworldly as a pair of babies.” No one ate much, but every one looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there. “ You can’t say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?” said Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in the sketch she was planning to take. “No, I’m sure I can’t. How much has happened since I said that! It seems a year ago,” answered Meg, Aunt March Settles the Question 291 who was in a blissful dream, lifted far above such com mon things as bread and butter. “ The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the changes have begun,” said Mrs. March. “ In most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events; this has been such an one, but it ends well, after all.” “ Hope the next will end better,” muttered Jo, who found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face ; for Jo loved a few persons very dearly, and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way. “ I hope the third year from this will end better ; I mean it shall, if I live to work out my plans,” said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if everything had become possible to him now. “Doesn’t it seem very long to wait?” asked Amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding. “ I’ve got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short time to me,” answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face, never seen there before. “ You have only to wait; /am to do the work,” said John, beginning his labors by picking up Meg’s napkin, with an expression which caused Jo to shake her head, and then say to herself, with an air of relief, as the front door banged, “ Here comes Laurie Now we shall have a little sensible conversation.” But Jo was mistaken; for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing with spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for “ Mrs. John Brooke,” and evidently labor¬ ing under the delusion that the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management. “ I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does; for when he makes up his mind to accorm Little Women 292 plish anything, it’s done, though the sky falls," said Lau¬ rie, when he had presented his offering and his con¬ gratulations. “ Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen for the future, and invite you to my wedding on the spot," answered Mr. Brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil. “ I ’ll come if I ’m at the ends of the earth; for the sight of Jo’s face alone, on that occasion, would be worth a long journey. You don’t look festive, ma’am; what’s the matter?” asked Laurie, following her into a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to greet Mr. Laurence. “ I don’t approve of the match, but I ’ve made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it," said Jo solemnly. “ You can’t know how hard it is for me to give up Meg," she continued, with a little quiver in her voice. “ You don’t give her up. You only go halves," said Laurie consolingly. “It never can be the same again. I’ve lost my dear¬ est friend," sighed Jo. “ You’ve got me, anyhow. I’m not good for much, I know; but I’ll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my life; upon my word I will! " and Laurie meant what he said. “ I know you will, and I’m ever so much obliged; you are always a great comfort to me, Teddy," returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands. “ Well, now, don’t be dismal, there’s a good fellow. It’s all right, you see. Meg is happy; Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately; grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg m her own little house. We ’ll have capital times after she is gone, Aunt March Settles the Question 293 for I shall be through college before long, and then we ’ll go abroad, or some nice trip or other. Would n’t that console you ? ” “I rather think it would; but there’s no knowing what may happen in three years,” said Jo thoughtfully. “ That’s true. Don’t you wish you could take a look forward, and see where we shall all be then? I do,” re¬ turned Laurie. “I think not, for I might see something sad; and every one looks so happy now, I don’t believe they could be much improved; ” and Jo’s eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was a pleasant one. Father and mother sat together, quietly re-living the first chapter of the romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peace¬ ful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave, quiet look which best became her ; and Laurie, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both. So grouped, the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Whether it ever rises again, depends upon the reception given to the first act of the domestic drama called “ Little Women.” LITTLE WOMEN PART SECOND CHAPTER XXIV GOSSIP I N order that we may start afresh, and go to Meg’s wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches. And here let me premise, that if any of the elders think there is too much “ lovering ” in the story, as I fear they may (I ’m not afraid the young folks will make that objec¬ tion), I can only say with Mrs. March, “ What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young neighbor over the way? ” The three years that have passed have brought but few changes to the quiet family. The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with his books and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature as by grace, — a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind “ brother,” the piety that blossoms into char¬ acter, making it august and lovely. These attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity which shut him out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him many admirable persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as naturally he Little Women 296 gave them the honey into which fifty years of hard ex^ perience had distilled no bitter drop. Earnest young men found the gray-headed scholar as young at heart as they; thoughtful or troubled women instinctively brought their doubts and sorrows to him, sure of find¬ ing the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel; sinners told their sins to the pure-hearted old man, and were both rebuked and saved; gifted men found a compan¬ ion in him; ambitious men cau ght glimpses of nobler ambitions than their own; and even worldlings con¬ fessed that his beliefs were beautiful and true, although “ they would n’t pay.” To outsiders, the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and so they did in many things; but the quiet scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and comforter; for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troublous times, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacred words, husband and father. The girls gave their hearts into their mother’s keep¬ ing, their souls into their father’s; and to both parents, who lived and labored so faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth, and bound them tenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses life and outlives death. Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when we saw her last, and just now so absorbed in Meg’s affairs that the hospitals and homes, still full of wounded “boys” and soldiers’ widows, de¬ cidedly miss the motherly missionary’s visits. John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was sent home, and not allowed to return. He received no stars or bars, but he deserved them, uossip 297 for he cheerfully risked all he had; and life and love are very precious when both are in full bloom. Per¬ fectly resigned to his discharge, he devoted himself to getting well, preparing for business, and earning a home for Meg. With the good sense and sturdy in¬ dependence that characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence’s more generous offers, and accepted the place of book-keeper, feeling better satisfied to begin with an honestly-earned salary than by running any risks with borrowed money. Meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growing womanly in character, wise in housewifely arts, and prettier than ever; for love is a great beautifier. She had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and felt some disappointment at the humble way in which the new life must begin. Ned Moffat had just married Sallie Gardiner, and Meg could n’t help contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid outfit, with her own, and secretly wishing she could have the same. But somehow envy and discontent soon van¬ ished when she thought of all the patient love and. labor John had put into the little home awaiting her; and when they sat together in the twilight, talking over their small plans, the future always grew so beautiful and bright that she forgot Sallie’s splendor, and felt herself the richest, happiest girl in Christendom. Jo never went back to Aunt March, for the old lady took such a fancy to Amy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing lessons from one of the best teachers going; and for the sake of this advantage, Amy would have served a far harder mistress. So she gave her mornings to duty, her afternoons to pleasure, and prospered finely. Jo, meantime, devoted herself to literature and Beth, who remained delicate long after Little Women 298 the fever was a thing of the past. Not an invalid ex¬ actly, but never again the rosy, healthy creature she had been; yet always hopeful, happy, and serene, busy with the quiet duties she loved, every one’s friend, and an angel in the house, long before those who loved her most had learned to know it. As long as “ The Spread Eagle ” paid her a dollar a column for her “ rubbish,” as she called it, Jo felt herself a woman of means, and spun her little romances dili¬ gently. But great plans fermented in her busy brain and ambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held a slowly increasing pile of blotted manu¬ script, which was one day to place the name of March upon the roll of fame. Laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, was now getting through it in the easiest possible manner to please himself. A universal favor¬ ite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, and the kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to get other people out of them, he stood in great danger of being spoilt, and probably would have been, like many another promising boy, if he had not possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man who was bound up in his success, the motherly friend who watched over him as if he were her son, and last, but not least by any means, the knowledge that four innocent girls loved, admired, and believed in him with all their hearts. Being only “ a glorious human boy,” of course he frolicked and flirted, grew dandified, aquatic, senti¬ mental, or gymnastic, as college fashions ordained; hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once came perilously near suspension and expulsion. But as high spirits and the love of fun were the causes LrOSSip 299 of these pranks, he always managed to save himself by frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irre¬ sistible power of persuasion which he possessed in perfection. In fact, he rather prided himself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill the girls with graphic accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified professors, and vanquished enemies. The “ men of my class ” were heroes in the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of the exploits of “ our fellows,” and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these great creatures, when Laurie brought them home with him. Amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle among them; for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift of fascination with which she was endowed. Meg was too much absorbed in her private and particular John to care for any other lords of creation, and Beth too shy to do more than peep at them, and wonder how Amy dared to order them about so; but Jo felt quite in her element, and found it very difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly atti¬ tudes, phrases, and feats, which seemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies. They all liked Jo immensely, but never fell in love with her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute of a sentimental sigh or two at Amy’s shrine. And speaking of sentiment brings us very naturally to the “ Dove-cote.” That was the name of the little brown house which Mr. Brooke had prepared for Meg’s first home. Laurie had christened it, saying it was highly appropriate to the gentle lovers, who “ went on together like a pair of tur¬ tle-doves, with first a bill and then a coo.” It was a tiny house, with a little garden behind, and a lawn about as Little Women 3 °° big as a pocket-handkerchief in front. Here Meg meant to have a fountain, shrubbery, and a profusion of lovely flowers; though just at present, the fountain was repre¬ sented by a weather-beaten urn, very like a dilapidated slop-bowl; the shrubbery consisted of several young larches, undecided whether to live or die; and the pro¬ fusion of flowers was merely hinted by regiments of sticks, to show where seeds were planted. But inside, it was altogether charming, and the happy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar. To be sure, the hall was so narrow, it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got in whole; the dining-room was so small that six people were a tight fit; and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose of precipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coal-bin. But once get used to these slight blemishes, and nothing could be more complete, for good sense and good taste had presided over the furnishing, and the result was highly satisfactory. There were no marble-topped ta¬ bles, long mirrors, or lace curtains in the little parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, a stand of flowers in the bay-window, and, scattered all about, the pretty gifts which came from friendly hands, and were the fairer for the loving messages they brought. I don’t think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost any of its beauty because John put up the bracket it stood upon; that any upholsterer could have draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy’s artistic hand ; or that any store-room was ever better provided with good wishes, merry words, and happy hopes, than that in which Jo and her mother put away Meg’s few boxes, barrels, and bundles; and I am morally certain that the spandy-new kitchen never could have looked so cosey uossip 301 and neat if Hannah had not arranged every pot and pan a dozen times over, and laid the fire all ready for lighting, the minute “ Mis. Brooke came home.” I also doubt if any young matron ever began life with so rich a supply of dusters, holders, and piece-bags; for Beth made enough to last till the silver wedding came round, and invented three different kinds of dishcloths for the ex¬ press service of the bridal china. People who hire all these things done for them never know what they lose ; for the homeliest tasks get beauti¬ fied if loving hands do them, and Meg found so many proofs of this, that everything in her small nest, from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was eloquent of home love and tender forethought. What happy times they had planning together, what solemn shopping excursions; what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughter arose over Laurie’s ridiculous bargains. In his love of jokes, this young gentleman, though nearly through college, was as much of a boy as ever. His last whim had been to bring with him, on his weekly visits, some new, useful, and ingen¬ ious article for the young housekeeper. Now a bag of remarkable clothes-pins; next, a wonderful nutmeg- grater, which fell to pieces at the first trial; a knife- cleaner that spoilt all the knives; or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet, and left the dirt; labor-saving soap that took the skin off one’s hands; infallible cements which stuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of the deluded buyer ; and every kind of tin-ware, from a toy savings-bank for odd pennies, to a wonderful boiler which would wash articles in its own steam, with every prospect of exploding in the process. In vain Meg begged him to stop. John laughed at him, and Jo called him “ Mr. Toodles.” He was pos- Littie Women 302 sessed with a manta for patronizing Yankee ingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth. So each week beheld some fresh absurdity. Everything was done at last, even to Amy’s arranging different colored soaps to match the different colored rooms, and Beth’s setting the table for the first meal. “ Are you satisfied ? Does it seem like home, and do you feel as if you should be happy here? ” asked Mrs. March, as she and her daughter went through the new kingdom, arm-in-arm ; for just then they seemed to cling together more tenderly than ever. “Yes, mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and so happy that I can’t talk about it,” answered Meg, with a look that was better than words. “ If she only had a servant or two it would be all right,” said Amy, coming out of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whether the bronze Mer¬ cury looked best on the whatnot or the mantle-piece. “ Mother and I have talked that over, and I have made up mind to try her way first. There will be so little to do, that, with Lotty to run my errands and help me here and there, I shall only have enough work to keep me from getting lazy or homesick,” answered Meg tranquilly. “ Sallie Moffat has four,” began Amy. “ If Meg had four the house would n’t hold them, and master and missis would have to camp in the garden,” broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a big blue pinafore, was giving the last polish to the door-handles. “ Sallie is n’t a poor man’s wife, and many maids are in keeping with her fine establishment. Meg and John begin humbly, but I have a feeling that there will be quite as much happiness in the little house as in the big one. It’s a great mistake for young girls like Meg to leave LxOSSip 303 themselves nothing to do but dress, give orders, and gos¬ sip. When I was first married, I used to long for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so that I might have the pleasure of mending them; for I got heartily sick of doing fancy work and tending my pocket handkerchief.” “ Why did n’t you go into the kitchen and make messes, as Sallie says she does, to amuse herself, though they never turn out well, and the servants laugh at her,” said Meg. “ I did, after a while; not to ‘ mess,’ but to learn of Hannah how things should be done, that my servants need not laugh at me. It was play then; but there came a time when I was truly grateful that I not only possessed the will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little girls, and help myself when I could no longer afford to hire help. You begin at the other end, Meg, dear; but the lessons you learn now will be of use to you by and by, when John is a richer man, for the mis¬ tress of a house, however splendid, should know how work ought to be done, if she wishes to be well and honestly served.” “ Yes, mother, I ’m sure of that,” said Meg, listening respectfully to the little lecture; for the best of women will hold forth upon the all-absorbing subject of house¬ keeping. “ Do you know I like this room most of all in my baby-house,” added Meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs, and she looked into her well-stored linen-closet. Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves, and exulting over the goodly array. All three laughed as Meg spoke; for that linen-closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married “ that Brooke ” she should n’t have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather in a quandary, when time had appeased Little Women 3°4 her wrath and made her repent her vow. She never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind how to get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could satisfy herself. Mrs. Carrol, Florence’s mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, and marked, a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as her pres¬ ent, all of which was faithfully done; but the secret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family; for Aunt March tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the old-fash¬ ioned pearls, long promised to the first bride. “ That’s a housewifely taste which I am glad to see. I had a young friend who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls for company, and that satisfied her,” said Mrs. March, patting the damask tablecloths, with a truly feminine appreciation of their fineness. “ I have n’t a single finger-bowl, but this is a ‘ set out ’ that will last me all my days, Hannah says; ” and Meg looked quite contented, as well she might. “Toodles is coming,” cried Jo from below; and they all went down to meet Laurie, whose weekly visit was an important event in their quiet lives. A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt-basin of a hat, and a fly-away coat, came tramping down the road at a great pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, straight up to Mrs. March, with both hands out, and a hearty — “ Here I am, mother ! Yes, it’s all right.” The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him; a kindly questioning look, which the handsome eyes met so frankly that the little ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss. vjOSSip 305 “For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker’s congratu¬ lations and compliments. Bless you, Beth! What a refreshing spectacle you are, Jo. Amy, you are get¬ ting altogether too handsome for a single lady.” As Laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to Meg, pulled Beth’s hair-ribbon, stared at Jo’s big pin¬ afore, and fell into an attitude of mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, and every one began to talk. “ Where is John?” asked Meg anxiously. “ Stopped to get the license for to-morrow, ma’am.” “Which side won the last match, Teddy?” inquired Jo, who persisted in feeling an interest in manly sports despite her nineteen years. “ Ours, of course. Wish you’d been there to see.” “How is the lovely Miss Randal?” asked Amy, with a significant smile. “ More cruel than ever; don’t you see how I’m pin¬ ing away?” and Laurie gave his broad chest a sound¬ ing slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh. “What’s the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg,” said Beth, eying the knobby parcel with curiosity. “ It’s a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves,” observed Laurie, as a watchman’s rattle appeared, amid the laughter of the girls. “ Any time when John is away, and you get fright¬ ened, Mrs. Meg, just swing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhood in a jiffy. Nice thing, isn’t it?” and Laurie gave them a sample of its powers that made them cover up their ears. “ There’s gratitude for you ! and speaking of grati¬ tude reminds me to mention that you may thank Han¬ nah for saving your wedding-cake from destruction. I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if she 20 Little Women 3°6 had n’t defended it manfully I’d have had a pick at it, for it looked like a remarkably plummy one.” “ I wonder if you will ever grow up, Laurie,” said Meg, in a matronly tone. “ I’m doing my best, ma’am, but can’t get much higher, I’m afraid, as six feet is about all men can do in these degenerate days,” responded the young gentleman, whose head was about level with the little chandelier. “ I suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in this spick and span new bower, so, as I’m tremen¬ dously hungry, I propose an adjournment,” he added presently. “ Mother and I are going to wait for John. There are some last things to settle,” said Meg, bustling away. “ Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant’s to get more flowers for to-morrow,” added Amy, tying a pictur¬ esque hat over her picturesque curls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody. “ Come, Jo, don’t desert a fellow. I’m in such a state of exhaustion I can’t get home without help. Don’t take off your apron, whatever you do ; it’s peculiarly becoming,” said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especial aver¬ sion in her capacious pocket, and offered him her arm to support his feeble steps. “ Now, Teddy, I want to talk seriously to you about to-morrow,” began Jo, as they strolled away together. “You must promise to behave well, and not cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans.” “ Not a prank.” “ And don’t say funny things when we ought to be sober.” “ I never do; you are the one for that.” uossip 307 “ And I implore you not to look at me during the cer¬ emony; I shall certainly laugh if you do.” “You won’t see me; you’ll be crying so hard that the thick fog round you will obscure the prospect.” “ I never cry unless for some great affliction.” “Such as fellows going to college, hey?” cut in Laurie, with a suggestive laugh. “ Don’t be a peacock. I only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company.” “Exactly. I say, Jo, how is grandpa this week; pretty amiable ? ” “ Very; why, have you got into a scrape, and want to know how he ’ll take it? ” asked Jo rather sharply. “Now, Jo, do you think I ’d look your mother in the face, and say 4 All right,’ if it was n’t ? ” and Laurie stopped short, with an injured air. “No, I don’t.” “ Then don’t go and be suspicious; I only want some money,” said Laurie, walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone. “ You spend a great deal, Teddy.” “ Bless you,/don’t spend it; it spends itself, some¬ how, and is gone before I know it.” “ You are so generous and kind-hearted that you let people borrow, and can’t say 4 No ’ to any one. We heard about Henshaw, and all you did for him. If you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you,” said Jo warmly. “ Oh, he made a mountain out of a mole-hill. You would n’t have me let that fine fellow work himself to death, just for the want of a little help, when he is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you? ” “ Of course not; but I don’t see the use of your hav¬ ing seventeen waistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat Little Women 3°8 every time you come home. I thought you’d got over the dandy period ; but every now and then it breaks out in a new spot. Just now it’s the fashion to be hide¬ ous,— to make your head look like a scrubbing-brush, wear a strait-jacket, orange gloves, and clumping, square- toed boots. If it was cheap ugliness, I’d say nothing; but it costs as much as the other, and I don’t get any satisfaction out of it.” Laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack, that the felt-basin fell off, and Jo walked on it, which insult only afforded him an opportunity for expatiating on the advantages of a rough-and-ready costume, as he folded up the maltreated hat, and stuffed it into his pocket. “ Don’t lecture any more, there’s a good soul! I have enough all through the week, and like to enjoy my¬ self when I come home. I ’ll get myself up regardless of expense, to-morrow, and be a satisfaction to my friends.” “ I ’ll leave you in peace if you ’ll only let your hair grow. I’m not aristocratic, but I do object to being seen with a person who looks like a young prize-fighter,” observed Jo severely. “This unassuming style promotes study; that’s why we adopt it,” returned Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, having voluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand for quarter-of-an- inch-long stubble. “By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperate about Amy. He talks of her con¬ stantly, writes poetry, and moons about in a most sus¬ picious manner. He’d better nip his little passion in the bud, hadn’t he?” added Laurie, in a confidential, elder-brotherly tone, after a minute’s silence. 3°9 “Of course he had; we don’t want any more marry¬ ing in this family for years to come. Mercy on us, what are the children thinking of ?” and Jo looked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet in their teens. “ It’s a fast age, and I don’t know what we are com¬ ing to, ma’am. You are a mere infant, but you’ll go next, Jo, and we ’ll be left lamenting,” said Laurie, shak¬ ing his head over the degeneracy of the times. “ Don’t be alarmed ; I ’m not one of the agreeable sort. Nobody will want me, and it’s a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in a family.” “You won’t give any one a chance,” said Laurie, with a sidelong glance, and a little more color than before in his sunburnt face. “ You won’t show the soft side of your character; and if a fellow gets a peep at it by acci¬ dent, and can’t help showing that he likes it, you treat him as Mrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart, — throw cold water over him, — and get so thorny no one dares touch or look at you.” “I don’t like that sort of thing; I’m too busy to be worried with nonsense, and I think it’s dreadful to break up families so. Now don’t say any more about it; Meg’s wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk of nothing but lovers and such absurdities. I don’t wish to get cross, so let’s change the subject; ” and Jo looked quite ready to fling cold water on the slightest provocation. Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them in a long low whistle, and the fearful prediction, as they parted at the gate, “ Mark my words, Jo, you ’ll go next.” 3 IO Little Women CHAPTER XXV THE FIRST WEDDING T HE June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another what they had seen ; for some peeped in at the dining-room windows, where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-blown flower to the palest baby-bud, offered their tribute of beauty and fragrance to the gentle mis¬ tress who had loved and tended them so long. Meg looked very like a rose herself; for all that was best and sweetest in heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, nor orange-flowers would she have. “ I don’t want to look strange or fixed up to-day,” she said. “ I don’t want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be my familiar self. ” So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes and innocent romances of a girlish heart. Her sisters braided up her pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley, which “ her John ” liked best of all the flowers that grew. The First Wedding 3 11 “You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely that I should hug you if it would n’t crumple your dress,” cried Amy, surveying her with delight, when all was done. “ Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, every one, and don’t mind my dress; I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it to-day;” and Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her with April faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed the old. “ Now I’m going to tie John’s cravat for him, and then to stay a few minutes with father quietly in the study;” and Meg ran down to perform these little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherevei she went, conscious that, in spite of the smiles oiv. the motherly face, there was a secret sorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of the first bird from the nest. As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to their simple toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes which three years have wrought in their appearance; for all are looking their best just now. Jo’s angles are much softened; she has learned to carry herself with ease, if not grace. The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure. There is a fresh color in her brown cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only gentle words fall from her sharp tongue to-day. Beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever; the beautiful, kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one, although it is not sad itself. It is the shadow of pain which touches the young face with such pathetic patience; but Beth seldom 312 Little Women complains, and always speaks hopefully of “ being better soon.” Amy is with truth considered “ the flower of the family; ” for at sixteen she has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman — not beautiful, but possessed of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in the lines of her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her dress, the droop of her hair, — uncon¬ scious, yet harmonious, and as attractive to many as beauty itself. Amy’s nose still afflicted her, for it never would grow Grecian ; so did her mouth, being too wide, and having a decided chin. These offending features gave character to her whole face, but she never could see it, and consoled herself with her wonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and curls, more golden and abundant than ever. All three wore suits of thin silver gray (their best gowns for the summer), with blush-roses in hair and bosom; and all three looked just what they were, — fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment in their busy lives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the romance of womanhood. There were to be no ceremonious performances, every¬ thing was to be as natural and homelike as possible; so when Aunt March arrived, she was scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave countenance, and a wine-bottle under each arm. “ Upon my word, here’s a state of things ! ” cried the old lady, taking the seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moire with a great rustle. “You oughtn’t to be seen till the last minute, child.” The First Wedding 3 1 3 “ I’m not a show, aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticise my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I’m too happy to care what any one says or thinks, and I ’m going to have my little wedding just as I like it. John, dear, here’s your hammer; ” and away went Meg to help “ that man ” in his highly improper employment. Mr. Brooke did n’t even say “ Thank you,” but as he stooped for the unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding-door, with a look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket-handkerchief, with a sudden dew in her sharp old eyes. A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorous exclamation, “Jupiter Ammon ! Jo’s upset the cake again! ” caused a momentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived, and “the party came in,” as Beth used to say when a child. “ Don’t let that young giant come near me ; he worries me worse than mosquitoes,” whispered the old lady to Amy, as the rooms filled, and Laurie’s black head towered above the rest. “ He has promised to be very good to-day, and he can be perfectly elegant if he likes,” returned Amy, gliding away to warn Hercules to beware of the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with a devo¬ tion that nearly distracted her. There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the room as Mr. March and the young pair took their places under the green arch. Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up; the fatherly voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the service more beautiful and solemn'; the bridegroom’s hand trembled visibly, and no one heard Little Women 3*4 his replies; but Meg looked straight up in her husband’s eyes, and said, “ I will! ” with such tender trust in her own face and voice that her mother’s heart rejoiced, and Aunt March sniffed audibly. Jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only saved from a demonstration by the conscious¬ ness that Laurie was staring fixedly at herewith a comi¬ cal mixture of merriment and emotion in his wicked black eyes. Beth kept her face hidden on her mother’s shoulder, but Amy stood like a graceful statue, with a most becoming ray of sunshine touching her white forehead and the flower in her hair. It was n’t at all the thing, I ’m afraid, but the minute she was fairly married, Meg cried, “ The first kiss for Marmee! ” and, turning, gave it with her heart on her lips. During the next fifteen minutes she looked more like a rose than ever, for every one availed them¬ selves of their privileges to the fullest extent, from Mr. Laurence to old Hannah, who, adorned with a head¬ dress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her in the hall, crying, with a sob and a chuckle, “ Bless you, deary, a hundred times! The cake ain’t hurt a mite, and everything looks lovely.” Everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or tried to, which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts are light. There was no display of gifts, for they were already in the little house, nor was there an elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of cake and fruit, dressed with flowers. Mr. Laurence and Aunt March shrugged and smiled at one another when water., lemonade, and coffee were found to be the only sorts of nectar which the three Hebes carried round. No one said anything, however, till Laurie, who insisted on serving the bride, appeared before her, with The First Wedding 315 a loaded salver in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face. “ Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident? ” he whispered, “ or am I merely laboring under a delusion that I saw some lying about loose this morning? ” “No; your grandfather kindly offered 11s his best, and Aunt March actually sent some, but father put away a little for Beth, and despatched the rest to the Soldiers’ Home. You know he thinks that wine should be used only in illness, and mother says that neither she nor her daughters will ever offer it to any young man under her roof.” Meg spoke seriously, and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh; but he did neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuous way, “ I like that! for I’ve seen enough harm done to wish other women would think as you do.” “You are not made wise by experience, I hope?” and there was an anxious accent in Meg’s voice. “ No; I give you my word for it. Don’t think too well of me, either; this is not one of my temptations. Being brought up where wine is as common as water, and almost as harmless, I don’t care for it; but when a pretty girl offers it, one does n’t like to refuse, you see.” “ But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come, Laurie, promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiest day of my life.” A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a moment, for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial. Meg knew that if he gave the promise he would keep it at all costs; and, feeling her power, used it as a woman may for her friend’s good. She did not speak, but she looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, and a Little Women 3 16 smile which said, “ No one can refuse me anything to-day.” Laurie certainly could not; and, with an answering smile, he gave her his hand, saying heartily, “ I promise, Mrs. Brooke ! ” “ I thank you, very, very much.” “ And I drink ‘ long life to your resolution,’ Teddy,” cried Jo, baptizing him with a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass, and beamed approvingly upon him. So the toast was drunk, the pledge made, and loyally kept, in spite of many temptations; for, with instinctive wisdom, the girls had seized a happy moment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all his life. After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through house and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within. Meg and John happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass-plot, when Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touch to this unfashionable wedding. “ All the married people take hands and dance round the new-made husband and wife, as the Germans do, while we bachelors and spinsters prance in couples out¬ side ! ” cried Laurie, promenading down the path with Amy, with such infectious spirit and skill that every one else followed their example without a murmur. Mr. and Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrol, began it; others rapidly joined in; even Sallie Moffat, after a moment’s hesitation, threw her train over her arm, and whisked Ned into the ring. But the crowning joke was Mr. Laurence and Aunt March; for when the stately old gentleman chassied solemnly up to the old lady, she just tucked her cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest, and dance about the The First Wedding 317 bridal pair, while the young folks pervaded the garden, like butterflies on a midsummer day. Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then people began to go. “ I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well; but I think you ’ll be sorry for it,” said Aunt March to Meg, adding to the bridegroom, as he led her to the carriage, “You’ve got a treasure, young man, see that you deserve it.” “That is the prettiest wedding I’ve been to for an age, Ned, and I don’t see why, for there was n’t a bit of style about it,” observed Mrs. Moffat to her husband, as they drove away. “ Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get one of those little girls to help you, and I shall be perfectly satisfied,” said Mr. Laurence, settling himself in his easy-chair to rest, after the excite¬ ment of the morning. “ I ’ll do my best to gratify you, sir,” was Laurie’s unusually dutiful reply, as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo had put in his button-hole. The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg had was the quiet walk with John, from the old home to the new. When she came down, look¬ ing like a pretty Quakeress in her dove-colored suit and straw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say “ good-by,” as tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour. “ Don’t feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I love you any the less for loving John so much,” she said, clinging to her mother, with full eyes, for a moment. “ I shall come every day, father, and expect to keep my old place in all your hearts, though I am married. Beth is going to be with me a great deal, 318 Little Women and the other girls will drop in now and then to laugh at my housekeeping struggles. Thank you all for my happy wedding-day. Good-by, good-by ! ” They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tender pride, as she walked away, leaning on her husband’s arm, with her hands full of flowers, and the June sunshine brightening her happy face,— and so Meg’s married life began. CHAPTER XXVI ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS I T takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the “ mud-pie ” business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration; for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at all hours ; smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner-bell at her door, in case of fire. Raphael’s face was found boldly executed on the under side of the moulding-board, and Artistic Attempts 319 Bacchus on the head of a beer-barrel; a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar-bucket, and at¬ tempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some time. From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fin¬ gers, and Amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo; oily- brown shadows of faces, with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropsical infants, Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor’s shirt or a king’s robe, as the spectator pleased. Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened into crayon sketches, they did better ; for the likenesses were good, and Amy’s hair, Jo’s nose, Meg’s mouth, and Laurie’s eyes were pronounced “ wonderfully fine.” A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closet- shelves on to people’s heads. Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her myste- Little Women 3 20 rious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, how¬ ever, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast in a pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out; for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated, that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least. After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood for picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book “ a delicious bit,” composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein-stalk, or “ a heavenly mass of clouds,” that looked like a choice display of feather-beds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun, to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after “ points of sight,” or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called. If “ genius is eternal patience,” as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy certainly had some claim to the divine at¬ tribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, fail¬ ures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called “ high art. She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and Artistic Attempts 321 accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an in¬ stinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, “ If Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she’d know exactly v/hat to do.” One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in “ our best society,” without being quite sure what the best really was. Money, position, fashionable accomplish¬ ments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the oppor¬ tunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty now excluded her. “ My lady,” as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks. “ I want to ask a favor of you, mamma,” Amy said, coming in, with an important air, one day. “Well, little girl, what is it?” replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained “ the baby.” 21 Little Women 322 “ Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I am poor, yet they never made any difference.” “ Why should they? ” and Mrs. March put the ques¬ tion with what the girls called her “ Maria Theresa air.” “ You know as well as I that it does make a differ¬ ence with nearly every one, so don’t ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know; ” and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit. Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked, — “Well, my swan, what is your plan? ” “ I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic fete for them.” “That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?” “ Oh dear, no ! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living.” “How many young ladies are there?” asked her mother, beginning to look sober. “ Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won’t all come.” Artistic Attempts 323 “ Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about.” “Why, mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and borrow Mr. Laurence’s cherry-bounce.” (Hannah’s pronunciation of char-a- banc .) “ All this will be expensive, Amy.” “Not very; I’ve calculated the cost, and I ’ll pay for it myself.’’ “ Don’t you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much better for us than buying or borrowing what we don’t need, and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances? ” “ If I can’t have it as I like, I don’t care to have it at all. I know that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a little; and I don’t see why I can’t if I’m willing to pay for it,” said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy. Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna. “Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I ’ll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I ’ll do my best to help you.” “Thanks, mother; you are always so kind;” and away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters. Little Women 3 2 4 Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to do with it at first. “ Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don’t care a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupe," said Jo, who, being called from the tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises. “ I don t truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do! ” returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose. “The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there ’s a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don’t care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That’s not my way.” When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy’s definition of Jo’s idea of inde¬ pendence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice Artistic Attempts 325 a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as “ a nonsensical business.” The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because her week’s work was deranged, and prophesied that “ ef the washin’ and ironin’ warn’t done reg’lar nothin’ would go well any¬ wheres.” This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern; but Amy’s motto was “ Nil desperandum,” and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin with, Hannah’s cooking did n’t turn out well: the chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate would n’t froth properly. Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarm¬ ingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncom¬ monly numerous, serious, and trying. “ If it had n’t been for mother I never should have got through,” as Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when “ the best joke of the season ” was entirely forgotten by everybody else. If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday, — an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. On Monday morn¬ ing the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and did n’t make up its mind till it was too late for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of Little Women 326 their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as look¬ ing uncommonly shabby; but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with home-made statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about. The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and every¬ thing would allow, and, as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment, when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights; for the “ cherry-bounce ” and the broken bridge were her strong points. Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost. “ No doubt about the weather to-day; they will cer¬ tainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them,” said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. Artistic Attempts 327 She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake, was getting a little stale. “ I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do with¬ out salad to-day,” said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair. “ Use the chicken, then; the toughness won’t matter in a salad/’ advised his wife. “ Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I’m very sorry, Amy,” added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats. “ Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won’t do,” said Amy decidedly. “ Shall I rush into town and demand one?” asked Jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr. “ You’d come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper, just to try me. I ’ll go myself,” answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail. Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit, and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought. As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a new¬ comer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, “ Good-morning, Miss March,” and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie’s most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get Little Women 328 out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and, congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling dress, returned the young man’s greeting with her usual suavity and spirit They got on excellently; for Amy’s chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and — oh, horror! — the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the high-born eyes of a Tudor. “ By Jove, she’s forgotten her dinner ! ” cried the un¬ conscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the bas¬ ket after the old lady. “Please don’t — it’s — it’s mine,” murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish. “Oh, really, I beg pardon; it’s an uncommonly fine one, is n’t it? ” said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding. Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing, — “ Don’t you wish you were to have some of the salad he’s to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it? ” Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched : the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curi¬ osity about “the charming young ladies” diverted his mind from the comical mishap. “ I suppose he ’ll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha’n’t see them ; that’s a comfort,” thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed. She did not mention this meeting at home (though she Artistic Attempts 329 discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the preparations, which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve o’clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday’s failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the “ cherry-bounce,” and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet. “ There’s the rumble, they ’re coming ! I ’ll go into the porch to meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble,” said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady. “ Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl,” cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh. In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise ; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly par¬ taken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce !) and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when “ the party went out.” As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as com¬ posed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the Little Women 33 ° unfortunate fete had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo’s mouth. “ You’ve had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear,” said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come. “ Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought,” observed Beth, with unusual warmth. “Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can’t make such delicious stuff as yours,” asked Meg soberly. “Take it all; I’m the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mould before I can dispose of it,” answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this. “ It’s a pity Laurie is n’t here to help us,” began Jo, as they sat down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days. A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, “ Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn ” — here a general explosion of laughter cut short the “ history of sallets,” to the great surprise of the learned gentleman. “ Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels : Germans like messes. I’m sick of the sight of this; and there’s no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I’ve been a fool,” cried Amy, wiping her eyes. “ I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nut-shell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng,” sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter. “ I’m very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we Literary Lessons 331 all did our best to satisfy you,” said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret. “ I am satisfied ; I ’ve done what I undertook, and it’s not my fault that it failed; I comfort myself with that,” ( said Amy, with a little quiver in her voice. “ I thank you all very much for helping me, and I’ll thank you still more if you won’t allude to it for a month, at least.” No one did for several months; but the word “fete" always produced a general smile, and Laurie’s birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard. CHAPTER XXVII LITERARY LESSONS F ORTUNE suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise. Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and “ fall into a vortex,” as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her “ scribbling suit ” consisted of a black woollen pina¬ fore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquir¬ ing eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, “ Does genius burn, Jo ? ” They did Little Women 33 2 not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the fore¬ head, it was a sign that hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did any one dare address Jo. She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her “ vortex,’* hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent. She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lec¬ ture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People’s Course, the lecture on the Pyra¬ mids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx. They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel Literary Lessons 333 of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads,, and bon¬ nets to match, discussing Woman’s Rights and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eat¬ ing peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old gentle¬ man taking his preparatory nap behind a yellowbandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper. It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what unfortuitous con¬ catenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two in¬ furiated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, saying bluntly, “ Want to read it? That’s a first-rate story.” Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the i story belonged to that class of light literature in which I the passions have a holiday, and when the author’s in¬ vention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis persona , leaving the other half to exult over their downfall. “Prime, isn’t it? ” asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion. “I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," eturned Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash. I; Little Women 334 “ I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good living out of such stories, they say; ” and he pointed to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. North- bury, under the title of the tale. “ Do you know her? ” asked Jo, with sudden interest. “ No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed.” “ Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this? ” and Jo looked more respectfully at the agi¬ tated group and thickly-sprinkled exclamation-points that adorned the page. “Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it.” Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolv¬ ing to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its col¬ umns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splen¬ did fortune for herself (not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopement or after the murder. She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when “ genius took to burning.” Jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the “ Spread Eagle.” Her theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled Literary Lessons 335 her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appro¬ priate denouement. The manuscript was privately de¬ spatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale did n’t get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth. Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manu¬ script again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hun¬ dred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story. A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way, — “ You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money.” | Little Women 336 “ / think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune? ” asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye. “ Send Beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two,” answered Jo promptly. “ Oh, how splendid ! No, I can’t do it, dear, it would be so selfish,” cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes ; then stopped herself, and motioned away the check which her sister waved before her. “ Ah, but you shall go, I Ve set my heart on it; that’s what I tried for, and that’s why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don’t you see? Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won’t leave you, so you must go. Won’t it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients! ” To the seaside they went, after much discussion; and though Beth did n’t come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her “ rubbish ” turned into comforts for them all. “The Duke’s Daughter ” paid the butcher’s bill, “ A Phantom Hand ” put down a new carpet, and the “ Curse of the Coventrys ” proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns. Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work Literary Lessons 337 of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowl¬ edge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny. Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired. “ Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more con¬ venient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject,” said Jo, calling a family council. “ Don’t spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen,” was her father’s advice, and he prac¬ tised as he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow. “ It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by waiting,” said Mrs. March. “ Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money.” “Yes,” said Jo, knitting her brows, “that’s just it; 22 Little Women 33 8 I’ve been fussing over the thing so long, I really don’t know whether it’s good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it.” “ I wouldn’t leave out a word of it; you’ll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you don’t explain as you go on,” said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most re¬ markable novel ever written. “ But Mr. Allen says, ‘ Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,’ ” interrupted Jo, turning to the publisher’s note. “ Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don’t. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when you’ve got a name, you can afford to digress, and 'have philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels,” said Amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject. “ Well,” said Jo, laughing, “ if my people are ‘ philo¬ sophical and metaphysical,’ it is n’t my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I’ve got some of his wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, w r hat do you say?” “ I should so like to see it printed soon” was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it; but there was an uncon¬ scious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilled Jo’s heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture “soon.” So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruth- Literary Lessons 339 lessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every one’s advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody. Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it; so that was allowed to re¬ main, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Meg admired the trag¬ edy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate. Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dob lars for it; likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some time to recover. “ You said, mother, that criticism would help me ; but how can it, when it’s so contradictory that I don’t know whether I’ve written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?” cried poor Jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. “ This man says ‘ An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness ; all is sweet, pure, and healthy,’ ” continued the perplexed authoress. “The next, ‘The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spirit¬ ualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.’ Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don’t believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don’t see how this critic 340 Little Women tan be right. Another says, ‘ It’s one of the best Ameri¬ can novels which has appeared for years’ (I know better than that) ; and the next asserts that ‘ though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.’ ’T is n’t! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I’d printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged.” Her family and friends administered comfort and com¬ mendation liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author’s best education ; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received. “ Not being a genius, like Keats, it won’t kill me,” she said stoutly; “ and I’ve got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced ‘ charmingly natural, tender, and true.’ So I ’ll comfort myself with that; and when I’m ready, I ’ll up again and take another.” Domestic Experiences 341 CHAPTER XXVIII DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES I IKE most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with the determination to be a model housekeeper. John should find home a paradise; he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheer¬ fulness to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tran¬ quil one; for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a true Martha, cumbered with many cares. She was too tired, sometimes, even to smile; John grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty dishes, and ungratefully demanded plain fare. As for buttons, she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over the carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them on himself, and then see if his work would stand impatient tugs and clumsy fingers any better than hers. They were very happy, even after they discovered that they could n’t live on love alone. John did not find Meg’s beauty diminished, though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee-pot; nor did Meg miss any of the romance from the daily parting, when her husband followed up his kiss with the tender inquiry, “Shall I send home veal or mutton for dinner, darling? ” The little house ceased to be a glorified bower, but it became a home, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change for the better. At first they played keep- house, and frolicked over it like children ; then John took Little Women 3 42 steadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon his shoulders ; and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell to work, as before said, with more energy than discretion. While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs Cornelius’s Receipt Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out the problems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited in to help eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would be privately despatched with a batch of failures, which were to be concealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little Hummels. An evening with John over the account-books usually produced a temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would ensue, during which the poor man was put through a course of bread¬ pudding, hash, and warmed-over coffee, which tried his soul, although he bore it with praiseworthy fortitude. Before the golden mean was found, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without, — a family jar. Fired with a housewifely wish to see her store-room stocked with home-made preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly. John was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots, and an extra quantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe, and were to be attended to at once. As John firmly believed that “ my wife ” was equal to anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, he resolved that she should be gratified, and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most pleasing form for winter use. Home came four dozen delightful little pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currants for her. With her pretty hair tucked into a little cap, arms bared to the elbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the young Domestic Experiences 343 housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about her sue- cess; for had n’t she seen Hannah do it hundreds of times? The array of pots rather amazed her at first, but John was so fond of jelly, and the nice little jars would look so well on the top shelf, that Meg resolved to fill them all, and spent a long day picking, boiling, straining, and fussing over her jelly. She did her best; she asked advice of Mrs. Cornelius ; she racked her brain to remem¬ ber what Hannah did that she had left undone; she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, but that dreadful stuff wouldn’t “7V//.” She longed to run home, bib and all, and ask mother to lend a hand, but John and she had agreed that they would never annoy any one with their private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They had laughed over that last word as if the idea it suggested was a most prepos¬ terous one; but they had held to their resolve, and whenever they could get on without help they did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March had advised the plan. So Meg wrestled alone with the refractory sweet¬ meats all that hot summer day, and at five o’clock sat down in her topsy-turvy kitchen, wrung her bedaubed hands, lifted up her voice and wept. Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, — “ My husband shall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever he likes. I shall always be prepared ; there shall be no flurry, no scolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and a good dinner. John, dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whom you please, and be sure of a welcome from me.” How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed with pride to hear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a superior wife. But, Little Women 344 although they had had company from time to time, it never happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had an opportunity to distinguish herself till now. It always happens so in this vale of tears; there is an inevi¬ tability about such things which we can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can. If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have been unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in the year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulating himself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came running out to meet him, he escorted his friend to his mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young host and husband. It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reached the Dove-cote. The front door usually stood hospitably open; now it was not only shut, but locked, and yesterday’s mud still adorned the steps. The parlor-windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wife sewing on the piazza, in white, with a dis¬ tracting little bow in her hair, or a bright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest. Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared, but a sanguinary- looking boy asleep under the currant-bushes. “ I’m afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while I look up Mrs. Brooke,” said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude. Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burnt sugar, and Mr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face. He paused discreetly at a dis¬ tance when Brooke disappeared; but he could both see Domestic Experiences 345 and hear, and, being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily. In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair; one edition of jelly was trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third was burning gayly on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmly eating bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hope¬ lessly liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, sat sobbing dismally. “My dearest girl, what is the matter?” cried John, rushing in, with awful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secret consternation at the thought of the guest in the garden. “ O John, I am so tired and hot and cross and worried ! I’ve been at it till I’m all worn out. Do come and help me or I shall die ! ” and the exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet welcome in every sense of the word, for her pinafore had been bap¬ tized at the same time as the floor. “What worries you, dear? Has anything dreadful happened?” asked the anxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which was all askew. “Yes,” sobbed Meg despairingly. “Tell me quick, then. Don’t cry, I can bear anything better than that. Out with it, love.” “ The — the jelly won’t jell and I don’t know what to do! ” John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward; and the derisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, which put the finishing stroke to poor Meg’s woe. “Is that all? Fling it out of window, and don’t bother any more about it. I ’ll buy you quarts if you want it; but for heaven’s sake don’t have hys* I 1 346 Little Women terics, for I ’ve brought Jack Scott home to dinner, and — ” John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone of mingled indignation, reproach, and dismay, — “A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, how could you do such a thing?” “ Hush, he ’s in the garden ! I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can’t be helped now,” said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye. “ You ought to have sent word, or told me this morn¬ ing, and you ought to have remembered how busy I was,” continued Meg petulantly; for even turtle-doves will peck when ruffled. “ I did n’t know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for I met him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave, when you have always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if I ever do again ! ” added John, with an aggrieved air. “I should hope not! Take him away at once; I can’t see him, and there is n’t any dinner.” “ Well, I like that! Where ’s the beef and vegetables I sent home, and the pudding you promised?” cried John, rushing to the larder. “ I had n’t time to cook anything; I meant to dine at mother’s. I’m sorry, but I was so busy ; ” and Meg’s tears began again. John was a mild man, but he was human; and after a long day’s work, to come home tired, hungry, and hope¬ ful, to find a chaotic house, an empty table, and a cross wife was not exactly conducive to repose of mind or manner. He restrained himself, however, and the little Domestic Experiences 347 squall would have blown over, but for one unlucky word. “ It’s a scrape, I acknowledge; but if you will lend a hand, we ’ll pull through, and have a good time yet. Don’t cry, dear, but just exert yourself a bit, and knock us up something to eat. We’re both as hungry as hunters, so we sha’n’t mind what it is. Give us the cold meat, and bread and cheese; we won’t ask for jelly.” He meant it for a good-natured joke; but that one wo'rd sealed his fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the last atom of patience vanished as he spoke. “ You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can ; I ’m too used up to ‘ exert ’ myself for any one. It’s like a man to propose a bone and vulgar bread and cheese for company. I won’t have anything of the sort in my house. Take that Scott up to mother’s, and tell him I’m away, sick, dead, — anything. I won’t see him, and you two can laugh at me and my jelly as much as you like: you won’t have anything else here;” and having delivered her defiance all in one breath, Meg cast away her pinafore, and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own room. What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew; but Mr. Scott was not taken ‘‘up to mother’s,” and when Meg descended, after they had strolled away together, she found traces of a promis¬ cuous lunch which filled her with horror. Lotty re¬ ported that they had eaten “ a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the sweet stuff, and hide the pots.” Meg longed to go and tell mother; but a sense of shame at her own shortcomings, of loyalty to John, Little Women 348 “who might be cruel, but nobody should know it,” restrained her; and after a summary clearing up, she dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and be forgiven. Unfortunately, John did n’t come, not seeing the mat¬ ter in that light. He had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his little wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend en¬ joyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again. But John was angry, though he did not show it; he felt that Meg had got him into a scrape, and then deserted him in his hour of need. “ It was n’t fair to tell a man to bring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and when he took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch, to be laughed at or pitied. No, by George, it wasn’t! and Meg must know it.” He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was over, and he strolled home, after seeing Scott off, a milder mood came over him. “Poor little thing! it was hard upon her when she tried so heartily to please me. She was wrong, of course, but then she was young. I must be patient and teach her.” He hoped she had not gone home — he hated gossip and interference. For a minute he was ruffled again at the mere thought of it; and then the fear that Meg would cry herself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace, resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where she had failed in her duty to her spouse. Meg likewise resolved to be “ calm and kind, but firm,” and show him his duty. She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed and com¬ forted, as she was sure of being; but, of course, she did nothing of the sort, and when she saw John com- Domestic Experiences 349 ing, began to hum quite naturally, as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor. John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe; but, feeling that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came leisurely in, and laid himself upon the sofa, with the singularly relevant remark, — “ We are going to have a new moon, my dear.” “I’ve no objection,” was Meg’s equally soothing remark. A few other topics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke, and wet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. John went to one window,'un¬ folded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figuratively speaking. Meg went to the other window, and sewed as if new rosettes for her slippers were among the necessa¬ ries of life. Neither spoke; both looked quite “ calm and firm,” and both felt desperately uncomfortable. “ Oh dear,” thought Meg, “ married life is very trying, and does need infinite patience, as well as love, as mother says.” The word “ mother ” suggested other maternal counsels, given long ago, and received with unbelieving protests. “John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see and bear with them, remembering your own. He is very decided, but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is very accurate, and particular about the truth —■ a good trait, though you call him ‘ fussy.’ Never deceive him by look or word, Meg, and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a temper, not like ours, — one flash, and then all over, — but the white, still anger, that is seldom stirred, but once kin¬ dled, is hard to quench. Be careful, very careful, not to Little Women 35° wake this anger against yourself, for peace and happi¬ ness depend on keeping his respect. Watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against the little piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way for bitter sorrow and regret.” These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement; her own hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them; she put down her work and got up, thinking, “ I will be the first to say, ‘ Forgive me,’ ” but he did not seem to hear her; she went very slowly across the room, for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if she really could n’t do it; then came the thought, “ This is the beginning, I ’ll do my part, and have nothing to reproach myself with,” and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that settled it; the penitent kiss was better than a world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, saying tenderly, — “ It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly-pots. Forgive me, dear, I never will again ! ” But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made; for family peace was preserved in that little family jar. After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, and served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first course; on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made everything go Domestic Experiences 351 ©ff so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was a happy fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all the way home. In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffat renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip at the little house, or inviting “ that poor dear” to come in and spend the day at the big house. It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg often felt lonely; all were busy at home, John absent till night, and nothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about. So it naturally fell out that Meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend. Seeing Sallie’s pretty things made her long for such, and pity herself because she had not got them. Sallie was very kind, and often offered her the coveted trifles; but Meg declined them, knowing that John wouldn’t like it; and then this foolish little woman went and did what John disliked infinitely worse. She knew her husband’s income, and she loved to feel that he trusted her, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value more, — his money. She knew where it was, was free to take what she liked, and all he asked was that she should keep ac¬ count of every penny, pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man’s wife. Till now, she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept her little account-books neatly, and showed them to him monthly without fear. But that autumn the serpent got into Meg’s paradise, and tempted her, like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress. Meg didn’t like to be pitied and made to feel poor; it irritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and then she tried to console herself by buying something pretty, so that Sallie need n’t think she had Little Women 352 to economize. She always felt wicked after it, fof the pretty things were seldom necessaries; but then they cost so little, it wasn’t worth worrying about; so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in the shopping excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on. But the trifles cost more than one would imagine; and when she cast up her accounts at the end of the month, the sum total rather scared her. John was busy that month, and. left the bills to her; the next month he was absent; but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Meg never forgot it. A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and it weighed upon her conscience. Sallie had been buy¬ ing silks, and Meg longed for a new one,—just a handsome light one for parties, her black silk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only proper for girls. Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five dollars apiece at New Year; that was only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she had the money, if she only dared to take it. John always said what was his was hers; but would he think it right to spend not only the prospective five-and-twenty, but another five- and-twenty out of the household fund ? That was the question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to loan the money, and wjth the best intentions in life, had tempted Meg beyond her strength. In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely, shimmering folds, and said, “ A bargain, I assure you, ma’am.” She answered, “I’ll take it;” and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie had exulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven away, feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police were after her. Domestic Experiences 353 When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by spreading forth the lovely silk; but it looked less silvery now, did n’t become her, after all, and the words “ fifty dollars ” seemed stamped like a pattern down each breadth. She put it away ; but it haunted her, not delightfully, as a new dress shoub but dreadfully, like the ghost of a folly that was not easily laid. When John got out his books that night, Meg’s heart sank, and, for the first time in her married life, she was afraid of her husband. The kind, brown eyes looked as if they could be stern; and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he had found her out, but did n’t mean to let her know it. The house-bills were all paid, the books all in order. John had praised her, and was undoing the old pocket-book which they called the “bank,” when Meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously, — “You have n’t seen my private expense book yet.” John never asked to see it; but she always insisted on his doing so, and used to enjoy his masculine amaze¬ ment at the queer things women wanted, and made him guess what “piping” was, demand fiercely the mean¬ ing of a “ hug-me-tight,” or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a bonnet, and cost five or six dollars. That night he looked as if he would like the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent wife. The little book was brought slowly out, and laid down before him. Meg got behind his chair under pretence of smoothing the wrinkles out of his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing with every word, — 23 Little Women 354 “John, dear, I’m ashamed to show you my book, for I’ve really been dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must have things, you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did; and my New-Year’s money will partly pay for it: but I was sorry after I’d done it, for I knew you’d think it wrong in me.” John laughed and drew her round beside him, say- ing good-humoredly, “ Don’t go and hide. I won’t beat you if you have got a pair of killing boots; I’m rather proud of my wife’s feet, and don’t mind if she does pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones.” That had been one of her last “ trifles,” and John’s eye had fallen on it as he spoke. “ Oh, what will he say when he comes to that awful fifty dollars! ” thought Meg, with a shiver. “ It’s worse than boots, it’s a silk dress,” she said, with the calmness of desperation, for she wanted the worst over. “Well, dear, what is the ‘ dem’d total,’ as Mr. Man- talini says? ” That did n’t sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her with the straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet and answer with one as frank till now. She turned the page and her head at the same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enough without the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added. For a minute the room was very still; then John said slowly, — but she could feel it cost him an effort to express no displeasure, — “ Well, I don’t know that fifty is much for a dress, with all the furbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days.” Domestic Experiences 355 “ It isn’t made or trimmed,” sighed Meg faintly, for a sudden recollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her. “ Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman, but I’ve no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat’s when she gets it on,” said John dryly. “I know you are angry, John, but I can’t help it. I don’t mean to waste your money, and I did n’t think those little things would count up so. I can’t resist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me because I don’t. I try to be contented, but it is hard, and I ’m tired of being poor.” The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, but he did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself many pleasures for Meg’s sake. She could have bitten her tongue out the minute she had said it, for John pushed the books away, and got up, saying, with a little quiver in his voice, “ I was afraid of this; I do my best, Meg.” If he had scolded her, or even shaken her, it would not have broken her heart like those few words. She ran to him and held him close, crying, with repentant tears, “ O John, my dear, kind, hard-working boy, I did n’t mean it! It was so wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could I say it! Oh, how could I say it! ” He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach; but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not be forgotten soon, although he might never allude to it again. She had promised to love him for better for worse; and then she, his wife, had reproached him with his poverty, after spending his earnings recklessly. It was dreadful; and Little Women 35 6 the worst of it was John went on so quietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened, except that he stayed in town later, and worked at night when she had gone to cry herself to sleep. A week of remorse nearly made Meg sick; and the discovery that John had countermanded the order for his new great-coat re¬ duced her to a state of despair which was pathetic to behold. He had simply said, in answer to her sur¬ prised inquiries as to the change, “ I can’t afford it, my dear.” Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall, with her face buried in the old great¬ coat, crying as if her heart would break. They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husband better for his poverty, because it seemed to have made a man of him, given him the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught him a tender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings and failures of those he loved. Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, told the truth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor. The good-natured Mrs. Moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a present of it immediately afterward. Then Meg ordered home the great-coat, and, when John arrived, she put it on, and asked him how he liked her new silk gown. One can imagine what answer he made, how he received his pres¬ ent, and what a blissful state of things ensued. John came home early, Meg gadded no more; and that great-coat was put on in the morning by a very happy husband, and taken off at night by a most devoted little wife. So the year rolled round, and at midsummer there came to Meg a new experience,— the deepest and tenderest of a woman’s life. Domestic Experiences 357 Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dove- cote, one Saturday, with an excited face, and was re¬ ceived with the clash of cymbals; for Hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in the other. “How’s the little mamma? Where is everybody? Why didn’t you tell me before I came home?” began Laurie, in a loud whisper. “ Happy as a queen, the dear ! Every soul of ’em is upstairs a worshipin’; we did n’t want no hurrycanes round. Now you go into the parlor, and I ’ll send ’em down to you,” with which somewhat involved reply Hannah vanished, chuckling ecstatically. Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upon a large pillow. Jo’s face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled, and there was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort. « “ Shut your eyes and hold out your arms,” she said invitingly. Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind him with an imploring gesture: “No, thank you, I’d rather not. I shall drop it or smash it, as sure as fate.” “ Then you sha’n’t see your nevvy,” said Jo decidedly, turning as if to go. “ I will, I will! only you must be responsible for dam¬ ages ; ” and, obeying orders, Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put into his arms. A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah, and John caused him to open them the next minute, to find him¬ self invested with two babies instead of one. No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enough to convulse a Quaker, as he stood and Little Women 35 8 stared wildly from the unconscious innocents to the hila¬ rious spectators, with such dismay that Jo sat down on the floor and screamed. “Twins, by Jupiter!” was all he said for a minute; then, turning to the women with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added, “ Take ’em quick, some¬ body ! I ’m going to laugh, and I shall drop ’em.” John rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each arm, as if already initiated into the mysteries of baby-tending, while Laurie laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. “ It’s the best joke of the season, is n’t it? I would n’t have you told, for I set my heart on surprising you, and I flatter myself I’ve done it,” said Jo, when she got her breath. “ I never was more staggered in my life. Is n’t it fun ? Are they boys? What are you going to name them? Let’s have another look. Hold me up, Jo; for upon my life it’s one too many for me,” returned Laurie, re¬ garding the infants with the air of a big, benevolent Newfoundland looking at a pair of infantile kittens. “Boy and girl. Are n’t they beauties?” said the proud papa, beaming upon the little, red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels. “ Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which? ” and Laurie bent like a well-sweep to examine the prodigies. “ Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, French fashion, so you can always tell. Besides, one has blue eyes and one brown. Kiss them, Uncle Teddy,” said wicked Jo. “ I ’m afraid they might n’t like it,” began Laurie, with unusual timidity in such matters. :i Of course they will; they are used to it now. Do Calls 359 it this minute, sir! ” commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy. Laurie screwed up his face, and obeyed with a gin¬ gerly peck at each little cheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal. “ There, I knew they did n’t like it! That’s the boy; see him kick; he hits out with his fists like a good one. Now then, young Brooke, pitch in to a man of your own size, will you?” cried Laurie, delighted with a poke in the face from a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about. “ He’s to be named John Laurence, and the girl Mar¬ garet, after mother and grandmother. We shall call her Daisy, so as not to have two Megs, and I suppose the mannie will be Jack, unless we find a better name,” said Amy, with aunt-like interest. “ Name him Demijohn, and call him ‘Demi ’ for short,” said Laurie. “ Daisy and Demi,—just the thing! I knew Teddy would do it,” cried Jo, clapping her hands. Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were “ Daisy ” and “ Demi ” to the end of the chapter. CHAPTER XXIX CALLS OME, Jo, it’s time.” “ For what? ” “ You don’t mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half a dozen calls with me to-day? ” “ I’ve done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don’t think I ever was mad enough to say 360 Little Women I ’d make six calls in one day, when a single one upsets me for a week.” “ Yes, you did; it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors’ visits.” “ If it was fair — that was in the bond ; and I stand to the letter of my bond, Shylock. There is a pile of clouds in the east; it’s not fair, and I don’t go.” “ Now, that’s shirking. It’s a lovely day, no pros¬ pect of rain, and you pride yourself on keeping prom¬ ises ; so be honorable; come and do your duty, and then be at peace for another six months.” At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dress¬ making ; for she was mantua-maker general to the fam¬ ily, and took especial credit to herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very pro¬ voking to be arrested in the act of a first trying-on, and ordered out to make calls in her best array, on a warm July day. She hated calls of the formal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or promise. In the present instance, there was no es¬ cape ; and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelt thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air of resignation, told Amy the victim was ready. “Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint! You don’t intend to make calls in that state, I hope,” cried Amy, surveying her with amazement. “Why not? I’m neat and cool and comfortable; quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day. If people care more for my clothes than they do for me, I don’t wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant as you please: it pays for you to be fine; it does n’t for me, and furbelows only worry me.” Calls 361 “ Oh dear ! ” sighed Amy; “ now she’s in a contrary fit, and will drive me distracted before I can get her properly ready. I ’m sure it’s no pleasure for me to go to-day, but it’s a debt we owe society, and there’s no one to pay it but you and me. I ’ll do anything for you, Jo, if you ’ll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so beauti¬ fully, if you try, that I’m proud of you. I’m afraid to go alone; do come and take care of me.” “You’re an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old sister in that way. The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and your being afraid to go anywhere alone! I don’t know which is the most absurd. Well, I ’ll go if I must, and do my best. You shall be commander of the expedition, and I ’ll obey blindly; will that satisfy you?” said Jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamb-like submission. “You’re a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I ’ll tell you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a good impression. I want people to like you, and they would if you’d only try tc be a little more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink rose in your bonnet; it’s becoming, and you look too sober in your plain suit. Take your light gloves and the embroidered handker¬ chief. We ’ll stop at Meg’s, and borrow her white sun¬ shade, and then you can have my dove-colored one.” While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them ; not without entering her protest, how¬ ever, for she sighed as she rustled into her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar, wrinkled up her features gem Little Women 362 erally as she shook out the handkerchief, whose em* broidery was as irritating to her nose as the present mission was to her feelings ; and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly, — “I’m perfectly miserable; but if you consider me presentable, I die happy.” “ You are highly satisfactory; turn slowly round, and let me get a careful view.” Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and there, then fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, “Yes, you’ll do; your head is all I could ask, for that white bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch. There’s one thing you can do well, Jo, that is, wear a shawl — I can’t; but it’s very nice to see you, and I ’m so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one; it’s simple, but handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and have I looped my dress evenly? I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my nose is n’t.” “You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever,” said Jo, looking through her hand with the air of a connois¬ seur at the blue feather against the gold hair. “ Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please, ma’am ? ” “ Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house; the sweeping style suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. You haven’t half buttoned one cuff; do it at once. You ’ll never look finished if you are not careful about the little details, for they make up the pleasing whole.” Calls 363 4 Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up her cuff; but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as “ pretty as picters,” Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch them. “Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so I want you to put on your best deportment. Don’t make any of your abrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and quiet,—that’s safe and ladylike; and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes,” said Amy, as they approached the first place, having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm. “Let me see. ‘Calm, cool, and quiet,’—yes, I think I can promise that. I’ve played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I ’ll try it off My powers are great, as you shall see; so be easy in your mind, my child.” Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word; for, during the first call, she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every fold correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snow-bank, and as silent as a sphinx. In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her “ charming novel,” and the Misses Chester introduced parties, pic¬ nics, the opera, and the fashions; each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and a demure “Yes” or “ No,” with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the word “Talk,” tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with her foot. Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportment like Maud’s face, “ icily regular, splendidly null.” “ What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is ! ” was the unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door closed upon their Little Women 3 6 + a guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laid the blame upon Jo. “How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properly dignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock and stone. Try to be sociable at the Lambs,’ gossip as other girls do, and be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up. They move in the best society, are valuable persons for us to know, and I would n’t fail to make a good impression there for anything.’’ “ I ’ll be agreeable; I ’ll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and raptures over any trifle you like. I rather enjoy this, and now I ’ll imitate what is called ‘ a charm¬ ing girl; ’ I can do it, for I have May Chester as a model, and I ’ll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don’t say, ‘What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is! ’ ” Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would stop. Amy’s face was a study when she saw her sister skim into the next drawing-room, kiss all the young ladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession of by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long account of Lucretia’s last attack, while three delightful young gentlemen hovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rush in and rescue her. So situated, she was powerless to check Jo, who seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked av/ay as volubly as the old lady. A knot of heads gathered about her, and Amy strained her ears to hear what was going on; for broken sentences filled her with alarm, Calls 365 round eyes and uplifted hands tormented her with curi¬ osity, and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her suffering on over¬ hearing fragments of this sort of conversation : — “ She rides splendidly, — who taught her? ” “No one; she used to practise mounting, holding the reins, and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything, for she does n’t know what fear is, and the stable-man lets her have horses cheap, be¬ cause she trains them to carry ladies so well. She has such a passion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails she can be a horse-breaker, and get her living so.” At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for the impression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, which was her especial aversion. But what could she do ? for the old lady was in the middle of her story, and long before it was done Jo was off again, making more droll revelations, and committing still more fearful blunders. “ Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for a pleasure party, was n’t it? ” “ Which did she choose? ” asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject. “ None of them; she heard of a young horse at the farmhouse over the river, and, though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, because he was hand¬ some and spirited. Her struggles were really pathetic; there was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over the river, put it on her head, 366 Little Women and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the old man ! “ Did she ride the horse? ” “ Of course she did, and had a Capital time. I ex¬ pected to see her brought home in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of the party.” “Well, I call that plucky!” and young Mr. Lamb turned an approving glance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make the girl look so red and uncomfortable. She was still redder and more uncomfortable a mo¬ ment after, when a sudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress. One of the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to the picnic ; and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was bought two years ago, must needs answer, with unnecessary frankness, “ Oh, Amy painted it; you can’t buy those soft shades, so we paint ours any color we like. It’s a great comfort to have an artistic sister.” “ Is n’t that an original idea? ” cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun. “ That’s nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There’s nothing the child can’t do. Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie’s party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of sky-blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin,” added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister’s accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw her card-case at her. “ We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much,” observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed. Calls 367 Any mention of her “ works ” always had a bad effect upon Jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now. “ Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it. Are you going to New York this winter? ” As Miss Lamb had “ enjoyed ” the story, this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary. The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake; but, fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for her to make the first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptness that left three people with half- finished sentences in their mouths. “ Amy, we must go. Good-by , dear ; do come and see us; we are pining for a visit. I don’t dare to ask you , Mr. Lamb; but if you shoirid come, I don’t think I shall have the heart to send you away.” Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Ches¬ ter’s gushing style that Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strong desire to laugh and cry at the same time. “ Did n’t I do that well?” asked Jo, with a satisfied air, as they walked away. “ Nothing could have been worse,” was Amy’s crush¬ ing reply. “ What possessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats and boots, and all the rest of it? ” “Why, it’s funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it’s no use pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season, and have things as easy and fine as they do.” “ You need n’t go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose our poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way. You have n’t a bit of proper pride, and never will Little Women 368 learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak,” said Amy despairingly. Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with the stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors. “ How shall I behave here?” she asked, as they approached the third mansion. “ Just as you please; I wash my hands of you,” was Amy’s short answer. “ Then I ’ll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we ’ll have a comfortable time. Goodness knows I need a little change, for elegance has a bad effect upon my constitution,” returned Jo gruffly, being disturbed by her failures to suit. An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty children speedily soothed her ruffled feelings; and, leaving Amy to entertain the hostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo devoted herself to the young folks, and found the change refreshing. She listened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and poodles without a mur¬ mur, agreed heartily that “ Tom Brown was a brick,” regardless of the improper form of praise; and when one lad proposed a visit to his turtle-tank, she went with an alacrity which caused mamma to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, and dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from the hands of an inspired Frenchwoman. Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself to her heart’s content. Mr. Tudor’s uncle had married an English lady who was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family with great respect; for, in spite of her American birth Calls 369 and breeding, she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best of us, — that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set the most' democratic nation under the sun in a ferment at the coming of a royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him while she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled. But even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the British nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time ; and when the proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from this aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fer¬ vently hoping that her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position which should bring disgrace upon the name of March. It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad ; for Jo sat on the grass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related one of Laurie’s pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was poking turtles with Amy’s cherished parasol, a second was eating gingerbread over Jo’s best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her gloves. But all were enjoying themselves; and when Jo collected her dam¬ aged property to go, her escort accompanied her, beg¬ ging her to come again, “ it was such fun to hear about Laurie’s larks.” “ Capital boys, are n’t they? I feel quite young and brisk again after that,” said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from habit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol. ‘‘Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor? ” asked Amy, 24 Little Women 37 ° wisely refraining from any comment upon Jo’s dilapi¬ dated appearance. “ Don’t like him; he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, and does n’t speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is fast, and I don’t con¬ sider him a desirable acquaintance; so I let him alone.” “You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod; and just now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod and the bow, it would have been right,” said Amy reprovingly. “No, it would n’t,” returned perverse Jo; “I neither like, respect, nor admire Tudor, though his grandfather’s uncle’s nephew’s niece was third cousin to a lord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever; I think well of him, and like to show that I do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brown-paper parcels.” “ It’s no use trying to argue with you,” began Amy. “Not the least, my dear,” interrupted Jo; “so let us look amiable, and drop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I’m deeply grateful.” The family card-case having done its duty, the girls walked on, and Jo uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being told that the young ladies were engaged. “ Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March to-day. We can run down there any time, and it’s really a pity to trail through the dust in our best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross.” “ Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt likes to have us pay her the compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call; it’s a little thing to do, but it Calls 37 1 gives her pleasure, and I don’t believe it will hurt your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your bonnet.” “What a good girl you are, Amy!” said Jo, with a repentant glance from her own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh and spotless still. “I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to please people as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much time to do them; so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let the small ones slip; but they tell best in the end, I fancy.” Amy smiled, and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air, — “ Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones; for they have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you’d remember that, and practise it, you’d be better liked than I am, because there is more of you.” “ I’m a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I’m willing to own that you are right; only it’s easier for me to risk my life for a person than to be pleasant to him when I don’t feel like it. It’s a great misfortune to have such strong likes and dislikes, is n’t it?” “ It’s a greater not to be able to hide them. I don’t mind saying that I don’t approve of Tudor any more than you do; but I’m not called upon to tell him so; neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself disagreeable because he is.” “ But I think girls ought to show when they disap¬ prove of young men ; and how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do any good, as I know to my sorrow, since I’ve had Teddy to manage; but there are many little ways in which I can influence Little Women 37 2 him without a word, and I say we ought to do it to others if we can.” “Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can’t be taken as a sample of other boys,” said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would have convulsed the “ remarkable boy,” if he had heard it. “ If we were belles, or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps; but for us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don’t approve of them, and smile upon another set because we do, would n’t have a particle of effect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical.” “ So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and mil¬ lionaires, are we? That ’s a nice sort of morality.” “ I can’t argue about it, I only know that it’s the way of the world; and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their pains. I don’t like re¬ formers, and I hope you will never try to be one.” “ I do like them, and I shall be one if I can; for, in spite of the laughing, the world would never get on without them. We can’t agree about that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new: you will get on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think.” “ Well, compose yourself now, and don’t worry aunt with your new ideas.” “ I ’ll try not to, but I ’m always possessed to burst out with some particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her; it’s my doom, and I can’t help it.” They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very interesting subject; but they dropped it as the girls came in, with a conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their Calls 373 nieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned; but Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper, and pleased everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was felt at once, and both the aunts “ my deared ” her affectionately, looking what they afterwards said emphatically, — “That child improves every day.” “ Are you going to help about the fair, dear? ” asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amy sat down beside her with the con¬ fiding air elderly people like so well in the young. “Yes, aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend a table, as I have nothing but my time to give.” “I’m not,” put in Jo decidedly. “I hate to be patronized, and the Chesters think it’s a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy: they only want you to work.” “ I am willing to work: it’s for the freedmen as well as the Chesters, and I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant.” “ Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear; it’s a pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts: some do not, and that is trying,” observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression. If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would have turned dovelike in a minute; but, unfortunately, we don’t have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what goes on in the minds of our friends; better for us that we cannot as a general thing, but now and then it would Little Women 374 be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue. “ I don’t like favors; they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I’d rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent.” “Ahem!” coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March. “ I told you so,” said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol. Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting. “Do you speak French, dear?” asked Mrs. Carrol, laying her hand on Amy’s. “ Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often as I like,” replied Amy, with a grate¬ ful look, which caused the old lady to smile affably. “ How are you about languages?” asked Mrs. Carrol of Jo. “ Don’t know a word; I’m very stupid about study¬ ing anything; can’t bear French, it’s such a slippery, silly sort of language,” was the brusque reply. Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy, “ You are quite strong and well, now, dear, I believe? Eyes don’t trouble you any more, do they?” “ Not at all, thank you, ma’am. I’m very well, and mean to do great things next winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that joyful time arrives.” “ Good girl! You deserve to go, and I’m sure you will some day,” said Aunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up her ball for her. 375 Consequences “ Cross-patch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin,” squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to peep into Jo’s face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that it was impossible to help laughing. “ Most observing bird,” said the old l,ady. “ Come and take a walk, my dear? ” cried Polly, hop¬ ping toward the china-closet, with a look suggestive of lump-sugar. “Thank you, I will. Come, Amy; ” and Jo brought the visit to an end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow and sunshine; which impression caused Aunt March to say, as they van¬ ished, — “You’d better do it, Mary; I’ll supply the money,” and Aunt Carrol to reply decidedly, “ I certainly will, if her father and mother consent.” CHAPTER XXX CONSEQUENCES M RS. CHESTER’S fair was so very elegant and select that it was considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighbor¬ hood to be invited to take a table, and every one was much interested in the matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her Little Women 37 6 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, uninteresting 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 valuable contributions to it. Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened; then there occurred one of the little skir¬ mishes which it is almost impossible to avoid, when some five and twenty women, old and young, with all their private piques and prejudices, 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 griev¬ ance that rankled in her soul, and gave her an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, 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 imita¬ tion 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, — Consequences 377 “ I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about my giving this table to any one 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 sin¬ cerely interested in the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have another table if you like.” Mrs. Chester had 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 unsuspicious eyes looking straight at her, full of surprise and trouble. Amy felt that there was something behind this, but could 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 private wishes, of course, and I will see that you have a good place elsewhere. Would n’t you like the flower-table? The little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a charming thing of it, and the flower-table is always attractive, you know.” “ Especially to gentlemen,” added May, with a look which enlightened 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 unex« pected amiability, — Little Women 37 8 “ 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 illuminations 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 sweep¬ ing her contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness. “ Now she’s mad. Oh, dear, I wish I had n’t asked you to speak, mamma,” 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 every¬ thing seemed against her: it was late, and she was tired ; every one 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, mak¬ ing a great deal of confusion in their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch would n’t stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to tumble down on her head when the hang¬ ing baskets were filled ; her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid’s cheek; 6he bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold Consequences 379 working in a draught, 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 with 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 did n’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 some¬ times,” said her mother, with the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and practising. 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 an ante-room 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 illumi¬ nated 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 scroll-work of scarlet, blue, and gold, with little spirits of good-will helping one another up and Little Women 38° 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 heart-burnings 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, hearing one side of the story, and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it. She heard May say sor¬ rowfully, — “ 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 spoilt.” “ I dare say she’d put them back if you asked her,” suggested some one. “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 Consequences 381 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 would n’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 vir¬ tue was not always its own reward. But it is, — as she presently discovered; for her spirits began to rise, and her table to blossom under her skilful 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 to Amy, as she sat behind 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 flying 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, Little Women 382 blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, but very try* ing; and the thought of being found there in the even¬ ing by her family, and 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 as¬ tonished 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 agree¬ able to every 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. Pres¬ ently 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. “ O 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 Consequences 383 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 should n’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. “ Did n’t Iflayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to.” “ I did n’t know that; he forgot, I suppose; and, as your grandpa was poorly, I did n’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 would n’t suit me at all. But we must n’t stand philan¬ dering 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.” “ Could n’t you do it now? ” asked Laurie, so sugges¬ tively 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 lovely basket, arranged in his best manner, for a centre¬ piece ; 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 1 Little Women 3 8 + 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 sprightly and gracious as possible,— coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was its 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 upon the subject o[ 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 con¬ sidered her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art-table, she glanced over it for her sister’s things, but saw no signs of them. “ Tucked away out of sight, I dare say,” thought Jo, who could forgive her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered to 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. Consequences 385 “ 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, 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 words 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 rash¬ ness in all sorts of frail trifles, and wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases. Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said something to Mrs. March in a corner, which 25 Little Women 386 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 good night, she did not “ gush ” as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look which said, “Forgive and forget.” That satisfied 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 behaved 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 work¬ ing so long, and setting 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 need n’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 Consequences 387 think, and I ’ll take lessons of you in true politeness, for you’ve learned the secret, I believe. 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 tidings 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.” “ O 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 altogether 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 is n’t fair!” cried Jo passionately. “ I’m afraid it is partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent 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 com¬ panion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may give her.’ ” “ Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! why can’t Little Women 388 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 pleasure 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 could n’t spare you, and I’m glad you are not going quite yet,” whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and all, with such a cling¬ ing 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. “ ft is n’t a mere pleasure trip to me, girls,” she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette. “ It will decide my career; for if I have any genius, I Consequences 389 shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove it.” “ Suppose you have n’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 believe 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 Rady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor draw¬ ing-teacher. “ Hum ! ” said Jo, with a sigh; “ if you wish it you ’ll have it, for your wishes are always granted — min? 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, ac¬ cepting 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 Little Women 39 ° very well till the last flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried till she could n’t cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed; then, just as the gang¬ way 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 dream¬ ing 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 dazzling on the sea. CHAPTER XXXI OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT “ London. EAREST PEOPLE,— “ Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. It’s not a fashion¬ able 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 Our Foreign Correspondent 391 bits out of my note-book, for I ’ve done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started. “ I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty misera¬ ble, but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one-was very kind to me, especially the officers. Don’t laugh, Jo; gentlemen 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 main-top 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 country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I did n’t regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it. “ At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, — Mr. Lennox, — and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed and sung, with a look at me, — 3 9 2 Little Women ‘Oh, have yon 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 . 1 Was n’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 dog-skin 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 give ’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 bou¬ quet for me, and the first thing I saw in my room was a lovely one, with ‘ Robert Lennox’s compliments,’ on the card. Was n’t that fun, girls? I like travelling. “ I never shall get to London if I don’t hurry. The trip was like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my de¬ light; with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, lat¬ ticed windows, and stout women with rosy r 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 Our Foreign Correspondent 393 rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and would n’t be astonished at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up, — ‘ Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees ! ’ Flo, darting to my win¬ dow,— ‘How sweet! We must go there some time, 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 cross¬ beam 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, are n’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 Capt. 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 was n’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. Does n’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, I though we learned afterward that it was n’t the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! Little Women 394 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 break-neck 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. “To-day 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 dowagers 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, loung¬ ing 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 is n’t according to our rules. I longed to Our Foreign Correspondent 395 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. Every one rides, — old men, stout ladies, little children, — and the young folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange rosebuds, 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 appropriate end to the happiest day of my life. “ Midnight. “It’s very late, but I can’t let my letter go in the morning 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 sur¬ prised, for I shouldn’t have known them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers; 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 theatre 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 known 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, does n’t it? “ Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine Little Women 3 9 6 lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theatres, 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.” “ Dear Girls, — “ Paris - “ In my last I told you about our London visit, — how kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, — for at Hampton I saw Raphael’s cartoons, and, at the Mu¬ seum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Rey¬ nolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Richmond 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 hearts’ con¬ tent, 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 outdone in hospitality, / 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 could n’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 Our Foreign Correspondent 397 I insists on talking English very loud, as if that 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 cultivating 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 have n’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 did n’t allow it. Then the Bois and the Champs Elysees are trh magnifique . I’ve seen the im¬ perial family several times, — the emperor an ugly, hard- looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought, — purple dre$s, green hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kisses 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 Little Women 39 8 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 in the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talk¬ ing there, when too tired with our day’s work to go out. Fred is very entertaining, 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 sketch-book, will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles. “ Adieu ; I embrace you tenderly. “ VOTRE AmIE.” “My dear Mamma,— “ Heidelberg. “ 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 enjoyed it with all my might. Get father’s old guide-books, and read about it; I have n’t words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a Our Foreign Correspondent 399 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 be¬ hind 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 fortress opposite, moon¬ light 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 did n’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. Frankfort was delightful; I saw Goethe’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 did n’t like to ask, as every one 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 is just gone. He has been so kind and jolly I Little Women 4.00 that we all got quite fond of him; I never thought of anything but a travelling friendship, till the serenade night. Since then I’ve begun to feel that the moon¬ light walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than fun. I have n’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 comfortably 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 as it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as com¬ fortable, 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 cosey all round. I would n’t marry a man I hated or de- Our Foreign Correspondent 401 spised. 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 any one else who ven¬ tures to speak to me. Yesterday, at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us, and then said some¬ thing to his friend, — a rakish-looking baron, — about * ein wonderschones Blondchen ,’ Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely, it nearly flew off his plate. He is n’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 Neckar rolling through the valley, listen¬ ing to the music of the Austrian band below, and wait¬ ing for my lover, like a real story-book girl. I had a feeling that something was going to happen, and I was 26 Little Women 402 ready for it. I did n’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 ko 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, in the night train, and only had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed 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 did n’t promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, 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 awhile, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman 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 ” Tender Troubles 403 CHAPTER XXXII TENDER TROUBLES it J O, 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 discover what it is.” “What makes you think so, mother?” “ She sits alone a good deal, and does n’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 is n’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 it long.” Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret dis¬ quietude 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,” returned her mother, with a sigh and a smile. Little Women 404 “ Can’t be helped, Marmee, so you must resign your¬ self 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 is 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 krrow 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 carpets are to be taken up, or half the family fall sick at once. Amy is distinguishing her¬ self 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 any one else. Be very kind, and don’t let her think any one watches or talks about her. If she only would get quite strong and cheerful again, I should n’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 Tender Troubl es 405 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 black¬ bird, and a voice called out,— “ All serene ! Coming in to-night.” 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 glanced appre¬ hensively at Jo; but she was scratching away at a tre¬ mendous rate, apparently engrossed in “Olympia’s Oath.” The instant Beth turned, Jo began her watch again, saw Beth’s hand go quietly to her eyes more than once, 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 dis¬ covery which she believed she had just made. “ I never dreamt of such a thing. What will mother say? I wonder if he—” there Jo stopped, and turned scarlet with a sudden thought. “ If he should n’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 mischievous-looking boy laughing at her Little Women 406 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 mis¬ chief.” 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 weather¬ cock ; so you need n’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 sus¬ picion. Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked with Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but so was everybody’s; therefore, no one thought of imagining that he cared more for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression had pre¬ vailed in the family, of late, that “ our boy” was getting fonder than ever of Jo, who, however, would n’t hear a word upon the subject, and scolded violently if any one dared to suggest it. If they had known the various ten¬ der passages of the past year, or rather attempts at ten¬ der 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 would n’t allow it, always haviag 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 hope, de- Tender Troubles 407 spair, 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, be¬ cause, 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 of ro¬ mance 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 de¬ pended on her weekly “ spin,” and he never disap¬ pointed 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 intel¬ ligible to her as Sanscrit. She also fancied, having set Little Women 408 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 de¬ lightfully 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 every one was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that she ought to dispose of herself with al) 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 icunging-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 prop¬ erty, being used as a weapon of defence, 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 pum¬ melled with it in former days when romping was allowed, Tender Troubles 409 and now frequently debarred by it from taking the seat he most coveted, next to Jo in the sofa corner. If “ the sausage,” as they 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 the 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, coast¬ ing on to 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 ap¬ peal was seldom heard, but Jo quenched “ her boy ” by turning on him with the 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 extrava¬ gances, — sending flowers and things to girls for whom you don’t care two pins,” continued Jo reprovingly. Little Women 410 “ 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 feelings must have a went!' “ Mother does n’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 com¬ pany, not to do as everybody else is 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 our¬ selves, 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 superior tone. “We don’t like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes. The pretty, modest Tender Troubles 411 girls are never talked about, except respectfully, among gentlemen. 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 con¬ flict between Laurie’s chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very natural dislike of the un¬ feminine folly of which fashionable society showed him many samples. Jo knew that “ young Laurence ” was regarded as a most eligible parti by worldly mammas, was much smiled upon by their daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb of him; so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoilt, 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 re¬ spect, 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 likewise, for a name had almost escaped her. “ That I’m not! ” acquiesced Laurie, with an expres¬ sion of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his 412 Little Women eyes, and absently wound Jo’s apron-tassel round his finger. “ Mercy on us, this will never do,” thought Jo; add¬ ing 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 had 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 bedside, 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 des¬ pairingly that Jo was frightened. “Where is it? Shall I call mother?” Beth did not answer the first question; but in the dark one hand went involuntarily to her heart, as if the Tender Troubles 413 pain were there; with the other she held Jo fast, whis¬ pering eagerly, “ 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. “ Would n’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 med¬ icine 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 alone 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. Little Women 4*4 With her eyes on her work, Jo answered soberly, “ 1 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 dis¬ pleased. “ 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 have n’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 ana wrong to say it, but — I’m afraid — Laurie is getting too fond of me.” Tender Troubles 4i5 “ 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 could n’t ex¬ press 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 could n’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 __ >» g°- Jo looked relieved, and, after a pause, said, smiling, “ How Mrs. Moffat would wonder at your want of man¬ agement, if she knew; and how she will rejoice that Annie still may hope.” Little Women 416 “ 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 some¬ thing 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 tragical. 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 love-lornity.” Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear that this “ little trial ” would be harder than the others, and that Laurie would not get over his “ love-lornity ” 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 Tender Troubles 4i7 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 adven¬ turous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and trem¬ bling 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 cheer¬ ful,— and hoped she was doing the best for all. “ One thing I leave to 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, won¬ dering why Jo looked at her so queerly. When Laurie said “ Good-by,” he whispered signifi¬ cantly, “ 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.” Little Women CHAPTER XXXIII << D JO S JOURNAL “ New York, November. EAR 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 travelling on the continent. 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, had n’t diverted my mind; for I amused myself by dropping gingerbread 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 whenever 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 spoilt, I fancy, but they tool< to me after telling them ‘ The Seven Bad Pigs; ’ anc 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. Jo’s Journal 419 “'Now, my dear, make yourself at home,’ said Mrs. K. in her motherly way; ‘ I ’m on the drive from morn¬ ing 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 my¬ self in my new nest. “ As I went downstairs, soon after, I saw something I liked. The fl ights 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, according 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 Little Women 420 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 work-basket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend. I shall keep a journal- letter, and send it once a week; so good-night, and more to-morrow.” “ 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 lunch¬ eon, the girl took them out for a walk, and I went to my needle-work, like little Mabel, ‘ with a willing mind.’ I was thanking my stars that I’d learned to make nice button-holes, when the parlor-door opened and shut, and some one began to hum, —- ‘ Kennst du das Land, ’ iike a big bumble-bee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I could n’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 Ger¬ man,— 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. Jo's Journal 421 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 hya¬ cinth bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who re¬ ceived 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 my 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, catch¬ ing 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 dictionary 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 Little Women 4-2 2 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 despairing 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 would n’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 courage, 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 them¬ selves; 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 Professor, shouting answers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf old gentleman on one side, and talking Jo’s Journal 4.23 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 shovelled in his dinner in a manner which would have horrified ‘ her ladyship.’ I did n’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 did n’t care, for a governess is* as good as a clerk, and I’ve got sense, if I have n’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, sew¬ ing, and writing in my little room, which is very cosey, 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 Kirke likewise regard him with affec Little Women 424 tion, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he tells. The young men quiz him, it seems, call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all man¬ ner of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. K. 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, culti¬ vated, and kind. She spoke to me at dinner to-day (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 is n’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: 4 This is mamma’s friend, Miss March.’ “‘Yes; and she’s jolly and we like her lots,’ added Kitty, who is an enfant terrible . “ We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and the blunt addition were rather a comi¬ cal contrast. “ ‘ Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees MarscL 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 to¬ day, 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 Jo’s Journal 425 * sock on one hand, and a darning-needle in the other; he did n’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 pathetic, 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.” “ Saturday. “ Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, who has a room full of lovely 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 en¬ joyed them. She put it as a favor, but I ’m sure Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me. I ’m as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such people don’t burden me, and I ac¬ cepted 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 seed-cakes, 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 Satur¬ day afternoon, when Franz and Emil come, does n’t she, Mr. Bhaer?’ said Minnie. Little Women 426 “ 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 witnessed. I hey played tag and soldiers, danced and sung, and when it began to grow dark they all piled on to the sofa about the Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the storks on the chimney-tops, and the little ‘ kobolds,’ who ride the snow-flakes 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 it motives of economy did n’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 every one. “ From your faithful Jo. “ P. S. On reading over my letter it strikes me as rather Bhaery; but I am always interested in odd peo¬ ple, 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 amus- Jo’s Journal 427 ing, 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 to me 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 them 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 could n’t help it, and it all came about in such a droll way that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Ivirke 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 every¬ where ; a broken meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantel-piece 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- Little Women 428 cage, one covered with ink, and a third burnt brown, having been used as a holder. “ ‘ Such a man ! ’ laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the relics in the rag-bag. ‘ 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 rough-shod. I agreed to do his washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his things and I for¬ get to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass some¬ times.’ “ ‘ 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 would n’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 learn ; 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 under¬ stand 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 look¬ ing and laughing quietly, while he made signs to 1 ina not to betray him. “ ‘ So ! ’ he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, ‘you peep at me, I peep at you, and that is not bad; but see, I am not pleasanting when I say, haf you a wish for German ? ’ Jo’s Journal 429 1 “ * 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 gladness; 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 opserve 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 the thanks for this. Come, a little lesson then and now, or no more good fairy works for me and mine.’ “ Of course I could n’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 grammatical 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 expres¬ sion 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 of 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 did n’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 with glory. “ ‘Nowwe 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.’ f< He spoke sq kindly, and opened Hans Andersen’s Little Women 43 ° 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 the inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished read¬ ing 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 did n’t understand half he read, for I could n’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 les¬ sons 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 does n’t seem tired of it yet, — which is very good of him, is n’t it? I mean to give him some¬ thing 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 could n’t like him without a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my letters. I have n’t time to write much, and that will do just as well. Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable.” Jo’s Journal 43 1 “ 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, mean¬ ing it for a surprise; so I was disappointed, for I’d had a 4 kind of a feeling ’ that you would n’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 4 ink-bib ’ was capital; and Han¬ nah’s box of hard ginger-bread 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! 44 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 Shakespeare. 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 name in it, 4 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.' Little Women 43 2 “ 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 need n’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 mantel¬ piece as an article of vertu; so it was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he did n’t forget a servant or a child in the house ; and not a soul here, from the PTench laundry-woman 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 did n’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 A Friend 433 (for they think I am very stiff and cool, most of them; and so I am to whipper-snappers) 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 theatres. 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 XXXIV A FRIEND K | THOUGH very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work 18 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: money and power, therefore, she resolved to have; not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than self. 28 Little Women 4-3 + The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth everything 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 travelling and much up-hill 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 bean-stalks 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 money¬ bags. 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 herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the “ Weekly Vol¬ cano.” 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 gentle¬ men, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them took the trouble to A Friend 435 remove on her appearance. Somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hesitated 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 pro¬ duced 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. Little Women 43 6 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 resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching pinafores vigor¬ ously ; 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 absorbed 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 business-like tone. Jo hardly knew her own MS. again, so crumpled and underscored were its pages and paragraphs; but, feel¬ ing as a tender parent 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. Dashwood’s editorial gravity relaxed into a A Friend 437 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 — ” be¬ gan 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. Dashwood, as if that point had escaped him; such trifles often 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 to it ?” in a careless tone. “None at all, if you please; she doesn’t wish her name to appear, and has no notn 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 '11 call. Good morning, sir.” Little Women 43 8 As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the graceful 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 sensational 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 characters and scenery; and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses 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 prob¬ ability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it nec¬ essary 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 sum¬ mer 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 sin¬ cerely meant to write nothing of which she should be ashamed, and quieted all pricks of conscience by antici- A Friend 439 pations 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 harrow¬ ing 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 so¬ ciety; 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 be¬ ginning to desecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman’s character. She was living in bad society; and, imaginary 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 Little Women 440 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 per¬ fection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imperfec¬ tions. 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 known 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 hand¬ some ; in no respect what is called fascinating, impos¬ ing, or brilliant; and yet he was as attractive as a genial fire, and people seemed to gather about him as natur¬ ally as about a warm hearth. He was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a stranger, yet every one 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 forgiven 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 memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs; A Friend 441 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 suggestive 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 discovered that genuine good-will towards one’s fellow- men could beautify and dignify even a stout German teacher, who shovelled 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, and, in a conversa¬ tion with Miss Norton, divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it all the better be¬ cause 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 literary society, which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her. The solitary woman Little Women 4-4 2 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 sympo¬ sium, held in honor of several celebrities. Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had worshipped with youthful enthu¬ siasm 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 rap¬ idly dispelled her romantic illusions. The great novelist vibrated between two decanters with the regularity of a pendulum; 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 out-manoeuvring her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed tea Johnsonianly and ap¬ peared 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 charm¬ ing the city like a second Orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen of the British nobility present happened to be the most ordinary man of the party. Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so com¬ pletely desillusionnee , 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 A Friend 443 philosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came am¬ bling up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess. The conversation was miles beyond Jo’s com¬ prehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel were unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unin¬ telligible 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 prin¬ ciples 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 painful, came over her, as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday. She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found him looking at her with the grimmest expres¬ sion she had ever seen him wear. He shook his head, and beckoned her to come away; but she was fas¬ cinated, just then, by the freedom of Speculative Phi¬ losophy, 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 sincere and earnest to be lightly spoken. As he glanced from Jo to several other young people, at¬ tracted 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. Little Women 444 He bore it as long as he could; but when he was ap< pealed to for an opinion, he blazed up with honest indig¬ nation, and defended religion with all the eloquence of truth, — an eloquence which made his broken English musical, and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well; but he did n’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 immortal¬ ity 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, out-talked, but not one whit convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him. She did neither; but she remembered this scene, and gave the Professor her heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out then and there, be¬ cause 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 es¬ teem, she coveted his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship; and, just when the wish was sincerest, she came near 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 does n’t look in his glass before com¬ ing 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 A Friend 445 head-gear, 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 absorbing 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 did n’t know what to make of her, and stopped at last, to ask, with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible,— “ Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your mas¬ ter’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 Pro¬ fessor 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 h # ) y im. But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes, because Mr. Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and, unfolding it, said, with an air of 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 patience with those who make this harm.” Jo glanced at the sheet, and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper Little Women 446 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 remem¬ bered 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, however, 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 newspaper 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 remembered 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 ap¬ peared 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 like to think that good young girls should see such things. They are made pleasant to some, but I would more rather give my boys gunpowder 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, scratch- A Friend 4+7 mg gathers so energetically that a row of little slits fol¬ lowed her pin. “ There is a demand for whiskey, 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 sugar-plum, 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 conscience at that minute. Then she thought consolingly to herself, “ 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 Valcano ” were printed in large type on her forehead. As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefully re-read every one of her stories. Being a little short-sighted, 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 Little Women 448 seemed to have got on the Professor’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 than 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 w r ere seen at home, or Mr. Bhaer got hold of them?” Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her stove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze. “ Yes, that’s the best place for such inflammable non¬ sense; I’d better burn the house down, I suppose, than let other people blow themselves up with my gun¬ powder,” 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 months’ 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 have n’t done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for my time,” she said, after a long medita¬ tion, adding impatiently, “ I almost wish I had n’t any conscience, it’s so inconvenient. If I didn’t care about doing right, and did n’t feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally. I can’t help wishing sometimes, that father and mother had n’t been so par¬ ticular 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 A Friend 449 round with principles 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 Hannah 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 didactic gem to several markets, but it found no pur¬ chaser; and she was inclined to agree with Mr. Dash- wood, that morals did n’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 litera¬ ture was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his particular belief. But much as she liked to write for children, 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; and Jo corked up her inkstand, and said, in a fit of very wholesome humility,—• “ I don’t know anything; I ’ll wait till I do before I try again, and, meantime, ‘ sweep mud in the street,’ if ] 2 9 Little Women 45° can’t do better; that’s honest, at least; ” which decb sion proved that her second tumble down the bean-stalk had done her some good. While these internal revolutions were going on, her external 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 ac¬ cept and profit by his reproof; but she stood the test, and he was satisfied; for, though no words passed be¬ tween them, he knew that she had given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that the second fin¬ ger 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 beside 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. Every one 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 good-by over night; and when his turn came, she said warmly,—- A Friend 45 T “ 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 involun¬ tarily 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 did n’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 Pro¬ fessor did not see it. But he did, and his own changed again from that momentary anxiety to its usual expres¬ sion, 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 homesickness, 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 Little Women 45 2 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 himself, with a sigh that was almost a groan ; then, as if reproaching himself for the longing that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two towzled 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 and 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 smil¬ ing 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 XXXV HEARTACHE W HATEVER 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 Heartache 453 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 to-morrow; 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 jews- harp.” Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think, in a sudden panic, “ Oh, deary me ! I know he ’ll say some¬ thing, and then what shall I do? ” Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, and having decided that she would n’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 would n’t do anything to make her hurt his poor little feelings. A call at Meg’s, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, still further for¬ tified 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 jews-harp, Jo ? ” cried Laurie, as soon as he was within speaking distance. “ I forgot it; ” and Jo took heart again, for that salu¬ tation could not be called lover-like. 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 Little Women 454 far-away subjects, till they turned from the road intG the little path that led homeward through the grove. Then he walked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language, and, now and then, a dreadful 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 foi both of us,” he answered, getting flushed and exciteo 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 impetuosity, 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; could n’t help it, you’ve been so good to me. I’ve tried to show it, but you would n’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 under¬ stand— ” began Jo, finding it a great deal harder than she expected. “ I know you did; but girls are so queer you never iwilis iM i ■ > , & Heartache 455 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. “/don’t. I never wanted to make you care forme 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 did n’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.” “ Yes, 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 see 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 that 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. “ O Teddy, I’m so 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 Little Women 4 5 6 people if they don’t,” cried Jo inelegantly but remorse^ fully, as she softly patted his shoulder, 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 desperate; ” 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 have n’t the least idea of loving him or anybody else.” “ But you will after a while, and then what will become of me?” Heartache 457 “ You ’ll love some one else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this trouble.” “ I ccui't love any one else; and I ’ll never forget you, Jo, never! never ! ” with a stamp to emphasize his pas¬ sionate words. “ What shall I do with him? ” sighed Jo, finding that emotions were more unmanageable 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 himself 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 con¬ ducive 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 probably 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 should n’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 it and failed, and I won’t risk our happiness by such a serious experiment. We Little Women +5 8 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 rebelliously. “ 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 you harder. I don’t believe you’ve got any heart.” “ I wish I had n’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 wheedle- some tone that had never been so dangerously whee- dlesome before, — “ Don’t disappoint us, dear ! Every one 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 resolu¬ tion 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 bare 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 Heartache 459 fine house. I should n’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 should n’t like elegant society and you would, and you’d hate my scribbling, and I could n’t get on without it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we had n’t done it, and everything would be horrid ! ” “ Anything more?” 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 any hurry to give it up for any mor¬ tal 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 tragical. “ Yes, I will live and die for him, if he 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 fire to 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 des¬ perate sort of tone, — Little Women 460 “ You ’ll be sorry some day, Jo/’ “Oh, where are you going? ” she cried, for his face frightened her. “ To the devil! ” was the consoling answer. For a minute Jo’s heart stood still, as he swung him¬ self 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 many a 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 sha’n’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 dis¬ mally over her own insensibility that the kind old gentle¬ man, though sorely disappointed, 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 Heartache 461 be forced, so he shook his head sadly, and resolved to carry his boy out of harm’s way; for Young Impetu¬ osity’s parting words to Jo disturbed him more than he would confess. When Laurie came home, dead tired, but quite com¬ posed, 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 love’s labor lost. He bore it as long as he could, then went to his piano, and began to play. The windows 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 mean¬ ing ! 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, —• Little Women 462 “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 grandfather’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 un¬ usual mildness. “You won’t care to stay at home just now, perhaps? ” “ I don ’t intend to run away from a girl. Jo can’t pre¬ vent 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 dis¬ appointed, 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 did n’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 some one ready and glad to go with you, anywhere in the world.” “ Who, sir? ” stopping to listen. Heartache 4^3 “ Myself.” Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, saying huskily, — “I’m a selfish brute; but — you know — grand¬ father — ” “ 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 till you take my place, and can be off at any time.” “But you hate travelling, 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 par¬ ticularly 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 travelling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in a chair.” Little Women 464 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 burden; I go be¬ cause 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 sud¬ denly 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 gentlemen usually do in such cases. He was moody, irritable, and pensive by turns ; lost his appe¬ tite, neglected his dress, and devoted much time to play- Heartache 465 mg tempestuously on his piano ; avoided Jo, but con¬ soled himself by staring at her from his window, with a tragical face that haunted her dreams by night, and oppressed her with a heavy sense of guilt by day. Un¬ like 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 every one rejoiced that the “ poor, dear fellow was go¬ ing 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 gayety 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, with a whisper full of motherly solic¬ itude; 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 both eloquent and pathetic. “ O 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 without another word. Ah, but it was n’t all right, and Jo did mind; for while the curly 30 Little Women 466 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 XXXVI BETH’S SECRET W HEN 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 little thinner than in the autumn; yet there was a strange, trans¬ parent 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 for a time for¬ got 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 the mountain trip, Beth had thanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far from home. Another little visit to the seashore would suit her better, and, as grandma could not be pre¬ vailed upon to leave the babies, Jo took Beth down to Beth’s Secret 467 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, pre¬ ferring to live for one another. Beth was too shy to enjoy society, and Jo too wrapped up in her to care for any one else; so they were all in all to each other, and came and went, quite unconscious of the interest they excited in those about, them, who watched with sympa¬ thetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always together, as if they felt instinctively that along separa¬ tion was not far away. They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it ; for often between ourselves and those nearqst and dearest to us there exists a reserve 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 shadow grew so plain to her, she said nothing of it to those at home, believing 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 Little Women 468 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 gathering. It came to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was slowly drifting away from 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 could n’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, and 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 is n’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, and 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 did n’t like to own it. I tried to think it was a sick fancy, and would not let it trouble any one. 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.” “ O Beth, and you did n’t tell me, did n’t let me com¬ fort and help you ! How could you shut me out, and bear it all alone?” Beth’s Secret 469 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 good-by to health, love, and life, and take up her cross so cheerfully. “Perhaps it was wrong, but I tried to do right; I was n’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 that you loved him, Beth, and I went away because I could n’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 did n’t, deary? I was afraid it was so, and imagined your poor little heart full of love-lornity 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 never could 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, nineteen is too young. Beth, I can’t let you go. 1 ’ll work and pray and fight against it. I ’ll keep you in Little Women 47 ° 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 ques¬ tions, 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 affec¬ tion, 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 to 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? ” 4 ‘If I can; but, Beth, I don’t give up yet; I’m going Beth’s Secret 47 * to believe 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 any one 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 married, as you all did. I could n’t seem to imagine myself any¬ thing 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 sun, shine on its silvery breast; Beth watched it till it vanished, and her eyes were full of sadness. A little gray-coated sand-bird came tripping over the beach, “ peeping ” softly to itself, as if enjoying the sun and sea; it came quite close to Beth, 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 Little Women 472 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 writes 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 flics, 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 at 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 mantel-piece, 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. New Impressions 473 CHAPTER XXXVII NEW IMPRESSIONS A T three o’clock in the afternoon, all the fashion¬ able world at Nice may be seen on the Prom¬ enade 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 brilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Gormans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticising the latest celebrity who has arrived, — Ristori or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Oueen 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 some¬ what absent expression of countenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the independent air of an American, — a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange-flowers in Little Women 4-74 their button-holes, 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, or lady in blue. Presently he strolled out of the prome¬ nade, and stood a moment at the crossing, as if unde¬ cided 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 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. “ O 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 all 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 to-night.” “ What happens then, a ball ?” “ A Christmas party at our 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.” New Impressions 475 “ 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 in¬ finite satisfaction. “ I ’m going to the banker’s first, for letters, and then to Castle Hill; the view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. 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 get on capitally.” “ That’s a sociable arrangement,” said Amy, missing something in Laurie’s manner, though she could n’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 some one is glad to see me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, is n’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 Little Women 476 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 could n’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-voas? ” 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 complh ment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he promenaded round her on fes¬ tival occasions, and told her she was “ altogether jolly,” with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the head. She did n’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’d 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 fgg|ipfi 9 » New Impressions 477 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 ab¬ sence had wrought. He found nothing to perplex or dis¬ appoint, much to admire and approve; for, overlooking a few little affectations of speech and manner, she was as Little Women 478 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 conversa¬ tion, 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 peacocks, 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 on to 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 is 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 New Impressions 479 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 hand¬ some 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 envel¬ oped 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 con¬ fessed 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 our 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 Little Women 480 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 clus¬ ters of azalea, and framed the white shoulders in deli¬ cate green vines. Remembering the painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfac¬ tion, and chasseed down the room, admiring her aristo¬ cratic 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, sur¬ veying 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 New Impressions 48 1 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 satisfaction 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 debonnaire , and the thought of entering the ball-room 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, re¬ membering that you did n’t like what Hannah calls a * sot-bookay,”’ said Laurie, handing her a delicate nose¬ gay, 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 to-day, though not as pretty as this, I’m afraid.” “ Thank you ; it is n’t what it should be, but you have improved it,” he added, as she snapped the silver brace¬ let 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 3 * Little Women 482 Continent. The hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and, having no preju¬ dice against titles, secured a few to add lustre 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, de¬ voted himself to the ladies, who pronounced him “ a fascinating dear,” and a German Serene Something, having come for the supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Roths¬ child’s private secretary, a large-nosed Jew, in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his mas¬ ter’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; like¬ wise the usual set of travelling young gentlemen, who disported themselves gayly, 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 ball-room, 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 vir¬ tue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute New Impressions 483 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 impa¬ tiently; 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 divinely; 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, Divinely tall, and most divinely 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 cotillon, feeling all the while as if she could dance the Tarantula with a 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 repre¬ hensible want of forethought was properly punished, fo: she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning Little Women 484 to relent if he then gave any signs of penitence. She showed him her ball-book with demure satisfaction when he strolled, instead of rushing, up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka-redowa; but his polite re¬ grets did n’t impose upon her, and when she gallopaded 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 every one, 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 could n’t admired their neighbors with un¬ common warmth. The air was dark with Davises, and many Joneses gambolled like a flock of young giraffes. The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor, with a dashing Frenchwoman, who carpeted 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 garments by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor’s friend New Impressions 485 covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. The boy¬ ish 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 shone; his coat-tails 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 Pick¬ wick without glasses. Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm, 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 inde- fatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally re¬ linquished 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- m£me,’ ” 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 q sober simplicity that made him laugh outright. Little Women 486 “ 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, is n 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 mistake, 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 bolt 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 shynes* now, and felt an irresistible desire to trample on him, a', girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of crea¬ tion 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, break¬ ing down, and helping himself out of his quandary with the new word. Amy was gratified, but, of course, did n’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, On the Shelf 487 and T am used to making th£ most of my poor little things.” Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn’t in good taste; but Laurie liked her the 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, nor why he filled up her book with his own name, and de¬ voted 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 XXXVIII ON THE SHELF I N France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when “ Vive la liberte ” becomes their motto. In America, as every one knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and en¬ joy 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 nun¬ nery, 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 because I ’m married.” Not being a belie or even a fashionable lady, Meg did Little Women 488 not experience this affliction till her babies were a yeat 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 in¬ stinct 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 re¬ stored. But three months passed, and there was no return of repose ; Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies ab¬ sorbed 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 captive mamma; if he came gayly 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 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 noise¬ lessly 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 On the Shelf 4.89 Daisy’s fall affected the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in domestic news. The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of his wife; home was merely a nursery, and the perpetual “ 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 comfort 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 success¬ fully. The parlor was always bright and attractive, the chess-board 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 work basket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite in his old dressing gown, com¬ fortably 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 watch- Little Women 49 ° ; ng 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 get¬ ting old and ugly; John does n’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 com¬ fort, and some day John will see what I’ve gladly sacri¬ ficed 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, however, 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 any one except you, mother; but I really do need advice, for, if John goes on so 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 is n’t fair that I should have the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even the best of them.” On the Shelf 49 1 “ 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 lovingly together, feeling that the tie of mother¬ hood 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 children. A very natural and forgiv¬ able 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 would n’t insult him by such an idea. Little Women 492 He does n’t see that I want him, and I don’t know how te 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 is n’t home without you, and you are always in the nursery.” “ Ought n’t I to be there ? ” “Not all the time; too much confinement makes you nervous, and then you are unfitted for everything. Be¬ sides, you owe something to John as well as to the babies ; don’t neglect husband 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 his 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 did n’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 experiment alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jo was too much for me. I nearly spoilt her by indulgence. You were poorly, and I worried about you till I fell sick myself. Then father came to the rescue, quietly managed every¬ thing, and made himself so helpful that I saw my mistake, and never have been able to get on without him since. That is the secret of our home happiness: 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 On the Shelf 493 husband and children what you have been to yours. Show me how; I’ll do anything you say.” “You always were 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 cap¬ ital 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 does n’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 any¬ thing.” “ He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather for¬ lorn, 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 tender¬ ness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it; and no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the Little Women 494 first years of the little lives given 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 preachment, 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 dis¬ cipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a trifle of his sire’s firmness of character, — we won’t call it obstinacy, — and when he made up his little mind 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 conquer 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, On the Shelf 495 Demi’s most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he decided to go on a rampage; so poor Meg sung and rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-provoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the big eyes would n’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 countenance. “ 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 tiptoeing 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 to-night. Do you expect company?” “ Only you, dear.” “ Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?” “ No; I ’m tired of being a 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 to you, my dear,” said old-fash¬ ioned John. Little Women 496 “ 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 impatiently,— “ Opy doy ; me’s tummin ! ” “It’s,that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs, gettinghis death a-cold pattering over that canvas,” said Meg, answering the call. “ Mornin’ now,” announced Demi, in a joyful tone, as he entered, with his long night-gown gracefully fes¬ tooned over his arm, and every curl bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eying the “ cakies ” with loving glances. “ No, it is n’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 short-sighted woman On the Shelf 497 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 suc¬ cessful. Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again, and ex¬ posed the maternal delinquencies by boldly demand¬ ing,— “ 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 to go 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 audacity. “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 delivered 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 de- 3 2 Little Women 498 fied 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 recol¬ lections of his tender bondwoman returned to the cap¬ tive 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, reproach¬ ing herself 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 harshness.” “ He’s my child, and I won’t have his temper spoilt by indulgence. Go down, my dear, and leave the boy to me.” On the Shelf 499 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 wiggled in his anguish of mind. “ Poor little man, he’s worn out with sleep and cry¬ ing. 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 was n’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 hic¬ cough, “ Me’s dood, now.” Sitting on the stairs, outside, Meg wondered at the long silence which followed the uproar; and, after im¬ agining all sorts of impossible accidents, she slipped into the room, to set her fears at rest. Demi lay fast asleep ; not in his usual spread-eagle 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 a wiser baby. So held, John had waited with 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 Little Women 5 °° 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 request 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 trans¬ parent little person, she could n’t keep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clew 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 intelligent ques¬ tions, 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 mathematics, and that 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 diplo¬ matic 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 breakfast- cap? ” “ My dear man, it’s a bonnet! My very best go-to* concert-and-theatre bonnet.” On the Shelf 5 OJ “ I beg your pardon; it was so small, I naturally mis¬ took it for one of the fly-away things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on? ” “ These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so; ” and Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet, and regarding him with an air of calm satisfac¬ tion 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, judging from the changes which gradually took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all Little Women 5°2 Paradise by any means, but every one was better for the division of labor system ; the children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, steadfast 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 conver¬ sation with her sensible husband. Home grew home¬ like again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The Scotts came to the Brookes’ now, and every one found the little house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even gay Sallie Moffat 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 loneliness; for there were no riotous, sunny-faced babies there, and Ned lived in a world of his 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 married life taught them how to use it, unlock¬ ing the treasuries of real home-love and mutual helpful¬ ness, 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 7 , 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 a wise wife and mother. Lazy Laurence 5°3 CHAPTER XXXIX LAZY LAURENCE L AURIE went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month. He was tired of wan¬ dering about alone, and Amy’s familiar pres¬ ence seemed to give a home-like 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 adora¬ tion 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 repre¬ sentative 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 sunk in hers, and each felt the truth before a word was spoken. Amy tried to please, and succeeded, for she was grate¬ ful for the many pleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanly women know how to lend an indescribable 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 because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to be generous, Little Women 5 °+ 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 preferred 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 sketch-book. 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 Bap¬ tiste nothing to do but fold his arms and fall asleep on his perch. The two never quarrelled, — Amy was too well-bred, and just now Laurie was too lazy; so, in a minute he peeped under her hat-brim with an inquiring air; she answered with a smile, and they went on together in the most amicable manner. Lazy Laurence 505 It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient monastery, whence the solemn chant¬ ing 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 pan¬ niers 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 perpetual 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. Little Women 5° 6 “ This is a regular honeymoon Paradise, is n’t it ? Did you ever see such roses ? ” asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering 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 button-hole, 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. Lazy Laurence 507 “ 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 dread¬ ful ! ” 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 excellently; ” and Laurie composed him¬ self for a lounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade. Amy shook her head, and opened her sketch-book 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 pos¬ ture, then put yourself in also, and call it ‘ Dolce fa? ?iiente .’ ” “ Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like. I intend to work hard,” said Amy, in her most energetic tone. Little Women 5°8 “ What delightful enthusiasm ! ” and he leaned against a tall urn with an air of entire satisfaction. “What would Jo say if she saw you now?” asked Amy impatiently, 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 before 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 spoilt 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 begun to worry her lately. It also touched her, and she Lazy Laurence 509 showed that it did, by the cordial tone in which she said, — “ I ’m glad of that! I did n’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 charm¬ ing 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.” “ Have n’t one to bless myself with. I thought per¬ haps 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 impos¬ sible 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 de¬ cided air. “ Rome took all the vanity out of me; for after seeing the wonders there, I felt too insig¬ nificant to live, and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair.” “ Why should you, with so much energy and talent? M “ That’s just why, — because talent is n’t genius, and Little Women 5 10 no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing. 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 ambi¬ tion 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 conscious 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 opinion 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 prim 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.” Lazy Laurence 5 11 “ But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down upon 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 ex¬ plain. His look and silence, as well as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled Amy, and made her resolve to deliver her lecture without 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 enjoyed having some one to tease, after his long absti* nence from his favorite pastime. “You’d be angry in five minutes.” Little Women 5 12 “ I ’m never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a Are: 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 affectation, and a good stirring up would prove *a 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 Laurence.’ 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 coquettish tone, he would have laughed, and rather liked it; but the grave, almost sad, accent of 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.” Lazy Laurence 513 “Am / selfish?” The question slipped out involun¬ tarily 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 have been 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.” “ Is n’t a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-years 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 say¬ ing 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 might and 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 indifference. “ I supposed you’d take it so. You men tell us we are angels, and say we can make you what we will; but 33 Little Women 5*4 the instant we honestly try to do you good, you laugh at us, and won’t listen, which proves how much your flat¬ tery 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 Lazy Laurence 515 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 beauti¬ fully 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 were n’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 could n’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 blun¬ dering and scolding, when I should have been more kind and patient than ever. I never did like that Miss Ran¬ dal, 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 any one 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 would n’t be kind to you ? Why, I was sure she loved you dearly.”