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Little    Women 


MEG,  JO,  BETH  AND  AMY 


PART     SECOND 


BY    LOUISA    M.    ALCOTT 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS 

1869 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    BY  REGAN  AND  LEADBEATER, 

55  Water  Street,  Boston. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE. 

I.    Gossip 5 

II.    The  First  Wedding 21 

III.  Artistic  Attempts 30 

IV.  Literary  Lessons 44 

V.    Domestic  Experiences 55 

VI.     Calls 75 

VII.  Consequences    .......  93 

VIII.  Our  Foreign  Correspondent        .        .        .  109 

IX.    Tender  Troubles 123 

X.    Jo's  Journal 139 

XI.    A  Friend 156 

^J    XII.     Heartache 177 

*«  XIII.     Beth's  Secret 192 

*N    XIV.    New  Impressions 200 

w      XV.    On  the  Shelf 216 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE. 

XVI.    Lazy  Laurence 233 

XVII.  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow        .        .        .252 

XVIII.  Learning  to  Forget      .        .        .        .    "  .    260 

XIX.    All  Alone 277 

XX.     Surprises 288 

XXI.    My  Lord  and  Lady 310 

XXII.    Daisy  and  Demi 317 

XXIII.  Under  the  Umbrella 326 

XXIV.  Harvest  Time 345 


CHAPTER  I. 


GOSSIP. 


IN  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  character,  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  gave  them  the  honey  into  which  fifty  years  of  hard 
experience  had  distilled  no  bitter  drop.  Earnest 
young  men  found  the  gray-headed  scholar  as  earnest 
and  as  young  at  heart  as  they  ;  thoughtful  or  troubled 
women  instinctively  brought  their  doubts  and  sorrows 
to   him,   sure  of  finding  the  gentlest  sympathy,   the 

(5) 


6  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

wisest  counsel ;  sinners  told  their  sins  to  the  pure- 
hearted  old  man,  and  were  both  rebuked  and  saved ; 
gifted  men  found  a  companion  in  him ;  ambitious 
men  caught  glimpses  of  nobler  ambitions  than  their 
own  ;  and  even  worldlings  confessed  that  his  beliefs 
were  beautiful  and  true,  although  "they  wouldn't 
pay." 

To  outsiders,  the  five  energetic  women  seemed  to 
rule  the  house,  and  so  they  did  in  many  things ;  but 
the  quiet  man  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,  decidedly  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,  for 
he  cheerfully  risked  all  he  had ;  and  life  and  love  are 
very  precious  when  both  are  in  full  bloom.  Perfectly 
resigned  to  his  discharge,  he  devoted  himself  to  get- 


GOSSIP.  *j 

ting  well,  preparing  for  business,  and  earning  a  home 
for  Meg.  With  the  good  sense  and  sturdy  indepen- 
dence that  characterized  him,  he  refused  Mr.  Lau- 
rence's more  generous  offers,  and  accepted  the  place 
of  under  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 
housewifery  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  couldn'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  vanished  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,  de- 
voted herself  to  literature  and  Beth,  who  remained 
delicate   long  after  the  fever  was  a  thing  of  the  past. 


8  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

Not  an  invalid  exactly,  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  ro- 
mances diligently.  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  manuscript,  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  univer- 
sal favorite,  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 


GOSSIP. 


9 


once  came  perilously  near  suspension  and  expulsion. 
But  as  high  -spirits  and  the  love  of  fun  were  the 
causes  of  these  pranks,  he  always  managed  to  save 
himself  by  frank  confession,  honorable  atonement,  or 
the  irresistible  power  of  persuasion  which  he  pos- 
sessed in  perfection.  In  fact,  he  rather  prided  him- 
self 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  ex- 
ploits 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  be- 
came 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  attitudes,  phrases,  and  feats 
which  seemed  more  natural  to  her  than  the  decorums 
prescribed  for  young  ladies.  They  all  liked  Jo  im- 
mensely, but  never  fell  in  love  with  her,  though  very 
few  escaped  without  paying  the  tribute  of  a  sentimen- 
tal 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 


IO  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

had  christened  it,  saying  it  was  highly  appropriate 
to  the  gentle  lovers,  who  "  went  on  together  like  a 
pair  of  turtle-doves,  with  first  a  bill  and  then  a  coo." 
It  was  a  tiny  house,  with  a  little  garden  behind,  and 
a  lawn  about  as  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  represented  by  a  weather-beaten 
urn,  very  like  a  dilapidated  slop-bowl ;  the  shrub- 
bery consisted  of  several  young  larches,  who  looked 
undecided  whether  to  live  or  die,  and  the  profusion 
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  satisfac- 
tory. There  were  no  marble-topped  tables,  long  mir- 
rors, or  lace  curtains  in  the  little  parlor,  but  simple 
furniture,  plenty  of  books,  a  fine  picture  %r  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  Brooke  put  up  the  bracket 


GOSSIP. 


II 


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  cosy  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 
express  service  of  the  bridal  china. 

People  who  hire  all  these  things  done  for  them, 
never  know  what  they  lose ;  for  the  homeliest  tasks 
get  beautified  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  mis- 
takes 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  ingenious  article  for 
the  young  housekeeper.  Now  a  bag  of  remarkable 
clothes-pins ;  next  a  wonderful  nutmeg  grater,  which 


12  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  ;  infal- 
lible 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 
possessed  with  a  mania  for  patronizing  Yankee  in- 
genuity, and  seeing  his  friends  fitly  furnished  forth. 
So  each  week  beheld  some  fresh  absurdity. 

Everything  was  done  at  last,  even  to  Amy's  ar- 
ranging 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  Mercury 
looked  best  on  the  whatnot  or  the  mantle-piece. 

"  Mother  and  I  have  talked  that  over,  and  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  try  her  way  first.    There  will  be 


GOSSIP. 


13 


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  wouldn'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  a  last  polish  to  the  door-handles. 

"  Sallie  isn'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  themselves  nothing  to  do  but  dress, 
give  orders,  and  gossip.  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  didn'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  l  mess,'  but  to  leajrn  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, 


H 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


for  the  mistress  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,  listen- 
ing respectfully  to  the  little  lecture ;  for  the  best  of 
women  will  hold  forth  upon  the  all-absorbing  subject 
of  housekeeping.  "  Do  you  know  I  like  this  room 
best  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  mar- 
ried "that  Brooke"  she  shouldn't  have  a  cent  of  her 
money,  Aunt  March  was  rather  in  a  quandary,  when 
time  had  appeased  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  Jier  present. 
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-fashioned 
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 


GOSSIP. 


15 


damask  table-cloths  with  a  truly  feminine  appreciation 
of  their  fineness. 

"  I  haven't  a  single  finger  bowl,  but  this  is  a  c  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. 

"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 
pinafore,  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?"  in- 
quired Jo,  who  persisted  in  feeling  an  interest  in 
manly  sports,  despite  her  nineteen  years. 


16  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"  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 
pining  away?"  and  Laurie  gave  his  broad  chest  a 
sounding  slap,  and  heaved  a  melodramatic  sigh. 

"What's  the  last  joke?  Undo  the  bundle  and  see, 
Meg,"  said  Beth,  eyeing  the  knobby  parcel  with  curi- 
osity. 

"  It's  a  useful  thing  to  have  in  the  house  in  case  of 
fire  or  thieves,"  observed  Laurie,  as  a  small  watch- 
man'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  win- 
dow, 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 
Hannah  for  saving  your  wedding-cake  from  destruc- 
tion. I  saw  it  going  into  your  house  as  I  came  by, 
and  if  she  hadn't  defended  it  manfully  I'd  have  had  a 
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  gentle- 
man, whose  head  was  about  level  with  the  little  chan- 
delier. "  I  suppose  it  would  be  profanation  to  eat 
anything  in  this  bran-new  bower,  so,  as  I'm  tremen- 


GOSSIP. 


'7 


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 
picturesque  hat  over  her  picturesque  curls,  and  enjoy- 
ing 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  aversion  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." 

"  And  I  implore  you  not  to  look  at  me  during  the 
ceremony ;  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  old  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." 


18  LITTLE  V/OMEN. 

"  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  '  All  right,'  if  it  wasn'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,  ap- 
peased 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  '  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 
wouldn'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 
having  seventeen  waistcoats,  endless  neckties,  and  a 
new  hat  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  hideous  ;  to  make  your  head  look  like  a  scrub- 
bing brush,  wear  a  strait-jacket,  orange  gloves,  and 
clumping,  square-toed  boots.  If  it  was  cheap  ugli- 
ness, I'd  say  nothing ;  but  it  costs  as  much  as  the 
other,  and  I  don't  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  it." 


GOSSIP. 


l9 


Laurie  threw  back  his  head,  and  laughed  so  heart- 
ily 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  mal- 
treated 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 
myself  when  I  come  home.  I'll  get  myself  up  re- 
gardless 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 
suspicious  manner.  He'd  better  nip  his  little  passion 
in  the  bud,  hadn't  he?"  added  Laurie,  in  a  confiden- 
tial, elder-brotherly  tone,  after  a  minute's  silence. 

"  Of  course  he  had  ;  we  don't  want  any  more  mar- 
rying 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 
coming  to,  ma'am.     You  are  a  mere  infant,  but  you'll 


20  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

go  next,  Jo,  and  we'll  be  left  lamenting,"  said  Laurie, 
shaking  his  head  over  the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

"  Me  !  don't  be  alarmed  ;  I'm  not  one  of  the  agree- 
able 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 
look  at  it  by  accident,  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  raspy,  so  lef  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." 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     FIRST      WEDDING. 

THE  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  win- 
dows, 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  mistress  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  wed- 
ding, 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, 

(21) 


22  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

and  the  only  ornaments  she  wore  were  the  lilies  of 
the  valley,  which  "  her  John "  liked  best  of  all  the 
flowers  that  grew. 

"  You  do  look  just  like  our  own  dear  Meg,  only  so 
very  sweet  and  lovely,  that  I  should  hug  you  if  it 
wouldn'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  wherever 
she  went,  conscious  that  in  spite  of  the  smiles  on  the 
motherly  face,  there  was  a  secret  sorrow  hidden  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  been  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 ;  only  gentle  words  fall  from  her  sharp  tongue 
to-day. 


THE  FIRST  WEDDING. 


23 


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  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  —  unconscious,  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  under- 
lip.  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,  silvery  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 ; 
everything  was  to  be  as  natural  and  homelike  as  pos- 
sible ;  so  when  Aunt  March  arrived,  she  was  scan- 
dalized to  see  the  bride  come  running  to  welcome  and 
lead  her  in,  to  find  the  bridegroom  fastening  up  a 


H 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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." 

"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  wed- 
ding just  as  I  like  it.  John,  dear,  here's  your  ham- 
mer," and  away  went  Meg  to  help  "  that  man  "  in  his 
highly  improper  employment. 

Mr.  Brooke  didn'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,  accompa- 
nied by  the  indecorous  exclamation,  "Jupiter  Am- 
nion !  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 


THE  FIRST  WEDDING. 


25 


dragon,  which  warning  caused  him  to  haunt  the  old 
lady  with  a  devotion  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  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  con- 
sciousness that  Laurie  was  staring  fixedly  at  her,  with 
a  comical  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  wasn'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 
themselves  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    some- 


26  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

thing  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,  how- 
ever, till  Laurie,  who  insisted  on  serving  the  bride, 
appeared  before  her  with  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  us  his  best, 
and  Aunt  March  actually  sent  some,  but  father  put 
away  a  little  for  Beth,  and  despatched  the  rest  to  the 
Soldier's  Home.  You  know  he  thinks  that  wine 
should  only  be  used  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, 


THE  FIRST  WEDDING. 


27 


and  almost  as  harmless,  I  don't  care  for  it ;  but  when 
a  pretty  girl  offers  it,  one  don'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,  feeljng  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  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  i  Long  life  to  your  resolution,'  Ted- 
dy," 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  loy- 
ally 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  sun- 
shine 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 


28  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

round  the  new-made  husband  and  wife,  as  the  Ger- 
mans do,  while  we  bachelors  and  spinsters  prance  in 
couples  outside !  "  cried  Laurie,  galloping  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  chasseed  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  bridal  pair,  while  the  young 
folks  pervaded  the  garden,  like  butterflies  on  a  mid- 
summer 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  wasn't  a  bit 
of  style  about  it,"  observed  Mrs.  Moffat  to  her  hus- 
band, 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.  Lau- 
rence, settling  himself  in  his  easy-chair  to  rest,  after 
the  excitement  of  the  morning. 

"  I'll  do  my  best  to  gratify  you,  sir,"   was  Laurie's 


THE  FIRST  WEDDING. 


29 


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,  looking  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,  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    III. 

ARTISTIC     ATTEMPTS. 

IT  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  per- 
vaded 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  Bacchus  on  the  head  of  a  beer  barrel ;  a  chanting 
cherub  adorned  the  cover  of  the  sugar  bucket,  and 
attempts  to  portray  "  Garrick  buying  gloves  of  the 
grisette,"  supplied  kindlings  for  some  time. 

From  fire  to  oil  was  a  natural  transition  for  burnt 
fingers,  and  Amy  fell  to  painting  with  undiminished 
ardor.     An  artist  friend  fitted  her  out  with  his  cast-off 

(30) 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS.  31 

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  agricul- 
tural 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 
ship  building  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,  did  not  suggest  Murillo  ;  oily  brown  shadows 
of  faces,  with  a  lurid  streak  in  the  wrong  place, 
meant  Rembrandt ;  buxom  ladies  and  dropsical  in- 
fants, Rubens ;  and  Turner  appeared  in  tempests  of 
blue  thunder,  orange  lightning,  brown  rain,  and  pur- 
ple clouds,  with  a  tomato-colored  splash  in  the  mid- 
dle, 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  tum- 
bled off  closet  shelves  on  to  people's  heads.  Children 
were  enticed  in  as  models,  till  their  incoherent  ac- 
counts of  her  mysterious  doings  caused  Miss  Amy  to 
be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  young  ogress.  Her 
efforts  in  this  line,  however,  were  brought  to  an  ab- 
rupt close  by  an  untoward  accident,  which  quenched 
her  ardor.     Other  models  failing  her  for  a  time,  she 


32 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


undertook  to  cast  her  own  pretty  foot,  and  the  fam- 
ily 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  diffi- 
culty 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  sacri- 
ficed her  complexion  floating  on  the  river  in  the  mid- 
summer 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 
attribute,  for  she  persevered  in  spite  or  all  obstacles, 
failures,  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  accomplished  woman,  even  if  she  never  became 
a  great  artist.    Here  she  succeeded  better ;  for  she  was 


AR  TIS  TIC  A  TTEMPTS. 


33^ 


one  of  those  happily  created  beings  who  please  with- 
out 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  instinctive  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  what  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  accom- 
plishments, 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  opportunity  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  caTinot  buy  refine- 
ment 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, 
3 


34 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


in  whose  eyes  the  stately  young  lady  still  remained 
"  the  baby." 

"  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  mater- 
nal 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." 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS.  35 

"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." 

"  Bless  me,  child,  you  will  have  to  charter  an  omni- 
bus to  carry  them  about." 

u  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  cir- 
cumstances?" 

"  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  chil- 
dren 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, 


36  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

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. 

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  dorit  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  inde- 
pendence, 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 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS. 


37 


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  independence  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  a  day  to  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  help 
her  sister  through  what  she  regarded  as  "  a  nonsensical 
business." 

The  invitations  were  sent,  most  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  anywheres."  This  hitch  in  the  main-spring 
of  the  domestic  machinery  had  a  bad  effect  upon  the 
whole  concern ;  but  Amy's  motto  was  "  Nil  desfer- 
andum"  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  didn't  turn  out  well ;  the 
chicken  was  tough,  the  tongue  too  salt,  and  the  choco- 
late wouldn'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  alarmingly  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,  acci- 
dents^, and  mistakes  were  uncommonly  numerous, 
serious,  and  trying. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  mother  I  never  should  have 
got  through,"  as  Amy  declared  afterward,  and  grate- 


38 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


fully  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  aggra- 
vated Jo  and  Hannah  to  the  last  degree.  On  Monday 
morning  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  didn'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  their  beds  and  through  their  breakfasts, 
that  the  house  might  be  got  in  order.  The  parlor 
struck  her  as  looking  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  ar- 
tistic 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  good,  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  everything  would  allow,  and,  as  she  wearily 
dressed,  Amy  cheered  herself  with  anticipations  of  the 
happy  moment  when,  lunch  safely  over,  she  should 
drive  awav  with  her  friends  for  an  afternoon  of  artistic 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS. 


39 


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 
certainly  come,  so  we  must  fly  round  and  be  ready  for 
them,"  said  Amy,  as  the  sun  woke  her  next  morning. 
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. 

a  I  can't  get  any  lobsters,  so  you  will  have  to  do 
without  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 


4o 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


would  soothe  ber  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  mone}^  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  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  forgot  her  dinner  ! "  cried  the  uncon- 
scious youth,  poking  the  scarlet  monster  into  its  place 
with  his  cane,  and  preparing  to  hand  out  the  basket 
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,  isn't  it?  "  said  Tudor,  with  great  presence  of 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS. 


41 


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  remin- 
iscences, and  curiosity  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  shan't  see  them ;  that's  a  comfort,"  thought 
Amy,  as  Tudor  bowed  and  departed. 

She  did  not  mention  this  meeting  at  home  (though 
she  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  yes- 
terday's failure  by  a  grand  success  to-day ;  so  she 
ordered  the  "  cheiiry-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  in- 
describable expression,  for,  looking  quite  lost  in  the 
big  carriage,  sat  Amy  and  one  young  lady. 


42 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  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  remod- 
elled lunch  being  gaily  partaken  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 
composed  as  ever,  she  observed  that  every  vestige  of 
the  unfortunate  fete  had  disappeared,  except  a  sus- 
picious 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 ! 


ARTISTIC  ATTEMPTS. 


43 


"  It's  a  pity  Laurie  isn't  here  to  help  us,"  began  Jo, 
as  they  sat  down  to  ice-cream  and  salad  for  the  fourth 
time  in  two  days. 

A  warning  look  from  her  mother  checked  any  fur- 
ther 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  nutshell,  and  mother  wait- 
ing in  state  to  receive  the  throng,"  sighed  Jo,  quite 
spent  with  laughter. 

"I'm  very  sorry  you  were  disappointed,  dear,  but 
we  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  IV. 


LITERARY     LESSONS 


FORTUNE  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  pinafore  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  inquiring  eyes  of  her  family,  who, 
during  these  periods,  kept  their  distance,  merely  pop- 
ping in  their  heads  semi-occasionally,  to  ask,  with 
interest,  "Does  genius  burn,  Jo?"  They  did  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  forehead,  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 
(44) 


■i, 


JO    IN    A    VORTEX. 

Every  few  weeks  she  would  shut  herself  up  in  her  room,  put  on  her  scribbling  suit,  an-1 

"  fall  into  a  vortex,"  as  she  expressed  it.  —  Page  44. 


LITERART  LESSONS. 


45 


bow  was  seen  gaily  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,  un- 
conscious 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  an}7  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  lecture,  and  in  return  for  her  virtue  was  rewarded 
with  a  new  idea.  It  was  a  People's  Course,  —  the 
lecture  on  the  Pyramids,  —  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  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  bonnets  to  match,  discussing  Woman's 
Rights  and  making  tatting.     Beyond   sat   a  pair   of 


46  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

humble  lovers  artlessly  holding  each  other  by  the 
hand,  a  sombre  spinster  eating  peppermints  out  of  a 
paper  bag,  and  an  old  gentleman  taking  his  prepara- 
tory nap  behind  a  yellow  bandanna.  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 
concatenation  of  circumstances  needed  the  melo- 
dramatic illustration  of  an  Indian  in  full  war  costume, 
tumbling  over  a  precipice  with  a  wolf  at  his  throat, 
while  two  infuriated  young  gentlemen,  with  unnatu- 
rally 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  out- 
grown her  liking  for  lads,  and  soon  found  herself 
involved  in  the  usual  labyrinth  of  love,  mystery,  and 
murder,  —  for  the  story  belonged  to  that  class  of  light 
literature  in  which  the  passions  have  a  holiday,  and 
when  the  author's  invention  fails,  a  grand  catastrophe 
clears  the  stage  of  one-half  the  dramatis  fiersonce, 
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  guess  you  and  I  could  do  most  as  well  as  that 
if  we  tried,"  returned  Jo,  amused  at  his  admiration 
of  the  trash. 

"  I  should  think  I  was  a  pretty  lucky  chap  if  I  could. 
She  makes  a  good  living  out  of  such  stories,  they  say ; " 


LITER  ART  LESSONS.  47 

and  he  pointed  to  the  name  of  Mrs.  S.  L.  A.  N.  G. 
Northbury,  under  the  title  of  the  tale. 

^'Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Jo,  with  sudden  in- 
terest. 

"  No  ;  but  I  read  all  her  pieces,  and  I  know  a  fellow 
that  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  agitated  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  Professor  Sands  was  prosing  away  about 
Belzoni,  Cheops,  scarabei,  and  hieroglyphics,  she  was 
covertly  taking  down  the  address  of  the  paper,  and 
boldly  resolving  to  try  for  the  hundred  dollar  prize 
offered  in  its  columns  for  a  sensational  story.  By  the 
time  the  lecture  ended,  and  the  audience  awoke,  she 
had  built  up  a  splendid  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  be- 
fore, 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 


48  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

of  desperation  and  despair  as  her  limited  acquaint- 
ance with  those  uncomfortable  emotions  enabled  her 
to  make  it,  and,  having  located  it  in  Lisbon,  she 
wound  up  with  an  earthquake,  as  a  striking  and  ap- 
propriate denouement.  The  manuscript  was  privately- 
despatched,  accompanied  by  a  note,  modestly  saying 
that  if  the  tale  didn'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  manuscript  again,  when  a  letter  arrived  which 
almost  took  her  breath  away ;  for,  on  opening  it,  a 
check  for  a  hundred  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 


LITER AR  T  LESS  ONS.  49 

tragedy  quite  thrilling,  he  shook  his  head,  and  said  in 
his  unworldly  way, — 

"  You  can  do  better  than  this,  Jo.  Aim  at  the  high- 
est, and  never  mind  the  money." 

"/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  sea-side  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  sea-side  they  went,  after  much  discussion  ;  and 
though  Beth  didn'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 
4 


50  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  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  knowledge  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  dis- 
posed of  it,  on  condition  that  she  would  cut  it  down 
one-third,  and  omit  all  the  parts  which  she  partic- 
ularly 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  convenient ;  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  wouked  out. 
Let  it  wait  and  ripen,"  was  her  father's  advice ;  and 
he  practised  as  he  preached,  having  waited  patiently 


LITER AR  T  LESS  ONS.  5 1 

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.  "  Criti- 
cism 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 ; 
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 
remarkable  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  philo- 
sophical 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 


52 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


1  philosophical  and  metaphysical,'  it  isn'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  bet- 
ter for  me.     Now,  Beth,  what  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 
unconscious  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  and  a  wistful 
look  in  the  eyes  that  never  lost  their  child-like  candor, 
which  chilled  Jo's  heart,  for  a  minute,  with  a  fore- 
boding 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- 
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 
remain,  though  she  had  her  doubts  about  it,  Her 
mother  thought  that  there  was  a  trifle  too  much  de- 
scription ;  out,  therefore,  it  nearly  all  came,  and  with 
it  many  necessary  links  in  the  story.  Meg  admired 
the  tragedy ;  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 
dollars  for  it ;  likewise  plenty  of  praise  and.  blame, 


LITERARY  LESSONS.  53 

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  have  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,  spiritualistic  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  can  be 
right.  Another  says,  '  It's  one  of  the  best  American 
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.'  -'Tisn't ! l  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  horridly  mis- 
judged." 

Her  family  and  friends  administered  comfort  and 
commendation  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 


54 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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." 


CHAPTER  V. 

DOMESTIC      EXPERIENCES. 

LIKE  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  da}-*,  and  never  know 
the  loss  of  a  button.  She  brought  so  much  love, 
energy,  and  cheerfulness  to  the  work,  that  she  could 
not  but  succeed,  in  spite  of  some  obstacles.  Her 
paradise  was  not  a  tranquil  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  couldn'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  din- 
ner, darling  ? "     The  little  house  ceased  to  be  a  glo- 

(55) 


56  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

rifled  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  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  was  a  math- 
ematical exercise,  working  out  the  problems  with  pa- 
tience 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  any- 
thing, and  took  a  natural  pride  in  her  skill,  he  resolved 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  57 

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 
housewife  fell  to  work,  feeling  no  doubts  about  her 
success ;  for  hadn'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  remember  what  Hannah  did  that 
she  had  left  undone  ;  she  reboiled,  resugared,  and  re- 
strained, but  that  dreadful  stuff  wouldn't  "jell." 

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  preposterous  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  sweetmeats  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, — 


58  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"  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, 
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 
inevitability  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  usu- 
ally 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  distracting  little  bow  in  her  hair,  or  a 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  59 

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 
distance  when  Brooke  disappeared  ;  but  he  could  both 
see  and  hear,  and,  being  a  bachelor,  enjoyed  the  pros- 
pect 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  gaily  on 
the  stove.  Lotty,  with  Teutonic  phlegm,  was  calmly 
eating  bread  and  currant  wine,  for  the  jelly  was  still 
in  a  hopelessly  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,  sud- 
den news  of  affliction,  and  secret  consternation  at  the 
thought  of  the  guest  in  the  garden. 

"  Oh,  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  baptized  at  the  same  time  as  the 
floor. 

"  What  worries  you,  dear?     Has  anything  dreadful 


60  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  any- 
thing 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  invol- 
untarily 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  hysterics, 
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,  survey- 
ing the  prospect  with  an  anxious  eye. 

"  You  ought  to  have  sent  word,  or  told  me  this 
morning,  and  you  ought  to  have  remembered  how 
busy  I  was,"  continued  Meg,  petulantly ;  for  even 
turtle-doves  will  peck  when  ruffled. 

"  I  did'nt  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 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  6l 

hang  me  if  I  ever  do  again ! "  added  John,  with  an 
aggrieved  air. 

"1  should  hope  not!  Take  him  away  at  once ;  I 
can't  see  him,  and  there  isn't  any  dinner." 

"Well,  I  like  that!  Where's  the  beef  and  veg- 
etables I  sent  home,  and  the  pudding  you  promised?" 
cried  John,  rushing  to  the  larder. 

"I  hadn'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  hopeful,  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  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  shan'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 
word  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  any- 
thing of  the  sort  in  my  house.     Take  that  Scott  up  to 


62  LITTLE  WOMEN,* 

mother's,  and  tell  him  I'm  away  —  sick,  dead,  any- 
thing. 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  de- 
fiance 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  pro- 
miscuous lunch  which  filled  her  with  horror.  Lotty 
reported  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  short-comings,  of  loyalty  to  John, 
"  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  didn't  come,  not  seeing  the 
matter  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  enjoyed  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. 
u  It  wasn't  fair  to  tell  a  man  to  bring  folks  home  any 
time,  with  perfect  freedom,  and  when  he  took  you  at 
your  word,  to  flare  up  and  blame  him,  and  leave  him 
in  the  lurch,   to   be  laughed    at   or   pitied.     No,  by 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  63 

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 
coming,  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  intro- 
duced by  Mr.  Brooke,  and  wet-blanketed  by  Mrs. 
Brooke,  and  conversation  languished.  John  went  to 
one  window,  unfolded  his  paper,  and  wrapt  himself 


64  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

in  it,  figuratively  speaking.  Meg  went  to  the  other 
window,  and  sewed  as  if  new  rosettes  for  her  slippers 
were  among  the  necessaries  of  life.  Neither  spoke  — 
both  looked  quite  "  calm  and  firm,"  and  both  felt  des- 
perately 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  kindled,  is  hard  to  quench.  Be  careful,  very 
careful,  not  to  wake  this  anger  against  yourself,  for 
peace  and  happiness  depend  on  keeping  his  respect. 
Watch  yourself,  be  the  first  to  ask  pardon  if  you  both 
err,  and  guard  against  the  ,.little  piques,  misunder- 
standings, 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. 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  6$ 

She  glanced  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  burtie  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  couldn'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  sweet- 
est 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  off  so  charmingly,  that  Mr.  Scott  told  John  he  was 
a  happy  fellow,  and  shook  his  head  over  the  hardships 
of  bachelor-hood  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 

5 


66  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

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.  Sally  was  very  kind,  and  often  offered 
her  the  coveted  trifles  ;  but  Meg  declined  them,  know- 
ing that  John  wouldn't  like  it ;  and  then  this  foolish 
little  woman  went  and  did  what  John  disliked  in- 
finitely 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  irri- 
tated her  \  but  she  was  ashamed  to  confess  it,  and  now 
and  then  she  tried  to  console  herself  by  buying  some- 
thing pretty,  so  that  Sally  needn't  think  she  had  to 
scrimp.  She  always  felt  wicked  after  it,  for  the  pretty 
things  were  seldom  necessaries ;  but  then  they  cost  so 
little,  it  wasn't  worth  worrying  about ;  so  the  trifles  in- 
creased unconsciously,  and  in  the  shopping  excur- 
sions 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 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  67 

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  ached  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  house- 
hold fund  ?  That  was  the  question.  Sallie  had  urged 
her  to  do  it,  had  offered  to  loan  the  money,  and  with 
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  bar- 
gain, 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  was  a  thing 
of  no  consequence,  and  driven  away  feeling  as  if  she 
had  stolen  something,  and  the  police  were  after  her. 

When  she  got  home,  she  tried  to  assuage  the  pangs 
of  remorse  by  spreading  forth  the  lovely  silk ;  but  it 
looked  less  silvery  now,  didn't  become  her,  after  all, 
and  the  words  u  fifty  dollars"  seemed  stamped  like  a 
pattern  down  each  breadth.  She  put  it  away  ;  but  it 
haunted  her,  not  delightfully,  as  a  new  dress  should, 
but  dreadfully,  like  the  ghost  of  a  folly  that  was  not 


68  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

easily  laid.  When  John  got  out  his  books  that  night, 
Meg's  heart  sank ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  mar- 
ried 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  didn'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  haven'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 
amazement  at  the  queer  things  women  wanted,  and 
make  him  guess  what  "piping"  was,  demand  fiercely 
the  meaning  of  a  u  hug-me-tight,"  or  wonder  how  a 
little  thing  composed  of  three  rosebuds,  a  bit  of  vel- 
vet 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,  — 

"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- 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  69 

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. 
Mantalini  says." 

That  didn'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  quinny-dingles  you  have  to 
have  to  finish  it  off  these  days." 

"  It  isn't  made  or  trimmed,"  sighed  Meg  faintly,  for 


fo  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  didn'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,  "Oh,  John!  my  dear,  kind,  hard-working  boy, 
I  didn'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  dread- 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  71 

ful ;  and  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,  reduced  her  to  a  state  of  despair  which 
was  pathetic  to  behold.  He  had  simply  said,  in  an- 
swer to  her  surprised  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  —  giving  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  re- 
ceived his  present,  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 


73 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


midsummer  there  came  to  Meg  a  new  experience,  — 
the  deepest  and  tenderest  of  a  woman's  life. 

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  Ma?  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  didn't  want  no  hurry- 
canes  round.  Now  you  go  into  the  parlor,  and  I'll 
send  'em  down  to  you,"  with  which  somewhat  in- 
volved reply  Hannah  vanished,  chuckling  ecstatically. 

Presently  Jo  appeared,  proudly  bearing  a  small 
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  shan't  see  your  newy,"  said  Jo,  de- 
cidedly, turning  as  if  to  go. 

"  I  will,  I  will !  only  you  must  be  responsible  for 
damages ;"  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 


DOMESTIC  EXPERIENCES.  73 

and  John,  caused  him  to  open  them  the  next  minute, 
to  find  himself  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  stared  wildly  from  the  unconscious  innocents 
to  the  hilarious  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, 
somebody !  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,  isn't  it?  I 
wouldn't  have  you  told,  for  I  set  my  heart  on  sur- 
prising you,  and  I  flatter  myself  I've  done  it,"  said  Jo, 
when  she  got  her  breath. 

"  I  never  was  more  staggered  in  my  life.  Isn'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,  regarding  the  infants  with  the  air  of  a  big, 
benevolent  Newfoundland  looking  at  a  pair  of  in- 
fantile kittens. 

"Boy  and  girl.  Aren'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 


74  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

the  girl,  French  fashion,  so  you  can  always  tell.  Be- 
sides, one  has  blue  eyes  and  one  brown.  Kiss  them, 
Uncle  Teddy,"  said  wicked  Jo. 

"  I'm  afraid  they  mightn't  like  it,"  began  Laurie, 
with  unusual  timidity  in  such  matters. 

"  Of  course  they  will ;  they  are  used  to  it  now ;  do 
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  didn't  like  it!  Thafs  the 
boy ;  see  him  kick !  he  hits  out  with  his  fists  like  a 
good  one.  Now  then,  young  Brooke,  pitch  into  a 
man  of  your  own  size,  will  you  ?  "  cried  Laurie,  de- 
lighted with  a  poke  in  the  face  from  a  tiny  fist,  flap- 
ping aimlessly  about. 

"  He's  to  be  named  John  Laurence,  and  the  girl 
Margaret,  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   VI. 

CALLS. 

COME,  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  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  neigh- 
bor's 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 
dressmaking ;  for  she  was  mantua-maker  general  to 
the  family,  and  took  especial  credit  to  herself  because 
she  could  use  a  needle  as  well  as  a  pen.  It  was  very 
provoking  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 

(75) 


76  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

sort,  and  never  made  any  till  Amy  cornered  her  with 
a  bargain,  bribe,  or  promise.  In  the  present  instance, 
there  was  no  escape  ;  and  having  clashed  her  scissors 
rebelliously,  while  protesting  that  ^he  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  doesn't  for  me,  and  furbelows  only  worry 
me." 

"  Oh  dear ! "  sighed  Amy ;  "  now  she's  in  a  con- 
trary fit,  and  will  drive  me  distracted  before  I  can  get 
her  properly  ready.  I'm  sure  it's  no  pleasure  to  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  any- 
thing 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  beautifully,  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 ; 


CALLS.  ft 

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  submis- 
sion. 

"  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  to  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  kids  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  or- 
gandie, 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  generally  as  she  shook  out  the  hand- 
kerchief, whose  embroidery  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  two  buttons  and  a  tassel^  as  the  last  touch  of 
elegance,  she  turned  to  Amy  with  an  imbecile  expres- 
sion 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 


78  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  Miss  Norton  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  isn't." 

"  You  are  a  thing  of  beauty,  and  a  joy  forever," 
said  Jo,  looking  through  her  hand  with  the  air  of  a 
connoisseur  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." 

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  are  very  elegant  peo- 
ple, so  I  want  you  to  put  on  your  best  deportment. 
Don't  make  any  of  your  abrupt  remarks,  or  do  any- 
thing odd,  will  you  ?  Just  be  calm,  cool  and  quiet,  — 
that's  safe  and  lady-like  ;  and  you  can  easily  do  it  for 


CALLS.  79 

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  intro- 
duced parties,  picnics,  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  old- 
est Miss  March  is ! "  was  the  unfortunately  audible 
remark  of  one  of  the  ladies,  as  the  door  closed  upon 
their  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  non- 


80  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

sense  -comes  up.  They  move  in  the  best  society,  are 
valuable  persons  for  us  to  know,  and  I  wouldn'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 
charming  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  away  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,  round  eyes  and  uplifted  hands  tormented 
her  with  curiosity,  and  frequent  peals  of  laughter 
made  her  wild  to  share  the  fun.  One  may  imagine 
her  suffering  on  overhearing  fragments  of  this  sort  of 
conversation :  — 

"  She  rides  splendidly,  —  who  taught  her? " 

"  No  one ;   she  used  to  practise  mounting,  holding 


CALLS.  8l 

the  reins,  and  sitting  straight  on  an  old  saddle  in  a 
tree.  Now  she  rides  anything,  for  she  don't  know 
what  fear  is,  and  the  stable-man  lets  her  have  horses 
cheap,  because  she  trains  them  to  carry  ladies  so  well. 
She  has  such  a  passion  for  it,  I  often  tell  her  if  every- 
thing else  fails  she  can  be  a  pretty  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. 

uYes,  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,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Which  did  she  choose?"  asked  one  of  the  laugh- 
ing gentlemen,  who  enjoyed  the  subject. 

"  None  of  them  ;  she  heard  of  a  young  horse  at  the 
farm-house  over  the  river,  and,  though  a  lady  had 
never  ridden  him,  she  resolved  to  try,  because  he  was 
handsome  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,  and  marched  up  to  the  barn,  to  the  utter 
amazement  of  the  old  man !  " 

u  Did  she  ride  the  horse?" 

"  Of  course  she  did,  and  had  a  capital  time.  I 
expected  to   see  her  brought  home  in   fragments,  but 


82  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

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 
moment  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  men- 
tioning 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." 

"Isn'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  ex- 
actly 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  en- 
joyed 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. 
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. 


CALLS. 


83 


"  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  fining  for  a  visit.  I  don't  dare  to  ask 
you,  Mr.  Lamb  ;  but  if  you  should  come,  I  don't  think 
I  shall  have  the  heart  to  send  you  away." 

Jo  said  this  with  such  a  droll  imitation  of  May 
Chester'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. 

"  Didn't  I  do  that  well?  "  asked  Jo,  with  a  satisfied 
air,  as  they  walked  away. 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  worse,"  was  Amy's 
crushing  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  needn't  go  and  tell  them  all  our  little  shifts, 
and  expose  our  poverty  in  that  perfectly  unnecessary 
way.  You  haven't  a  bit  of  proper  pride,  and  never 
will  learn  when  to  hold  your  tongue,  and  when  to 
speak,"  said  Amy  despairingly. 


84  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

Poor  Jo  looked  abashed,  and  silently  chafed  the  end 
of  her  nose  with  the  stiff  handkerchief,  as  if  perform- 
ing 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  dis- 
turbed 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  murmur,  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,  —  bear-like  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  pro- 
ceeded 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 


CALLS. 


85 


her  American  birth  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  abouf  for  Jo, — fervently  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  cher- 
ished 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  damaged  property  to  go,  her  escort 
accompanied  her,  begging  her  to  come  again,  "  it  was 
such  fun  to  hear  about  Laurie's  larks." 

"  Capital  boys,  aren't  they  ?  I  feel  quite  young  and 
brisk  again  after  that,"  said  Jo,  strolling  along  with 


86  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

her  hands  behind  her,  partly  from  habit,  partly  to 
conceal  the  bespattered  parasol. 

"  Why  do  you  always  avoid  Mr.  Tudor  ? "  asked 
Amy,  wisely  refraining  from  any  comment  upon  Jo's 
dilapidated  appearance. 

"  Don't  like  him  ;  he  puts  on  airs,  snubs  his  sisters, 
worries  his  father,  and  don't  speak  respectfully  of  his 
mother.  Laurie  says  he  is  fast,  and  /don't  consider 
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  wouldn't,"  returned  perverse  Jo  ;  "I  neither 
like,  respect,  nor  admire  Tudor,  though  his  grand- 
father's uncle's  nephew's  niece  was  third  cousin  to  a 
IofJ,  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." 

"  Ifs  no  use  trying  to  argue  with  you,"  began 
Amy. 

"  Not  the  least,  my  dear,"  cut  in  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, 


CALLS.  8f 

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  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  big  favor,  and  let  the  small  ones 
slip  ;  but  they  tell  best  in  the  end,  I  guess." 

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,  be- 
cause 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  them  when  I  don't  feel  like  it.  It's  a 
great  misfortune  to  have  such  strong  likes  and  dis- 
likes, isn'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 ; 


88  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

neither  are  you,  and  there  is  no  use  in  making  your- 
self disagreeable  because  he  is." 

"  But  I  think  girls  ought  to  show  when  they  dis- 
approve of  young  men ;  and  how  can  they  do  it 
except  by  their  manners?  Preaching  don't  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  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, 
wouldn'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  millionaires,  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  reformers,  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. 


CALLS. 


89 


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  revolu- 
tionary 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 
nieces.  Jo  was  not  in  a  good  humor,  and  the  per- 
verse 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  M  my 
dear'd"  her  affectionately,  looking  what  they  after- 
wards 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  confiding  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  )7ou  to 
work." 

"lam  willing  to  work, —  it's  for  the  Freedmen  as 


90 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


well  as  the  Chesters,  and  I  think  it  very  kind  of  them 
to  let  me  share  the  labor  and  the  fun.  Patronage  don't 
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  don't,  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  dove-like  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  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, 


CALLS.  gi 

with  a  grateful  look,  which  caused  the  old  lady  to 
smile  affably. 

"  How  are  you  about  languages  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Car- 
rol 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. 

"  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  impos- 
sible to  help  laughing. 

"  Most  observing  bird,"  said  the  old  lady. 

*'  Come  and  take  a  walk,  my  dear  ? "  cried  Polly, 
hopping  toward  the  china-closet,  with  a  look  suggestive 
of  lump-sugar. 

M  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 


92 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


behind  them  the  impression  of  shadow  and  sunshine  ; 
which  impression  caused  Aunt  March  to  say,  as  they 
vanished,  — 

"  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    VII. 


C  O  N  S  E  qjj  E  N  C  E  S 


MRS.  CHESTER'S  fair  was  so  very  elegant  and 
select,  that  it  was  considered  a  great  honor  by 
the  young  ladies  of  the  neighborhood  to  be 
invited  to  take  a  table,  and  every  one  was  much  in- 
terested in  the  matter.  Amy  was  asked,  but  Jo  avas 
not,  which  was  fortunate  for  all  parties,  as  her  elbows 
were  decidedly  akimbo  at  this  period  of  her  life,  and 
it  took  a  good  many  hard  knocks  to  teach  her  how  to 
get  on  easily.  The  "  haughty,  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  appro- 
priate and  valuable  contributions  to  it. 

Everything  went  on  smoothly  till  the  day  before 
the  fair  opened ;  then  there  occurred  one  of  the  little 
skirmishes  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  avoid, 
when  some  five-and-twenty  women,  old  and  young, 
with  all  their  private  piques  and  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  oc- 
curred 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 
one  y.-"fh  Mnv  :  th^t  v\i<;  thorn  number  tvro  :  but  the 


94  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

chief  grievance  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  imitation  had  been  too  life- 
like to  escape  detection,  and  the  frolicksome  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  her  last  touches  to  her  pretty 
table,  Mrs.  Chester,  who,  of  course,  resented  the  sup- 
posed ridicule  of  her  daughter,  said  in  a  bland  tone, 
but  with  a  cold  look,  — 

"I  find,  dear,  that  there  is  some  feeling  among  the 
young  ladies  about  my  giving  this  table  to  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  sincerely  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 ; 


CONSEQUENCES.  95 

it's  merely  a  matter  of  expediency,  you  see  ;  my  girls 
will  naturally  take  the  lead,  and  this  table  is  consid- 
ered their  proper  place.  /  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.  Wouldn'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  sud- 
den fall  from  favor.  She  colored  angrily,  but  took  no 
other  notice  of  that  girlish  sarcasm,  and  answered 
with  unexpected  amiability,  — 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  please,  Mrs.  Chester ;  I'll  give 
up  my  place  here  at  once,  and  attend  to  the  flowers, 
if  you  like." 

"  You  can  put  your  own  things  on  your  own  table, 
if  you  prefer,"  began  May,  feeling  a  little  conscience- 
stricken,  as  she  looked  at  the  pretty  racks,  the  painted 
shells,  and  quaint  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 
sweeping  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  hadn't  asked 
you  to  speak,  mamma,"  said  May,  looking  discon- 
solately at  the  empty  spaces  on  her  table. 

"  Girls'  quarrels  are  soon  over,"  returned  her  mother, 


96  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

feeling  a  trifle  ashamed  of  her  own  part  in  this  one, 
as  well  she  might. 

The  little  girls  hailed  Amy  and  her  treasures  with 
delight,  which  cordial  reception  somewhat  soothed 
her  perturbed  spirit,  and  she  fell  to  work,  determined 
to  succeed  florally,  if  she  could  not  artistically.  But 
everything  seemed  against  her  ;  it  was  late,  and  she 
was  tired ;  every  one  was  too  busy  with  their  own 
affairs  to  help  her,  and  the  little  girls  were  only  hin- 
drances, for  the  dears  fussed  and  chattered  like  so 
many  magpies,  making  a  great  deal  of  confusion  in 
their  artless  efforts  to  preserve  the  most  perfect  order. 
The  evergreen  arch  wouldn't  stay  firm  after  she  got  it 
up,  but  wiggled  and  threatened  to  tumble  down  on 
her  head  when  the  hanging  baskets  were  filled ;  her 
best  tile  got  a  splash  of  water,  which  left  a  sepia  tear 
on  the  cupid's  cheek ;  she  bruised  her  hands  with 
hammering,  and  got  cold  working  in  a  draught,  which 
last  affliction  filled  her  with  apprehensions  for  the 
morrow.  Any  girl-reader  who  has  suffered  like  afflic- 
tions, 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  de- 
clared she  wouldn't  go  to  the  old  fair  at  all,  and  Jo 
demanded  why  she  didn't  take  all  her  pretty  things 
and  leave  those  mean  people  to  get  on  without  her. 

"  Because  they  are  mean  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
be.  I  hate  such  things ;  and  though  I  think  I've  a 
right  to  be  hurt,  I  don't  intend  to  show  it.  They  will 
feel  that  more  than  angry  speeches  or  huffy  actions, 
won't  thev,  Marmee  ?  " 


CONSEQUENCES.  yj 

"  That's  the  right  spirit,  my  dear  ;  a  kiss  for  a  blow 
is  always  best,  though  it's  not  very  easy  to  give  it, 
sometimes,"  said  her  mother,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
had  learned  the  difference  between  preaching  and 
practising. 

In  spite  of  various  very  natural  temptations  to  re- 
sent and  retaliate,  Amy  adhered  to  her  resolution  all 
the  next  day,  bent  on  conquering  her  enemy  by  kind- 
ness. 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  illuminated  different  texts.  As  she 
turned  the  pages,  rich  in  dainty  devices,  with  very 
pardonable  pride,  her  eye  fell  upon  one  verse  that 
made  her  stop  and  think.  Framed  in  a  brilliant 
scroll-work  of  scarlet,  blue  and  gold,  with  little  spirits 
of  good-will  helping  one  another  up  and  down  among 
the  thorns  and  flowers,  were  the  words,  "Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 

"  I  ought,  but  I  don't,"  thought  Amy,  as  her  eye 
went  from  the  bright  page  to  May's  discontented  face 
behind  the  big  vases,  that  could  not  hide  the  va- 
cancies 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  ser- 
mons are  preached  us  every  day  by  unconscious  min- 
isters in  street,  school,  office,  or  home  ;  even  a  fair- 
table  may  become  a  pulpit,  if  it  can  offer  the  good 

7 


98 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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  don't  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,  sorrowfully,  — 

"  It's  too  bad,  for  there  is  no  time  to  make  other 
things,  and  I  don't  want  to  fill  up  with  odds  and  ends. 
The  table  was  just  complete  then  —  now  if  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  ask- 
ing, if  you  want  them.  I  was  just  thinking  I'd  offer 
to  put  them  back,  for  they  belong  to  your  table  rather 
than  mine.  Here  they  are ;  please  take  them,  and 
forgive  me  if  I  was  hasty  in  carrying  them  away  last 
night." 

As  she  spoke,  Amy  returned  her  contribution  with 
a  nod  and  a  smile,  and  hurried  away  again,  feeling 
that  it  was  easier  to  do  a  friendly  thing  than  it  was  to 
stay  and  be  thanked  for  it. 

M  Now  I  call  that  lovely  of  her,  don't  you?"  cried 
one  girl. 


CONSEQUENCES.  ^ 

May's  answer  was  inaudible ;  but  another  young 
lady,  whose  temper  was  evidently  a  little  soured  by 
making  lemonade,  added,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh, 
"  Very  lovely ;  for  she  knew  she  wouldn't  sell  them 
at  her  own  table." 

Now  that  was  hard  ;  when  we  make  little  sacrifices 
we  like  to  have  them  appreciated,  at  least;  and  for  a 
minute  Amy  was  sorry  she  had  done  it,  feeling  that 
virtue  was  not  always  its  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  im- 
portant faces  and  rattling  money-boxes.  Amy  often 
looked  wistfully  across,  longing  to  be  there,  where  she 
felt  at  home  and  happy,  instead  of  in  a  corner  with 
nothing  to  do.  It  might  seem  no  hardship  to  some 
of  us ;  but  to  a  pretty,  blithe  young  girl,  it  was  not 
only  tedious,  but  very  trying  ;  and  the  thought  of  being 
found  there  in  the  evening  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 


IOO  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

extra  cordial  cup  of  tea,  Beth  helped  her  dress,  and 
made  a  charming  little  wreath  for  her  hair,  while 
Jo  astonished  her  family  by  getting  herself  up  with 
unusual  care,  and  hinting,  darkly,  that  the  tables  were 
about  to  be  turned. 

"  Don't  do  anything  rude,  pray,  Jo ;  I  won't  have 
any  fuss  made,  so  let  it  all  pass,  and  behave  yourself," 
begged  Amy,  as  she  departed  early,  hoping  to  find 
a  reinforcement  of  flowers  to  refresh  her  poor  little 
table. 

"I  merely  intend  to  make  myself  entrancingly 
agreeable  to  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. 
Presently  the  familiar  tramp  was  heard  in  the  dusk, 
and  she  ran  out  to  meet  him. 

"Is  that  my  boy?" 

"  As  sure  as  this  is  my  girl !  "  and  Laurie  tucked  her 
hand  under  his  arm  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose 
every  wish  was  gratified. 

"  Oh,  Teddy,  such  doings ! "  and  Jo  told  Amy's 
wrongs  with  sisterly  zeal. 

"  A  flock  of  our  fellows  are  going  to  drive  over 
by  and  by,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  make  them 
buy  every  flower  she's  got,  and  camp  down  before  her 
table  afterward,"  said  Laurie,  espousing  her  cause 
with  warmth. 

"  The  flowers  are  not  at  all  nice,  Amy  says,  and 
the  fresh  ones  may  not  arrive  in  time.  I  don't  wish 
to  be  unjust  or  suspicious,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
they  never  came  at  all.     When  people  do  one  mean 


CONSEQUENCES.  IOI 

thing  they  are  very  likely  to  do  another,"  observed  Jo, 
in  a  disgusted  tone. 

"  Didn't  Hayes  give  you  the  best  out  of  our  gar- 
dens?    I  told  him  to." 

"  I  didn't  know  that ;  he  forgot,  I  suppose  ;  and,  as 
your  grandpa  was  poorly,  I  didn't  like  to  worry  him 
by  asking,  though  I  did  want  some." 

"  Now,  Jo,  how  could  you  think  there  was  any 
need  of  asking!  They  are  just  as  much  yours  as 
mine;  don't  we  always  go  halves  in  everything?" 
began  Laurie,  in  the  tone  that  always  made  Jo  turn 
thorny. 

"  Gracious  !  I  hope  not !  half  of  some  of  your  things 
wouldn't  suit  me  at  all.  But  we  mustn't  stand  phil- 
andering here ;  I've  got  to  help  Amy,  so  you  go  and 
make  yourself  splendid  ;  and  if  you'll  be  so  very  kind 
as  to  let  Hayes  take  a  few  nice  flowers  up  to  the  Hall, 
I'll  bless  you  forever." 

"Couldn't  you  do  it  now?"  asked  Laurie,  so  sug- 
gestively that  Jo  shut  the  gate  in  his  face  with  inhos- 
pitable 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  non- 
sense, admiring  Amy's  taste,  and  apparently  enjoying 
themselves  very  much.  Laurie  and  his  friends  gal- 
lantly 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 


102  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  of  the  Chester  change  of  base.  She  re- 
proached herself  for  her  share  of  the  ill-feeling,  and 
resolved  to  exonerate  Amy  as  soon  as  possible ;  she 
also  discovered  what  Amy  had  done  about  the  things 
in  the  morning,  and  considered  her  a  model  of  mag- 
nanimity. 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. 

"  Everything  of  Amy's   sold  long  ago  ;  I  took  care 


CONSEQUENCES.  103 

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  pre- 
pared to  take  the  field. 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,  but  March  is  fairer  far  than 
May,"  said  little  Parker,  making  a  frantic  effort  to  be 
both  witty  and  tender,  and  getting  promptly  quenched 
by  Laurie,  who  said  :  "  Very  well,  my  son,  for  a  small 
boy  !  "  and  walked  him  off  with  a  paternal  pat  on  the 
head. 

"  Buy  the  vases,"  whispered  Amy  to  Laurie,  as  a 
final  heaping  of  coals  of  fire  on  her  enemy's  head. 

To  May's  great  delight,  Mr.  Laurence  not  only 
bought  the  vases,  but  pervaded  the  hall  with  one 
under  each  arm.  The  other  gentlemen  speculated 
with  equal  rashness  in  all  sorts  of  frail  trifles,  and 
wandered  helplessly  about  afterward,  burdened  with 
wax  flowers,  painted  fans,  filagree  portfolios,  and  other 
useful  and  appropriate  purchases. 

Aunt  Carrol   was  there,  heard  the   story,   looked 


104 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


pleased,  and  said  something  to  Mrs.  March  in  a  cor- 
ner, which  made  the  latter  lady  beam  with  satisfac- 
tion, 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  bid  Amy  u  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 
working  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  needn't  praise  me  so  ;  I  only  did 
as  I'd  be  done  by.  You  laugh  at  me  when  I  say  I 
want  to  be  a  lady,  but  I  mean  a  true  gentlewoman  in 
mind  and  manners,  and  I  try  to  do  it  as  far  as  I  know 
how.  I  can't  explain  exactly,  but  I  want  to  be  above 
the  little  meannesses,  and  follies,  and  faults  that  spoil 
so  many  women.  I'm  far  from  it  now,  but  I  do  my 
best,  and  hope  in  time  to  be  what  mother  is." 


CONSEQUENCES.  10$ 

Amy  spoke  earnestly,  and  Jo  said,  with  a  cordial 
hug,— 

"  I  understand  now  what  you  mean,  and  I'll  never 
laugh  at  you  again.  You  are  getting  on  faster  than 
you  think,  and  I'll  take  lessons  of  you  in  true  polite- 
ness, 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." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  she's  too  young  ;  it's  my  turn  first ; 
I've  wanted  it  so  long — it  would  do  me  so  much 
good,  and  be  so  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  isn'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 


106  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

burden  her,"  and  she  u  hates  French,"  I  think  I  won't 
venture  to  invite  her.  Amy  is  more  docile,  will  make 
a  good  companion  for  Flo,  and  receive  gratefully  any 
help  the  trip  may  give  her.'  " 

"  Oh,  my  tongue,  my  abominable  tongue !  why 
can't  I  learn  to  keep  it  quiet?"  groaned  Jo,  remem- 
bering 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  couldn't  spare 
you,  and  I'm  glad  you  ain't  going  quite  yet,"  whis- 
pered Beth,  embracing  her,  basket  and  all,  with  such 
a  clinging  touch  and  loving  face,  that  Jo  felt  com- 
forted 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 


CONSEQUENCES.  107 

pencils  that  evening,  leaving  such  trifles  as  clothes, 
money,  and  passports,  to  those  less  absorbed  in  visions 
of  art  than  herself. 

"  It  isn't  a  mere  pleasure  trip  to  me,  girls,"  she 
said  impressively,  as  she  scraped  her  best  palette.  "It 
will  decide  my  career ;  for  if  I  have  any  genius,  I 
shall  find  it  out  in  Rome,  and  will  do  something  to 
prove  it." 

"Suppose  you  haven't?"  said  Jo,  sewing  away, 
with  red  eyes,  at  the  new  collars  which  were  to  be 
handed  over  to  Amy. 

"  Then  I  shall  come  home  and  teach  drawing  for 
my  living,"  replied  the  aspirant  for  fame,  with  philo- 
sophic 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  Lady  Bountiful  would  suit  her  better  than 
that  of  a  poor  drawing  teacher. 

"  Hum ! "  said  Jo,  with  a  sigh ;  "if  you  wish  it 
you'll  have  it,  for  your  wishes  are  always  granted  — 
mine  never." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go?  "  asked  Amy,  thoughtfully 
flattening  her  nose  with  her  knife. 

"  Rather ! " 

"Well,  in  a  year  or  two   I'll   send  for  you,  and 


108  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

we'll  dig  in  the  Forum  for  relics,  and  carry  out  all  the 
plans  we've  made  so  many  times." 

"  Thank  you ;  I'll  remind  you  of  your  promise 
when  that  joyful  day  comes,  if  it  ever  does,"  returned 
Jo,  accepting  the  vague  but  magnificent  offer  as  grate- 
fully as  she  could. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  preparation,  and  the 
house  was  in  a  ferment  till  Amy  was  off.  Jo  bore  up 
very  well  till  the  last  flutter  of  blue  ribbon  vanished, 
when  she  retired  to  her  refuge,  the  garret,  and  cried 
till  she  couldn't  ciy  any  more.  Amy  likewise  bore 
up  stoutly  till  the  steamer  sailed ;  then,  just  as  the 
gangway  was  about  to  be  withdrawn,  it  suddenly 
came  over  her,  that  a  whole  ocean  was  soon  to  roll 
between  her  and  those  who  loved  her  best,  and  she 
clung  to  Laurie,  the  last  lingerer,  saying  with  a 
sob, —  . 

"  Oh,  take  care  of  them  for  me ;  and  if  anything 
should  happen  —  " 

"  I  will,  dear,  I  will ;  and  if  anything  happens,  I'll 
come  and  comfort  you,"  whispered  Laurie,  little 
dreaming  how  soon  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,  fer- 
vently 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  sun- 
shine dazzling  on  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OUR     FOREIGN     CORRESPONDENT. 

"  London. 

DEAREST  People: 
Here  I  really  sit  at  a  front  window  of  the  Bath 
Hotel,  Piccadilly.  It's  not  a  fashionable  place, 
but  uncle  stopped  here  years  ago,  and  won't  go  any- 
where else  ;  however,  we  don't  mean  to  stay  long,  so 
it's  no  great  matter.  Oh,  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you 
how  I  enjoy  it  all !  I  never  can,  so  I'll  only  give 
you  bits  out  of  my  note-book,  for  I've  done  nothing 
but  sketch  and  scribble  since  I  started. 

"  I  sent  a  line  from  Halifax  when  I  felt  pretty  miser- 
able, 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  them- 
selves to  death,  I'm  afraid. 

"  Aunt  and  Flo  were  poorly  ail  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 
(109) 


HO  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

jib,  or  whatever  the  high  thing  is  called,  made  friends 
with  the  engineers,  and  tooted  on  the  Captain's  speak- 
ing 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  didn't  regret  getting  up  to  see  it,  for 
the  bay  was  full  of  little  boats,  the  shore  so  picturesque, 
and  a  rosy  sky  over  head  ;  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,  — 

'  Oh,  have  you  e'er  heard  of  Kate  Kearney, 
She  lives  on  the  banks  of  Killarney; 
From  the  glance  of  her  eye, 
Shun  danger  and  fly, 
Forfatal's  the  glance  of  Kate  Kearney.' 

Wasn't  that  nonsensical  ? 

"  We  only  stopped  at  Liverpool  a  few  hours.  It's 
a  dirty,  noisy  place,  and  I  was  glad  to  leave  it.  Uncle 
rushed  out  and  bought  a  pair  of  dog-skin  gloves,  some 
ugly,  thick  shoes,  and  an  umbrella,  and  got  shaved  h 
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 
boot-black  knew  that  an  American  stood  in  them,  and 
said,  with  a  grin,  w  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 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT.        m 

got  his  friend  Ward,  who  came  on  with  us,  to  order 
a  bouquet  for  me,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw  in  my 
room,  was  a  lovely  one,  with  '  Robert  Lennox's  com- 
pliments,' on  the  card.  Wasn'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  farm-houses  were  my 
delight ;  with  thatched  roofs,  ivy  up  to  the  eaves,  lat- 
ticed windows,  and  stout  women  with  rosy  children 
at  the  doors.  The  very  cattle  looked  more  tranquil 
than  ours,  as  they  stood  knee-deep  in  clover,  and  the 
hens  had  a  contented  cluck,  as  if  they  never  got  ner- 
vous, like  Yankee  biddies.  Such  perfect  color  I  never 
saw — the  grass  so  green,  sky  so  blue,  grain  so  yellow, 
woods  so  dark  —  I  was  in  a  rapture  all  the  way.  So 
was  Flo  ;  and  we  kept  bouncing  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  trying  to  see  everything  while  we  were  whisking 
along  at  the  rate  of  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Aunt  was 
tired,  and  went  to  sleep,  but  uncle  read  his  guide-book, 
and  wouldn'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  window,  — '  How  sweet ;  we  must 
go  there  some  time,  won't  we,  pa  ? '  Uncle  calmly 
admiring  his  boots,  —  4  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. 


H2  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

1  See,  pa,  aren't  they  pretty  ! '  added  Flo,  sentimentally. 
'  Geese,  young  ladies,'  returns  uncle,  in  a  tone  that 
keeps  us  quiet  till  Flo  settles  down  to  enjoy  '  The 
Flirtations  of  Capt.  Cavendish,'  and  I  have  the  sce- 
nery 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  wrasn't  half  ready.  A 
sweet  white  hat  and  blue  feather,  a  distracting  muslin 
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. 
Don't  that  sound  sort  of  elegant  and  rich  ? 

"  Flo  and  I,  for  the  fun  of  it,  ordered  a  Hansom 
cab,  while  aunt  and  uncle  were  out,  and  went  for  a 
drive,  though  we  learned  afterward  that  it  wasn't  the 
thing  for  young  ladies  to  ride  in  them  alone.  It  was 
so  droll !  for  when  wre  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  round  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  slam- 
ming down  the  door,  with  a  'Aye,  aye,  mum,'  the  old 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT.  113 

thing  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  our- 
selves 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  foot- 
men 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  yel- 
low coaches,  with  gorgeous  Jeameses  in  silk  stockings 
and  velvet  coats,  up  behind,  and  powdered  coachmen 
in  front.  Smart  maids,  with  the  rosiest  children  I  ever 
saw ;  handsome  girls,  looking  half  asleep ;  dandies, 
in  queer  English  hats  and  lavender  kids,  lounging 
about,  and  tall  soldiers,  in  short  red  jackets  and  muf- 
fin caps  stuck  on  one  side,  looking  so  funny,  I  longed 
to  sketch  them. 

"Rotten  Row  means  ''Route  de  Roij  or  the  king's 
way ;  but  now  it's  more  like  a  riding-school  than  any- 
thing else.  The  horses  are  splendid,  and  the  men, 
especially  the  grooms,  ride  well,  but  the  women  are 
stiff,  and  bounce,  which  isn't  according  to  our  rules.  I 
longed  to  show  them  a  tearing  American  gallop,  for 
they  trotted  solemnly  up  and  down  in  their  scant 
habits  and  high  hats,  looking  like  the  women  in  a  toy 
Noah's  Ark.  Every  one  rides  —  old  men,  stout  ladies, 
little  children,  and  the  young  folks  do  a  deal  of  flirting 
here  ;  I  saw  a  pair  exchange  rose-buds,  for  it's  the  thing 
to  wear  one  in  the  button-hole,  and  I  thought  it  rather 
a  nice  little  idea. 

"  In   the   p.  m.  to  Westminster  Abbey ;    but   don't 


II4 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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. 

"  Ifs  very  late,  but  I  can't  let  my  letter  go  in  the 
morning  without  telling  you  what  happened  last  even- 
ing. Who  do  you  think  came  in,  as  we  were  at  tea? 
Laurie's  English  friends,  Fred  and  Frank  Vaughn  !  I 
was  so  surprised,  for  I  shouldn't  have  known  them,  but 
for  the  cards.  Both  are  tall  fellows,  with  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  2l  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,  don't  it? 

"Aunt  is  tapping  on  the  wall  for  the  third  time,  so 
I  must  stop.  I  really  feel  like  a  dissipated  London 
fine  lady,  writing  here  so  late,  with  my  room  full  of 
pretty  things,  and  my  head  a  jumble  of  parks,  thea- 
tres, new  gowns  and  gallant  creatures,  who  say  '  Ah,' 
and  twirl  their  blond  mustaches,  with  the  true  Eng- 
lish lordliness.  I  long  to  see  you  all,  and  in  spite  of 
my  nonsense  am,  as  ever,  your  loving  Amy." 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT.        115 

"  Paris. 
"  Dear  Girls  : 

"In  my  last  I  told  you  about  our  London  visit,  — 
how  kind  the  Vaughns  were,  and  what  pleasant  par- 
ties they  made  for  us.  I  enjoyed  the  trips  to  Hampton 
Court  and  the  Kensington  Museum,  more  than  any- 
thing else,  —  for  at  Hampton  I  saw  Raphael's  Car- 
toons, and,  at  the  Museum,  rooms  full  of  pictures  by 
Turner,  Lawrence,  Reynolds,  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' content, — 
thanks  to  Fred  and  Frank,  — ■  and  were  sorry  to  go 
away ;  for,  though  English  people  are  slow  to  take 
you  in,  when  they  once  make  up  their  minds  to  do  it 
they  cannot  be  outdone  in  hospitality,  I  think.  The 
Vaughns  hope  to  meet  us  in  Rome  next  winter,  and 
I  shall  be  dreadfully  disappointed  if  they  don't,  for 
Grace  and  I  are  great  friends,  and  the  boys  very  nice 
fellows,  —  especially  Fred. 

"  Well,  we  were  hardly  settled  here  when  he  turned 
up  again,  saying  he  had  come  for  a  holiday,  and  was 
going  to  Switzerland.  Aunt  looked  sober  at  first, 
but  he  was  so  cool  about  it  she  couldn't  say  a  word ; 
and  now  we  get  on  nicely,  and  are  very  glad  he  came, 
for  he  speaks  French  like  a  native,  and  I  don't  know 
what  we  should  do  without  him.  Uncle  don't  know 
ten  words,  and  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 


n6  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

we  don't,  and  are  very  grateful  to  have  Fred  do  the 

'  fiarley-vooingj  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  tooth- 
brush ;  also  Marie  Antoinette's  little  shoe,  the  ring  of 
Saint  Denis,  Charlemagne's  sword,  and  many  other 
interesting  things.  I'll  talk  for  hours  about  them  when 
I  come,  but  haven't  time  to  write. 

"  The  Palais  Royale  is  a  heavenly  place,  —  so  full 
of  bijouterie  and  lovely  things  that  I'm  nearly  dis- 
tracted because  I  can't  buy  them.  Fred  wanted  to 
get  me  some,  but  of  course  I  didn't  allow  it.  Then 
the  Bois  and  the  Champs  Elysees  are  tres  magnifiqite. 
I've  seen  the  imperial  family  several  times,  —  the 
Emperor  an  ugly,  hard-looking  man,  the  Empress  pale 
and  pretty,  but  dressed  in  horrid  taste,  /  thought,  — 
purple  dress,  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  jack- 
ets, and  a  mounted  guard  before  and  behind. 

"  We  often  walk  in  the  Tuileries  gardens,  for  they 
are  lovely,  though  tlie  antique  Luxembourg  gardens 
suit  me  better.  Pere  la  Chaise  is  very  curious,  —  for 
many  of  the  tombs  are  like  small  rooms,  and,  looking 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT.        117 

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,  —  n'est  pas  ? 

"  Our  rooms  are  on  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and,  sitting 
in  the  balcony,  we  look  up  and  down  the  long,  bril- 
liant street.  It  is  so  pleasant  that  we  spend  our 
evenings  talking  there,  —  when  too  tired  with  our 
day's  work  to  go  out.  Fred  is  very  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  Switzer- 
land ;  and,  as  we  shall  travel  fast,  I  shall  only  be  able 
to  give  you  hasty  letters.  I  keep  my  diary,  and  try 
to  c  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. 

"  Voire  Amie" 


"  Heidelberg. 
"My  Dear  Mamma: 

"  Having  a  quiet  hour  before  we  leave  for  Berne, 
I'll  try  to  tell  you  what  has  happened,  for  some  of  it 
is  very  important,  as  you  will  see. 

"  The  sail  up  the  Rhine  was  perfect,  and  I  just  sat 
and  enjoyed  it  with  all  my  might.  Get  father's  old 
guide-books,  and  read  about  it ;  I  haven't  words  beau- 
tiful enough  to  describe  it.     At  Coblentz  we  had  a 


n8  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

lovely  time,  for  some  students  from  Bonn,  with  whom 
Fred  got  acquainted  on  the  boat,  gave  us  a  serenade. 
It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and,  about  one  o'clock,  Flo 
and  I  were  waked  by  the  most  delicious  music  under 
our  windows.  We  flew  up,  and  hid  behind  the  cur- 
tains ;  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,  moonlight  everywhere,  and 
music  fit  to  melt  a  heart  of  stone. 

"  When  they  were  done  we  threw  down  some 
flowers,  and  saw  them  scramble  for  them,  kiss  their 
hands  to  the  invisible  ladies,  and  go  laughing  away, — 
to  smoke,  and  drink  beer,  I  suppose.  Next  morning 
Fred  showed  me  one  of  the  crumpled  flowers  in  his 
vest  pocket,  and  looked  very  sentimental.  I  laughed 
at  him,  and  said  I  didn't  throw  it,  but  Flo,  —  which 
seemed  to  disgust  him,  for  he  tossed  it  out  of  the 
window,  and  turned  sensible  again.  I'm  afraid  I'm 
going  to  have  trouble  with  that  boy,  —  it  begins  to 
look  like  it. 

"  The  baths  at  Nassau  were  very  gay,  so  was  Baden- 
Baden,  where  Fred  lost  some  money,  and  I  scolded 
him.  He  needs  some  one  to  look  after  him  when 
Frank  is  not  with  him.  Kate  said  once  she  hoped 
he'd  marry  soon,  and  I  quite  agree  with  her  that  it 
would  be  well  for  him.  Frankfort  was  delightful ;  I 
saw  Goethe's  house,  Schiller's  statue,  and  Dannecker's 
famous  c  Ariadne.'  It  was  very  lovely,  but  I  should 
have  enjoyed  it  more  if  I  had  known  the  story  better. 
I  didn't  like  to  ask,  as  every  one  knew  it,  or  pretended 
they  did.    I  wish  Jo  would  tell  me  all  about  it;  I 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT. 


119 


ought  to  have  read  more,  for  I  find  I  don't  know  any- 
thing,  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  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  moonlight  walks,  balcony  talks,  and  daily 
adventures  were  something  more  to  him  than  fun.  I 
haven't  flirted,  mother,  truly,  —  but  remembered  what 
you  said  to  me,  and  have  done  my  very  best.  I  can't 
help  it  if  people  like  me ;  I  don't  try  to  make  them, 
and  it  worries  me  if  I  don't  care  for  them,  though  Jo 
says  I  haven't  got  any  heart.  Now  I  know  mother 
will  shake  her  head,  and  the  girls  say,  '  Oh,  the  mer- 
cenary 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  com- 
fortably 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  comfortable,  and  full  of  solid  luxury, 
such  as  English  people  believe  in.  I  like  it,  for  it's 
genuine ;  I've  seen  the  plate,  the  family  jewels,  the 
old  servants,  and  pictures  of  the  country  place  with 
its  park,  great  house,  lovely  grounds,  and  fine  horses. 
Oh,  it  would  be  all  I  should  ask !  and  I'd  rather  have 
it  than  any  title  such  as  girls  snap  up  so  readily,  and 


120  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  cosy  all  round.  I  wouldn't  marry  a 
man  I  hated  or  despised.  You  may  be  sure  of  that : 
and,  though  Fred  is  not  my  model  hero,  he  does  very 
well,  and,  in  time,  I  should  get  fond  enough  of  him 
if  he  was  very  fond  of  me,  and  let  me  do  just  as  I 
liked.  So  I've  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  my 
mind  the  last  week,  —  for  it  was  impossible  to  help 
seeing  that  Fred  liked  me.  He  said  nothing,  but  little 
things  showed  it ;  he  never  goes  with  Flo,  always  gets 
on  my  side  of  the  carriage,  table,  or  promenade,  looks 
sentimental  when  we  are  alone,  and  frowns  at  any 
one  else  who  ventures  to  speak  to  me.  Yesterday,  at 
dinner,  when  an  Austrian  officer  stared  at  us,  and 
then  said  something  to  his  friend,  - —  a  rakish-looking 
Baron,  —  about  \ein  wonde?'schones  Blondchenj  Fred 
looked  as  fierce  as  a  lion,  and  cut  his  meat  so  sav- 
agely, it  nearly  flew  off  his  plate.  He  isn't  one  of  the 
cool,  stiff  Englishmen,  but  is  rather  peppery,  for  he 
has  Scotch  blood  in  him,  as  one  might  guess  from  his 
bonnie  blue  eyes. 

"  Well,  last  evening  we  went  up  to  the  castle  about 
sunset,  —  at  least  all  of  us  but  Fred,  who  was  to  meet 
us  there  after  going  to  the  Poste  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 


OUR  FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENT.        I2x 

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, 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  Austrian  band  below, 
and  waiting  for  my  lover,  —  like  a  real  story-book  girl. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  something  was  going  to  happen, 
and  I  was  ready  for  it.  I  didn't  feel  blushyor  quakey, 
but  quite  cool,  and  only  a  little  excited. 

"  By  and  by  I  heard  Fred's  voice,  and  then  he  came 
hurrying  through  the  great  arch  to  find  me.  He 
looked  so  troubled  that  I  forgot  all  about  myself,  and 
asked  what  the  matter  was.  He  said  he'd  just  got  a 
letter  begging  him  to  come  home,  for  Frank  was  very 
ill ;  so  he  was  going  at  once,  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  didn'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, 
4  Will  you,  please  ?  * 

u  Of  course  this  is  all  very  private,  but  I  wished 
you  to  know  what  was  going  on.     Don't  be  anxious 


122  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

about  me ;  remember  I  am  your  '  prudent  Amy,'  and 
be  sure  I  will  do  nothing  rashly.  Send  me  as  much 
advice  as  you  like  ;  I'll  use  it  if  I  can.  I  wish  I  could 
see  you  for  a  good  talk,  Marmee.  Love  and  trust  me. 
Ever  your  Amy." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

TENDER      TROUBLES. 

JO,  I'm  anxious  about  Beth." 
"  Why,  mother,  she  has  seemed  unusually  well 
since  the  babies  came." 

"  It's  not  her  health  that  troubles  me  now  ;  it's  her 
spirits.  I'm  sure  there  is  something  on  her  mind,  and 
I  want  you  to  discover  what  it  is." 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  mother?" 

"  She  sits  alone  a  good  deal,  and  doesn't  talk  to  her 
father  as  much  as  she  used.  I  found  her  crying  over 
the  babies  the  other  day.  When  she  sings,  the  songs 
are  always  sad  ones,  and  now  and  then  I  see  a  look 
in  her  face  that  I  don't  understand.  This  isn't  like 
Beth,  and  it  worries  me." 

"  Have  you  asked  her  about  it?" 

"  I  have  tried  once  or  twice  ;  but  she  either  evaded 
my  questions,  or  looked  so  distressed,  that  I  stopped. 
I  never  force  my  children's  confidence,  and  I  seldom 
have  to  wait  for  it  long." 

Mrs.  March  glanced  at  Jo  as  she  spoke,  but  the 
face  opposite  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  any  secret 
disquietude  but  Beth's ;  and,  after  sewing  thought- 
fully for  a  minute,  Jo  said,  — 

"  I  think  she  is  growing  up,  and  so  begins  to  dream 
dreams,  and  have  hopes,  and  fears,  and  fidgets,  with- 
out  knowing  why,   or   being  able   to  explain  them. 
Why,  mother,  Beth's  eighteen ;  but  we  don't  realize 
("3) 


124 


LITTLE  V/OMEN. 


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. 

"  Can't  be  helped,  Marmee  ;  so  you  must  resign 
yourself  to  all  sorts  of  worries,  and  let  your  birds  hop 
out  of  the  nest,  one  by  one.  I  promise  never  to  hop 
very  far,  if  that  is  any  comfort  to  you." 

"  It  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  alwa}'s  ready." 

"  Why,  you  know  I  don't  mind  hard  jobs  much, 
and  there  must  always  be  one  scrub  in  a  family.  Amy 
is  splendid  in  fine  works,  and  I'm  not ;  but  I  feel  in 
my  element  when  all  the  carpets  are  to  be  taken  up, 
or  half  the  family  fall  sick  at  once.  Amy  is  dis- 
tinguishing herself  abroad ;  but  if  anything  is  amiss 
at  home,  I'm  your  man." 

"  I  leave  Beth  to  your  hands  then,  for  she  will  open 
her  tender  little  heart  to  her  Jo  sooner  than  to  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  shouldn't  have  a 
wish  in  the  world." 

"  Happy  woman  !  I've  got  heaps." 

"  My  dear,  what  are  they?" 

"  I'll  settle  Bethy's  troubles,  and  then  I'll  tell  you 
mine.  They  are  not  very  wearing,  so  they'll  keep  ; " 
and  Jo  stitched  away  with  a  wise  nod,  which  set  her 
mother's  heart  at  rest  about  her,  for  the  present  at 
least. 

While  apparently  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs,  Jo 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  125 

watched  Beth  ;  and,  after  many  conflicting  conjectures, 
finally  settled  upon  one  which  seemed  to  explain  the 
change  in  her.  A  slight  incident  gave  Jo  the  clue  to 
the  mystery,  she  thought,  and  lively  fancy,  loving  heart 
did  the  rest.  She  was  affecting  to  write  busily  one 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  she  and  Beth  were  alone 
together ;  yet,  as  she  scribbled,  she  kept  her  eye  on 
her  sister,  who  seemed  unusually  quiet.  Sitting  at 
the  window,  Beth's  work  often  dropped  into  her  lap, 
and  she  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  in  a  dejected 
attitude,  while  her  eyes  rested  on  the  dull,  autum- 
nal 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 
apprehensively  at  Jo  ;  but  she  was  scratching  away  at 
a  tremendous  rate,  apparently  engrossed  in  "  Olym- 
piad 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  some- 
thing about  needing  more  paper. 

"  Mercy  on  me  ;  Beth  loves  Laurie  !"  she  said,  sit- 


126  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

ting  down  in  her  own  room,  pale  with  the  shock  of 
the  discovery  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  shouldn't  love 
back  again,  how  dreadful  it  would  be.  He  must ;  I'll 
make  him  ! "  and  she  shook  her  head  threateningly  at 
the  picture  of  the  mischievous  looking  boy  laughing 
at  her  from  the  wall.  "  Oh  dear,  we  are  growing  up 
with  a  vengeance.  Here's  Meg  married,  and  a  ma, 
Amy  flourishing  away  at  Paris,  and  Beth  in  love. 
I'm  the  only  one  that  has  sense  enough  to  keep  out  of 
mischief."  Jo  thought  intently  for  a  minute,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  picture  ;  then  she  smoothed  out  her 
wrinkled  forehead,  and  said,  with  a  decided  nod  at 
the  face  opposite,  —  "  No,  thank  you  sir!  you're  very 
charming,  but  you've  no  more  stability  than  a  weather- 
cock ;  so  you  needn't  write  touching  notes,  and  smile 
in  that  insinuating  way,  for  it  won't  do  a  bit  of  good, 
and  I  won't  have  it." 

Then  she  sighed,  and  fell  into  a  reverie,  from  which 
she  did  not  wake  till  the  early  twilight  sent  her  down 
to  take  new  observations,  which  only  confirmed  her 
suspicion.  Though  Laurie  flirted  with  Amy,  and 
joked  with  Jo,  his  manner  to  Beth  had  always  been 
peculiarly  kind  and  gentle,  but  so  was  everybody's ; 
therefore,  no  one  thought  of  imagining  that  he  cared 
more  for  her  than  for  the  others.  Indeed,  a  general 
impression  had  prevailed  in  the  family,  of  late,  that 
"  our  boy  "  was  getting  fonder  than  ever  of  Jo,  who, 
however,  wouldn't  hear  a  word  upon  the  subject,  and 
scolded  violently  if  any  one  dared  to  suggest  it.  If 
they  had  known  the  various  tender  passages  of  the 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  127 

past  year,  or  rather  attempts  at  tender  passages,  which 
had  been  nipped  in  the  bud,  they  would  have  had  the 
immense  satisfaction  of  saying,  "  I  told  you  so."  But 
Jo  hated  "  philandering,"  and  wouldn't  allow  it,  al- 
ways having  a  joke  or  a  smile  ready  at  the  least  sign 
of  impending  danger. 

When  Laurie  first  went  to  college,  he  fell  in  love 
about  once  a  month ;  but  these  small  flames  were  as 
brief  as  ardent,  did  no  damage,  and  much  amused 
Jo,  who  took  great  interest  in  the  alternations  of 
hope,  despair,  and  resignation,  which  were  confided 
to  her  in  their  weekly  conferences.  But  there  came  a 
time  when  Laurie  ceased  to  worship  at  many  shrines, 
hinted  darkly  at  one  all-absorbing  passion,  and  in- 
dulged occasionally  in  Byronic  fits  of  gloom.  Then 
he  avoided  the  tender  subject  altogether,  wrote  philo- 
sophical notes  to  Jo,  turned  studious,  and  gave  out 
that  he  was  going  to  "  dig,"  intending  to  graduate  in 
a  blaze  of  glory.  This  suited  the  young  lady  better 
than  twilight  confidences,  tender  pressures  of  the 
hand,  and  eloquent  glances  of  the  eye ;  for  with  Jo, 
brain  developed  earlier  than  heart,  and  she  preferred 
imaginary  heroes  to  real  ones,  because,  when  tired 
of  them,  the  former  could  be  shut  up  in  the  tin- 
kitchen  till  called  for,  and  the  latter  were  less  man- 
ageable. 

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  un- 
usual 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 


128  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

pace ;  and  common  sense,  being  rather  weakened  by 
a  long  course  of  romance  writing,  did  not  come  to 
the  rescue.  As  usual,  Beth  lay  on  the  sofa,  and 
Laurie  sat  in  a  low  chair  close  by,  amusing  her  with 
all  sorts  of  gossip ;  for  she  depended  on  her  weekly 
"  spin,"  and  he  never  disappointed  her.  But  that 
evening,  Jo  fancied  that  Beth's  eyes  rested  on  the 
lively,  dark  face  beside  her  with  peculiar  pleasure, 
and  that  she  listened  with  intense  interest  to  an  ac- 
count of  some  exciting  cricket  match,  though  the 
phrases,  "  caught  off  a  tice,"  "  stumped  off  his  ground," 
and  "  the  leg  hit  for  three,"  were  as  intelligible  to  her 
as  Sanscrit.  She  also  fancied,  having  set  her  heart 
upon  seeing  it,  that  she  saw  a  certain  increase  of  gen- 
tleness in  Laurie's  manner,  that  he  dropped  his  voice 
now  and  then,  laughed  less  than  usual,  was  a  little 
absent-minded,  and  settled  the  afghari  over  Beth's  feet 
with  an  assiduity  that  was  really  almost  tender. 

"  Who  knows !  stranger  things  have  happened," 
thought  Jo,  as  she  fussed  about  the  room.  "  She  will 
make  quite  an  angel  of  him,  and  he  will  make  life 
delightfully  easy  and  pleasant  for  the  dear,  if  they 
only  love  each  other.  I  don't  see  how  he  can  help  it ; 
and  I  do  believe  he  would  if  the  rest  of  us  were  out 
of  the  way." 

As  every  one  was  out  of  the  way  but  herself,  Jo 
began  to  feel  that  she  ought  to  dispose  of  herself  with 
all  speed.  But  where  should  she  go  ?  and  burning  to 
lay  herself  upon  the  shrine  of  sisterly  devotion,  she 
sat  down  to  settle  that  point. 

Now  the  old  sofa  was  a  regular  patriarch  of  a  sofa  — 
long,  broad,  well-cushioned  and  low.  A  trifle  shabby, 
as  well  it  might  be,  for  the  girls  had  slept  and  sprawled 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  1 29 

on  it  as  babies,  fished  over  the  back,  rode  on  the  arms, 
and  had  menageries  under  it  as  children,  and  rested 
tired  heads,  dreamed  dreams,  and  listened  to  tender 
talk  on  it  as  young  women.  They  all  loved  it,  for  it 
was  a  family  refuge,  and  one  corner  had  always  been 
Jo's  favorite  lounging  place.  Among  the  many  pil- 
lows that  adorned  the  venerable  couch  was  one,  hard, 
round,  covered  with  prickly  horse-hair,  and  furnished 
with  a  knobby  button  at  each  end ;  this  repulsive  pil- 
low was  her  especial  property,  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  re- 
gard it  with  deep  aversion  ;  having  been  unmercifully 
pummelled  with  it  in  former  days,  when  romping  was 
allowed,  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  re- 
pose ;  but  if  it  laid  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 
coasting  on  to  the  floor,  it  disappeared  in  a  most  mys- 
terious manner. 

"  Come,  Jo,  don't  be  thorny.  After  studying  him- 
9 


i3° 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


self  to  a  skeleton  all  the  week,  a  fellow  deserves  petting, 
and  ought  to  get  it." 

"  Beth  will  pet  you,  I'm  busy." 

"  No,  she's  not  to  be  bothered  with  me ;  but  you 
like  that  sort  of  thing,  unless  you've  suddenly  lost  your 
taste  for  it.  Have  you  ?  Do  you  hate  your  boy,  and 
want  to  fire  pillows  at  him  ?  " 

Anything  more  wheedlesome  than  that  touching 
appeal  was  seldom  seen,  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. 

"  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  doesn't  approve  of  flirting,  even  in  fun ; 
and  you  do  flirt  desperately,  Teddy." 

"  I'd  give  anything  if  I  could  answer,  '  So  do  you.' 
As  I  can't,  I'll  merely  say  that  I  don't  see  any  harm  in 
that  pleasant  little  game,  if  all  parties  understand  that 
it's  only  play." 

"  Well,  it  does  look  pleasant,  but  I  can't  learn  how 
it's  done.  I've  tried,  because  one  feels  awkward  in 
company,  not  to  do  as  everybody  else  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." 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  131 

"  Yes,  she  does  it  very  prettily,  and  never  seems  to 
go  too  far.  I  suppose  it's  natural  to  some  people  to 
please  without  trying,  and  others  to  always  say  and 
do  the  wrong  thing  in  the  wrong  place." 

"  I'm  glad  you  can't  flirt ;  it's  really  refreshing  to 
see  a  sensible,  straightforward  girl,  who  can  be  jolly 
and  kind  without  making  a  fool  of  herself.  Between 
ourselves,  Jo,  some  of  the  girls  I  know  really  do  go 
on  at  such  a  rate  I'm  ashamed  of  them.  They  don't 
mean  any  harm,  I'm  sure ;  but  if  they  knew  how  we 
fellows  talked  about  them  afterward,  they'd  mend  their 
ways,  I  fancy." 

"  They  do  the  same ;  and,  as  their  tongues  are  the 
sharpest,  you  fellows  get  the  worst  of  it,  for  you  are 
as  silly  as  they,  every  bit.  If  you  behaved  properly, 
they  would ;  but,  knowing  you  like  their  nonsense, 
they  keep  it  up,  and  then  you  blame  them." 

"  Much  you  know  about  it,  ma'am  !  "  said  Laurie,  in 
a  superior  tone.  "  We  don't  like  romps  and  flirts, 
though  we  may  act  as  if  we  did  sometimes.  The 
pretty,  modest  girls  are  never  talked  about,  except 
respectfully,  among  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  harem-scarem  girls,  I 
always  want  to  say  with  our  friend  Cock  Robin,  — 

"  '  Out  upon  you,  fie  upon  you, 
Bold-faced  jig ! ' " 

It  was  impossible  to  help  laughing  at  the  funny 
conflict  between  Laurie's  chivalrous  reluctance  to 
speak  ill  of  womankind,  and  his  very  natural  dislike 
of  the  unfeminine  folly  of  which  fashionable  society 


1 32  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

showed  him  many  samples.  Jo  knew  that  "  young 
Laurence "  was  regarded  as  a  most  eligible  farti 
by  worldly  mammas,  was  much  smiled  upon  by  their 
daughters,  and  flattered  enough  by  ladies  of  all  ages 
to  make  a  cockscomb  of  him ;  so  she  watched  him 
rather  jealously,  fearing  he  would  be  spoilt,  and  re- 
joiced 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  your- 
self to  one  of  the  '  pretty  modest  girls '  whom  you  do 
respect,  and  not  waste  your  time  with  the  silly  ones." 

"You  really  advise  it?"  and  Laurie  looked  at  her 
with  an  odd  mixture  of  anxiety  and  merriment  in  his 
face. 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  but  you'd  better  wait  till  you  are 
through  college,  on  the  whole,  and  be  fitting  yourself 
for  the  place  meantime.  You're  not  half  good  enough 
for  —  well,  whoever  the  modest  girl  may  be ; "  and 
Jo  looked  a  little  queer  likewise,  for  a  name  had 
almost  escaped  her. 

"  That  I'm  not !  "  acquiesced  Laurie,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  humility  quite  new  to  him,  as  he  dropped 
his  eyes,  and  absently  wound  Joe's  apron  tassel  round 
his  finger. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  this  will  never  do,"  thought  Jo  ;  ad- 
ding 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- 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  133 

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  de- 
parted in  high  dudgeon. 

Jo  lay  long  awake  that  night,  and  was  just  drop- 
ping 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  ;  if  s  a  new  one  ;  but  I  can  bear  it,"  and  Beth 
tried  to  check  her  tears. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  let  me  cure  it  as  I  often 
did  the  other." 

"  You  can't ;  there  is  no  cure."  There  Beth's  voice 
gave  way,  and,  clinging  to  her  sister,  she  cried  so 
despairingly  that  Jo  was  frightened. 

"  Where  is  it?     Shall  I  call  mother?  " 

Beth  did  not  answer  the  first  question ;  but  in  the 
dark  one  hand  went  involuntarily  to  her  heart,  as  if 
the  pain  were  there  ;  with  the  other  she  held  Jo  fast, 
whispering  eagerly,  "  No,  no,  don't  call  her ;  don't 
tell  her !  I  shall  be  better  soon.  Lie  down  here  and 
4  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 


134  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

was  very  full,  and  she  longed  to  speak.  But  young  as 
she  was  Jo  had  learned  that  hearts,  like  flowers, 
cannot  be  rudely  handled,  but  must  open  naturally ; 
so,  though  she  believed  she  knew  the  cause  of  Beth' s 
new  pain,  she  only  said,  in  her  tenderest  tone,  "  Does 
anything  trouble  you,  deary?" 

"  Yes,  Jo  !"  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Wouldn't  it  comfort  you  to  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

"  Not  now,  not  yet." 

"  Then  I  won't  ask ;  but  remember,  Bethy,  that 
mother  and  Jo  are  always  glad  to  hear  and  help  you, 
if  they  can." 

"  I  know  it.     I'll  tell  you  by  and  by." 

11  Is  the  pain  better  now?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  much  better  ;  you  are  so  comfortable,  Jo ! " 

"  Go  to  sleep,  dear  ;  I'll  stay  with  you." 

So  cheek  to  cheek  they  fell  asleep,  and  on  the 
morrow  Beth  seemed  quite  herself  again ;  for,  at 
eighteen,  neither  heads  nor  hearts  ache  long,  and  a 
loving  word  can  medicine  most  ills. 

But  Jo  had  made  up  her  mind,  and,  after  pondering 
over  a  project  for  some  days,  she  confided  it  to  her 
mother. 

"  You  asked  me  the  other  day  what  my  wishes 
were.  I'll  tell  you  one  of  them,  Marmee,"  she  began, 
as  they  sat  alone  together.  "  I  want  to  go  away  some- 
where this  winter  for  a  change." 

"  Why,  Jo?"  and  her  mother  looked  up  quickly,  as 
if  the  words  suggested  a  double  meaning. 

With  her  eyes  on  her  work,  Jo  answered  soberly, 
"I  want  something  new;  I  feel  restless,  and  anxious 
to  be  seeing,  doing,  and  learning  more  than  I  am.  I 
brood  too  much  over  my  own  small  affairs,  and  need 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  T^ 

stirring  up,  so,  as  I  can  be  spared  this  winter  Fd  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  chil- 
dren and  sew.  It's  rather  hard  to  find  just  the  thing, 
but  I  think  I  should  suit  if  I  tried." 

"My  dear,  go  out  to  service  in  that  great  boarding- 
house  ! "  and  Mrs.  March  looked  surprised,  but  not 
displeased. 

"  It's  not  exactly  going  out  to  service ;  for  Mrs. 
Kirke  is  your  friend,  —  the  kindest  soul  that  ever 
lived,  —  and  would  make  things  pleasant  for  me,  I 
know.  Her  family  is  separate  from  the  rest,  and  no 
one  knows  me  there.  Don't  care  if  they  do;  it's 
honest  work,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Nor  I ;  but  your  writing?  " 

"All  the  better  for  the  change.  I  shall  see  and 
hear  new  things,  get  new  ideas,  and,  even  if  I  haven't 
much  time  there,  I  shall  bring  home  quantities  of 
material  for  my  rubbish." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it ;  but  are  these  your  only 
reasons  for  this  sudden  fancy?" 

"  No,  mother." 

"  May  I  know  the  others?  " 

Jo  looked  up  and  Jo  looked  down,  then  said  slowly, 
with  sudden  color  in  her  cheeks,  "  It  may  be  vain 
and  wrong  to  say  it,  but  — I'm  afraid  —  Laurie  is 
getting  too  fond  of  me." 

"  Then  you  don't  care  for  him  in  the  way  it  is  evi- 
dent he  begins  to  care  for  you?"  and  Mrs.  March 
looked  anxious  as  she  put  the  question. 


136  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

"  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  men- 
tion hot  tempers  and  strong  wills,  to  get  on  happily 
together,  in  a  relation  which  needs  infinite  patience 
and  forbearance,  as  well  as  love." 

"  That's  just  the  feeling  I  had,  though  I  couldn't 
express  it.  I'm  glad  you  think  he  is  only  beginning 
to  care  for  me.  It  would  trouble  me  sadly  to  make 
him  unhappy ;  for  I  couldn't  fall  in  love  with  the  dear 
old  fellow  merely  out  of  gratitude,  could  I  ?  " 

"  You  are  sure  of  his  feeling  for  you?  " 

The  color  deepened  in  Jo's  cheeks,  as  she  answered 
with  the  look  of  mingled  pleasure,  pride,  and  pain 
which  young  girls  wear  when  speaking  of  first  lovers,  — 

"I'm  afraid  it  is  so,  mother ;  he  hasn't  said  any- 
thing, but  he  looks  a  great  deal.  I  think  I  had  better 
go  away  before  it  comes  to  anything." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  and  if  it  can  be  managed  you 
shall  go." 

Jo  looked  relieved,  and,  after  a  pause,  said, — 
smiling,  — 

"  How  Mrs.  Moffat  would  wonder  at  your  want  of 
management,  if  she  knew  ;  and  how  she  will  rejoice 
that  Annie  still  may  hope." 

"  Ah,  Jo,  mothers  may  differ  in  their  management, 


TENDER  TROUBLES.  137 

but  the  hope  is  the  same  in  all —  the  desire  to  see  their 
children  happy.  Meg  is  so,  and  I  am  content  with 
her  success.  You  I  leave  to  enjoy  your  liberty  till 
you  tire  of  it ;  for  only  then  will  you  find  that  there  is 
something  sweeter.  Amy  is  my  chief  care  now,  but 
her  good  sense  will  help  her.  For  Beth,  I  indulge  no 
hopes  except  that  she  may  be  well.  By  the  way,  she 
seems  brighter  this  last  day  or  two.  Have  you  spoken 
to  her?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  owned  she  had  a  trouble,  and  promised 
to  tell  me  by  and  by.  I  said  no  more,  for  I  think  I 
know  it;"  and  Jo  told  her  little  story. 

Mrs.  March  shook  her  head,  and  did  not  take  so 
romantic  a  view  of  the  case,  but  looked  grave,  and 
repeated  her  opinion  that,  for  Laurie's  sake,  Jo  should 
go  away  for  a  time. 

"  Let  us  say  nothing  about  it  to  him  till  the  plan  is 
settled ;  then  I'll  run  away  before  he  can  collect  his 
wits  and  be  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, 


138  &ITTLE  WOMEN. 

while  the  new  scenes  and  society  would  be  both  useful 
and  agreeable.  Jo  liked  the  prospect,  and  was  eager 
to  be  gone,  for  the  home-nest  was  growing  too  nar- 
row for  her  restless  nature  and  adventurous  spirit. 
When  all  was  settled,  with  fear  and  trembling  she 
told  Laurie ;  but,  to  her  surprise,  he  took  it  very 
quietly.  He  had  been  graver  than  usual  of  late,  but 
very  pleasant ;  and,  when  jokingly  accused  of  turning 
over  a  new  leaf,  he  answered,  soberly,  "Sol  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  prepara- 
tions with  a  lightened  heart,  —  for  Beth  seemed  more 
cheerful,  —  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, 
wondering  why  Jo  looked  at  her  so  queerly. 

When  Laurie  said  "  Good-by,"  he  whispered,  sig- 
nificantly, "  It  won't  do  a  bit  of  good,  Jo.  My  eye  is 
on  you  ;  so  mind  what  you  do,  or  I'll  come  and  bring 
you  home." 


CHAPTER  X. 
jo's   journal, 

"  New  York,  Nov. 

DEAR  Marmee  and  Beth: 
I'm  going  to  write  you  a  regular  volume,  for 
I've  got  lots  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,  hadn'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  win- 
dow, 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  guess,  but  they  took  to  me  after  telling  them  '  The 
Seven  Bad  Pigs ' ;  and  I've  no  doubt  I  shall  make  a 
model  governess. 


140 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


"  I  am  to  have  my  meals  with  the  children,  if  I  pre- 
fer it  to  the  great  table,  and  for  the  present  I  do,  for  I 
am  bashful,  though  no  one  will  believe  it. 

"  '  Now  my  dear,  make  yourself  at  home,'  said  Mrs. 
K.  in  her  motherly  way ;  '  I'm  on  the  drive  from 
morning  to  night,  as  you  may  suppose,  with  such  a 
family ;  but  a  great  anxiety  will  be  off  my  mind  if  I 
know  the  children  are  safe  with  you.  My  rooms  are 
always  open  to  you,  and  your  own  shall  be  as  com- 
fortable as  I  can  make  it.  There  are  some  pleasant 
people  in  the  house,  if  you  feel  sociable,  and  your 
evenings  are  always  free.  Come  to  me  if  anything 
goes  wrong,  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can.  There's 
the  tea-bell ;  I  must  run  and  change  my  cap ' ;  and 
off  she  bustled,  leaving  me  to  settle  myself  in  my  new 
nest. 

"As  I  went  down  stairs,  soon  after,  I  saw  something 
I  liked.  The  flights  are  very  long  in  this  tall  house, 
and  as  I  stood  waiting  at  the  head  of  the  third  one 
for  a  little  servant  girl  to  lumber  up,  I  saw  a  queer- 
looking  man  come  along  behind  her,  take  the  heavy 
hod  of  coal  out  of  her  hand,  cany  it  all  the  way  up, 
put  it  down  at  a  door  near  by,  and  walk  away,  say- 
ing, 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  men- 
tioned it  to  Mrs.  K.,  that  evening,  she  laughed,  and 
said,  — 

"  '  That  must  have  been  Professor  Bhaer ;  he's  al- 
ways doing  things  of  that  sort.' 

"  Mrs.  K.  told  me  he  was  from  Berlin  ;  very  learned 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  I4I 

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  is  a  glass  door  be- 
tween it  and  the  nursery,  and  I  mean  to  peep  at  him, 
and  then  I'll  tell  you  how  he  looks.  He's  most  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." 

jf  Tuesday t  Eve. 
"  Had  a  lively  time  in  my  seminary,  this  morning, 
for  the  children  acted  like  Sancho  ;  and  at  one  time 
I  really  thought  I  should  shake  them  all  round.  Some 
good  angel  inspired  me  to  try  gymnastics,  and  I  kept 
it  up  till  they  were  glad  to  sit  down  and  keep  still. 
After  luncheon,  the'  girl  took  them  out  for  a  walk, 
and  I  went  to  my  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,' 

like  a  big  bumble-bee.  It  was  dreadfully  improper, 
I  know,  but  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  ;  and  lift- 
ing one  end  of  the  curtain  before  the  glass  door,  I 
peeped  in.     Professor  Bhaer  was  there  ;  and  while  he 


143 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


arranged  his  books,  I  took  a  good  look  at  him.  A 
regular  German  —  rather  stout,  with  brown  hair  tum- 
bled all  over  his  head,  a  bushy  beard,  droll  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  handsome  feature  in  his 
face,  except  his  beautiful  teeth ;  yet  I  liked  him,  for 
he  had  a  fine  head ;  his  linen  was  spandy  nice,  and 
he  looked  like  a  gentleman,  though  two  buttons  were 
off  his  coat,  and  there  was  a  patch  on  one  shoe.  He 
looked  sober  in  spite  of  his  humming,  till  he  went  to 
the  window  to  turn  the  hyacinth  bulbs  toward  the 
sun,  and  stroke  the  cat,  who  received  him  like  an  old 
friend.  Then  he  smiled ;  and  when  a  tap  came  at 
the  door,  called  out  in  a  loud,  brisk  tone,  — 

"'  Herein  V 

"  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, 
catching  her  up,  with  a  laugh,  and  holding  her  so 
high  over  his  head  that  she  had  to  stoop  her  little  face 
to  kiss  him. 

" \  Now  me  mus  tuddy  my  lessin,'  went  on  the 
funny  little  thing ;  so  he  put  her  up  at  the  table, 
opened  the  great  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, 


THE    PROFESSOR     AND     TINA. 
'Come  then,  my  Tina,  and  haf  a  goot  hug  from  thy  Bhaer. "  —  P  age  142. 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  143 

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  vir- 
tuously remained  through  all  the  noise  and  gabbling 
that  went  on  next  door.  One  of  the  girls  kept  laugh- 
ing affectedly,  and  saying  c  Now  Professor/  in  a  co- 
quettish tone,  and  the  other  pronounced  her  German 
with  an  accent  that  must  have  made  it  hard  for  him 
to  keep  sober. 

"  Both  seemed  to  try  his  patience  sorely  ;  for  more 
than  once  I  heard  him  say,  emphatically,  4  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  exclama- 
tion, *  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 
guess  he  has  a  hard  life  of  it. 

"  Mrs.  Kirke  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  go  down  to 
the  five-o'clock  dinner ;  and,  feeling  a  little  bit  home- 
sick, 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 


144  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

concealment  were  rather  a  failure.  She  gave  me  a 
seat  by  her,  and  after  my  face  cooled  off,  I  piucked 
up  courage,  and  looked  about  me.  The  long  table 
was  full,  and  every  one  intent  on  getting  their  din- 
ner—  the  gentlemen  especially,  who  seemed  to  be 
eating  on  time,  for  they  bolted  in  every  sense  of  the 
word,  vanishing  as  soon  as  they  were  done.  There 
was  the  usual  assortment  of  young  men,  absorbed  in 
themselves ;  young  couples  absorbed  in  each  other ; 
married  ladies  in  their  babies,  and  old  gentlemen  in 
politics.  I  don't  think  I  shall  care  to  have  much  to 
do  with  any  of  them,  except  one  sweet-faced  maiden 
lady,  who  looks  as  if  she  had  something  in  her. 

"  Cast  away  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  table  was 
the  Professor,  shouting  answers  to  the  questions  of  a 
very  inquisitive,  deaf  old  gentleman  on  one  side,  and 
talking  philosophy  with  a  Frenchman  on  the  other. 
If  Amy  had  been  here,  she'd  have  turned  her  back  on 
him  forever,  because,  sad  to  relate,  he  had  a  great 
appetite,  and  shovelled  in  his  dinner  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  horrified  '  her  ladyship.'  I  didn't 
mind,  for  I  like  '  to  see  folks  eat  with  a  relish,'  as 
Hannah  says,  and  the  poor  man  must  have  needed  a 
deal  of  food,  after  teaching  idiots  all  day. 

"As  I  went  upstairs  after  dinner,  two  of  the  young 
men  were  settling  their  beavers  before  the  hall  mirror, 
and  I  heard  one  say  low  to  the  other,  f  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.' 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  145 

"  I  felt  angry  at  first,  and  then  I  didn't  care,  for  a 
governess  is  as  good  as  a  clerk,  and  I've  got  sense,  if 
I  haven't  style,  which  is  more  than  some  people  have, 
judging  from  the  remarks  of  the  elegant  beings  who 
clattered  away,  smoking  like  bad  chimneys.  I  hate 
ordinary  people ! " 

"  Thursday. 

"  Yesterday  was  a  quiet  day,  spent  in  teaching, 
sewing,  and  writing  in  my  little  room,  — which  is  very 
cosy,  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  fol- 
lows 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  affection,  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  manner  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  odd  ways. 

u  The  maiden  lady  is  a  Miss  Norton,  —  rich,  cul- 
tivated, 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  inter- 
esting persons,  and  seems  friendly ;  so  I  shall  make 
IO 


146 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


myself  agreeable,  for  I  do  want  to  get  into  good 
society,  only  it  isn't  the  same  sort  that  Amy  likes. 

"  I  was  in  our  parlor  last  evening,  when  Mr.  Bhaer 
came  in  with  some  newspapers  for  Mrs.  Kirke.  She 
wasn't  there,  but  Minnie,  who  is  a  little  old  woman, 
introduced  me  very  prettily :  '  This  is  mamma's  friend, 
Miss  March.' 

"  '  Yes ;  and  she's  jolly,  and  we  like  her  lots,'  added 
Kitty,  who  is  an  4  infant  terrible? 

"  We  both  bowed,  and  then  we  laughed,  for  the 
prim  introduction  and  the  blunt  addition  were  rather 
a  comical  contrast. 

" '  Ah,  yes ;  I  hear  these  naughty  ones  go  to  vex 
you,  Mees  Marsch.  If  so  again,  call  at  me  and  I 
come,'  he  said,  with  a  threatening  frown  that  de- 
lighted 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  sock  on  one  hand  and  a  darning- 
needle  in  the  other ;  he  didn't  seem  at  all  ashamed  of 
it,  for  when  I  explained  and  hurried  on,  he  waved 
his  hand,  sock  and  all,  saying,  in  his  loud,  cheerful 
way,  — 

"  4  You  haf  a  fine  day  to  make  your  walk.  Bon 
voyage,  mademoiselle? 

"  I  laughed  all  the  way  down  stairs ;  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." 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  147 

"  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  some- 
times go  with  her  to  lectures  and  concerts,  *as  her 
escort,  —  if  I  enjoyed  them.  She  put  it  as  a  favor  ; 
but  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Kirke  has  told  her  about  us,  and 
she  does  it  out  of  kindness  to  me.  I'm  as  proud  as 
Lucifer,  but  such  favors  from  such  people  don't  bur- 
den me,  and  I  accepted  gratefully. 

"  When  I  got  back  to  the  nursery  there  was  such 
an  uproar  in  the  parlor  that  I  looked  in,  and  there 
was  Mr.  Bhaer  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  with 
Tina  on  his  back,  Kitty  leading  him  with  a  jump- 
rope,  and  Minnie  feeding  two  small  boys  with  seed- 
cakes, as  they  roared  and  ramped  in  cages  built  of 
chairs. 

"  '  We  are  playing  nargeriej  explained  Kitty. 

"  c  Dis  is  mine  effalunt ! '  added  Tina,  holding  on 
by  the  Professor's  hair. 

"  8  Mamma  always  allows  us  to  do  what  we  like 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  Franz  and  Emil  come, 
don't  she,  Mr.  Bhaer?'  said  Minnie. 

"  The  '  effalunt '  sat  up,  looking  as  much  in  earnest 
as  any  of  them,  and  said,  soberly,  to  me, — 

" '  I  gif  you  my  wort  it  is  so.  If  we  make  too  large 
a  noise  you  shall  say  "  hush !  "  to  us,  and  we  go  more 
softly.' 

"  I  promised  to  do  so,  but  left  the  door  open,  and 
enjoyed  the  fun  as  much  as  they  did,  —  for  a  more 
glorious  frolic  I  never  witnessed.  They  played  tag, 
and  soldiers,  danced  and  sung,  and  when  it  began  to 


148  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

grow  dark  they  all  piled  on  to  the  sofa  about  the  Pro- 
fessor, while  he  told  charming  fairy  stories  of  the 
storks  on  the  chimney-tops,  and  the  little  i  Kobolds,' 
who  ride  the  snow-flakes  as  they  fall.  I  wish  Amer- 
icans were  as  simple  and  natural  as  Germans,  don't 
you  ? 

M  I'm  so  fond  of  writing,  I  should  go  spinning  on 
forever  if  motives  of  economy  didn't  stop  me ;  for 
though  I've  used  thin  paper,  and  written  fine,  I  tremble 
to  think  of  the  stamps  this  long  letter  will  need.  Pray 
forward  Amy's  as  soon  as  you  can  spare  them.  My 
small  news  will  sound  very  flat  after  her  splendors, 
but  you  will  like  them,  I  know.  Is  Teddy  studying 
so  hard  that  he  can't  find  time  to  write  to  his  friends  ? 
Take  good  care  of  him  for  me,  Beth,  and  tell  me  all 
about  the  babies,  and  give  heaps  of  love  to  every  one. 
"  From  your  faithful  Jo. 

"  P.  S.  On  reading  over  my  letter,  it  strikes  me 
as  rather  Bhaery ;  but  I'm  always  interested  in  odd 
people,  and  I  really  had  nothing  else  to  write  about. 
Bless  you." 

"Dec. 
"My  Precious  Betsey: 

"As  this  is  to  be  a  scribble-scrabble  letter,  I  direct 
it  to  you,  for  it  may  amuse  you,  and  give  you  some 
idea  of  my  goings  on ;  for,  though  quiet,  they  are 
rather  amusing,  for  which,  oh,  be  joyful !  After  what 
Amy  would  call  Herculaneum  efforts,  in  the  way  of 
mental  and  moral  agriculture,  my  young  ideas  begin 
to  shoot,  and  my  little  twigs  to  bend,  as  I  could  wish. 
They  are  not  so  interesting  to   me  as  Tina  and  the 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  149 

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  Amer- 
ican spirit  in  them  produces  a  constant  state  of  effer- 
vescence. 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 ! 

M  We  are  very  good  friends  now,  and  Fve  begun  to 
take  lessons.  I  really  couldn't  help  it,  and  it  all  came 
about  in  such  a  funny  way,  that  I  must  tell  you.  To 
begin  at  the  beginning.  Mrs.  Kirke  called  to  me,  one 
day,  as  I  passed  Mr.  Bhaer's  room,  where  she  was 
rummaging. 

"'Did  you  ever  see  such  a  den,  my  dear?  Just 
come  and  help  me  put  these  books  to  rights,  for  I've 
turned  everything  upside  down,  trying  to  discover 
what  he  has  done  with  the  six  new  handkerchiefs  I 
gave  him,  not  long  ago.' 

"  I  went  in,  and  while  we  worked  I  looked  about 
me,  for  it  was  '  a  den,'  to  be  sure.  Books  and  papers, 
everywhere ;  a  broken  meerschaum,  and  an  old  flute 
over  the  mantle-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-cage,  one    covered 


i5o 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


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  forget  to  look  them  over,  so  he  comes  to 
a  sad  pass  sometimes.' 

"  'Let  me  mend  them,'  said  I;  'I  don't  mind  it, 
and  he  needn't  know.  I'd  like  to,  —  he's  so  kind  to 
me  about  bringing  my  letters,  and  lending  books.' 

"  So  I  have  got  his  things  in  order,  and  knit  heels 
into  two  pairs  of  the  socks, —  for  they  were  boggled 
out  of  shape  with  his  queer  darns.  Nothing  was  said, 
and  I  hoped  he  wouldn't  find  it  out,  —  but  one  day 
last  week  he  caught  me  at  it.  Hearing  the  lessons  he 
gives  to  others  has  interested  and  amused  me  so  much, 
that  I  took  a  fancy  to  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  understand  what  he  said  to  a  new  scholar, 
who  is  as  stupid  as  I  am ;  the  girl  had  gone,  and  I 
thought  he  had  also,  it  was  so  still,  and  I  was  busily 
gabbling  over  a  verb,  and  rocking  to  and  fro  in  a  most 
absurd  way,  when  a  little  crow  made  me  look  up,  and 
there  was  Mr.  Bhaer  looking  and  laughing  quietly, 
when  he  made  signs  to  Tina  not  to  betray  him. 

"  '  So,'  he  said,  as  I  stopped  and  stared  like  a 
goose,  'you  peep  at  me,  I  peep  at  you,  and  that  is  not 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  151 

bad ;  but  see,  I  am  not  pleasanting  when  I  say,  haf 
you  a  wish  for  German?  ' 

"  '  Yes  ;  but  you  are  too  busy  ;  I  am  too  stupid  to 
learn,'  I  blundered  out,  as  red  as  a  beet. 

"  '  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. 
4  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.' 

u  Of  course  I  couldn't  say  anything  after  that,  and 
as  it  really  is  a  splendid  opportunity,  I  made  the  bar- 
gain, 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 
expression  of  mild  despair,  that  it  was  a  toss  up  with 
me  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  I  tried  both  ways  ;  and 
when  it  came  to  a  sniff  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  didn't  blame  him  a  particle,  and  was 
scrambling  my  papers  together,  meaning  to  rush  up- 
stairs and  shake  myself  hard,  when  in  he  came,  as 
brisk  and  beaming  as  if  I'd  covered  my  name  with 
glory :  — 


*5* 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  '  Now  we  shall  try  a  new  way.  You  and  I  will 
read  these  pleasant  little  Marchen  together,  and  dig 
no  more  in  that  dry  book,  that  goes  in  the  corner  for 
making  us  trouble.' 

"  He  spoke  so  kindly,  and  opened  Hans  Andersen's 
fairy  tales  so  invitingly  before  me,  that  I  was  more 
ashamed  than  ever,  and  went  at  my  lesson  in  a'neck- 
or-nothing  style  that  seemed  to  amuse  him  immensely. 
I  forgot  my  bashfulness,  and  pegged  away  (no  other 
word  will  express  it)  with  all  my  might,  tumbling 
over  long  words,  pronouncing  according  to  the  in- 
spiration of  the  minute,  and  doing  my  very  best. 
When  I  finished  reading  my  first  page,  and  stopped 
for  breath,  he  clapped  his  hands  and  cried  out,  in  his 
hearty  way,  ;  Das  ist  gute  !  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  f  Con- 
stant Tin  Soldier/  which  is  droll,  you  know,  so  I 
could  laugh,  —  and  I  did, — though  I  didn't  under- 
stand half  he  read,  —  for  I  couldn't  help  it,  he  was  so 
earnest,  I  so  excited,  and  the  whole  thing  so  comical. 

"  After  that  we  got  on  better,  and  now  I  read  my 
lessons  pretty  well ;  for  this  way  of  studying  suits  me, 
and  I  can  see  that  the  grammar  gets  tucked  into  the 
tales  and  poetry,  as  one  gives  pills  in  jelly.  I  like  it 
very  much,  and  he  don't  seem  tired  of  it  yet,  — which 
is  very  good  of  him,  isn't  it?  I  mean  to  give  him 
something  on  Christmas,  for  I  don't  dare  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. 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  !53 

You  see  Beth  manages  him  better  than  I  did.  I'm 
not  jealous,  dear ;  do  your  best,  only  don't  make  a 
saint  of  him.  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  like  him  without 
a  spice  of  human  naughtiness.  Read  him  bits  of  my 
letters.  I  haven't  time  to  write  much,  and  that  will 
do  just  as  well.  Thank  heaven  Beth  continues  so 
comfortable." 

"  Jan. 

"  A  happy  New- Year  to  you  all,  my  dearest  fam- 
ily, which  of  course  includes  Mr.  L.  and  a  young 
man  by  the  name  of  Teddy.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
much  I  enjoyed  your  Christmas  bundle,  for  I  didn't 
get  it  till  night,  and  had  given  up  hoping.  Your 
letter  came  in  the  morning,  but  you  said  nothing 
about  a  parcel,  meaning  it  for  a  surprise ;  so  I  was 
disappointed,  for  I'd  had  a  'kind  of  a  feeling'  that 
you  wouldn't  forget  me.  I  felt  a  little  low  in  my 
mind,  as  I  sat  up  in  my  room,  after  tea ;  and  when 
the  big,  muddy,  battered-looking  bundle  was  brought 
to  me,  I  just  hugged  it,  and  pranced.  It  was  so 
homey  and  refreshing,  that  I  sat  down  on  the  floor, 
and  read,  and  looked,  and  eat,  and  laughed  and  cried, 
in  my  usual  absurd  way.  The  things  were  just  what 
I  wanted,  and  all  the  better  for  being  made  instead  of 
bought.  Beth's  new  '  ink-bib '  was  capital ;  and  Han- 
nah's box  of  hard  gingerbread  will  be  a  treasure.  I'll 
be  sure  and  wear  the  nice  flannels  you  sent,  Marmee, 
and  read  carefully  the  books  father  has  marked. 
Thank  you  all,  heaps  and  heaps  ! 

"  Speaking  of  books,  reminds  me  that  I'm  getting 
rich  in  that  line ;  for,  on  New-Year's  day,  Mr.  Bhaer 
gave  me  a  fine  Shakespeare.  It  is  one  he  values 
much,  and  I've  often  admired  it,  set  up  in  the  place 


i54 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


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,  '  from  my  friend  Friedrich  Bhaer.' 

"  '  You  say  often  you  wish  a  library  ;  here  I  gif  you 
one  ;  for  between  these  two  lids  (he  meant  covers)  is 
many  books  in  one.  Read  him  well,  and  he  will  help 
you  much ;  for  the  study  of  character  in  this  book 
will  help  you  to  read  it  in  the  world,  and  paint  it 
with  your  pen.' 

"  I  thanked  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  talk  now 
about  '  my  library,'  as  if  I  had  a  hundred  books.  I 
never  knew  how  much  there  was  in  Shakespeare 
before  ;  but  then  I  never  had  a  Bhaer  to  explain  it  to 
me.  Now  don't  laugh  at  his  horrid  name ;  it  isn't 
pronounced  either  Bear  or  Beer,  as  people  will  say  it, 
but  something  between  the  two,  as  only  Germans  can 
do  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  Freid- 
rich  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  stand- 
dish  on  his  table,  a  little  vase  for  his  flower  —  he 
always  has  one  —  or  a  bit  of  green  in  a  glass,  to  keep 
him  fresh,  he  says ;  and  a  holder  for  his  blower,  so 
that  he  needn't  burn  up  what  Amy  calls  '  mouchoirs.' 
I  made  it  like  those  Beth  invented  —  a  big  butterfly 
with  a  fat  body,  and  black  and  yellow  wings,  worsted 
feelers,  and  bead  eyes.     It  took  his  fancy  immensely, 


JO'S  JOURNAL.  155 

and  he  put  it  on  his  mantle-piece  as  an  article  of 
virtu;  so  it  was  rather  a  failure  after  all.  Poor  as 
he  is,  he  didn't  forget  a  servant  or  a  child  in  the 
house  ;  and  not  a  soul  here,  from  the  French  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  didn't  mean  to  go  down,  having 
no  dress ;  but,  at  the  last  minute,  Mrs.  Kirke  remem- 
bered some  old  brocades,  and  Miss  Norton  lent  me 
lace  and  feathers ;  so  I  rigged  up  as  Mrs.  Malaprop, 
and  sailed  in  with  a  mask  on.  No  one  knew  me,  for 
I  disguised  my  voice,  and  no  one  dreamed  of  the 
silent,  haughty  Miss  March  (for  they  think  I  am  very 
stiff  and  cool,  most  of  them  ;  and  so  I  am  to  whipper- 
snappers)  could  dance,  and  dress,  and  burst  out  into 
a  4  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  land- 
scape,' 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   XI. 

FRIEND. 

THOUGH  very  happy  in  the  social  atmosphere 
about  her,  and  very  busy  with  the  daily  work 
that  earned  her  bread,  and  made  it  sweeter  for 
the  effort,  Jo  still  found  time  for  literary  labors.  The 
purpose  which  now  took  possession  of  her  was  a 
natural  one  to  a  poor  and  ambitious  girl ;  but  the 
means  she  took  to  gain  her  end  were  not  the  best. 
She  saw  that  money  conferred  power ;  money  and 
power,  therefore,  she  resolved  to  have;  not  to  be 
used  for  herself  alone,  but  for  those  whom  she  loved 
more  than  self.  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  Es- 
fagne.  But  the  novel  disaster  quenched  her  courage 
for  a  time,  for  public  opinion  is  a  giant  which  has 
frightened  stouter-hearted  Jacks  on  bigger  beanstalks 
than  hers.  Like  that  immortal  hero,  she  reposed  a 
while  after  the  first  attempt,  which  resulted  in  a  tum- 
ble, and  the  least  lovely  of  the  giant's  treasures,  if  I 
remember  rightly.      But   the    'k  up   again    and    take 

(156) 


A  FRIEND. 


157 


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  u  thrilling  tale,"  and 
boldly  carried  it  herself  to  Mr.  Dashwood,  editor  of 
the  "  Weekly  Volcano."  She  had  never  read  Sartor 
Resartus,  but  she  had  a  womanly  instinct  that  clothes 
possess  an  influence  more  powerful  over  many  than 
the  worth  of  character  or  the  magic  of  manners.  So 
she  dressed  herself  in  her  best,  and,  trying  to  persuade 
herself  that  she  was  neither  excited  nor  nervous, 
bravely  climbed  two  pairs  of  dark  and  dirty  stairs  to 
find  herself  in  a  disorderly  room,  a  cloud  of  cigar 
smoke,  and  the  presence  of  three  gentlemen  sitting 
with  their  heels  rather  higher  than  their  hats,  which 
articles  of  dress  none  of  them  took  the  trouble  to 
remove  on  her  appearance.  Somewhat  daunted  by 
this  reception,  Jo  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  murmur- 
ing in  much  embarrassment, — 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  was  looking  for  the  ■  Weekly  Vol- 
cano 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.  Feel- 
ing that  she  must  get  through  with  the  matter  some- 
how, Jo  produced  her  manuscript,  and,  blushing 
redder  and  redder  with  each  sentence,  blundered  out 
fragments  of  the  little  speech  carefully  prepared  for 
the  occasion. 


158  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"A  friend  of  mine  desired  me  to  offer  —  a  story  — 
just  as  an  experiment  —  would  like  your  opinion  — 
be  glad  to  write  more  if  this  suits." 

While  she  blushed  and  blundered,  Mr.  Dashwood 
had  taken  the  "manuscript,  and  was  turning  over  the 
leaves  with  a  pair  of  rather  dirty  fingers,  and  casting 
critical  glances  up  and  down  the  neat  pages. 

"  Not  a  first  attempt,  I  take  it? "  observing  that  the 
pages  were  numbered,  covered  only  on  one  side,  and 
not  tied  up  with  a  ribbon —  sure  sign  of  a  novice. 

"  No  sir ;  she  has  had  some  experience,  and  got  a 
prize  for  a  tale  in  the  '  Blarneystone  Banner.' " 

"Oh,  did  she?"  and  Mr.  Dashwood  gave  Jo  a 
quick  look,  which  seemed  to  take  note  of  everything 
she  had  on,  from  the  bow  in  her  bonnet  to  the  buttons 
on  her  boots.  "  Well,  you  can  leave  it,  if  you  like  ; 
we've  more  of  this  sort  of  thing  on  hand  than  we 
know  what  to  do  with,  at  present ;  but  I'll  run  my 
eye  over  it,  and  give  you  an  answer  next  week." 

Now  Jo  did  not  like  to  leave  it,  for  Mr.  Dashwood 
didn't  suit  her  at  all ;  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  bow  and  walk 
away,  looking  particularly  tall  and  dignified,  as  she 
was  apt  to  do,  when  nettled  or  abashed.  Just  then 
she  was  both ;  for  it  was  perfectly  evident  from  the 
knowing  glances  exchanged  among  the  gentlemen, 
that  her  little  fiction  of  "my  friend"  was  considered 
a  good  joke  ;  and  a  laugh  produced  by  some  inaudible 
remark  of  the  editor,  as  he  closed  the  door,  com- 
pleted her  discomfiture.  Half  resolving  never  to  re- 
turn, she  went  home,  and  worked  off  her  irritation 
by  stitching  pinafores  vigorously ;  and  in  an  hour  or 


A  FRIEND.  159 

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  in- 
terview 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, 
feeling  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  all  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 
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. 

H  You  think  it  would  do  with  these  alterations, 
then?" 

"  Yes ;  it's  a  new  plot,  and  pretty  well  worked  up 


160  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

—  language  good,  and  so  on,"  was  Mr.  Dashwood's 
affable  reply. 

"What  do  you — that  is,  what  compensation  —  " 
began  Jo,  not  exactly  knowing  how  to  express  herself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  well,  we  give  from  twenty-five  to 
thirty  for  things  of  this  sort.  Pay  when  it  comes  out," 
returned  Mr.  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  nom  de  j)lume"  said  Jo, 
blushing  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Just  as  she  likes,  of  course.  The  tale  will  be  out 
next  week ;  will  you  call  for  the  money,  or  shall  I  send 
it?"  asked  Mr.  Dashwood,  who  felt  a  natural  desire 
to  know  who  his  new  contributor  might  be. 

"  I'll  call ;  good  morning,  sir." 

As  she  departed,  Mr.  Dashwood  put  up  his  feet, 
with  the  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 


A  FRIEND.  161 

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  par- 
ticular about  such  trifles  as  grammar,  punctuation, 
and  probability,  and  Mr.  Dashwood  graciously  per- 
mitted her  to  fill  his  columns  at  the  lowest  prices,  not 
thinking  it  necessary  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 
anticipations  of  the  happy  minute  when  she  should 
show  her  earnings  and  laugh  over  her  well-kept 
secret. 

ii 


1 62  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

But  Mr.  Dashwood  rejected  any  but  thrilling  tales ; 
and,  as  thrills  could  not  be  produced  except  by  har- 
rowing up  the  souls  of  the  readers,  history  and  ro- 
mance, land  and  sea,  science  and  art,  police  records 
and  lunatic  asylums,  had  to  be  ransacked  for  the 
purpose.  Jo  soon  found  that  her  innocent  experience 
had  given  her  but  few  glimpses  of  the  tragic  world 
which  underlies  society ;  so,  regarding  it  in  a  business 
light,  she  set  about  supplying  her  deficiencies  with 
characteristic  energy.  Eager  to  find  material  for 
stories,  and  bent  on  making  them  original  in  plot,  if 
not  masterly  in  execution,  she  searched  newspapers 
for  accidents,  incidents,  and  crimes ;  she  excited  the 
suspicions  of  public  librarians  by  asking  for  works  on 
poisons  ;  she  studied  faces  in  the  street,  —  and  char- 
acters 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  pros- 
pering finely ;  but,  unconsciously,  she  was  beginning 
to  desecrate  some  of  the  womanliest  attributes  of  a 
woman's  character.  She  was  living  in  bad  society  ; 
and,  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  ac- 
quaintance 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  feel- 
ings set  her  to  studying  and  speculating  about  her 
own,  —  a  morbid  amusement,  in  which  healthy  young 


A  FRIEND. 


163 


minds  do  not  voluntarily  indulge.  Wrong-doing 
always,  brings  its  own  punishment ;  and,  when  Jo 
most  needed  hers,  she  got  it. 

I  don't  know  whether  the  study  of  Shakespeare 
helped  her  to  read  character,  or  the  natural  instinct 
of  a  woman  for  what  was  honest,  brave  and  strong ; 
but  while  endowing  her  imaginary  heroes  with  every 
perfection  under  the  sun,  Jo  was  discovering  a  live 
hero,  who  interested  her  in  spite  of  many  human 
imperfections.  Mr.  Bhaer,  in  one  of  their  conversa- 
tions, 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  cooHy  turned  round  and  studied  him,  —  a  pro- 
ceeding 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 
handsome,  —  in  no  respect  what  is  called  fascinating, 
imposing,  or  brilliant ;  and  yet  he  was  as  attractive  as 
a  genial  fire,  and  people  seemed  to  gather  about  him 
as  naturally  as  about  a  warm  hearth.  He  was  poor, 
yet  always  appeared  to  be  giving  something  away,  — 
a  stranger,  yet  every  one  was  his  friend  ;  no  longer 
young,  —  but  as  happy-hearted  as  a  boy  ;  plain  and 
odd, — 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  fore- 


164  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

head,  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 ;  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  ca- 
pacious 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  toward  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  conversation  with  Miss  Norton,  divulged 
the  pleasing  fact.  From  her  Jo  learned  it,  —  and  liked 
it  all  the  better  because  Mr.  Bhaer  had  never  told  it. 
She  felt  proud  to  know  that  he  was  an  honored  Pro- 
fessor in  Berlin,  though  only  a  poor  language-master 


A  FRIEND.  165 

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  felt  an  interest  in  the  ambitious  girl,  and 
kindly  conferred  many  favors  of  this  sort  both  on  Jo 
and  the  Professor.  She  took  them  with  her,  one 
night,  to  a  select  symposium,  held  in  honor  of  several 
celebrities. 

Jo  went  prepared  to  bow  down  and  adore  the 
mighty  ones  whom  she  had  worshipped  with  youthful 
enthusiasm  afar  off.  But  her  reverence  for  genius 
received  a  severe  shock  that  night,  and  it  took 
her  some  time  to  recover  from  the  discovery  that  the 
great  creatures  were  only  men  and  women,  after  all. 
Imagine  her  dismay,  on  stealing  a  glance  of  timid 
admiration  at  the  poet  whose  lines  suggested  an 
ethereal  being  fed  on  "  spirit,  fire,  and  dew,'*  to  behold 
him  devouring  his  supper  with  an  ardor  which  flushed 
his  intellectual  countenance.  Turning  as  from  a  fallen 
idol,  she  made  other  discoveries  which  rapidly  dis- 
pelled 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  satir- 
izing her,  after  out-manoeuvreing  her  in  efforts  to 
absorb  the  profound  philosopher,  who  imbibed  tea 
Johnsonianly  and  appeared  to  slumber,  —  the  loquacity 
of  the  lady  rendering  speech  impossible.    The  scientific 


1 66  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

celebrities,  forgetting  their  mollusks  and  Glacial 
Periods,  gossipped  about  art,  while  devoting  them- 
selves to  oysters  and  ices  with  characteristic  energy ; 
the  young  musician,  who  was  charming  the  city  like  a 
second  Orpheus,  talked  horses ;  and  the  specimen  of 
the  British  nobility  present  happened  to  be  the  most 
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,  look- 
ing rather  out  of  his  element,  and  presently  several  of 
the  philosophers,  each  mounted  on  his  fyobby,  came 
ambling  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 
unintelligible  terms;  and  the  only  thing  "evolved 
from  her  inner  consciousness,"  was  a  bad  headache 
after  it  was  all  over.  It  dawned  upon  her  gradually, 
that  the  world  was  being  picked  to  pieces,  and  put 
together  on  new,  and,  according  to  the  talkers,  on 
infinitely  better  principles  than  before ;  that  religion 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  reasoned  into  nothingness, 
and  intellect  was  to  be  the  only  God.  Jo  knew  noth- 
ing 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  ex- 
pression she  had  ever  seen  him  wear.  He  shook  his 
head,  and  beckoned  her  to  come  away,  but  she  was 


A  FRIEND.  167 

fascinated,  just  then,  by  the  freedom  of  Speculative 
Philosophy,  and  kept  her  seat,  trying  to  find  out  what 
the  wise  gentlemen  intended  to  rely  upon  after  they 
annihilated  all  the  old  beliefs. 

Now  Mr.  Bhaer  was  a  diffident  man,  and  slow  to 
offer  his  own  opinions,  not  because  they  were  unset- 
tled, but  too  sincere  and  earnest  to  be  lightly  spoken. 
As  he  glanced  from  Jo  to  several  other  young  people 
attracted  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  philosophic  pyro- 
technics, he  knit  his  brows,  and  longed  to  speak, 
fearing  that  some  inflammable  young  soul  would  be 
led  astray  by  the  rockets,  to  find,  when  the  display 
was  over,  that  they  had  only  an  empty  stick,  or  a 
scorched  hand. 

He  bore  it  as  long  as  he  could ;  but  when  he  was 
appealed  to  for  an  opinion,  he  blazed  up  with  honest 
indignation,  and  defended  religion  with  all  the  elo- 
quence 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  didn't  know  when  he  was  beaten,  and  stood  to 
his  colors  like  a  man.  Somehow,  as  he  talked,  the 
world  got  right  again  to  Jo ;  the  old  beliefs  that  had 
lasted  so  long,  seemed  better  than  the  new.  God  was 
not  a  blind  force,  and  immortality  was  not  a  pretty 
fable,  but  a  blessed  fact.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  solid 
ground  under  her  feet  again ;  and  when  Mr.  Bhaer 
paused,  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, 
because  his  conscience  would  not  let  him  be  silent. 


1 68  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

She  began  to  see  that  character  is  a  better  possession 
than  money,  rank,  intellect,  or  beauty ;  and  to  feel 
that  if  greatness  is  what  a  wise  man  has  defined  it  to 
be,  —  "truth,  reverence,  and  good-will,"  —  then  her 
friend  Friedrich  Bhaer  was  not  only  good,  but  great. 

This  belief  strengthened  daily.  She  valued  his 
esteem,  she  coveted  his  respect,  she  wanted  to  be 
worthy  of  his  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  doesn't  prink  at  his  glass  before 
coming  down,"  thought  Jo,  with  a  smile,  as  he  said 
"  Goot  efening,"  and  sat  soberly  down,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  ludicrous  contrast  between  his  subject 
and  his  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  Ger- 
man 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  didn'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 
master's  face  ?  Haf  you  no  respect  for  me,  that  you 
go  on  so  bad  ?  " 


A  FRIEND.  169 

0  How  can  I  be  respectful,  sir,  when  you  forget  to 
take  your  hat  oft'  ?  "  said  Jo. 

Lifting  his  hand  to  his  head,  the  absent-minded 
Professor  gravely  felt  and  removed  the  little  cocked- 
hat,  looked  at  it  a  minute,  and  then  threw  back  his 
head,  and  laughed  like  a  merry  bass-viol. 

"  Ah !  I  see  him  now ;  it  is  that  imp  Tina  who 
makes  me  a  fool  with  my  cap.  Well,  it  is  nothing ; 
but  see  you,  if  this  lesson  goes  not  well,  you  too  shall 
wear  him." 

But  the  lesson  did  not  go  at  all,  for  a  few  minutes, 
because  Mr.  Bhaer  caught  sight  of  a  picture  on  the 
hat ;  and,  unfolding  it,  said  with  an  air  of  great  dis- 
gust,— 

"  I  wish  these  papers  did  not  come  in  the  house ; 
they  are  not  for  children  to  see,  nor  young  people  to 
readv.  It  is  not  well ;  and  I  haf  no  patience  with 
those  who  make  this  harm." 

Jo  glanced  at  the  sheet,  and  saw  a  pleasing  illus- 
tration composed  of  a  lunatic,  a  corpse,  a  villain,  and  a 
viper.  She  did  not  like  it ;  but  the  impulse  that  made 
her  turn  it  over  was  not  one  of  displeasure,  but  fear,  be- 
cause, for  a  minute,  she  fancied  the  paper  was  the 
11  Volcano."  It  was  not,  however,  and  her  panic  sub- 
sided as  she  remembered  that,  even  if  it  had  been, 
and  one  of  her  own  tales  in  it,  there  would  have  been 
no  name  to  betray  her.  She  had  betrayed  herself, 
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. 


170  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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 ;  Fve 
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  appeared  in  his  face ;  and  by  the 
time  the  paper  was  turned,  and  Jo's  needle  threaded,  he 
was  ready  to  say  quite  naturally,  but  very  gravely,  — 

"  Yes,  you  are  right  to  put  it  from  you.  I  do  not 
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,  scratching  gathers  so  energetically  that  a  row 
of  little  slits  followed  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,  look- 


A  FRIEND.  jhj 

ing  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," 
muttered  the  Professor,  coming  back  with  a  relieved 
air. 

Jo  thought  what  a  blaze  her  pile  of  papers,  up- 
stairs, would  make,  and  her  hard-earned  money  laid 
rather  heavilyon  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 
Volcano"  were  printed  in  large  type,  on  her  fore- 
head. 

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  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  — 


172 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


for  I  can't  read  this  stuff  in  sober  earnest  without 
being  horribly  ashamed  of  it ;  and  what  should  I  do 
if  they  were  seen  at  home,  or  Mr.  Bhaer  got  hold  of 
them?" 

Jo  turned  hot  at  the  bare  idea,  and  stuffed  the  whole 
bundle  into  her  stove,  nearly  setting  the  chimney  afire 
with  the  blaze. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  best  place  for  such  inflammable 
nonsense  ;  I'd  better  burn  the  house  down,  I  suppose, 
than  let  other  people  blow  themselves  up  with  my 
gunpowder,"  she  thought,  as  she  watched  the  "  De- 
mon 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,  wonder- 
ing what  she  ought  to  do  about  her  wages. 

"  I  think  I  haven't  done  much  harm  yet,  and  may 
keep  this  to  pay  for  my  time,"  she  said,  after  a  long 
meditation,  adding,  impatiently,  "  I  almost  wish  I 
hadn't  any  conscience,  it's  so  inconvenient.  If  I  didn't 
care  about  doing  right,  and  didn't  feel  uncomfortable 
when  doing  wrong,  I  should  get  on  capitally.  I  can't 
help  wishing,  sometimes,  that  father  and  mother  hadn't 
been  so  dreadfully  particular  about  such  things." 

Ah,  Jo,  instead  of  wishing  that,  thank  God  that 
"  father  and  mother  were  particular,"  and  pity  from 
your  heart  those  who  have  no  such  guardians  to  hedge 
them  round  with  principles  which  may  seem  like 
prison  walls  to  impatient  youth,  but  which  will  prove 
sure  foundations  to  build  character  upon  in  woman- 
hood. 

Jo  wrote  no  more  sensational  stories,  deciding  that 


A  FRIEND.  !^3 

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.  Sher- 
wood, Miss  Edgeworth,  and  Hannah  More  ;  and  then 
produced  a  tale  which  might  have  been  more  prop- 
erly called  an  essay  or  a  sermon,  so  intensely  moral 
was  it.  She  had  her  doubts  about  it  from  the  begin- 
ning ;  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  purchaser ;  and  she  was  in- 
clined to  agree  with  Mr.  Dashwood,  that  morals 
didn't  sell. 

Then  she  tried  a  child's  story,  which  she  could 
easily  have  disposed  of  if  she  had  not  been  mercenary 
enough  to  demand  filthy  lucre  for  it.  The  only  per- 
son who  offered  enough  to  make  it  worth  her  while 
to  try  juvenile  literature,  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,  of  course,  as  re- 
warded by  every  kind  of  bliss,  from  gilded  ginger- 
bread 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,' 


1 74  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

if  I  can't  do  better  —  that's  honest,  any  way  ; "  which 
decision  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  accept  and  profit  by  his  reproof;  but  she 
stood  the  test,  and  he  was  satisfied  ;  for,  though  no 
words  passed  between  them,  he  knew  that  she  had 
given  up  writing.  Not  only  did  he  guess  it  by  the 
fact  that  the  second  finger  of  her  right  hand  was  no 
longer  inky,  but  she  spent  her  evenings  down  stairs, 
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  some- 
thing 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  incon- 
solable, 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. 


A  FRIEND. 


'75 


She  was  going  early,  so  she  bade  them  all  good- 
by  over  night;  and  when  his  turn  came,  she  said, 
warmly,  — 

u  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  par- 
ticularly wished  not  to  look  as  if  anything  was  the 
matter,  she  involuntarily  began  to  blush ;  and  the 
more  she  tried  not  to,  the  redder  she  grew.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  Tina  on  her  knee,  she  didn't  know  what 
would  have  become  of  her.  Fortunately,  the  child 
was  moved  to  hug  her ;  so  she  managed  to  hide  her 
face  an  instant,  hoping  the  Professor  did  not  see  it. 
But  he  did,  and  his  own  changed  again  from  that 
momentary  anxiety  to  its  usual  expression,  as  he  said, 
cordially,  — 

"  I  fear  I  shall  not  make  the  time  for  that,  but  I 
wish  the  friend  much  success,  and  you  all  happiness ; 


/ 


76 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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  "  heim- 
weh"  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  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  substi- 
tutes for  wife  and  child,  and  home. 

Early  as  it  was,  he  was  at  the  station,  next  morn- 
ing, to  see  Jo  off;  and,  thanks  to  him,  she  began  her 
solitary  journey  with  the  pleasant  memory  of  a  fa- 
miliar face  smiling  its  farewell,  a  bunch  of  violets 
to  keep  her  company,  and,  best  of  all,  the  happy 
thought,  — 

"Well,  the  winter's  gone,  and  I've  written  no 
books  —  earned  no  fortune  ;  but  I've  made  a  friend 
worth  having,  and  I'll  try  to  keep  him  all  my  life." 


/ 


* 


f 


1 


CHAPTER    XII. 


HEARTACHE. 


WHATEVER  his  motive  might  have  been, 
Laurie  "  dug"  to  some  purpose  that  year,  for 
he  graduated  with  honor,  and  gave  the  Latin 
Oration  with  the  grace  of  a  Phillips,  and  the  eloquence 
of  a  Demosthenes,  —  so  his  friends  said.  They  were 
all  there  —  his  grandfather,  oh,  so  proud!  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  March,  John  and  Meg,  Jo  and  Beth,  and  all 
exulted  over  him  with  the  sincere  admiration  which 
boys  make  light  of  at  the  time,  but  fail  to  win  from 
the  world  by  any  after-triumphs. 

"  I've  got  to  stay  for  this  confounded  supper,  —  but 
I  shall  be  home  early  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  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 
something,  and  then  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Evening  meditation  and  morning  work  somewhat 
allayed  her  fears,  and,  having  decided  tha|she  wouldn't 
be  vain  enough  to  think  people  were  going  to  propose 

12  (177) 


1^8  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

when  she  had  given  them  every  reason  to  know  what 
her  answer  would  be,  she  set  forth  at  the  appointed 
time,  hoping  Teddy  wouldn't  go  and  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  fortified  her  for  the  tete~a-t&te,  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 
salutation  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  far-away  subjects,  till  they  turned  from  the  road 
into  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  im- 
ploring,— 

" No,  Teddy,  —please  don't ! " 

"  I  will ;  and  you  must  hear  me.  It's  no  use,  Jo ; 
we've  got  to  have  it  out,  and  the  sooner  the  better  for 


HEARTACHE.  179 

both  of  us,"  he  answered,  getting  flushed  and  excited 
all  at  once. 

"  Say  what  you  like,  then  ;  I'll  listen,"  said  Jo,  with 
a  desperate  sort  of  patience. 

Laurie  was  a  young  lover,  but  he  was  in  earnest, 
and  meant  to  "  have  it  out,"  if  he  died  in  the  attempt ; 
so  he  plunged  into  the  subject  with  characteristic 
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, — 
couldn't  help  it,  you've  been  so  good  to  me,  —  I've 
tried  to  show  it,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me ;  now  I'm 
going  to  make  you  hear,  and  give  me  an  answer,  for 
I  can't  go  on  so  any  longer." 

"  I  wanted  to  save  you  this  ;  I  thought  you'd  under- 
stand —  "  began  Jo,  finding  it  a  great  deal  harder  than 
she  expected. 

"  I  know  you  did  ;  but  girls  are  so  queer  you  never 
know  what  they  mean.  They  say  No,  when  they 
mean  Yes ;  and  drive  a  man  out  of  his  wits  just  for 
the  fun  of  it,"  returned  Laurie,  entrenching  himself 
behind  an  undeniable  fact. 

"  /  don't.  I  never  wanted  to  make  you  care  for 
me  so,  and  I  went  away  to  keep  you  from  it  if  I  could." 

"  I  thought  so  ;  it  was  like  you,  but  it  was  no  use. 
I  only  loved  you  all  the  more,  and  I  worked  hard  to 
please  you,  and  I  gave  up  billiards  and  everything  you 
didn't  like,  and  waited  and  never  complained,  for  I 
hoped  you'd  love  me,  though  I'm  not  half  good 
enough  — "  here  there  was  a  choke  that  couldn't  be 
controlled,  so  he  decapitated  butter-cups  while  he 
cleared  his  "  confounded  throat." 


180  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"  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. 

"  Oh,  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  people  if  they  don't,"  cried  Jo,  inelegantly 
but  remorsefully,  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." 


HEARTACHE.  181 

He  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  threw  up  his 
head,  and  cried  out,  in  a  fierce  tone,  — 

"  DonH  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  haven't  the  least  idea  of  loving  him,  or 
anybody  else." 

"  But  you  will  after  a  while,  and  then  what  will 
become  of  me  ? " 

"You'll  love  some  one  else,  too,  like  a  sensible  boy, 
and  forget  all  this  trouble." 

"  I  can't  love  any  one  else ;  and  I'll  never  forget 
you,  Jo,  never!  never!  "  with  a  stamp  to  emphasize 
his  passionate  words. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  him?"  sighed  Jo,  finding 
that  emotions  were  more  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 


182  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  conducive  to  calm  speech  or  clear  thought  on 
Jo's  part ;  for  how  could  she  say  hard  things  to  her 
boy  while  he  watched  her  with  eyes  full  of  love  and 
longing,  and  lashes  still  wet  with  the  bitter  drop  or 
two  her  hardness  of  heart  had  wrung  from  him  ?  She 
gently  turned  his  head  away,  saying,  as  she  stroked 
the  wavy  hair  which  had  been  allowed  to  grow  for 
her  sake,  —  how  touching  that  was  to  be  sure  !  — 

"  I  agree  with  mother,  that  you  and  I  are  not  suited 
to  each  other,  because  our  quick  tempers  and  strong 
wills  would  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  ex- 
pression,— 

"Marry,  —  no  we  shouldn't!  If  you  loved  me,  Jo, 
I  should  be  a  perfect  saint,  —  for  you  can  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 
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  4  a  sensible  view ' ;   it  won't  help  me,  and  it 


HEARTACHE.  183 

only  makes  you  harder.  I  don't  believe  you've  got 
any  heart." 

"I  wish  I  hadn't!" 

There  was  a  little  quiver  in  Jo's  voice,  and,  thinking 
it  a  good  omen,  Laurie  turned  round,  bringing  all 
his  persuasive  powers  to  bear  as  he  said,  in  the 
wheedlesome  tone  that  had  never  been  so  danger- 
ously wheedlesome  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  slie  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. 

UI  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. 

u  Yes  you  will !  "  persisted  Jo  ;  "  you'll  get  over  this 
after  a  while,  and  find  some  lovely,  accomplished  girl, 
who  will  adore  you,  and  make  a  fine  mistress  for  your 
fine  house.  I  shouldn't.  I'm  homely,  and  awkward, 
and  odd,  and  old,  and  you'd  be  ashamed  of  me,  and  we 
should  quarrel,  —  we  can't  help  it  even  now,  you  see, 
—  and  I  shouldn't  like  elegant  society  and  you  would, 
and  you'd  hate  my  scribbling,  and  I  couldn't  get  on 
without  it,  and  we  should  be  unhappy,  and  wish  we 
hadn't  done  it,  —  and  everything  would  be  horrid  I  " 


1 84  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

"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 
mortal  man," 

"  I  know  better  !  "  broke  in  Laurie,  "  you  think  so 
now  ;  but  there'll  come  a  time  when  you  will  care  for 
somebody,  and  you'll  love  him  tremendously,  and  live 
and  die  for  him.  I  know  you  will,  —  it's  your  way,  — 
and  I  shall  have  to  stand  by  and  see  it "  —  and  the 
despairing  lover  cast  his  hat  upon  the  ground  with  a 
gesture  that  would  have  seemed  comical,  if  his  face 
had  not  been  so  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  desperate  sort  of  tone,  — 

"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 
himself  down  the  bank,  toward  the  river ;  but  it  takes 


HEARTACHE.  185 

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  shan't 
dare  to  see  him,"  she  said  ;  adding,  as  she  went  slowly 
home,  feeling  as  if  she  had  murdered  some  innocent 
thing,  and  buried  it  under  the  leaves,  — 

"  Now  I  must  go  and  prepare  Mr.  Laurence  to  be 
very  kind  to  my  poor  boy.  I  wish  he'd  love  Beth ; 
perhaps  he  may,  in  time,  but  I  begin  to  think  I  was 
mistaken  about  her.  Oh  dear !  how  can  girls  like  to 
have  lovers,  and  refuse  them.     I  think  it's  dreadful." 

Being  sure  that  no  one  could  do  it  so  well  as  herself, 
she  went  straight  to  Mr.  Laurence,  told  the  hard  story 
bravely  through,  and  then  broke  down,  crying  so  dis- 
mally over  her  own  insensibility,  that  the  kind  old 
gentleman,  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  be  forced,  so  he  shook  his  head 
sadly,  and  resolved  to  carry  his  boy  out  of  harm's 
way ;  for  Young  Impetuosity's  parting  words  to  Jo 
disturbed  him  more  than  he  would  confess. 

When  Laurie  came   home,   dead    tired,  but  quite 


1 86  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

composed,  his  grandfather  met  him  as  if  he  knew 
nothing,  and  kept  up  the  delusion  very  successfully, 
for  an  hour  or  two.  But  when  they  sat  together  in 
the  twilight,  the  time  they  used  to  enjoy  so  much,  it 
was  hard  work  for  the  old  man  to  ramble  on  as  usual, 
and  harder  still  for  the  young  one  to  listen  to  praises 
of  the  last  year's  success,  which  to  him  now  seemed 
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 
meaning !  As  he  listened,  he  lost  his  place ;  the 
music  ended  with  a  broken  chord,  and  the  musician 
sat  silent  in  the  dark. 

"  I  can't  stand  this,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman  — 
up  he  got,  groped  his  way  to  the  piano,  laid  a  kind 
hand  on  either  of  the  broad  shoulders,  and  said,  as 
gently  as  a  woman,  — 

"  I  know,  my  boy,  I  know." 

No  answer  for  an  instant ;  then  Laurie  asked, 
sharply,  — 


HEARTACHE.  187 

"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  unusual  mildness.  "  You  won't  care  to  stay  at 
home,  just  now,  perhaps?  " 

kt  I  don't  intend  to  run  away  from  a  girl.  Jo  can't 
prevent  my  seeing  her,  and  I  shall  stay  and  do  it  as 
long  as  I  like,"  interrupted  Laurie,  in  a  defiant  tone. 

"  Not  if  you  are  the  gentleman  I  think  you.  I'm 
disappointed,  but  the  girl  can't  help  it ;  and  the  only 
thing  left  for  you  to  do,  is  to  go  away  for  a  time. 
Where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  ;  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  me  ;  " 
and  Laurie  got  up,  with  a  reckless  laugh,  that  grated 
on  his  grandfather's  ear. 

"  Take  it  like  a  man,  and  don't  do  anything  rash, 
for  God's  sake.  Why  not  go  abroad,  as  you  planned, 
and  forget  it?"  * 

"  I  can't." 

"  But  you've  been  wild  to  go,  and  I  promised  you 
should,  when  you  got  through  college." 

"  Ah,  but  I  didn't  mean  to  go  alone  !  "  and  Laurie 
walked  fast  through  the  room,  with  an  expression 
which  it  was  well  his  grandfather  did  not  see. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  go  alone ;  there's  some  one 
ready  and  glad  to  go  with  you,  anywhere  in  the 
world." 

"  Who,  sir?"  stopping  to  listen. 


188  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"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,  keep- 
ing 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  with- 
out 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  al- 
most 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 
particularly  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 


HEARTACHE.  189 

bones  won't  suffer,  for  travelling  nowadays  is  almost 
as  easy  as  sitting  in  a  chair." 

A  restless  movement  from  Laurie  suggested  that 
his  chair  was  not  easy,  or  that  he  did  not  like  the 
plan,  and  made  the  old  man  add,  hastily,  — 

M  I  don't  mean  to  be  a  marplot  or  a  burden ;  I  go 
because  I  think  you'd  feel  happier  than  if  I  was  left 
behind.  I  don't  intend  to  gad  about  with  you,  but 
leave  you  free  to  go  where  you  like,  while  I  amuse 
myself  in  my  own  way.  I've  friends  in  London  and 
Paris,  and  should  like  to  visit  them  ;  meantime,  you 
can  go  to  Italy,  Germany,  Switzerland,  where  you 
will,  and  enjoy  pictures,  music,  scenery  and  adven- 
tures, to  your  heart's  content." 

Now,  Laurie  felt  just  then  that  his  heart  was  en- 
tirely broken,  and  the  world  a  howling  wilderness ; 
but,  at  the  sound  of  certain  words  which  the  old  gen- 
tleman artfully  introduced  into  his  closing  sentence, 
the  broken  heart  gave  an  unexpected  leap,  and  a 
green  oasis  or  two  suddenly  appeared  in  the  howling 
wilderness.  He  sighed,  and  then  said,  in  a  spiritless 
tone,  — 

"Just  as  you  like,  sir ;  it  doesn't  matter  where  I  go, 
or  what  I  do." 

"  It  does  to  me  —  remember  that,  my  lad  ;  I  give  you 
entire  liberty,  but  I  trust  you  to  make  an  honest  use 
of  it.     Promise  me  that,  Laurie." 

"  Anything  you  like,  sir." 

"  Good  !  "  thought  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  you  don't 
care  now,  but  there'll  come  a  time  when  that  promise 
will  keep  you  out  of  mischief,  or  I'm  much  mis- 
taken." 

Being  an  energetic  individual,  Mr.  Laurence  struck 


190 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


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  him- 
self as  young  gentlemen  usually  do  in  such  cases. 
He  was  moody,  irritable,  and  pensive  by  turns ;  lost 
his  appetite,  neglected  his  dress,  and  devoted  much 
time  to  playing  tempestuously  on  his  piano  ;  avoided 
Jo,  but  consoled  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.  Unlike  some  sufferers,  he  never  spoke 
of  his  unrequited  passion,  and  would  allow  no  one, 
not  even  Mrs.  March,  to  attempt  consolation,  or  offe'r 
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  going  away  to  forget  his  trouble,  and 
come  home  happy."  Of  course  he  smiled  darkly  at 
their  delusion,  but  passed  it  by,  with  the  sad  superi- 
ority 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 
solicitude ;  then,  feeling  that  he  was  going  very  fast, 
he  hastily  embraced  them  all  round,  not  forgetting  the 
afflicted  Hannah,  and  ran  down  stairs  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 


HEARTACHE. 


191 


above  him,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  a  face  that 
made  his  short  appeal  both  eloquent  and  pathetic. 

"Oh,  Jo,  can't  you?" 

M  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  wasn't  all  right,  and  Jo  did  mind ;  for  while 
the  curly  head  laid  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  XIII. 


BETHS      SECRET 


WHEN  Jo  came  home  that  spring,  she  had  been 
struck  with  the  change  in  Beth.  No  one 
spoke  of  it,  or  seemed  aware  of  it,  for  it  had 
come  too  gradually  to  startle  those  who  saw  her  daily  ; 
but  to  eyes  sharpened  by  absence  it  was  very  plain, 
and  a  heavy  weight  fell  on  Jo's  heart  as  she  saw  her 
sister's  face.  It  was  no  paler,  and  but  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  forgot  her  fear. 

But  when  Laurie  was  gone,  and  peace  prevailed 
again,  the  vague  anxiety  returned  and  haunted  her. 
She  had  confessed  her  sins  and  been  forgiven ;  but 
when  she  showed  her  savings  and  proposed  the  moun- 
tain trip,  Beth  had  thanked  her  heartily,  but  begged 
not  to  go  so  far  away  from  home.  Another  little  visit 
to  the  seashore  would  suit  her  better,  and,  as  grandma 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  leave  the  babies,  Jo 
took  Beth  down  to  the  quiet  place,  where  she  could 
live  much  in  the  open  air,  and  let  the  fresh  sea-breezes 
blow  a  little  color  into  her  pale  cheeks. 
(192) 


JO    AXD    BETH. 

With  her  head  in  Jo's  lap,  while  the  winds  blew  healthfully  over  her  and  the  sea  made 

music  at  her  feet.  —  Page  193. 


BETH 'S  SECRET. 


r93 


It  was  not  a  fashionable  place,  but,  even  among  the 
pleasant  people  there,  the  girls  made  few  friends, 
preferring  to  live  for  one  another.  Beth  was  too  shy 
to  enjoy  society,  and  Jo  too  wrapt  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  sympathetic  eyes  the  strong  sister  and  the  feeble 
one,  always  together,  as  if  they  felt  instinctively  that  a 
long  separation  was  not  far  away. 

They  did  feel  it,  yet  neither  spoke  of  it ;  for  often 
between  ourselves  and  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  us 
there  exists  a  reserve  which  it  is  very  hard  to  over- 
come. 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  won- 
dered, 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  enough  to  satisfy  her,  —  for  the  cheeks 
*3 


i94 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


were  very  thin,  and  the  hands  seemed  too  feeble  to 
hold  even  the  rosy  little  shells  they  had  been  gather- 
ing. 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  couldn't." 

There  was  no  answer  except  her  sister's  cheek 
against  her  own,  —  not  even  tears,  —  for  when  most 
'deeply  moved  Jo  did  not  cry.  She  was  the  weaker 
then,  and  Beth  tried  to  comfort  and  sustain  her  with 
her  arms  about  her,  and  the  soothing  words  she  "whis- 
pered in  her  ear. 

"I've  known  it  for  a  good  while,  dear,  and  now 
I'm  used  to  it,  it  isn't  hard  to  think  of  or  to  bear. 
Try  to  see  it  so,  and  don't  be  troubled  about  me, 
because  it's  best ;  indeed  it  is." 

"  Is  this  what  made  you  so  unhappy  in  the  autumn, 
Beth?  You  did  not  feel  it  then,  and  keep  it  to  your- 
self so  long,  did  you  ?  "  asked  Jo,  refusing  to  see  or 
say  that  it  was  best,  but  glad  to  know  that  Laurie  had 
no  part  in  Beth's  trouble. 

"  Yes  ;  I  gave  up  hoping  then,  but  I  didn't  like  to 
own  it ;  I  tried  to  think  it  was  a  sick  fancy,  and  would 
not  let  it  trouble  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." 

"  Oh,  Beth,  and   you   didn't  tell  me,  —  didn't   let 


BETH' S  SECRET.  195 

me  comfort  and  help  you  !  How  could  you  shut  me 
out,  and  bear  it  all  alone  ?  " 

Jo's  voice  was  full  of  tender  reproach,  and  her  heart 
ached  to  think  of  the  solitary  struggle  that  must  have 
gone  on  while  Beth  learned  to  say  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 
wasn't  sure,  no  one  said  anything,  and  I  hoped  I  was 
mistaken.  It  would  have  been  selfish  to  frighten 
you  all  when  Marmee  was  so  anxious  about  Meg,  and 
Amy  away,  and  you  so  happy  with  Laurie, — at  least 
I  thought  so  then." 

"  And  I  thought  that  you  loved  him,  Beth,  and  I 
went  away  because  I  couldn't,"  cried  Jo,  —  glad  to 
say  all  the  truth. 

Beth  looked  so  amazed  at  the  idea,  that  Jo  smiled  in 
spite  of  her  pain,  and  added,  softly,  — 

"  Then  you  didn't,  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,  some  time." 

"  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." 

u  I  want  to,  — oh,  so  much  !  I  try,  but  every  day  I 
lose  a  little,  and  feel  more  sure  that  I  shall  never  gain 


l96  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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.  I'll  work,  and  pray,  and  fight  against  it.  I'll 
keep  you  in  spite  of  everything  ;  there  must  be  ways,  — 
it  can't  be  too  late.  God  won't  be  so  cruel  as  to  take 
you  from  me,"  cried  poor  Jo,  rebelliously, — for  her 
spirit  was  far  less  piously  submissive  than  Beth's. 

Simple,  sincere  people  seldom  speak  much  of  their 
piety  ;  it  shows  itself  in  acts,  rather  than  in  words,  and 
has  more  influence  than  homilies  or  protestations. 
Beth  could  not  reason  upon  or  explain  the  faith  that 
gave  her  courage  and  patience  to  give  up  life,  and 
cheerfully  wait  for  death.  Like  a  confiding  child,  she 
asked  no  questions,  but  left  everything  to  God  and 
nature,  Father  and  mother  of  us  all,  feeling  sure  that 
they,  and  they  only,  could  teach  and  strengthen  heart 
and  spirit  for  this  life  and  the  life  to  come.  She  did 
not  rebuke  Jo  with  saintly  speeches,  only  loved  her 
better  for  her  passionate  affection,  and  clung  more 
closely  to  the  dear  human  love,  from  which  our  Father 
never  means  us  to  be  weaned,  but  through  which  He 
draws  us  closer  to  Himself.  She  could  not  say,  "  I'm 
glad  to  go,"  for  life  was  very  sweet  to  her ;  she  could 
only  sob  out,  "I'll  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 


BETH'S  SECRET.  itf 

best  are  often  blindest  to  such  things.  If  they  don't 
see  it,  you  will  tell  them  for  me.  I  don't  want  any 
secrets,  and  it's  kinder  to  prepare  them.  Meg  has 
John  and  the  babies  to  comfort  her,  but  you  must 
stand  by  father  and  mother,  won't  you,  Jo?" 

"  If  I  can,  but,  Beth,  I  don't  give  up  yet ;  I'm  going 
to  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,  ex- 
cept to  my  old  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  couldn't  seem  to 
imagine  myself  anything  but  stupid  little  Beth,  trot- 
ting 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  lap- 
ping of  the  tide.  A  white-winged  gull  flew  by,  with 
the  flash  of  sunshine  on  its  silvery  breast ;  Beth 
watched  it  till  it  vanished,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
sadness.  A  little  gray-coated  sand-bird  came  tripping 
over  the  beach,  "peeping"  softly  to  itself,  as  if  enjoy- 
ing 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 


198  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

seemed  to  offer  its  small  friendship,  and  remind  her 
that  a  pleasant  world  was  still  to  be  enjoyed. 

"  Dear  little  bird  !  See,  Jo,  how  tame  it  is.  I  like 
peeps  better  than  the  gulls,  they  are  not  so  wild  and 
handsome,  but  they  seem  happy,  confiding  little  things. 
I  used  to  call  them  my  birds,  last  summer  ;  and  mother 
said  they  reminded  her  of  me  —  busy,  quaker-colored 
creatures,  always  near  the  shore,  and  always  chirping 
that  contented  little  song  of  theirs.  You  are  the  gull, 
Jo,  strong  and  wild,  fond  of  the  storm  and  the  wind, 
flying  far  out  to  sea,  and  happy  all  alone.  Meg  is 
the  turtle-dove,  and  Amy  is  like  the  lark  she  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  flies,  she  never  will  for- 
get 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. 


BETH'S  SECRET.  jgy 

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  mantle-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. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


NEW      IMPRESSIONS. 


AT  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  all  the  fash- 
ionable world  at  Nice  may  be  seen  on  the 
Promenade  des  Anglais  —  a  charming  place  ;  for 
the  wide  walk,  bordered  with  palms,  flowers,  and 
tropical  shrubs,  is  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  sea,  on 
the  other  by  the  grand  drive,  lined  with  hotels  and 
villas,  while  beyond  lie  orange  orchards  and  the  hills. 
Many  nations  are  represented,  many  languages  spoken, 
many  costumes  worn ;  and,  on  a  sunny  day,  the  spec- 
tacle is  as  gay  and  brilliant  as  a  carnival.  Haughty 
English,  lively  French,  sober  Germans,  handsome 
Spaniards,  ugly  Russians,  meek  Jews,  free-and-easy 
Americans,  —  all  drive,  sit,  or  saunter  here,  chatting 
over  the  news,  and  criticising  the  latest  celebrity  who 
has  arrived  —  Ristori  or  Dickens,  Victor  Emanuel 
or  the  Queen  of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  The  equipages 
are  as  varied  as  the  company,  and  attract  as  much 
attention,  especially  the  low  basket  barouches  in  which 
ladies  drive  themselves,  with  a  pair  of  dashing  ponies, 
gay  nets  to  keep  their  voluminous  flounces  from  over- 
flowing the  diminutive  vehicles,  and  little  grooms  on 
the  perch  behind. 

Along  this  walk,  on  Christmas  day,  a  tall  young 
man  walked  slowly,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and 
a  somewhat  absent  expression  of  countenance.  He 
looked  like  an  Italian,  was  dressed  like  an  English- 
man, and  had  the  independent  air  of  an  American  — 
(200) 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  201 

a  combination  which  caused  sundry  pairs  of  feminine 
eyes  to  look  approvingly  after  him,  and  sundry  dan- 
dies in  black  velvet  suits,  with  rose-colored  neckties, 
buff  gloves,  and  orange  flowers  in  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  promenade, 
and  stood  a  moment  at  the  crossing,  as  if  undecided 
whether  to  go  and  listen  to  the  band  in  the  Jardin 
Publique,  or  to  wander  along  the  beach  toward  Castle 
Hill.  The  quick  trot  of  ponies'  feet  made  him  look 
up,  as  one  of  the  little  carriages,  containing  a  single 
lady,  came  rapidly  down  the  street.  The  lady  was 
young,  blonde,  and  dressed  in  blue.  He  stared  a 
minute,  then  his  whole  face  woke  up,  and,  waving 
his  hat  like  a  boy,  he  hurried  forward  to  meet  her. 

"Oh  Laurie!  is  it  really  you?  I  thought  you'd 
never  come !  "  cried  Amy,  dropping  the  reins,  and 
holding  out  both  hands,  to  the  great  scandalization 
of  a  French  mamma,  who  hastened  her  daughter's 
steps,  lest  she  should  be  demoralized  by  beholding 
the  free  manners  of  these  "  mad  English." 

"  I  was  detained  by  the  way,  but  I  promised  to 
spend  Christmas  with  you,  and  here  I  am." 

"  How  is  your  grandfather?  When  did  you  come? 
Where  are  you  staying?  " 

"  Very  well  —  last  night  —  at  the  Chavrain.  I 
called  at  your  hotel,  but  you  were  all  out." 

"  Mon  Dieu !  I  have  so  much  to  say,  and  don't 
know  where  to  begin.     Get  in,  and  we  can  talk  at 


202  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  Christinas  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." 

"  Thank  you  !  where  now?  "  asked  Laurie,  leaning 
back  and  folding  his  arms,  a  proceeding  which  suited 
Amy,  who  preferred  to  drive ;  for  her  parasol-whip 
and  blue  reins,  over  the  white  ponies'  backs,  afforded 
her  infinite  satisfaction. 

"I'm  going  to  the  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,  miss- 
ing something  in  Laurie's  manner,  though  she  couldn't 
tell  what. 

"  Why,  you  see  he  hates  to  travel,  and  I  hate  to 
keep  still ;  so  we  each  suit  ourselves,  and  there  is  no 
trouble.  I  am  often  with  him,  and  he  enjoys  my 
adventures,  while  I  like  to  feel  that  some  one  is  glad 
to  see  me  when  I  get  back  from  my  wanderings. 
Dirty  old  hole,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  added,  with  a  sniff  of 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  203 

disgust,  as  they  drove  along  the  boulevard  to  the 
Place  Napoleon,  in  the  old  city. 

"  The  dirt  is  picturesque,  so  I  don't  mind.  The 
river  and  the  hills  are  delicious,  and  these  glimpses 
of  the  narrow  cross  streets  are  my  delight.  Now  we 
shall  have  to  wait  for  that  procession  to  pass;  it's 
going  to  the  church  of  St.  John." 

While  Laurie  listlessly  watched  the  procession  of 
priests  under  their  canopies,  white-veiled  nuns  bear- 
ing 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  couldn't  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  meet- 
ing her  was  over,  he  looked  tired  and  spiritless  —  not 
sick,  nor  exactly  unhappy,  but  older  and  graver  than  a 
year  or  two  of  prosperous  life  should  have  made  him. 
She  couldn't  understand  it,  and  did  not  venture  to  ask 
questions ;  so  she  shook  her  head,  and  touched  up  her 
ponies,  as  the  procession  wound  away  across  the 
arches  of  the  Paglioni  bridge,  and  vanished  in  the 
church. 

u£hie  fiensez  vous?"  she  said,  airing  her  French, 
which  had  improved  in  quantity,  if  not  in  quality, 
since  she  came  abroad. 

"  That  mademoiselle  has  made  good  use  of  her 
time,  and  the  result  is  charming,"  replied  Laurie, 
bowing,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  an  admiring 
look. 

She  blushed  with  pleasure,  but,  somehow,  the  com- 
pliment did  not  satisfy  her  like  the  blunt  praises  he 


204  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

used  to  give  her  at  home,  when  he  promenaded  round 
her  on  festival  occasions,  and  told  her  she  was  "alto- 
gether jolly,"  with  a  hearty  smile  and  an  approving 
pat  on  the  head.  She  didn't  like  the  new  tone  ;  for 
though  not  dlase,  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 
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 


NB  W  IMPRESSIONS.  205 

keep  it  from  blowing  away,"  and  listened  with  interest 
to  the  lively  letter  Amy  read  him. 

u  This  will  be  a  regularly  merry  Christmas  to  me, 
with  presents  in  the  morning,  you  and  letters  in  the 
afternoon,  and  a  party  at  night,"  said  Amy,  as  they 
alighted  among  the  ruins  of  the  old  fort,  and  a  flock 
of  splendid  peacocks  came  trooping  about  them, 
tamely  waiting  to  be  fed.  While  Amy  stood  laughing 
on  the  bank  above  him  as  she  scattered  crumbs  to  the 
brilliant  birds,  Laurie  looked  at  her  as  she  had  looked 
at  him,  with  a  natural  curiosity  to  see  what  changes 
time  and  absence  had  wrought.  He  found  nothing  to 
perplex  or  disappoint,  much  to  admire  and  approve ; 
for,  overlooking  a  few  little  affectations  of  speech  and 
manner,  she  was  as  sprightly  and  graceful  as  ever, 
with  the  addition  of  that  indescribable  something  in 
dress  and  bearing  which  we  call  elegance.  Always 
mature  for  her  age,  she  had  gained  a  certain  aplomb 
in  both  carriage  and  conversation,  which  made  her 
seem  more  of  a  woman  of  the  world  than  she  was  ; 
but  her  old  petulance  now  and  then  showed  itself,  her 
strong  will  still  held  its  own,  and  her  native  frankness 
was  unspoiled  by  foreign  polish. 

Laurie  did  not  read  all  this  while  he  watched  her 
feed  the  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, — 


206  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

"  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  this  while,"  said  Amy,  seating  herself, 
ready  for  a  good  talk. 

But  she  did  not  get  it ;  for,  though  he  joined  her, 
and  answered  all  her  questions  freely,  she  could  only 
learn  that  he  had  roved  about  the  continent  and  been 
to  Greece.  So,  after  idling  away  an  hour,  they  drove 
home  again  ;  and,  having  paid  his  respects  to  Mrs. 
Carrol,  Laurie  left  them,  promising  to  return  in  the 
evening. 

It  must  be  recorded  of  Amy,  that  she  deliberately 
"  prinked  "  that  night.  Time  and  absence  had  done 
its  work  on  both  the  young  people  ;  she  had  seen  her 
old  friend  in  a  new  light,  —  not  as  "  our  boy,"  but  as 
a  handsome  and  agreeable  man,  and  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  very  natural  desire  to  find  favor  in  his 
sight.     Amy   knew  her  good  points,  and   made   the 


NEW  IMPRESSIONS.  207 

most  of  them,  with  the  taste  and  skill  which  is  a  for- 
tune to  a  poor  and  pretty  woman. 

Tarleton  and  tulle  were  cheap  at  Nice,  so  she  en- 
veloped herself  in  them  on  such  occasions,  and, 
following  the  sensible  English  fashion  of  simple  dress 
for  young  girls,  got  up  charming  little  toilettes  with 
fresh  flowers,  a  few  trinkets,  and  all  manner  of  dainty 
devices,  which  were  both  inexpensive  and  effective. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  the  artist  sometimes  got 
possession  of  the  woman,  and  indulged  in  antique 
coiffures,  statuesque  attitudes,  and  classic  draperies. 
But,  dear  heart,  we  all  have  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  illusion,  out  of  which  her  white  shoulders 
and  golden  head  emerged  with  a  most  artistic  effect. 
Her  hair  she  had  the  sense  to  let  alone,  after  gathering 
up  the  thick  waves  and  curls  into  a  Hebe-like  knot  at 
the  back  of  her  head. 

"It's  not  the  fashion,  but  it's  becoming,  and  I  can't 
afford  to  make  a  fright  of  myself,"  she  used  to  say, 
when  advised  to  frizzle,  puff,  or  braid  as  the  latest 
style  commanded. 

Having  no  ornaments  fine  enough  for  this  important 
occasion,  Amy  looped  her  fleecy  skirts  with  rosy 
clusters  of  azalea,  and  framed  the  white  shoulders 
in  delicate  green  vines.  Remembering  the  painted 
boots,  she  surveyed  her  white  satin  slippers  with  girlish 


208  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

satisfaction,  and   chasseed  down  the  room,   admiring 
her  aristocratic  feet  all  by  herself. 

"  My  new  fan  just  matches  my  flowers,  my  gloves 
fit  to  a  charm,  and  the  real  lace  on  aunt's  mouchoir 
gives  an  air  to  my  whole  dress.  If  I  only  had  a 
classical  nose  and  mouth  I  should  be  perfectly  happy," 
she  said,  surveying  herself  with  a  critical  eye,  and  a 
candle  in  each  hand. 

In  spite  of  this  affliction,  she  looked  unusually  gay 
and  graceful  as  she  glided  away  ;  she  seldom  ran,  — 
it  did  not  suit  her  style,  she  thought,  — for,  being  tall, 
the  stately  and  Junoesque  was  more  appropriate  than 
the  sportive  or  piquante.  She  walked  up  and  down 
the  long  saloon  while  waiting  for  Laurie,  and  once 
arranged  herself  under  the  chandelier,  which  had  a 
good  effect  upon  her  hair  ;  then  she  thought  better  of 
it,  and  went  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  —  as 
if  ashamed  of  the  girlish  desire  to  have  the  first  view 
a  propitious  one.  It  so  happened  that  she  could  not 
have  done  a  better  thing,  for  Laurie  came  in  so 
quietly  she  did  not  hear  him  ;  and,  as  she  stood  at  the 
distant  window  with  her  head  half  turned,  and  one 
hand  gathering  up  her  dress,  the  slender,  white  figure 
against  the  red  curtains  was  as  effective  as  a  wTell- 
placed  statue. 

u  Good  evening,  Diana  !"  said  Laurie,  w#ith  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  debon- 
naire,  —  and  the  thought  of  entering  the  ball-room  on 
the  arm  of  such  a  personable  man,  caused  Amy  to 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  209 

pity  the  four  plain  Misses  Davis  from  the  bottom  of 
her  heart. 

"  Here  are  your  flowers !  I  arranged  them  myself, 
remembering  that  you  didn't  like  what  Hannah  calls 
a  :  sot-bookay,'  "  said  Laurie,  handing  her  a  delicate 
nosegay,  in  a  holder  that  she  had  long  coveted  as  she 
daily  passed  it  in  Cardiglia's  window. 

a  How  kind  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed,  gratefully  ; 
"  if  I'd  known  you  were  coming  I'd  have  had^some- 
thing  ready  for  you  to-day,  —  though  not  as  pretty  as 
this,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Thank  you  ;  it  isn't  what  it  should  be,  but  you 
have  improved  it,"  he  added,  as  she  snapped  the  silver 
bracelet  on  her  wrist. 

"  Please  don't !  " 

"  I  thought  you  liked  that  sort  of  thing  !  " 

"  Not  from  you  ;  it  doesn't  sound  natural,  and  I  like 
your  old  bluntness  better." 

u  I'm  glad  of  it ! "  he  answered,  with  a  look  of  relief; 
then  buttoned  her  gloves  for  her,  and  asked  if  his  tie 
was  straight,  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  they  went  to 
parties  together,  at  home. 

The  company  assembled  in  the  long  salle  a  manger, 
that  evening,  was  such  as  one  sees  nowhere  but  on 
the  continent.  The  hospitable  Americans  had  invited 
every  acquaintance  they  had  in  Nice,  and,  having  no 
prejudice  against  titles,  secured  a  few  to  add  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 
H 


2io  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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  in- 
dulge his  mania  for  dancing,  and  Lady  de  Jones,  a 
British  matron,  adorned  the  scene  with  her  little  fam- 
ily of  eight.  Of  course,  there  were  many  light-footed, 
shrill-voiced  American  girls,  handsome,  lifeless  look- 
ing English  ditto,  and  a  few  plain  but  piquante 
French  demoiselles.  Likewise  the  usual  set  of  trav- 
elling young  gentlemen,  who  disported  themselves 
gaily,  while  mammas  of  all  nations  lined  the  walls, 
and  smiled  upon  them  benignly  when  they  danced 
with  their  daughters. 

Any  young  girl  can  imagine  Amy's  state  of  mind 
when  she  "took  the  stage"  that  night,  leaning  on 
Laurie's  arm.  She  knew  she  looked  well,  she  loved 
to  dance,  she  felt  that  her  foot  was  on  her  native  heath 
in  a  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 
virtue  of  beauty,  youth,  and  womanhood.  She  did 
pity  the  Davis  girls,  who  were  awkward,  plain,  and 
destitute  of  escort — except  a  grim  papa  and  three 
grimmer  maiden  aunts  —  and  she  bowed  to  them  in 
her  friendliest  manner,  as  she  passed ;  which  was 
good  of  her,  as  it  permitted  them  to  see  her  dress, 
and  burn  with  curiosity  to  know  who  her  distin- 
guished-looking friend  might  be.  With  the  first  burst 
of  the   band,  Amy's   color  rose,  her  eyes  began   to 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  2 1 1 

sparkle,  and  her  feet  to  tap  the  floor  impatiently ;  for 
she  danced  well,  and  wanted  Laurie  to  know  it; 
therefore,  the  shock  she  received  can  better  be  imag- 
ined than  described,  when  he  said,  in  a  perfectly  tran- 
quil tone, —  l 

"  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 
the  steps  of 

'  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  com- 
posed of  English,  and  Amy  was  compelled  to  walk 
decorously  through  a  cotillion,  feeling  all  the  while  as 
if  she  could  dance  the  Tarantula  with  a  relish.  Lau- 
rie resigned  her  to  the  u  nice  little  boy,"  and  went  to 
do  his  duty  to  Flo,  without  securing  Amy  for  the  joys 
to  come,  which  reprehensible  want  of  forethought 
was  properly  punished,  for  she  immediately  engaged 
herself  till  supper,  meaning  to  relent  if  he  then  gave 
any  sign  of  penitence.  She  showed  him  her  ball- 
book  with  demure  satisfaction  when  he  strolled,  in- 
stead of  rushing,   up  to  claim  her   for   the   next,    a 


212  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

glorious  polka-redowa ;  but  his  polite  regrets  didn'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  pleas- 
ure, for  she  neither  romped  nor  sauntered,  but  danced 
with  spirit  and  grace,  making  the  delightsome  pas- 
time 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  Christ- 
mas merriment  made  all  faces  shine,  hearts  happy, 
and  heels  light.  The  musicians  fiddled,  tooted,  and 
banged  as  if  they  enjoyed  it ;  everybody  danced  who 
could,  and  those  who  couldn't  admired  their  neigh- 
bors with  uncommon  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  dismaying  the  garcons  by  the  ravages  he 
committed.  But  the  Emperor's  friend  covered  him- 
self with  glory,  for  he  danced  everything,  whether 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  2 1 3 

he  knew  it  or  not,  and  introduced  impromptu  pirou- 
ettes when  the  figures  bewildered  him.  The  boyish 
abandon  of  that  stout  man  was  charming  to  behold"; 
for,  though  he  "  carried  weight,"  he  danced  like  an 
india-rubber  ball.  He  ran,  he  flew,  he  pranced  ;  his 
face  glowed,  his  bald  head  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 
Pickwick  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  indefatigably  as  if  winged.  When  little 
Vladimir  finally  relinquished  her,  with  assurances 
that  he  was  "  desolated  to  leave  so  early,"  she  was 
ready  to  rest,  and  see  how  her  recreant  knight  had 
borne  his  punishment. 

It  had  been  successful ;  for,  at  three-and-twenty, 
blighted  affections  find  a  balm  in  friendly  society,  and 
young  nerves  will  thrill,  young  blood  dance,  and 
healthy  young  spirits  rise,  when  subjected  to  the 
enchantment  of  beauty,  light,  music,  and  motion. 
Laurie  had  a  waked-up  look  as  he  rose  to  give  her 
his  seat ;  and  when  he  hurried  away  to  bring  her  some 
supper,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  satisfied  smile,  — 

"Ah,  I  thought  that  would  do  him  good  !" 

"  You  look  like  Balzac's  c  Femme  piente  par  elle 
meme,' "  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 


214  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

brilliant  cheek,  and  showed  him  her  white  glove,  with 
a  sober  simplicity  that  made  him  laugh  outright. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  stuff  ?  "  he  asked,  touching 
a  fold  of  her  dress  that  had  blown  over  his  knee. 

"  Illusion." 

"  Good  name  for  it;  it's  very  pretty  —  new  thing, 
isn't  it?" 

"  It's  as  old  as  the  hills ;  you  have  seen  it  on  dozens 
of  girls,  and  you  never  found  out  that  it  was  pretty 
till  now  —  stuftide!" 

"  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  shyness 
now,  and  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  trample  on  him, 
as  girls  have  a  delightful  way  of  doing  when  lords  of 
creation  show  any  signs  of  subjection. 

"Where  did  you  learn  all  this  sort  of  thing?"  he 
asked,  with  a  quizzical  look. 

"As  'this  sort  of  thing'  is  rather  a  vague  expres- 
sion, 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-posses- 
sion, the — the  —  illusion  —  you  know,"  laughed  Lau- 
rie, breaking  down,  and  helping  himself  out  of  his 
quandary  with  the  new  word. 

Amy  was  gratified,  but,  of  course,  didn't  show  it, 
and  demurely  answered, — 


NE  W  IMPRESSIONS.  215 

"Foreign  life  polishes  one  in  spite  of  one's  self;  I 
study  as  well  as  play  ;  and  as  for  this  "  —  with  a  little 
gesture  toward  her  dress  —  "why,  tulle  is  cheap; 
posies  to  be  had  for  nothing,  and  I  am  used  to  making 
the  most  of  my  poor  little  things." 

Amy  rather  regretted  that  last  sentence,  fearing  it 
wasn't  in  good  taste ;  but  Laurie  liked  her  the  better 
for  it,  and  found  himself  both  admiring  and  respect- 
ing the  brave  patience  that  made  the  most  of  oppor- 
tunity, 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  devoted  himself  to  her  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  in  the  most  delightful  manner ;  but  the 
impulse  that  wrought  this  agreeable  change  was  the 
result  of  one  of  the  new  impressions  which  both  of 
them  were  unconsciously  giving  and  receiving. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ON     THE      SHELF. 

IN  France  the  young  girls  have  a  dull  time  of  it 
till  they  are  married,  when  "  Vive  la  liberie" 
becomes  their  motto.  In  America,  as  every  one 
knows,  girls  early  sign  a  declaration  of  independence, 
and  enjoy  their  freedom  with  republican  zest ;  but  the 
young  matrons  usually  abdicate  with  the  first  heir  to 
the  throne,  and  go  into  a  seclusion  almost  as  close 
as  a  French  nunnery,  though  by  no  means  as  quiet. 
Whether  they  like  it  or  not,  they  are  virtually  put 
upon  the  shelf  as  soon  as  the  wedding  excitement  is 
over,  and  most  of  them  might  exclaim,  as  did  a  very 
pretty  woman  the  other  day,  "I'm  as  handsome  as 
ever,  but  no  one  takes  any  notice  of  me  because  Fm 
married." 

Not  being  a  belle,  or  even  a  fashionable -lady,  Meg 
did  not  experience  this  affliction  till  her  babies  were 
a  year  old,  —  for  in  her  little  world  primitive  customs 
prevailed,  and  she  found  herself  more  admired  and 
beloved  than  ever.. 

As  she  was  a  womanly  little  woman,  the  maternal 
instinct  was  very  strong,  and  she  was  entirely  absorbed 
in  her  children,  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  everything 
and  everybody  else.  Day  and  night  she  brooded  over 
them  with  tireless  devotion  and  anxiety,  leaving  John 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  help,  —  for  an  Irish  lady 
now  presided  over  the  kitchen  department.  Being 
a  domestic  man,  John  decidedly  missed   the   wifely 

(2!6) 


ON  THE  SHELF.  217 

attentions  he  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  ;  but,  as 
he  adored  his  babies,  he  cheerfully  relinquished  his 
comfort  for  a  time,  supposing,  with  masculine  igno- 
rance, that  peace  would  soon  be  restored.  But  three 
months  passed,  and  there  was  no  return  of  repose ; 
Meg  looked  worn  and  nervous,  —  the  babies  absorbed 
every  minute  of  her  time,  —  the  house  was  neglected, 
—  and  Kitty,  the  cook,  who  took  life  "  aisy,"  kept 
him  on  short  commons.  When  he  went  out  in  the 
morning  he  was  bewildered  by  small  commissions  for 
the  captive  mamma ;  if  he  came  gaily  in  at  night, 
eager  to  embrace  his  family,  he  was  quenched  by  a 
"  Hush  !  they  are  just  asleep  after  worrying  all  day." 
If  he  proposed  a  little  amusement  at  home,  i'  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  noiselessly  to  and 
fro,  in  the  watches  of  the  night ;  his  meals  were 
interrupted  by  the  frequent  flight  of  the  presiding 
genius,  who  deserted  him,  half-helped,  if  a  muffled 
chirp  sounded  from  the  nest  above ;  and,  when  he 
read  his  paper  of  an  evening,  Demi's  colic  got  into 
the  shipping-list,  and  Daisy's  fall  affected  the  price  of 
stocks,  —  for  Mrs.  Brooke  was  only  interested  in  do- 
mestic 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  Babydom.  He  bore  it  very  pa- 
tiently-for  six  months,  and,  when  no  signs  of  amend- 


2i8  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

ment  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  successfully.  The  parlor  was  al- 
ways 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,  comfortably 
scorching  his  slippers  on  the  fender.  She  would  not 
ask  him  to  stay  at  home,  but  felt  injured  because  he 
did  not  know  that  she  'wanted  him  without  being 
told,  —  entirely  forgetting  the  many  evenings  he  had 
waited  for  her  in  vain.  She  was  nervous  and  worn 
out  with  watching  and  worry,  and  in  that  unreason- 
able frame  of  mind  which  the  best  of  mothers  occa- 
sionally experience  when  domestic  cares  oppress  them, 


ON  THE  SHELF. 


219 


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. 

wYes,"  she  would  say,  looking  in  the  glass,  "I'm 
getting  old  and  ugly  ;  John  don't  find  me  interesting 
any  longer,  so  he  leaves  his  faded  wife  and  goes  to 
see  his  pretty  neighbor,  who  has  no  incumbrances. 
Well,  the  babies  love  me  ;  they  don't  care  if  I  am  thin 
and  pale,  and  haven't  time  to  crimp  my  hair;  they 
are  my  comfort,  and  some  day  John  will  see  what  I've 
gladly  sacrificed  for  them,  —  won't  he,  my  precious?" 

To  which  pathetic  appeal  Daisy  would  answer  with 
a  coo,  or  Demi  with  a  crow,  and  Meg  would  put  by 
her  lamentations  for  a  maternal  revel,  which  soothed 
her  solitude  for  the  time  being.  But  the  pain  in- 
creased 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. 

M  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  isn't  fair  that  I  should   have  the  hardest  work,  and 


220  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

never  any  amusement.  Men  are  very  selfish,  even 
the  best  of  them. " 

"  So  are  women ;  don't  blame  John  till  you  see 
where  you  are  wrong  yourself." 

"  But  it  can't  be  right  for  him  to  neglect  me." 

"  Don't  you  neglect  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  mother  ;  I  thought  you'd  take  my  part !  " 

"  So  I  do  as  far  as  sympathizing  goes ;  but  I  think 
the  fault  is  yours,  Meg." 

"I  don't  see  how." 

"  Let  me  show  you.  Did  John  ever  neglect  you,  as 
you  call  it,  while  you  made  it  a  point  to  give  him 
your  society  of  an  evening,  —  his  only  leisure  time?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  can't  do  it  now,  with  two  babies  to 
tend." 

"  I  think  you  could,  dear ;  and  I  think  you  ought. 
May  I  speak  quite  freely,  and  will  you  remember  that 
it's  mother  who  blames  as  well  as  mother  who  sym- 
pathizes?" 

"  Indeed  I  will !  speak  to  me  as  if  I  was  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  motherhood  made  them  more  one  than  ever. 

"  You  have  only  made  the  mistake  that  most  young 
wives  make,  —  forgotten  your  duty  to  your  husband 
in  your  love  for  your  children.  A  very  natural  and 
forgivable  mistake,  Meg,  but  one  that  had  better  be 
remedied  before  you  take  to  different  ways ;  for  chil- 
dren should  draw  you  nearer  than  ever,  not  separate 
you, —  as  if  they  were  all  yours,  and  John  had  nothing 


ON  THE  SHELF.  2,2,! 

to  do  but  support  them.  I've  seen  it  for  some  weeks, 
but  have  not  spoken,  feeling  sure  it  would  come  right, 
in  time." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  won't.  If  I  ask  him  to  stay  he'll 
think  I'm  jealous ;  and  I  wouldn't  insult  him  by  such 
an  idea.  He  don't  see  that  I  want  him,  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  tell  him  without  words." 

"  Make  it  so  pleasant  he  won't  want  to  go  away. 
My  dear,  he's  longing  for  his  little  home  ;  but  it  isn't 
home  without  you,  and  you  are  always  in  the  nursery." 

"  Oughtn't  I  to  be  there?" 

"  Not  all  the  time ;  too  much  confinement  makes 
you  nervous,  and  then  you  are  unfitted  for  everything. 
Besides,  you  owe  something  to  John  as  well  as  to  the 
babies;  don't  neglect  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  didn't  do  my  duty  unless  I  devoted 
myself  wholly  to  you.  Poor  father  took  to  his  books, 
after  I  had  refused  all  offers  of  help,  and  left  me  to 
try  my  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  everything,  and 
made  himself  so  helpful  that  I  saw  my  mistake,  and 


222  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

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 
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  train- 
ing, and  it's  none  too  soon  to  begin.  Then  I'd  do 
what  I  have  often  proposed,  —  let  Hannah  come  and 
help  you  ;  she  is  a  capital  nurse,  and  you  may  trust 
the  precious  babies  to  her  while  you  do  more  house- 
work. 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." 

u  I  don't  believe  he  would  ;  love  covers  a  multitude 
of  sins,  and  of  whom  could  you  ask  more  freely  than 
of  him?     Try   it,   and   see    if  he    doesn't   find    your 


ON  THE  SHELF.  223 

society  far  more  agreeable  than  Mrs.  Scott's  sup- 
pers." 

"  I  will.  Poor  John  !  I'm  afraid  I  have  neglected 
him  sadly,  but  I  thought  I  was  right,  and  he  never 
said  anything." 

"  He  tried  not  to  be  selfish,  but  he  has  felt  rather 
forlorn,  I  fancy.  This  is  just  the  time,  Meg,  when 
young  married  people  are  apt  to  grow  apart,  and  the 
very  time  when  they  ought  to  be  most  together ;  for 
the  first  tenderness  soon  wears  off,  unless  care  is  taken 
to  preserve  it ;  and  no  time  is  so  beautiful  and  precious 
to  parents,  as  the  first  years  of  the  little  lives  given 
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  any- 
thing 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  sub- 
jugated, and  occasionally  afflicted  his  tender  spouse, 
by  an  attempt  at  paternal  discipline  with  his  obstrep- 
erous 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. 


224  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

Mamma  thought  the  dear  too  young  to  be  taught  to  con- 
quer his  prejudices,  but  papa  believed  that  it  never  was 
too  soon  to  learn  obedience  ;  so  Master  Demi  early  dis- 
covered, that  when  he  undertook  to  "  wrastle  "  with 
'•  parpar,"  he  always  got  the  worst  of  it ;  yet,  like 
the  Englishman,  Baby  respected  the  man  who  con- 
quered him,  and  loved  the  father,  whose  grave,  "No, 
no "  was  more  impressive  than  all  the  mother's  love 
pats. 

A  few  days  after  the  talk  with  her  mother,  Meg 
resolved  to  try  a  social  evening  with  John ;  so  she 
ordered  a  nice  supper,  set  the  parlor  in  order,  dressed 
herself  prettily,  and  put  the  children  to  bed  early, 
that  nothing  should  interfere  with  her  experiment. 
But,  unfortunately,  Demi's  most  unconquerable  preju- 
dice 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 
wouldn't  shut ;  and  long  after  Daisy  had  gone  to 
byelow,  like  the  chubby  little  bunch  of  good  nature 
she  was,  naughty  Demi  lay,  staring  at  the  light,  with 
the  most  discouragingly  wide-awake  expression  of 
v         countenance.  '*^**^^^>ii<fc 

"  Will  Demi  lie  still,  like  a  good  boy.  while  mamma 
runs  down  and  gives  poor  papa  his  tea?  "  askecWX£gg^ 
as  the  hall  door  softly  closed,  and  the  well-known 
step  went  tip-toeing  into  the  dining-room. 

"  Me  has  tea !  "  said  Demi,  preparing  to  join  in  the 
revel.  ^ss^     ' — 

"  No ;  but  I'll  save  you  some  little  cakies  for 
breakfast,  if  you'll  go  bye-bye,  E&e^  Daisy.  Will  you, 
lovey?" 


ON  THE  SHELF. 


225 


"  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- 
fashioned  John. 

"  Ditto,  ditto,  Mr.  Brooke,"  laughed  Meg,  looking 
young  and  pretty  again,  as  she  nodded  to  him  over 
the  teapot.  \      \       ^^^^ 

"  Well,  it's  alt&gether  delightful,  and  like  old  times. 
This  tastes  irighfr;  T  drjrik^our  health,  dear ! "  and 
John  sipped  his  tea  with  an  an^^T"repcrsef«i-*apture, 
which  was  of  very  short  duration,  however ;  for,  a§A 
he  put  down  his  cup,  the  door-handle  rattled  mysteri- 
ously, and  a  little  voice  was  heard,  saying,  impa- 
tiently, — 

"  Opy  doy  ;  me's  tummin  !  " 

u  It's  that  naughty  boy ;  I  told  him  to  go  to  sleep 
alone,  and  here  he  is,  down  stairs,  getting  his  death 
a-cold  pattering  over  that  canvas,"  said  Meg,  answer- 
ing the  call. 

"  Mornin'  now,"  announced  Demi,  in  a  joyful  tone, 
15 


226  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

as  he  entered,  with  his  long  night-gown  gracefully- 
festooned  over  his  arm,  and  every  curl  bobbing  gaily, 
as  he  pranced  about  the  table,  eyeing  the"cakies" 
with  loving  glances. 

"  No,  it  isn't  morning  yet ;  you  must  go  to  bed,  and 
not  trouble  poor  mamma ;  then  you  can  have  the 
little  cake  with  sugar  on  it." 

"  Me  loves  parpar,"  said  the  artful  one,  preparing 
to  climb  the  paternal  knee,  and  revel  in  forbidden 
joys.     But  John  shook  his  head,  and  said  to  Meg, — 

"If  you  told  him  to  stay  up  there,  and  go  to  sleep 
alone,  make  him  do  it,  or  he  will  never  learn  to  mind 
you." 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  come,  Demi !  "  and  Meg  led  her 
son  away,  feeling  a  strong  desire  to  spank  the  little 
marplot  who  hopped  beside  her,  laboring  under  the 
delusion  that  the  bribe  was  to  be  administered  as  soon 
as  they  reached  the  nursery. 

Nor  was  he  disappointed;  for  that  short-sighted 
woman  actually  gave  him  a  lump  of  sugar,  tucked 
him  into  his  bed,  and  forbade  any  more  promenades 
till  morning. 

"Iss!"said  Demi  the  perjured,  blissfully  sucking 
his  sugar,  and  regarding  his  first  attempt  as  eminently 
successful. 

Meg  returned  to  her  place,  and  supper  was  pro- 
gressing pleasantly,  when  the  little  ghost  walked 
again,  and  exposed  the  maternal  delinquencies,  by 
boldly  demanding,  — 

"  More  sudar,  marmar." 

"  Now  this  won't  do,"  said  John,  hardening  his 
heart  against  the  engaging  little  sinner.  "  We  shall 
never  know  any  peace  till  that  child  learns  to  go  to 


ON  THE  SHELF.  227 

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  re- 
tired 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  defied  papa,  and  kicked  and  screamed 
lustily  all  the  way  upstairs.  The  minute  he  was  put 
into  bed  on  one  side,  he  rolled  out  at  the  other,  an- 
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 


228  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

light  was  put  out,  and  only  the  red  glow  of  the  fire 
enlivened  the  "  big  dark"  which  Demi  regarded  with 
curiosity  rather  than  fear.  This  new  order  of  things 
disgusted  him,  and  he  howled  dismally  for  "  marmar," 
as  his  angry  passions  subsided,  and  recollections  of 
his  tender  bond-woman  returned  to  the  captive  auto- 
crat. The  plaintive  wail  which  succeeded  the  pas- 
sionate 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,  re- 
proaching 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." 

When  John  spoke  in  that  masterful  tone,  Meg  al- 
ways obeyed,  and  never  regretted  her  docility. 

"  Please  let  me  kiss  him,  once,  John?" 

"Certainly;  Demi,  say  'good-night'  to  mamma, 
and  let  her  go  and  rest,  for  she  is  very  tired  with 
taking  care  of  you  all  day." 

Meg  always  insisted  upon  it,  that  the  kiss  won  the 
victory ;  for,  after  it  was  given,  Demi  sobbed  more 
quietly,  and  lay  quite  still  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed, 
whither  he  had  wriggled  in  his  anguish  of  mind. 


ON  THE  SHELF. 


229 


"  Poor  little  man !  he's  worn  out  with  sleep  and 
crying ;  I'll  cover  him  up,  and  then  go  and  set  Meg's 
heart  at  rest,"  thought  John,  creeping  to  the  bedside, 
hoping  to  find  his  rebellious  heir  asleep. 

But  he  wasn't ;  for  the  moment  his  father  peeped 
at  him,  Demi's  e)Tes  opened,  his  little  chin  began  to 
quiver,  and  he  put  up  his  arms,  saying,  with  a  peni- 
tent hiccough,  u  Me's  dood,  now." 

Sitting  on  the  stairs,  outside,  Meg  wondered  at  the 
long  silence  which  followed  the  uproar ;  and,  after 
imagining  all  sorts  of  impossible  accidents,  she  slipped 
into  the  room,  to  set  her  fears  at  rest.  Demi  lay  fast 
asleep  ;  not  in  his  usual  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  little  son 
than  with  his  whole  day's  work. 

As  Meg  stood  watching  the  two  faces  on  the  pillow, 
she  smiled  to  herself,  and  then  slipped  away  again, 
saying,  in  a  satisfied  tone,  — 

"I  never  need  fear  that  John  will  be  too  harsh  with 
my  babies,  he  does  know  how  to  manage  them,  and 
will  be  a  great  help,  for  Demi  is  getting  too  much  for 
me." 

When  John  came  down  at  last,  expecting  to  find  a 
pensive  or  reproachful  wife,  he  was  agreeably  sur- 
prised 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 


230 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


minute  that  a  revolution  of  some  kind  was  going  on, 
but  wisely  asked  no  questions,  knowing  that  Meg  was 
such  a  transparent  little  person,  she  couldn't  keep  a 
secret  to  save  her  life,  and  therefore  the  clue  would 
soon  appear.  He  read  a  long  debate  with  the  most 
amiable  readiness,  and  then  explained  it  in  his  most 
lucid  manner,  while  Meg  tried  to  look  deeply  inter- 
ested, to  ask  intelligent  questions,  and  keep  her 
thoughts  from  wandering  from  the  state  of  the  na- 
tion 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  diplomatic  ambiguity,  — 

"  Well,  I  really  don't  see  what  we  are  coming  too." 

John  laughed,  and  watched  her  for  a  minute,  as  she 
poised  a  pretty  little  preparation  of  tulle  and  flowers 
0*1  her  hand,  and  regarded  it  with  the  genuine  inter- 
est 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 !  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon ;  it  was  so  very  small,  I  natu- 
rally mistook  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  rose-bud,  so"  —  and  Meg  illustrated  by  putting 


ON  THE  SHELF.  231 

on  the  bonnet,  and  regarding  him  with  an  air  of  calm 
satisfaction,  that  was  irresistible. 

"  It's  a  love  of  a  bonnet,  but  I  prefer  the  face  inside, 
for  it  looks  young  and  happy  again,"  and  John  kissed 
the  smiling  face,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  rose- 
bud 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  fidgetty,  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  Fve 
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  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 


232 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


John  brought  order  and  obedience  into  Babydom, 
while  Meg  recovered  her  spirits,  and  composed  her 
nerves,  by  plenty  of  wholesome  exercise,  a  little  pleas- 
ure, and  much  confidential  conversation  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,  un- 
locking the  treasuries  of  real  home-love  and  mutual 
helpfulness,  which  the  poorest  may  possess,  and  the 
richest  cannot  buy.  This  is  the  sort  of  shelf  on 
which  young  wives  and  mothers  may  consent  to  be 
laid,  safe  from  the  restless  fret  and  fever  of  the  world, 
finding  loyal  lovers  in  the  little  sons  and  daughters 
who  cling  to  them,  undaunted  by  sorrow,  poverty  or 
age  ;  walking  side  by  side,  through  fair  and  stormy  , 
weather,  with  a  faithful  friend,  who  is,  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  good  old  Saxon  word,  the  "  house-band," 
and  learning,  as  Meg  learned,  that  a  woman's  happiest 
kingdom  is  home,  her  highest  honor  the  art  of  ruling 
it — ■  not  as  a  queen,  but  a  wise  wife  and  mother. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


LAZY     LAURENCE 


LAURIE  went  to  Nice  intending  to  stay  a  week, 
and  remained  a  month.  He  was  tired  of  wan- 
dering about  alone,  and  Amy's  familiar  presence 
seemed  to  give  a  home-like  charm  to  the  foreign  scenes 
in  which  she  bore  a  part.  He  rather  missed  the 
u  muching "  he  used  to  receive,  and  enjoyed  a  taste 
of  it  again,  —  for  no  attentions,  however  flattering, 
from  strangers,  were  half  so  pleasant  as  the  sisterly 
adoration  of  the  girls  at  home.  Amy  never  would 
pet  him  like  the  others,  but  she  was  very  glad  to  see 
him  now,  and  quite  clung  to  him,  —  feeling  that  he 
was  the  representative  of  the  dear  family  for  whom 
she  longed  more  than  she  would  confess.  They 
naturally  took  comfort  in  each  other's  society,  and 
were  much  together,  —  riding,  walking,  dancing,  or 
dawdling,  —  for,  at  Nice,  no  one  can  be  very  indus- 
trious 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  grateful  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 
(233) 


234 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


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,  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  Moniaco  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  down  stairs  ;  but  when  they 
got  into  the  carriage  he  took  the  reins  himself,  and 
left  little  Baptiste  nothing  to  do  but  fold  his  arms  and 
fall  asleep  on  his  perch. 

The  two  never  quarrelled  ;  Amy  was  too  well-bred, 


LAZY  LAURENCE.  235 

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. 

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  anemonies  fringed  the  road- 
side ;  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  be- 
tween the  bars  of  the  great  gate  with  a  sweet  wel- 
come 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, 


236 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


or  pale  pink  roses,  leaning  down  to  smile  at  their 
own  beauty.  Roses  covered  the  walls  of  the  house, 
draped  the  cornices,  climbed  the  pillars,  and  ran  riot 
over  the  balustrade  of  the  wide  terrace,  whence  one 
looked  down  on  the  sunny  Mediterranean  and  the 
white-walled  city  on  its  shore. 

"  This  is  a  regular  honey-moon  Paradise,  isn't  it? 
Did  you  ever  see  such  roses?"  asked  Amy,  pausing 
on  the  terrace  to  enjoy  the  view,  and  a  luxurious  whirf 
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,  deftly  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  green-house  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. 


LAZT  LAURENCE. 


237 


4 '  It's  good  advice,  —  you'd  better  take  it  and  save 
your  fingers,"  she  said,  thinking  her  speech  amused 
him. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will !  "  he  answered  in  jest, ; —  and  a 
few  months  later  he  did  it  in  earnest. 

"Laurie,  when  are  you  going  to  your  grandfather?" 
she  asked,  presently,  as  she  settled  herself  on  a  rustic 
seat. 

"  Very  soon." 

"You  have  said  that  a  dozen  times  within  the  last 
three  weeks." 

"I  dare  say ;  short  answers  save  trouble." 

"  He  expects  you,  and  you  really  ought  to  go." 

"  Hospitable  creature  !    I  know  it." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  do  it?  " 

"Natural  depravity,  I  suppose." 

"  Natural  indolence,  you  mean.  It's  really  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  himself  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." 


238  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"  How  provoking  you  are !  I  don't  approve  of 
cigars,  and  I  will  only  allow  it  on  condition  that  you 
let  me  put  you  into  my  sketch ;  I  need  a  figure." 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  How  will  you  have 
me?  full-length,  or  three-quarters;  on  my  head  or  my 
heels?  I  should  respectfully  suggest  a  recumbent 
posture,  then  put  yourself  in  also,  and  call  it,  ■  Dolce 
far  niente'  " 

"  Stay  as  you  are,  and  go  to  sleep  if  you  like.  / 
intend  to  work  hard,"  said  Amy,  in  her  most  energetic 
tone. 

"  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  men- 
tion 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,  dissat- 
isfaction 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 


LAZT  LAURENCE.  239 

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,  — 

"  If  s  all  right,  ma'am  !  " 

That  satisfied  her,  and  set  at  rest  the  doubts  that 
had  began  to  worry  her  lately.  It  also  touched  her, 
and  she  showed  that  it  did,  by  the  cordial  tone  in 
which  she  said, — 

"I'm  glad  of  that!  I  didn't  think  you'd  been  a 
very  bad  boy,  but  I  fancied  you  might  have  wasted 
money  at  that  wicked  Baden-Baden,  lost  your  heart 
to  some  charming  Frenchwoman  with  a  husband, 
or  got  into  some  of  the  scrapes  that  young  men  seem 
to  consider  a  necessary  part  of  a  foreign  tour.  Don't 
stay  out  there  in  the  sun,  come  and  lie  on  the  grass 
here,  and  '  let  us  be  friendly,'  as  Jo  used  to  say  when 
we  got  in  the  sofa-corner  and  told  secrets." 

Laurie  obediently  threw  himself  down  on  the  turf, 
and  began  to  amuse  himself  by  sticking  daisies  into 
the  ribbons  of  Amy's  hat,  that  lay  there. 

"  I'm  all  ready  for  the  secrets,"  and  he  glanced  up 
with  a  decided  expression  of  interest  in  his  eyes. 

"  I've  none  to  tell ;  you  may  begin." 

"  Haven't  one  to  bless  myself  with.  I  thought  per- 
haps you'd  had  some  news  from  home." 


240 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


"  You  have  heard  all  that  has  came  lately.  Don't 
you  hear  often?  I  fancied  Jo  would  send  you  vol- 
umes." 

"  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 
decided  air.  "  Rome  took  all  the  vanity  out  of  me, 
for  after  seeing  the  wonders  there,  I  felt  too  insignifi- 
cant to  live,  and  gave  up  all  my  foolish  hopes  in 
despair." 

"  Why  should  you,  with  so  much  energy  and 
talent?" 

"  That's  just  why,  because  talent  isn't  genius,  and 
no  amount  of  energy  can  make  it  so.  I  want  to  be 
great,  or  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 
ambition  had  a  good  foundation.  Laurie  smiled,  but 
he  liked  the  spirit  with  which  she  took  up  a  new 
purpose,  when  a  long  cherished  one  died,  and  spent 
no  time  lamenting. 

"  Good  !  and  here  is  where  Fred  Vaughn  comes  in, 
I  fancy." 

Amy  preserved  a  discreet  silence,  but  there  was  a 


LAZY  LAURENCE. 


1%l 


conscious  look  in  her  downcast  face,  that  made  Lau- 
rie 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  don't.  You  aren't 
woman  of  the  world  enough  yet  to  hide  your  feelings, 
my  dear.  I've  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, 
that  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." 

"  But  you  will  be,  if  he  comes  back  and  goes  prop- 
erly 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  mo- 
ment ?  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  man- 
ners," —  began  Amy,  trying  to  be  quite  cool  and  dig- 
nified, but  feeling  a  little  ashamed  of  herself,  in  spite 
of  the  sincerity  of  her  intentions. 

"  I  understand  —  queens  of  society  can't  get  on  with- 
out money,  so  you  mean  to  make  a  good  match  and 
16 


242 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


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  him- 
self down  again,  with  a  sense  of  disappointment 
which  he  could  not  explain.  His  look  and  silence, 
as  well  as  a  certain  inward  self-disapproval,  ruffled 
Amy  —  and  made  her  resolve  to  deliver  her  lecture 
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 
abstinence  from  his  favorite  pastime. 

"You'd  be  angry  in  five  minutes." 

"  I'm  never  angry  with  you.  It  takes  two  flints  to 
make  a  fire ;  you  are  as  cool  and  soft  as  snow." 

"You  don't  know  what  I  can  do — snow  produces 
a  glow  and  a  tingle,  if  applied  rightly.  Your  indiffer- 
ence is  half  affectation,  and  a  good  stirring  up  would 
prove  it." 

"  Stir  away,  it  won't  hurt  me,  and  it  may  amuse 
you,  as  the  big  man  said  when  his  little  wife  beat 
him.  Regard  me  in  the  light  of  a  husband  or  a 
carpet,  and  beat  till  you  are  tired,  if  that  sort  of 
exercise  agrees  with  you." 

Being  decidedly  nettled  herself,  and  longing  to  see 


LAZY  LAURENCE. 


243 


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." 

"Am  I  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." 


244 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  Isn'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  abom- 
inably lazy,  you  like  gossip,  and  waste  time  on  friv- 
olous tilings ;  you  are  contented  to  be  petted  and 
admired  by  silly  people,  instead  of  being  loved  and 
respected  by  wise  ones.  With  money,  talent,  position, 
health,  and  beauty,  —  ah,  you  like  that,  old  vanity! 
but  it's  the  truth,  so  I  can't  help  saying  it,  —  with  all 
these  splendid  things  to  use  and  enjoy,  you  can  find 
nothing  to  do  but  dawdle,  and  instead  of  being  the 
man  you  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  the  instant  we  honestly  try  to  do  you  good,  you 
laugh  at  us,  and  won't  listen,  which  proves  how  much 
your  flattery  is  worth."  Amy  spoke  bitterly,  and 
turned  her  back  on  the  exasperating  martyr  at  her 
feet. 

In  a  minute  a  hand  came  down  over  the  page,  so 
that  she  could  not  draw,  and  Laurie's  voice  said,  with 
a  droll  imitation  of  a  penitent  child,  — 


LAZY  LAURENCE.  24^ 

"  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  nestle  down 
into  the  grass,  as  if  to  hide  something  too  precious  or 
too  tender  to  be  spoken  of.  All  in  a  minute  various 
hints  and  trifles  assumed  shape  and  significance  in 
Amy's  mind,  and  told  her  what  her  sister  never  had 
confided  to  her.  She  remembered  that  Laurie  never 
spoke  voluntarily  of  Jo ;  she  recalled  the  shadow  on 
his  face  just  now,  the  change  in  his  character,  and  the 
wearing  of  the  little  old  ring,  which  was  no  ornament 
to  a  handsome  hand.  Girls  are  quick  to  read  such 
signs,  and  feel  their  eloquence ;  Amy  had  fancied  that 
perhaps  a  love-trouble  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  altera- 
tion, and  now  she  was  sure  of  it ;  her  keen  eyes  filled, 


246  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

and,  when  she  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  voice  that 
could  be  beautifully  soft  and  kind  when  she  chose  to 
make  it  so. 

"  I  know  I  have  no  right  to  talk  so  to  you,  Laurie  ; 
and  if  you  weren't  the  sweetest-tempered  fellow  in  the 
world,  you'd  be  very  angry  with  me.  But  we  are  all 
so  fond  and  proud  of  you,  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  they 
should  be  disappointed  in  you  at  home  as  I  have  been, 
—  though  perhaps  they  would  understand  the  change 
better  than  I  do." 

"  I  think  they  would,"  came  from  under  the  hat,  in 
a  grim  tone,  quite  as  touching  as  a  broken  one. 

"  They  ought  to  have  told  me,  and  not  let  me  go 
blundering  and  scolding,  when  I  should  have  been 
more  kind  and  patient  than  ever.  I  never  did  like 
that  Miss  Randal,  and  now  I  hate  her ! "  said  artful 
Amy, : —  wishing  to  be  sure  of  her  facts  this  time. 

"  Hang  Miss  Randal !  "  and  Laurie  knocked  the  hat 
off  his  face  with  a  look  that  left  no  doubt  of  his 
sentiments  toward  that  young  lady. 

"I  beg  pardon  ;  I  thought  —  "  and  there  she  paused 
diplomatically. 

"  No,  you  didn't ;  you  knew  perfectly  well  I  never 
cared  for  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  mis- 
taken. And  Jo  wouldn't  be  kind  to  you?  Why,  I 
was  sure  she  loved  you  dearly." 

;;  She  was  kind,  but  not  in  the  right  way  ;  and  it's 
lucky  for  her  she  didn't  love  me,  if  I'm  the  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  you  think  me.  It's  her  fault,  though, 
and  you  may  tell  her  so." 


LAZT  LAURENCE.  247 

The  hard,  bitter  look  came  back  again  as  he  said 
that,  and  it  troubled  Amy,  for  she  did  not  know  what 
balm  to  apply. 

"I  was  wrong;  I  didn't  know;  I'm  very  sorry  I 
was  so  cross,  but  I  can't  help  wishing  you'd  bear  it 
better,  Teddy,  dear." 

u  Don't !  that's  her  name  for  me,"  and  Laurie  put  up 
his  hand  with  a  quick  gesture  to  stop  the  words  spoken 
in  Jo's  half-kind,  half-reproachful  tone.  "Wait  till 
you've  tried  it  yourself,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
he  pulled  up  the  grass  by  the  handful. 

"  I'd  take  it  manfully,  and  be  respected  if  I  couldn't 
be  loved,"  cried  Amy,  with  the  decision  of  one  who 
knew  nothing  about  it. 

Now  Laurie  nattered  himself  that  he  had  borne  it 
remarkably  well,  —  making  no  moan,  asking  no  sym- 
pathy, and  taking  his  trouble  away  to  live  it  down 
alone.  Amy's  lecture  put  the  matter  in  a  new  light, 
and  for  the  first  time  it  did  look  weak  and  selfish  to 
lose  heart  at  the  first  failure,  and  shut  himself  up  in 
moody  indifference.  He  felt  as  if  suddenly  shaken 
out  of  a  pensive  dream,  and  found  it  impossible  to 
go  to  sleep  again.  Presently  he  sat  up,  and  asked, 
slowly,  — 

"  Do  you  think  Jo  would  despise  me  as  you  do?" 

"  Yes,  if  she  saw  you  now.  She  hates  lazy  people. 
Why  don't  you  do  something  splendid,  and  make  her 
love  you  ?  " 

"  I  did  my  best,  but  it  was  no  use." 

"Graduating  well,  you  mean?  That  was  no  more 
than  you  ought  to  have  done,  for  your  grandfather's 
sake.     It   would   have    been    shameful   to   fail    after 


348  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

spending  so  much  time  and  money,  when  every  one 
knew  you  could  do  well." 

"  I  did  fail,  say  what  you  will,  for  Jo  wouldn't  love 
me,"  began  Laurie,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  in  a 
despondent  attitude. 

"  No  you  didn't,  and  you'll  say  so  in  the  end,  —  for 
it  did  you  good,  and  proved  that  you  could  do  some- 
thing if  you  tried.  If  you'd  only  set  about  another 
task  of  some  sort,  you'd  soon  be  your  hearty,  happy 
self  again,  and  forget  your  trouble." 

u  That's  impossible  !  " 

"  Try  it  and  see.  You  needn't  shrug  your  shoul- 
ders, and  think  '  Much  she  knows  about  such  things.' 
I  don't  pretend  to  be  wise,  but  I  am  observing,  and  I 
see  a  great  deal  more  than  you'd  imagine.  I'm  inter- 
ested in  other  people's  experiences  and  inconsistencies  ; 
and,  though  I  can't  explain,  I  remember  and  use  them 
for  my  own  benefit.  Love  Jo  all  your  days,  if  you 
choose,  — but  don't  let  it  spoil  you,  — for  it's  wicked 
to  throw  away  so  many  good  gifts  because  you  can't 
have  the  one  you  want.  There,  —  I  won't  lecture  any 
more,  for  I  know  you'll  wake  up,  and  be  a  man  in 
spite  of  that  hard-hearted  girl." 

Neither  spoke  for  several  minutes.  Laurie  sat 
turning  the  little  ring  on  his  finger,  and  Amy  put  the 
last  touches  to  the  hasty  sketch  she  had  been  working 
at  while  she  talked.  Presently  she  put  it  on  his 
knee,  merely  saying,  — 

"  How  do  you  like  that?  " 

He  looked  and  then  he  smiled,  —  as  he  could  not 
well  help  doing,  for  it  was  capitally  done.  The  long, 
lazy  figure  on  the  grass,  with  listless  face,  half-shut 
eyes,  and  one  hand  holding  a  cigar,  from  which  came 


LAZT  LAURENCE. 


249 


-the  little  wreath  of  smoke  that  encircled  the  dreamer's 
head. 

"  How  well  you  draw ! "  he  said,  with  genuine  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  at  her  skill,  adding,  with  a  half- 
laugh,  — 

"  Yes,  that's  me." 

"As  you  are,  —  this  is  as  you  were,"  and  Amy  laid 
another  sketch  beside  the  one  he  held. 

It  was  not  nearly  so  well  done,  but  there  was  a  life 
and  spirit  in  it  which  atoned  for  many  faults,  and  it 
recalled  the  past  so  vividly  that  a  sudden  change 
swept  over  the  young  man's  face  as  he  looked.  Only 
a  rough  sketch  of  Laurie  taming  a  horse  ;  hat  and  coat 
were  oft',  and  every  line  of  the  active  figure,  resolute 
face,  and  commanding  attitude,  was  full  of  energy  and 
meaning.  The  handsome  brute,  just  subdued,  stood 
arching  his  neck  under  the  tightly-drawn  rein,  with 
one  foot  impatiently  pawing  the  ground,  and  ears 
pricked  up  as  if  listening  for  the  voice  that  had  mas- 
tered him.  In  the  ruffled  mane,  the  rider's  breezy  hair 
and  erect  attitude,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  suddenly 
arrested  motion,  of  strength,  courage,  and  youthful 
buoyancy  that  contrasted  sharply  with  the  supine  grace 
of  the  "  Dolce  far  niente  "  sketch.  Laurie  said  noth- 
ing ;  but,  as  his  eye  went  from  one  to  the  other,  Amy 
saw  him  flush  up  and  fold  his  lips  together  as  if  he 
read  and  accepted  the  little  lesson  she  had  given  him. 
That  satisfied  her ;  and,  without  waiting  for  him  to 
speak,  she  said,  in  her  sprightly  way,  — 

"Don't  you  remember  the  day  you  played  *  Rarey' 
with  Puck,  and  we  all  looked  on  ?  Meg  and  Beth 
were  frightened,  but  Jo  clapped  and  pranced,  and  I 
sat  on  the  fence  and  drew  you.     I  found  that  sketch  in 


250  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

my  portfolio  the  other  day,  touched  it  up,  and  kept  it> 
to  show  you." 

"  Much  obliged  !  You've  improved  immensely  since 
then,  and  I  congratulate  you.  May  I  venture  to  sug- 
gest in  '  a  honeymoon  Paradise,'  that  five  o'clock  is 
the  dinner  hour  at  your  hotel  ?  " 

Laurie  rose  as  he  spoke,  returned  the  pictures  with 
a  smile  and  a  bow,  and  looked  at  his  watch,  as  if  to 
remind  her  that  even  moral  lectures  should  have  an 
end.  He  tried  to  resume  his  former  easy,  indifferent 
air,  but  it  was  an  affectation  now, — for  the  rousing 
had  been  more  efficacious  than  he  would  confess. 
Amy  felt  the  shade  of  coldness  in  his  manner,  and 
said  to  herself,  — 

"  Now  I've  offended  him.  Well,  if  it  does  him 
good,  I'm  glad, —  if  it  makes  him  hate  me,  I'm  sorry; 
but  it's  true,  and  I  can't  take  back  a  word  of  it." 

They  laughed  and  chatted  all  the  way  home ;  and 
little  Baptiste,  up  behind,  thought  that  Monsieur  and 
Mademoiselle  were  in  charming  spirits.  But  both  felt 
ill  at  ease  ;  the  friendly  frankness  was  disturbed,  the 
sunshine  had  a  shadow  over  it,  and,  despite  their 
apparent  gayety,  there  was  a  secret  discontent  in  the 
heart  of  each. 

"  Shall  we  see  you  this  evening,  monfrere?"  asked 
Amy,  as  they  parted  at  her  aunt's  door. 

"  Unfortunately  I  have  an  engagement.  Au  revoir, 
Mademoiselle"  and  Laurie  bent  as  if  to  kiss  her  hand, 
in  the  foreign  fashion,  which  became  him  better  than 
many  men.  Something  in  his  face  made  Amy  say, 
quickly  and  warmly,  — 

"  No  ;  be  yourself  with  me,  Laurie,  and  part  in  the 


LAZT  LAURENCE. 


251 


good  old  way.  I'd  rather  have  a  hearty  English  hand- 
shake than  all  the  sentimental  salutations  in  France." 

"  Good-by,  dear,"  and,  with  these  words,  uttered  in 
the  tone  she  liked,  Laurie  left  her,  after  a  hand-shake 
almost  painful  in  its  heartiness. 

Next  morning,  instead  of  the  usual  call,  Amy  re- 
ceived a  note  which  made  her  smile  at  the  beginning, 
and  sigh  at  the  end  :  — 

"  My  Dear  Mentor  : 

"  Please  make  my  adieux  to  your  aunt,  and  exult 
within  yourself,  for  '  Lazy  Laurence '  has  gone  to  his 
grandpa,  like  the  best  of  boys.  A  pleasant  winter  to 
you,  and  may  the  gods  grant  you  a  blissful  honeymoon 
at  Valrosa.  I  think  Fred  would  be  benefited  by  a 
rouser.     Tell  him  so,  with  my  congratulations. 

"  Yours  gratefully,  Telemachus." 

"  Good  boy  !  Fm  glad  he's  gone,"  said  Amy,  with 
an  approving  smile ;  the  next  minute  her  face  fell  as 
she  glanced  about  the  empty  room,  adding,  with  an 
involuntary  sigh,  — 

"Yes,  I  am  glad,  —  but  how  I  shall  miss  him." 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

WHEN  the  first  bitterness  was  over,  the  family 
accepted  the  inevitable,  and  tried  to  bear  it 
cheerfully,  helping  one  another  by  the  in- 
creased affection  which  conies  to  bind  households  ten- 
derly together  in  times  of  trouble.  They  put  away 
their  grief,  and  each  did  their  part  toward  making 
that  last  year  a  happy  one. 

The  pleasantest  room  in  the  house  was  set  apart  for 
Beth,  and  in  it  was  gathered  everything  that  she  most 
loved  —  flowers,  pictures,  her  piano,  the  little  work- 
table,  and  the  beloved  pussies.  Father's  best  books 
found  their  way  there,  mother's  easy  chair,  Jo's  desk, 
Amy's  loveliest  sketches  ;  and  every  day  Meg  brought 
her  babies  on  a  loving  pilgrimage,  to  make  sunshine 
for  Aunty  Beth.  John  quietly  set  apart  a  little  sum, 
that  he  might  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  keeping  the  in- 
valid supplied  with  the  fruit  she  loved  and  longed  for ; 
old  Hannah  never  wearied  of  concocting  dainty  dishes 
to  tempt  a  capricious  appetite,  dropping  tears  as  she 
worked ;  and,  from  across  the  sea,  came  little  gifts 
and  cheerful  letters,  seeming  to  bring  breaths  of 
warmth  and  fragrance  from  lands  that  know  no 
winter. 

Here,  cherished  like  a  household  saint  in  its  shrine, 

sat  Beth,  tranquil  and  busy  as  ever ;  for  nothing  could 

change  the  sweet,  unselfish   nature ;  and  even  while 

preparing  to  leave  life,  she  tried  to  make  it  happier 

(252) 


THE  VALLET  OF  THE  SHADOW.  253 

for  those  who  should  remain  behind.  The  feeble 
fingers  were  never  idle,  and  one  of  her  pleasures  was 
to  make  little  things  for  the  school  children  daily- 
passing  to  and  fro.  To  drop  a  pair  of  mittens  from 
her  window  for  a  pair  of  purple  hands,  a  needle-book 
for  some  small  mother  of  many  dolls,  pen-wipers  for 
young  penmen  toiling  through  forests  of  pot-hooks, 
scrap-books  for  picture-loving  eyes,  and  all  manner 
of  pleasant  devices,  till  the  reluctant  climbers  up  the 
ladder  of  learning  found  their  way  strewn  with  flow- 
ers, as  it  were,  and  came  to  regard  the  gentle  giver  as 
a  sort  of  fairy  god-mother,  who  sat  above  there,  and 
showered  down  gifts  miraculously  suited  to  their 
tastes  and  needs.  If  Beth  had  wanted  any  reward, 
she  found  it  in  the  bright  little  faces  always  turned  up 
to  her  window,  with  nods  and  smiles,  and  the  droll 
little  letters  which  came  to  her,  full  of  blots  and 
gratitude. 

The  first  few  months  were  very  happy  ones,  and 
Beth  often  used  to  look  round,  and  say  "  How  beauti- 
ful this  is,"  as  they  all  sat  together  in  her  sunny  room, 
the  babies  kicking  and  crowing  on  the  floor,  mother 
and  sisters  working  near,  and  father  reading  in  his 
pleasant  voice,  from  the  wise  old  books,  which  seemed 
rich  in  good  and  comfortable  words,  as  applicable 
now  as  when  written  centuries  ago  —  a  little  chapel, 
where  a  paternal  priest  taught  his  flock  the  hard  lessons 
all  must  learn,  trying  to  show  them  that  hope  can 
comfort  love,  and  faith  make  resignation  possible. 
Simple  sermons,  that  went  straight  to  the  souls  of 
those  who  listened ;  for  the  father's  heart  was  in  the 
minister's  religion,  and  the  frequent  falter  in  the  voice 


254 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


gave  a  double  eloquence  to  the  words  he  spoke  or 
read. 

It  was  well  for  all  that  this  peaceful  time  was  given 
them  as  preparation  for  the  sad  hours  to  come  ;  for,  by 
and  by,  Beth  said  the  needle  was  "  so  heavy,"  and  put 
it  down  forever ;  talking  wearied  her,  faces  troubled 
her,  pain  claimed  her  for  its  own,  and  her  tranquil 
spirit  was  sorrowfully  perturbed  by  the  ills  that  vexed 
her  feeble  flesh.  Ah  me !  such  heavy  days,  such  long, 
long  nights,  such  aching  hearts  and  imploring  prayers, 
when  those  who  loved  her  best  were  forced  to  see  the 
thin  hands  stretched  out  to  them  beseechingly,  to  hear 
the  bitter  cry,  "  Help  me,  help  me  !"  and  to  feel  that 
there  was  no  help.  A  sad  eclipse  of  the  serene  soul, 
a  sharp  struggle  of  the  young  life  with  death  ;  but  both 
were  mercifully  brief,  and  then,  the  natural  rebellion 
over,  the  old  peace  returned  more  beautiful  than  ever. 
With  the  wreck  of  her  frail  body,  Beth's  soul  grew 
strong ;  and,  though  she  said  little,  those  about  her 
felt  that  she  was  ready,  saw  that  the  first  pilgrim 
called  was  likewise  the  fittest,  and  waited  with  her  on 
the  shore,  trying  to  see  the  Shining  ones  coming  to 
receive  her  when  she  crossed  the  river. 

Jo  never  left  her  for  an  hour  since  Beth  had  said, 
"  I  feel  stronger  when  you  are  here."  She  slept  on  a 
couch  in  the  room,  waking  often  to  renew  the  fire,  to 
feed,  lift,  or  wait  upon  the  patient  creature  who  sel- 
dom asked  for  anything,  and  "  tried  not  to  be  a 
trouble."  All  day  she  haunted  the  room,  jealous  of 
any  other  nurse,  and  prouder  of  being  chosen  then 
than  of  any  honor  her  life  ever  brought  her.  Precious 
and  helpful  hours  to  Jo,  for  now  her  heart  received 
the  teaching  that  it  needed ;  lessons  in  patience  were 


THE  VALLBT  OF  THE  SHADOW. 


*55 


so  sweetly  taught  her,  that  she  could  not  fail  to  learn 
them  ;  charity  for  all,  the  lovely  spirit  that  can  for- 
give and  truly  forget  unkindness,  the  loyalty  to  duty 
that  makes  the  hardest  easy,  and  the  sincere  faith  that 
fears  nothing,  but  trusts  undoubtingly. 

Often  when  she  woke,  Jo  found  Beth  reading  in 
her  well-worn  little  book,  heard  her  singing  softly,  to 
beguile  the  sleepless  night,  or  saw  her  lean  her  face 
upon  her  hands,  while  slow  tears  dropped  through 
the  transparent  fingers  ;  and  Jo  would  lie  watching 
her,  with  thoughts  too  deep  for  tears,  feeling  that 
Beth,  in  her  simple,  unselfish  way,  was  trying  to  wean 
herself  from  the  dear  old  life,  and  fit  herself  for  the 
life  to  come,  by  sacred  words  of  comfort,  quiet 
prayers,  and  the  music  she  loved  so  well. 

Seeing  this  did  more  for  Jo  than  the  wisest  sermons, 
the  saintliest  hymns,  the  most  fervent  prayers  that  any 
voice  could  utter ;  for,  with  eyes  made  clear  by  many 
tears,  and  a  heart  softened  by  the  tenderest  sorrow, 
she  recognized  the  beauty  of  her  sister's  life  —  un- 
eventful, unambitious,  yet  full  of  the  genuine  virtues 
which  "smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust";  the 
self-forgetfulness  that  makes  the  humblest  on  earth 
remembered  soonest  in  heaven,  the  true  success  which 
is  possible  to  all. 

One  night,  when  Beth  looked  among  the  books 
upon  her  table,  to  find  something  to  make  her  forget 
the  mortal  weariness  that  was  almost  as  hard  to  bear 
as  pain,  as  she  turned  the  leaves  of  her  old  favorite 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  she  found  a  little  paper  scribbled 
over,  in  Jo's  hand.  The  name  caught  her  eye,  and 
the  blurred  look  of  the  lines  made  her  sure  that  tears 
had  fallen  on  it. 


256  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"Poor  Jo,  she's  fast  asleep,  so  I  won't  wake  her  to 
ask  leave ;  she  shows  me  all  her  things,  and  I  don't 
think  she'll  mind  if  I  look  at  this,"  thought  Beth,  with 
a  glance  at  her  sister,  who  lay  on  the  rug,  with  the 
tongs  beside  her,  ready  to  wake  up  the  minute  the  log 
fell  apart. 

"MY   BETH. 

"  Sitting  patient  in  the  shadow 

Till  the  blessed  light  shall  come, 
A  serene  and  saintly  presence 

Sanctifies  our  troubled  home. 
Earthly  joys,  and  hopes,  and  sorrows, 

Break  like  ripples  on  the  strand 
Of  the  deep  and  solemn  river 

Where  her  willing  feet  now  stand. 

"  Oh,  my  sister,  passing  from  me, 

Out  of  human  care  and  strife, 
Leave  me,  as  a  gift,  those  virtues 

Which  have  beautified  your  life. 
Dear,  bequeath  me  that  great  patience 

Which  has  power  to  sustain 
A  cheerful,  uncomplaining  spirit 

In  its  prison-house  of  pain. 

"  Give  me,  for  I  need  it  sorely, 

Of  that  courage,  wise  and  sweet, 
Which  has  made  the  path  of  duty 

Green  beneath  your  willing  feet. 
Give  me  that  unselfish  nature, 

That  with  charity  divine 
Can  pardon  wrong  for  love's  dear  sake  — 

Meek  heart,  forgive  me  mine ! 

"  Thus  our  parting  daily  loseth 
Something  of  its  bitter  pain, 
And  while  learning  this  hard  lesson, 
My  great  loss  becomes  my  gain. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.         257 

For  the  touch  of  grief  will  render 

My  wild  nature  more  serene, 
Give  to  life  new  aspirations  — 

A  new  trust  in  the  unseen. 

"  Henceforth,  safe  across  the  river, 

I  shall  see  "forever  more 
A  beloved,  household  spirit 

Waiting  for  me  on  the  shore. 
Hope  and  faith,  born  of  my  sorrow, 

Guardian  angels  shall  become, 
And  the  sister  gone  before  me, 

By  their  hands  shall  lead  me  home." 

Blurred  and  blotted,  faulty  and  feeble  as  the  lines 
were,  they  brought  a  look  of  inexpressible  comfort  to 
Beth' s  face,  for  her  one  regret  had  been  that  she  had 
done  so  little ;  and  this  seemed  to  assure  her  that  her 
life  had  not  been  useless  —  that  her  death  would  not 
bring  the  despair  she  feared.  As  she  sat  with  the 
paper  folded  between  her  hands,  the  charred  log  fell 
asunder.  Jo  started  up,  revived  the  blaze,  and  crept 
to  the  bedside,  hoping  Beth  slept. 

"Not  asleep,  but  so  happy,  dear.  See,  I  found 
this  and  read  it ;  I  knew  you  wouldn't  care.  Have 
I  been  all  that  to  you,  Jo  ?  "  she  asked,  with  wistful, 
humble  earnestness. 

"  Oh,  Beth,  so  much,  so  much !  n  and  Jo's  head 
went  down  upon  the  pillow,  beside  her  sister's. 

"  Then  I  don't  feel  as  if  I'd  wasted  my  life.  I'm 
not  so  good  as  you  make  me,  but  I  have  tried  to  do 
right ;  and  now,  when  if  s  too  late  to  begin  even  to  do 
better,  it's  such  a  comfort  to  know  that  some  one  loves 
me  so  much,  and  feels  as  if  I'd  helped  them." 

"More  than  any  one  in  the  world,  Beth.     I  used  to 

17 


258  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

think  I  couldn't  let  you  go ;  but  I'm  learning  to  feel 
that  I  don't  lose  you  ;  that  you'll  be  more  to  me  than 
ever,  and  death  can't  part  us,  though  it  seems  to." 

"  I  know  it  cannot,  and  I  don't  fear  it  any  longer, 
for  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  your  Beth  still,  to  love  and 
help  you  more  than  ever.  You  must  take  my  place, 
Jo,  and  be  everything  to  father  and  mother  when  I'm 
gone.  They  will  turn  to  you  —  don't  fail  them  ;  and 
if  it's  hard  to  work  alone,  remember  that  I  don't  for- 
get you,  and  that  you'll  be  happier  in  doing  that,  than 
writing  splendid  books,  or  seeing  all  the  world ;  for 
love  is  the  only  thing  that  we  can  carry  with  us  when 
we  go,  and  it  makes  the  end  so  easy." 

"  I'll  try,  Beth  ;  "  and  then  and  there  Jo  renounced 
her  old  ambition,  pledged  herself  to  a  new  and  better 
one,  acknowledging  the  poverty  of  other  desires,  and 
feeling  the  blessed  solace  of  a  belief  in  the  immor- 
tality of  love. 

So  the  spring  days  came  and  went,  the  sky  grew 
clearer,  the  earth  greener,  the  flowers  were  up  fair 
and  early,  and  the  birds  came  back  in  time  to  say 
good-by  to  Beth,  who,  like  a  tired  but  trustful  child, 
clung  to  the  hands  that  had  led  her  all  her  life,  as 
father  and  mother  guided  her  tenderly  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow,  and  gave  her  up  to  God. 

Seldom,  except  in  books,  do  the  dying  utter  mem- 
orable words,  see  visions,  or  depart  with  beatified 
countenances ;  and  those  who  have  sped  many  part- 
ing souls  know,  that  to  most  the  end  comes  as  nat- 
urally and  simply  as  sleep.  As  Beth  had  hoped,  the 
"  tide  went  out  easily"  ;  and  in  the  dark  hour  before 
the  dawn,   on  the   bosom  where  she  had  drawn  her 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW.  259 

first  breath,  she  quietly  drew  her  last,  with  no  fare- 
well but  one  loving  look  and  a  little  sigh. 

With  tears,  and  prayers,  and  tender  hands,  mother 
and  sisters  made  her  ready  for  the  long  sleep  that 
pain  would  never  mar  again  —  seeing  with  grateful 
eyes  the  beautiful  serenity  that  soon  replaced  the 
pathetic  patience  that  had  wrung  their  hearts  so  long, 
and  feeling  with  reverent  joy,  that  to  their  darling 
death  was  a  benignant  angel  —  not  a  phantom  full  of 
dread. 

When  morning  came,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
months  the  fire  was  out,  Jo's  place  was  empty,  and 
the  room  was  very  still.  But  a  bird  sang  blithely  on 
a  budding  bough,  close  by,  the  snow-drops  blossomed 
freshly  at  the  window,  and  the  spring  sunshine 
streamed  in  like  a  benediction  over  the  placid  face 
upon  the  pillow  —  a  face  so  full  of  painless  peace, 
that  those  who  loved  it  best  smiled  through  their 
tears,  and  thanked  God  that  Beth  was  well  at  last. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LEARNING     TO     FORGET. 

AMY'S  lecture  did  Laurie  good,  though,  of  course, 
he  did  not  own  it  till  long  afterward ;  men 
seldom  do,  —  for  when  women  are  the  advisers, 
the  lords  of  creation  don't  take  the  advice  till  they 
have  persuaded  themselves  that  it  is  just  what  they 
intended  to  do ;  then  they  act  upon  it,  and,  if  it  suc- 
ceeds, they  give  the  weaker  vessel  half  the  credit  of  it ; 
if  it  fails,  they  generously  give  her  the  whole.  Laurie 
went  back  to  his  grandfather,  and  was  so  dutifully 
devoted  for  several  weeks  that  the  old  gentleman 
declared  the  climate  of  Nice  had  improved  him  won- 
derfully, and  he  had  better  try  it  again.  There  was 
nothing  the  young  gentleman  would  have  liked  better, 
—  but  elephants  could  not  have  dragged  him  back 
after  the  scolding  he  had  received  ;  pride  forbid,  —  and 
whenever  the  longing  grew  very  strong,  he  fortified 
his  resolution  by  repeating  the  words  that  had  made 
the  deepest  impression,  —  "I  despise  you  ;  "  "  Go  and 
do  something  splendid  that  will  make  her  love  you." 

Laurie  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  so  often 
that  he  soon  brought  himself  to  confess  that  he  had 
been  selfish  and  lazy ;  but  then  when  a  man  has  a 
great  sorrow,  he  should  be  indulged  in  all  sorts  of 
vagaries  till  he  has  lived  it  down.  He  felt  that  his 
blighted  affections  were  quite  dead  now ;  and,  though 
he  should  never  cease  to  be-  a  faithful  mourner,  there 
was  no  occasion  to  wear  his  weeds  ostentatiously. 
(260) 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  26l 

Jo  wouldn't  love  him,  but  he  might  make  her  respect 
and  admire  him  by  doing  something  which  should 
prove  that  a  girl's  "  No"  had  not  spoilt  his  life.  He 
had  always  meant  to  do  something,  and  Amy's  advice 
was  quite  unnecessary.  He  had  only  been  waiting  till 
the  aforesaid  blighted  affections  were  decently  in- 
terred ;  that  being  done,  he  felt  that  he  was  ready  to 
"  hide  his  stricken  heart,  and  still  toil  on." 

As  Goethe,  when  he  had  a  joy  or  a  grief,  put  it  into 
a  song,  so  Laurie  resolved  to  embalm  his  love-sorrow 
in  music,  and  compose  a  Requiem  which  should  harrow 
up  Jo's  soul  and  melt  the  heart  of  every  hearer.  So 
the  next  time  the  old  gentleman  found  him  getting 
restless  and  moody,  and  ordered  him  off,  he  went  to 
Vienna,  where  he  had  musical  friends,  and  fell  to  work 
with  the  firm  determination  to  distinguish  himself. 
But,  whether  the  sorrow  was  too  vast  to  be  embodied 
in  music,  or  music  too  ethereal  to  uplift  a  mortal  woe, 
he  soon  discovered  that  the  Requiem  was  beyond  him, 
just  at  present.  It  was  evident  that  his  mind  was  not 
in  working  order  yet,  and  his  ideas  needed  clarifying ; 
for  often,  in  the  middle  of  a  plaintive  strain,  he  would 
find  himself  humming  a  dancing  tune  that  vividly 
recalled  the  Christmas  ball  at  Nice,  —  especially  the 
stout  Frenchman,  — and  put  an  effectual  stop  to  tragf" 
composition  for  the  time  being. 

Then  he  tried  an  Opera,  —  for  nothing  seemed 
impossible  in  the  beginning,  —  but  here,  again,  un- 
foreseen difficulties  beset  him.  He  wanted  Jo  for  his 
heroine,  and  called  upon  his  memory  to  supply  him 
with  tender  recollections  and  romantic  visions  of  his 
love.  But  memory  turned  traitor  ;  and,  as  if  possessed 
by  the  perverse  spirit  of  the  girl,  would   only  recall 


262  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

Jo's  oddities,  faults,  and  freaks,  would  only  show  her 
in  the  most  unsentimental  aspects,  —  beating  mats 
with  her  head  tied  up  in  a  bandanna,  barricading 
herself  with  the  sofa-pillow,  or  throwing  cold  water 
over  his  passion  a  la  Gummidge,  —  and  an  irresistible 
laugh  spoilt  the  pensive  picture  he  was  endeavoring 
to  paint.  Jo  wouldn't  be  put  into  the  Opera  at  any 
price,  and  he  had  to  give  her  up  with  a  "  Bless  that 
girl,  what  a  torment  she  is  !  "  and  a  clutch  at  his  hair, 
as  became  a  distracted  composer. 

When  he  looked  about  him  for  another  and  a  less 
intractable  damsel  to  immortalize  in  melody,  memory 
produced  one  with  the  most  obliging  readiness.  This 
phantom  wore  many  faces,  but  it  always  had  golden 
hair,  was  enveloped  in  a  diaphanous  cloud,  and  floated 
airily  before  his  mind's  eye  in  a  pleasing  chaos  of 
roses,  peacocks,  white  ponies  and  blue  ribbons.  He 
did  not  give  the  complaisant  wraith  any  name,  but  he 
took  her  for  his  heroine,  and  grew  quite  fond  of  her, 
as  well  he  might,  —  for  he  gifted  her  with  every  gift 
and  grace  under  the  sun,  and  escorted  her,  unscathed, 
through  trials  which  would  have  annihilated  any 
mortal  woman. 

Thanks  to  this  inspiration,  he  got  on  swimmingly 
for  a  time,  but  gradually  the  work  lost  its  charm,  and 
he  forgot  to  compose,  while  he  sat  musing,  pen  in 
hand,  or  roamed  about  the  gay  city  to  get  new  ideas 
and  refresh  his  mind,  which  seemed  to  be  in  a  some- 
what unsettled  state  that  winter.  He  did  not  do 
much,  but  he  thought  a  great  deal,  and  was  conscious 
of  a  change  of  some  sort  going  on  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  It's  genius  simmering,  perhaps,  —  I'll  let  it  simmer, 
and    see   what   comes  of  it,"  he   said,  with   a   secret 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  26$ 

suspicion,  all  the  while,  that  it  wasn't  genius,  but 
something  far  more  common.  Whatever  it  was,  it 
simmered  to  some  purpose,  for  he  grew  more  and 
more  discontented  with  his  desultory  life,  began  to 
long  for  some  real  and  earnest  work  to  go  at,  soul  and 
body,  and  finally  came  to  the  wise  conclusion  that 
every  one  who  loved  music  was  not  a  composer. 
Returning  from  one  of  Mozart's  grand  Operas,  splen- 
didly performed  at  the  Royal  Theatre,  he  looked  over 
his  own,  played  a  few  of  the  best  parts,  sat  staring  up 
at  the  busts  of  Mendelssohn,  Beethoven,  and  Bach,  who 
stared  benignly  back  again  ;  then  suddenly  he  tore  up 
his  music-sheets,  one  by  one,  and,  as  the  last  fluttered 
out  of  his  hand,  he  said  soberly,  to  himself,  — 

"  She  is  right !  talent  isn't  genius,  and  you  can't 
make  it  so.  That  music  has  taken  the  vanity  out  of 
me  as  Rome  took  it  out  of  her,  and  I  won't  be  a 
humbug  any  longer.     Now  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

That  seemed  a  hard  question  to  answer,  and  Laurie 
began  to  wish  he  had  to  work  for  his  daily  bread. 
Now,  if  ever,  occurred  an  eligible  opportunity  for 
"  going  to  the  devil,"  as  he  once  forcibly  expressed  it, 
—  for  he  had  plenty  of  money  and  nothing  to  do,  — 
and  Satan  is  proverbially  fond  of  providing  employ- 
ment for  full  and  idle  hands.  The  poor  fellow  had 
temptations  enough  from  without  and  from  within, 
but  he  withstood  them  pretty  well,  —  for  much  as  he 
valued  liberty  he  valued  good  faith  and  confidence 
more,  —  so  his  promise  to  his  grandfather,  and  his 
desire  to  be  able  to  look  honestly  into  the  eyes  of  the 
women  who  loved  him,  and  say  "All's  well,"  kept 
him  safe  and  steady. 

Very  likely  some  Mrs.  Grundy  will  observe,  "  I 


264  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

don't  believe  it ;  boys  will  be  boys,  young  men  must 
sow  their  wild  oats,  and  women  must  not  expect 
miracles."  I  dare  say  you  don't,  Mrs.  Grundy,  but 
it's  true,  nevertheless.  Women  work  a  good  many 
miracles,  and  I  have  a  persuasion  that  they  may 
perform  even  that  of  raising  the  standard  of  manhood 
by  refusing  to  echo  such  sayings.  Let  the  boys  be 
boys,  —  the  longer  the  better,  —  and  let  the  young 
men  sow  their  wild  oats  if  they  must,  —  but  mothers, 
sisters,  and  friends  may  help  to  make  the  crop  a  small 
one,  and  keep  many  tares  from  spoiling  the  harvest, 
by  believing,  —  and  showing  that  they  believe, — in 
the  possibility  of  loyalty  to  the  virtues  which  make 
men  manliest  in  good  women's  eyes.  If  it  is  a. 
feminine  delusion,  leave  us  to  enjoy  it  while  we  may, 
—  for  without  it  half  the  beauty  and  the  romance  of 
life  is  lost,  and  sorrowful  forebodings  would  embitter 
all  our  hopes  of  the  brave,  tender-hearted  little  lads, 
who  still  love  the'ir  mothers  better  than  themselves, 
and  are  not  ashamed  to  own  it. 

Laurie  thought  that  the  task  of  forgetting  his  love 
for  Jo  would  absorb  all  his  powers  for  years ;  but,  to 
his  great  surprise,  he  discovered  it  grew  easier  every 
day.  He  refused  to  believe  it  at  first,  —  got  angry 
with  himself,  and  couldn't  understand  it ;  but  these 
hearts  of  ours  are  curious  and  contrary  things,  and 
time  and  nature  work  their  will  in  spite  of  us.  Lau- 
rie's heart  wouldn't  ache ;  the  wound  persisted  in 
healing  with  a  rapidity  that  astonished  him,  and, 
instead  of  trying  to  forget,  he  found  himself  trying  to 
remember.  He  had  not  foreseen  this  turn  of  affairs, 
and  was  not  prepared  for  it.  He  was  disgusted  with 
himself,  surprised   at  his  own  fickleness,  and  full  of  a 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET. 


265 


queer  mixture  of  disappointment  and  relief  that  he 
could  recover  from  such  a  tremendous  blow  so  soon. 
He  carefully  stirred  up  the  embers  of  his  lost  love,  but 
they  refused  to  burst  into  a  blaze ;  there  was  only  a 
comfortable  glow  that  warmed  and  did  him  good 
without  putting  him  into  a  fever,  and  he  was  reluc- 
tantly obliged  to  confess  that  the  boyish  passion  was 
slowly  subsiding  into  a  more  tranquil  sentiment, — 
very  tender,  a  little  sad  and  resentful  still,  —  but  that 
was  sure  to  pass  away  in  time,  leaving  a  brotherly 
affection  which  would  last  unbroken  to  the  end. 

As  the  word  "  brotherly  "  passed  through  his  mind 
in  one  of  these  reveries,  he  smiled,  and  glanced  up  at 
the  picture  of  Mozart  that  was  before  him,  — 

"  Well,  he  was  a  great  man  ;  and  when  he  couldn't 
have  one  sister  he  took  the  other,  and  was  happy." 

Laurie  did  not  utter  the  words,  but  he  thought  them  ; 
and  the  next  instant  kissed  the  little  old  ring,  saying 
to  himself,  — 

"  No  I  won't !  I  haven't  forgotten,  I  never  can. 
Til  try  again,  and  if  that  fails,  why  then  —  " 

Leaving  his  sentence  unfinished,  he  seized  pen  and 
paper  and  wrote  to  Jo,  telling  her  that  he  could  not 
settle  to  anything  while  there  was  the  least  hope  of 
her  changing  her  mind.  Couldn't  she,  wouldn't  she, 
—  and  let  him  come  home  and  be  happy?  While 
waiting  for  an  answer  he  did  nothing,  —  but  he  did  it 
energetically,  for  he  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  It 
came  at  last,  and  settled  his  mind  effectually  on  one 
point,  —  for  Jo  decidedly  couldn't  and  wouldn't.  She 
was  wrapped  up  in  Beth,  and  never  wished  to  hear 
the  word  "  love"  again.  Then  she  begged  him  to  be 
happy  with  somebody  else,  but  always  to  keep  a  little 


266  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

corner  of  his  heart  for  his  loving  sister  Jo.  In  a  post- 
script she  desired  him  not  to  tell  Amy  that  Beth  was 
worse ;  she  was  coming  home  in  the  spring,  and  there 
was  no  need  of  saddening  the  remainder  of  her  stay. 
That  would  be  time  enough,  please  God,  but  Laurie 
must  write  to  her  often,  and  not  let  her  feel  lonely, 
homesick,  or  anxious. 

"Sol  will,  at  once.  Poor  little  girl ;  it  will  be  a 
sad  going  home  for  her,  I'm  afraid;"  and  Laurie 
opened  his  desk,  as  if  writing  to  Amy  had  been  the 
proper  conclusion  of  the  sentence  left  unfinished  some 
weeks  befere. 

But  he  did  not  write  the  letter  that  day ;  for,  as  he 
rummaged  out  his  best  paper,  he  came  across  some- 
thing which  changed  his  purpose.  Tumbling  about 
in  one  part  of  the  desk,  among  bills,  passports,  and 
business  documents  of  various  kinds,  were  several  of 
Jo's  letters,  and  in  another  compartment  were  three 
notes  from  Amy,  carefully  tied  up  with  one  of  her 
blue  ribbons,  and  sweetly  suggestive  of  the  little  dead 
roses  put  away  inside.  With  a  half-repentant,  half- 
amused  expression,  Laurie  gathered  up  all  Jo's  letters, 
smoothed,  folded,  and  put  them  neatly  into  a  small 
drawer  of  the  desk,  stood  a  minute  turning  the  ring 
thoughtfully  on  his  finger,  then  slowly  drew  it  off, 
laid  it  with  the  letters,  locked  the  drawer,  and  went 
out  to  hear  High  Mass  at  Saint  Stefan's,  feeling  as  if 
there  had  been  a  funeral ;  and,  though  not  over- 
whelmed with  affliction,  this  seemed  a  more  proper 
way  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day,  than  in  writing 
letters  to  charming  vounsr  ladies. 

The  letter  went  very  soon,  however,  and  was 
promptly  answered,  for  Amy  was  homesick,  and  con- 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  267 

fessed  it  in  the  most  delightfully  confiding  manner. 
The  correspondence  flourished  famously,  and  letters 
flew  to  and  fro,  with  unfailing  regularity,  all  through 
the  early  spring.  Laurie  sold  his  busts,  made  al- 
lumettes  of  his  opera,  and  went  back  to  Paris,  hoping 
somebody  would  arrive  before  long.  He  wanted  des- 
perately to  go  to  Nice,  but  would  not  till  he  was 
asked ;  and  Amy  would  not  ask  him,  for  just  then 
she  was  having  little  experiences  of  her  own,  which 
made  her  rather  wish  to  avoid  the  quizzical  eyes  of 
"  our  boy." 

Fred  Vaughn  had  returned,  and  put  the  question  to 
which  she  had  once  decided  to  answer  "  Yes,  thank 
you "  ;  but  now  she  said,  "  No,  thank  you,"  kindly 
but  steadily  ;  for  when  the  time  came,  her  courage 
failed  her,  and  she  found  that  something  more  than 
money  and  position  was  needed  to  satisfy  the  hew 
longing  that  filled  her  heart  so  full  of  tender  hopes 
and  fears.  The  words  "  Fred  is  a  good  fellow,  but 
not  at  all  the  man  I  fancied  you  would  ever  like,"  and 
Laurie's  face,  when  he  uttered  them,  kept  returning 
to  her  as  pertinaciously  as  her  own  did,  when  she 
said  in  look,  if  not  in  words,  "  I  shall  marry  for 
money."  It  troubled  her  to  remember  that  now,  she 
wished  she  could  take  it  back,  it  sounded  so  un- 
womanly. She  didn't  want  Laurie  to  think  her  a 
heartless,  worldly  creature  ;  she  didn't  care  to  be  a 
queen  of  society  now  half  so  much  as  she  did  to  be  a 
lovable  woman ;  she  was  so  glad  he  didn't  hate  her 
for  the  dreadful  things  she  said,  but  took  them  so 
beautifully,  and  was  kinder  than  ever.  His  letters 
were  such  a  comfort  —  for  the  home  letters  were  very 
irregular,    and  were  not   half  so    satisfactory   as  his 


•26S  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

when  they  did  come.  It  was  not  only  a  pleasure,  but 
a  duty  to  answer  them,  for  the  poor  fellow  was  for- 
lorn, and  needed  petting,  since  Jo  persisted  in  being 
stony-hearted.  She  ought  to  have  made  an  effort, 
and  tried  to  love  him  —  it  couldn't  be  very  hard  — 
many  people  would  be  proud  and  glad  to  have  such  a 
dear  boy  care  for  them  ;  but  Jo  never  would  act  like 
other  girls,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  be  very 
kind,  and  treat  him  like  a  brother. 

If  all  brothers  were  treated  as  well  as  Laurie  was 
at  this  period,  they  would  be  a  much  happier  race  of 
beings  than  they  are.  Amy  never  lectured  now  ;  she 
asked  his  opinion  on  all  subjects ;  she  was  interested 
in  everything  he  did,  made  charming  little  presents 
for  him,  and  sent  him  two  letters  a  week,  full  of  lively 
gossip,  sisterly  confidences,  and  captivating  sketches 
of  the  lovely  scenes  about  her.  As  few  brothers  are 
complimented  by  having  their  letters  carried  about  in 
their  sisters'  pockets,  read  and  re-read  diligently,  cried 
over  when  short,  kissed  when  long,  and  treasured 
carefully,  we  will  not  hint  that  Amy  did  any  of  these 
fond  and  foolish  things.  But  she  certainly  did  grow 
a  little  pale  and  pensive  that  spring,  lost  much  of  her 
relish  for  society,  and  went  out  sketching  alone  a 
good  deal.  She  never  had  much  to  show  when  she 
came  home,  but  was  studying  nature,  I  dare  say, 
while  she  sat  for  hours  with  her  hands  folded,  on  the 
terrace  at  Valrosa,  or  absently  sketched  any  fancy 
that  occurred  to  her  —  a  stalwart  knight  carved  on  a 
tomb,  a  young  man  asleep  in  the  grass,  with  his  hat 
over  his  eyes,  or  a  curly-haired  girl  in  gorgeous  array, 
promenading  down  a  ball-room,  on  the  arm  of  a  tall 
gentleman,  both  faces  being  left  a  blurr,  according  to 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  269 

the  last  fashion  in  art,  which  was  safe,  but  not  alto- 
gether satisfactory. 

Her  aunt  thought  that  she  regretted  her  answer  to 
Fred  ;  and,  finding  denials  useless,  and  explanations 
impossible,  Amy  left  her  to  think  what  she  liked, 
taking  care  that  Laurie  should  know  that  Fred  had 
gone  to  Egypt.  That  was  all,  but  he  understood  it, 
and  looked  relieved,  as  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  ven- 
erable air,  — 

"  I  was  sure  she  would  think  better  of  it.  Poor 
old  fellow,  Fve  been  through  it  all,  and  I  can  sym- 
pathize." 

With  that  he  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  then,  as  if  he 
had  discharged  his  duty  to  the  past,  put  his  feet  up  on 
the  sofa,  and  enjoyed  Amy's  letter  luxuriously. 

While  these  changes  were  going  on  abroad,  trouble 
had  come  at  home ;  but  the  letter  telling  that  Beth 
was  failing,  never  reached  Amy ;  and  when  the  next 
found  her,  the  grass  was  green  above  her  sister.  The 
sad  news  met  her  at  Vevey,  for  the  heat  had  driven 
them  from  Nice  in  May,  and  they  had  travelled  slowly 
to  Switzerland,  by  way  of  Genoa  and  the  Italian 
lakes.  She  bore  it  very  well,  and  quietly  submitted 
to  the  family  decree,  that  she  should  not  shorten  her 
visit,  for,  since  it  was  too  late  to  say  good-by  to  Beth, 
she  had  better  stay,  and  let  absence  soften  her  sorrow. 
But  her  heart  was  very  heavy  —  she  longed  to  be  at 
home  ;  and  every  day  looked  wistfully  across  the  lake, 
waiting  for  Laurie  to  come  and  comfort  her. 

He  did  come  very  soon  ;  for  the  same  mail  brought 
letters  to  them  both,  but  he  was  in  Germany,  and  it 
took  some  days  to  reach  him.  The  moment  he  read 
it,  he  packed  his  knapsack,  bade  adieu  to  his  fellow- 


270  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

pedestrians,  and  was  off  to  keep  his  promise,  with  a 
heart  full  of  joy  and  sorrow,  hope  and  suspense. 

He  knew  Vevey  well ;  and  as  soon  as  the  boat 
touched  the  little  quay,  he  hurried  along  the  shore  to 
La  Tour,  where  the  Carrols  were  living  en  pension. 
The  garcon  was  in  despair  that  the  whole  family  had 
gone  to  take  a  promenade  on  the  lake  —  but  no,  the 
blonde  mademoiselle  might  be  in  the  chateau  garden. 
If  monsieur  would  give  himself  the  pain  of  sitting 
down,  a  flash  of  time  should  present  her.  But  mon- 
sieur could  not  wait  even  "  a  flash  of  time,"  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  speech,  departed  to  find  mademoi- 
selle himself. 

A  pleasant  old  garden  on  the  borders  of  the  lovely 
lake,  with  chestnuts  rustling  overhead,  ivy  climbing 
everywhere,  and  the  black  shadow  of  the  tower  fall- 
ing far  across  the  sunny  water.  At  one  corner  of  the 
wide,  low  wall,  was  a  seat,  and  here  Amy  often  came 
to  read  or  work,  or  console  herself  with  the  beauty  all 
about  her.  She  was  sitting  here  that  day,  leaning 
her  head  on  her  hand,  with  a  homesick  heart  and 
heavy  eyes,  thinking  of  Beth,  and  wondering  why 
Laurie  did  not  come.  She  did  not  hear  him  cross 
the  court-yard  beyond,  nor  see  him  pause  in  the  arch- 
way that  led  from  the  subterranean  path  into  the 
garden.  He  stood  a  minute,  looking  at  her  with  new 
eyes,  seeing  what  no  one  had  ever  seen  before — the 
tender  side  of  Amy's  character.  Everything  about 
her  mutely  suggested  love  and  sorrow ;  the  blotted 
letters  in  her  lap,  the  black  ribbon  that  tied  up  her 
hair,  the  womanly  pain  and  patience  in  her  face ; 
even  the  little  ebony  cross  at  her  throat  seemed  pa- 
thetic to  Laurie,  for  he  had  given  it  to  her,  and  she 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  271 

wore  it  as  her  only  ornament.  If  he  had  any  doubts 
about  the  reception  she  would  give  him,  they  were  set 
at  rest  the  minute  she  looked  up  and  saw  him  ;  for, 
dropping  everything,  she  ran  to  him,  exclaiming  in  a 
tone  of  unmistakable  love  and  longing, — 

"  Oh,  Laurie,  Laurie  !  I  knew  you'd  come  to  me  !  " 

I  think  everything  was  said  and  settled  then  ;  for, 
as  they  stood  together  quite  silent  for  a  moment,  with 
the  dark  head  bent  down  protectingly  over  the  light 
one,  Amy  felt  that  no  one  could  comfort  and  sustain 
her  so  well  as  Laurie,  and  Laurie  decided  that  Amy 
was  the  only  woman  in  the  world  who  could  fill  Jo's 
place,  and  make  him  happy.  He  did  not  tell  her  so ; 
but  she  was  not  disappointed,  for  both  felt  the  truth, 
were  satisfied,  and  gladly  left  the  rest  to  silence. 

In  a  minute  Amy  went  back  to  her  place  ;  and  while 
she  dried  her  tears,  Laurie  gathered  up  the  scattered 
papers,  finding  in  the  sight  of  sundry  well-worn  letters 
and  suggestive  sketches,  good  omens  for  the  future. 
As  he  sat  down  beside  her,  Amy  felt  shy  again,  and 
turned  rosy  red  at  the  recollection  of  her  impulsive 
greeting. 

u  I  couldn't  help  it ;  I  felt  so  lonely  and  sad,  and  was 
so  very  glad  to  see  you.  It  was  such  a  surprise  to 
look  up  and  find  you,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  fear 
you  wouldn't  come,"  she  said,  trying  in  vain  to  speak 
quite  naturally. 

"  I  came  the  minute  I  heard.  I  wish  I  could  say 
something  to  comfort  you  for  the  loss  of  dear  little 
Beth,  but  I  can  only  feel,  and — ,"  he  could  not  get 
any  farther,  for  he,  too,  turned  bashful  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  did  not  quite  know  what  to  say.  He  longed  to 
lay  Amy's  head  down  on  his  shoulder  and  tell  her  to 


272  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

have  a  good  cry,  but  he  did  not  dare,  so  took  her  hand 
instead,  and  gave  it  a  sympathetic  squeeze  that  was 
better  than  words. 

"  You  needn't  say  anything,  —  this  comforts  me," 
she  said,  softly.  "  Beth  is  well  and  happy,  and  I 
mustn't  wish  her  back,  —  but  I  dread  the  going  home, 
much  as  I  long  to  see  them  all.  We  won't  talk  about 
it  now,  for  it  makes  me  cry,  and  I  want  to  enjoy  you 
while  you  stay.  You  needn't  go  right  back,  need 
you?" 

"  Not  if  you  want  me,  dear." 

"  I  do,  so  much  !  Aunt  and  Flo  are  very  kind,  but 
you  seem  like  one  of  the  family,  and  it  would  be  so 
comfortable  to  have  you  for  a  little  while." 

Amy  spoke  and  looked  so  like  a  homesick  child 
whose  heart  was  full,  that  Laurie  forgot  his  bashful- 
ness  all  at  once,  and  gave  her  just  what  she  wanted,  — 
the  petting  she  was  used  to,  and  the  cheerful  conver- 
sation she  needed. 

"  Poor  little  soul !  you  look  as  if  you'd  grieved  your- 
self half  sick.  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you,  so  don't 
cry  any  more,  but  come  and  walk  about  with  me, — 
the  wind  is  too  chilly  for  you  to  sit  still,"  he  said,  in 
the  half-caressing,  half-commanding  way  that  Amy 
liked,  as  he  tied  on  her  hat,  drew  her  arm  through 
his,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  sunny  walk, 
under  the  new-leaved  chestnuts.  He  felt  more  at  ease 
upon  his  legs,  and  Amy  found  it  very  pleasant  to  have 
a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon,  a  familiar  face  to  smile  at 
her,  and  a  kind  voice  to  talk  delightfully  for  her  alone. 

The  quaint  old  garden  had  sheltered  many  pairs  of 
lovers,  and  seemed  expressly  made  for  them,  so  sunny 
and  secluded  was  it,  with  nothing  but  the  tower   to 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  273 

overlook  them,  and  the  wide  lake  to  carry  away  the 
echo  of  their  words,  as  it  rippled  by  below.  For  an 
hour  this  new  pair  walked  and  talked,  or  rested  on 
the  wall,  enjoying  the  sweet  influences  which  gave 
such  a  charm  to  time  and  place ;  and  when  an  un- 
romantic  dinner-bell  warned  them  away,  Amy  felt  as 
if  she  left  her  burden  of  loneliness  and  sorrow  behind 
her  in  the  Chateau  garden. 

The  moment  Mrs.  Carrol  saw  the  girl's  altered  face 
she  was  illuminated  with  a  new  idea,  and  exclaimed 
to  herself,  "  Now  I  understand  it  all,  — the  child  has 
been  pining  for  young  Laurence.  Bless  my  heart !  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

With  praiseworthy  discretion,  the  good  lady  said 
nothing,  and  betrayed  no  sign  of  enlightenment,  but 
cordially  urged  Laurie  to  stay,  and  begged  Amy  to 
enjoy  his  society,  for  it  would  do  her  more  good  than 
so  much  solitude.  Amy  was  a  model  of  docility ; 
and,  as  her  aunt  was  a  good  deal  occupied  with  Flo, 
s*he  was  left  to  entertain  her  friend,  and  did  it  with 
more  than  her  usual  success. 

At  Nice,  Laurie  had  lounged  and  Amy  had  scolded  ; 
at  Vevey,  Laurie  was  never  idle,  but  always  walking, 
riding,  boating,  or  studying,  in  the  most  energetic 
manner ;  while  Amy  admired  everything  he  did, 
and  followed  his  example  as  far  and  as  fast  as  she 
could.  He  said  the  change  was  owing  to  the  climate, 
and  she  did  not  contradict  him,  being  glad  of  a  like 
excuse  for  her  own  recovered  health  and  spirits. 

The  invigorating  air  did  them  both  good,  and  much 

exercise  worked  wholesome  changes  in  minds  as  well 

as  bodies.     They  seemed  to  get  clearer  views  of  life 

and  duty  up  there  among  the  everlasting  hills;   the 

18 


274 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


fresh  winds  blew  away  desponding  doubts,  delusive 
fancies  and  moody  mists ;  the  warm  spring  sunshine 
brought  out  all  sorts  of  aspiring  ideas,  tender  hopes 
and  happy  thoughts,  —  the  lake  seemed  to  wash  away 
the  troubles  of  the  past,  and  the  grand  old  mountains 
to  look  benignly  down  upon  them,  saying,  "  Little 
children,  love  one  another." 

In  spite  of  the  new  sorrow  it  was  a  very  happy 
time,  —  so  happy  that  Laurie  could  not  bear  to  disturb 
it  by  a  word.  It  took  him  a  little  while  to  recover 
from  his  surprise  at  the  rapid  cure  of  his  first,  and,  as 
he  had  firmly  believed,  his  last  and  only  love.  He 
consoled  himself  for  the  seeming  disloyalty  by  the 
thought  that  Jo's  sister  was  almost  the  same  as  Jo's 
self,  and  the  conviction  that  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  love  any  other  woman  but  Amy  so  soon 
and  so  well.  His  first  wooing  had  been  of  the  tem- 
pestuous order,  and  he  looked  back  upon  it  as  if 
through  a  long  vista  of  years,  with  a  feeling  of  com- 
passion blended  with  regret.  He  was  not  ashamed 
of  it,  but  put  it  away  as  one  of  the  bitter-sweet  experi- 
ences of  his  life,  for  which  he  could  be  grateful  when 
the  pain  was  over.  His  second  wooing  he  resolved 
should  be  as  calm  and  simple  as  possible  ;  there  was 
no  need  of  having  a  scene,  —  hardly  any  need  of 
telling  Amy  that  he  loved  her  ;  she  knew  it  without 
words,  and  had  given  him  his  answer  long  ago.  It 
all  came  about  so  naturally  that  no  one  could  com- 
plain, and  he  knew  that  everybody  would  be  pleased, 
—  even  Jo.  But  when  our  first  little  passion  has  been 
crushed,  we  are  apt  to  be  wary  and  slow  in  making  a 
second  trial ;  so  Laurie  let  the  days  pass,  enjoying 
every  hour,  and  leaving  to  chance  the  utterance  of  the 


LEARNING  TO  FORGET.  275 

word  that  would  put  an  end  to  the  first  and  sweetest 
part  of  his  new  romance. 

He  had  rather  imagined  that  the  denouement  would 
take  place  in  the  chateau  garden  by  moonlight,  and  in 
the  most  graceful  and  decorous  manner ;  but  it  turned 
out  exactly  the  reverse,  —  for  the  matter  was  settled 
on  the  lake,  at  noonday,  in  a  few  blunt  words.  They 
had  been  floating  about  all  the  morning,  from  gloomy 
St.  Gingolf  to  sunny  Montreux,  with  the  Alps  of  Savoy 
on  one  side,  Mont  St.  Bernard  and  the  Dent  du  Midi 
on  the  other,  pretty  Vevey  in  the  valley,  and  Lausanne 
upon  the  hill  beyond,  a  cloudless  blue  sky  overhead, 
and  the  bluer  lake  below,  dotted  with  the  picturesque 
boats  that  look  like  white-winged  gulls. 

They  had  been  talking  of  Bonnivard  as  they  glided 
past  Chillon,  and  of  Rousseau  as  they  looked  up  at 
Clarens,  where  he  wrote  his  Heloise.  Neither  had 
read  it,  but  they  knew  it  was  a  love  story,  and  each 
privately  wondered  if  it  was  half  as  interesting  as 
their  own.  Amy  had  been  dabbling  her  hand  in  the 
water  during  the  little  pause  that  fell  between  them, 
and,  when  she  looked  up,  Laurie  was  leaning  on  his 
oars,  with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  made  her  say, 
hastily,  —  merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  something,  — 

"You  must  be  tired,  —  rest  a  little,  and  let  me  row  ; 
it  will  do  me  good,  for  since  you  came  I  have  been 
altogether  lazy  and  luxurious." 

"  I'm  not  tired,  but  you  may  take  an  oar  if  you  like. 
There's  room  enough,  though  I  have  to  sit  nearly  in 
the  middle,  else  the  boat  won't  trim,"  returned  Laurie, 
as  if  he  rather  liked  the  arrangement. 

Feeling  that  she  had  not  mended  matters  much, 
Amy  took  the  offered  third  of  a  seat,  shook  her  hair 


276  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

over  her  face,  and  accepted  an  oar.  She  rowed  as 
well  as  she  did  many  other  things ;  and,  though  she 
used  both  hands,  and  Laurie  but  one,  the  oars  kept 
time,  and  the  boat  went  smoothly  through  the  water. 

"  How  well  we  pull  together,  don't  we?  "  said  Amy, 
who  objected  to  silence  just  then. 

"  So  well,  that  I  wish  we  might  always  pull  in  the 
same  boat.     Will  you,  Amy?"  very  tenderly. 

"  Yes,  Laurie  !  "  very  low. 

Then  they  both  stopped  rowing,  and  unconsciously 
added  a  pretty  little  tableau  of  human  love  and  hap- 
piness to  the  dissolving  views  reflected  in  the  lake. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


ALL     ALONE 


IT  was  easy  to  promise  self-abnegation  when  self 
was  wrapt  up  in  another,  and  heart  and  soul  were 
purified  by  a  sweet  example  ;  but  when  the  helpful 
voice  was  silent,  the  daily  lesson  over,  the  beloved 
presence  gone,  and  nothing  remained  but  loneliness 
and  grief,  then  Jo  found  her  promise  very  hard  to 
keep.  How  could  she  "  comfort  father  and  mother," 
when  her  own  heart  ached  with  a  ceaseless  longing 
for  her  sister ;  how  could  she  u  make  the  house  cheer- 
ful," when  all  its  light,  and  warmth,  and  beauty, 
seemed  to  have  deserted  it  when  Beth  left  the  old 
home  for  the  new ;  and  where,  in  all  the  world,  could 
she  "  find  some  useful,  happy  work  to  do,"  that  would 
take  the  place  of  the  loving  service  which  had  been  its 
own  reward?  She  tried  in  a  blind,  hopeless  way  to 
do  her  duty,  secretly  rebelling  against  it  all  the  while, 
for  it  seemed  unjust  that  her  few  joys  should  be  les- 
sened, her  burdens  made  heavier,  and  life  get  harder 
and  harder  as  she  toiled  along.  Some  people  seemed 
to  get  all  sunshine,  and  some  all  shadow;  it  was  not 
fair,  for  she  tried  more  than  Amy  to  be  good,  but 
never  got  any  reward,  — only  disappointment,  trouble, 
and  hard  work. 

Poor  Jo  !  these  were  dark  days  to  her,  for  something 
like  despair  came  over  her  when  she  thought  of  spend- 
ing all  her  life  in  that  quiet  house,  devoted  to   hum- 
drum cares,  a  few  poor  little  pleasures,  and  the  duty 
(277) 


278  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

that  never  seemed  to  grow  any  easier.  "  I  can't  do  it. 
I  wasn't  meant  for  a  life  like  this,  and  I  know  I  shall 
break  away  and  do  something  desperate  if  somebody 
don't  come  and  help  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  when 
her  first  efforts  failed,  and  she  fell  into  the  moody, 
miserable  state  of  mind  which  often  comes  when 
strong  wills  have  to  yield  to  the  inevitable. 

But  some  one  did  come  and  help  her,  though  Jo  did 
not  recognize  her  good  angels  at  once,  because  they 
wore  familiar  shapes,  and  used  the  simple  spells  best 
fitted  to  poor  humanity.  Often  she  started  up  at 
night,  thinking  Beth  called  her  ;  and  when  the  sight 
of  the  little  empty  bed  made  her  cry  with  the  bitter 
cry  of  an  unsubmissive  sorrow,  "  Oh,  Beth !  come 
back  !  come  back  ! "  she  did  not  stretch  out  her  yearn- 
ing arms  in  vain  ;  for,  as  quick  to  hear  her  sobbing  as 
she  had  been  to  hear  her  sister's  faintest  whisper,  her 
mother  came  to  comfort  her.  Not  with  words  only, 
but  the  patient  tenderness  that  soothes  by  a  touch, 
tears  that  were  mute  reminders  of  a  greater  grief 
than  Jo's,  and  broken  whispers,  more  eloquent  than 
prayers,  because  hopeful  resignation  went  hand-in- 
hand  with  natural  sorrow.  Sacred  moments !  when 
heart  talked  to  heart  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
turning  affliction  to  a  blessing,  which  chastened  grief 
and  strengthened  love.  Feeling  this,  Jo's  burden 
seemed  easier  to  bear,  duty  grew  sweeter,  and  life 
looked  more  endurable,  seen  from  the  safe  shelter  of 
her  mother's  arms. 

When  aching  heart  was  a  little  comforted,  troubled 
mind  likewise  found  help ;  for  one  day  she  went  to 
the  study,  and,  leaning  over  the  good  gray  head  lifted 


ALL  ALONE.  279 

to  welcome  her  with  a  tranquil  smile,  she  said,  very 
humbly,  — 

"  Father,  talk  to  me  as  you  did  to  Beth.  I  need  it 
more  than  she  did,  for  I'm  all  wrong." 

"My  dear,  nothing  can  comfort  me  like  this,"  he 
answered,  with  a  falter  in  his  voice,  and  both  arms 
round  her,  as  if  he,  too,  needed  help,  and  did  not  fear 
to  ask  it. 

Then,  sitting  in  Beth's  little  chair  close  beside  him, 
Jo  told  her  troubles,  the  resentful  sorrow  for  her  loss, 
the  fruitless  efforts  that  discouraged  her,  the  want  of 
faith  that  made  life  look  so  dark,  and  all  the  sad 
bewilderment  which  we  call  despair.  She  gave  him 
entire  confidence,  —  he  gave  her  the  help  she  needed, 
and  both  found  consolation  in  the  act ;  for  the  time 
had  come  when  they  could  talk  together  not  only  as 
father  and  daughter,  but  as  man  and  woman,  able  and 
glad  to  serve  each  other  with  mutual  sympathy  as 
well  as  mutual  love.  Happy,  thoughtful  times  there 
in  the  old  study  which  Jo  called  "  the  church  of  one 
member,"  and  from  which  she  came  with  fresh  cour- 
age, recovered  cheerfulness,  and  a  more  submissive 
spirit,  —  for  the  parents  who  had  taught  one  child  to 
meet  death  without  fear,  were  trying  now  to  teach 
another  to  accept  life  without  despondency  or  dis- 
trust, and  to  use  its  beautiful  opportunities  with 
gratitude  and  power. 

Other  helps  had  Jo,  humble,  wholesome  duties  and 
delights,  that  would  not  be  denied  their  part  in  serv- 
ing her,  and  which  she  slowly  learned  to  see  and 
value.  Brooms  and  dishcloths  never  could  be  as 
distasteful  as  they  once  had  been,  for  Beth  had 
presided  over  both ;  and  something  of  her  housewifely 


280  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

spirit  seemed  to  linger  round  the  little  mop  and  the 
old  brush,  that  was  never  thrown  away.  As  she  used 
them,  Jo  found  herself  humming  the  songs  Beth  used 
to  hum,  imitating  Beth's  orderly  ways,  and  giving  the 
little  touches  here  and  there  that  kept  everything  fresh 
and  cosy,  which  was  the  first  step  toward  making 
home  happy,  though  she  didn't  know  it,  till  Hannah 
said  with  an  approving  squeeze  of  the  hand,  — 

"  You  thoughtful  creter,  you're  determined  we 
shan't  miss  that  dear  lamb  ef  you  can  help  it.  We 
don't  say  much,  but  we  see  it,  and  the  Lord  will  bless 
you  for't,  see  ef  He  don't." 

As  they  sat  sewing  together,  Jo  discovered  how 
much  improved  her  sister  Meg  was ;  how  well  she 
could  talk,  how  much  she  knew  about  good,  womanly 
impulses,  thoughts  and  feelings,  how  happy  she  was 
in  husband  and  children,  and  how  much  they  were 
all  doing  for  each  other. 

"  Marriage  is  an  excellent  thing  after  all.  I  wonder 
if  I  should  blossom  out,  half  as  well  as  you  have,  if 
I  tried  it,  always  4  fierwisin"  I  could,"  said  Jo,  as  she 
constructed  a  kite  for  Demi,  in  the  topsy-turvy 
nursery. 

"  It's  just  what  you  need  to  bring  out  the  tender, 
womanly  half  of  your  nature,  Jo.  You  are  like  a 
chestnut  burr,  prickly  outside,  but  silky-soft  within, 
and  a  sweet  kernel,  if  one  can  only  get  at  it.  Love 
will  make  you  show  your  heart  some  day,  and  then 
the  rough  burr  will  fall  off." 

"  Frost  opens  chestnut  burrs,  ma'am,  and  it  takes 
a  good  shake  to  bring  them  down.  Boys  go  nutting, 
and  I  don't  care  to  be  bagged  by  them,"  returned  Jo, 
pasting  away  at  the  kite,  which  no  wind  that  blows 


ALL  ALONE.  281 

would  ever  carry  up,  for  Daisy  had  tied  herself  on 
as  a  bob. 

Meg  laughed,  for  she  was  glad  to  see  a  glimmer  of 
Jo's  old  spirit,  but  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  enforce  her 
opinion  by  every  argument  in  her  power;  and  the 
sisterly  chats  were  not  wasted,  especially  as  two  of 
Meg's  most  effective  arguments  were  the  babies,  whom 
Jo  loved  tenderly.  Grief  is  the  best  opener  for  some 
hearts,  and  Jo's  was  nearly  ready  for  the  bag ;  a  little 
more  sunshine  to  ripen  the  nut,  then,  not  a  boy's 
impatient  shake,  but  a  man's  hand  reached  up  to  pick 
it  gently  from  the  burr,  and  find  the  kernel  sound  and 
sweet.  If  she  had  suspected  this,  she  would  have 
shut  up  tight,  and  been  more  prickly  than  ever ; 
fortunately  she  wasn't  thinking  about  herself,  so,  when 
the  time  came,  down  she  dropped. 

Now,  if  she  had  been  the  heroine  of  a  moral  story- 
book, she  ought  at  this  period  of  her  life  to  have 
become  quite  saintly,  renounced  the  world,  and  gone 
about  doing  good  in  a  mortified  bonnet,  with  tracts  in 
her  pocket.  But  you  see  Jo  wasn't  a  heroine  ;  she  was 
only  a  struggling  human  girl,  like  hundreds  of  others, 
and  she  just  acted  out  her  nature,  being  sad,  cross, 
listless  or  energetic,  as  the  mood  suggested.  It's 
highly  virtuous  to  say  we'll  be  good,  but  we  can't  do 
it  all  at  once*,  and  it  takes  a  long  pull,  a  strong  pull, 
and  a  pull  all  together,  before  some  of  us  even  get  our 
feet  set  in  the  right  way.  Jo  had  got  so  far,  she  was 
learning  to  do  her  duty,  and  to  feel  unhappy  if  she 
did  not;  but  to  do  it  cheerfully  —  ah,  that  was  an- 
other thing !  She  had  often  said  she  wanted  to  do 
something  splendid,  no  matter  how  hard  ;  and  now 
she  had  her  wish,  —  for  what  could  be  more  beautiful 


282  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

than  to  devote  her  life  to  father  and  mother,  trying  to 
make  home  as  happy  to  them  as  they  had  to  her?  And, 
if  difficulties  were  necessary  to  increase  the  splendor 
of  the  effort,  what  could  be  harder  for  a  restless,  am- 
bitious girl,  than  to  give  up  her  own  hopes,  plans  and 
desires,  and  cheerfully  live  for  others? 

Providence  had  taken  her  at  her  word ;  here  was 
the  task,  —  not  what  she  had  expected,  but  better, 
because  self  had  no  part  in  it ;  now  could  she  do  it? 
She  decided  that  she  would  try ;  and,  in  her  first 
attempt,  she  found  the  helps  I  have  suggested.  Still 
another  was  given  her,  and  she  took  it, — not  as  a  re- 
ward, but  as  a  comfort,  as  Christian  took  the  refresh- 
ment afforded  by  the  little  arbor  where  he  rested,  as 
he  climbed  the  hill  called  Difficulty. 

"Why  don't  you  write?  that  always  used  to  make 
you  happy,"  said  her  mother,  once,  when  the  despond- 
ing fit  overshadowed  Jo. 

"  I've  no  heart  to  write,  and  if  I  had,  nobody  cares 
for  my  things." 

"  We  do  ;  write  something  for  us,  and  never  mind 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Tiy  it,  dear ;  I'm  sure  it 
would  do  you  good,  and  please  us  very  much." 

"  Don't  believe  I  can ; "  but  Jo  got  out  her  desk, 
and  began  to  overhaul  her  half-finished  manuscripts. 

An  hour  afterward  her  mother  peeped  in,  and  there 
she  was  scratching  away,  with  her  black  pinafore  on, 
and  an  absorbed  expression,  which  caused  Mrs.  March 
to  smile,  and  slip  away,  well  pleased  with  the  success 
of  her  suggestion.  Jo  never  knew  how  it  happened, 
but  something  got  into  that  story  that  went  straight 
to  the  hearts  of  those  who  read  it ;  for,  when  her 
family  had  laughed  and  cried  over  it,  her  father  sent 


ALL  ALONE.  283 

it,  much  against  her  will,  to  one  of  the  popular 
•magazines,  and,  to  her  utter  surprise,  it  was  not  only- 
paid  for,  but  others  requested.  Letters  from  several 
persons,  whose  praise  was  honor,  followed  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  little  story,  newspapers  copied  it,  and 
strangers  as  well  as  friends  admired  it.  For  a  small 
thing,  it  was  a  great  success ;  and  Jo  was  more 
astonished  than  when  her  novel  was  commended 
and  condemned  all  at  once. 

"I  don't  understand  it;  what  can  there  be  in  a 
simple  little  story  like  that,  to  make  people  praise  it 
so?"  she  said,  quite  bewildered. 

"There  is  truth  in  it,  Jo  —  that's  the  secret;  humor 
and  pathos  make  it  alive,  and  you  have  found  your 
style  at  last.  You  wrote  with  no  thought  of  fame  or 
money,  and  put  your  heart  into  it,  my  daughter ;  you 
have  had  the  bitter,  now  comes  the  sweet ;  do  your 
best,  and  grow  as  happy  as  we  are  in  your  success." 

"  If  there  is  anything  good  or  true  in  what  I  write, 
it  isn't  mine ;  I  owe  it  all  to  you  and  mother,  and  to 
Beth,"  said  Jo,  more  touched  by  her  father's  words 
than  by  any  amount  of  praise  from  the  world. 

So,  taught  by  love  and  sorrow,  Jo  wrote  her  little 
stories,  and  sent  them  away  to  make  friends  for  them- 
selves and  her,  finding  it  a  very  charitable  world  to 
such  humble  wanderers,  for  they  were  kindly  wel- 
comed, and  sent  home  comfortable  tokens  to  their 
mother,  like  dutiful  children,  whom  good  fortune 
overtakes. 

When  Amy  and  Laurie  wrote  of  their  engagement, 
Mrs.  March  feared  that  Jo  would  find  it  difficult  to 
rejoice  over  it,  but  her  fears  were  soon  set  at  rest ;  for, 
though  Jo   looked    grave   at   first,    she   took   it  very 


284  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

quietly,  and  was  full  of  hopes  and  plans  for  "the 
children,"  before  she  read  the  letter  twice.  It  was  a 
sort  of  written  duet,  wherein  each  glorified  the  other 
in  lover-like  fashion,  very  pleasant  to  read,  and  satis- 
factory to  think  of,  for  no  one  had  any  objection  to 
make. 

"You  like  it,  mother?"  said  Jo,  as  they  laid  down 
the  closely-written  sheets,  and  looked  at  one  another. 

"Yes,  I  hoped  it  would  be  so,  ever  since  Amy 
wrote  that  she  had  refused  Fred.  I  felt  sure  then 
that  something  better  than  what  you  call  4the  mer- 
cenary spirit'  had  come  over  her,  and  a  hint  here  and 
there  in  her  letters  made  me  suspect  that  love  and 
Laurie  would  win  the  day." 

"  How  sharp  you  are,  Marmee,  and  how  silent ;  you 
never  said  a  word  to  me." 

"Mothers  have  need  of  sharp  eyes  and  discreet 
tongues,  when  they  have  girls  to  manage.  I  was  half 
afraid  to  put  the  idea  into  your  head,  lest  you  should 
write,  and  congratulate  them  before  the  thing  was 
settled." 

"  I'm  not  the  scatter-brain  I  was ;  you  may  trust  me, 
I'm  sober  and  sensible  enough  for  anyone's  confidante 
now." 

"  So  you  are,  dear,  and  I  should  have  made  you 
mine,  only  I  fancied  it  might  pain  you  to  learn  that 
your  Teddy  loved  any  one  else." 

"  Now,  mother,  did  you  really  think  I  could  be  so 
silly  and  selfish,  after  I'd  refused  his  love,  when  it  was 
freshest,  if  not  best  ? " 

"  I  knew  you  were  sincere  then,  Jo,  but  lately  I 
have  thought  that  if  he  came  back,  and  asked  again, 
you  might,  perhaps,  feel  like  giving  another  answer. 


ALL  ALONE. 


285 


Forgive  me,  dear,  I  can't  help  seeing  that  you  are 
very  lonely,  and  sometimes  there  is  a  hungry  look  in 
your  eyes  that  goes  to  my  heart ;  so  I  fancied  that 
your  boy  might  fill  the  empty  place,  if  he  tried  now." 

u  No,  mother,  it  is  better  as  it  is,  and  I'm  glad  Amy 
has  learned  to  love  him.  But  you  are  right  in  one 
thing ;  I  am  lonely,  and  perhaps  if  Teddy  had  tried 
again,  I  might  have  said  'Yes,'  not  because  I  love 
him  any  more,  but  because  I  care  more  to  be  loved, 
than  when  he  went  away." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,  Jo,  for  it  shows  that  you  are 
getting  on.  There  are  plenty  to  love  you,  so  try  to 
be  satisfied  with  father  and  mother,  sisters  and 
brothers,  friends  and  babies,  till  the  best  lover  of  all 
comes  to  give  you  your  reward." 

"  Mothers  are  the  best  lovers  in  the  world ;  but,  I 
don't  mind  whispering  to  Marmee,  that  I'd  like  to  try 
all  kinds.  It's  very  curious,  but  the  more  I  try  to 
satisfy  myself  with  all  sorts  of  natural  affections,  the 
more  I  seem  to  want.  I'd  no  idea  hearts  could  take 
in  so  many  —  mine  is  so  elastic,  it  never  seems  full 
now,  and  I  used  to  be  quite  contented  with  my 
family  ;  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  I  do,"  and  Mrs.  March,  smiled  her  wise  smile,  as 
Jo  turned  back  the  leaves  to  read  what  Amy  said  of 
Laurie. 

"  It  is  so  beautiful  to  be  loved  as  Laurie  loves  me  ; 
he  isn't  sentimental ;  doesn't  say  much  about  it,  but  I 
see  and  feel  it  in  all  he  says  and  does,  and  it  makes 
me  so  happy  and  so  humble,  that  I  don't  seem  to  be 
the  same  girl  I  was.  I  never  knew  how  good,  and 
generous,  and  tender  he  was  till  now,  for  he  lets  me 
read  his  heart,  and  I  find  it  full  of  noble  impulses, 


286  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

and  hopes,  and  purposes,  and  am  so  proud  to  know 
it's  mine.  He  says  he  feels  as  if  he  '  could  make  a 
prosperous  voyage  now  with  me  aboard  as  mate,  and 
lots  of  love  for  ballast.'  I  pray  he  may,  and  try  to  be 
all  he  believes  me,  for  I  love  my  gallant  captain  with 
all  my  heart,  and  soul,  and  might,  and  never  will  desert 
him,  while  God  lets  us  be  together.  Oh,  mother,  I 
never  knew  how  much  like  heaven  this  world  could 
be,  when  two  people  love  and  live  for  one  another ! " 

"And  that's  our  cool,  reserved,  and  worldly  Amy! 
Truly  love  does  work  miracles.  How  very,  very 
happy  they  must  be  !  "  and  Jo  laid  the  rustling  sheets 
together  with  a  careful  hand,  as  one  might  shut  the 
covers  of  a  lovely  romance,  which  holds  the  reader 
fast  till  the  end  comes,  and  he  finds  himself  alone  in 
the  work-a-day  world  again. 

By  and  by,  Jo  roamed  away  upstairs,  for  it  was 
rainy,  and  she  could  not  walk.  A  restless  spirit 
possessed  her,  and  the  old  feeling  came  again,  not 
bitter  as  it  once  was,  but  a  sorrowfully  patient 
wonder  why  one  sister  should  have  all  she  asked, 
the  other  nothing.  It  was  not  true ;  she  knew  that, 
and  tried  to  put  it  away,  but  the  natural  craving  for 
affection  was  strong,  and  Amy's  happiness  woke  the 
hungry  longing  for  some  one  to  "  love  with  heart  and 
soul,  and  cling  to,  while  God  let  them  be  together." 

Up  in  the  garret,  where  Jo's  unquiet  wanderings 
ended,  stood  four  little  wooden  chests  in  a  row,  each 
marked  with  its  owner's  name,  and  each  filled  with 
relics  of  the  childhood  and  girlhood  ended  now  for 
all.  Jo  glanced  into  them,  and  when  she  came  to  her 
own,  leaned  her  chin  on  the  edge,  and  stared  absently 
at  the  chaotic  collection,  till  a  bundle  of  old  exercise- 


ALL  ALONE.  287 

books  caught  her  eye.  She  drew  them  out,  turned 
them  over,  and  re-lived  that  pleasant  winter  at  kind 
Mrs.  Kirke's.  She  had  smiled  at  first,  then  she 
looked  thoughtful,  next  sad,  and  when  she  came  to  a 
little  message  written  in  the  Professor's  hand,  her  lips 
began  to  tremble,  the  books  slid  out  of  her  lap,  and 
she  sat  looking  at  the  friendly  words,  as  if  they  took 
a  new  meaning,  and  touched  a  tender  spot  in  her 
heart. 

"  Wait  for  me,  my  friend,  I  may  be  a  little  late,  but 
I  shall  surely  come." 

"  Oh,  if  he  only  would !  So  kind,  so  good,  so 
patient  with  me  always ;  my  dear  old  Fritz,  I  didn't 
value  him  half  enough  when  I  had  him,  but  now 
how  I  should  love  to  see  him,  for  every  one  seems 
going  away  from  me,  and  I'm  all  alone." 

And  holding  the  little  paper  fast,  as  if  it  were  a 
promise  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  Jo  laid  her  head  down  on 
a  comfortable  rag-bag,  and  cried,  as  if  in  opposition 
to  the  rain  pattering  on  the  roof. 

Was  it  all  self-pity,  loneliness,  or  low  spirits?  or 
was  it  the  waking  up  of  a  sentiment  which  had  bided 
its  time  as  patiently  as  its  inspirer?    Who  shall  say. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


SURPRISES. 


JO  was  alone  in  the  twilight,  lying  on  the  old  sofa, 
looking  at  the  fire,  and  thinking.  It  was  her 
favorite  way  of  spending  the  hour  of  dusk ;  no 
one  disturbed  her,  and  she  used  to  lie  there  on  Beth's 
little  red  pillow,  planning  stories,  dreaming  dreams, 
or  thinking  tender  thoughts  of  the  sister  who  never 
seemed  far  away.  Her  face  looked  tired,  grave,  and 
rather  sad ;  for  to-morrow  was  her  birthday,  and  she 
was  thinking  how  fast  the  years  went  by,  how  old  she 
was  getting,  and  how  little  she  seemed  to  have  accom- 
plished. Almost  twenty-five,  and  nothing  to  show  for 
it,  — Jo  was  mistaken  in  that ;  there  was  a  good  deal 
to  show,  and  by  and  by  she  saw,  and  was  grateful 
for  it. 

"  An  old  maid  —  that's  what  I'm  to  be.  A  literary 
spinster,  with  a  pen  for  a  spouse,  a  family  of  stories 
for  children,  and  twenty  years  hence  a  morsel  of 
fame,  perhaps ;  when,  like  poor  Johnson,  I'm  old, 
and  can't  enjoy  it  —  solitary,  and  can't  share  it,  inde- 
pendent, and  don't  need  it.  Well,  I  needn't  be  a  sour 
saint  nor  a  selfish  sinner ;  and,  I  dare  say,  old  maids 
are  very  comfortable  when  they  get  used  to  it ;  but  —  " 
and  there  Jo  sighed,  as  if  the  prospect  was  not  in- 
viting. 

It  seldom  is,  at  first,  and  thirty  seems  the  end  of  all 
things   to   five-and- twenty ;   but  it's  not  so  bad  as  it 
looks,  and  one  can  get  on  quite  happily  if  one  has 
(288) 


SURPRISES.  289 

something  in  one's  self  to  fall  back  upon.  At  twenty- 
five,  girls  begin  to  talk  about  being  old  maids,  but 
secretly  resolve  that  they  never  will ;  at  thirty,  they 
say  nothing  about  it,  but  quietly  accept  the  fact ;  and, 
if  sensible,  console  themselves  by  remembering  that 
they  have  twenty  more  useful,  happy  years,  in  which 
they  may  be  learning  to  grow  old  gracefully.  Don't 
laugh  at  the  spinsters,  dear  girls,  for  often  very  ten- 
der, tragical  romances  are  hidden  away  in  the  hearts 
that  beat  so  quietly  under  the  sober  gowns,  and  many 
silent  sacrifices  of  youth,  health,  ambition,  love  itself, 
make  the  faded  faces  beautiful  in  God's  sight.  Even 
the  sad,  sour  sisters  should  be  kindly  dealt  with,  be- 
cause they  have  missed  the  sweetest  part  of  life  if  for 
no  other  reason ;  and,  looking  at  them  with  com- 
passion, not  contempt,  girls  in  their  bloom  should 
remember  that  they  too  may  miss  the  blossom  time  — 
that  rosy  cheeks  don't  last  forever,  that  silver  threads 
will  come  in  the  bonnie  brown  hair,  and,  that  by  and 
by,  kindness  and  respect  will  be  as  sweet  as  love  and 
admiration  now. 

Gentlemen,  which  means  boys,  be  courteous  to  the 
old  maids,  no  matter  how  poor  and  plain  and  prim, 
for  the  only  chivalry  worth  having  is  that  which  is 
the  readiest  to  pay  deference  to  the  old,  protect  the 
feeble,  and  serve  womankind,  regardless  of  rank,  age, 
or  color.  Just  recollect  the  good  aunts  who  have  not 
only  lectured  and  fussed,  but  nursed  and  petted,  too 
often  without  thanks  —  the  scrapes  they  have  helped 
you  out  of,  the  "  tips"  they  have  given  you  from  their 
small  store,  the  stitches  the  patient  old  fingers  have  set 
for  you,  the  steps  the  willing  old  feet  have  taken,  and 
gratefully  pay  the  dear  old  ladies  the  little  attentions 
*9 


290 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


that  women  love  to  receive  as  long  as  they  live.  The 
bright-eyed  girls  are  quick  to  see  such  traits,  and  will 
like  you  all  the  better  for  them  ;  and,  if  death,  almost 
the  only  power  that  can  part  mother  and  son,  should 
rob  you  of  yours,  you  will  be  sure  to  find  a  tender, 
welcome,  and  maternal  cherishing  from  some  Aunt 
Priscilla,  who  has  kept  the  warmest  corner  of  her 
lonely  old  heart  for  "  the  best  newy  in  the  world." 

Jo  must  have  fallen  asleep  (as  I  dare  say  my  reader 
has  during  this  little  homily),  for,  suddenly,  Laurie's 
ghost  seemed  to  stand  before  her.  A  substantial,  life- 
like ghost  leaning  over  her,  with  the  very  look  he 
used  to  wear  when  he  felt  a  good  deal,  and  didn't  like 
to  show  it.     But,  like  Jenny  in  the  ballad,  — 

"  She  could  not  think  it  he," 

and  lay  staring  up  at  him,  in  startled  silence,  till  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her.  Then  she  knew  him,  and 
flew  up,  crying  joyfully,  — 

< '  Oh  my  Teddy !     Oh  my  Teddy  !  " 

"  Dear  Jo,  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  then?" 

"  Glad !  my  blessed  boy,  words  can't  express  my 
gladness.     Where's  Amy  ?  " 

"Your  mother  has  got  her,  down  at  Meg's.  We 
stopped  there  by  the  way,  and  there  was  no  getting 
my  wife  out  of  their  clutches." 

"Your  what?"  cried  Jo  —  for  Laurie  uttered  those 
two  words  with  an  unconscious  pride  and  satisfaction, 
which  betrayed  him. 

"Oh,  the  dickens!  now  I've  done  it;"  and  he 
looked  so  guilty  that  Jo  was  down  upon  him  like  a 
flash. 

"You've  gone  and  got  married?" 


SURPRISES.  291 

"  Yes,  please,  but  T  never  will  again ; "  and  he 
went  down  upon  his  knees  with  a  penitent  clasping 
of  hands,  and  a  face  full  of  mischief,  mirth,  and 
triumph. 

"  Actually  married?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  thank  you." 

"  Mercy  on  us ;  what  dreadful  thing  will  you  do 
next?"  and  Jo  fell  into  her  seat,  with  a  gasp. 

"A  characteristic,  but  not  exactly '  complimentary 
congratulation,"  returned  Laurie,  still  in  an  abject 
attitude,  but  beaming  with  satisfaction. 

"  What  can  you  expect,  when  you  take  one's  breath 
away,  creeping  in  like  a  burglar,  and  letting  cats  out 
of  bags  like  that?  Get  up,  you  ridiculous  boy,  and 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Not  a  word,  unless  you  let  me  come  in  my  old 
place,  and  promise  not  to  barricade." 

Jo  laughed  at  that  as  she  had  not  done  for  many  a 
long  day,  and  patted  the  sofa  invitingly,  as  she  said, 
in  a  cordial  tone,  — 

"  The  old  pillow  is  up  garret,  and  we  don't  need  it 
now  ;  so,  come  and  'fess,  Teddy." 

"  How  good  it  sounds  to  hear  you  say  '  Teddy  ' ; 
no  one  ever  calls  me  that  but  you ;  "  and  Laurie  sat 
down  with  an  air  of  great  content. 

"  What  does  Amy  call  you?  " 

"  My  lord." 

"  That's  like  her  —  well,  you  look  it ;  "  and  Jo's  eyes 
plainly  betrayed  that  she  found  her  boy  comelier  than 
ever. 

The  pillow  was  gone,  but  there  was  a  barricade, 
nevertheless ;  a  natural  one  raised  by  time,  absence, 
and  change  of  heart.     Both  felt  it,  and  for  a  minute 


292  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

looked  at  one  another  as  if  that  invisible  barrier  cast 
a  little  shadow  over  them.  It  was  gone  directly, 
however,  for  Laurie  said,  with  a  vain  attempt  at 
dignity,  — 

"Don't  I  look  like  a  married  man,  and  the  head  of 
a  family  ? " 

"Not  a  bit,  and  you  never  will.  You've  grown 
bigger  and  bonnier,  but  you  are  the  same  scapegrace 
as  ever." 

"Now,  really,  Jo,  you  ought  to  treat  me  with  more 
respect,"  began  Laurie,  who  enjoyed  it  all  immensely. 

"  How  can  I,  when  the  mere  idea  of  you,  married 
and  settled,  is  so  irresistibly  funny  that  I  can't  keep 
sober,"  answered  Jo,  smiling  all  over  her  face,  so  in- 
fectiously, that  they  had  another  laugh,  and  then 
settled  down  for  a  good  talk,  quite  in  the  pleasant  old 
fashion. 

"  It's  no  use  your  going  out  in  the  cold  to  get  Amy, 
for  they  are  all  coming  up,  presently ;  I  couldn't  wait ; 
I  wanted  to  be  the  one  to  tell  you  the  grand  surprise, 
and  have  '  first  skim,'  as  we  used  to  say,  when  we 
squabbled  about  the  cream." 

"  Of  course  you  did,  and  spoilt  your  story  by  begin- 
ning at  the  wrong  end.  Now,  start  right,  and  tell  me 
how  it  all  happened  ;  I'm  pining  to  know." 

"  Well,  I  did  it  to  please  Amy,"  began  Laurie,  with 
a  twinkle,  that  made  Jo  exclaim,  — 

"  Fib  number  one  ;  Amy  did  it  to  please  you.  Go 
on,  and  tell  the  truth,  if  you  can,  sir." 

"Now  she's  beginning  to  marm  it,  isn't  it  jolly  to 
hear  her,"  said  Laurie  to  the  fire,  and  the  fire  glowed 
and  sparkled  as  if  it  quite  agreed.  "  It's  all  the  same, 
you  know,  she  and  I  being  one.    We  planned  to  come 


SUXPBISES.  ■   293 

home  with  the  Carrols,  a  month  or  more  ago,  but 
they  suddenly  changed  their  minds,  and  decided  to 
pass  another  winter  in  Paris.  But  grandpa  wanted 
to  cpme  home ;  he  went  to  please  me,  and  I  couldn't 
let  him  go  alone,  neither  could  I  leave  Amy ;  and 
Mrs.  Carrol  had  got  English  notions  about  chaperons, 
and  such  nonsense,  and  wouldn't  let  Amy  come  with 
us.  So  I  just  settled  the  difficulty,  by  saying,  '  Let's 
be  married,  and  then  we  can  do  as  we  like.' " 

"Of  course  you  did;  you  always  have  things  to 
suit  you." 

"  Not  always ; "  and  something  in  Laurie's  voice 
made  Jo  say,  hastily, — 

"  How  did  you  ever  get  aunt  to  agree?  " 

"  It  was  hard  work ;  but,  between  us,  we  talked 
her  over,  for  we  had  heaps  of  good  reasons  on  our 
side.  There  wasn't  time  to  write  and  ask  leave,  but 
you  all  liked  it,  and  had  consented  to  it  by  and  by  — 
and  it  was  only  '  taking  time  by  the  fetlock,'  as  my 
wife  says." 

"  Aren't  we  proud  of  those  two  words,  and  don't 
we  like  to  say  them  ?  "  interrupted  Jo,  addressing  the 
fire  in  her  turn,  and  watching  with  delight  the  happy 
light  it  seemed  to  kindle  in  the  eyes  that  had  been  so 
tragically  gloomy  when  she  saw  them  last. 

"  A  trifle,  perhaps ;  she's  such  a  captivating  little 
woman  I  can't  help  being  proud  of  her.  Well,  then, 
uncle  and  aunt  were  there  to  play  propriety  ;  we  were 
so  absorbed  in  one  another  we  were  of  no  mortal  use 
apart,  and  that  charming  arrangement  would  make 
everything  easy  all  round  ;  so  we  did  it." 

"When,   where,  how?"    asked  Jo,  in  a  fever  of 


294 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


feminine  interest  and  curiosity,  for  she  could  not 
realize  it  a  particle. 

"  Six  weeks  ago,  at  the  American  consul's,  in 
Paris  —  a  very  quiet  wedding,  of  course  ;  for  even  in 
our  happiness  we  didn't  forget  dear  little  Beth." 

Jo  put  her  hand  in  his  as  he  said  that,  and  Laurie 
gently  smoothed  the  little  red  pillow,  which  he  re- 
membered well. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  us  know  afterward?  "  asked 
Jo,  in  a  quieter  tone,  when  they  had  sat  quite  still  a 
minute. 

"  We  wanted  to  surprise  you  ;  we  thought  we  were 
coming  directly  home,  at  first,  but  the  dear  old  gen- 
tleman, as  soon  as  we  were  married,  found  he  couldn't 
be  ready  under  a  month,  at  least,  and  sent  us  off  to 
spend  our  honey-moon  wherever  we  liked.  Amy  had 
once  called  Valrosa  a  regular  honey-moon  home,  so 
we  went  there,  and  were  as  happy  as  people  are  but 
once  in  their  lives.  My  faith,  wasn't  it  love  among 
the  roses !  " 

Laurie  seemed  to  forget  Jo,  for  a  minute,  and  Jo 
was  glad  of  it ;  for  the  fact  that  he  told  her  these 
things  so  freely  and  naturally,  assured  her  that  he  had 
quite  forgiven  and  forgotten.  She  tried  to  draw  away 
her  hand ;  but,  as  if  he  guessed  the  thought  that 
prompted  the  half-involuntary  impulse,  Laurie  held  it 
fast,  and  said,  with  a  manly  gravity  she  had  never 
seen  in  him  before, — 

"Jo,  dear,  I  want  to  say  one  thing,  and  then  we'll 
put  it  by  forever.  As  I  told  you,  in  my  letter,  when 
I  wrote  that  Amy  had  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  never 
shall  stop  loving  you ;  but  the  love  is  altered,  and  I 
have  learned  to  see  that  it  is  better  as  it  is.     Amy  and 


SURPRISES. 


295 


you  change  places  in  my  heart,  that's  all.  I  think  it 
was  meant  to  be  so,  and  would  have  come  about  nat- 
urally, if  I  had  waited,  as  you  tried  to  make  me ;  but 
I  never  could  be  patient,  and  so  I  got  a  heart-ache.  I 
was  a  boy  then —  headstrong  and  violent ;  and  it  took 
a  hard  lesson  to  show  me  my  mistake.  For  it  was 
one,  Jo,  as  you  said,  and  I  found  it  out,  after  making 
a  fool  of  myself.  Upon  my  word,  I  was  so  tumbled 
up  in  my  mind,  at  one  time,  that  I  didn't  know  which 
I  loved  best  —  you  or  Amy,  and  tried  to  love  both 
alike ;  but  I  couldn't ;  and  when  I  saw  her  in  Switz- 
erland, everything  seemed  to  clear  up  all  at  once. 
You  both  got  into  your  right  places,  and  I  felt  sure 
that  it  was  well  off  with  the  old  love,  before  it  was  on 
with  the  new ;  that  I  could  honestly  share  my  heart 
between  sister  Jo  and  wife  Amy,  and  love  them  both 
dearly.  Will  you  believe  it,  and  go  back  to  the  happy 
old  times,  when  we  first  knew  one  another  ?  " 

"  I'll  believe  it,  with  all  my  heart ;  but,  Teddy,  we 
never  can  be  boy  and  girl  again  —  the  happy  old 
times  can't  come  back,  and  we  mustn't  expect  it.  We 
are  man  and  woman  now,  with  sober  work  to  do,  for 
play-time  is  over,  and  we  must  give  up  frolicking. 
I'm  sure  you  feel  this ;  I  see  the  change  in  you,  and 
you'll  find  it  in  me ;  I  shall  miss  my  boy,  but  I  shall 
love  the  man  as  much,  and  admire  him  more,  because 
he  means  to  be  what  I  hoped  he  would.  We  can't  be 
little  playmates  any  longer,  but  we  will  be  brother 
and  sister,  to  love  and  help  one  another  all  our  lives, 
won't  we,  Laurie  ? " 

He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  took  the  hand  she 
offered  him,  and  laid  his  face  down  on  it  for  a  minute, 
feeling  that  out  of  the  grave  of  a  boyish  passion,  there 


296  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

had  risen  a  beautiful,  strong  friendship  to  bless  them 
both.  Presently  Jo  said  cheerfully,  for  she  didn't 
want  the  coming  home  to  be  a  sad  one,  — 

"  I  can't  make  it  true  that  you  children  are  really 
married,  and  going  to  set  up  housekeeping.  Why,  it 
seems  only  yesterday  that  I  was  buttoning  Amy's 
pinafore,  and  pulling  your  hair  when  you  teased. 
Mercy  me,  how  time  does  fly  !  " 

"As  one  of  the  children  is  older  than  yourself,  you 
needn't  talk  so  like  a  grandma.  I  flatter  myself  I'm 
a  4  gentleman  growed,'  as  Peggotty  said  of  David ; 
and  when  you  see  Amy,  you'll  find  her  rather  a 
precocious  infant,"  said  Laurie,  looking  amused  at 
her  maternal  air. 

"  You  may  be  a  little  older  in  years,  but  I'm  ever 
so  much  older  in  feeling,  Teddy.  Women  always 
are  ;  and  this  last  year  has  been  such  a  hard  one,  that 
I  feel  forty." 

"  Poor  Jo !  we  left  you  to  bear  it  alone,  while  we 
went  pleasuring.  You  are  older ;  here's  a  line,  and 
there's  another ;  unless  you  smile,  your  eyes  look  sad, 
and  when  I  touched  the  cushion,  just  now,  I  found  a 
tear  on  it.  You've  had  a  great  deal  to  bear,  and  had 
to  bear  it  all  alone  ;  what  a  selfish  beast  I've  been !  " 
and  Laurie  pulled  his  own  hair,  with  a  remorseful 
look. 

But  Jo  only  turned  over  the  traitorous  pillow,  and 
answered  in  a  tone  which  she  tried  to  make  quite 
cheerful,  — 

"No,  I  had  father  and  mother  to  help  me,  the 
dear  babies  to  comfort  me,  and  the  thought  that  you  and 
Amy  were  safe  and  happy,  to  make  the  troubles  here 


SURPRISES. 


297 


easier  to  bear.  I  am  lonely,  sometimes,  but  I  dare 
say  it's  good  for  me,  and  — " 

"  You  never  shall  be  again,"  broke  in  Laurie,  put- 
ting his  arm  about  her,  as  if  to  fence  out  every  human 
ill.  "  Amy  and  I  can't  get  on  without  you,  so  you 
must  come  and  teach  the  children  to  keep  house,  and 
go  halves  in  everything,  just  as  we  used  to  do,  and 
let  us  pet  you,  and  all  be  blissfully  happy  and  friendly 
together." 

"  If  I  shouldn't  be  in  the  way,  it  would  be  very 
pleasant.  I  begin  to  feel  quite  young  already ;  for, 
somehow,  all  my  troubles  seemed  to  fly  away  when 
you  came.  You  always  were  a  comfort,  Teddy ; " 
and  Jo  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  just  as  she 
did  years  ago,  when  Beth  lay  ill,  and  Laurie  told  her 
to  hold  on  to  him. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  wondering  if  she  remem- 
bered the  time,  but  Jo  was  smiling  to  herself,  as  if,  in 
truth,  her  troubles  had  all  vanished  at  his  coming. 

"You  are  the  same  Jo  still,  dropping  tears  about 
one  minute,  and  laughing  the  next.  You  look  a  little 
wicked  now  ;  what  is  it,  grandma  ?  " 

u  I  was  wondering  how  you  and  Amy  get  on  to- 
gether." 

"  Like  angels  !  " 

"Yes,  of  course,  at  first  —  but  which  rules?" 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  she  does,  now ;  at 
least  I  let  her  think  so, —  it  pleases  her,  you  know. 
By  and  by  we  shall  take  turns,  for  marriage,  they  say, 
halves  one's  rights  and  doubles  one's  duties." 

"  You'll  go  on  as  you  begin,  and  Amy  will  rule  you 
all  the  days  of  your  life." 

"  Well,  she  does  it  so  imperceptibly  that  I  don't 


298  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

think  I  shall  mind  much.  She  is  *the  sort  of  woman 
who  knows  how  to  rule  well ;  in  fact,  I  rather  like  it, 
for  she  winds  one  round  her  finger  as  softly  and  pret- 
tily as  a  skein  of  silk,  and  makes  you  feel  as  if  she  was 
doing  you  a  favor  all  the  while." 

"  That  ever  I  should  live  to  see  you  a  henpecked 
husband  and  enjoying  it !  "  cried  Jo,  with  uplifted  hands. 

It  was  good  to  see  Laurie  square  his  shoulders,  and 
smile  with  masculine  scorn  at  that  insinuation,  as  he 
replied,  with  his  "  high  and  mighty"  air, — 

"Amy  is  too  well-bred  for  that,  and  I  am  not  the 
sort  of  man  to  submit  to  it.  My  wife  and  I  respect 
ourselves  and  one  another  too  much  ever  to  tyrannize 
or  quarrel." 

Jo  liked  that,  and  thought  the  new  dignity  very 
becoming,  but  the  boy  seemed  changing  very  fast  into 
the  man,  and  regret  mingled  with  her  pleasure. 

"  I  am  sure  of  that ;  Amy  and  you  never  did  quarrel 
as  we  used  to.  She  is  the  sun,  and  I  the  wind,  in 
the  fable,  and  the  sun  managed  the  man  best,  you 
remember." 

"  She  can  blow  him  up  as  well  as  shine  on  him," 
laughed  Laurie.  "  Such  a  lecture  as  I  got  at  Nice  ! 
I  give  you  my  word  it  was  a  deal  worse  than  any 
of  your  scoldings.  A  regular  rouser  ;  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it  some  time,  —  she  never  will,  because,  after 
telling  me  that  she  despised  and  was  ashamed  of  me, 
she  lost  her  heart  to  the  despicable  party,  and  married 
the  good-for-nothing." 

"  What  baseness  !  Well,  if  she  abuses  you  come  to 
me,  and  I'll  defend  you  !  " 

"  I  look  as  if  I  needed  it,  don't  I?"  said  Laurie, 
getting  up  and  striking  an  attitude  which  suddenly 


SUJRPXISES.  299 

changed  from  the  imposing  to  the  rapturous,  as 
Amy's  voice  was  heard  calling,  — 

"  Where  is  she?  where's  my  dear  old  Jo?" 

In  trooped  the  whole  family,  and  every  one  was 
hugged  and  kissed  all  over  again,  and,  after  several 
vain  attempts,  the  three  wanderers  were  set  down  to 
be  lo#ked  at  and  exulted  over.  Mr.  Laurence,  hale 
and  hearty  as  ever,  was  quite  as  much  improved  as 
the  others  by  his  foreign  tour,  —  for  the  crustiness 
seemed  to  be  nearly  gone,  and  the  old-fashioned  court- 
liness had  received  a  polish  which  made  it  kindlier 
than  ever.  It  was  good  to  see  him  beam  at  "  my 
children,"  as  he  called  the  young  pair ;  it  was  better 
still  to  see  Amy  pay  him  the  daughterly  duty  and 
affection  which  completely  won  his  old  heart ;  and, 
best  of  all,  to  watch  Laurie  revolve  about  the  two  as 
if  never  tired  of  enjoying  the  pretty  .picture  they  made. 

The  minute  she  put  her  eyes  upon  Amy,  Meg 
became  conscious  that  her  own  dress  hadn't  a  Parisian 
air,  —  that  young  Mrs.  Moffat  would  be  entirely 
eclipsed  by  young  Mrs.  Laurence,  and  that  "Tier 
ladyship  "  was  altogether  a  most  elegant  and  graceful 
woman.  Jo  thought,  as  she  watched  the  pair,  u  How 
well  they  look  together !  I  was  right,  and  Laurie  has 
found  the  beautiful,  accomplished  girl  who  will  be- 
come his  home  better  than  clumsy  old  Jo,  and  be  a 
pride,  not  a  torment  to  him."  Mrs.  March  and  her 
husband  smiled  and  nodded  at  each  other  with  happy 
faces,  —  for  they  saw  that  their  youngest  had  done 
well,  not  only  in  worldly  things,  but  the  better  wealth 
of  love,  confidence,  and  happiness. 

For  Amy's  face  was  full  of  the  soft  brightness 
which  betokens  a  peaceful  heart,  her  voice  had  a  new 


300  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

tenderness  in  it,  and  the  cool,  prim  carriage  was 
changed  to  a  gentle  dignity,  both  womanly  and  win- 
ning. No  little  affectations  marred  it,  and  the  cordial 
sweetness  of  her  manner  was  more  charming  than  the 
new  beauty  or  the  old  grace,  for  it  stamped  her  at 
once  with  the  unmistakable  sign  of  the  true  gentle- 
woman she  had  hoped  to  become.  ^ 

"  Love  has  done  much  for  our  little  girl,"  said  her 
mother,  softly. 

"  She  has  had  a  good  example  before  her  all  her  life, 
my  dear,"  Mr.  March  whispered  back,  with  a  loving 
look  at  the  worn  face  arid  gray  head  beside  him. 

Daisy  found  it  impossible  to  keep  her  eyes  off  her 
"  pitty  aunty,"  but  attached  herself  like  a  lap-dog  to 
the  wonderful  chatelaine  full  of  delightful  charms. 
Demi  paused  to  consider  the  new  relationship  before 
he  compromised  himself  by  the  rash  acceptance  of  a 
bribe,  which  took  the  tempting  form  of  a  family  of 
wooden  bears,  from  Berne,  A  flank  movement  pro- 
duced an  unconditional  surrender,  however,  for  Laurie 
knew  where  to  have  him  :  — 

"  Young  man,  when  I  first  had  the  honor  of  making 
your  acquaintance  you  hit  me  in  the  face ;  now  I 
demand  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman  !  "  and  with 
that  the  tall  uncle  proceeded  to  toss  and  tousle  the 
small  nephew  in  a  way  that  damaged  his  philosophical 
dignity  as  much  as  it  delighted  his  boyish  soul." 

"  Blest  if  she  ain't  in  silk  from  head  to  foot ;  ain't 
it  a  relishin'  sight  to  see  her  settin'  there  as  fine  as 
a  fiddle,  and  hear  folks  calling  little  Amy  '  Mis. 
Laurence  ! '  "  muttered  old  Hannah,  who  could  not 
resist  frequent  "  peeks "  through  the  slide  as  she  set 
the  table  in  a  most  decidedly  promiscuous  manner. 


SURPRISES. 


301 


Mercy  on  us,  how  they  did  talk !  first  one,  then  the 
other,  then  all  burst  out  together,  —  trying  to  tell  the 
history  of  three  years  in  half  an  hour.  It  was  for- 
tunate that  tea  was  at  hand,  to  produce  a  lull  and 
provide  refreshment,  —  for  they  would  have  been 
hoarse  and  faint  if  they  had  gone  on  much  longer. 
Such  a  happy  procession  as  filed  away  into  the  little 
dining-room !  Mr.  March  proudly  escorted  M  Mrs. 
Laurence "  ;  Mrs.  March  as  proudly  leaned  on  the 
arm  of  "  my  son  "  ;  the  old  gentleman  took  Jo  with  a 
whispered  "You  must  be  my  girl  now,"  and  a  glance 
at  the  empty  corner  by  the  fire,  that  made  Jo  whisper 
back,  with  trembling  lips,  "  I'll  try  to  fill  her  place,  sir." 

The  twins  pranced  behind,  feeling  that  the  mil- 
lennium was  at  hand,  —  for  every  one  was  so  busy  with 
the  new  comers  that  they  were  left  to  revel  at  their 
own  sweet  will,  and  you  may  be  sure  they  made  the 
most  of  the  opportunity.  Didn't  they  steal  sips  of 
tea,  stuff  gingerbread  ad  libitum,  get  a  hot  biscuit 
apiece,  and,  as  a  crowning  trespass,  didn't  they  each 
whisk  a  captivating  little  tart  into  their  tiny  pockets, 
there  to  stick  and  crumble  treacherously,  —  teaching 
them  that  both  human  nature  and  pastry  are  frail ! 
Burdened  with  the  guilty  consciousness  of  the  se- 
questered tarts,  and  fearing  that  Dodo's  sharp  eyes 
would  pierce  the  thin  disguise  of  cambric  and  merino 
which  hid  their  booty,  the  little  sinners  attached  them- 
selves to  "  Dranpa,"  who  hadn't  his  spectacles  on. 
Amy,  who  was  handed  about  like  refreshments,  re- 
turned to  the  parlor  on  Father  Laurence's  arm  ;  the 
others  paired  off  as  before,  and  this  arrangement  left  Jo 
companionless.  She  did  not  mind  it  at  the  minute, 
for  she  lingered  to  answer  Hannah's  eager  inquiry, — 


302  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

"Will  Miss  Amy  ride  in  her  coop  (coupe),  and  use 
all  them  lovely  silver  dishes  that's  stored  away  over 
yander?" 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  she  drove  six  white  horses, 
ate  off  gold  plate,  and  wore  diamonds  and  point-lace 
every  day.  Teddy  thinks  nothing  too  good  for  her," 
returned  Jo,  with  infinite  satisfaction. 

"  No  more  there  is  !  Will  you  have  hash  or  fish- 
balls  for  breakfast?"  asked  Hannah,  who  wisely  min- 
gled poetry  and  prose. 

"  I  don't  care,"  and  Jo  shut  the  door,  feeling  that 
food  was  an  uncongenial  topic  just  then.  She  stood 
a  minute  looking  at  the  party  vanishing  above, 
and,  as  Demi's  short  plaid  legs  toiled  up  the  last 
stair,  a  sudden  sense  of  loneliness  came  over  her,  so 
strongly  that  she  looked  about  her  with  dim  eyes,  as 
if  to  find  something  to  lean  upon,  — for  even  Teddy 
had  deserted  her.  If  she  had  known  what  birthday 
gift  was  coming  every  minute  nearer  and  nearer,  she 
would  not  have  said  to  herself  "  I'll  weep  a  little  weep 
when  I  go  to  bed  ;  it  won't  do  to  be  dismal  now." 
Then  she  drew  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  —  for  one  of 
her  boyish  habits  was  never  to  know  where  her  hand- 
kerchief was,  —  and  had  just  managed  to  call  up  a 
smile,  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  porch  door. 

She  opened  it  with  hospitable  haste,  and  started  as 
if  another  ghost  had  come  to  surprise  her,  —  for  there 
stood  a  stout,  bearded  gentleman,  beaming  on  her  from 
the  darkness  like  a  midnight  sun. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bhaer,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  t  "  cried 
Jo,  with  a  clutch,  as  if  she  feared  the  night  would 
swallow  him  up  before  she  could  get  him  in. 

"And  I  to  see  Miss  Marsch, ■ — but  no,  you  haf  a 


SURPRISES. 


3°3 


party  —  "  and  the  Professor  paused  as  the  sound  of 
voices  and  the  tap  of  dancing  feet  came  down  to 
them. 

I*  No,  we  haven't,  —  only  the  family.  My  brother 
and  sister  have  just  come  home,  and  we  are  all  very 
happy.     Come  in,  and  make  one  of  us." 

Though  a  very  social  man,  I  think  Mr.  Bhaer  would 
have  gone  decorously  away,  and  come  again  another 
day  ;  but  how  could  he  when  Jo  shut  the  door  behind 
him,  and  bereft  him  of  his  hat?  Perhaps  her  face 
had  something  to  do  with  it,  for  she  forgot  to  hide  her 
joy  at  seeing  him,  and  showed  it  with  a  frankness 
that  proved  irresistible  to  the  solitaiy  man,  whose 
welcome  far  exceeded  his  boldest  hopes. 

"  If  I  shall  not  be  Monsieur  De  Trop  I  will  so  gladly 
see  them  all.     You  haf  been  ill,  my  friend  ?  " 

He  put  the  question  abruptly,  for,  as  Jo  hung  up  his 
coat,  the  light  fell  on  her  face,  and  he  saw  a  change 
in  it. 

"  Not  ill,  but  tired  and  sorrowful ;  we  have  had 
trouble  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know  !  my  heart  was  sore  for  you  when 
I  heard  that ; "  and  he  shook  hands  again  with  such  a 
sympathetic  face,  that  Jo  felt  as  if  no  comfort  could 
equal  the  look  of  the  kind  eyes,  the  grasp  of  the  big, 
warm  hand. 

"  Father,  mother,  this  is  my  friend,  Professor  Bhaer," 
she  said,  with  a  face  and  tone  of  such  irrepressible 
pride  and  pleasure,  that  she  might  as  well  have  blown 
a  trumpet  and  opened  the  door  with  a  flourish. 

If  the  stranger  had  had  any  doubts  about  his  recep- 
tion, they  were  set  at  rest  in  a  minute  by  the  cordial 
welcome  he  received.     Every  one  greeted  him  kindly, 


3<H 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


for  Jo's  sake,  at  first,  but  very  soon  they  liked  him  for 
his  own.  They  could  not  help  it,  for  he  carried  the 
talisman  that  opens  all  hearts,  and  these  simple  people 
warmed  to  him  at  once,  feeling  even  the  more  friendly 
because  he  was  poor,  — for  poverty  enriches  those  who 
live  above  it,  and  is  a  sure  passport  to  truly  hospitable 
spirits.  Mr.  Bhaer  sat  looking  about  him  with  the 
air  of  a  traveller  who  knocks  at  a  strange  door,  and, 
when  it  opens,  finds  himself  at  home.  The  children 
went  to  him  like  bees  to  a  honey-pot ;  and,  establishing 
themselves  on  each  knee,  proceeded  to  captivate  him 
by  rifling  his  pockets,  pulling  his  beard,  and  in- 
vestigating his  watch,  with  juvenile  audacity.  The 
women  telegraphed  their  approval  to  one  another, 
and  Mr.  March,  feeling  that  he  had  got  a  kindred 
spirit,  opened  his  choicest  stores  for  his  guesf  s  benefit, 
while  silent  John  listened  and  enjoyed  the  talk,  but  said 
not  a  word,  and  Mr.  Laurence  found  it  impossible  to 
go  to  sleep. 

If  Jo  had  not  been  otherwise  engaged,  Laurie's  be- 
havior would  have  amused  her  ;  for  a  faint  twinge,  not 
of  jealousy,  but  something  like  suspicion,  caused  that 
gentleman  to  stand  aloof  at  first,  and  observe  the  new 
comer  with  brotherly  circumspection.  But  it  did  not 
last  long ;  he  got  interested  in  spite  of  himself,  and, 
before  he  knew  it,  was  drawn  into  the  circle,  for  Mr. 
Bhaer  talked  well  in  this  genial  atmosphere,  and  did 
himself  justice.  He  seldom  spoke  to  Laurie,  but  he 
looked  at  him  often,  and  a  shadow  would  pass  across 
his  face,  as  if  regretting  his  own  lost  youth,  as  he 
watched  the  young  man  in  his  prime.  Then  his  eye 
would  turn  to  Jo  so  wistfully,  that  she  would  have 
surely  answered   the  mute  inquiry  if  she  had  seen  it ; 


SUjRPXZSES.  305 

but  Jo  had  her  own  eyes  to  take  care  of,  and,  feeling 
that  they  could  not  be  trusted,  she  prudently  kept 
them  on  the  little  sock  she  was  knitting,  like  a  model 
maiden  aunt. 

A  stealthy  glance  now  and  then  refreshed  her  like 
sips  of  fresh  water  after  a  dusty  walk,  for  the  side- 
long peeps  showed  her  several  propitious  omens.  Mr. 
*Bhaer's  face  had  lost  the  absent-minded  expression, 
and  looked  all  alive  with  interest  in  the  present 
moment  —  actually  young  and  handsome,  she  thought, 
forgetting  to  compare  him  with  Laurie,  as  she  usually 
did  strange  men,  to  their  great  detriment.  Then  he 
seemed  quite  inspired ;  though  the  burial  customs  of 
the  ancients,  to  which  the  conversation  had  strayed, 
might  not  be  considered  an  exhilarating  topic.  Jo 
quite  glowed  with  triumph  when  Teddy  got  quenched 
in  an  argument,  and  thought  to  herself,  as  she  watched 
her  father's  absorbed  face,  "  How  he  would  enjoy 
having  such  a  man  as  my  Professor  to  talk  with  every 
day ! "  Lastly,  Mr.  Bhaer  was  dressed  in  a  spandy- 
new  suit  of  black,  which  made  him  look  more  like  a 
gentleman  than  ever.  His  bushy  hair  had  been  cut, 
and  smoothly  brushed,  but  didn't  stay  in  order  long, 
for,  in  exciting  moments,  he  rumpled  it  up  in  the 
droll  way  he  used  to  do,  and  Jo  liked  it  rampantly 
erect,  better  than  flat,  because  she  thought  it  gave  his 
fine  forehead  a  Jove-like  aspect.  Poor  Jo  !  how  she 
did  glorify  that  plain  man,  as  she  sat  knitting  away  so 
quietly,  yet  letting  nothing  escape  her  —  not  even  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Bhaer  actually  had  gold  sleeve-buttons 
in  his  immaculate  wristbands. 

"  Dear  old  fellow  ;  he  couldn't  have  got  himself  up 
with  more  care,  if  he'd  been  going  a-wooing,"  said  Jo 
20 


306  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

to  herself;  and  then  a  sudden  thought,  born  of  the 
words,  made  her  blush  so  dreadfully,  that  she  had  to 
drop  her  ball,  and  go  down  after  it,  to  hide  her  face. 

The  manoeuvre  did  not  succeed  as  well  as  she  ex- 
pected, however  ;  for,  though  just  in  the  act  of  setting 
fire  to  a  funeral  pile,  the  Professor  dropped  his  torch, 
metaphorically  speaking,  and  made  a  dive  after  the 
little  blue  ball.  Of  course  they  bumped  their  heads* 
smartly  together,  saw  stars,  and  both  came  up  flushed 
and  laughing,  without  the  ball,  to  resume  their  seats, 
wishing  they  had  not  left  them. 

Nobody  knew  where  the  evening  went  to,  for  Han- 
nah skilfully  abstracted  the  babies  at  an  early  hour, 
nodding  like  two  rosy  poppies,  and  Mr.  Laurence 
went  home  to  rest.  The  others  sat  round  the  fire, 
talking  away,  utterly  regardless  of  the  lapse  of  time, 
till  Meg,  whose  maternal  mind  was  impressed  with  a 
firm  conviction  that  Daisy  had  tumbled  out  of  bed, 
and  Demi  set  his  night-gown  afire,  studying  the 
structure  of  matches,  made  a  move  to  go. 

"  We  must  have  our  sing  in  the  good  old  way,  for 
we  are  all  together  again,  once  more,"  said  Jo,  feeling 
that  a  good  shout  would  be  a  safe  and  {pleasant  vent 
for  the  jubilant  emotions  of  her  soul. 

They  were  not  all  there,  but  no  one  found  the 
words  thoughtless  or  untrue ;  for  Beth  still  seemed 
among  them  —  a  peaceful  presence  —  invisible,  but 
dearer  than  ever ;  since  death  could  not  break  the 
household  league  that  love  made  indissoluble.  The 
little  chair  stood  in  its  old  place  ;  the  tidy  basket,  with 
the  bit  of  work  she  left  unfinished  when  the  needle 
grew  so  heavy,  was  still  on  its  accustomed  shelf;  the 
beloved  instrument,    seldom   touched   now,  had   not 


SURPRISES.  307 

been  moved;  and  above  it,  Beth's  face,  serene  and 
smiling,  as  in  the  early  days,  looked  down  upon  them, 
seeming  to  say,  "  Be  happy !  I  am  here." 

"  Play  something.  Amy ;  let  them  hear  how  much 
you  have  improved,"  said  Laurie,  with  pardonable 
pride  in  his  promising  pupil. 

But  Amy  whispered,  with  full  eyes,  as  she  twirled 
the  faded  stool,  — 

"  Not  to-night,  dear ;  I  can't  show  off  to-night." 

But  she  did  show  something  better  than  brilliancy 
or  skill,  for  she  sung  Beth's  songs,  with  a  tender 
music  in  her  voice  which  the  best  master  could  not 
have  taught,  and  touched  the  listeners'  hearts  with  a 
sweeter  power  than  any  other  inspiration  could  have 
given  her.  The  room  wras  very  still  when  the  clear 
voice  failed  suddenly,  at  the  last  line  of  Beth's  favorite 
hymn.     It  was  hard  to  say,  — 

"  Earth  hath  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal " ;     - 

and  Amy  leaned  against  her  husband,  who  stood  be- 
hind her,  feeling  that  her  welcome  home  was  not 
quite  perfect  without  Beth's  kiss. 

"  Now  we  must  finish  with  Mignon's  song,  for  Mr. 
Bhaer  sings  that,"  said  Jo,  before  the  pause  grew 
painful ;  and  Mr.  Bhaer  cleared  his  throat  with  a 
gratified  "  hem,"  as  he  stepped  into  the  corner  where 
Jo  stood,  saying,  — 

"  You  will  sing  with  me ;  we  go  excellently  well 
together." 

A  pleasing  fiction,  by  the  way,  for  Jo  had  no  more 
idea  of  music  than  a  grasshopper ;  but  she  would 
have  consented,  if  he  had  proposed  to  sing  a  whole 


308  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

opera,  and  warbled  away,  blissfully  regardless  of  time 
and  tune.  It  didn't  much  matter,  for  Mr.  Bhaer  sang 
like  a  true  German,  heartily  and  well ;  and  Jo  soon 
subsided  into  a  subdued  hum,  that  she  might  listen  to 
the  mellow  voice  that  seemed  to  sing  for  her  alone. 

"  Know'st  thou  the  land  where  the  citron  blooms," 

used  to  be  the  Professor's  favorite  line ;  for  "  das 
land  "  meant  Germany  to  him  ;  but  now  he  seemed  to 
dwell,  with  peculiar  warmth  and  melody,  upon  the 
words,  — 

"  There,  oh  there,  might  I  with  thee, 
Oh  my  beloved,  go"; 

and  one  listener  was  so  thrilled  by  the  tender  invita- 
tion, that  she  longed  to  say  she  did  know  the  land, 
and  would  joyfully  depart  thither,  whenever  he  liked. 

The  song  was  considered  a  great  success,  and  the 
singer  bashfully  retired,  covered  with  laurels.  But  a 
few  minutes  afterward,  he  forgot  his  manners  entirely, 
and  stared  at  Amy  putting  on  her  bonnet  —  for  she 
had  been  introduced  simply  as  "  my  sister,"  and  no 
one  had  called  her  by  her  new  name  since  he  came. 
He  forgot  himself  still  farther,  when  Laurie  said,  in 
his  most  gracious  manner,  at  parting, — 

"  My  wife  and  I  are  very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir ; 
please  remember  that  there  is  always  a  welcome 
waiting  for  you,  over  the  way." 

Then  the  Professor  thanked  him  so  heartily,  and 
looked  so  suddenly  illuminated  with  satisfaction,  that 
Laurie  thought  him  the  most  delightfully-demonstra- 
tive old  fellow  he  ever  met. 


SURPRISES. 


309 


"  I  too  shall  go  ;  but  I  shall  gladly  come  again,  if 
you  will  gif  me  leave,  dear  madame,  for  a  little 
business  in  the  city  will  keep  me  here  some  days." 

He  spoke  to  Mrs.  March,  but  he  looked  at  Jo  ;  and 
the  mother's  voice  gave  as  cordial  an  assent  as  did  the 
daughter's  eyes ;  for  Mrs.  March  was  not  so  blind  to 
her  children's  interest  as  Mrs.  Moffat  supposed. 

"  I  suspect  that  is  a  wise  man,"  remarked  Mr. 
March,  with  placid  satisfaction,  from  the  hearth-rug, 
after  the  last  guest  had  gone. 

"  I  know  he  is  a  good  one,"  added  Mrs.  March, 
with  decided  approval,  as  she  wound  up  the  clock. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  him,"  was  all  Jo  said,  as  she 
slipped  away  to  her  bed. 

She  wondered  what  the  business  was  that  brought 
Mr.  Bhaer  to  the  city,  and  finally  decided  that  he  had 
been  appointed  to  some  great  honor,  somewhere,  but 
had  been  too  modest  to  mention  the  fact.  If  she 
had  seen  his  face  when,  safe  in  his  own  room,  he 
looked  at  the  picture  of  a  severe  and  rigid  young 
lady,  with  a  good  deal  of  hair,  who  appeared  to  be 
gazing  darkly  into  futurity,  it  might  have  thrown 
some  light  upon  the  subject,  especially  when  he 
turned  off  the  gas,  and  kissed  the  picture  in  the 
dark. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


MY     LORD     AND     LADY, 


PLEASE,  Madam  Mother,  could  you  lend  me  my 
wife  for  half  an  hour?  The  luggage  has  come, 
and  I've  been  making  hay  of  Amy's  Paris  finery, 
trying  to  find  some  things  I  want,"  said  Laurie,  coming 
in  the  next  day  to  find  Mrs.  Laurence  sitting  in  her 
mother's  lap,  as  if  being  made  "  the  baby"  again. 

"  Certainly ;  go  dear ;  I  forget  that  you  have  any 
home  but  this,"  and  Mrs.  March  pressed  the  white 
hand  that  wore  the  wedding-ring,  as  if  asking  pardon 
for  her  maternal  coveteousness. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  come  over  if  I  could  have  helped 
it ;  but  I  can't  get  on  without  my  little  woman  any 
more  than  a  —  " 

"  Weathercock  can  without  wind,"  suggested  Jo,  as 
he  paused  for  a  simile ;  Jo  had  grown  quite  her  own 
saucy  self  again  since  Teddy  came  home. 

"  Exactly ;  for  Amy  keeps  me  pointing  due  west 
most  of  the  time,  with  only  an  occasional  whiffle 
round  to  the  south,  and  I  haven't  had  an  easterly  spell 
since  I  was  married ;  don't  know  anything  about  the 
north,  but  am  altogether  salubrious  and  balmy,  —  hey, 
my  lady?" 

"  Lovely  weather  so  far ;  I  don't  know  how  long  it 
will  last,  but  I'm  not  afraid  of  storms,  for  I'm  learning 
how  to  sail  my  ship.  Come  home,  dear,  and  I'll  find 
your  bootjack ;  I  suppose  that's  what  you  are  rum- 
maging after  among  my  things.  Men  are  so  helpless, 
(3T°) 


MT  LORD  AND  LADT. 


3" 


mother,"  said  Amy,  with  a  matronly  air,  which  de- 
lighted her  husband. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourselves  after 
you  get  settled  ?  "  asked  Jo,  buttoning  Amy's  cloak  as 
she  used  to  button  her  pinafores. 

"  We  have  our  plans  ;  we  don't  mean  to  say  much 
about  them  yet,  because  we  are  such  very  new 
brooms,  but  we  don't  intend  to  be  idle.  I'm  going 
into  business  with  a  devotion  that  shall  delight  grand- 
pa, and  prove  to  him  that  I'm  not  spoilt.  I  need 
something  of  the  sort  to  keep  me  steady.  I'm  tired 
of  dawdling,  and  mean  to  work  like  a  man." 

"  And  Amy,  what  is  she  going  to  do?  "  asked  Mrs. 
March,  well  pleased  at  Laurie's  decision,  and  the 
energy  with  which  he  spoke. 

"  After  doing  the  civil  all  round,  and  airing  our 
best  bonnet,  we  shall  astonish  you  by  the  elegant  hos- 
pitalities of  our  mansion,  the  brilliant  society  we  shall 
draw  about  us,  and  the  beneficial  influence  we  shall 
exert  over  the  world  at  large.  That's  about  it,  isn't 
it,  Madame  Recamier?  "  asked  Laurie,  with  a  quiz- 
zical look  at  Amy. 

"  Time  will  show.  Come  away,  Impertinence,  and 
don't  shock  my  family  by  calling  me  names  before 
their  faces,"  answered  Amy,  resolving  that  there  should 
be  a  home  with  a  good  wife  in  it  before  she  set  up  a 
salon  as  a  queen  of  society. 

"  How  happy  those  children  seem  together !  "  ob- 
served Mr.  March,  finding  it  difficult  to  become 
absorbed  in  his  Aristotle  after  the  young  couple  had 
gone. 

"  Yes,  and  I  think  it  will  last,"  added  Mrs.  March, 


312 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


with  the  restful  expression  of  a  pilot  who  has  brought 
a  ship  safely  into  port. 

"  I  know  it  will.  Happy  Amy  !  "  and  Jo  sighed, 
then  smiled  brightly  as  Professor  Bhaer  opened  the 
gate  with  an  impatient  push. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  his  mind  had  been  set 
at  rest  about  the  bootjack,  Laurie  said  suddenly  to  his 
wife,  who  was  flitting  about,  arranging  her  new  art 
treasures,  — 

"  Mrs.  Laurence." 

"  My  lord  !  " 

"  That  man  intends  to  marry  our  Jo  !  " 

"  I  hope  so  ;  don't  you,  dear?  " 

"Well,  my  love,  I  consider  him  a  trump,  in  the 
fullest  sense  of  that  expressive  word,  but  I  do  wish  he 
wTas  a  little  younger  and  a  good  deal  richer." 

"  Now,  Laurie,  don't  be  too  fastidious  and  worldly- 
minded.  If  they  love  one  another  it  doesn't  matter  a 
particle  how  old  they  are,  nor  how  poor.  Women 
never  should  marry  for  money  —  "  Amy  caught  her- 
self up  short  as  the  words  escaped  her,  and  looked  at 
her  husband,  who  replied,  with  malicious  gravity,  — 

"  Certainly  not,  though  you  do  hear  charming  girls 
say  that  they  intend  to  do  it  sometimes.  If  my 
memory  serves  me,  you  once  thought  it  your  duty 
to  make  a  rich  match ;  that  accounts,  perhaps,  for 
your  marrying  a  good-for-nothing  like  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dearest  boy,  don't,  don't  say  that !  I 
forgot  you  were  rich  wdien  I  said  '  Yes.'  I'd  have 
married  you  if  )^ou  hadn't  a  penny,  and  I  sometimes 
wish  you  were  poor  that  I  might  show  how  much  I 
love  you  ;  "  and  Amy,  who  was  very  dignified  in  public 


MY  LORD  AND  LADT. 


3*3 


and  very  fond  in  private,  gave  convincing  proofs  of 
the  truth  of  her  words. 

"  You  don't  really  think  I  am  such  a  mercenary 
creature  as  I  tried  to  be  once,  do  you  ?  It  would  break 
my  heart,  if  you  didn't  believe  that  I'd  gladly  pull 
in  the  same  boat  with  you,  even  if  you  had  to  get  your 
living  by  rowing  on  the  lake." 

"Am  I  an  idiot  and  a  brute?  How  could  I  think 
so,  when  you  refused  a  richer  man  for  me,  and  won't 
let  me  give  you  half  I  want  to  now,  when  I  have 
the  right?  Girls  do  it  every  day,  poor  things,  and 
are  taught  to  think  it  is  their  only  salvation  ;  but  you 
had  better  lessons,  and,  though  I  trembled  for  you  at 
one  time,  I  was  not  disappointed, — for  the  daughter 
was  true  to  the  mother's  teaching.  I  told  mamma  so 
yesterday,  and  she  looked  as  glad  and  grateful  as 
if  I'd  given  her  a  check  for  a  million,  to  be  spent  in 
charity.  You  are  not  listening  to  my  moral  remarks, 
Mrs.  Laurence,"  —  and  Laurie  paused,  for  Amy's  eyes 
had  an  absent  look,  though  fixed  upon  his  face. 

"Yes  I  am,  and  admiring  the  dimple  in  your  chin 
at  the  same  time.  I  don't  wish  to  make  you  vain,  but 
I  must  confess  that  I'm  prouder  of  my  handsome  hus- 
band than  of  all  his  money.  Don't  laugh,  —  but  your 
nose  is  such  a  comfort  to  me,"  and  Amy  softly  caressed 
the  well-cut  feature  with  artistic  satisfaction. 

Laurie  had  received  many  compliments  in  his  life, 
but  never  one  that  suited  him  better,  as  he  plainly 
showed,  though  he  did  laugh  at  his  wife's  peculiar 
taste,  while  she  said  slowly,  — 

"  May  I  ask  you  a  question,  dear?" 

"  Of  course  you  may." 

"  Shall  you  care  if  Jo  does  marry  Mr.  Bhaer?" 


3H 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  Oh,  that's  the  trouble,  is  it?  I  thought  there  was 
something  in  the  dimple  that  didn't  suit  you.  Not 
being  a  dog  in  the  manger,  but  the  happiest  fellow 
alive,  I  assure  you  I  can  dance  at  Jo's  wedding  with 
a  heart  as  light  as  my  heels.  Do  you  doubt  it,  ma 
amie  ?  " 

Amy  looked  up  at  him,  and  was  satisfied ;  her  last 
little  jealous  fear  vanished  forever,  and  she  thanked 
him,  with  a  face  full  of  love  and  confidence. 

"  I  wish  we  could  do  something  for  that  capital 
old  Professor.  Couldn't  we  invent  a  rich  relation, 
who  shall  obligingly  die  out  there  in  Germany,  and 
leave  him  a  tidy  little  fortune?"  said  Laurie,  when 
they  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  long  drawing- 
room,  arm-in-arm,  as  they  were  fond  of  doing,  in 
memory  of  the  chateau  garden. 

"  Jo  would  find  us  out,  and  spoil  it  all ;  she  is  very 
proud  of  him,  just  as  he  is,  and  said  yesterday  that 
she  thought  poverty  was  a  beautiful  thing." 

"  Bless  her  dear  heart,  she  won't  think  so  when  she 
has  a  literary  husband,  and  a  dozen  little  professors 
and  professorins  to  support.  We  won't  interfere 
now,  but  watch  our  chance,  and  do  them  a  good  turn 
in  spite  of  themselves.  I  owe  Jo  for  a  part  of  my 
education,  and  she  believes  in  people's  paying  their 
honest  debts,  so  I'll  get  round  her  in  that  way." 

"  How  delightful  it  is  to  be  able  to  help  others, 
isn't  it?  That  was  always  one  of  my  dreams,  to  have 
the  power  of  giving  freely ;  and,  thanks  to  you,  the 
dream  has  come  true." 

"Ah,  we'll  do  lots  of  good,  won't  we?  There's 
one  sort  of  poverty  that  I  particularly  like  to  help. 
Out-and-out  beggars  get  taken  care  of,  but  poor  gen- 


MT  LORD  AND  LADT. 


315 


tlefolks  fare  badly,  because  they  won't  ask,  and  people 
don't  dare  to  offer  charity ;  yet  there  are  a  thousand 
ways  of  helping  them,  if  one  only  knows  how  to  do 
it  so  delicately  that  it  don't  offend.  I  must  say,  I  like 
to  serve  a  decayed  gentleman  better  than  a  blarneying 
beggar ;  I  suppose  it's  wrong,  but  I  do,  though  it  is 
harder." 

"  Because  it  takes  a  gentleman  to  do  it,"  added  the 
other  member  of  the  domestic  admiration  society. 

"Thank  you,  I'm  afraid  I  don't  deserve  that  pretty 
compliment.  But  I  was  going  to  say,  that  while  I 
was  dawdling  about  abroad,  I  saw  a  good  many 
talented  young  fellows  making  all  sorts  of  sacrifices, 
and  enduring  real  hardships,  that  they  might  realize 
their  dreams.  Splendid  fellows,  some  of  them,. work- 
ing like  heroes,  poor  and  friendless,  but  so  full  of 
courage,  patience  and  ambition,  that  I  was  ashamed 
of  myself,  and  longed  to  give  them  a  right  good  lift. 
Those  are  people  whom  it's  a  satisfaction  to  help,  for 
if  they've  got  genius,  it's  an  honor  to  be  allowed  to 
serve  them,  and  not  let  it  be  lost  or  delayed  for  want 
of  fuel  to  keep  the  pot  boiling ;  if  they  haven't,  it's 
a  pleasure  to  comfort  the  poor  souls,  and  keep  them 
from  despair,  when  they  find  it  out." 

u  Yes  indeed ;  and  there's  another  class  who  can't 
ask,  and  who  suffer  in  silence ;  I  know  something  of 
it,  for  I  belonged  to  it,  before  you  made  a  princess  of 
me,  as  the  king  does  the  beggar-maid  in  the  old  story. 
Ambitious  girls  have  a  hard  time,  Laurie,  and  often 
have  to  see  youth,  health,  and  precious  opportunities 
go  by,  just  for  want  of  a  little  help  at  the  right 
minute.  People  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  when- 
ever I  see  girls  struggling  along,  as  we  used  to  do, 


316  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

I  want  to  put  out  my  hand  and  help  them,  as  I  was 
helped." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  like  an  angel  as  you  are  !  "  cried 
Laurie,  resolving,  with  a  glow  of  philanthropic  zeal, 
to  found  and  endow  an  institution,  for  the  express 
benefit  of  young  women  with  artistic  tendencies. 
'■  Rich  people  have  no  right  to  sit  down  and  enjoy 
themselves,  or  let  their  money  accumulate  for  others 
to  waste.  It's  not  half  so  sensible  to  leave  a  lot  of 
legacies  when  one  dies,  as  it  is  to  use  the  money 
wisely  while  alive,  and  enjoy  making  one's  fellow- 
creatures  happy  with  it.  We'll  have  a  good  time 
ourselves,  and  add  an  extra  relish  to  our  own  pleas- 
ure, by  giving  other  people  a  generous  taste.  Will 
you  be  a  little  Dorcas,  going  about  emptying  a  big 
basket  of  comforts,  and  filling  it  up  with  good 
deeds?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  will  be  a  brave  St. 
Martin,  stopping,  as  you  ride  gallantly  through  the 
world,  to  share  your  cloak  with  the  beggar." 

"  It's  a  bargain,  and  we  shall  get  the  best  of  it ! " 

So  the  young  pair  shook  hands  upon  it,  and  then 
paced  happily  on  again,  feeling  that  their  pleasant 
home  was  more  home-like,  because  they  hoped  to 
brighten  other  homes,  believing  that  their  own  feet 
would  walk  more  uprightly  along  the  flowery  path 
before  them,  if  they  smoothed  rough  ways  for  other 
feet,  and  feeling  that  their  hearts  were  more  closely 
knit  together  by  a  love  which  could  tenderly  re- 
member those  less  blest  than  they. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


DAISY      AND      DEMI 


I  CANNOT  feel*  that  I  have  done  my  duty  as 
humble  historian  of  the  March  family,  without 
devoting  at  least  one  chapter  to  the  two  most 
precious  and  important  members  of  it.  Daisy  and 
Demi  had  now  arrived  at  years  of  discretion ;  for  in 
this  fast  age  babies  of  three  or  four  assert  their  rights, 
and  get  them,  too,  which  is  more  than  many  of  their 
elders  do.  If  there  ever  were  a  pair  of  twins  in  danger 
of  being  utterly  spoilt  by  adoration,  it  was  these  prat- 
tling Brookes.  Of  course  they  were  the  most  remark- 
able children  ever  born ;  as  will  be  shown  when  I 
mention  that  they  walked  at  eight  months,  talked 
fluently  at  twelve  months,  and  at  two  years  they  took 
their  places  at  table,  and  behaved  with  a  propriety 
which  charmed  all  beholders.  At  three  Daisy  de- 
manded a  "  needier,"  and  actually  made  a  bag  with 
four  stitches  in  it ;  she  likewise  set  up  housekeeping 
in  the  side-board,  and  managed  a  microscopic  cook- 
ing-stove with  a  skill  that  brought  tears  of  pride  to 
Hannah's  eyes,  while  Demi  learned  his  letters  with  his 
grandfather,  who  invented  a  new  mode  of  teaching 
the  alphabet  by  forming  the  letters  with  his  arms  and 
legs,  —  thus  uniting  gymnastics  for  head  and  heels. 
The  boy  early  developed  a  mechanical  genius  which 
delighted  his  father,  and  distracted  his  mother,  for 
he  tried  to  imitate  every  machine  he  saw,  and  kept 
the  nursery  in  a  chaotic  condition,  with  his  "  sewing- 

(317) 


318  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

sheen,"  —  a  mysterious  structure  of  string,  chairs, 
clothes-pins  and  spools,  for  wheels  to  go  "wound  and 
wound"  ;  also  a  basket  hung  over  the  back  of  a  big 
chair,  in  which  he  vainly  tried  to  hoist  his  too  con- 
fiding sister,  who,  with  feminine  devotion,  allowed 
her  little  head  to  be  bumped  till  rescued,  when  the 
young  inventor  indignantly  remarked,  "  Why,  mar- 
mar,  dats  mine  lellywaiter,  and  me's  trying  to  pull 
her  up." 

Though  utterly  unlike  in  character,  the  twins  got 
on  remarkably  well  together,  and  seldom  quarrelled 
more  than  thrice  a  day.  Of  course,  Demi  tyrannized 
over  Daisy,  and  gallantly  defended  her  from  every 
other  aggressor ;  while  Daisy  made  a  galley-slave 
of  herself,  and  adored  her  brother,  as  the  one  perfect 
being  in  the  world.  A  rosy,  chubby,  sunshiny  little 
soul  was  Daisy,  who  found  her  way  to  everybody's 
heart,  and  nestled  there.  One  of  the  captivating 
children,  who  seem  made  to  be  kissed  and  cuddled, 
adorned  and  adored  like  little  goddesses,  and  pro- 
duced for  general  approval  on  all  festive  occasions. 
Her  small  virtues  were  so  sweet,  that  she  would  have 
been  quite  angelic,  if  a  few  small  naughtinesses  had 
not  kept  her  delightfully  human.  It  was  all  fair 
weather  in  her  world,  and  every  morning  she  scram- 
bled up  to  the  window  in  her  little  night-gown  to 
look  out,  and  say,  no  matter  whether  it  rained  or 
shone,  "  Oh  pitty  day,  oh  pitty  day  !  "  Every  one  was 
a  friend,  and  she  offered  kisses  to  a  stranger  so  con- 
fidingly, that  the  most  inveterate  bachelor  relented 
and  baby-lovers  became  faithful  worshippers. 

"  Me  loves  evvybody,"  she  once  said,  opening  her 
arms,  with  her  spoon  in  one  hand,  and  her  mug  in 


DAISY  AND  DEMI. 


3*9 


the  other,  as  if  eager  to  embrace  and  nourish  the 
whole  world. 

As  she  grew,  her  mother  began  to  feel  that  the 
Dove-cote  would  be  blest  by  the  presence  of  an 
inmate  as  serene  and  loving  as  that  which  had 
helped  to  make  the  old  house  home,  and  to  pray  that 
she  might  be  spared  a  loss  like  that  which  had  lately 
taught  them  how  long  they  had  entertained  an  angel 
unawares.  Her  grandfather  often  called  her  "  Beth," 
and  her  grandmother  watched  over  her  with  untiring 
devotion,  as  if  trying  to  atone  for  some  past  mistake, 
which  no  eye  but  her  own  could  see. 

Demi,  like  a  true  Yankee,  was  of  an  inquiring  turn, 
wanting  to  know  everything,  and  often  getting  much 
disturbed,  because  he  could  not  get  satisfactory  an- 
swers to  his  perpetual  "  What  for?  " 

He  also  possessed  a  philosophic  bent,  to  the  great 
delight  of  his  grandfather,  who  used  to  hold  Socratic 
conversations  with  him,  in  which  the  precocious 
pupil  occasionally  posed  his  teacher  to  the  un- 
disguised satisfaction  of  the  women  folk. 

"What  makes  my  legs  go,  Dranpa?"  asked  the 
young  philosopher,  surveying  those  active  portions  of 
his  frame  with  a  meditative  air,  while  resting  after  a 
go-to-bed  frolic  one  night. 

"  It's  your  little  mind,  Demi,"  replied  the  sage, 
stroking  the  yellow  head  respectfully. 

"What  is  a  little  mine?" 

"  It  is  something  which  makes  your  body  move,  as 
the  spring  made  the  wheels  go  in  my  watch  "when  I 
showed  it  to  you." 

"  Open  me  ;  I  want  to  see  it  go  wound." 

"  I  can't  do  that  any  more  than  you  could  open  the 


320 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


watch.  God  winds  you  up,  and  you  go  till  He  stops 
you." 

"Does  I?"  and  Demi's  brown  eyes  grew  big  and 
bright  as  he  took  in  the  new  thought.  "  Is  I  wounded 
up  like  the  watch?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  can't  show  you  how ;  for  it  is  done 
when  we  don't  see." 

Demi  felt  of  his  back,  as  if  expecting  to  find  it  like 
that  of  the  watch,  and  then  gravely  remarked,  — 

"  I  dess  Dod  does  it  when  I's  asleep." 

A  careful  explanation  followed,  to  which  he  lis- 
tened so  attentively  that  his  anxious  grandmother 
said,  — 

"  My  dear,  do  you  think  it  wise  to  talk  about  such 
things  to  that  baby?  He's  getting  great  bumps  over 
his  eyes,  and  learning  to  ask  the  most  unanswerable 
questions." 

"If  he  is  old  enough  to  ask  the  questions  he  is  old 
enough  to  receive  true  answers.  I  am  not  putting  the 
thoughts  into  his  head,  but  helping  him  unfold  those 
already  there.  These  children  are  wiser  than  we  are, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  the  boy  understands  every  word 
I  have  said  to  him.  Now,  Demi,  tell  me  where  you 
keep  your  mind  ?  " 

If  the  boy  had  replied  like  Alcibiades,  "  By  the 
gods,  Socrates,  I  cannot  tell,"  his  grandfather  would 
not  have  been  surprised  ;  but  when,  after  standing  a 
moment  on  one  leg,  like  a  meditative  young  stork,  he 
answered,  in  a  tone  of  calm  conviction,  "  In  my  little 
belly,"  the  old  gentleman*  could  only  join  in  grandma's 
laugh,  and  dismiss  the  class  in  metaphysics. 

There  might  have  been  cause  for  maternal  anxiety, 
if  Demi  had  not  given  convincing  proofs  that  he  was 


DAISY  AND  DEMI. 


321 


a  true  boy,  as  well  as  a  budding  philosopher ;  for, 
often,  after  a  discussion  which  caused  Hannah  to 
prophecy,  with  ominous  nods,  "  that  child  ain't  long 
for  this  world,"  he  would  turn  about  and  set  her  fears 
at  rest  by  some  of  the  pranks  with  which  dear,  dirty, 
naughty  little  rascals  distract  and  delight  their  parents' 
souls. 

Meg  made  many  moral  rules,  and  tried  to  keep 
them  ;  but  what  mother  was  ever  proof  against  the 
winning  wiles,  the  ingenious  evasions,  or  the  tranquil 
audacity  of  the  miniature  men  and  women  who  so 
early  show  themselves  accomplished  Artful  Dodgers  ? 

"  No  more  raisins,  Demi,  they'll  make  you  sick," 
says  mamma  to  the  young  person  who  offers  his  ser- 
vices in  the  kitchen  with  unfailing  regularity  on  plum- 
pudding  day. 

"  Me  likes  to  be  sick." 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  you,  —  so  run  away  and  help 
Daisy  make  patty-cakes." 

He  reluctantly  departs,  but  his  wrongs  weigh  upon 
his  spirit ;  and,  by  and  by,  when  an  opportunity  comes 
to  redress  them,  he  outwits  mamma  by  a  shrewd 
bargain. 

"  Now  you  have  been  good  children,  and  I'll  play 
anything  you  like,"  says  Meg,  as  she  leads  her  assistant 
cooks  upstairs,  when  the  pudding  is  safely  bouncing 
in  the  pot. 

"  Truly,  marmar?"  asks  Demi,  with  a  brilliant  idea 
in  his  well-powdered  head. 

u  Yes,  truly  ;  anything  you  say,"  replies  the  short- 
sighted parent,  preparing  herself  to  sing  "  The  Three 
Little  Kittens  "  half  a  dozen  times  over,  or  to  take  her 
21 


322 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


family  to  "Buy  a  penny  bun,"  regardless  of  wind  or 
limb.     But  Demi  corners  her  by  the  cool  reply,  — 

"  Then  we'll  go  and  eat  up  all  the  raisins." 

Aunt  Dodo  was  chief  playmate  and  confidante  of 
both  children,  and  the  trio  turned  the  little  house 
topsy-turvy.  Aunt  Amy  was  as  yet  only  a  name  to 
them,  Aunt  Beth  soon  faded  into  a  pleasantly  vague 
memory,  but  Aunt  Dodo  was  a  living  reality,  and  they 
made  the  most  of  her, — for  which  compliment  she 
was  deeply  grateful.  But  when  Mr.  Bhaer  came,  Jo 
neglected  her  playfellows,  and  dismay  and  desolation 
fell  upon  their  little  souls.  Daisy,  who  was  fond  of 
going  about  peddling  kisses,  lost  her  best  customer 
and  became  bankrupt ;  Demi,  with  infantile  penetra- 
tion, soon  discovered  that  Dodo  liked  to  play  with 
"  the  bear-man  "  better  than  she  did  with  him ;  but, 
though  hurt,  he  concealed  his  anguish,  for  he  hadn't 
the  heart  to  insult  a  rival  who  kept  a  mine  of  chocolate 
drops  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  a  watch  that  could 
be  taken  out  of  its  case  and  freely  shaken  by  ardent 
admirers. 

Some  persons  might  have  considered  these  pleasing 
liberties  as  bribes ;  but  Demi  didn't  see  it  in  that 
light,  and  continued  to  patronize  the  "bear-man" 
with  pensive  affability,  while  Daisy  bestowed  her 
small  affections  upon  him  at  the  third  call,  and  con- 
sidered his  shoulder  her  throne,  his  arm  her  refuge, 
his  gifts  treasures  of  surpassing  worth. 

Gentlemen  are  sometimes  seized  with  sudden  fits 
of  admiration  for  the  young  relatives  of  ladies  whom 
they  honor  with  their  regard ;  but  this  counterfeit 
philoprogenitiveness  sits  uneasily  upon  them,  and 
does  not  deceive   anybody  a   particle.     Mr.  Bhaer's 


DAISY  AND  DEMI.  323 

devotion  was  sincere,  however,  likewise  effective,  — 
for  honesty  is  the  best  policy  in  love  as  in  law  ;  he 
was  one  of  the  men  who  are  at  home  with  children, 
and  looked  particularly  well  when  little  faces  made  a 
pleasant  contrast  with  his  manly  one.  His  business, 
whatever  it  was,  detained  him  from  day  to  day,  but 
evening  seldom  failed  to  bring  him  out  to  see  —  well, 
he  always  asked  for  Mr.  March,  so  I  suppose  he  was 
the  attraction.  The  excellent  papa  labored  under  the 
delusion  that  he  was,  and  revelled  in  long  discussions 
with  the  kindred  spirit,  till  a  chance  remark  of  his 
more  observing  grandson  suddenly  enlightened  him. 

Mr.  Bhaer  came  in  one  evening  to  pause  on  the 
threshold  of  the  study,  astonished  by  the  spectacle  that 
met  his  eye.  Prone  upon  the  floor  lay  Mr.  March, 
with  his  respectable  legs  in  the  air,  and  beside 
him,  likewise  prone,  was  Demi,  trying  to  imitate 
the  attitude  with  his  own  short,  scarlet-stockinged 
legs,  both  grovellers  so  seriously  absorbed  that  they 
were  unconscious  of  spectators,  till  Mr.  Bhaer  laughed 
his  sonorous  laugh,  and  Jo  cried  out,  with  a  scan- 
dalized face,  — 

u  Father,  father  !    here's  the  Professor  ! " 

Down  went  the  black  legs  and  up  came  the  gray 
head,  as  the  preceptor  said,  with  undisturbed  dig- 
nity, — 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Bhaer.  Excuse  me  for  a  mo- 
ment, —  we  are  just  finishing  our  lesson.  Now,  Demi, 
make  the  letter  and  tell  its  name." 

"  I  knows  him,"  and,  after  a  few  convulsive  efforts, 
the  red  legs  took  the  shape  of  a  pair  of  compasses, 
and  the  intelligent  pupil  triumphantly  shouted  "  It's  a 
We,  Dranpa,  it's  a  We  I  " 


324 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


"  He's  a  born  Weller,"  laughed  Jo,  as  her  parent 
gathered  himself  up,  and  her  nephew  tried  to  stand 
on  his  head,  as  the  only  mode  of  expressing  his  sat- 
isfaction that  school  was  over. 

"  What  have  you  been  at  to-day,  biibchen?  "  asked 
Mr.  Bhaer,  picking  up  the  gymnast. 

"  Me  went  to  see  little  Mary." 

* '  And  what  did  you  there  ?  " 

"  I  kissed  her,"  began  Demi,  with  artless  frankness. 

"  Prut !  thou  beginnest  early.  What  did  the  little 
Mary  say  to  that?"  asked  Mr.  Bhaer,  continuing  to 
confess  the  young  sinner,  who  stood  upon  his  knee, 
exploring  the  waistcoat  pocket. 

u  Oh,  she  liked  it,  and  she  kissed  me,  and  I  liked 
it.  Don't  little  boys  like  little  girls?"  added  Demi, 
with  his  mouth  full,  and  an  air  of  bland  satisfaction. 

"  You  precocious  chick,  -r-  who  put  that  into  your 
head?"  said  Jo,  enjoying  the  innocent  revelations  as 
much  as  the  Professor. 

"  Tisn't  in  mine  head,  it's  in  mine  mouf,"  answered 
literal  Demi,  putting  out  his  tongue  with  a  chocolate- 
drop  on  it,  —  thinking  she  alluded  to  confectionery, 
not  ideas. 

"Thou  shouldst  save  some  for  the  little  friend; 
sweets  to  the  sweet,  mannling,"  and  Mr.  Bhaer  offered 
Jo  some  with  a  look  that  made  her  wonder  if  chocolate 
was  not  the  nectar  drunk  by  the  gods.  Demi  also 
saw  the  smile,  was  impressed  by  it,  and  artlessly 
inquired,  — 

"  Do  great  boys  like  great  girls  too,  'Fessor?  " 

Like  young  Washington,  Mr.  Bhaer  "  couldn't  tell 
a  lie"  ;  so  he  gave  the  somewhat  vague  reply,  that  he 
believed  they  did,  sometimes,  in  a  tone  that  made  Mr. 


DAISY  AND  DEMI.  325 

March  put  down  his  clothes-brush,  glance  at  Jo's 
retiring  face,  and  then  sink  into  his  chair,  looking  as 
if  the  "precocious  chick"  had  put  an  idea  into  his 
head  that  was  both  sweet  and  sour. 

Why  Dodo,  when  she  caught  him  in  the  china- 
closet  half  an  hour  afterward,  nearly  squeezed  the 
breath  out  of  his  little  body  with  a  tender  embrace, 
instead  of  shaking  him  for  being  there,  and  why  she 
followed  up  this  novel  performance  by  the  unexpected 
gift  of  a  big  slice  of  bread  and  jelly,  remained  one 
of  the  problems  over  which  Demi  puzzled  his  small 
wits,  and  was  forced  to  leave  unsolved  forever. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

UNDER     THE     UMBRELLA. 

WHILE  Laurie  and  Amy  were  taking  conjugal 
strolls    over  velvet   carpets,   as   they  set  their 
house  in  order,  and  planned  a  blissful  future, 
Mr.   Bhaer  and  Jo  were  enjoying  promenades  of  a 
different  sort,  along  muddy  roads  and  sodden  fields. 

"  I  always  do  take  a  walk  toward  evening,  and  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  give  it  up,  just  because  I 
often  happen  to  meet  the  Professor  on  his  way  out," 
said  Jo  to  herself,  after  two  or  three  encounters ;  for, 
though  there  were  two  paths  to  Meg's,  whichever  one 
she  took  she  was  sure  to  meet  him,  either  going  or 
returning.  He  was  always  walking  rapidly,  and 
never  seemed  to  see  her  till  quite  close,  when  he 
would  look  as  if  his  short-sighted  eyes  had  failed  to 
recognize  the  approaching  lady  till  that  moment. 
Then,  if  she  was  going  to  Meg's,  he  always  had 
something  for  the  babies ;  if  her  face  was  turned 
homeward,  he  had  merely  strolled  down  to  see  the 
river,  and  was  just  about  returning,  unless  they  were 
tired  of  his  frequent  calls. 

Under  the  circumstances,  what  could  Jo  do  but 
greet  him  civilly,  and  invite  him  in?  If  she  was 
tired  of  his  visits,  she  concealed  her  weariness  with 
perfect  skill,  and  took  care  that  there  should  be  coffee 
for  supper,  "  as  Friedrich  —  I  mean  Mr.  Bhaer  — don't 
like  tea." 

By  the  second  week,  every  one  knew  perfectly  well 

(326) 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA.  327 

what  was  going  on,  yet  every  one  tried  to  look  as  if 
they  were  stone-blind  to  the  changes  in  Jo's  face  — 
never  asked  why  she  sang  about  her  work,  did  up  her 
hair  three  times  a  day,  and  got  so  blooming  with  her 
evening  exercise ;  and  no  one  seemed  to  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  Professor  Bhaer,  while  talking 
philosophy  with  the  father,  was  giving  the  daughter 
lessons  in  love. 

Jo  couldn't  even  lose  her  heart  in  a  decorous  man- 
ner, but  sternly  tried  to  quench  her  feelings  ;  and,  fail- 
ing do  so,  led  a  somewhat  agitated  life.  She  was 
mortally  afraid  of  being  laughed  at  for  surrendering, 
after  her  many  and  vehement  declarations  of  indepen- 
dence. Laurie  was  her  especial  dread  ;  but,  thanks  to 
the  new  manager,  he  behaved  with  praiseworthy  pro- 
priety, never  called  Mr.  Bhaer  "  a  capital  old  fellow  " 
in  public,  never  alluded,  in  the  remotest  manner,  to 
Jo's  improved  appearance,  or  expressed  the  least 
surprise  at  seeing  the  Professor's  hat  on  the  Marches 
hall-table,  nearly  every  evening.  But  he  exulted  in 
private,  and  longed  for  the  time  to  come  when  he 
could  give  Jo  a  m  piece  of  plate,  with  a  bear  and  a 
ragged  staff  on  it  as  an  appropriate  coat  of  arms. 

For  a  fortnight,  the  Professor  came  and  went  with 
lover-like  regularity ;  then  he  stayed  away  for  three 
whole  days,  and  made  no  sign  —  a  proceeding  which 
caused  everybody  to  look  sober,  and  Jo  to  become 
pensive,  at  first,  and  then,  —  alas  for  romance,  —  very 
cross. 

"  Disgusted,  I  dare  say,  and  gone  home  as  suddenly 
as  he  came.  It's  nothing  to  me,  of  course  ;  but  I  should 
think  he  would  have  come  and  bid  us  good-by,  like  a 
gentleman,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  despairing  look 


328  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

at  the  gate,  as  she  put  on  her  things  for  the  customary 
walk,  one  dull  afternoon. 

u  You'd  better  take  the  little  umbrella,  dear ;  it 
looks  like  rain,"  said  her  mother,  observing  that  she 
had  on  her  new  bonnet,  but  not  alluding  to  the  fact. 

"Yes,  Marmee  ;  do  you  want  anything  in  town? 
I've  got  to  run  in  and  get  some  paper,"  returned  Jo, 
pulling  out  the  bow  under  her  chin,  before  the  glass, 
as  an  excuse  for  not  looking  at  her  mother. 

"  Yes ;  I  want  some  twilled  silesia,  a  paper  of 
number  nine  needles,  and  two  yards  of  narrow  lav- 
ender ribbon.  Have  you  got  your  thick  boots  on,  and 
something  warm  under  your  cloak?  " 

"I  believe  so,"  answered  Jo,  absently. 

u  If  you  happen  to  meet  Mr.  Bhaer,  bring  him 
home  to  tea  ;  I  quite  long  to  see  the  dear  man,"  added 
Mrs.  March. 

Jo  heard  that,  but  made  no  answer,  except  to  kiss 
her  mother,  and  walk  rapidly  away,  thinking  with  a 
glow  of  gratitude,  in  spite  of  her  heartache, — 

"  How  good  she  is  to  me !  What  do  girls  do 
who  haven't  any  mothers  to  help  them  through  their 
troubles  ? " 

The  dry-goods  stores  were  not  down  among  the 
counting-houses,  banks,  and  wholesale  warerooms, 
where  gentlemen  most  do  congregate  ;  but  Jo  found 
herself  in  that  part  of  the  city  before  she  did  a  single 
errand,  loitering  along  as  if  waiting  for  some  one, 
examining  engineering  instruments  in  one  window, 
and  samples  of  wool  in  another,  with  most  unfemi- 
nine  interest ;  tumbling  over  barrels,  being  half- 
smothered  by  descending  bales,  and  hustled  uncer- 
emoniously  by   busy   men,   who    looked    as   if    they 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA.  329 

wondered  "  how  the  deuce  she  got  there."  A  drop 
of  rain  on  her  cheek  recalled  her  thoughts  from 
baffled  hopes  to  ruined  ribbons ;  for  the  drops  con- 
tinued to  fall,  and,  being  a  woman  as  well  as  a  lover, 
she  felt  that,  though  it  was  too  late  to  save  her  heart, 
she  might  her  bonnet.  Now  she  remembered  the 
little  umbrella,  which  she  had  forgotten  to  take  in  her 
hurry  to  be  oft';  but  regret  was  unavailing,  and 
nothing  could  be  done  but  borrow  one,  or  submit  to  a 
drenching.  She  looked  up  at  the  lowering  sky,  down 
at  the  crimson  bow,  already  flecked  with  black,  for- 
ward along  the  muddy  street,  then  one  long,  lingering 
look  behind,  at  a  certain  grimy  warehouse,  with 
"  Hoffmann,  Swartz  &  Co."  over  the  door,  and,  said 
to  herself,  with  a  sternly-reproachful  air,  — 

"  It  serves  me  right !  What  business  had  I  to  put 
on  all  my  best  things,  and  come  philandering  down 
here,  hoping  to  see  the  Professor?  Jo,  I'm  ashamed 
of  you  !  No,  you  shall  not  go  there  to  borrow  an 
umbrella,  or  find  out  where  he  is,  from  his  friends. 
You  shall  slop  away,  and  do  your  errands  in  the 
rain ;  and  if  you  catch  your  death,  and  ruin  your 
bonnet,  it's  no  more  than  you  deserve.     Now  then !  " 

With  that  she  rushed  across  the  street  so  impetu- 
ously, that  she  narrowly  escaped  annihilation  from  a 
passing  truck,  and  precipitated  herself  into  the  arms 
of  a  stately  old  gentleman,  who  said,  "  I  beg  pardon, 
ma'am,"  and  looked  mortally  offended.  Somewhat 
daunted,  Jo  righted  herself,  spread  her  handkerchief 
over  the  devoted  ribbons,  and  putting  temptation  be- 
hind her,  hurried  on,  with  increasing  dampness  about 
the  ankles,  and  much  clashing  of  umbrellas  overhead. 
The  fact  that  a  somewhat  dilapidated  blue  one  re- 


330  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

mained  stationary  above  the  unprotected  bonnet,  at- 
tracted her  attention ;  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Mr. 
Bhaer  looking  down. 

"  I  feel  to  know  the  strong-minded  lady  who  goes 
so  bravely  under  many  horse-noses,  and  so  fast  through 
much  mud.     What  do  you  down  here,  my  friend?" 

"  I'm  shopping." 

Mr.  Bhaer  smiled,  as  he  glanced  from  the  pickle- 
factory  on  one  side,  to  the  wholesale  hide  and  leather 
concern  on  the  other ;  but  he  only  said,  politely,  — 

"  You  haf  no  umbrella ;  may  I  go  also,  and  take 
for  you  the  bundles?  " 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

Jo's  cheeks  were  as  red  as  her  ribbon,  and  she  won- 
dered what  he  thought  of  her ;  but  she  didn't  care, 
for  in  a  minute  she  found  herself  walking  away,  arm- 
in-arm  with  her  Professor,  feeling  as  if  the  sun  had 
suddenly  burst  out  with  uncommon  brilliancy,  that 
the  world  was  all  right  again,  and  that  one  thoroughly 
happy  woman  was  paddling  through  the  wet  that 
day. 

"  We  thought  you  had  gone,"  said  Jo,  hastily,  for 
she  knew  he  was  looking  at  her,  —  her  bonnet  wasn't 
big  enough  to  hide  her  face,  and  she  feared  he  might 
think  the  joy  it  betrayed  unmaidenly. 

"  Did  you  believe  that  I  should  go  with  no  fare- 
well to  those  who  haf  been  so  heavenly  kind  to  me  ?  " 
he  asked,  so  reproachfully,  that  she  felt  as  if  she 
had  insulted  him  by  the  suggestion,  and  answered, 
heartily,  — 

"  No,  /  didn't ;  I  knew  you  were  busy  about  your 
own  affairs,  but  we  rather  missed  you,  —  father  and 
mother  especially." 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 


331 


"And  you?" 

M  I'm  always  glad  to  see  you,  sir." 

In  her  anxiety  to  keep  her  voice  quite  calm,  Jo 
made  it  rather  cool,  and  the  frosty  little  monosyl- 
lable at  the  end  seemed  to  chill  the  Professor,  for  his 
smile  vanished,  as  he  said,  gravely,  — 

"  I  thank  you,  and  come  one  time  more  before  I  go." 

"  You  are  going,  then?  " 

"  I  haf  no  longer  any  business  here  ;  it  is  done." 

"  Successfully,  I  hope? "  said  Jo,  for  the  bitterness 
of  disappointment  was  in  that  short  reply  of  his. 

"  I  ought  to  think  so,  for  I  haf  a  way  opened  to  me 
by  which  I  can  make  my  bread  and  gif  my  Jiinglings 
much  help." 

"  Tell  me,  please  !  I  like  to  know  all  about  the  — 
the  boys,"  said  Jo  eagerly. 

"  That  is  so  kind,  I  gladly  tell  you.  My  friends 
find  for  me  a  place  in  a  college,  where  I  teach  as  at 
home,  and  earn  enough  to  make  the  way  smooth  for 
Franz  and  Emil.  For  this  I  should  be  grateful,  should 
I  not?" 

"  Indeed  you  should  !  How  splendid  it  will  be  to 
have  you  doing  what  you  like,  and  be  able  to  see  you 
often,  and  the  boys  — "  cried  Jo,  clinging  to  the  lads 
as  an  excuse  for  the  satisfaction  she  could  not  help 
betraying. 

"  Ah,  but  we  shall  not  meet  often,  I  fear  ;  this  place 
is  at  the  West." 

"  So  far  away !  "  and  Jo  left  her  skirts  to  their  fate, 
as  if  it  didn't  matter  now  what  became  of  her  clothes 
or  herself. 

Mr.  Bhaer  could  read  several  languages,  but  he  had 
not  learned  to  read  women  yet.     He  flattered  himself 


332 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


that  he  knew  Jo  pretty  well,  and  was,  therefore,  much 
amazed  by  the  contradictions  of  voice,  face,  and 
manner,  which  she  showed  him  in  rapid  succession 
that  day,  —  for  she  was  in  half  a  dozen  different  moods 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour.  When  she  met  him 
she  looked  surprised,  though  it  was  impossible  to  help 
suspecting  that  she  had  come  for  that  express  purpose. 
When  he  offered  her  his  arm,  she  took  it  with  a  look 
that  filled  him  with  delight ;  but  when  he  asked  if  she 
missed  him,  she  gave  such  a  chilly,  formal  reply,  that 
despair  fell  upon  him.  On  learning  his  good  fortune 
she  almost  clapped  her  hands, — was  the  joy  all  for 
the  boys?  Then,  on  hearing  his  destination,  she  said, 
"  So  far  away  ! "  in  a  tone  of  despair  that  lifted  him 
on  to  a  pinnacle  of  hope ;  but  the  next  minute  she 
tumbled  him  down  again  by  observing,  like  one  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  the  matter,  — 

"  Here's  the  place  for  my  errands ;  will  you  come 
in  ?     It  won't  take  long." 

Jo  rather  prided  herself  upon  her  shopping  capa- 
bilities, and  particularly  wished  to  impress  her  escort 
with  the  neatness  and  despatch  with  which  she  would 
accomplish  the  business.  But,  owing  to  the  flutter 
she  was  in,  everything  went  amiss ;  she  upset  the  tray 
of  needles,  forgot  the  silesia  was  to  be  "  twilled"  till 
it  was  cut  off,  gave  the  wrong  change,  and  covered 
herself  with  confusion  by  asking  for  lavender  ribbon 
at  the  calico  counter.  Mr.  Bhaer  stood  by,  watching 
her  blush  and  blunder ;  and,  as  he  watched,  his  own 
bewilderment  seemed  to  subside,  for  he  was  beginning 
to  see  that  on  some  occasions  women,  like  dreams,  go 
by  contraries. 

When  they  came  out,  he  put  the  parcel  under  his 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 


333 


arm  with  a  more  cheerful  aspect,  and  splashed  through 
the  puddles  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  it,  on  the  whole. 

"  Should  we  not  do  a  little  what  you  call  shopping 
for  the  babies,  and  haf  a  farewell  feast  to-night  if  I  go 
for  my  last  call  at  your  so  pleasant  home  ?  "  he  asked, 
stopping  before  a  window  full  of  fruit  and  flowers. 

"What  will  we  buy?"  said  Jo,  ignoring  the  latter 
part  of  his  speech,  and  sniffing  the  mingled  odors 
with  an  affectation  of  delight,  as  they  went  in. 

"May  they  haf  oranges  and  figs?"  asked  Mr. 
Bhaer,  with  a  paternal  air. 

"  They  eat  them  when  they  can  get  them." 

"Do  you  care  for  nuts?  " 

"  Like  a  squirrel." 

"  Hamburg  grapes ;  yes,  we  shall  surely  drink  to 
the  Fatherland  in  those  ?  " 

Jo  frowned  upon  that  piece  of  extravagance,  and 
asked  why  he  didn't  buy  a  frail  of  dates,  a  cask  of 
raisins,  and  a  bag  of  almonds,  and  done  with  it? 
Whereat  Mr.  Bhaer  confiscated  her  purse,  produced 
his  own,  and  finished  the  marketing  by  buying  several 
pounds  of  grapes,  a  pot  of  rosy  daisies,  and  a  pretty 
jar  of  honey,  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  demi- 
john. Then,  distorting  his  pockets  with  the  knobby 
bundles,  and  giving  her  the  flowers  to  hold,  he  put  up 
the  old  umbrella,  and  they  travelled  on  again. 

"  Miss  Marsch,  I  haf  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you," 
began  the  Professor,  after  a  moist  promenade  of  half  a 
block. 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  Jo's  heart  began  to  beat  so  hard  she 
was  afraid  he  would  hear  it. 

"  I  am  bold  to  say  it  in  spite  of  the  rain,  because  so 
short  a  time  remains  to  me." 


334 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


"  Yes,  sir,"  and  Jo  nearly  smashed  the  small  flower- 
pot with  the  sudden  squeeze  she  gave  it. 

"  I  wish  to  get  a  little  dress  for  my  Tina,  and  I  am 
too  stupid  to  go  alone.  Will  you  kindly  gif  me  a 
word  of  taste  and  help  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,"  and  Jo  felt  as  calm  and  cool  all  of  a 
sudden,  as  if  she  had  stepped  into  a  refrigerator. 

"  Perhaps  also  a  shawl  for  Tina's  mother,  she  is  so 
poor  and  sick,  and  the  husband  is  such  a  care, — yes, 
yes,  a  thick,  warm  shawl  would  be  a  friendly  thing 
to  take  the  little  mother." 

"I'll  do  it  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Bhaer.  I'm  going  very 
fast,  and  he's  getting  dearer  every  minute,"  added  Jo  to 
herself;  then,  with  a  mental  shake,  she  entered  into  the 
business  with  an  energy  which  was  pleasant  to  behold. 

Mr.  Bhaer  left  it  all  to  her,  so  she  chose  a  pretty 
gown  for  Tina,  and  then  ordered  out  the  shawls. 
The  clerk,  being  a  married  man,  condescended  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  couple,  who  appeared  to  be 
shopping  for  their  family. 

"  Your  lady  may  prefer  this ;  it's  a  superior  article, 
a  most  desirable  color,  quite  chaste  and  genteel,"  he 
said,  shaking  out  a  comfortable  gray  shawl,  and 
throwing  it  over  Jo's  shoulders. 

"Does  this  suit  you,  Mr.  Bhaer?"  she  asked, 
turning  her  back  to  him,  and  feeling  deeply  grateful 
for  the  chance  of  hiding  her  face. 

"Excellently  well,  we  will  haf  it,"  answered  the 
Professor,  smiling  to  himself,  as  he  paid  for  it,  while 
Jo  continued  to  rummage  the  counters,  like  a  con- 
firmed bargain-hunter. 

"Now  shall  we  go  home?"  he  asked,  as  if  the 
words  were  very  pleasant  to  him. 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA.  335 


a 


Yes,  ifs  late,  and  I'm  so  tired."  Jo's  voice  was 
more  pathetic  than  she  knew,  for  now  the  sun  seemed 
to  have  gone  in  as  suddenly  as  it  came  out,  the  world 
grew  muddy  and  miserable  again,  and  for  the  first 
time  she  discovered  that  her  feet  were  cold,  her  head 
ached,  and  that  her  heart  was  colder  than  the  former, 
fuller  of  pain  than  the  latter.  Mr.  Bhaer  was  going 
away ;  he  only  cared  for  her  as  a  friend,  it  was  all  a 
mistake,  and  the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  With 
this  idea  in  her  head,  she  hailed  an  approaching 
omnibus  with  such  a  hasty  gesture  that  the  daisies 
flew  out  of  the  pot,  and  were  badly  damaged. 

"That  is  not 'our  omniboos,"  said  the  Professor, 
waving  the  loaded  vehicle  away,  and  stopping  to 
pick  up  the  poor  little  posies. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  didn't  see  the  name  dis- 
tinctly. Never  mind,  I  can  walk,  I'm  used  to  plod- 
ding in  the  mud,"  returned  Jo,  winking  hard,  because 
she  would  have  died  rather  than  openly  wipe  her 
eyes. 

Mr.  Bhaer  saw  the  drops  on  her  cheeks,  though  she 
turned  her  head  away ;  the  sight  seemed  to  touch 
him  very  much,  for  suddenly  stooping  down,  he  asked 
in  a  tone  that  meant  a  great  deal, — 

"  Heart's  dearest,  why  do  you  cry?" 

Now  if  Jo  had  not  been  new  to  this  sort  of  thing 
she  would  have  said  she  wasn't  crying,  had  a  cold 
in  her  head,  or  told  any  other  feminine  fib  proper  to 
the  occasion ;  instead  of  which  that  undignified  crea- 
ture answered,  with  an  irrepressible  sob,  — 

"  Because  you  are  going  away." 

"  Ah,  my  Gott,  that  is  so  good  ! "  cried  Mr.  Bhaer, 
managing  to  clasp  his  hands  in  spite  of  the  umbrella 


336  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

and  the  bundles.  "  Jo,  I  haf  nothing  but  much  love 
to  gif  you  ;  I  came  to  see  if  you  could  care  for  it, 
and  I  waited  to  be  sure  that  I  was  something  more 
than  a  friend.  Am  I  ?  Can  you  make  a  little  place  in 
your  heart  for  old  Fritz?"  he  added,  all  in  one  breath. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Jo,  and  he  was  quite  satisfied,  for 
she  folded  both  hands  over  his  arm,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  an  expression  that  plainly  showed  how 
happy  she  would  be  to  walk  through  life  beside  him, 
even  though  she  had  no  better  shelter  than  the  old 
umbrella,  if  he  carried  it. 

It  was  certainly  proposing  under  difficulties,  for 
even  if  he  had  desired  to  do  so,  Mr.  Bhaer  could 
not  go  down  upon  his  knees,  on  account  of  the  mud, 
neither  could  he  offer  Jo  his  hand,  except  figuratively, 
for  both  were  full ;  much  less  could  he  indulge  in 
tender  demonstrations  in  the  open  street,  though  he 
was  near  it ;  so  the  only  way  in  which  he  could 
express  his  rapture  was  to  look  at  her,  with  an 
expression  which  glorified  his  face  to  such  a  degree 
that  there  actually  seemed  to  be  little  rainbows  in 
the  drops  that  sparkled  on  his  beard.  If  he'  had  not 
loved  Jo  very  much,  I  don't  think  he  could  have  done 
it  then,  for  she  looked  far  from  lovely,  with  her  skirts 
in  a  deplorable  state,  her  rubber  boots  splashed  to 
the  ankle,  and  her  bonnet  a  ruin.  Fortunately,  Mr. 
Bhaer  considered  her  the  most  beautiful  woman 
living,  and  she  found  him  more  "Jove-like"  than 
ever,  though  his  hat-brim  was  quite  limp  with  the 
little  rills  trickling  thence  upon  his  shoulders  (for  he 
held  the  umbrella  all  over  Jo),  and  every  finger  of  his 
gloves  needed  mending. 

Passers-by  probably  thought  them  a  pair  of  harm- 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 


337 


less  lunatics,  for  they  entirely  forgot  to  hail  a  'bus, 
and  strolled  leisurely  along,  oblivious  of  deepening 
dusk  and  fog.  Little  they  cared  what  anybody 
thought,  for  they  were  enjoying  the  happy  hour  that 
seldom  comes  but  once  in  any  life  —  the  magical 
moment  which  bestows  youth  on  the  old,  beauty  on 
the  plain,  wealth  on  the  poor,  and  gives  human  hearts 
a  foretaste  of  heaven.  The  Professor  looked  as  if  he 
had  conquered  a  kingdom,  and  the  world  had  nothing 
more  to  offer  him  in  the  way  of  bliss,  while  Jo  trudged 
beside  him,  feeling  as  if  her  place  had  always  been 
there,  and  wondering  how  she  ever  could  have  chosen 
any  other  lot.  Of  course,  she  was  the  first  to  speak  — 
intelligibly,  I  mean,  for  the  emotional  remarks  which 
followed  her  impetuous  "  Oh  yes ! "  were  not  of  a 
coherent  or  reportable  character. 

"  Friedrich,  why  didn't  you  —  " 

"  Ah,  heaven !  she  gifs  me  the  name  that  no  one 
speaks  since  Minna  died ! "  cried  the  Professor, 
pausing  in  a  puddle  to  regard  her  with  grateful 
delight. 

"  I  always  call  you  so  to  myself — I  forgot;  but  I 
won't,  unless  you  like  it." 

"  Like  it !  it  is  more  sweet  to  me  than  I  can  tell. 
Say  '  thou,'  also,  and  I  shall  say  your  language  is 
almost  as  beautiful  as  mine." 

"  Isn't  '  thou  '  a  little  sentimental?"  asked  Jo,  pri- 
vately thinking  it  a  lovely  monosyllable. 

"  Sentimental?  yes;  thank  Gott,  we  Germans  be- 
lieve in  sentiment,  and  keep  ourselves  young  mit  it. 
Your  English  'you'  is  so  cold  —  say  'thou,'  heart's 
dearest,  it  means  so  much  to  me,"  pleaded  Mr.  Bhaer, 
more  like  a  romantic  student  than  a  grave  professor. 
22 


338  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

"Well,  then,  why  didn't  thou  tell  me  all  this 
sooner?"  asked  Jo,  bashfully. 

"  Now  I  shall  haf  to  show  thee  all  my  heart,  and  I 
so  gladly  will,  because  thou  must  take  care  of  it  here- 
after. See,  then,  my  Jo  —  ah,  the  dear,  funny  little 
name  ! — I  had  a  wish  to  tell  something  the  day  I  said 
good-by,  in  New  York ;  but  I  thought  the  handsome 
friend  was  betrothed  to  thee,  and  so  I  spoke  not. 
Would'st  thou  have  said  'Yes,'  then,  if  I  had 
spoken  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I'm  afraid  not,  for  I  didn't  have 
any  heart,  just  then." 

"  Prut !  that  I  do  not  believe.  It  was  asleep  till 
the  fairy  prince  came  through  the  wood,  and  waked 
it  up.  Ah  well,  '  Die  erste  Liebe  ist  die  beste ' ;  but 
that  I  should  not  expect." 

"  Yes,  the  first  love  is  the  best ;  so  be  contented, 
for  I  never  had  another.  Teddy  was  only  a  boy,  and 
soon  got  over  his  little  fancy,"  said  Jo,  anxious  to 
correct  the  Professor's  mistake. 

"  Good !  then  I  shall  rest  happy,  and  be  sure  that 
thou  givest  me  all.  I  haf  waited  so  long,  I  am  grown 
selfish,  as  thou  wilt  find,  Professorin." 

"  I  like  that,"  cried  Jo,  delighted  with  her  new 
name.  "  Now  tell  me  what  brought  you,  at  last,  just 
when  I  most  wanted  you  ?  " 

"  This," —  and  Mr.  Bhaer  took  a  little  worn  paper 
out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Jo  unfolded  it,  and  looked  much  abashed,  for  it  was 
one  of  her  own  contributions  to  a  paper  that  paid  for 
poetry,  which  accounted  for  her  sending  it  an  oc- 
casional attempt. 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 


339 


"How  could  that  bring  you?"  she  asked,  wonder- 
ing what  he  meant. 

"  I  found  it  by  chance  ;  I  knew  it  by  the  names  and 
the  initials,  and  in  it  there  was  one  little  verse  that 
seemed  to  call  me.  Read  and  find  him ;  I  will  see 
that  you  go  not  in  the  wet." 

Jo  obeyed,  and  hastily  skimmed  through  the  lines 
which  she  had  christened  — 

"IN   THE    GARRET. 

"  Four  little  chests  all  in  a  row, 

Dim  with  dust,  and  worn  by  time, 
All  fashioned  and  filled,  long  ago, 

By  children  now  in  their  prime. 
Four  little  keys  hung  side  by  side, 

With  faded  ribbons,  brave  and  gay, 
When  fastened  there  with  childish  pride, 

Long  ago,  on  a  rainy  day. 
Four  little  names,  one  on  each  lid, 

Carved  out  by  a  boyish  hand, 
And  underneath,  there  lieth  hid 

Histories  of  the  happy  band 
Once  playing  here,  and  pausing  oft 

To  hear  the  sweet  refrain, 
That  came  and  went  on  the  roof  aloft, 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

"  'Meg'  on  the  first  lid,  smooth  and  fair, 

I  look  in  with  loving  eyes, 
For  folded  here,  with  well-known  care, 

A  goodly  gathering  lies  — 
The  record  of  a  peaceful  life, 

Gifts  to  gentle  child  and  girl, 
A  bridal  gown,  lines  to  a  wife, 

A  tiny  shoe,  a  baby  curl. 


34o 


LITTLE  WOMEN.     ' 

No  toys  in  this  first  chest  remain, 

For  all  are  carried  away, 
In  their  old  age,  to  join  again 

In  another  small  Meg's  play. 
Ah,  happy  mother !  well  I  know 

You  hear  like  a  sweet  refrain, 
^ullabies  ever  soft  and  low, 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

"  'Jo'  on  the  next  lid,  scratched  and  worn, 

And  within  a  motley  store 
Of  headless  dolls,  of  school-books  torn, 

Birds  and  beasts  that  speak  no  more. 
Spoils  brought  home  from  the  fairy  ground 

Only  trod  by  youthful  feet, 
Dreams  of  a  future  never  found, 

Memories  of  a  past  still  sweet; 
Half-writ  poems,  stories  wild, 

April  letters,  warm  and  cold, 
Diaries  of  a  wilful  child, 

Hints  of  a  woman  early  old ; 
A  woman  in  a  lonely  home, 

Hearing  like  a  sad  refrain,  — 
'  Be  worthy  love,  and  love  will  come,' 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 

"  My  '  Beth  ! '  the  dust  is  always  swept 

From  the  lid  that  bears  your  name, 
As  if  by  loving  eyes  that  wept, 

By  careful  hands  that  often  came. 
Death  canonized  for  us  one  saint, 

Ever  less  human  than  divine, 
And  still  we  lay,  with  tender  plaint, 

Relics  in  this  household  shrine. 
The  silver  bell,  so  seldom  rung, 

The  little  cap  which  last  she  wore, 
The  fair,  dead  Catherine  that  hung 

By  angels  borne  above  her  door ; 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 

The  songs  she  sang,  without  lament, 
In  her  prison-house  of  pain, 

Forever  are  they  sweetly  blent 
With  the  falling  summer  rain. 

;  Upon  the  last  lid's  polished  field  — 

Legend  now  both  fair  and  true  — 
A  gallant  knight  bears  on  his  shield, 

'  Amy,'  in  letters  gold  and  blue. 
Within  the  snoods  that  bound  her  hair, 

Slippers  that  have  danced  their  last, 
Faded  flowers  laid  by  with  care, 

Fans  whose  airy  toils  are  past  — 
Gay  valentines  all  ardent  flames, 

Trifles  that  have  borne  their  part 
In  girlish  hopes,  and  fears,  and  shames. 

The  record  of  a  maiden  heart, 
Now  learning  fairer,  truer  spells, 

Hearing,  like  a  blithe  refrain, 
The  silver  sound  of  bridal  bells 

In  the  falling  summer  rain. 


"  Four  little  chests  all  in  a  row, 

Dim  with  dust,  and  worn  by  time, 
Four  women,  taught  by  weal  and  woe, 

To  love  and  labor  in  their  prime. 
Four  sisters,  parted  for  an  hour,  — 

None  lost,  one  only  gone  before, 
Made  by  love's  immortal  power, 

Nearest  and  dearest  evermore. 
Oh,  when  these  hidden  stores  of  .ours 

Lie  open  to  the  Father's  sight, 
May  they  be  rich  in  golden  hours,  — 

Deeds  that  show  fairer  for  the  light. 
Lives  whose  brave  music  long  shall  ring 

Like  a  spirit-stirring  strain, 
Souls  that  shall  gladly  soar  and  sing 

In  the  long  sunshine,  after  rain. 

"J.  M.' 


341 


342 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  It's  very  bad  poetry,  but  I  felt  it  when  I  wrote  it 
one  day  when  I  was  very  lonely,  and  had  a  good  cry 
on  a  rag-bag.  I  never  thought  it  would  go  where  it 
could  tell  tales,"  said  Jo,  tearing  up  the  verses  the 
Professor  had  treasured  so  long. 

"  Let  it  go,  —  it  has  done  its  duty,  —  and  I  will  haf 
a  fresh  one  when  I  read  all  the  brown  book  in  which 
she  keeps  her  little  secrets,"  said  Mr.  Bhaer  with  a 
smile,  as  he  watched  the  fragments  fly  away  on  the 
wind.  "  Yes,"  he  added  earnestly,  "  I  read  that,  and 
I  think  to  myself,  4  She  has  a  sorrow,  she  is  lonely, 
she  would  find  comfort  in  true  love.'  I  haf  a  heart 
full,  full  for  her ;  shall  I  not  go  and  say,  4  If  this  is  not 
too  poor  a  thing  to  gif  for  what  I  shall  hope  to  receive, 
take  it,  in  Gott's  name/  " 

"  And  so  you  came  to  find  that  it  was  not  too  poor, 
but  the  one  precious  thing  I  needed,"  whispered  Jo. 

"  I  had  no  courage  to  think  that  at  first,  heavenly 
kind  as  was  your  welcome  to  me.  But  soon  I  began 
to  hope,  and  then  I  said,  '  I  will  haf  her  if  I  die  for 
it,'  and  so  I  will !  "  cried  Mr.  Bhaer,  with  a  defiant 
nod,  as  if  the  walls  of  mist  closing  round  them  were 
barriers  which  he  was  to  surmount  or  valiantly  knock 
down. 

Jo  thought  that  was  splendid,  and  resolved  to  be 
worthy  of  her  knight,  though  he  did  not  come  pranc- 
ing on  a  charger  in  gorgeous  array. 

"What  made  you  stay  away  so  long?"  she  asked 
presently,  finding  it  so  pleasant  to  ask  confidential 
questions,  and  get  delightful  answers,  that  she  could 
not  keep  silent. 

"  It  was  not  easy,  but  I  could  not  find  the  heart  to 
take  you  from  that  so  happy  home  until  I  could  haf  a 


UNDER  THE  UMBRELLA. 


343 


prospect  of  one  to  give  you,  after  much  time  perhaps, 
and  hard  work.  How  could  I  ask  you  to  gif  up  so 
much  for  a  poor  old  fellow,  who  has  no  fortune  but  a 
little  learning?" 

"I'm  glad  you  are  poor;  I  couldn't  bear  a  rich 
husband  !  "  said  Jo,  decidedly,  adding,  in  a  softer  tone, 
<;  Don't  fear  poverty ;  I've  known  it  long  enough  to 
lose  my  dread,  and  be  happy  working  for  those  I  love  ; 
and  don't  call  yourself  old,  —  I  never  think  of  it,  — 
I  couldn't  help  loving  you  if  you  were  seventy ! " 

The  Professor  found  that  so  touching  that  he  would 
have  been  glad  of  his  handkerchief  if  he  could  have 
got  at  it ;  as  he  couldn't,  Jo  wiped  his  eyes  for  him, 
and  said,  laughing,  as  she  took  away  a  bundle  or 
two,  —  «    - 

"  I  may  be  strong-minded,  but  no  one  can  say  I'm 
out  of  my  sphere  now,  — for  woman's  special  mission 
is  supposed  to  be  drying  tears  and  bearing  burdens. 
I'm  to  carry  my  share,  Friedrich,  and  help  to  earn  the 
home.  Make  up  your  mind  to  that,  or  I'll  never  go," 
she  added,  resolutely,  as  he  tried  to  reclaim  his  load. 

"  We  shall  see.  Haf  you  patience  to  wait  a  long 
time,  Jo?  I  must  go  away  and  do  my  work  alone  ;  I 
must  help  my  boys  first,  because  even  for  you  I  may 
not  break  my  word  to  Minna.  Can  you  forgif  that, 
and  be  happy,  while  we  hope  and  wait?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  can  ;  for  we  love  one  another,  and 
that  makes  all  the  rest  easy  to  bear.  I  have  my  duty 
also,  and  my  work.  I  couldn't  enjoy  myself  if  I  neg- 
lected them  even  for  you,  —  so  there's  no  need  of  hurry 
or  impatience.  You  can  do  your  part  out  West,  —  I 
can  do  mine  here,  —  and  both  be  happy,  hoping  for 
the  best,  and  leaving  the  future  to  be  as  God  wills." 


344 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


"  Ah !  thou  gifest  me  such  hope  and  courage,  and  I 
haf  nothing  to  gif  back  but  a  full  heart  and  these 
empty  hands,"  cried  the  Professor,  quite  overcome. 

Jo  never,  never  would  learn  to  be  proper ;  for  when 
he  said  that  as  they  stood  upon  the  steps,  she  just  put 
both  hands  into  his,  whispering  tenderly,  k'  Not  empty 
now " ;  and,  stooping  down,  kissed  her  Friedrich 
under  the  umbrella.  It  was  dreadful,  but  she  would 
have  done  it  if  the  flock  of  draggle-tailed  sparrows  on 
the  hedge  had  been  human  beings,  —  for  she  was  very 
far  gone  indeed,  and  quite  regardless  of  everything 
but  her  own  happiness.  Though  it  came  in  such  a 
very  simple  guise,  that  was  the  crowning  moment  of 
both  their  lives,  when,  turning  from  the  night,  and 
storm,  and  loneliness^  to  the  household  light,  and 
warmth,  and  peace,  waiting  to  receive  them  with  a 
glad  "  Welcome  home,"  Jo  led  her  lover  in,  and  shut 
the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


HARVEST    TIME. 


FOR  a  year  Jo  and  her  Professor  worked  and 
waited,  hoped  and  loved ;  met  occasionally,  and 
wrote  such  voluminous  letters,  that  the  rise  in 
the  price  of  paper  was  accounted  for,  Laurie  said. 
The  second  year  began  rather  soberly,  for  their  pros- 
pect did  not  brighten,  and  Aunt  March  died  suddenly. 
But  when  their  first  sorrow  was  over,  —  for  they  loved 
the  old  lady  in  spite  of  her  sharp  tongue,  —  they  found 
they  had  cause  for  rejoicing,  for  she  had  left  Plum- 
field  to  Jo,  which  made  all  sorts  of  joyful  things 
possible. 

"  It's  a  fine  old  place,  and  will  bring  a  handsome 
sum,  for  of  course  you  intend  to  sell  it?  "  said  Laurie, 
as  they  were  all  talking  the  matter  over,  some  weeks 
later. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  was  Jo's  decided  answer,  as  she 
petted  the  fat  poodle,  whom  she  had  adopted,  out  of 
respect  to  his  former  mistress. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  live  there?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  But,  my  dear  girl,  it's  an  immense  house,  and 
will  take  a  power  of  money  to  keep  it  in  order.  The 
garden  and  orchard  alone  need  two  or  three  men,  and 
farming  isn't  in  Bhaer's  line,  I  take  it." 

"  He'll  try  his  hand  at  it  there,  if  I  propose  it." 

"  And  you  expect  to  live  on  the  produce  of  the 
(345) 


346  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

place  ?  Well,  that  sounds  Paradisiacal,  but  you'll  find 
it  desperate  hard  work." 

"  The  crop  we  are  going  to  raise  is  a  profitable 
one  ;  "  and  Jo  laughed. 

"  Of  what  is  this  fine  crop  to  consist,  ma'am?" 

"  Boys  !  I  want  to  open  a  school  for  little  lads  — 
a  good,  happy,  homelike  school,  with  me  to  take  care 
of  them,  and  Fritz  to  teach  them." 

"  There's  a  truly  Joian  plan  for  you !  Isn't  that 
just  like  her  ?  "  cried  Laurie,  appealing  to  the  family, 
who  looked  as  much  surprised  as  he. 

"  I  like  it,"  said  Mrs.  March,  decidedly. 

44  So  do  I,"  added  her  husband,  who  welcomed  the 
thought  of  a  chance  for  trying  the  Socratic  method  of 
education  on  modern  youth. 

"  It  will  be  an  immense  care  for  Jo,"  said  Meg, 
stroking  the  head  of  her  one  all-absorbing  son. 

"Jo  can  do  it,  and  be  happy  in  it.  It's  a  splendid 
idea  —  tell  us  all  about  it,"  cried  Mr.  Laurence,  who 
had  been  longing  to  lend  the  lovers  a  hand,  but  knew 
that  they  would  refuse  his  help. 

"  I  knew  you'd  stand  by  me,  sir.  Amy  does  too  — 
I  see  it  in  her  eyes,  though  she  prudently  waits  to 
turn  it  over  in  her  mind  before  she  speaks.  Now,  my 
dear  people,"  continued  Jo,  earnestly,  "just  under- 
stand that  this  isn't  a  new  idea  of  mine,  but  a  long- 
cherished  plan.  Before  my  Fritz  came,  I  used  to 
think  how,  when  I'd  made  my  fortune,  and  no  one 
needed  me  at  home,  I'd  hire  a  big  house,  and  pick  up 
some  poor,  forlorn  little  lads,  who  hadn't  any  mothers, 
and  take  care  of  them,  and  make  life  jolly  for  them 
before  it  was  too  late.  I  see  so  many  going  to  ruin 
for  want  of  help,  at  the  right  minute ;  I  love  so  to  do 


HARVEST  TIME.  347 

anything  for  them ;  I  seem  to  feel  their  wants,  and 
sympathize  with  their  troubles;  and,  oh,  I  should 
so  like  to  be  a  mother  to  them !  " 

Mrs.  March  held  out  her  hand  to  Jo,  who  took  it 
smiling,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  went  on  in  the 
old  enthusiastic  way,  which  they  had  not  seen  for  a 
long  while. 

"  I  told  my  plan  to  Fritz  once,  and  he  said  it  was 
just  what  he  would  like,  and  agreed  to  try  it  when 
we  got  rich.  Bless  his  dear  heart,  he's  been  doing  it 
all  his  life,  —  helping  poor  boys,  I  mean,  —  not  get- 
ting rich  ;  that  he'll  never  be  —  money  don't  stay  in 
his  pocket  long  enough  to  lay  up  any.  But  now, 
thanks  to  my  good  old  aunt,  who  loved  me  better  than 
I  ever  deserved,  I'm  rich  —  at  least  I  feel  so,  and  we 
can  live  at  Plumfield,  perfectly  well,  if  we  have  a 
flourishing  school.  It's  just  the  place  for  boys  —  the 
house  is  big,  and  the  furniture  strong  and  plain. 
There's  plenty  of  room  for  dozens  inside,  and  splen- 
did grounds  outside.  They  could  help  in  the  garden 
and  orchard — such  work  is  healthy,  isn't  it,  sir? 
Then  Fritz  can  train  and  teach  in  his  own  way,  and 
father  will  help  him.  I  can  feed,  and  nurse,  and  pet, 
and  scold  them  ;  and  mother  will  be  my  stand-by. 
I've  always  longed  for  lots  of  boys,  and  never  had 
enough  ;  now  I  can  fill  the  house  full,  and  revel  in 
the  little  dears  to  my  heart's  content.  Think  what 
luxury  ;  Plumfield  my  own,  and  a  wilderness  of  boys 
to  enjoy  it  with  me  !  " 

As  Jo  waved  her  hands,  and  gave  a  sigh  of  rapture, 
the  family  went  off  into  a  gale  of  merriment,  and  Mr. 
Laurence  laughed  till  they  thought  he'd  have  an 
apoplectic  fit. 


348  LITTLE   WOMEN. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  funny,"  she  said,  gravely, 
when  she  could  be  heard.  "  Nothing  could  be  more 
natural  or  proper  than  for  my  Professor  to  open 
a  school,  and  for  me  to  prefer  to  reside  on  my  own 
estate." 

"  She  is  putting  on  airs  already,"  said  Laurie,  who 
regarded  the  idea  in  the  light  of  a  capital  joke.  "  But 
may  I  inquire  how  you  intend  to  support  the  estab- 
lishment? If  all  the  pupils  are  little  ragamuffins,  I'm 
afraid  your  crop  won't  be  profitable,  in  a  worldly 
sense,  Mrs.  Bhaer." 

"  Now  don't  be  a  wet-blanket,  Teddy.  Of  course, 
I  shall  have  rich  pupils,  also,  —  perhaps  begin  with 
such  altogether  ;  then,  when  I've  got  a  start,  I  can 
take  a  ragamuffin  or  two,  just  for  a  relish.  Rich 
people's  children  often  need  care  and  comfort,  as  well 
as  poor.  I've  seen  unfortunate  little  creatures  left  to 
servants,  or  backward  ones  pushed  forward,  when  it's 
real  cruelty.  Some  are  naughty  through  mismanage- 
ment or  neglect,  and  some  lose  their  mothers.  Be- 
sides, the  best  have  to  get  through  the  hobbledehoy 
age,  and  that's  the  very  time  they  need  most  patience 
and  kindness.  People  laugh  at  them,  and  hustle 
them  about,  try  to  keep  them  out  of  sight,  and  expect 
them  to  turn,  all  at  once,  from  pretty  children  into 
fine  young  men.  They  don't  complain  much, — 
plucky  little  souls, — but  they  feel  it.  I've  been  through 
something  of  it,  and  I  know  all  about  it,  I've  a 
special  interest  in  such  young  bears,  and  like  to  show 
them  that  I  see  the  warm,  honest,  well-meaning 
boys'  hearts,  in  spite  of  the  clumsy  arms  and  legs, 
and  the  topsy-turvy  heads.     I've  had  experience,  too, 


HARVEST  TIME. 


349 


for  haven't  I  brought  up  one  boy  to  be  a  pride  and 
honor  to  his  family  ?  " 

"  I'll  testify  that  you  tried  to  do  it,"  said  Laurie, 
with  a  grateful  look. 

a  And  I've  succeeded  beyond  my  hopes ;  for  here 
you  are,  a  steady,  sensible,  business  man,  doing  lots 
of  good  with  your  money,  and  laying  up  the  blessings 
of  the  poor,  instead  of  dollars.  But  you  aren't 
merely  a  business  man,  —  you  love  good  and  beautiful 
things,  enjoy  them  yourself,  and  let  others  go  halves, 
as  you  always  did  in  the  old  times.  I  am  proud  of 
you,  Teddy,  for  you  get  better  every  year,  and  every 
one  feels  it,  though  you  won't  let  them  say  so.  Yes, 
and  when  I  have  my  flock,  I'll  just  point  to  you,  and 
say,  ;  There's  your  model,  my  lads.'  " 

Poor  Laurie  didn't  know  where  to  look,  for,  man 
though  he  was,  something  of  the  old  bashfulness 
came  over  him,  as  this  burst  of  praise  made  all  faces 
turn  approvingly  upon  him. 

"  I  say,  Jo,  that's  rather  too  much,"  he  began,  just 
in  his  old  boyish  way.  "  You  have  all  done  more  for 
me  than  I  can  ever  thank  you  for,  except  by  doing  my 
best  not  to  disappoint  you.  You  have  rather  cast  me 
off  lately,  Jo,  but  I've  had  the  best  of  help,  never- 
theless ;  so,  if  I've  got  on  at  all,  you  may  thank  these 
two  for  it,"  —  and  he  laid  one  hand  gently  on  his 
grandfather's  white  head,  the  other  on  Amy's  golden 
one,  for  the  three  were  never  far  apart. 

"I  do  think  that  families  are  the  most  beautiful 
things  in  all  the  world !  "  burst  out  Jo,  who  was  in  an 
unusually  uplifted  frame  of  mind,  just  then.  "  When 
I  have  one  of  my  own,  I  hope  it  will  be  as  happy  as 
the  three  I  know  and  love  the  best.     If  John  and  my 


35° 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


Fritz  were  only  here,  it  would  be  quite  a  little  heaven 
on  earth,"  she  added  more  quietly.  And  that  night, 
when  she  went  to  her  room,  after  a  blissful  evening 
of  family  counsels,  hopes  and  plans,  her  heart  was  so 
full  of  happiness,  that  she  could  only  calm  it  by  kneel- 
ing beside  the  empty  bed  always  near  her  own,  and 
thinking  tender  thoughts  of  Beth. 

It  was  a  very  astonishing  year,  altogether,  for 
things  seemed  to  happen  in  an  unusually  rapid  and 
delightful  manner.  Almost  before  she  knew  where 
she  was,  Jo  found  herself  married  and  settled  at 
Plumfield.  Then  a  family  of  six  or  seven  boys  sprung 
up  like  mushrooms,  and  flourished  surprisingly.  Poor 
boys,  as  well  as  rich,  —  for  Mr.  Laurence  was  contin- 
ually finding  some  touching  case  of  destitution,  and 
begging  the  Bhaers  to  take  pity  on  the  child,  and  he 
would  gladly  pay  a  trifle  for  its  support.  In  this 
way  the  sly  old  gentleman  got  round  proud  Jo,  and 
furnished  her  with  the  style  of  boy  in  which  she  most 
delighted. 

Of  course  it  was  up-hill  work  at  first,  and  Jo  made 
queer  mistakes  ;  but  the  wise  Professor  steered  her  safely 
into  calmer  waters,  and  the  most  rampant  ragamuffin 
was  conquered  in  the  end.  How  Jo  did  enjoy  her 
"  wilderness  of  boys,"  and  how  poor,  dear  Aunt  March 
would  have  lamented  had  she  been  there*  to  see  the 
sacred  precincts  of  prim,  well-ordered  Plumfield  over- 
run with  Toms,  Dicks,  and  Harrys.  There  was  a  sort 
of  poetic  justice  about  it  after  all, — for  the  old  lady 
had  been  the  terror  of  all  the  boys  for  miles  round  ; 
and  now  the  exiles  feasted  freely  on  forbidden  plums, 
kicked  up  the  gravel  with  profane  boots  unreproved, 
and  played  cricket  in  the  big  field  where  the  irritable 


HARVEST  TIME. 


351 


"  cow  with  a  crumpled  horn"  used  to  invite  rash 
youths  to  come  and  be  tossed.  It  became  a  sort  of 
boys'  paradise,  and  Laurie  suggested  that  it  should  be 
called  the  "  Bhaer-garten,"  as  a  compliment  to  its 
master,  and  appropriate  to  its  inhabitants. 

It  never  was  a  fashionable  school,  and  the  Professor 
did  not  lay  up  a  fortune,  but  it  was  just  what  Jo 
intended  it  to  be,  ^  a  happy,  home-like  place  for  boys 
who  needed  teaching,  care,  and  kindness."  Every 
room  in  the  big  house  was  soon  full,  every  little  plot 
in  the  garden  soon  had  its  owner,  a  regular  menagerie 
appeared  in  barn  and  shed,  —  for  pet  animals  were 
allowed,  —  and,  three  times  a  day,  Jo  smiled  at  her 
Fritz  from  the  head  of  a  long  table  lined  on  either 
side  with  rows  of  happy  young  faces,  which  all  turned 
to  her  with  affectionate  eyes,  confiding  words,  and 
grateful  hearts  full  of  love  for  "  Mother  Bhaer."  She 
had  boys  enough  now,  and  did  not  tire  of  them,  though 
they  were  not  angels  by  any  means,  and  some  of  them 
caused  both  Professor  and  Professorin  much  trouble 
and  anxiety.  But  her  faith  in  the  good  spot  which 
exists  in  the  heart  of  the  naughtiest,  sauciest,  most 
tantalizing  little  ragamuffin  gave  her  patience,  skill, 
and,  in  time,  success, — for  no  mortal  boy  could  hold 
out  long  with  Father  Bhaer  shining  on  him  as  benev- 
olently as  the  sun,  and  Mother  Bhaer  forgiving  him 
seventy  times  seven.  Very  precious  to  Jo  was  the 
friendship  of  the  lads,  their  penitent  sniffs  and  whispers 
after  wrong-doing,  their  droll  or  touching  little  con- 
fidences, their  pleasant  enthusiasms,  hopes,  and  plans  ; 
even  their  misfortunes,  —  for  they  only  endeared  them 
to  her  all  the  more.  There  were  slow  boys  and 
bashful  boys,  feeble  boys  and   riotous  boys,  boys  that 


352 


LITTLE  WOMEN. 


lisped  and  boys  that  stuttered,  one  or  two  lame  ones, 
and  a  merry  little  quadroon,  who  could  not  be  taken 
in  elsewhere,  but  who  was  welcome  to  the  "  Bhaer- 
garten,"  though  some  people  predicted  that  his  ad- 
mission would  ruin  the  school. 

Yes,  Jo  was  a  very  happy  woman  there,  in  spite  of 
hard  work,  much  anxiety,  and  a  perpetual  racket.  She 
enjoyed  it  heartily,  and  found  the  applause  of  her  boys 
more  satisfying  than  any  praise  of  the  world, — for 
now  she  told  no  stories  except  to  her  flock  of  enthu- 
siastic believers  and  admirers.  As  the  years  went  on, 
two  little  lads  of  her  own  came  to  increase  her  hap- 
piness. Rob,  named  for  grandpa,  and  Teddy,  —  a 
happy-go-lucky  baby,  who  seemed  to  have  inherited 
his  papa's  sunshiny  temper  as  well  as  his  mother's 
lively  spirit.  How  they  ever  grew  up  alive  in  that 
whirlpool  of  boys,  was  a  mystery  to  their  grandma 
and  aunts ;  but  they  flourished  like  dandelions  in 
spring,  and  their  rough  nurses  loved  and  served  them 
well. 

There  were  a  great  many  holidays  at  Plumfield, 
and  one  of  the  most  delightful  was  the  yearly  apple- 
picking,  —  for  then  the  Marches,  Laurences,  Brookeses, 
and  Bhaers  turned  out  in  full  force,  and  made  a  day 
of  it.  Five  years  after  Jo's  wedding  one  of  these, 
fruitful  festivals  occurred.  A  mellow  October  day, 
when  the  air  was  full  of  an  exhilarating  freshness 
which  made  the  spirits  rise,  and  the  blood  dance 
healthily  in  the  veins.  The  old  orchard  wore  its 
holiday  attire  ;  golden-rod  and  asters  fringed  the  mossy 
walls  ;  grasshoppers  skipped  briskly  in  the  sere  grass, 
and  crickets  chirped  like  fairy  pipers  at  a  feast. 
Squirrels    were    busy    with    their  small    harvesting, 


HARVEST  TIME. 


353 


birds  twittered  their  adieux  from  the  alders  in  the 
lane,  and  every  tree  stood  ready  to  send  down  its 
shower  of  red  or  yellow  apples  at  the  first  shake. 
Everybody  was  there,  —  everybody  laughed  and  sang, 
climbed  up  and  tumbled  down  ;  everybody  declared 
that  there  never  had  been  such  a  perfect  day  or  such  a 
jolly  set  to  enjoy  it,  —  and  every  one  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  simple  pleasures  of  the  hour  as  freely  as  if 
there  were  no  such  things  as  care  or  sorrow  in  the 
world. 

Mr.  March  strolled  placidly  about,  quoting  Tusser, 
Cowley,  and  Columella  to  Mr.  Laurence,  while  en- 
joying— 

"  The  gentle  apple's  winey  juice." 

The  Professor  charged  up  and  down  the  green  aisles 
like  a  stout  Teutonic  knight,  with  a  pole  for  a  lance, 
leading  on  the  bo}Ts,  who  made  a  hook  and  ladder 
company  of  themselves,  and  performed  wonders  in 
the  way  of  ground  and  lofty  tumbling.  Laurie  devoted 
himself  to  the  little  ones,  rode  his  small  daughter  in  a 
bushel  basket,  took  Daisy  up  among  the  birds'  nests, 
and  kept  adventurous  Rob  from  breaking  his  neck. 
Mrs.  March  and  Meg  sat  among  the  apple  piles  like 
a  pair  of  Pomonas,  sorting  the  contributions  that  kept 
pouring  in  ;  while  Amy,  with  a  beautiful  motherly 
expression  in  her  face,  sketched  the  various  groups, 
and  watched  over  one  pale  lad  who  sat  adoring  her 
with  his  little  crutch  beside  him. 

Jo  was  in  her  element  that  day,  and  rushed  about 

with  her  gown  pinned   up,  her   hat   anywhere  but  on 

her  head,  and  her  baby  tucked  under  her  arm,  ready 

for  any  lively  adventure  which  might  turn  up.     Little 

23 


354 


LITTLE   WOMEN. 


Teddy  bore  a  charmed  life,  for  nothing  ever  happened 
to  him,  and  Jo  never  felt  any  anxiety  when  he  was 
whisked  up  into  a  tree  by  one  lad.  galloped  off  on  the 
back  of  another,  or  supplied  with  sour  russets  by  his 
indulgent  papa,  who  labored  under  the  Germanic 
delusion  that  babies  could  digest  anything,  from 
pickled  cabbage  to  buttons,  nails,  and  their  own  small 
shoes.  She  knew  that  little  Ted  would  turn  up  again 
in  time,  safe  and  rosy,  dirty  and  serene,  and  she 
always  received  him  back  with  a  hearty  welcome,  — 
for  Jo  loved  her  babies  tenderly. 

At  four  o'clock  a  lull  took  place,  and  baskets  re- 
mained empty,  while  the  apple-pickers  rested,  and 
compared  rents  and  bruises.  Then  Jo  and  Meg,  with 
a  detachment  of  the  bigger  boys,  set  forth  the  supper 
on  the  grass,  —  for  an  out-of-door  tea  was  always  the 
crowning  joy  of  the  day.  The  land  literally  flowed 
with  milk  and  honey  on  such  occasions,  —  for  the  lads 
were  not  required  to  sit  at  table,  but  allowed  to  par- 
take of  refreshment  as  they  liked,  —  freedom  being  the 
sauce  best  beloved  by  the  boyish  soul.  They  availed 
themselves  of  the  rare  privilege  to  the  fullest  extent, 
for  some  tried  the  pleasing  experiment  of  drinking 
milk  while  standing  on  their  heads,  others  lent  a  charm 
to  leap-frog  by  eating  pie  in  the  pauses  of  the  game, 
cookies  were  sown  broadcast  over  the  field,  and  apple 
turnovers  roosted  in  the  trees  like  a  new  style  Of  bird. 
The  little  girls  had  a  private  tea-party,  and  Ted  roved 
among  the  edibles  at  his  own  sweet  will. 

When  no  one  could  eat  any  more,  the  Professor 
proposed  the  first  regular  toast,  which  was  always 
drunk  at  such  times,  —  "  Aunt  March,  God  bless 
her  !  "     A  toast  heartily  given  by  the  good   man,  who 


HARVEST  TIME.    •  355 

never  forgot  how  much  he  owed  her,  arid  quietly 
drunk  by  the  boys,  who  had  been  taught  to  keep  her 
memory  green. 

"  Now,  grandma's  sixtieth  birthday  !  Long  life  to 
her,  with  three  times  three  ! " 

That  was  given  with  a  will,  as  you  may  well  be- 
lieve ;  and  the  cheering  once  begun,  it  was  hard  to  stop 
it.  Everybody's  health  was  proposed,  from  Mr.  Lau- 
rence, who  was  considered  their  special  patron,  to  the 
astonished  guinea-pig,  who  had  strayed  from  its  proper 
sphere  in  search  of  its  young  master.  Demi,  as  the 
oldest  grandchild,  then  presented  the  queen  of  the  day 
with  various  gifts,  so  numerous  that  they  were  trans- 
ported to  the  festive  scene  in  a  wheelbarrow.  Funny 
presents,  some  of  them,  but  what  would  have  been 
defects  to  other  e}^es  were  ornaments  to  grandma's, — 
for  the  children's  gifts  were  all  their  own.  Every 
stitch  Daisy's  patient  little  fingers  had  put  into  the 
handkerchiefs  she  hemmed,  was  better  than  em- 
broidery to  Mrs.  March ;  Demi's  shoe-box  was  a 
miracle  of  mechanical  skill,  though  the  cover  wouldn't 
shut ;  Rob's  footstool  had  a  wiggle  in  its  uneven  legs, 
that  she  declared  was  very  soothing ;  and  no  page  of 
the  costly  book  Amy's  child  gave  her,  was  so  fair  as 
that  on  which  appeared,  in  tipsy  capitals,  the  words,  — 
"  To  dear  Grandma,  from  her  little  Beth." 

During  this  ceremony  the  boys  had  mysteriously 
disappeared  ;  and,  when  Mrs.  March  had  tried  to  thank 
her  children,  and  broken  down,  while  Teddy  wiped 
her  eyes  on  his  pinafore,  the  Professor  suddenly  began 
to  sing.  Then,  from  above  him,  voice  after  voice  took 
up  the  words,  and  from  tree  to  tree  echoed  the  music 
of  the  unseen  choir,  as  the  boys   sung,  with  all  their 


356  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

hearts,  the  little  song  Jo  had  written,  Laurie  set  to 
music,  and  the  Professor  trained  his  lads  to  give  with 
the  best  effect.  This  was  something  altogether  new, 
and  it  proved  a  grand  success,  for  Mrs.  March  couldn't 
get  over  her  surprise,  and  insisted  on  shaking  hands 
with  every  one  of  the  featherless  birds,  from  tall  Franz 
and  Emil  to  the  little  quadroon,  who  had  the  sweetest 
voice  of  all. 

After  this,  the  boys  dispersed  for  a  final  lark, 
leaving  Mrs.  March  and  her  daughters  under  the 
festival  tree. 

u  I  don't  think  I  ever  ought  to  call  myself  '  Unlucky 
Jo '  again,  when  my  greatest  wish  has  been  so  beau- 
tifully gratified,"  said  Mrs.  Bhaer,  taking  Teddy's 
little  fist  out  of  the  milk  pitcher,  in  which  he  was 
rapturously  churning. 

"  And  yet  your  life  is  very  different  from  the  one 
you  pictured  so  long  ago.  Do  you  remember  our 
castles  in  the  air?"  asked  Amy,  smiling  as  she 
watched  Laurie  and  John  playing  cricket  with  the 
boys. 

"  Dear  fellows  !  It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  them 
forget  business,  and  frolic  for  a  day,"  answered  Jo, 
who  now  spoke  in  a  maternal  way  of  all  mankind. 
"  Yes,  I  remember ;  but  the  life  I  wanted  then  seems 
selfish,  lonely  and  cold  to  me  now.  I  haven't  given 
up  the  hope  that  I  may  write  a  good  book  yet,  but  I 
can  wait,  and  I'm  sure  it  will  be  all  the  better  for 
such  experiences  and  illustrations  as  these  ;  "  and  Jo 
pointed  from  the  lively  lads  in  the  distance  to  her 
father,  leaning  on  the  Professor's  arm,  as  they  walked 
to  and  fro  in  the  sunshine,  deep  in  one  of  the  con- 


HARVEST  TIME. 


357 


versations  which  both  enjoyed  so  much,  and  then  to 
her  mother,  sitting  enthroned  among  her  daughters, 
with  their  children  in  her  lap  and  at  her  feet,  as  if 
all  found  help  and  happiness  in  the  face  which  never 
could  grow  old  to  them. 

"  My  castle  was  the  most  nearly  realized  of  all.  I 
asked  for  splendid  things,  to  be  sure,  but  in  my  heart 
I  knew  I  should  be  satisfied,  if  I  had  a  little  home, 
and  John,  and  some  dear  children  like  these.  I've  got 
them  all,  thank  God,  and  am  the  happiest  woman  in 
the  world;"  and  Meg  laid  her  hand  on  her  tall 
boy's  head,  with  a  face  full  of  tender  and  devout 
content. 

"  My  castle  is  very  different  from  what  I  planned, 
but  I  would  not  alter  it,  though,  like  Jo,  I  don't  relin- 
quish all  my  artistic  hopes,  or  confine  myself  to 
helping  others  fulfil  their  dreams  of  beauty.  I've 
begun  to  model  a  figure  of  baby,  and  Laurie  says  it 
is  the  best  thing  I've  ever  done.  I  think  so  myself, 
and  mean  to  do  it  in  marble,  so  that  whatever  hap- 
pens, I  may  at  least  keep  the  image  of  my  little 
angel." 

As  Amy  spoke,  a  great  tear  dropped  on  the  golden 
hair  of  the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms ;  for  her  one 
well-beloved  daughter  was  a  frail  little  creature,  and 
the  dread  of  losing  her  was  the  shadow  over  Amy's 
sunshine.  This  cross  was  doing  much  for  both  father 
and  mother,  for  one  love  and  sorrow  bound  them 
closely  together.  Amy's  nature  was  growing  sweeter, 
deeper  and  more  tender ;  Laurie  was  growing  more 
serious,  strong  and  firm,  and  both  were  learning  that 
beauty,  youth,  good  fortune,  even  love  itself,  cannot 


358  LITTLE  WOMEN. 

keep  care  and  pain,  loss  and  sorrow,  from  the  most 
blest;  for  — 

"  Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  must  be  dark,  and  sad,  and  dreary." 

11  She  is  growing  better,  I  am  sure  of  it,  my  dear ; 
don't  despond,  but  hope,  and  keep  happy,"  said  Mrs. 
March,  as  tender-hearted  Daisy  stooped  from  her 
knee,  to  lay  her  rosy  cheek  against  her  little  cousin's 
pale  one. 

"  I  never  ought  to,  while  I  have  you  to  cheer  me 
up,  Marmee,  and  Laurie  to  take  more  than  half  of 
every  burden,"  replied  Amy,  warmly.  "  He  never  lets 
me  see  his  anxiety,  but  is  so  sweet  and  patient  with 
me,  so  devoted  to  Beth,  and  such  a  stay  and  comfort 
to  me  always,  that  I  can't  love  him  enough.  So,  in 
spite  of  my  one  cross,  I  can  say  with  Meg,  i  Thank 
God,  I'm  a  happy  woman.' " 

"There's  no  need  for  me  to  say  it,  for  every  one 
can  see  that  I'm  far  happier  than  I  deserve,"  added 
Jo,  glancing  from  her  good  husband  to  her  chubby 
children,  tumbling  on  the  grass  beside  her.  "Fritz 
is  getting  gray  and  stout,  I'm  growing  as  thin  as  a 
shadow,  and  am  over  thirty ;  we  never  shall  be  rich, 
and  Plumfield  may  burn  up  any  night,  for  that  incor- 
rigible Tommy  Bangs  will  smoke  sweet-fern  cigars 
under  the  bed-clothes,  though  he's  set  himself  afire 
three  times  already.  But  in  spite  of  these  unromantic 
facts,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  and  never  was 
so  jolly  in  my  life.  Excuse  the  remark,  but  living 
among  boys,  I  can't  help  using  their  expressions  now 
and  then." 


HARVEST  TIME. 


359 


"  Yes,  Jo,  I  think  your  harvest  will  be  a  good  one,'* 
began  Mrs.  March,  frightening  away  a  big  black 
cricket,  that  was  staring  Teddy  out  of  countenance. 

"  Not  half  so  good  as  yours,  mother.  Here  it  is, 
and  we  never  can  thank  you  enough  for  the  patient 
sowing  and  reaping  you  have  done,"  cried  Jo,  with  the 
loving  impetuosity  which  she  never  could  outgrow. 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  more  wheat  and  fewer  tares 
every  year,"  said  Amy,  softly. 

"A  large  sheaf,  but  I  know  there's  room  in  your 
heart  for  it,  Marmee  dear,"  added  Meg's  tender  voice. 

Touched  to  the  heart,  Mrs.  March  could  only  stretch 
out  her  arms,  as  if  to  gather  children  and  grand- 
children to  herself,  and  say,  with  face  and  voice  full 
of  motherly  love,  gratitude,  and  humility, — 

"  Oh,  my  girls,  however  long  you  may  live,  I  never 
can  wish  you  a  greater  happiness  than  this !  " 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  A  Selection  for  Every 
Day  in  the  Year.  Translated  from  the  German  of  Leopold  Schefer, 
by  Charles  T.  Brooks.  In  one  square  16mo.  volume,  bevelled  cloth, 
gilt  edges.    Price,  $2.50.     A  cheaper  edition.    Price,  $1.50. 

"The  *  Layman's  Breviary*  will  adorn  drawing-room  centre-tables, 
boudoirs,  library  nooks;  it  will  be  a  favorite  travelling  companion,  and 
be  carried  on  summer  excursions  to  read  under  trees  and  on  verandas. 
For  every  day  of  the  year  there  are  thoughts,  counsels,  aspirations  —  ma- 
ny of  them  Oriental  in  tone,  or  patriarchal  in  spirit;  there  are  delineations 
of  nature,  pure  utterances  of  faith ;  each  page  contains  fresh  and  earnest 
expressions  of  a  poetic,  believing,  humane  soul — often  clad  in  exquisite 
language.  It  is  eminently  a  household  book,  and  one  to  be  taken  up  and 
enjoyed  at  intervals."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Each  poem  is  in  itself  a  sermon ;  not  of  dry,  theological  dogmas,  but 
the  love  and  care  of  the  Infinite,  the  yearning  and  outreaching  of  the  hu- 
man to  grasp  the  divine.  It  is  a  book  not  to  be  lightly  read  and  carelessly 
tossed  aside,  but  to  be  studied  daily  until  the  lessons  it  conveys  are 
learned,  and  its  comforting  words  written  on  every  heart.  Of  the  au- 
thor's religious  opinions  we  know  nothing ;  what  creed  he  subscribe*  to 
we  cannot  tell ;  but  we  do  know  that  he  is  a  true  worshipper  of  God,  and 
lover  of  his  fellow-men.  This  book  should  be  on  every  table ;  all  house- 
holds should  possess  it;  we  cannot  too  highly  recommend  it  to  the  notice 
of  all.  It  has  been  truly  said,  that  *  these  blooming  pictures  of  Nature, 
praising  the  love,  the  goodness,  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator  and  His  work, 
form  in  truth  a  poetical  book  of  devotion  for  the  layman  whom  the  dogma 
does  not  satisfy  —  a  breviary  for  man.' "  —  The  Wide  World.  t 

MY  PRISONS.  Memoirs  of  Silvio  Pellico.  With  an 
Introduction  by  Epes  Sargent,  and  embellished  with  fifty  Illustra- 
tions from  drawings  by  Billings.  One  square  12mo.  volume,  bevelled 
cloth,  gilt  edges.    Price,  $  3.50.    A  cheaper  edition.    Price,  $  2.00. 

"  Some  thirty-five  years  ago  the  publication  of"  My  Prisons,  Memoirs  of 
Silvio  Pellico,"  first  appealed  to  the  sympathies  of  the  Italian  people. 
The  history  of  a  martyr  to  freedom  is  always  entertaining,  and  the  pathos 
and  beauty  which  surround  the  narrative  in  question  have  always  kept 
alive  the  interest  of  all  intelligent  nations.  It  ranks,  therefore,  deservedly 
high  in  biographical  literature.  The  present  edition  is  a  very  superior  one, 
and  is  introduced  by  Epes  Sargent,  who  vigorously  reviews  the  despotism 
of  Austria  in  the  incarceration  of  Pellico,  and  the  changes  which  have 
since  occurred  in  European  politics."  —  Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

«*  The  story  is  simply  told,  for  adventures  like  those  of  the  author  need 
no  graces  of  style  or  highly  wrought  figures.  The  book  has  a  charm 
which  few  novels  possess ;  indeed,  one  can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  true, 
and  that  so  few  years  have  passed  since  men  of  noble  birth  and  fine  cul- 
ture were  condemned  to  suffer  for  years  in  prison  on  account  of  their  po- 
litical opinions." — Boston  Transcript. 

fcr  Mailed,  post  paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the 
Publishers.  # 

16 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


LIVES    OF    EXEMPLARY  WOMEN. 

Messrs.  Roberts'  Bros,  are  publishing  a  series  of  Lives  of  Exemplary 
Women,  uniform  in  6ize  and  price.    The  first  volume  is 

MEMOIRS  AND  CORRESPONDENCE  OF  MADAME 
RECAMIER.  Translated  from  the  French  and  edited  by  Misa 
Luystkr.  With  a  fine  portrait  of  Madame  Eecamier.  Sixth  edition. 
One  handsome  12mo  volume.    Price  $  2.00. 

"  Her  own  contributions  to  it  are  exceedingly  brief,  but  ber  individuality  permeates  th« 
whole  work  and  gives  it  unity.  She  was  undoubtedly  a  woman  of  genius ;  but  it  was  in  her 
life  alone,  in  her  noble  friendships,  in  her  unselfish  devotion  to  all  bound  to  her  bj  any  ties, 
that  gave  her  genius  expression,  and  it  is  only  fair,  therefore,  tbat  she  should  attain  immor- 
tality not  through  the  labor  of  her  own  spirit,  but  rather  through  the  praise  of  those  by 
whom  she  was  so  well  beloved."  —  Virginia  Vaughan  in  "  The  Leader." 

The  second  volume  is 
LIFE  AND  LETTERS   OF   MADAME   SWETCHINE.    By 
Count  de  Fallodx.    Translated  by  Miss  Preston.    Fourth  edition. 
In  one  volume.    12mo.    Price  $2.00. 

"  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Madame  Swetchine,  is  a  companion  volume  to  Mme.  Recamier, 
and  both  works  give  us  two  phases  of  contemporary  Paris  life,  aud  two  characters  that, 
with  some  accidental  resemblances,  present  strong  points  of  contrast 

"  The  social  influence  both  women  exercised  was  good,  but  when  we  compare  the  two, 
Madame  Recamier's  sinks  to  a  much  lower  leveL  She  (Madame  R.)  was  gentle  and  kind, 
ready  to  sacrifice  herself  to  any  extent  to  advance  the  material  influence  of  her  friends,  but 
she  was  essentially  a  worldly  woman ;  whereas  Madame  Swetchine  was  '  in  the  world  but 
not  of  it.'  She  exerted  an  immense  spiritual  as  well  as  intellectual  influence  on  all  who 
approached  her,  and  raised  her  friends  to  her  own  level.  Madame  Recamier  made  her  asso- 
ciates pleased  with  themselves,  whilst  Madame  Swetchine  taught  hers  to  forget  themselves. 

"  As  a  biography,  the  life  of  Madame  Swetchine  is  more  satisfactory  and  much  better 
written ;  that  of  Madame  Recamier  is  fuller  of  personal  anecdote  respecting  distinguished 
persons,  and  a3  a  book  of  reference  is  more  valuable.  We  frequently  meet  the  same  people 
m  each,  and  in  this  respect  they  serve  to  illustrate  and  explain  each  other."  —  Providence 
Journal. 

The  third  volume  is 
THE  FRIENDSHIPS  OF  'WOMEN.    By  Eev.  W.  E,  Alger. 

Fourth  edition.    One  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 

"  Mr.  Alger  is*among  our  most  diligent  students  and  earnest  thinkers ;  and  this  volume 
will  add  to  the  reputation  he  has  fairly  earned  as  the  occupant  of  quite  a  prominent  place  in 
American  literature.  He  deserves  all  the  popularity  he  has  won ;  for,  always  thoughtful, 
sincere,  and  excellent  of  purpose  with  his  pen,  he  allows  no  success  to  seduce  him  into  any 
content  with  what  he  has  already  accomplished.  His  '  Friendships  of  Women,'  for  many 
reasons,  will  have  a  wide  circle  of  readers,  and  cannot  fail  to  increase  our  sense  of  the 
worth  of  human  nature,  as  it  enthusiastically  delineates  some  of  its  most  elevated  manifes- 
tations. By  telling  what  woman  has  been,  he  tells  what  woman  may  be ;  intellectually  as 
well  as  morally,  in  the  beauty  of  her  mind  as  well  as  in  the  affections  of  her  heart,  and  th« 
loveliness  of  her  person."  —  Salem  Gazette. 

The  fourth  volume  is 

SAINT    BEUVE'S    PORTRAITS    OF    CELEBRATED 

WOMEN. 
MADAME  DE  SEVTQNE.  MADAME  DE  DURAS. 

MADAME  DE  LA  FAYETTE.  MADAME  DE  EBMUSAT. 

MADAME  DE  SOVZA.  MADAME  DE  KRZTDENER. 

MATiJMK  ROLAND.  MAT)AMJi  GUIZOT. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

To  match  "Madame  Recamier,"  "Madame  Swetchine,"  and  "The 
Friendships  of  Women."    In  one  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 


MS"  Mkiltd,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the 
Publishers. 

12 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


ON   THE    HEIGHTS.    A  Novel.    By  Berthold  Auer- 

bach.     16mo.     With  Pictorial  Title.     Price,  $2.00. 

"  '  On  the  Heights,'  in  its  calm  beauty,  is  like  a  hillside  meadow  on  a  bright 
May  morning,  when  every  blade  of  grass  holds  a  sparkling  world,  and  the  air  is 
stirred  by  no  sound  save  the  matin  songs  of  the  birds,  and  no  darkness  falls  upon 
the  ground  save  the  occasional  shadow  of  a  cloud,  which  creeps  slowly  away, 
giving  place  to  the  full  flood  of  sunlight. 

*  The  '  Heights  '  are  heights  of  social  position,  of  intellectual  striving,  and  of 
moral  purity  ;  and  the  problems  treated  are  the  deepest  problems  of  life."  — 
Rochester  Democrat. 

WHERE  IS  THE  CITY? 

It  is  the  experience  of  a  young  man  in  search  of  the  true  church,  with  sketches 
of  the  Baptists,  Congregationalists,  Methodists,  Episcopalians,  Quakers,  Sweden- 
borgians,  Spiritualists,  Universalists,  Unitarians,  and  how  he  found  the  City  with 
the  name  The  Lord  is  there.    1  volume,  16mo.     Price,  $  1.50. 

'^The  remarkable  thing  about  this  book  is  the  knowledge  as  well  as  the  candor 
displayed  in  describing  the  different  sects,  their  peculiar  beliefs,  the  varieties  of 
belief  existing  in  the  same  sect,  and  the  history  of  the  various  denominations  ; 
and  while  there  are  now  and  then  sharp  thrusts  at  some  of  the  denominational 
points,  a  genuinely  charitable  and  Christian  spirit  pervades  the  whole."  — 
Springfield  Republican. 

THE  PRODIGAL  SOW".  Four  Discourses,  by  Rev. 
W.  Morlet  Punshon,  with  a  Preface  by  Rev.  Gilbert 
Haven,  editor  of  "Zion's  Herald."  16mo.  Paper  covers, 
price,  25  cents  ;  cloth,  50  cents. 

A  BOOK  ABOUT  BOYS.  By  Ascott  R.  Hope,  Author 
of  "A Book  about  Dominies."     16mo.    Price,  $1.25. 

"  Often  playful,  but  always  in  earnest,  the  writer  says  a  great  deal  which  will 
be  entirely  new  to  minds  that  should  be  familiar  with  all  that  concerns  the  lives 
of  boys.  His  book,  indeed,  is  one  that  demands  the  best  attention  of  parents, 
especially,  and  ought  to  receive  it." — The  Leader. 

A  BOOK  ABOUT  DOMINIES.  By  Ascott  R.  Hope. 
One  volume,  16mo.    Price,  $1.25. 

"  Not  since  Henry  Taylor  wrote  his  essay  on  children  have  we  seen  anything 
on  the  important  subject  of  this  work  so  sensibly  conceived  or  uttered  so  grace- 
fully. It  ought  to  find  its  way  at  once  to  the  hands  of  every  pupil  teacher  in 
the  country  ;  but  the  oldest  member  of  the  profession  will  be  a  man  of  no  or- 
dinary accomplishment  and  experience  if  he  does  not  here  find  something  to 
encourage,  to  incite,  to  instruct,  and  to  console  him."  —  London  Daily  Review. 

STORIES  OF  SCHOOL  LIFE.  By  Ascott  R.  Hope. 
In  Press. 

Jgir"  Mailed,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the 
Publishers. 

11 


Jean  Ingelow's  Writings. 


QTUDIES     FOR     STORIES.      Comprising  Five    Stories, 

^  with   an   Illustration   to  each   Story.      In  one  vol.    i6mo, 

Price,  $  1.50. 

"  Simple  in  style,  warm  with  human  affection,  and  written  in  faultless  Eng- 
lish, these  five  stories  are  studies  for  the  artist,  sermons  for  the  thoughtful,  and 
a  rare  source  of  delight  for  all  who  can  find  pleasure  in  really  good  works  of 
prose  fiction.  .  .  .  They  are  prose  poems,  carefully  meditated,  and  exquisitely 
touched  in  by  a  teacher  ready  to  sympathize  with  every  joy  and  sorrow."  — 
Athen&um. 

Q TORIES   TOLD   TO   A   CHILD.      Comprising  Fourteen 

*—*   Stories,  with  an  Illustration  to  each  Story.      In  one  voL 

i6mo.     Price,  $  1.75. 

A  cheaper  edition,  with  Five  Illustrations.     Price,  $  1.25. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  charming  juvenile  books  ever  laid  on  our  table/  It 
is  beautifully  printed  and  bound,  and  profusely  illustrated.  The  stories  are 
very  interesting,  and  breathe  a  sweet,  pure,  happy  Christian  spirit.  Jean  In- 
gelow,  the  noble  English  poet,  second  only  to  Mrs.  Browning,  bends  easily  and 
gracefully  from  the  heights  of  thought  and  fine  imagination  to  commune  with 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  children  ;  to  sympathize  with  their  little  joys  and  sor- 
rows ;  to  feel  for  their  temptations.  She  is  a  safe  guide  for  the  little  pilgrims  ; 
for  her  paths,  though  'paths  of  pleasantness,'  lead  straight  upward."  —  Grace 
Greenwood  in  "  The  Little  Pilgrim." 

T3OOR  MATT;  or,  The  Clouded  Intellect.    With  an 

"*■      Illustration.     One  vol.     iSmo.     Price,  60  cents. 

"  A  lovely  story,  told  in  most  sweet  and  simple  language.  There  is  a  deep 
spiritual  significance  in  the  character  of  the  poor  half-idiot  boy,  which  should 
touch  the  hearts  of  'children  of  a  larger  growth.'"  —  Grace  Greenwood  in 
"  Tke  Little  Pilgrtnt." 


A 


SISTER'S     BYE-HOURS.      Comprising  Seven  Stories. 
In  one  vol.     i6mo.     Price,  $  1.25. 


(Jr^ir*  Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the 
Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Boston. 
3 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


Jean  Ingelow's  Writings. 


*'  Except  Mrs.  Browning,  Jean  Ingelow  is  first  among  the  women  whom  tha 
World  calls  poets."  —  The  Independent. 

"  Miss  Ingelow's  new  volume  exhibits  abundant  evidence  that  time,  study,  and 
devotion  to  her  vocation  have  both  elevated  and  mellowed  the  powers  of  the  most 
gifted  poetess  we  possess,  now  that  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  and  Adelaide 
Procter  sing  no  more  on  earth.  Lincolnshire  has  claims  to  be  considered  the 
Arcadia  of  England  at  present,  having  given  birth  both  to  Mr.  Tennyson  and  our 
present  Lady  Laureate."  —  London  Morning  Star. 

"  We  have  read  and  reread,  always  with  a  better  and  softer  heart We 

wish  everybody  loved  Jean  Ingelow's  writings,  or,  rather,  that  everybody  would 
read  them,  for  their  admiration  would  follow." — Providence  Post. 

POEMS.  Illustrated  Edition,  with  One  Hundred  Pictures  from 
Drawings  by  the  first  Artists  in  England.  In  one  quarto  vol- 
ume, bound  in  cloth,  bevelled  and  gilt,  price,  $  12.00 ;  or  in 
Morocco,  price,  $  18.00. 

"The  book  is  certainly  among  the  most  beautiful  of  the  holiday  offerings 
The  lovers  of  the  poet  will  not  tolerate  even  this  slightly  qualified  praise,  but 
pronounce  it  the  most  beautiful." 

SONGS  OP  SEVEN.  Illustrated  Edition,  small  quarto, 
bound  in  cloth,  gilt,  price  $5.00  ;  or  in  Morocco,  price  $  8.00. 

"  This  work  is  an  acknowledged  triumph  of  typographic  art,  with  its  delicate 
creamy  page  and  red-line  border." 

POEMS.     The  first  volume. 

A  STORY  OF  DOOM,  and  Other  Poems. 

Both    volumes,    16mo,    cloth,   gilt  top,  price  $3.50;  or  sep 
arately,  nrice  $  1.75  each. 

Both   volumes,   32mo,  Blue  and  Gold  Edition,  price  $  3.00 ; 
or  separately,  price  $  1.50  each. 

Cabinet  Edition,  complete  in  one  volume,  16mo,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  bevelled  boards,  price  $2.25. 


U2P"  Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on    receipt  of  price,  by  the 
Publishers. 

2 


HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  By  F.  C.  Burnand.  Price,  in  Cloth, 
$  i.oo;  in  Illuminated  Paper  Covers,  75  cents. 
From  the  London  A  thetueum. 
"  Of  the  many  '  Happy  Thoughts  '  which  have  occurred  either  to  Mr.  Bur- 
nand or  his  hero,  the  thought  of  having  such  thoughts  is  the  happiest  As  we 
read,  we  laugh  and  we  admire.  Mr.  Burnand  is  so  fertile  in  extravagant  com- 
edy, that  we  have  no  other  resource  ;  but,  at  least,  our  laughter  is  genuine. 
We  do  not  feel  ashamed  of  having  been  amused.  There  is  no  painful  feeling 
of  humiliation  afterwards,  like  the  '  next  morning  '  which  follows  a  revel.  We 
may  say  of  Air.  Burnand's  fun,  that  there  is  not  a  neadache  in  a  hogshead  of 
it.  Utterly  ludicrous  as  his  characters  are,  they  are  neither  monstrosities  nor 
abortions.  They  are  exaggerations  of  what  is  perfectly  real,  living  '  humors,' 
combined  too  copiously,  but  not  invented.  But  then  he  overlays  them  with 
such  a  vivid  wealth  of  caricature  that  we  forget  our  first  impression,  and  give 
ourselves  up  to  the  most  uncritical  enjoyment We  cannot  decide  wheth- 
er we  ought  to  quote  or  not  ;  we  find  ourselves  again  reading  and  laughing  : 
and,  after  all,  we  resolve  upon  sending  our  readers  to  the  book  itself,  that  they 
may  read  and  laugh  with  us." 

From  the  London  Spectator. 

"  'Happy  Thought ! '  (Mr.  Burnand  must  have  said  to  himself  when  he  re- 
printed these  papers_  — 'puzzle  the  critics.'  The  present  critic  confesses  him- 
self puzzled.  There  is  such  a  fund  of  humor  in  every  page  of  the  book  that 
calm  analysis  is  out  of  the  question.  Mr.  Burnand  is  not  only  comic,  but  he 
knows  it  and  he  means  it.  He  contrives  the  most  ludicrous  situations  and 
thrusts  his  man  into  them  simply  to  see  what  he  will  say.  It  is  not  enough 
that  his  man  should  drink  too  much  at  a  club  dinner,  and  take  short-hand  notes 
of  his  inarticulate  phrases,  but  he  must  go  and  have  a  serious  interview  with 
his  '  s'lic'tor,'  merely  in  order  that  his  note-book  may  record  all  the  stages  in 
the  typical  development  of  drunkenness.  This  interview  with  the  solicitor  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  characteristic  part  of  the  book.  It  is  marked  by  more  than 
Mr  Burnand's  usual  daring.  The  idea  of  a  man  writing  down  in  a  note-book, 
'  Happ  T light.  — Go  to  bed  in  my  boots,'  is  not  comic  if  you  try  to  analyze 
it.  But  then  you  don't  analyze  it  You  accept  it  without  scrutiny-  A  ou 
know  the  whole  thing  is  a  caricature,  and  so  long  as  you  laugh  heartily  you 
don't  ask  whether  this  or  that  detail  is  out  of  drawing.  If  you  did,  the  absurd- 
ity of  a  man  who  can't  speak  plainly  writing  down  his  words  exactly  as  he 
pronounces  them  would  of  course  shock  your  nice  sense  of  proportion.  Some- 
how or  other,  it  does  not  shock  ours.  We  are  in  Mr.  Burnand's  hands.  He 
may  do  what  he  likes  with  us." 

From  tJie  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  handsome  little  book,  and  as  good  as  it  is  good-looking.     We  do  not 
know  when  we  have  seen  more  fun,   or  a  truer  or  better  kind  of  fun,  than  that 
which  sparkles  from  end  to  end  of  Mr.  Burnand's  brochure." 
From  TJie  London  Review. 

"  Mr.  Burnand  is  a  skilled  inventor  of  clever  nonsense,  and  there  is  this 
peculiarity  about  his  fooling  which  distinguishes  it  from  funny  writing  in 
general,  —  he  is  never  vulgar.  A  more  idle  book  could  not,  perhaps,  be  bought, 
or  one  which  a  reader  would  sooner  buy  when  he  or  she  wanted  to  feel  idle. 
It  needs  no  more  effort  to  take  in  what  Mr.  Burnand  wishes  to  say  than  it 

does  to  smoke  a  cigar He  only  aims  to  amuse,  and  he  succeeds 

admirably." 

Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  advertised 
price. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Publishers,  Boston. 


HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 

II. 

DOCTOR  JACOB.  A  Novel.  By  Miss  M.  Betham  Ed- 
wards. Price,  in  Cloth,  $  i.oo ;  in  Illuminated  Paper  Cov- 
ers, 75  cents. 

From  The  Round  Table. 
"  This  is  a  story  which  partakes  somewhat  of  the  domestic  style  of  the 
German  novelists  without  their  extreme  tediousness.  It  represents  certain 
phases  of  life  which  afford  but  little  scope  for  novelty  or  adventure,  but  which 
nevertheless  call  out  whatever  there  is  of  good  or  bad,  of  passionate  or  enthu- 
siastic, in  the  nature  of  each  individual.  ....  Doctor  Jacob  is  the  centre 
figure,  to  which  all  the  others  are  subordinate  ;  one  of  the  most  skilfully  drawn, 
original,  and  unsatisfactory  characters  we  have  ever  met  with.  A  man  of 
brilliant  attainments,  not  bad  at  heart,  but  seemingly  devoid  of  principle,  with 
a  profound  appreciation  of  all  that  is  good  in  others,  and  trusting  to  his  intel- 
lectual strength  to  keep  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  errors.  Though 
sixty  years  of  age,  his  attractions  are  so  great  that  he  wins  the  love  of  a  very 
young  girl,  whose  affection  is  displayed  with  such  artless  simplicity,  and  yet 
with  such  earnestness  that  we  can  scarcely  blame  the  doctor  for  lacking  courage 
to  resist  the  temptation  of  loving  in  return." 

Front  The  Nation. 
"  Her  hero,  Doctor  Jacob,  strikes  us  as  a  new  acquaintance  in  fiction.  He  is 
a  clergyman  of  the  English  Church,  who  comes  to  Frankfort  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  funds  to  aid  him  in  fulfilling  his  duties  as  a  self-appointed  missionary 
to  the  Jews.  He  is  sixty  years  old,  but  handsomer  than  most  handsome  men 
of  thirty.  He  has  also  a  'vast  and  well-stored  mind,'  great  knowledge  of  hu- 
man naiure,  manners  which  fascinate  everybody,  and  a  '  gift '  in  preaching 
which  charms  money  out  of  all  pockets.  The  actions  of  this  aged  Adonis  do 
not  in  all  respects  conform  to  the  received  codes  of  either  clerical  or  lay  moral- 
ity. In  the  first  place,  the  reader  is  left  until  nearly  the  close  of  the  book  in 
suspense,  which,  considering  that  it  is  intentional  on  the  author's  part,  is  not 
too  harrowing,  as  to  the  nature  of  his  relations  with  Miss  Macartney,  the  Eng- 
lish governess  in  a  school  superintended  by  the  Fraulein  Fink.  Miss  Macart- 
ney is  evidently  greatly  troubled  by  Doctor  Jacob's  advent  in  Frankfort ;  she 
has  a  horror  of  meeting  him,  and  yet  she  loves  him  tenderly." 

From  The  Co7n?nonivealth. 
"  This  is  a  novel  of  the  higher  order,  — a  German  story  told  in  that  smooth, 
graceful,  leisurely  style  that  contrasts  so  strongly  with  the  crispness  and  sparkle 
of  some  of  our  most  acceptable  American  novels, — an  admirable  style  for 
certain  purposes,  and  perfectly  adapted  to  a  minute  and  subtle  analysis  of 
character  like  this.  Dr.  Jacob,  the  hero,  is  a  nobler  sort  of  Harold  Skimpole, 
with  none  of  the  childish  inconsequence  of  that  exasperating  innocent.  This 
is  a  generous-gifted,  high-toned,  and  powerful  nature,  marred  by  one  fatal 
flaw,  —  a  tendency  to  profuseness  and  improvidence.  The  reader  feels  through- 
out all  the  charm  and  attractiveness  of  the  winsome  and  benignant  old  man 
who,  all  his  life,  had  '  plucked  down  hearts  to  pleasure  him,  as  you  would  roses 
from  a  bough.'  Yet  his  career  is  carried  out  unflinchingly  to  its  logical  se- 
quence, and  we  see  the  gray-haired  Sybarite  sitting  solitary  and  repentant 
among  the  ruins  of  a  mistaken  life,  yet  we  view  the  wreck  with  compassion, 
and  not  without  respect  for  the  inherent  nobleness  visible  through  all.  Only 
a  profound  student  of  human  nature  could  have  drawn  such  a  portrait." 

Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  advertised 
price. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


THE  HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  propose  to  issue,  under  the 
above  heading,  a  Series  of  Handy  Volumes,  which  shall  be  at 
once  various,  valuable,  and  popular,  —  their  size  a  most  conven- 
ient one,  their  typography  of  the  very  best,  and  their  price  ex- 
tremely low.  They  will  entertain  the  reader  with  poetry  as  well 
as  with  prose  ;  now  with  fiction,  then  with  fact ;  here  with  narra- 
tion, there  with  inquiry ;  in  some  cases  with  the  works  of  living 
authors,  in  others  with  the  works  of  those  long  since  dead.  It  is 
hoped  that  they  will  prove  to  be  either  amusing  or  instructive, 
sometimes  curious,  often  valuable,  always  handy.  Each  Volume 
will,  as  a  rule,  form  a  work  complete  in  itself. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 
Pall  Mall  Gazette.  —  "The  size  and  shape  of  this  volume  justifies  the 
name  given  to  the  series,  and  it  is  as  well  and  as  clearly  printed  as  many  a 
hook  of  double  the  price." 

Athen.eum.  —  "  The  size  is  handy,  the  type  neat,  the  paper  good,  and  the 
price  moderate."  . 

Illustrated  Times.  —  "  We  hail  this  new  series  of  '  Handy  Volumes  '  with 
pleasure,  and  shall  be  careful  to  add  each  work  as  it  appears  to  our  own  rivate 
library  ;  and  would  advise  all  who  value  good,  substantial,  interesting  reading 
to  go  and  do  likewise." 

London  News.  —  "  The  handy  volume,  —  the  pretty  volume,  —  the  volume 
of  good  reading,  is  a  cheap  volume." 

The  Handy  Volume  Series  will  be  neatly  bound  in  cloth, 
flexible  covers,  and  also  in  illuminated  paper  covers. 


HANDT   VOLUME   SERIES. 
i. 
HAPPY  THOUGHTS.     By   F.    C.   Burxand.     Price  in 
cloth,  $1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

2. 
DOCTOR  JACOB.    A  Novel.     By  Miss  M.  Betham  Ed- 
wards.    Price  in  cloth,  1.00;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

3- 
PLANCHETTE  ;  or,  The  Despair  of  Science.     Being  a  full 
account  of  Modern  Spiritualism.     Price  in  cloth,  61.25; 
paper  covers,  $1.00. 

Other  volumes  will  follow  the  above  at  convenient  intervals. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 
14