i; 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 llllllllili 
 
 00022092959 
 
 This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS 
 ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE 
 CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out on 
 the day indicated below: 
 
/ ^-. ■ 
 
 V 
 
 /^ T^^-p,^ ^/ 
 
 
 
 ; .^..^•/'^^ 
 
 / '-' 
 
 
 itjL 
 
f 
 
They all drew to the tire, mother in the hi^r chair, with Beth at 
 her feet; Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo 
 leaning on the back. — Page 12. 
 
LITTLE WOMEN 
 
 MEG, JO, BETH AND AMY 
 
 BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY MAY ALCOTT 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 1S69 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 LOUISA M. ALCOTT, 
 
 In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 Stebeotyped bt Innes & Regas, 
 55 Water Street, Boston. 
 
 Presswork by John Wilson and Son. 
 
.-^t^^ cS, i^ 
 
 '^^ZuCl-^^ 
 
 
 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/littlewonienormeg01alco 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Playing Pilgrims 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A Merry Christmas . . . . . . . ' ^3 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Laurence Boy 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Burdens 54 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Being Neighborly 71 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Beth finds the Palace Beautiful 88 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Amy's Valley of Humiliation 98 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Jo meets Apollyon 108 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Meg goes to Vanity Fair 124 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The P. C. and P. O. . , 147 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Experiments 158 
 
iv Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Camp Laurence ... . . . . . . 174 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Castles in the Air * 202 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Secrets ai6 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Telegram 230 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Letters 242 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Little Faithful 254 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Dark Days 265 
 
 . CHAPTER XIX. 
 Amy's Will 277 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 Confidential 2S9 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Laurie makes Mischief, and Jo makes Peace . . . 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Pleasant Meadows . . 3:6 
 
 CHAPTER XXlIl. 
 Aunt March settles the Question 326 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 " Go then, my little Book, and show to all 
 That entertain, and bid thee welcome shall. 
 What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast; 
 And wish what thou dost show them may be blest 
 To them for good, may make them choose to be 
 Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me. 
 Tell them of Mercy ; she is one 
 Who early hath her pilgrimage begun. 
 Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize 
 The world which is to come, and so be wise; 
 For little tripping maids may follow God 
 A.long the ways which saintly feet have trod." 
 
 ADAPTED FROM JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLAYING PILGRIMS 
 
 CHRISTMAS won't be Christmas without any 
 presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. 
 
 "Ifs so dreadful to be poor ! " sighed Meg, 
 looking down at her old dress. 
 
 " I don't think if s fair for some girls to have lots 
 of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added 
 little Amy, with an injured sniff. 
 
 " We've got father and mother, and each other, an- ■ 
 how," said Beth, contentedly, from her corner. 
 
 The four young faces on which the firelight shox 
 brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again 
 as Jo said sadly, — 
 
 " We haven't got father, and shall not have him for 
 a long time." She didn't say " perhaps never," but 
 each silently added . it, thinking of father far away, 
 where the fighting was. 
 
 Nobody spoke for a minute ; then Meg said in an 
 altered tone, — 
 
 " You know the reason mother proposed not having 
 any presents this Christmas, was because it's going to 
 be a hard winter for every one ; and she thinks we 
 
 7 
 
8 Little Women, 
 
 ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men 
 are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but 
 we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it 
 gladly. But I am afraid I dont ; " and Meg shook 
 her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty 
 things she wanted. 
 
 " But I don't think the little we should spend would 
 do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army 
 wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I agree 
 not to expect anything from mother or you, but I do 
 want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself; I've 
 wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a bookworm. 
 
 " I planned to spend mine in new music," said 
 Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the 
 hearth-brush and kettle-holder. 
 
 " I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils ; 
 T really need them," said Amy, decidedly. 
 
 "Mother didn't say anything about our money, and 
 she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each 
 buy what we want, and have a little fun ; I'm sure 
 we grub hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining 
 the heels of her boots in a gentlemanly manner. 
 
 "I know / do, — teaching those dreadful children 
 nearly all day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at 
 home," began Meg, in the complaining tone again. 
 
 "You don't have half such a hard time as I do," 
 said Jo. " How would you like to be shut up for' 
 hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you 
 trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're 
 ready to fly out of the window or box her ears ? " 
 
 "It's naughty to fret, — but I do think washing 
 dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in 
 
Playing Pilgrims, 9 
 
 the world. It makes me cross ; and my hands get so 
 stift', I can't practise good a bit." And Beth looked 
 at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could 
 hear that time. 
 
 " I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried 
 Amy ; " for you don't have to go to school with im- 
 pertinent girls, who plague you if you don't know 
 your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label 
 your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your 
 nose isn't nice." 
 
 " If you mean libel I'd say so, and not talk about 
 labels^ as if pa was a pickle-bottle," advised Jo, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I know what I mean, and you needn't be ' stati- 
 rical ' about it. It's proper to use good words, and im- 
 prove your vocabllary^' returned Amy, with dignity. 
 
 " Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you 
 wish we had the money papa lost when we were 
 little, Jo? Dear me, how happy and good we'd be, 
 if we had no worries," said Meg, who could remem- 
 ber better times. 
 
 " You said the other day you thought we were a 
 deal happier than the King children, for they were 
 fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their 
 money." 
 
 " So I did, Beth. Well, I guess we are ; for though 
 we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and 
 are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say." 
 
 "Jo does use such slang words," obsei"ved Amy, 
 with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on 
 the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her 
 apron pockets, and began to whistle. 
 
lo Little Women, 
 
 "Don't, Jo; if s so boyish." 
 
 " Thaf s why I do it." 
 
 " I detest rude, unlady-like girls." 
 
 " I hate affected, niminy piminy chits." 
 
 " Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the 
 peace-maker, with such a funny face that both sharp 
 voices softened to a laugh, and the "pecking" ended 
 for that time. 
 
 '^Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said 
 Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder sisterly fashion. 
 " You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and 
 behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much 
 when you were a little girl ; but now you are so tall, 
 and turn up your hair, you should remember that you 
 are a young lady." 
 
 " I ain't ! and if turning up my hair makes me one, 
 I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pull- 
 ing off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. 
 " I hate to think I've got to grow up and be Miss 
 March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a 
 China-aster. It's bad enough to be a girl, any w^ay, 
 when I like boy's games, and work, and manners. I 
 can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy, 
 and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go 
 and fight with papa, and I can only stay at home and 
 knit like a poky old woman ; " and Jo shook the blue 
 army-sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and 
 her ball bounded across the room. 
 
 " Poor Jo ; ifs too bad ! But it can't be helped, so 
 you must try to be contented with making your name 
 boyish, and playing brother to us girls," said Beth, 
 stroking the rough head at her knee with a hand that 
 
Playing Pilgrims. ii 
 
 all the dish-washing and dusting in the world could 
 not make ungentle in its touch. 
 
 " As for you, Amy," continued Meg, " you are alto- 
 gether too particular and prim. Your airs are funny 
 now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose if you 
 don't take care. I like your nice manners, and refined 
 ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant ; 
 but your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang." 
 
 " If Jo is a tom-boy, and Amy a goose, what am I, 
 please ? '* asked Beth, ready to share the lecture. 
 
 " You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg, 
 warmly ; and no one contradicted her, for the " Mouse" 
 was the pet of the family. 
 
 As young readers like to know " how people look," 
 we will take this moment to give them a little sketch 
 of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twi- 
 light, while the December snow fell quietly without, 
 and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a 
 comfortable old room, though the carpet was faded 
 and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or 
 two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, 
 chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the 
 windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home-peace 
 pervaded it. 
 
 Margaret, Uie eldest of the four, was sixteen, and 
 very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, 
 plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white 
 hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year old 
 Jo was very tall, thin and brown, and reminded one 
 of a colt ; for she never seemed to know what to do 
 with her long limbs, which were very much in her 
 way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and 
 
12 Little Women, 
 
 sharp gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, 
 and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her 
 long, thick hair was her one beauty ; but it was usu- 
 ally bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round 
 shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a fly-away look 
 to her clothes, and the uncomfortable apjoearance 
 of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a wo- 
 man, and didn't like it.- Elizabeth, — or Beth, as 
 every one called her, — was a rosy, smooth-haired, 
 bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a 
 timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which was 
 seldom disturbed. Her father called her "Little 
 Tranquillity," and the name suited her excellently ; for 
 she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only 
 venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and 
 loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most im- 
 portant person, in her own opinion at least. A regu- 
 lar snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair 
 curling on her shoulders ; pale and slender, and 
 always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of 
 her manners. What the characters of the four sisters 
 were, we will leave to be found out. 
 
 The clock struck six ; and, having swept up the 
 hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. 
 Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect 
 upon the girls, for mother was coming, and every one 
 brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, 
 and lit the lamp. Amy got out of the easy-chair with- 
 out being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as 
 she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze. 
 
 " They are quite worn out ; Marmee must have a 
 new pair." 
 
Playing Pilgrims, 1 3 
 
 " I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said 
 Beth. 
 
 " No, I shall ! " cried Amy. 
 , " I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a 
 decided — 
 
 " I'm the man of the family now papa is away, and 
 / shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take 
 special care of mother while he was gone." 
 
 " I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth ; " let's each 
 get her something for Christmas, and not get anything 
 for ourselves." 
 
 " That's like you, dear ! What will we get? " ex- 
 claimed Jo. 
 
 Eveiy one thought soberly for a minute ; then Meg 
 announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight 
 of her own pretty hands, " I shall give her a nice pair 
 of gloves." 
 
 " Army shoes, best to be had," cried Jo. 
 
 " Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said Beth. 
 
 "I'll get a little-bottle of Cologne; she likes it, and 
 it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to^uy some- 
 thing for me," added Amy. 
 
 " How will we give the things ? " asked Meg. 
 
 " Put 'em on the table, and bring her in and see her 
 open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used 
 to do on our birthdays ? " answered Jo. 
 
 " I used to be so frightened when it was my turn 
 to sit in the big chair with a crown on, and see you 
 all come marching round to give the presents, with a 
 kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was 
 dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened 
 
14 Little Woinen. 
 
 the bundles," said Beth, who was toasting her face 
 and the bread for tea, at the same time. 
 
 " Let Marmee think we are getting things for our- 
 selves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping 
 to-morrow afternoon, Meg ; there is lots to do about 
 the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up 
 and down with her hands behind her back, and her 
 nose in the air. 
 
 " I don't mean to act any more after this time ; Fm 
 getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who 
 was as much a child as ever about " dressing up " 
 frolics. 
 
 "You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail 
 round in a white gown with your hair down, and 
 wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actress 
 we've got, and there '11 be an end of everything if you 
 quit the boards," said Jo. " We ought to rehearse to- 
 night ; come here. Amy, and do the fainting scene, for 
 you are as stiff as a poker in that." 
 
 " I can't help it ; I never saw any one faint, and I 
 don't choose to make myself all black and blue, tum- 
 bling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll 
 drop ; if I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be grace- 
 ful ; I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a 
 pistol," returned Amy, who was not gifted with dra- 
 matic power, but was chosen because she was small 
 enough to be borne out shrieking by the hero of the 
 piece. 
 
 " Do it this way ; clasp your hands so, and stagger 
 across the room, crying frantically, ' Roderigo ! save 
 me ! save me ! ' " and away went Jo, with a melo- 
 dramatic scream which was truly thrilling. 
 
Playing Pilgrims. 15 
 
 Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly 
 before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by 
 machinery ; and her " Ow ! " was more suggestive of 
 pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo 
 gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, 
 while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun, 
 witli interest. 
 
 "It's no use ! do the best you can when the time 
 comes, and if the audience shout, don't blame me. 
 Come on, Meg." 
 
 Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied 
 the world in a speech of two pages without a single 
 break ; Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incanta- 
 tion over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird 
 effect ; Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, 
 and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, 
 with a wild " Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead 
 villain sat up and rubbed his elbows. 
 
 " I don't see how you can write and act such splen- 
 did things, Jo. You 're a regular Shakespeare ! " 
 exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters 
 were gifted with wonderful genius in all things. 
 
 " Not quite," replied Jo, modestly. " I do think 
 ' The Witch's Curse, an Operatic Tragedy,' is rather 
 a nice thing ; but I'd like to try Macbeth, if we only 
 had a trap-door for Banquo. I always wanted to do 
 the killing part. ' Is that a dagger that I see before 
 me .? ' " muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at 
 the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. 
 
 "No, ifs the toasting fork, with ma's shoe on it 
 instead of the bread. Beth's stage struck!" cried 
 
1 6 Little Women, 
 
 Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheeiy 
 voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to 
 welcome a stout, motherly lady, with a " can-I-help- 
 you " look about her which was truly delightful. She 
 wasn't a particularly handsome person, but mothers 
 are always lovely to their children, and the girls 
 thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet cov- 
 ered the most splendid woman in the world. 
 
 "Well, dearies, how have you got on to-day? 
 There was so much to do, getting the box^s ready to 
 go to-morrow, that I didn't come home to dinner. 
 Has any one called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? 
 Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, 
 baby." 
 
 While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March 
 got her wet things off, her hot slippers on, and sitting 
 down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to her lap, pre- 
 paring to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. 
 The girls flew about, trying to make things comfort- 
 able, each in her own way. Meg arranged the 
 tea-table ; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, 
 overturning, and clattering everything she touched ; 
 Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, 
 quiet and busy ; while Amy gave directions to every 
 one, as she sat with her hands folded. 
 
 As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, 
 with a particularly happy face, " I've got a treat for 
 you after supper." 
 
 A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of 
 sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the 
 
Playing Pilgrims, 1 7 
 
 hot biscuit she held, and Jo tossecf up her napkin, cry- 
 ing, " A letter ! a letter ! Three cheers for father ! " 
 
 " Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks 
 he shall get through the cold season better than we 
 feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christ- 
 mas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs. 
 March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure 
 there. 
 
 " Hurry up, and get done. Don't stop to quirk 
 your little finger, and prink over 3^our plate. Amy," 
 cried Jo, choking in her tea, and dropping her bread, 
 butter side down, on the carpet, in her haste to get 
 at the treat. 
 
 Beth ate no more, but crept away, t» sit in her 
 shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, 
 till the others were ready. 
 
 " I think it was so splendid in father to go as a 
 chaplain when he was too old to be drafted, and 
 not strong enough for a soldier," said Meg, warmly. 
 
 " Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan — 
 what's itsjiame? or a nurse, so I could be near him 
 and help him," exclaimed Jo, with a groan. 
 
 " It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and 
 eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a 
 tin mug," sighed Amy. 
 
 " When will he come home, Marmee.''" asked Beth, 
 with a little quiver in her voice. 
 
 "Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. 
 He will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he 
 jan, and we won't ask for him back a minute sooner 
 than he can be spared. Now come and hear the 
 letter." 
 
 2 
 
1 8 Little Wo men. 
 
 They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair 
 with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either 
 arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where 
 no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter 
 should happen to be touching. 
 
 Very few letters were written in those hard times 
 that were not touching, especially those which fathers 
 sent home. In this one little was said of the hard- 
 ships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness 
 conquered ; it was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of 
 lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military 
 news ; and only at the end did the writer's heart over- 
 flow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls 
 at home. 
 
 " Give them all my dear love and a kiss. Tell 
 them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, 
 and find my best comfort in their afiection at all times. 
 A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but 
 remind them that while we wait we may all work, so 
 that these hard days need not be wasted. I know 
 they will remember all I said to them, that they will 
 be loving children to you, will do their duty faith- 
 fully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and t:onquer 
 themselves so beautifully, that when I come back to 
 them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my 
 little women." 
 
 Everybody snified when they came to that part ; Jo 
 wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the 
 end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rum- 
 pling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's 
 shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfish pig! but I'll 
 
Playing Pilgrims. 1 9 
 
 truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in 
 me by and by." 
 
 '^ We all will ! " cried Meg. " I think too much of 
 'my looks, and hate to work, but won't any more, if I 
 can help it." 
 
 "I'll try and be what he loves to call me, ' a little 
 woman,' and not be rough and wild; but do my duty 
 here instead of wanting to be somewhere else," said 
 Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a 
 much harder task than facing a rebel or two down 
 South. 
 
 Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with 
 the blue army-sock, and began to knit with all her 
 might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay 
 nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul 
 to be all that father hoped to find her when the year 
 brought roimd the happy coming home. 
 
 Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's 
 words, by saying in her cheery voice, " Do you re- 
 member how you used to play Pilgrim's Progress 
 when you were little things } Nothing delighted you 
 more than to have me tie my piece-bags on your 
 backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks, and rolls 
 of paper, and let you travel through the house from 
 the cellar, which vvas the City of Destruction, up, up, 
 to the house-top, where you had all the lovely things 
 you could collect to make a Celestial City." 
 
 " What fun it was, especially going by the lions, 
 fighting Apollyon, and passing through the Valley 
 where the hobgoblins were," said Jo. 
 
 " I liked the place where the bundles fell off and 
 tumbled down stairs," said Meg. 
 
20 Little Women. 
 
 " My favorite part was when we came out on the 
 flat roof where our flowers and arbors, and pretty 
 things were, and all stood and sung for joy up there in 
 the sunshine," said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant 
 moment had come back to her. 
 
 " I don't remember much about it, except that I 
 was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and 
 always liked the cake and milk' we had up at the top. 
 If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to 
 play it over again," said Amy, who began to talk of 
 renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve. 
 
 " We never are too old for this, my dear, because 
 it is a play vsre are playing all the time in one way or 
 another. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, 
 and the longing for goodness and happiness is the 
 guide that leads us through many troubles and mis- 
 takes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. 
 Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not 
 in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can 
 get before father comes home." 
 
 "Really, mother.'' where are our bundles.^" asked 
 Amy, who was a very literal young lady. 
 
 " Each of you told what your burden was just now, 
 except Beth ; I rather think she hasn't got any," said 
 her mother. 
 
 " Yes, I have ; mine is dishes and dusters, and envy- 
 ing girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people." 
 
 Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody 
 wanted to laugh ; but nobody did, for it would have 
 hurt her feelings ver}^ much. 
 
 " Let us do it," said Meg, thoughtfully. " It is only 
 another name for trying to be good, and the story 
 
Playing Pilgrims, 2 1 
 
 may help us ; for though we do want to be good, it's 
 hard work, and we forget, and don't do our best." 
 
 " We were in the Slough of Despond to-night, and 
 mother came and pulled us out as Help did in the 
 book. We ought to have our roll of directions, like 
 Christian. What shall we do about that ? " asked Jo, 
 delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance 
 to the very dull task of doing her duty. 
 
 "Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, 
 and you will find your guide-book," replied Mrs. 
 March. /^ 
 
 They(talked over the new plan while old Hannah 
 cleared the table ; then out came the four little work- 
 baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets 
 for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but 
 to-night no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan 
 of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling 
 the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa and America, and 
 in that way got on capitally, especially when they 
 talked about the different countries as they stitched 
 their way through them. 
 
 At nine they stopped work, and sung, as usual, 
 before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get 
 much music out of the old piano ; but she had a way 
 of softly touching the yellow keys, and making a 
 pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they 
 sung. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her 
 mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a 
 cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own 
 sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place 
 with a crook or a quaver that spoilt the most pensive 
 
22 Little Women, 
 
 tune. They had always done this from the time they 
 could lisp 
 
 " Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar," 
 
 and it had become a household custom, for the mother 
 was a born singer. The first sound in the morning 
 was her voice, as she went about the house singing 
 like a lark ; and the last sound at night was the same 
 cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that 
 familiar lullaby. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A MERRY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 JO was the first to wake in the gray dawn of 
 Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the 
 fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much 
 disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock 
 fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. 
 Then she remembered her mother's promise, and 
 slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little 
 crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for 
 it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever 
 lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any 
 pilgrim going the long journey. She woke Meg with 
 a "Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was 
 under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, 
 with the same picture inside, and a few words written 
 by their mother, which made their one present very 
 precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy 
 woke, to rummage and find their little books also, — 
 one dove-colored, the other blue ; and all sat looking 
 at and talking about therfl, while the East grew rosy 
 with the coming day. 
 
 In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet 
 
 2^ 
 
24 Little Women, 
 
 and pious nature, which unconsciously influence's her 
 sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and 
 obeyed her because her advice w^as so gently given. 
 
 " Girls," said Meg, seriously, looking from the 
 tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped 
 ones in the room beyond, " mother wants us to read 
 and love and mind these books, and we must begin 
 at once. We used to be faithful about it ; but since 
 father went away, and all this war trouble unsettled 
 us, we have neglected many things. You can do as 
 you please ; but / shall keep my book on the table 
 here, and read a lit#fe every morning as soon as I 
 wake, for I know it will do me good, and help me 
 through the day." 
 
 Then she opened her new book and began to read. 
 Jo put her arm round her, and, leaning cheek to 
 cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom 
 seen on her restless face. 
 
 " How good Meg is ! Come, Amy, let's do as they 
 do. I'll help you with the hard words, and they'll 
 explain things if we don't understand," whispered 
 Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and 
 her sisters' example. 
 
 " I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy ; and then the 
 rooms were very still while the pages were softly 
 turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch 
 the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas 
 greeting. 
 
 "Where is mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo 
 ran down to thank her fof their gifts, half an hour 
 later. 
 
 " Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter come 
 
. A Merry Christmas, 25 
 
 a-beggin', and your ma went straight off' to see what 
 was needed. There never was such a woman for 
 givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin', " re- 
 plied Hannah, who had lived with the family since 
 Meg was born, and was considered by them all more 
 as a friend than a servant. 
 
 " She will be back soon, I guess ; so do your cakes, 
 and have everything ready," said Meg, looking over 
 the presents which were collected in a basket and kept 
 under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper 
 time. "Why, where is Amy's bottle of Cologne?" she 
 added, as the little flask did not appear. 
 
 " She took it out a minute ago, and went off* with 
 it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion," replied 
 Jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness 
 off' the new army-slippers. 
 
 "How nice my handkerchiefs look, dont they? 
 Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I 
 marked them all myself," said Beth, looking proudly 
 at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her 
 such labor. 
 
 "Bless the child, she's gone and put 'Mother' 
 on them instead of ' M. March ; ' how funny ! " cried Jo, 
 taking up one. 
 
 "Isn't it right? I thought it was better to do it 
 so, because Meg's initials are ' M. M.,' and I don't 
 want any one to use these but Marmee," said Beth, 
 looking troubled. 
 
 "It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea; quite 
 sensible, too, for no one -can ever mistake now. It 
 will please her very much, I know," said Meg, with 
 a frown for Jo, and a smile for Beth. 
 
26 Little Women, 
 
 " There's mother : hide the basket, quick ! " cried Jo, 
 as a door slammed, and steps sounded in the hall. 
 
 Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed 
 when she saw her sisters all waiting for her. 
 
 " Where have you been, and what are you hiding 
 behind you ? " asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood 
 and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early. 
 
 " Don't laugh at me, Jo, I didn't mean any one 
 should know till the time came. I only meant to change 
 the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money 
 to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any 
 more." 
 
 As she spoke. Amy showed the handsome flask which 
 replaced the cheap one ; and looked so earnest and 
 humble in her little effort to forget herself, that Meg 
 hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her " a 
 trump," while Beth ran to the window, and picked 
 her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle. 
 
 " You see I felt ashamed of my present, after 
 reading and talking about being good this morning, so 
 I ran round the corner and changed it the minute I 
 was up ; and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest 
 now." 
 
 Another bang of the street-door sent the basket 
 under the sofa, and the girls to the table eager for 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Marmee ! Lots of them ! Thank 
 you for our books ; we read some, and mean to every 
 day," they cried, in chorus. 
 
 " Merry Christmas, little daughters ! I'm glad you 
 began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I 
 want to say one word before we sit down. Not far 
 
A Merry Christmas. 27 
 
 aw ay from here lies a poor woman with a little new- 
 born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to 
 keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is 
 nothing to eat over there ; arid the oldest boy came to 
 tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, 
 will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas 
 present?" 
 
 They were all unusually hungry, having waited 
 nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke ; only 
 a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, — ■ 
 
 " I'm so glad you came before we began ! " 
 
 " May I go and help carry the things to the poor 
 little children?" asked Beth, eagerly. 
 
 "/ shall take the cream and the muflins," added 
 Amy, heroically giving up the articles she most liked. 
 
 ]\Ieg was already covering the buckwheats, and 
 piling the bread into one big plate. 
 
 " I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling 
 as if satisfied. "You shall all go and help me, and 
 when we come back we will have bread and milk for 
 breakfast, and make it up at dinner-time." 
 
 They were soon ready, and the procession set out. 
 Fortunately it was early, and they went through back 
 streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed 
 at the funny party. 
 
 A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken 
 windows, no fire, ragged bed-clothes, a sick mother, 
 wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungr}^ children 
 cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep w^arm. 
 How the big eyes stared, and the blue lips smiled, as 
 the girls went in ! 
 
28 Little Women, 
 
 "Ach, mein Gott ! it is good angels come to us!" 
 cried the poor woman, crying for joy. 
 
 " Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and 
 set them laughing. 
 
 In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits 
 had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried 
 wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes 
 with old hats, and her own shawl. Mrs. March gave 
 the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with 
 promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as 
 tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls, mean- 
 time, spread the table, set the children round the fire, 
 and fed them like so many hungry birds ; laughing, 
 talking, and trying to understand the funny broken 
 English. 
 
 "Das ist gute!" " Der angel-kinder!" cried the 
 poor things, as they ate, and warmed their purple 
 hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had never 
 been called angel children before, and thought it very 
 agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered " a 
 Sancho " ever since she was born. That was a very 
 happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it ; and 
 when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think 
 there were not in all the city four merrier people than 
 the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts, 
 and contented themselves with bread and milk on 
 Christmas morning. 
 
 " That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, 
 and I like it," said Meg, as they set out their presents, 
 while their mother was up stairs collecting clothes for 
 the pdor Hummels. 
 
 Not a very splendid show, but there was a great 
 
A Merry Christmas. 29 
 
 deal of love done up in the few little bundles ; and the 
 tall vase -of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and 
 trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite 
 an elegant air to the table. 
 
 " She's coming ! strike up, Beth, open the door, 
 Amy. Three cheers for Marmee ! " cried Jo, pranc- 
 ing about, while Meg went to conduct mother to the 
 seat of honor. - 
 
 Beth played her gayest march. Amy threw open the 
 door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. 
 Mrs. March was both surprised and touched ; and 
 smiled with her eyes full as she examined her 
 presents, and read the little notes which accom- 
 panied them. The slippers went on at once, a new 
 handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented 
 with Amy's Cologne, the rose was fastened in her 
 bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced " a per- 
 fect fit." 
 
 There was a good deal of laughing, and kissing, 
 and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which 
 makes these home-festivals so pleasant at the time, so 
 sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to 
 work. 
 
 The morning charities and ceremonies took so 
 much time, that the rest of the day was devoted to 
 preparations for the evening festivities. Being still 
 too young to go often to the theatre, and not rich 
 enough to afford any great outlay for private perform- 
 ances, the girls put their wits to work, and, necessity 
 being the mother of invention, made whatever they 
 needed. Very clever were some of their produc- 
 tions ; paste-board guitars, antique lamps made of 
 
3 o L it tie Wo m e n . 
 
 old-fashioned butter-boats, covered with silver paper, 
 gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin span- 
 gles from a pickle factory, and armor covered Vv-ith 
 the same useful diamond-shaped bits, left in sheets 
 when the lids of tin presei'\^e-pots were cut out. The 
 furniture was used to being turned topsy-tin-\y, and 
 the big chamber was the scene of many innocent 
 revels. 
 
 No gentlemen w^ere admitted ; so Jo played male 
 parts to her heart's content, and took immense satis- 
 faction in a pair of russet-leather boots given her by a 
 friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These 
 boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by 
 an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures, 
 and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the 
 company made it necessary for the two principal 
 actors to take several parts apiece ; and they certainly 
 deserved some credit for the hard work they did in 
 learning three or four different parts, w^hisking in and 
 out of various costumes, and managing the stage be- 
 sides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a 
 harmless amusement, and employed many hours 
 w4iich othenvise would have been idle, lonety, or 
 spent in less profitable society. 
 
 On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled on to th^ 
 bed, v^hich was the dress circle, and sat before the 
 blue and yellow chintz curtains, in a most flattering 
 state of expectancy. There was a good deal of 
 rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle 
 of lamp-smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, 
 who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the 
 
A Merry Christmas, 31 
 
 moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew 
 apart, and the Operatic Tragedy began. 
 
 " A gloomy wood," according to the one pla3^-bill, 
 was represented by a few shrubs in pots, a green 
 baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. This 
 cave was made with a clothes-horse for a roof, 
 bureaus for walls;- and in it was a small furnace in 
 full blast, with a black pot on it, and an old witch 
 bending over it. The stage was dark, and the glow 
 of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real 
 steam issued from the kettle when the witch took oft^ 
 the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill 
 40 subside ; then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a 
 clanking sword at his side, a slouched hat, black 
 beard, mj^sterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing 
 to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, 
 and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to 
 Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolu- 
 tion to kill the one and win the other. The gruft' 
 tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when 
 his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and 
 the audience applauded the moment he paused for 
 breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to 
 public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered 
 Hagar to come forth with a commanding " What ho ! 
 minion ! I need thee ! " 
 
 Out came Meg, with gray horse-hair hanging about 
 her face, a red and black robe, a staft^, and cabalistic 
 signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to 
 make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. 
 Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and 
 
32 ' Little Women. 
 
 proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the 
 love philter : — 
 
 " Hither, hither, from thj home. 
 Airy sprite, I bid thee come ! 
 Born of roses, fed on dew. 
 Charms and potions canst thou brew? 
 Bring me here, with elfin speed, 
 The fragrant philter which I need ; 
 Make it sweet, and swift and strong; 
 Spirit, answer now my song ! " * 
 
 A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the 
 back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy 
 white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a gar* 
 land of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it 
 sung : — 
 
 " Hither I come, 
 
 From my airy home. 
 Afar in the silver moon ; 
 
 Take the magic spell. 
 
 Oh, use it well ! 
 Or its power will vanish soon ! " 
 
 and dropping a small gilded bottle at the witch's feet, 
 the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar pro- 
 duced another apparition, — not a lovely one, for, 
 with a bang, an ugly, black imp appeared, and 
 having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo, 
 and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having 
 warbled his thanks, and put the potions in his boots, 
 Hugo departed ; and Hagar informed the audience 
 that, as he had killed a few of her friends in times 
 past, she has cursed him, and intends to thwart his 
 
A Merry Christmas, 33 
 
 plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain 
 fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while 
 discussing the merits of the play. 
 
 A good deal of hammering went on before the cur- 
 tain rose again ; but when it became evident what a 
 masterpiece of stage carpentering had been got up, 
 no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb ! 
 A tower rose to the ceiling ; half-way up appeared a 
 window with a lamp burning at it, and behind the 
 white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and 
 silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came, in 
 gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut 
 love-locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneel- 
 ing at the foot of the tower, he sung a serenade in 
 melting tones. Zara replied, and after a musical dia 
 logue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect 
 of the play. Roderigo produced a rope-ladder with 
 five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to 
 descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her 
 hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap 
 gracefully down, when, "alas, alas for Zara!" she 
 forgot her train, — it caught in the window ; the 
 tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and 
 buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins ! 
 
 A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved 
 wildly from the wreck, an^ a golden head emerged, 
 exclaiming, " I told you so ! I told you so ! " With 
 wonderful presence of mind Don Pedro, the cruel sire, 
 rushed in, dragged out his daughter with a hasty 
 aside, — 
 
 " Don't laugh, act as if it was all right ! " and 
 ordering Roderigo up, banished him from the kingdom 
 
34 Little Women. 
 
 with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by 
 the fall of the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old 
 gentleman, and refused to stir. This dauntless example 
 fired Zara ; she also defied her sire, and he ordered 
 them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A 
 stout little retainer came in with chains, and led them 
 away, looking very much frightened, and evidently for- 
 getting the speech he ought to have made. 
 
 Act third was the castle hall ; and here Hagar 
 appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish 
 Hugo. She hears him coming, and bides ; sees him 
 put the potions into two cups of wine, and bid thfe 
 timid little servant " Bear them to the captives 4Sk 
 their cells, and tell them I shall come anon." The 
 servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and 
 Hagar changes the cups for two others which are 
 harmless. Ferdinando, the " minion," carries them 
 away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the 
 poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty 
 after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after 
 a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and 
 dies ; while Hagar informs him what she has done in 
 a song of exquisite power and melody. 
 
 This was a truly thrilling scene ; though some 
 persons might have thought that the sudden tiunbling 
 down of a quantity of long hair rather marred the 
 effect of the villain's death. He was called before the 
 curtain, and with great propriety appeared leading 
 Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonder- 
 ful than all the rest of the performance put together. 
 
 Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on 
 the point of stabbing himself, because he has been told 
 
A Merry Christmas, 35 
 
 that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at 
 his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, in- 
 forming him that Zara is true, but in danger, and he can 
 save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks 
 the doeir, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his 
 chains, and rushes away to find and rescue his lady- 
 love. 
 
 Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between 
 Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a 
 convent, but she won't hear of it ; and, after a touching 
 am)eal, is about to faint, when Roderigo dashes in and 
 
 «ands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is 
 rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously, 
 but cannot agree, and Roderigo is about to bear away 
 the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with 
 a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously 
 disappeared. The latter informs the party that she 
 bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair, and an 
 awful doom to Don Pedro if he doesn't make them 
 happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of 
 tin money shower down upon the stage, till it is 
 quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens 
 the "stern sire;" he consents without a murmur, all 
 join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the 
 lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing, in 
 attitudes of the most romantic grace. 
 
 Tumultuous applause followed, but received an 
 unexpected check; for the cot-bed on which the 
 " dress circle " was built, suddenly shut up, and extin- 
 guished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don 
 Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out un- 
 hurt, though many were speechless with laughter. The 
 
36 Little Wofitet?. 
 
 excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah ap- 
 peared, with " Mrs. March's compliments, and would 
 the ladies walk down to supper." 
 
 This was a surprise, even to the actors ; and when 
 they saw the table they looked at one another^ rap- 
 turous amazement. It was like " Marmee " to get up 
 a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was 
 unheard of since the departed days of plenty. There 
 was ice cream, actually two dishes of it, — pink and 
 white, — and cake, and fruit, and distracting French 
 bonbons, and in the middle of the table four great bo%- 
 quets of hot-house flowers ! ^|P 
 
 It quite took their breath away ; and they stared first 
 at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if 
 she enjoyed it immensely. 
 " Is it fairies? " asked Amy. 
 " It's Santa Claus," said Beth. 
 
 " Mother did it ; " and Meg smiled her sweetest, 111 
 spite of her gi'ay beard and white eyebrows. 
 
 " Aunt March had a good fit, and sent the supper," 
 cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration. 
 
 " All wrong ; old Mr. Laurence sent it," replied 
 Mrs. March. 
 
 " The Laurence boy's grandfather ! What in the 
 world put such a thing into his head ? We don't know 
 him," exclaimed Meg. 
 
 " Hannah told one of his servants about your break- 
 fast party ; he is an odd old gentleman, but that 
 pleased him. He knew my father, years ago, and he 
 sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped 
 I would allow him to express his friendly feeling 
 toward my children by sending them a few trifles in 
 
A Merry Christmas, 2>*1 
 
 honor of the day. I could not refuse, and so you have 
 a little feast at night to make up for the bread and 
 milk breakfast." 
 
 " That boy put it into his head, I know he did ! 
 He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get ac- 
 quainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us ; but 
 he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me 
 speak to him when we pass," said Jo, as the plates 
 went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, 
 with ohs ! and ahs ! of satisfaction. 
 
 "You mean the people who live in the big house 
 ftext door, don't you?" asked one of the girls. "My 
 mother knows old Mr. Laurence, but says he's very 
 proud, and don't like to mix with his neighbors. He 
 keeps his grandson shut up when he isn't riding or 
 Vk^alking with his tutor, and makes him study dreadful 
 hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn't 
 come. Mother says he's very nice, though he never 
 speaks to us girls." 
 
 " Our cat ran away once, and he brought her. back, 
 and we talked over the fence, and were getting on 
 capitally, all about cricket, and so on, when he saw 
 Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him 
 some day, for he needs fun, I'm sure he does," said 
 Jo, decidedly. 
 
 " I like his manners, and he looks like a little gen- 
 tleman, so I've no objection to your knowing him if a 
 proper opportunity comes. He brought the flowers 
 himself, and I should have asked him in if I had been 
 sure what was going on up stairs. He looked so 
 wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic, and evi- 
 dently having none of his own.'* 
 
38 Little Women, 
 
 "It's a mercy you didn't, mother," laughed Jo, 
 looking at her boots. " But we'll have another play 
 some time, that he ca7i see. Maybe he'll help act ; 
 wouldn't that be jolly ? " 
 
 " I never had a bouquet before ; how pretty it is," 
 and Meg examined her flowers with great interest. 
 
 " They are lovely, but Beth's roses are sweeter to 
 me," said Mrs. March, sniffing at the half dead posy 
 in her belt. 
 
 Beth nestled up to her, and whispered, softly, " I 
 wish I could send my bunch to father. I'm afraid he 
 isn't having such a merry Christmas as we are." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LAURENCE BOY. 
 
 J'O ! Jo! where are you?" cried Meg, at the foot 
 of the garret stairs. 
 
 " Here," answered a husky voice from above ; 
 and running up, Meg found her sister eating apples 
 and crying over the " Heir of Redcliffe," wrapped up 
 in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny 
 window. This was Jo's favorite refuge ; and here she 
 loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice 
 book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat 
 who lived near by, and didn't mind her a particle. 
 As Meg appeared, Scrabble whisked into his hole. 
 Jo shook the tears off her cheeks, and waited to hear 
 the news. 
 
 " Such fun ! only see ! a regular note of invitation 
 from Mrs. Gardiner for to-morrow night ! " cried 
 Meg, waving the precious paper, and then proceeding 
 to read it, with girlish delight. 
 
 " ' Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss 
 March and Miss Josephine at a little dance on New- 
 Year' s-Eve.' Marmee is willing we should go ; now 
 what shall we wear t " 
 
 39 
 
40 Little Women. 
 
 "Whafs the use of asking that, when you know 
 we shall wear our poplins, because we haven't got 
 anything else," answered Jo, with her mouth full. 
 
 " If I only had a silk ! " sighed Meg ; " mother says 
 I may when I'm eighteen, perhaps ; but two years is 
 an everlasting time to wait." 
 
 "I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice 
 enough for us. Yours is as good as new, but I forgot 
 the burn and the tear in mine ; whatever shall I do ? 
 the burn shows horridly, and I can't take any out." 
 
 " You must sit still all you can, and keep your back 
 out of sight ; the front is all right. I shall have a new 
 ribbon for my hair, and Marmee will lend me her 
 little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and 
 my gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd 
 like." 
 
 "Mine are spoilt with lemonade, and I can't get 
 any new ones, so I shall have to go without," said Jo, 
 who never troubled herself much about dress. 
 
 " You must have gloves, or I won't go," cried Meg, 
 decidedly. " Gloves are more important than any- 
 thing else ; you can't dance without them, and if you 
 don't I should be so mortified." 
 
 " Then I'll stay still ; I don't care much for com- 
 pany dancing ; if s no fun to go sailing round, I like to 
 fly about and cut capers." 
 
 " You can't ask mother for new ones, they are so 
 expensive, and you are so careless. She said, when 
 you spoilt the others, that she shouldn't get you any 
 more this winter. Can't you fix them any way.?" 
 asked Meg, anxiously. 
 
 " I can hold them crunched up in my hand, so no 
 
The Laurence Boy, 41 
 
 one will know how stained they are ; that's all I can 
 do. No ! I '11 tell you how we can manage — each 
 wear one good one and carry a bad one ; don't you see ? " 
 
 " Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will 
 stretch my glove dreadfully," began Meg, whose 
 gloves were a tender point with her. 
 
 " Then I'll go without. I don't care what people 
 say," cried Jo, taking up her book. 
 
 " You may have it, you may ! only don't stain it, 
 and do behave nicely ; don't put your hands behind 
 you, or stare, or say ' Christopher Columbus ! * will 
 you?" 
 
 " Don't worry about me ; I'll be as prim as a dish, 
 and not get into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now 
 go and answer your note, and let me finish this splen- 
 did story." 
 
 So Meg went away to " accept with thanks," look 
 over her dress, and sing blithely as she did up her one 
 real lace frill ; while Jo finished her story, her four 
 apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble. 
 
 On New- Year' s-Eve the parlor was deserted, for the 
 two younger girls played dressing maids, and the two 
 elder were absorbed in the all-important business of 
 " getting ready for the party." Simple as the toilets 
 were, there was a great deal of running up and down, 
 laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell 
 of burnt hair pervaded the house. Meg wanted -a few 
 curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch the 
 papered locks with a pair of hot tongs. 
 
 "Ought they to smoke like that?" asked Beth, from 
 her perch on the bed. 
 
 " If s the dampness drying," replied Jo. 
 
42 Little Wo7nen, 
 
 " What a queer smell ! it's like burnt feathers," ob- 
 served Amy, smoothing her own pretty curls with a 
 superior air. 
 
 " There, now I'll take oft' the papers and you'll see 
 a cloud of little ringlets," said Jo, putting down the 
 tongs. 
 
 She did take off' the papers, but no cloud of ringlets 
 appeared, for the hair came with the papers, and the 
 horrified hair-dresser laid a row of little scorched 
 bundles on the bureau before her victim. 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh! what have you done? I'm spoilt! 
 I can't go ! my hair, oh my hair ! " wailed Meg, look- 
 ing with despair at the uneven frizzle on her forehead. 
 
 "Just my luck! you shouldn't have asked me to do 
 it ; I always spoil everything. I'm no end sorry, but 
 the tongs were too hot, and so I've made a mess," 
 groaned poor Jo, regarding the black pancakes with 
 tears of regi'et. 
 
 " It isn't spoilt ; just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon 
 so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will 
 look like the last fashion. I've seen lots of girls do it 
 so," said Amy, consolingly. 
 
 " Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish Fd 
 let my hair alone," cried Meg, petulantly. 
 
 "So do I, it Was so smooth and pretty. But it will 
 soon grow out again," said Beth, coming to kiss and 
 comfort the shorn sheep. 
 
 After various , lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at 
 last, and by the united exertions of the family Jo's 
 hair was got up, and her dress on. They looked very 
 well in their simple suits, Meg in silvery drab, with a 
 blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin ; Jo in 
 
The Laurence Boy, 43 
 
 maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a 
 white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. 
 Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one 
 soiled one, and all pronounced the effect " quite easy 
 and nice." Meg's high-heeled slippers were dread- 
 fully tight, and hurt her, though she would not own 
 it, and Jo's nineteen hair-pins all seemed stuck straight 
 into her head, which was not exactly comfortable ; but, 
 dear me, let us be elegant or die. 
 
 " Have a good time, dearies," said Mrs. March, as 
 the sisters went daintily down the walk. " Don't eat 
 much supper, and come away at eleven, when I send 
 Hannah for you." As the gate clashed behind them, 
 a voice cried from a window, — 
 
 " Girls, girls ! have you both got nice pocket-hand- 
 kerchiefs?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has Cologne on 
 hers," cried Jo, adding, with a laugh, as they went 
 on, " I do believe Marmee would ask that if we were 
 all running away from an earthquake." 
 
 " It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, 
 for a real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, 
 and handkerchief," replied Meg, who had a good 
 many little " aristocratic tastes " of her own. 
 
 " Now don't forget to keep the bad breadth out of 
 sight, Jo. Is my sash right ; and does my hair look 
 very ha.d? " said Meg, as she turned from the glass 
 in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing-room, after a prolonged 
 prink. 
 
 " I know I shall forget. If you see me doing any- 
 thing wrong, you just remind me by a wink, will 
 
44 Little Women. ' 
 
 you ? " returned Jo, giving her collar a twitch and her 
 head a hasty brush. 
 
 " No, winking isn't lady-like ; I'll lift my eyebrows 
 if anything is wrong, and nod if you are all right. 
 Now hold your shoulders straight, and take short 
 steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced to 
 any one, it isn't the thing." 
 
 " How do you learn all the proper quirks? I never 
 can. Isn't that music gay.^"' 
 
 Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they sel- 
 dom went to parties, and, informal as this little gather- 
 ing was, it was an event to them. Mrs. Gardiner, a 
 stately old lady, greeted them kindly, and handed them 
 over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew 
 Sallie, and was at her ease very soon ; but Jo, who 
 didn't care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood 
 about with her back carefully against the wall, and 
 felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower-garden. 
 Half a dozen jovial lads were talking about skates in 
 another part of the room, and she longed to go and 
 join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life. 
 She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrows 
 went up so alarmingly that she dared not stir. No 
 one came to talk to her, and one by one the group 
 near her dwindled away, till she was left alone. She 
 could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burnt 
 breadth would show, so she stared at people rather 
 forlornly till the dancing began. Meg was asked at 
 once, and the tight slippers tripped about so briskly 
 that none would have guessed the pain their wearer 
 suffered smilingly. Jo saw a big red-headed youth 
 approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to 
 
The Laurence Boy, 45 
 
 engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intend- 
 ing to peep and enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, 
 another bashful person had chosen the same refuge ; 
 for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself 
 face to face with the " Laurence boy." 
 
 " Dear me, I didn't know any one was here ! " 
 stammered Jo, preparing to back out as speedily as 
 she had bounced in. 
 
 But the boy laughed, and said, pleasantly, though 
 he looked a little startled, — 
 
 " Don't mind me ; stay, if you like.'' 
 
 "Shan't I disturb you?" 
 
 " Not a bit ; I only came here because I don't know 
 many people, and felt rather strange at first, you 
 know." 
 
 " So did I. Don't go away, please, unless you'd 
 rather." 
 
 The boy s^t down again and looked at his* boots, 
 till Jo said, trying to be polite and easy, — 
 
 " I think I've had the pleasure of seeing you before ; 
 you live near us, don't you ? " 
 
 " Next door ; " and he looked up and laughed out- . 
 right, for Jo's prim manner was rather funny when he 
 remembered how they had chatted about cricket when 
 he brought the cat home. 
 
 That put Jo at her ease ; and she laughed too, as she 
 said, in her heartiest way, — 
 
 " We did have such a good time over your nice 
 Christmas present.". 
 
 " Grandpa sent it." 
 
 " But you put it into his head, didn't you, now.^* " 
 
 " How is your cat, Miss March } " asked the boy. 
 
46 Little Women, 
 
 trying to look sober, while his black eyes shone witt 
 fun. ' 
 
 " Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence ; but I ain't 
 Miss March, I'm only Jo," returned the young lady. 
 
 " I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie." 
 
 " Laurie Laurence ; what an odd name." 
 
 " My first name is Theodore, but I don't like it, 
 for the fellows called me Dora, so I made them say- 
 Laurie instead." 
 
 " I hate my name, too — so sentimental ! I wish 
 everyone would say Jo, instead of Josephine. How 
 did you make the boys stop calling you Dora ? " 
 
 " I thrashed 'em." 
 
 "I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall 
 have to bear it ; " and Jo resigned herself with a sigh. 
 
 " Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo? " asked Laurie, 
 looking as if he thought the name suited her. 
 
 " I like it well enough if there is plenty of room," and 
 every one is lively. In a place like this I'm sure to 
 upset something, tread on people's toes, or do something 
 dreadful, so I keep out of mischief, and let Meg do the 
 pretty. Don't you dance ? " 
 
 " Sometimes ; you see I've been abroad a good many 
 years, and haven't been about enough yet to know how 
 you do things here." 
 
 "Abroad!" cried Jo, "oh, tell me about it! I 
 love dearly to hear people describe their travels." 
 
 Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin ; but Jo's 
 eager questions soon set him going, and he told her 
 how he had been at school in Vevey, where the 
 boys never wore hats, and had a fleet of boats on the 
 
The Laurence Boy, 47 
 
 lake, and for holiday fun went walking trips about 
 Switzerland with their teachers. 
 
 " Don't I wish I'd been there ! " cried Jo. " Did 
 you go to Paris ? " 
 
 " We spent last winter there." 
 
 " Can you talk French?" 
 
 " We were not allowed to speak anything else at 
 Vevey." 
 
 " Do say some. I can read it, but can't pronounce." 
 
 " Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles 
 jolis.'*" said Laurie, good-naturedly. 
 
 "How nicely you do it! Let me see — you said, 
 ' Who is the young lady in the pretty slippers,' didn't 
 you?" 
 
 " Oui, mademoiselle." 
 
 " If s my sister Margaret, and you knew it was ! Do 
 you think she is pretty ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she makes me think of the German girls, she 
 looks so fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady." 
 
 Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise 
 of her sister, and stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both 
 peeped, and criticised, and chatted, till they felt like 
 old acquaintances. Laurie's bashfulness soon wore off, 
 for Jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at 
 his ease, and Jo was her merry self again, because her 
 dress was forgotten, and nobody lifted their eyebrows 
 at her. She liked the " Laurence boy " better than 
 ever, and took several good looks at him, so that 
 she might describe him to the girls ; for they had no 
 brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were al- 
 most unknown creatures to them. 
 
 " Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, long 
 
48 Little Women, 
 
 nose, nice teeth, little hands and feet, tall as I am ; 
 very polite for a boy, and altogether jolly. Wonder 
 how old he is ? " 
 
 It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask ; but she 
 checked herself in time, and, with unusual tact, tried to 
 find out in a roundabout way. 
 
 "I suppose you are going to college soon ? I see 
 j^ou pegging away at your books — no, I mean stud}^- 
 ing hard ;" and Jo blushed at the dreadful "pegging" 
 which had escaped her. 
 
 Laurie smiled, but didn't seem shocked, and an- 
 swered, with a shrug, — 
 
 " Not for two or three years yet ; I won't go before 
 seventeen, any way." 
 
 " Aren't you but fifteen? " asked Jo, looking at the 
 tall lad, whom she had imagined seventeen already. 
 
 " Sixteen, next month." 
 
 " How I wish I was going to college ; you don't 
 look as if you liked it." 
 
 *' I hate it ! nothing but grinding or sky-larking ; and 
 I don't like the way fellows do either, in this country." 
 
 "What do you like?" 
 
 " To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own 
 way." 
 
 Jo wanted very much to ask what his ow^n way was ; 
 but his black brows looked rather threatening as he 
 knit them, so she changed the subject by saying, as her 
 foot kept time, " That's a splendid polka ; why don't 
 you go and try it ? " 
 
 "If you will come too," he answered, with a queer 
 little French bow. 
 
 "I can't; for I told Meg I wouldn't, because — " 
 
The Laurence Boy, 49 
 
 there Jo stopped, and looked undecided whether to 
 tell or to laugh. 
 
 " Because what?" asked Laurie, curiously. 
 
 "You won't tell?" 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the 
 fire, and so I burn my frocks, and I scorched this 
 one ; and, though it's nicely mended, it shows, and 
 Meg told me to keep still, so no one would see it. 
 You may laugh if you want to ; it is funny, I know." 
 
 But Laurie didn't laugh ; he only looked down a 
 minute, and the expression of his face puzzled Jo, 
 when he said very gently, — 
 
 " Never mind that ; I'll tell you how we can man- 
 age : there's a long hall out there, and we can dance 
 gi'andly, and no one will see us. Please come." 
 
 Jo thanked him, and gladly went, wishing she had 
 two neat gloves, when she saw the nice pearl-colored 
 ones her partner put on. The hall was empty, and 
 they,had a grand polk, for Laurie danced well, and 
 taught her the German step, which delighted Jo, 
 being full of swing and spring. When the music 
 stopped they sat down on the stairs to get their 
 breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account of 
 a student's festival at Heidelberg, when Meg appeared 
 in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluc- 
 tantly followed her into a side-room, where she found 
 her on a sofa holding her foot, and looking pale. 
 
 " Fve sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel 
 turned, and gave me a horrid wrench. It aches so, I 
 can hardly stand, and I don't know how I'm ever 
 • 4 
 
50 Little Women, 
 
 going to get home," she said, rocking to and fro in 
 pain. 
 
 "I knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly 
 things. I'm sorry ; but I don't see what you can 
 do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night," 
 answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle, as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " I can't have a carriage without its costing ever so 
 much ; I dare say I can't get one at all, for most peo- 
 ple come in their own, and it's a long way to the 
 stable, and no one to send." 
 
 " I'll go." 
 
 " Noj indeed ; it's past ten, and dark as Egypt. I 
 can't stop here, for the house is full ; Sallie has some 
 girls staying with her. I'll rest till Hannah comes, 
 and then do the best I can." 
 
 " I'll ask Laurie ; he will go," said Jo, looking 
 relieved as the idea occurred to her. 
 
 "Mercy, no! don't ask or tell any one. Get me 
 my rubbers, and put these slippers with our things. 
 I can't dance any more ; but as soon as supper is 
 over, watch for Hannah, and tell me the minute she 
 comes." 
 
 " They are going out to supper now. I'll stay with 
 you ; I'd rather." 
 
 "No, dear; run along, and bring me some coffee. 
 I'm so tired, I can't stir." 
 
 So Meg reclined, with the rubbers well hidden, 
 and Jo went blundering away to the dining-room, 
 which she found after going into a china-closet and 
 opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner 
 was taking a little private refreshment.* Making a 
 
The Laurence Boy, 51 
 
 dive at the table, she secured the coffee, which she 
 immediately spilt, thereby making the front of her 
 dress as bad as the back. 
 
 " Oh dear ! what a blunderbuss I am ! " exclaimed 
 Jo, finishing Meg's glove by scrubbing her gow^n 
 with it. 
 
 "Can I help you?" said a friendly voice; and 
 there was Laurie, with a full cup in one hand and a 
 plate of ice in the other. 
 
 " I was trying to get something for Meg, who is 
 very tired, and some one shook me, and here I am, 
 in a nice state," answered Jo, glancing, dismally, 
 from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove. 
 
 " Too bad ! I was looking for some one to give this 
 to ; may I take it to your sister ? " 
 
 " Oh, thank "you ; I'll show you where she is. I 
 don't offer to take it myself, for I should only get into 
 another scrape if I did." 
 
 Jo led the way ; and, as if used to waiting on ladies, 
 Laurie drew up a little table, brought a second instal- 
 ment of coffee and ice for Jo, and was so obliging that 
 even particular Meg pronounced him a " nice boy." 
 They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottos, 
 and were in the midst of a quiet game of " buzz " with 
 two or three other young people who had strayed in, 
 when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot, and 
 rose so quickly that she vs^as forced to catch hold of 
 Jo, with an exclamation of pain. 
 
 " Hush ! don't say anything," she whispered ; add- 
 ing aloud, " It's nothing ; I turned my foot a little, — 
 that's all," and limped up stairs to put her things on. 
 
 Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her 
 
52 Little Wo?nen, 
 
 wits' end, till she decided to take things into her own 
 hands. Slipping out, she ran down, and finding a 
 servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It hap- 
 pened to be a hired w^aiter, who knew nothing about 
 the neighborhood ; and Jo was looking round for 
 help, when Laurie, who had heard what she said, 
 came up and offered his grandfather's carriage, which 
 had just come for him, he said. 
 
 " It's so early, — you can't mean to go yet," began 
 Jo, looking relieved, but hesitating to accept the offer. 
 
 "I always go early, — I do, truly. Please let me 
 take you home ; it's all on my way, you know, and it 
 rains, they say." 
 
 That settled it ; and telling him of Meg's mishap, 
 Jo gratefully accepted, and rushed up to bring down 
 the rest of the party. Hannah hated rain as much as 
 a cat does ; so she made no trouble, and they rolled 
 away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very fes- 
 tive and elegant. Laurie went on" the box, so Meg 
 could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their 
 party in freedom. 
 
 *' I had a capital time ; did you.?" asked Jo, rum- 
 pling up her hair, and making herself comfortable. 
 
 "Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie's friend, Annie 
 Moffat, took a fancy to me, and asked me to come and 
 spend a week with her when Sallie does. She is 
 going in the spring, when the opera comes, and it 
 will be perfectly splendid if mother only lets me go," 
 answered Meg, cheering up at the thought. 
 
 " I saw you dancing with the red-headed man I ran 
 away from ; was he nice ? " 
 
 " Oh, very ! his hair is auburn, not red ; and he 
 
The Laurence Boy. 53 
 
 was very polite, and I had a delicious redowa with 
 him!" 
 
 " Pie looked like a grasshopper in a fit, when he 
 did the new step. Laurie and I couldn't help laugh- 
 ing ; did you hear us? " 
 
 '' No, but it was very rude. What were, you about 
 all that time, hidden away there.'*" 
 
 Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had 
 finished they were at home. With many thanks, they 
 said " Good-night," and crept in, hoping to disturb 
 no one ; but the instant their door creaked, two little 
 night-caps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices 
 cried out, —^ 
 
 " Tell about the party ! tell about the party ! " 
 
 With what Meg called " a great want of manners," 
 Jo had saved some bonbons for the little girls, and 
 they soon subsided, after hearing the most thrilling 
 events of the evening. 
 
 " I declare, it really seems like being a fine young 
 lady, to come home from my party In my carriage, 
 and sit in my dressing-gown with a maid to wait on 
 me," said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica, 
 and brushed her hair. 
 
 " I don't believe fine young ladles enjoy themselves 
 a bit more than we do, in spite of our burnt hair, old 
 gowns, one glove apiece, and tight slippers, that sprain 
 our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them.*' 
 And I think Jo was quite right. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BURDENS. 
 
 OH dear, how hard it does seem to ,take up our 
 packs and go on," sighed Meg, the morning 
 after the partly ; for now the holidays were over, 
 the week of merry-making did not fit her for going 
 on easily with the task she never liked. 
 
 " I wish it was Christmas or New-Year all the 
 time; wouldn't it be fun?" answered Jo, yawning 
 dismally. 
 
 "We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we 
 do now. But it does seem so nice to have little sup- 
 pers and bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home 
 in a carriage, and read and rest, and not grub. It's 
 like other people, 3^ou know, and I always envy girls 
 who do such things ; I'm so fond of luxury," said 
 Meg, ti-ying to decide which of two shabby gowns 
 was the least shabby. 
 
 " Well, we can't have it, so don't let's grumble, but 
 
 shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as 
 
 Marmee does. I'm sure Aunt March is a regular Old 
 
 Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I've learned 
 
 54 
 
Burdens. 55 
 
 to carry her without complaining, she will tumble 
 ofl", or get so light that I shan't mind her." 
 
 This idea tickled Jo's fancy, and put her in good 
 spirits ; but Meg didn't brighten, for her burden, con- 
 sisting of four spoilt children, seemed heavier than 
 ever. She hadn't heart enough even to make herself 
 pretty, as usual, by putting on a blue neck-ribbon, and 
 dressing her hair in the most becoming way. 
 
 " Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees 
 me but those cross midgets, and no one cares whether 
 I'm pretty or not," she muttered, shutting her drawer 
 with a jerk. " I shall have to toil and . moil all my 
 days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and 
 get old and ugly and sour, because I'm poor, and can't 
 enjoy my life as other girls do. It's a shame ! " 
 
 So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and 
 wasn't at all agreeable at breakfast-time. Every one 
 seemed rather out of sorts, and inclined to croak. 
 Beth had a headache, and lay on the sofa trying to 
 comfort herself with the cat and three kittens ; Amy 
 was fretting because her lessons were not learned, and 
 she couldn't find her rubbers ; Jo would whistle, and 
 make a great racket getting ready ; Mrs. March was 
 very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at 
 once ; and Hannah had the grumps, for being up late 
 didn't suit her. 
 
 " There never was such a cross family!" cried Jo. 
 losing her temper when she had upset an inkstand, 
 broken both boot-lacings, and sat down upon her hat. 
 
 " You're the crossest person in it ! " returned Amy, 
 washing out the sum, that was all wrong, with the 
 fears that had fallen on her slate 
 
56 Little Women, 
 
 " Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats do-wn 
 cellar I'll have them drowned," exclaimed Meg, an- 
 grily, as she tried to get rid of the kitten, who had 
 swarmed up her back, and stuck like a burr just out 
 of reach. 
 
 Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy 
 wailed, because she couldn't remember how much 
 nine times twelve was. 
 
 " Girls ! girls ! do be quiet one minute. I must get 
 this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted 
 with your worry," cried Mrs. March, crossing out the 
 third spoilt sentence in her letter. 
 
 There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, 
 who bounced in, laid two hot turn-overs on the table, 
 and bounced out again. These turn-overs were an 
 institution ; and the girls called them " muffs," for they 
 had no others, and. found the hot pies very comforting 
 to their hands on cold mornings. Hannah never 
 forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy 
 she might be, for the walk was long and bleak ; the 
 poor things got no other lunch, and were seldom home 
 before three. 
 
 " Cuddle your cats, and get over your headache, 
 Bethy. Good-by, Marmee ; we are a set of rascals 
 this morning, but we'll come home regular angels. 
 Now then, Meg," and Jo tramped away, feeling that 
 the pilgrims were not setting out as they ought to do. 
 
 They always looked back before turning the corner, 
 for their mother was always at the window, to nod, 
 and smile, and wave her hand to them. Somehow it 
 seemed as if they couldn't have got through the day 
 without that, for whatever their mood might be, the 
 
Burdens, 57 
 
 last glimpse of that motherly face was sure to affect 
 them like sunshine. 
 
 " If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her 
 hand to us, it would serve us right, for more un- 
 grateful minxes than we are were never seen," cried 
 Jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the slushy road 
 and bitter wind. 
 
 "Don't use such dreadful expressions," said Meg, 
 from the depths of the veil in which she had shrouded 
 herself like a nun sick of the world. 
 
 " I like good, strong words, that mean something," 
 replied Jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her 
 head, preparatory to flying away altogether. 
 
 " Call yourself any names you like ; but / am 
 neither a rascal nor a minx, and I don't choose to be 
 called so." 
 
 " You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross to- 
 day, because you can't sit in the lap of luxury all the 
 time. Poor dear ! just wait till I make my fortune, 
 and you shall revel in carriages, and ice-cream, and 
 high-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys 
 to dance with." 
 
 " How ridiculous you are, Jo ! " but Meg laughed 
 at the nonsense, and felt better in spite of herself. 
 
 " Lucky for you I am ; for if I put on crushed airs, 
 and tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a 
 nice state. Thank goodness, I can always find some- 
 thing funny to keep me up. Don't croak any more, 
 but come home jolly, there's a dear." 
 
 Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoul- 
 der as they parted for the day, each going a different 
 way, each hiicf2"in2 her little Warm turn-over, and each 
 
5? Little Women, 
 
 trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard 
 w^ork, and the unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving 
 youth. 
 
 When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help 
 an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to 
 be allowed to do something toward their own support, 
 at least. Believing that they could not begin too early 
 to cultivate energy, industry, and independence, their 
 parents consented, and both fell to work with the 
 hearty good-will which, in spite of all obstacles, is 
 sure to succeed at last. Margaret found a place as 
 nursery governness, and felt rich with her small salary. 
 As she said, she was " fond of luxury," and her chief 
 trouble was poverty. She found it harder to bear 
 than the others, because she could remember a time 
 when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, 
 and want of any kind unknown. She tried not to be 
 envious or discontented, but it was very natural that 
 the young girl should long for pretty things, gay 
 friends, accomplishments, and a happy life. At the 
 Kings she daily saw all she wanted, for the children's 
 glder sisters were just out, and Meg caught frequent 
 glimpses of dainty ball-dresses and bouquets, heard 
 lively gossip about theatres, concerts, sleighing parties 
 and merry-makings of all kinds, and saw^ money lav- 
 ished on trifles which would have been so precious to 
 her. Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of 
 injustice made her feel bitter toward every one some- 
 times, for she had not yet learned to know how rich 
 she was in the blessings which alone can make life 
 happy. 
 
 Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame, 
 
Burdens, 59 
 
 and needed an active person to wait upon her. The 
 childless old lady had offered to adopt one of the girls 
 when the troubles came, and was much offended 
 because her offer was declined. Other friends told 
 the Marches that they had lost all chance of being 
 remembered in the rich old lady's will ; but the un- 
 worldly Marches only said, — 
 
 " We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. 
 Rich or poor, we will keep together and be happy in 
 one another." 
 
 The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but, 
 happening to meet Jo at a friend's, something in her 
 comical face and blunt manners struck the old lady's 
 fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion. 
 This did not suit Jo at all ; but she accepted the place, 
 since nothing better appeared, and, to every one's sur- 
 prise, got on remarkably well with her irascible rel- 
 ative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo 
 had marched home, declaring she couldn't bear it any 
 longer ; but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, 
 and sent for her back again with such urgency that 
 she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked 
 the peppery old lady. 
 
 I suspect that the real attraction was a large library 
 of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since 
 Uncle March died. Jo remembered the kind old 
 gentleman who used to let her build railroads and 
 bridges with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about 
 the queer pictures in his Latin books, and buy her 
 cards of gingerbread whenever he met her in the 
 street. The dim, dusty room, with the busts staring 
 down from the tall book-cases, the cosv chairs, the 
 
6o Little Women, 
 
 globes, and, best of all, the wilderness of books, in 
 which she could wander where she liked, made the 
 library a region of bliss to her. The moment Aunt 
 March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo 
 hurried to this quiet place, and, curling herself up in 
 the big chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, 
 travels, and pictures, like a regular bookworm. But, 
 like all happiness, it did not last long ; for as sure as 
 she had just reached the heart of the story, the sweet- 
 est verse of the song, or the most perilous adventure 
 of her traveller, a shrill voice called, " Josy-phine ! 
 Josy-phine ! " and she had to leave her paradise to 
 wind yarn, wash the poodle, or read Belsham's Essays, 
 by the hour together. 
 
 Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid ; 
 what it was she had no idea, but left it for time to 
 tell her ; and, meanwhile, found her greatest afflic- 
 tion in the fact that she couldn't read, run, and 
 ride as much as she liked. A quick temper, sharp 
 tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her 
 into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and 
 downs, which were both comic and pathetic. But 
 the training she received at Aunt March's was just 
 what she needed ; and the thought that she was doing 
 something to support herself made her happy, in spite 
 of the perpetual "Josy-phine ! " 
 
 Beth was too bashful to go to school ; it had been 
 tried, but she suffered so much that it was given up, 
 and she did her lessons at home, .with her father. 
 Even when he went away, and her mother was called 
 to devote her skill and energy to Soldiers' Aid Soci- 
 eties, Beth went faithfully on bv herself, and did the 
 
Burdens, 6i 
 
 best she could. She ^vas a housewifely little creature, 
 and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortable 
 for the workers, never thinking of any reward but 
 to be loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor 
 idle, for her little world was peopled with imaginary 
 friends, and she was by nature a busy bee. There 
 were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morn- 
 ing, for Beth was a child still, and loved her pets as 
 well as ever ; not one whole or handsome one among 
 them ; all were outcasts till Beth took them in ; for, 
 when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to 
 her, because Amy would have nothing old or ugly. 
 Beth cherished them all the more tenderly for that 
 very reason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls. 
 No pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals ; no 
 harsh words or blows were ever given them ; no neg- 
 lect ever saddened the heart of the most repulsive, but 
 all were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed, with an 
 affection which never failed. One forlorn fragment 
 of dollanity had belonged to Jo ; and, having led a 
 tempestuous life, was left a wreck in the rag-bag, from 
 which dreary poor-house it was rescued by Beth, and 
 taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, she 
 tied on a neat little cap, and, as both arms and legs 
 were gone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in 
 a blanket, and devoting her best bed to this chronic 
 invalid. If any one had known the care lavished on 
 that dolly, I think it would have touched their hearts, 
 even while they laughed. She brought it bits of 
 bouquets ; she read to it, took it out to breathe the air, 
 hidden under her coat ; she sung it luUabys, and never 
 "went to bed without kissing its dirty face, and whis- 
 
62 Little V/omen, 
 
 pering tenderly, " I hope you'll have a good night, 
 my poor dear." 
 
 Beth had her troubles as well as the others ; and 
 not being an angel, but a very human little girl, she 
 often " vsrept a little weep," as Jo said, because she 
 couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. 
 She loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and 
 practised away so patiently at the jingling old instru- 
 ment, that it did seem as if some one (not to hint 
 Aunt March) ought to help her. Nobody did, how- 
 ever, and nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the 
 yellow keys, that wouldn't keep in tune when she 
 was all alone. She sung like a little lark about her 
 work, never was too tired to play for Marmee and 
 the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, 
 " I know I'll get my music some time, if I'm good." 
 
 There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, 
 sitting in corners till needed, and living for others 
 so cheerfully, that no one sees the sacrifices till the 
 little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the 
 sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and 
 shadow behind. 
 
 If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial 
 of her life was, she would have answered at once, 
 "My nose." When she was a baby, Jo had acciden- 
 tally dropped her into the coal-hod, and Amy insisted 
 that the fall had ruined her nose forever. It was not 
 big, nor red, like poor " Petrea's ; " it was only rather 
 flat, and all the pinching in the world could not giye 
 it an aristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, 
 and it was doing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply 
 
Burdens, 6^^ 
 
 the want of a Grecian nose, and drew whole sheets 
 of handsome ones to console herself. 
 
 " Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a 
 decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy 
 as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illus- 
 trating stories with queer specimens of art. Her 
 teachers complained that instead of doing her sums, 
 she covered her slate with animals ; the blank pages 
 of her atlas were used to copy maps on, and carica- 
 tures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering 
 out of all her books at unlucky moments. She got 
 through her lessons as well as she could, and managed 
 to escape reprimands by being a model of deport- 
 ment. She was a great favorite with her mates, 
 being good-tempered, and possessing the happy art of 
 pleasing without efibrt. Her little airs and graces 
 were much admired, so were her accomplishments ; 
 for beside her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, 
 crochet, and read French without mispronouncing 
 more than two-thirds of the words. She had a plain- 
 tive way of saying, " When papa was rich we did so- 
 and-so," which was very touching ; and her long 
 words were considered "perfectly elegant" by the 
 girls. 
 
 Amy was in a fair way to be spoilt ; for every one 
 petted her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses 
 were growing nicely. One thing, however, rather 
 quenched the vanities ; she had to wear her cousin's 
 Clothes. Now Florence' s mamma hadn't a particle 
 of taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear 
 a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, 
 and fussy aprons that did not fit. Everything was 
 
64 Little Wo?nen, 
 
 good, well made, and little worn ; but Amy's artistic 
 eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when 
 her school dress was a dull purple, with yellow dots, 
 and no trimming. 
 
 "My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears 
 in her eyes, " is, that mother don't take tucks in 
 my dresses whenever I'm naughty, as Maria Parks' 
 mother does. My dear, it's really dreadful ; for some- 
 times she is so bad, her frock is up to her knees, and 
 she can't come to school. When I think of this deg- 
 gerredation^ I feel that I can bear even my flat nose 
 and purple gown, with yellow sky-rockets on it." 
 
 Meg was Amy's confidant and monitor, and, by 
 some strange attraction of opposites, Jo was gentle 
 Beth's. To Jo alone did the shy child tell her thoughts ; 
 and over her big, harum-scarum sister, Beth uncon- 
 sciously exercised more influence than any one in the 
 family. The two older girls were a great deal to each 
 other, but both took one of the younger into their 
 keeping, and watched over them in their own way ; 
 " playing mother " they called it, and put their sisters 
 in the places of discarded dolls, with the maternal in- 
 .. stinct of little women. 
 
 ' \" Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such 
 a dismal day I'm really dying for some amusement," 
 said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening. 
 
 " I had a queer time with aunt to-day, and, as I got 
 the best of it, I'll tell you about it," began Jo, who 
 dearly loved to tell stories. " I was reading that ever- 
 lasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, 
 for aunt soon drops ofl', and then I take out some nice 
 book, and read like fury, till she wakes up. I actually 
 
Burdens, 65 
 
 made myself sleepy ; and, before she began to nod, I 
 gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by 
 opening my mouth wide enough to take the whole 
 book in at once. 
 
 " 'I wish I could, and be done with it,'" said I, try- 
 ing not to be saucy. 
 
 " Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and 
 told me to sit and think them over while she just' lost' 
 herself for a moment. She never finds herself very 
 soon ; so the minute her cap began to bob, like a top- 
 heavy dahlia, I whipped the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' 
 out of my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him, 
 and one on aunt. I'd just got to where they all tum- 
 bled into the water, when I forgot, and laughed out 
 loud. Aunt woke up ; and, being more good-natured 
 after her nap, told me to read a bit, and show what 
 frivolous work I preferred to the worthy and instruc- 
 tive Belsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, 
 though she only said, ~ 
 
 " ' I don't understand what it's all about ; go back 
 and begin it, child.' 
 
 " Back I went, and made the Primroses as interest- 
 ing as ever I could. Once I was wicked enough to 
 stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, ' I'm afraid 
 it tires you, ma'am ; shan't I stop now } ' 
 
 " She caught up her knitting which had dropped out 
 of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, 
 and said, in her short way, — 
 
 " ' Finish the chapter, and don't be impertinent, 
 miss.^' 
 
 " Did she own she liked it } " asked Meg. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, no ! but she let old Belsham rest ; 
 
66 Little Women, 
 
 and, when I ran back after my gloves this afternoon, 
 there she was, so hard at the Vicar, that she didn't 
 hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall, because of 
 the good time coming. What a pleasant life she might 
 have, if she only chose. I don't envy her much, in 
 spite of her money, for after all rich people have about 
 as many worries as poor ones, I guess," added Jo. 
 
 "That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got some- 
 thing to tell. It isn't funny, like Jo's story, but I 
 thought about it a good deal as I came home. At the 
 Kings to-day I found everybody in a flurry, and one 
 of the children said that her oldest brother had done 
 something dreadful, and papa had sent him 'away. I 
 heard Mrs. King crying, and Mr. King talking very loud, 
 and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they 
 passed me, so I shouldn't see how red their eyes were. 
 I didn't ask any questions, of course ; but I felt so 
 sorry for them, and was rather glad I hadn't any wild 
 brothers to do wicked things, and disgrace the family." 
 
 " I think being disgraced in school is a great deal 
 txytnger than anything bad boys can do," said Amy, 
 shaking her head, as if her experience of life had been 
 a deep one. " Susie Perkins came to school to-day 
 with a lovely red carnelian ring ; I wanted it dread- 
 fully, and wished I was her with all my might. 
 Well, she drew a picture of Mr. Davis, with a mon- 
 strous nose and a hump, and the words, 'Young 
 ladies, my eye is upon you ! ' coming out of his 
 mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it, 
 when all of a sudden his eye was on us, artd he 
 ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was parry- 
 lized with fright, but she went, and oh, what do yoii 
 
Burdens, 67 
 
 think he did? He took her by the ear, the ear! just 
 fancy how horrid ! and led her to the recitation plat- 
 form, and made her stand there half an horn*, holding 
 that slate so every one could see." 
 
 " Didn't the girls shout at the picture ? " asked Jo, 
 who relished the scrape. 
 
 " Laugh ! not a one ; they sat as still as mice, and 
 Susie cried quarts, I know she did. I didn't envy 
 her then, for I felt that millions of carnelian rings 
 would'nt have made me happy after that. I never, 
 never should have got over such a agonizing mor- 
 tification ; " and Amy went on with her work, in the 
 proud consciousness of virtue, and the successful 
 utterance of two long words in a breath. 
 
 ^ I saw something that I liked this morning, and- 
 I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot," said 
 Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basket in order as she 
 talked. "When I went to get some oysters for Han- 
 nah, Mr. Laurence was in the fish shop, but he didn't 
 see me, for I kept behind a barrel, and he was busy with 
 Mr. Cutter, the fish-man. A poor woman came in with 
 a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let 
 her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she 
 hadn't any dinner for her children, and had been disap- 
 pointed of a day's work. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry, 
 and said ' No,' rather crossly ; so she was going away, 
 looking hungry and sorry, when Mr. Laurence hooked 
 up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane, and 
 held it out to her. She was so glad and surprised she 
 took it right in her arms, and thanked him over and 
 over. He told her to ' go along and cook it,' and she 
 hwiried off", so happy! wasn't it nice of him.? Oh, 
 
68 Little Women, 
 
 she did look so funny, hugging the big, slippery fish, 
 and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed in heaven would be 
 ' aisy.' " 
 
 When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked 
 their mother for one ; and, after a moment's thought, 
 she said soberl}^, — 
 
 "As I sat cutting out blue flannel jackets to-day, 
 at the rooms, I felt very anxious about father, and 
 thought how lonely and helpless we should be if any- 
 thing happened to him. It was not a wise thing to 
 do, but I kept on worr3dng, till an old man came in 
 with an order for some things. He sat down near 
 me, and I began to talk to him, for he looked poor, 
 and tired, and anxious. 
 
 "'Have you sons in the army?' I asked, for the 
 note he brought was not to me. 
 
 " ' Yes, ma'am ; I had four, but two were killed ; 
 one is a prisoner, and I'm going to the other, who is 
 very sick in a Washington hospital,' he answered, 
 quietly. 
 
 "'You have done a great deal for your country, 
 sir,' I said, feeling respect now, instead of pity. 
 
 " ' Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am. I'd go 
 myself, if I was any use ; as I ain't, I give my boys, 
 and give ^em free.' 
 
 " He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and 
 seemed so glad to give his all, that I was ashamed of 
 myself. I'd given one man, and thought it too much., 
 while he gave four, without grudging them ; I had 
 all my girls to comfort me at home, and his last son 
 was waiting, miles awav, to say ' good-by ' to him, per- 
 haps. I felt so rich, so happy, thinking of my bless- 
 
Burdens, 69 
 
 ings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him some 
 money, and thanked him heartily for the lesson he 
 had taught me.'* 
 
 " Tell another story, mother ; one with a moral to 
 it, like this. I like to think about them afterwards, if 
 they are real, and not too preachy," said Jo, after a 
 minute's silence. 
 
 Mrs. March smiled, and began at once ; for she had 
 told stories to this little audience for many years, and 
 knew how to please them. 
 
 " Once upon a time there were four girls, who had 
 enough to eat, and drink, and wear ; a good many 
 comforts and pleasures, kind friends and parents, who 
 loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented." 
 (Here the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and 
 began to sew diligently.) " These girls were anxious 
 to be good, and made many excellent resolutions, but 
 somehow they did not keep them very well, and were 
 constantly saying, ' If we only had this,' or ' if we 
 could only do that,' quite forgetting how much they 
 already had, and how many pleasant things they ac- 
 tually could do ; so they asked an old woman what 
 spell they could use to make them happy, and she 
 said, 'When you feel discontented, think over youi 
 blessings, and be grateful.' " (Here Jo looked up 
 quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, 
 seeing that the story was not done yet.) 
 
 " Being sensible girls, they decided to try her ad- 
 vice, and soon were surprised to see how well oft' 
 they were. One discovered that money couldn't keep 
 shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses ; anothei 
 that though she was poor, she was a great deal hap- 
 
JO Little Women, 
 
 pier with her youth, health, and good spirits, than a 
 certain fretful, feeble old lady, who couldn't enjoy her 
 comforts ; a third, that, disagreeable as it was to help 
 get dinner, it was harder still to have to go begging 
 for it ; and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were 
 not so valuable as good behavior. So they agreed to 
 stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already pos- 
 sessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be 
 taken away entirely, instead of increased ; and I be- 
 lieve they were never disappointed, or sorry that they 
 took the old woman's advice." 
 
 " Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to 
 turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon 
 instead of a ' spin,' " cried Meg. 
 
 " I like that kind of sermon ; it's the sort father used 
 to tell us," said Beth, thoughtfully, putting the needles 
 straight on Jo's cushion. 
 
 "I don't complain near as much as the others do, 
 and I shall be more careful than ever now, for I've 
 had warning from Susie's downfall," said Amy, mor- 
 ally. 
 
 " We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it. 
 If we do, you just say to us as Old Chloe did in Uncle 
 Tom, — ' Tink ob yer marcies, chillen, tink ob yer 
 marcies,' " added Jo, who could not for the life of her 
 help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, 
 though she took it to heart as much as any of them. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEING NEIGHBORLY. 
 
 WHAT in the world are you going to do now, 
 Jo ? " asked Meg, one snowy afternoon, as 
 her sister came clumping through the hall, 
 in rubber boots, old sack and hood, with a broom in 
 one hand and a shovel in the other. 
 
 " Going out for exercise," answered Jo, with a mis- 
 chievous twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 "I should think two long walks, this morning, 
 would have been enough. It's cold and dull out, and 
 I advise you to stay, warm and dry, by the fire, as I 
 do," said Meg, with a shiver. 
 
 " Never take advice ; can't keep still all day, and 
 not being a pussy-cat, I don't like to doze by the fire. 
 I like adventures, and I'm going to find some." 
 
 Meg went back to toast her feet, and read " Ivan- 
 hoe," and Jo began to dig paths with great energy. 
 The snow was light ; and with her broom she soon 
 swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk 
 in when the sun came out; and the invalid dolls 
 needed air. Now the garden separated the Marches 
 house from that hf Mr. Laurence ; both stood in a 
 
 7' 
 
72 Little Wo7nen, 
 
 suburb of the city, which was still country-like, with 
 groves and lawns, large gardens, and quiet streets. A 
 low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was 
 an old brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, 
 robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls, 
 and the flowers which then surrounded it. On the 
 other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly be- 
 tokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the 
 big coach-house and well-kept grounds to the con- 
 servatory, and the glimpses of lovely things one caught 
 between the rich curtains. Yet it seemed a lonely, 
 lifeless sort of house ; for no children frolicked on the 
 lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, 
 and few people went in and out, except the old gen- 
 tleman and his grandson. 
 
 To Jo's lively fancy this fine house seemed a kind 
 of enchanted palace, full of splendors and delights, 
 which no one enjoyed. She had long wanted to 
 behold these hidden glories, and to know the " Lau- 
 rence boy," who looked as if he would like to be 
 known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the 
 party she had been more eager than ever, and had 
 planned many ways of making friends with him ; 
 but he had not been lately seen, and Jo began to 
 think he had gone away, when she one day spied a 
 brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully 
 down into their garden, where Beth and Amy were 
 snow-balling one another. 
 
 " That boy is suffering for society and fun," she 
 said to herself. '' His grandpa don't know what's 
 good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He 
 needs a lot of jolly boys to play with, or somebody 
 
Being Neighborly, 73 
 
 young and lively. I've a great mind to go over and 
 tell the old gentleman so." 
 
 The idea amused Jo, w^ho liked to do daring things, 
 and w^as alw^ays scandalizing Meg by her queer per- 
 formances. The plan of "going over" was not for- 
 gotten ; and, when the snowy afternoon came, Jo 
 resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. 
 Laurence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her 
 way down to the hedge, where she paused, and took 
 a survey. All quiet ; curtains down at the lower 
 windows ; servants out of sight, and nothing human 
 visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand, 
 at the upper window. 
 
 " There he is," thought Jo ; "poor boy! all alone, 
 and sick, this dismal day ! It's a shame ! I'll toss 
 up a snow-ball, and make him look out, and then say 
 a kind word to him." 
 
 Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head 
 turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless 
 look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened, and the 
 mouth began to smile. Jo nodded, and laughed, and 
 flourished her broom as she called out, — 
 
 " How do you do ? Are you sick? " 
 
 Laurie opened the window and croaked out as 
 hoarsely as a raven, — 
 
 " Better, thank you. I've had a horrid coid, and 
 been shut up a week." 
 
 "I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with ? 
 
 " Nothing ; it's as dull as tombs up here." 
 
 "Don't you read?" 
 
 " Not much ; they won't let me." 
 
 ** Can't somebodv read to voii ? " 
 
74 Little Women, 
 
 " Grandpa does, sometimes ; but my books don't 
 interest him, and I hate to ask Brooke all the time." 
 
 " Have some one come and see you, then." 
 
 " There isn't any one I'd like to see. Boys make 
 such a row, and my head is weak." 
 
 "Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse 
 you? Girls are quiet, and like to play nurse.'* 
 
 " Don't know any." 
 
 "You know me," began Jo, then laughed, and 
 stopped. 
 
 " So I do ! Will you come, please?" cried Laurie. 
 
 " I'm not quiet and nice ; but I'll come, if mother 
 will let me. I'll go ask her. Shut that window, like 
 a good boy, and wait till I come." 
 
 With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched 
 into the house, wondering what they would all say to 
 her. Laurie was in a little flutter of excitement at 
 the idea of having company, and flew about to get 
 ready ; for, as Mrs. March said, he was " a little gen- 
 tleman," and did honor to the coming guest by brush- 
 ing his curly pate, putting on a fresh collar, and 
 trying to tidy up the room, which, in spite of half a 
 dozen servants, was anything 'but neat. Presently, 
 there came a loud ring, then a decided voice, asking 
 for " Mr. Laurie," and a surprised-looking servant 
 came running up to announce a young lady. 
 
 "All right, show her ujd, ifs Miss Jo," said Laurie, 
 going to the door of his little parlor to meet Jo, who 
 appeared, looking rosy and kind, and quite at hei 
 ease, with a covered dish in one hand, and Beth's 
 three kittens in the other. 
 
 " Here I am, bag and baggage," she said, briskly. 
 
Being Neighborly, 75 
 
 " Mother sent her love, and was glad if I could do 
 anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some of 
 her blanc-mange ; she makes it very nice, and Beth 
 tliought her cats would be comforting. I knew you'd 
 shout at them, but I couldn't refuse, she was so 
 anxious to do something." 
 
 It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the 
 thing ; for, in Jaughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his 
 bashfulness, and grew sociable at once. 
 
 "" That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling 
 with pleasure, as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed 
 the blanc-mange, surrounded by a garland of green 
 leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium. 
 , "It isn't anything, only they all felt kindly, and 
 wanted to show it. * Tell the girl to put it away for 
 your tea ; it's so simple, you can eat it ; and, being soft, 
 it will slip down without hurtnig your sore throat. 
 What a cosy room this is." 
 
 " It might be, if it was kept nice ; but the maids 
 are lazy, and I don't know how to make them mind. 
 It worries me, though." 
 
 "I'll right it up in two minutes ; for it only needs to 
 have the hearth brushed, so, — and the things stood 
 straight on the mantel-piece, so, — and the books put 
 here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from 
 the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now, 
 then, you're fixed." 
 
 And so he was ; for, as she laughed and talked, Jo 
 had whisked things into place, and given quite a 
 different air to the room. Laurie watched her in 
 respectful silence ; and, when she beckoned him to his 
 
76 Little Women, 
 
 sofa, he sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying, 
 gratefully, — 
 
 " How kind you are ! Yes, that's what it wanted. 
 Now please take the big chair, and let me do some- 
 thing to amuse my company." 
 
 " No ; I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" 
 and Jo looked affectionately toward some inviting 
 books near by. 
 
 " Thank you ; I've read all those, and if you don't 
 mind, I'd rather talk," answered Laurie. 
 
 "Not a bit; I'll talk all day if you'll only set me 
 going. Beth says I never know when to stop." 
 
 " Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home a good 
 deal, and sometimes goes out with a little basket?" 
 asked Laurie, with interest. 
 
 "Yes, that's Beth; she's my girl, and a regular 
 good one she is, too." 
 
 " The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one 
 is Amy, I believe ? " 
 
 " How did you find that out?" 
 
 Laurie colored up, but answered, frankly, " Why, 
 you see, I often hear you calling to one another, and 
 when I'm alone up here, I can't help looking over at 
 your house, you always seem to be having such good 
 times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but 
 sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the 
 window where the flowers are ; and, when the lamps 
 are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, 
 and you all round the table with your mother ; her 
 face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the 
 flowers, I. can't help watching it. I haven't got any 
 
Being Neighborly, 77 
 
 mother, you know ; " and Laurie poked the fire to hide 
 a little twitching of the lips that he could not control. 
 
 The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight 
 to Jo's warm heart. She had been so simply taught 
 that there was no nonsense in her head, and at 
 fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. 
 Laurie was sick and lonely ; and, feeling how rich 
 she was in home-love and happiness, she gladly tried 
 to share it with him. Her brown face was very 
 friendly, and her sharp voice unusually gentle, as she 
 said, — 
 
 "We'll never draw that curtain any more, and 1 
 give you leave to look as much as you like. I just 
 wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come over 
 and see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps 
 of good, and Beth would sing to you if /begged her 
 to, and Amy would dance ; Meg and- I would make 
 you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we'd 
 have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you ? " 
 
 " I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's 
 very kind, though he don't look it ; and he lets me do 
 what I like, pretty much, only he's afraid I might be 
 a bother to strangers," began Laurie, brightening 
 more and more. 
 
 " We ain't strangers, we are neighbors, and you 
 needn't think you'd be a bother. We want to know 
 you, and I've been trying to do it this ever so long. 
 We haven't been here a great while, you know, but we 
 have got acquainted with all our neighbors but you." 
 
 " You see grandpa lives among his books, and don't 
 mind much what happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my 
 tutor, don't stay here, you know, and I have no one to 
 
78 Little Women, 
 
 go round with me, so I just stop at home and get on 
 as I can." 
 
 " That's bad ; you ought to make a dive, and go 
 visiting everywhere you are asked ; then you'll have 
 lots of friends, and pleasant places to go to. Never 
 mind being bashful, it won't last long if you keep 
 going." 
 
 Laurie turned red again, but was'nt offended at 
 being accused of bashfulness ; for there was so much 
 good-will in Jo, it was impossible not to take her blunt 
 speeches as kindly as they were meant. 
 
 " Do you like your school?" asked the boy, chang- 
 ing the subject, after a little pause, during which he 
 stared at the fire, and Jo looked about her well pleased. 
 
 " Don't go to school ; I'm a business man — girl, I 
 mean. I go to wait on my aunt, and a dear, cross 
 old soul she is, too," answered Jo. 
 
 Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question ; 
 but remembering just in time that it wasn't manners to 
 make too many inquiries into people's affairs, he shut 
 it again, and looked uncomfortable. Jo liked his good 
 breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at Aunt 
 March, so she gave him a lively description of the 
 fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked 
 Spanish, and the library where she revelled. Laurie 
 enjoyed that immensely ; and when she told about the 
 prim old gentleman who came once to woo Aunt 
 March, and, in the middle of a fine speech, how Poll 
 had tweaked his Wig off to his great dismay, the 
 boy lay back and laughed till the tears ran down his 
 cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what 
 was the matter. 
 
Being Neighborly. 79 
 
 " Oh ! that does me lots of good ; tell on, please," 
 he said, taking his face out of the sofa-cushion, red and 
 shining with merriment. ^ 
 
 Much elated with her success, Jo did " tell on," all 
 about their plays and plans, their hopes and fears for 
 father, and the most interesting events of the little 
 world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to 
 talking about books ; and to Jo's delight she found that 
 Laurie loved them as well as she did, and had read 
 even more than herself. 
 
 " If you like them so much, come down and see 
 ours. Grandpa is out, so you needn't be afraid," said 
 Laurie, getting up. 
 
 " I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a 
 toss of the head. 
 
 " I don't believe you are ! " exclaimed the boy, look- 
 ing at her with much admiration, though he privately 
 thought • she would have good reason to be a trifle 
 afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some 
 of his moods. 
 
 The atmosphere of the whole house being summer- 
 like, Laurie led the way from room to room, letting 
 Jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy ; and so 
 at last they came to the library, where she clapped 
 her hands, and pranced, as she always did when 
 especially delighted. It was lined with books, and 
 there were pictures and statues, and distracting little 
 cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and Sleepy- 
 Hollow chairs, and queer tables, and bronzes ; and, 
 best of all, a great, open fireplace, with quaint tiles 
 all round it. 
 
 " What richness ! " sighed Jo, sinking into the 
 
8o Little Women, 
 
 depths of a velvet chair, and gazing about her w^ith an 
 air of intense satisfaction. " Theodore Laurence, you 
 ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she added, 
 impressively. 
 
 " A fellov^ can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking 
 his head, as he perched on a table opposite. 
 
 Before he could say more, a bell rung, and Jo flew 
 up, exclaiming with alarm, "Mercy me I it's your 
 grandpa ! " 
 
 "Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of any- 
 thing, you know," returned the boy, looking wicked. 
 
 " I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't 
 know why I should be. Marmee said I might come, 
 and I don't think you're any the worse for it," said 
 Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on 
 the door. 
 
 " I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much 
 obliged. I'm only afraid you are very tired talking to 
 me ; it was so pleasant, I couldn't bear to stop," said 
 Laurie, gratefully. 
 
 "The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beck- 
 oned as she spoke. 
 
 "Would you mind if I left you for a minute.'* I 
 suppose I must see him," said Laurie. 
 
 " Don't mind me. I'm as happy as a cricket here," 
 answered Jo. 
 
 Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in 
 her own way. She was standing before a fine por- 
 trait of the old gentleman, when the door opened 
 again, and, without turning, she said decidedly, " Fm 
 sure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got 
 kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as 
 
Being Neighborly, 8 1 
 
 if he had a tremendous will of his own. He isn't as 
 handsome as my grandfather, but I like him." 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind 
 her ; and there, to her great dismay, stood old Mr 
 Laurence. 
 
 Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, 
 and her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she 
 thought what she had said. For a minute a wild 
 desire to run away possessed her ; but that was cow- 
 ardly, and the girls would laugh at her ; so she 
 resolved to stay, and get out of the scrape as she could. 
 A second look showed her that the living eyes, under 
 the bushy gray eyebrows, were kinder even than the 
 painted ones ; and there was a sly twinkle in them, 
 which lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice 
 was grufier than ever, as the old gentleman said ab- 
 ruptly, after that dreadful pause, " So, you're not afraid 
 of me, hey .'' " 
 
 " Not much, sir." 
 
 "And you don't think me as handsome as your 
 grandfather .? " 
 
 " Not quite, sir." 
 
 "And I've got a tremendous will, have I?" 
 
 " I only said I thought so." 
 
 "But you like me, in spite of it.?" 
 
 " Yes, I do, sir." 
 
 That answer pleased the old gentleman ; he gave a 
 short laugh, shook hands with her, and putting his 
 finger under her chin, turned up her face, examined 
 it gravely, and let it go, saying, with a nod, "You've 
 got your grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. 
 He tvas a fine man, my dear ; but. what is better, he 
 6 
 
82 Little Women, 
 
 was a brave and an honest one, and I was proud to be 
 his friend." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; " and Jo was quite comfortable 
 after that, for it suited her exactly. 
 
 " What have you been doing to this boy of mine, 
 hey?" was the next question, sharply put. 
 
 " Only trying to be neighborly, sir ; " and Jo told 
 how her visit came about. 
 
 " You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you.? " 
 
 "Yes, sir ; he seems a little lonely, and young folks 
 would do him good, perhaps. We are only girls, but 
 we should be glad to help if we could, for we don*t 
 forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us," 
 said Jo, eagerly. 
 
 ^ Tut, tut, tut ; that was the boy's affair. How is 
 the poor woman .? " 
 
 " Doing nicely, sir ; " and off went Jo, talking very 
 fast, as she told all about the Hummels, in whom her 
 mother had interested richer friends than they were. 
 
 "Just her father's way of doing good. I shall 
 come and see your mother some fine day. Tell her 
 so. There's the tea-bell ; we have it early, on the 
 boy's account. Come down, and go on being neigh- 
 borly." 
 
 " If you'd like to have me, sir." 
 
 " Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't ; " and Mr. Laurence 
 ofiered her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy. 
 
 "What would ^Q,^ say to this.?" thought Jo, as she 
 was marched away, while her eyes danced with fun 
 as she imagined herself telling the story at home. 
 
 " Hey ! why what the dickens has come to the fel- 
 low.?" said the old gentleman, as Laurie came run- 
 
Being Neighborly. 83 
 
 ning down stairs, and brought up with a start of 
 surprise at the astonishing sight of Jo arm in arm 
 with his redoubtable grandfather. 
 
 " I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo 
 gave him a triumphant little glance. 
 
 " That's evident, by the way you racket down stairs. 
 Come to your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman ; " 
 and having pulled the boy's hair by way of a caress, 
 Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a 
 series of comic evolutions behind their backs, which 
 nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo. 
 
 The old gentleman did not say much as he drank 
 his four cups of tea, but he watched the young people, 
 who soon chatted away like old friends, and the 
 change in his grandson did not escape him. There 
 was color, light and life in the boy's face now, 
 vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his 
 laugh. 
 
 " She's right ; the lad is lonely. I'll see what these 
 little girls can do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as 
 he looked and listened. He liked Jo, for her odd, 
 blunt ways suited him ; and she seemed to understand 
 the boy almost as well as if she had been one herself. 
 
 If the Laurences had been what Jo called "prim 
 and poky," she would not have got on at all, for such 
 people always made her shy and awkward ; but find- 
 ing them free and easy, she was so herself, and made 
 a good impression. When they rose she proposed to 
 go, but Laurie said he had something more to show 
 her, and took her away to the conservatory, which 
 had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite 
 fairy-like to Jo, as she went up and down the walks, 
 
S4 L it tie i I ^o men, 
 
 enjoying the blooming walls on either side, — the soft 
 light, the damp, sweet air, and the wonderful vines 
 and trees that hung above her, — while her new friend 
 cut the finest flowers till his hands were full ; then 
 he tied them up, saying, with the happy look Jo liked 
 to see, "Please give these to your mother, and tell 
 her I like the medicine she sent me very much." 
 
 They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire 
 in the great drawing-room, but Jo's attention was en- 
 tirely absorbed by a grand piano which stood open. 
 
 " Do you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with 
 a respectful expression. 
 
 " Sometimes," he answered, modestly. 
 
 "Please do now; I want to hear it, so I can tell 
 Beth." 
 
 "Won't you first?" 
 
 " Don't know how ; too stupid to learn, but I love 
 music dearly." 
 
 So Laurie played, and Jo listened, with her nose 
 luxuriously buried in heliotrope and tea roses. Her 
 respect and regard for the "Laurence boy" increased 
 very much, for he played remarkably well, and didn't 
 put on any airs. She wished Beth could hear him, 
 but she did not say so ; only praised him till he was 
 quite abashed, and his grandfaflier came to the rescue. 
 " That will do, that will do, young lady ; too many 
 sugar-plums are not good for him. His music isn't 
 bad, but I hope he will do as well in more important 
 things. Going? Well, I'm much obliged to you, and 
 I hope you'll come again. My respects to your 
 mother; good-night. Doctor Jo." 
 
 He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something 
 
Being Neighborly. 85 
 
 did not please him. When they got into the hall, Jo 
 asked Laurie if she had said anything amiss ; he 
 shook his head. 
 
 " No, it was me ; he don't like to hear me play." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I'll tell you some day. John is going home with 
 you, as I can't." 
 
 "No need of that ; I ain't a young lady, and it's only 
 a step. Take care of yourself, won't you ? " 
 
 "Yes, but you will come again, I hope?" 
 
 " If you promise to come and see us after you are 
 well." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Good-night, Laurie." 
 
 " Good-night, Jo, good-night." 
 
 When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, 
 the family felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for 
 each found something very attractive in the big house 
 on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted 
 to talk of her father with the old man who had not 
 forgotten him ; Meg longed to walk in the conserv- 
 atory ; Beth sighed for the grand piano, and Amy was 
 eager to see the fine pictures and statues. 
 
 " Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have 
 Laurie play.?" asked Joe, who was of an inquiring 
 disposition. 
 
 " I am not sure, but I think it was because his son. 
 Laurie's father, married an Italian lady, a musician, 
 which displeased the old man, who is very proud. 
 The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but 
 he did not like her, and never saw his son after he 
 married. They both died when Laurie was a little 
 
86 Little Women, 
 
 child, and then his grandfather took him home. I 
 fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very 
 strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which 
 makes him so careful. Laurie comes jiaturally by his 
 love of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say 
 his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musi- 
 cian ; at any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman 
 he did not like, and so he ' glowered,' as Jo said." 
 
 " Dear me, how romantic ! " exclaimed Meg. 
 
 "How silly," said Jo; "let him be a musician, if 
 he wants to, and not plague his life out sending him 
 to college, when he hates to go." 
 
 " That's why he has such handsome black eyes and 
 pretty manners, I suppose ; Italians are always nice," 
 said Meg, who was a little sentimental. 
 
 " What do you know about his eyes and his man- 
 ners.'' you never spoke to him, hardly ; " cried Jo, who 
 was not sentimental. 
 
 " I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows 
 that he knows how to behave. That was a nice' little 
 speech about the medicine mother sent him." 
 
 " He meant the blanc-mange, I suppose." 
 
 "How stupid you are, child; he meant you, of 
 course." 
 
 "Did he?" and Jo opened her eyes as if it had 
 never occurred to her before. 
 
 " I never saw such a girl ! You don't know a com- 
 pliment when you get it," said Meg, with the air of a 
 3^oung lady who knew all about the matter. 
 
 " I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you 
 not to be silly, and spoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy, 
 and I like him, and I won't have any sentimental stuff 
 
Being Neighborly, 87 
 
 about compliments and such rubbish. We'll all be 
 good to him, because he hasn't got any mother, and 
 he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee ? " 
 
 "Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I 
 hope Meg w^ill remember that children should be chil- 
 dren as long as they can." 
 
 " I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my 
 teens yet," observed Amy. " What do you say, 
 Beth?" 
 
 " I was thinking about our 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" 
 answered Beth, who had not heard a word. " How 
 we got out of the Slough and through the Wicket 
 Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill, by 
 trying ; and that maybe the house over there, full of 
 splendid things, is going to be our Palace Beautiful.** 
 
 "We have got to get by^the lions, first," said Jo, as 
 if she rather liked the prospect. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 THE big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, 
 though it took some time for all to get in, and 
 Beth found it very hard to pass the lions. Old 
 Mr. Laurence was the biggest one ; but, after he had 
 called, said something funny or kind to each one of the 
 girls, and talked over old times v\^ith their mother, 
 nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid Beth. 
 The other lion was the fact that they were poor and 
 Laurie rich ; for this made them shy of accepting 
 favors which they could not return. But after a while 
 they found that he considered them the benefactors, and 
 could not do enough to show how grateful he was for 
 Mrs. March's motherly welcome, their cheerful society, 
 and the comfort he took in that humble home of 
 theirs ; so they soon forgot their pride, and inter- 
 changed kindnesses without stopping to think which 
 was the greater. 
 
 All sorts of pleasant things happened about that 
 time, for the new friendship flourished like grass in 
 spring. Every one liked Laurie, and he privately in- 
 formed his tutor that " the Marches were regularly 
 
 88 
 
Beth finds the Palace Beautiful, 89 
 
 splendid girls." With the delightful enthusiasm of 
 youth, they took the solitary boy into their midst, and 
 made much of him, and he found something very 
 charming in the innocent companionship of these 
 simple-hearted girls. Never having known mother or 
 sisters, he was quick to feel the influences they brought 
 about him ; and their busy, lively ways made him 
 ashamed of the indolent life he led. He was tired of 
 books, and found people so interesting now, that Mr. 
 Brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactory re- 
 ports ; for Laurie was always playing truant, and 
 running over to the Marches. 
 
 " Never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it 
 up afterward," said the old gentleman. "The good 
 lady next door says he is studying too hard, and needs 
 young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect 
 she is right, and that I've been coddling the fellow as 
 if I'd been his grandmother. Let him do what he likes, 
 as long as he is happy ; he can't get into mischief in 
 that little nunnery over there, and Mrs. March is doing 
 more for him than we can." 
 
 What good times they had, to be sure ! Such plays 
 and tableaux ; such sleigh-rides and skating frolics ; 
 such pleasant evenings in the old parlor, and now and 
 then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg 
 could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked, and 
 revel in bouquets ; Jo browsed over the new library 
 voraciously, and convulsed the old gentleman with her 
 criticisms ; Amy copied pictures and enjoyed beauty to 
 her heart's content, and Laurie played lord of the 
 manor in the most delightful style. 
 
 But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, 
 
90 Little Women, 
 
 could not pluck up courage to go to the " mansion of 
 bliss," as Meg called it. She went once with Jo, but the 
 old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared 
 at her so hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said 
 " hey ! " so loud, that he frightened her so much her 
 " feet chattered on the floor," she told her mother ; and 
 she ran away, declaring she would never go there any 
 more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or 
 enticements could overcome her fear, till the fact com- 
 ing to Mr. Laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he 
 set about mending matters. During one of the brief 
 calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, 
 and talked away about great singers whom he had 
 seen, fine organs he had heard, and told such charming 
 anecdotes, that Beth found it impossible to stay in her 
 distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fasci- 
 nated. At the back of his chair she stopped, and stood 
 listening with her great eyes wide open, and her cheeks 
 red with the excitement of this unusual performance. 
 Taking no more notice of her than if she had been a 
 flv, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie's lessons and 
 teachers ; and presently, as if the idea had just occurred 
 to him, he said to Mrs. March, — 
 
 "The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, 
 for he was getting too fond of it. But the piano suffers 
 for want of use ; womldn't some of your girls like to run 
 over, and practise on it now and, then just to keep it 
 in tune, you know, ma'am ? " 
 
 Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands 
 tightly together, to keep from clapping them, for this 
 was an irresistible temptation ; and the thought of prac- 
 tising on that splendid instrument quite took her breath 
 
Beth finds the Palace Beautiful, 91 
 
 away. Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence 
 went on with an odd little nod and smile, — 
 
 " They needn't see or speak to any one, but run in 
 at any time, for I'm shut up in my study at the other 
 end of the house. Laurie is out a great deal, and the 
 servants are never near the drawing-room after nine 
 o'clock." Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up 
 her mind to speak, for that last arrangement left nothing 
 to be desired. " Please tell the young ladies what I 
 say, and if they don't care to come, why, never mind ; " 
 here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up 
 at hlfe with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her 
 earnest, yet timid way, — 
 
 " Oh, sir ! they do care, very, very much ! " 
 
 "Are you the musical girl.?" he asked, without any 
 startling " hey ! " as he looked down at her very 
 kindly. 
 
 " I'm Beth ; I love it dearly, and I'll come if you 
 are quite sure nobody will hear me — and be dis- 
 turbed," she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling 
 at her own boldness as she spoke. 
 
 " Not a soul, my dear ; the house is empty half the 
 day, so come and drum away as much as you like, 
 and I shall be obliged to you." 
 
 " How kind you are, sir." 
 
 Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he 
 wore, but she was not frightened now, and gave 
 the big hand a grateful squeeze, because she had no 
 words to thank him for the precious gift he had given 
 her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off 
 her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed her, say- 
 ing, in a tone few people ever heard, — 
 
92 Little Women, 
 
 " I had a little girl once with eyes like these ; God 
 bless you, my dear ; good-day, madam," and away he 
 went, in a great hurry. 
 
 Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then 
 rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family 
 of invalids, as the girls were not at home. How 
 blithely she sung that evening, and how they all 
 laughed at her, because she woke Amy in the night, 
 by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Next 
 day, having seen both the old and young gentleman 
 out of the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, 
 fairly got in at the side-door, and made her way as 
 noiselessly as any mouse to the drawing-room, where 
 her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some 
 pretty, easy music lay on the piano ; and, with trem- 
 bling fingers, and frequent stops to listen and look 
 about, Beth at last touched the great instrument, and 
 straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything 
 else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave 
 her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend. 
 
 She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to 
 dinner ; but she had no appetite, and could only sit 
 and smile upon every one in a general state of beat- 
 itude. 
 
 After that, the little brown hood slipped through 
 the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing- 
 room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that came 
 and went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laur- 
 ence often opened his study door to hear the old- 
 fashioned airs he liked ; she never saw Laurie mount 
 guard in the hall, to warn the servants away ; she 
 never suspected that the exercise-books and new 
 
Beth finds the Palace Beautiful, 93 
 
 songs which she found in the rack were put there 
 for her especial benefit ; and when he talked to her 
 about music at home, she only thought how kind he 
 was to tell things that helped her so much. So she 
 enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what isn't always 
 the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. 
 Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this 
 blessing that a greater was given her ; at any rate, she 
 deserved both. 
 
 " Mother, I'm going to work Mr. Laurence a pair of 
 slippers. He is so kind to me I must thank him, and 
 I don't know any other way. Can I do it?" asked 
 Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his. 
 
 "Yes, dear; it will please him very much, and be 
 a nice way of thanking hiin. The girls will help you 
 about them, and I will pay for the making up," replied 
 Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting 
 Beth's requests, because she so seldom asked anything 
 for herself. 
 
 After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, 
 the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the 
 slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet cheerful pan- 
 sies, on a deeper purple ground, was pronounced very 
 appropriate and pretty, and Beth worked away early 
 and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts. She 
 was a nimble little needle-woman, and they were fin- 
 ished before any one got tired of them. Then she 
 wrote a very short, simple note, and, with Laurie's 
 help, got them smuggled on to the study-table one 
 morning before the old gentleman was up. 
 
 When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see 
 what would happen. All that day passed, and a part 
 
94 Little Women, 
 
 of the next, before any acknowledgment arrived, and 
 she was beginning to fear she had offended her crot- 
 chety friend. On the afternoon of the second day 
 she went out to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, 
 the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As she came up 
 the street on her return she saw three — yes, four heads 
 popping in and out of the parlor windows ; and the 
 moment they saw her several hands were waved, and 
 several joyful voices screamed, — 
 
 " Here's a letter from the old gentleman ; come 
 quick, and read it ! " 
 
 "Oh, Beth! he's sent you — "began Amy, ges- 
 ticulating with unseemly energy ; but she got no fur- 
 ther, for Jo quenched her by slamming down the 
 window. 
 
 Beth hurried on in a twitter of suspense ; at the 
 door her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a 
 triumphal procession, all pointing, and all saying at 
 once, "Look there ! look there ! " Beth did look, 
 and turned pale with delight and surprise ; for there 
 stood a little cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the 
 glossy lid, directed like a sign-board, to "Miss Eliz- 
 abeth March." 
 
 "For me.?" gasped Beth, holding on to Jo, and 
 -feeling as if she should tumble down, it was such an 
 overwhelming thing altogether. 
 
 "Yes; all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid 
 of him? Don't you think he's the dearest old man in 
 the world ? Here's the key in the letter ; we didn't 
 open it, but we are dying to know what he says," 
 cried Jo, hugging her sister, and offering the note. 
 
 " You read it ; I can't, I feel so queer. Oh, it is 
 
Beth finds the Palace Beautiful, 95 
 
 too lovely ! " and Beth hid her face in Jo's apron, 
 quite upset by her present. 
 
 Jo opened the paper, and began to laugh, for the first 
 words she saw were : — 
 
 " Miss March : 
 
 '•'-Dear Madam — " 
 
 " How nice it sounds ! I wish some one would 
 write to me so ! " said Amy, who thought the old- 
 fashioned address very elegant. 
 
 " ' I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but 
 I never had any that suited me so well as yours,' " 
 continued Jo. " ' Heart' s-ease is my favorite flower, 
 and these will always remind me of the gentle giver. 
 I like to pay my debts, so I know you will allow " the 
 old gentleman " to send you something which once 
 belonged to the little granddaughter he lost. With 
 hearty thanks, and best wishes, I remain, 
 
 " ' Your grateful friend and humble servant, 
 
 "'James Laurence.-" 
 
 *' There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm 
 sure ! Laurie told me how fond Mr. Laurence used 
 to be of the child who died, and how he kept all her 
 little things carefully. Just think ; he's given you her 
 piano ! That comes of having big blue eyes and lov- 
 ing music," said. Jo, trying to soothe Beth, who trem- 
 bled, and looked more excited than she had ever been 
 before. 
 
 " See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the 
 nice green silk, puckered up with a gold rose in the 
 middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete,'* 
 
96 Little Women, 
 
 added Meg, opening the instrument, and displaying its 
 beauties. 
 
 " ' Your humble servant, James Laurence ; ' only 
 think of his writing that to you. I'll tell the girls ; 
 they'll think it's killing," said Amy, much impressed 
 by the note. 
 
 " Try it, honey ; let's hear the sound of the baby 
 pianny," said Hannah, who always took a share in 
 the family joys and sorrows. 
 
 So Beth tried it, and every one pronounced it the 
 most remarkable piano ever heard. It had evidently 
 been newly tuned, and put in apple-pie order ; but, 
 perfect as it was, I think the real charm of it lay in the 
 happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as 
 Beth lovingly touched the beautiful black and white 
 keys, and pressed the shiny pedals. 
 
 " You'll have to go and thank him," said Jo, by 
 way of a joke ; for the idea of the child's really going, 
 never entered her head. 
 
 "Yes, I mean to ; I guess I'll go now, before I get 
 frightened thinking about it ; " and, to the utter amaze- 
 ment of the assembled family, Beth walked deliber- 
 ately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at 
 the Laurences door. 
 
 " Well, I wish I may die, if it ain't the queerest 
 thing I ever see ! The pianny has turned her head ; 
 she'd never have gone, in her right mind," cried Han- 
 nah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered 
 quite speechless by the miracle. 
 
 They would have been still more amazed, if they 
 had seen what Beth did afterward. If you will be- 
 lieve me, she went and knocked at the study door. 
 
Beth finds the Palace Beautiful, 97 
 
 before she gave herself time to think ; and when a 
 gruff voice called out, " Come in ! " she did go in, 
 right up to Mr. Laurence, who looked quite taken 
 aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a 
 small quaver in her voice, " I came to thank you, sir, 
 for — " but she didn't finish, for he looked so friendly 
 that she forgot her speech ; and, only remembering 
 that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put both 
 arms round his neck, and kissed him. 
 
 If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the 
 old gentleman wouldn't have been more astonished ; 
 but he liked it — oh dear, 3'^es ! he liked it amazingly ; 
 and was so touched and pleased by that confiding 
 little kiss, that all his crustiness vanished ; and he just 
 set her on his knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against 
 her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little 
 granddaughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him 
 from that moment, and sat there talking to him as 
 cosily as if she had known him all her life ; for 
 love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride. 
 When she went home, he walked with her to hei 
 own gate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat 
 as he marched back again, looking very stately and 
 erect, like a handsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he 
 was. 
 
 When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to 
 dance a jig, by way of expressing her satisfaction ; 
 Amy nearly fell out of the window in her surprise, 
 and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, " Well, I do 
 believe the world is coming to an end ! " 
 7 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 amy's valley of humiliation. 
 
 THAT boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he ? " said 
 Amy, one day, as Laurie clattered by on horse- 
 back, with a flourish of his ^vhip as he passed. 
 
 " How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? 
 and very handsome ones they are, too ; " cried Jo, who 
 resented any slighting remarks about her friend. 
 
 " I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't 
 see why you need fire up when I admire his riding." 
 
 " Oh, my goodness ! that little goose means a cen- 
 taur, and she called him a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, 
 with a burst of laughter. 
 
 "You needn't be so rude, it's only a 'lapse of lingy,' 
 as Mr. Davis says," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with 
 her Latin. " I just wish I had a little of the money 
 Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to her- 
 self, yet hoping her sisters would hear. 
 
 "Why?" asked Meg, kindly, for Jo had gone off in 
 another laugh at Amy's second blunder. 
 
 " I need it so much ; I'm dreadfully in debt, and it 
 won't be my turn to have the rag-money for a month." 
 
 "In debt, Amy; what do you mean?" and Meg 
 looked sober. 
 
 98 
 
Amy^s Valley of Hutniliation, 99 
 
 " Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I 
 can't pay them, you know, till I have money, for Mar- 
 mee forbid my having anything charged at the shop." 
 
 " Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? 
 It used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls ; '* 
 and Meg tried to keep her countenance. Amy looked 
 so grave and important. 
 
 " Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, 
 and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do 
 it, too. It's nothing but limes now, for every one is 
 sucking them in their desks in school-time, and trad- 
 ing them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper dolls, or 
 something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, 
 she gives her a lime ; if she's mad with her, she eats 
 one before her face, and don't offer even a suck. 
 They treat by turns ; and I've had ever so many, but 
 haven't returned them, and I ought, for they are debts 
 of honor, you know." 
 
 " How much will pay them off, and restore your 
 credit .f*" asked Meg, taking out her purse. 
 
 " A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few 
 cents over for a treat for you. Don't you like limes?" 
 
 " Not much ; you may have my share. Here's the 
 money, — make it last as long as you can, for it isn't 
 very plenty, you know." 
 
 "Oh, thank you ! it must be so nice to have pocket- 
 money. I'll have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a 
 lime this week. I felt delicate about taking any, as I 
 couldn't return them, and I'm actually suffering for 
 one." 
 
 Next day Amy was rather late at school ; but could 
 not resist the temptation of displaying, with pardon- 
 
I oo L it tie Wo m e n . 
 
 able pride, a moist brown paper parcel, before she 
 consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. Dur- 
 ing the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March 
 had got twenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on 
 the way), and was going to treat, circulated through 
 her " set," and the attentions of her friends became 
 quite overwhelming. Kat)'' Brown invited her to her 
 next party on the spot ; Mary Kingsley insisted on lend- 
 ing her her watch till recess, and Jenny Snow, a satir- 
 ical young lady who had basely twitted Amy upon 
 her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet, and 
 offered to furnish answers to certain appalling sums. 
 But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow's cutting re- 
 marks about " some persons whose noses were not too 
 flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people, 
 who were not too proud to ask for them ; " and- she 
 instantly crushed "that Snow girl's" hopes by the 
 withering telegram, " You needn't be so polite all of 
 a sudden, for you won't get any.",... 
 
 A distinguished personage happened to visit the 
 school that morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn 
 maps received praise, which honor to her foe rankled 
 in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to 
 assume the airs of a studious young peacock. But, 
 alas, alas ! pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful 
 Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. No 
 sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments, 
 and bowed himself out, than Jenny, under pretence of 
 asking an important question, informed Mr. Davis, 
 the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in 
 her desk. 
 
 Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband 
 
Amy^s Valley of Humiliation. loi 
 
 article, and solemnly vowed to publicly ferule the first 
 person who was found breaking tHe law. This much- 
 enduring man had succeeded in banishing gum after 
 a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the 
 confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a 
 private post-office, had forbidden distortions of the 
 face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that 
 one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious 
 girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human 
 patience, goodness knows ! but girls are infinitely 
 more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyran- 
 nical tempers, and no more talent for teaching than 
 " Dr. Blimber." Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, 
 Latin, Algebra, and ologies of all sorts, so he was 
 called a fine teacher ; and manners, morals, feelings, 
 and examples were not considered of any particular 
 importance. It was a most unfortunate moment for 
 denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis 
 had evidently taken his coffee too strong that morn- 
 ing ; there was an east wind, which always aflected 
 his neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the 
 credit which he felt he desei^ved ; therefore, to use the 
 expressive, if not elegant, language of a school-girl, 
 " he was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a 
 bear." The word "limes" was like fire to powder; 
 his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his desk 
 witb an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat 
 with unusual rapidity. 
 
 " Young ladies, attention, if you please !" 
 . At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of 
 blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently 
 fixed upon his awful countenance. 
 
I02 Little Women, 
 
 " Miss March, come to the desk." 
 
 Amy rose to comply, with outward composure, but 
 a secret fear oppressed her,- for the limes weighed 
 upon her conscience. 
 
 " Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," 
 was the unexpected command which arrested her 
 before she got out of her seat. 
 
 " Don't take all," whispered her neighbor, a young 
 lady of great presence of mind. 
 
 Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the 
 rest down before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man 
 possessing a human heart would relent when that 
 delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. 
 Davis particularly detested the odor of the fashionable 
 pickle, and disgust added to his wrath. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " Not quite," stammered Amy. 
 
 "Bring the rest, immediately." 
 
 With a despairing glance at her set she obeyed. 
 
 "You are sure there are no more.^*" 
 
 " I never lie, sir." 
 
 "So I see. Now take these disgusting things, two 
 by two, and throw them out of the window." 
 
 There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite 
 a little gust as the last hope fled, and the treat was rav- 
 ished from their longing lips. Scarlet with shame 
 and anger, Amy went to and fro twelve mortal times ; 
 and as each doomed couple, looking, oh, so plump 
 and juicy ! fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from 
 the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it 
 told them that their feast was being exulted over 
 by the little Irish children, who were their sworn 
 
Amys Valley of Humiliation, 103 
 
 foes. This — this was too much; all flashed indig- 
 nant or appealing glances at the inexorable Davis, 
 and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears. 
 
 As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis 
 gave a portentous " hem," and said, in his most 
 impressive manner, — 
 
 " Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a 
 week ago. I am sorry this has happened ; but I never 
 allow my rules to be infringed, and I never break my 
 word. Miss March, hold out your hand." 
 
 Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turn- 
 ing on him an imploring look, which pleaded for her 
 better than the words she could not utter. She was 
 rather a favorite with " old Davis," as, of course, he 
 was called, and it's my private belief that he would 
 have broken his word if the indignation of one irre- 
 pressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss. 
 That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gen- 
 tleman, and sealed the culprit's fate. 
 
 " Your hand. Miss March! "was the only answer 
 her mute appeal received ; and, too proud to cry or 
 beseech. Amy set her teeth, threw back her head 
 defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling 
 blows on her little palm. They were neither many 
 nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For 
 the first time in her life she had been struck ; and the 
 disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked 
 her down. 
 
 "You will now stand on the platform till recess," 
 said Mr. Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, 
 since he had begun. 
 
 That was dreadful ; it would have been bad enough 
 
I04 Little Women. 
 
 to go to her seat and see the pitying faces of her 
 friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies ; but 
 to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon 
 her, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if 
 she could only drop down where she stood, and break 
 her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong, and 
 the thought of Jenny Snow, helped her to bear it ; and, 
 taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on. 
 the stove-funnel above what now seemed a sea of 
 faces, and stood there so motionless and white, that 
 the girls found it very hard to study, with that pathetic 
 little figure before them. 
 
 During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud 
 and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain 
 which she never forgot. To others it might seem a 
 ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard ex- 
 perience ; for during the twelve years of her life she had 
 been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort 
 had never touched her before. The smart of her hand, 
 and the ache of her heart, were forgotten in the sting 
 of the thought, — 
 
 ^' I shall have to tell at home, and they will be so 
 disappointed in me ! " 
 
 The fifteen minutes seemed an hour ; but they came 
 to an end at last, and the word " recess ! " had never 
 seemed so welcome to her before. 
 
 " You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, 
 as he felt, uncomfortable. 
 
 He did not soon forget the reproachful look Amy 
 gave him, as she went, without a word to any one, 
 straight into the anteroom, snatched her things, and 
 left the place "forever," as she passionately declared 
 
Aftiy^s Valley of Hu?niliatio?i. 105 
 
 to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home ; 
 and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an 
 indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March 
 did not say much, 'but looked disturbed, and comforted 
 her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner. 
 Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and 
 tears ; Beth felt that even her beloved kittens would fail 
 as a balm for griefs like this, and Jo wrathfully pro- 
 posed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay, while 
 Hannah shook her fist at the " villain," and pounded 
 potatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle. 
 
 No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her 
 mates ; but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that 
 Mr. Davis was quite benignant in the afternoon, also 
 unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo ap- 
 peared, wearing a grim expression, as she stalked up 
 to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother ; 
 then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully 
 scraping the mud from her boots on the door-mat, as 
 if she shook the dust of the place off' her feet. 
 
 "Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I 
 want you to study a little every day, with Beth," said 
 Mrs. March, that evening. " I don't approve of cor- 
 poral punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. 
 Davis' manner of teaching, and don't think the girls 
 you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall 
 ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere 
 else." 
 
 " That's good ! I wish all the girls would leave, 
 and spoil his old school. It's perfectly maddening to 
 think of those lovely limes," sighed Amy, with the air 
 of a martyr 
 
io6 Little Women, 
 
 " I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the 
 rules, and deserved some punishment for disobe- 
 dience," was the severe reply, vs^hich rather dis- 
 appointed the young lady, who expected nothing but 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before 
 the whole school ? " cried Amy. 
 
 " I should not have chosen that way of mending a 
 fault," replied her mother; "but I'm not sure that it 
 won't do you more good than a milder method. You 
 are getting to be altogether too conceited and impor- 
 tant, my dear, and it is quite time you set about 
 correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and 
 virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for 
 conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much 
 danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked 
 long ; even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and 
 using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm 
 of all power is modesty." 
 
 "So it is," cried Laurie, who was playing chess in 
 a corner with Jo. "I knew a girl, once, who had a 
 really remarkable talent for music, and she didn't 
 know it ; never guessed what sweet little things she 
 composed when she was alone, and wouldn't have 
 believed it if any one had told her." 
 
 " I wish I'd known that nice girl, maybe she would 
 have helped me, I'm so stupid," said Beth, who stood 
 beside him, listening eagerly. 
 
 " You do know her, and she helps you better than 
 any one else could," answered Laurie, looking at her 
 with such mischievous meaning in his merry black 
 eyes, that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her 
 
Amy^s Valley of Humiliation » 107 
 
 face in the sofa-cushion, quite overcome by such an 
 unexpected discovery. 
 
 Jo let Laurie v^in the game, to pay for that praise 
 of her Beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play 
 for them after her compliment. So Laurie did his 
 best, and sung delightfully, being in a particularly 
 lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed 
 the moody side of his character. When he was gone, 
 Amy, who had been pensive all the evening, said, 
 suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, — • 
 
 "Is Laurie an accomplished boy.?" 
 
 "Yes; he has had an excellent education, and has 
 much talent ; he will make a fine man, if not spoilt 
 by petting," replied her mother. 
 
 "And he isn't conceited, is he.?" asked Amy. 
 
 " Not in the least ; that is why he is so charming, 
 and we all like him so much." 
 
 " I see ; it's nice to have accomplishments, and be 
 elegant ; but not to show off", or get perked up," said 
 Amy, thoughtfully. 
 
 " These things are always seen and felt in a person's 
 manner and conversation, if modestly used ; but it 
 is not necessary to display them," said Mrs. March. 
 
 "Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets, 
 and gowns, and ribbons, at once, that folks may know 
 you've got 'em," added Jo ; and the lecture ended in a 
 laugh. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JO MEETS APOLLYON. 
 
 GIRLS, where are you going? " asked Amy, com- 
 ing into their room one Saturday afternoon, 
 and finding them getting ready to go out, with 
 an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity. 
 
 " Never mind ; little girls shouldn't ask questions,'* 
 returned Jo, sharply. 
 
 Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings, 
 when we are young, it is to be told that ; and to be 
 bidden to " run away, dear," is still more trying to us. 
 Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find 
 out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning 
 to Meg, who never refused her anything very long, 
 she said, coaxingly, "Do tell me! I should think 
 you might let me go, too ; for Beth is fussing over her ; 
 dolls, and I haven't got anything to do, and am so 
 lonely." 
 
 " I can't, dear, because you aren't invited," began 
 Meg; but Jo broke in impatiently, "Now, Meg, be 
 quiet, or you will spoil it all. You can't go. Amy ; 
 so don't be a baby, and whine about it." 
 
 " You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know 
 1 08 
 
 # 
 
Jo meets Apollyon, 109 
 
 you are ; you were whispering and laughing together, 
 on tlie sofa, last night, and you stopped when I came 
 in. Aren't you going with him ? " 
 
 *' Yes, we are ; now do be still, and stop bothering." 
 
 Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw 
 Meg slip a fan into her pocket. 
 
 " I know ! I know ! you're going to the theatre to 
 see the ' Seven Castles ! ' she cried ; adding, resolutely, 
 *' and I shall go, for mother said I might see it ; and 
 I've got my rag-money, and it was mean not to tell 
 me in time." 
 
 "Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child," 
 said Meg, soothingly. " Mother doesn't wish you to 
 go this week, because your eyes are not well enough 
 yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week 
 you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice 
 time." 
 
 " I don't like that half as well as going with you 
 and Laurie. Please let me ; I've been sick with this 
 cold so long, and shut up, I'm dying for some fun. 
 Do, Meg ! I'll be ever so good," pleaded Amy, look- 
 ing as pathetic as she could. 
 
 " Suppose we take her. I don*t believe mother 
 would mind, if we bundle her up well," began Meg. 
 
 " If she goes 7^ shan't; and if I don't, Laurie won't 
 like it ; and it will be very rude, after he invited only 
 us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she'd hate 
 to poke herself where she isn't wanted," said Jo, 
 crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a 
 fidgety child, when she wanted to enjoy herself. 
 
 Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to 
 put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating 
 
no Little Women. 
 
 way, " I shall go ; Meg says I may ; and if I pay for 
 myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it." 
 
 " You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, 
 and you mustn't sit alone ; so Laurie will give you his 
 place, and that will spoil our pleasure ; or he'll get 
 another seat for you, and that isn't proper, when you 
 weren't asked. You shan't stir a step ; so you may just 
 stay where you are," scolded Jo, crosser than ever, 
 having just pricked her finger in her hurry. 
 
 Sitting on the floor, with one boot on. Amy began 
 to cry, and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie 
 called from below, and the two girls hurried down, 
 leaving their sister wailing ; for now and then she for- 
 got her grown-up ways, and acted like a spoilt child. 
 Just as the party was setting out. Amy called over the 
 banisters, in a threatening tone, " You'll be sorry for 
 this, Jo March ! see if you ain't." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" returned Jo, slamming the door. 
 
 They had a charming time, for " The Seven Castles 
 of the Diamond Lake" were as brilliant and won- 
 derful as heart could wish. But, in spite of the 
 comical red imps, sparkling elves, and gorgeous 
 princes and princesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of 
 bitterness in it ; the fairy queen's yellow curls re- 
 minded her of Amy ; and between the acts she amused 
 herself with wondering what her sister would do to 
 make her " sorry for it." She and Amy had had 
 many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives, for 
 both had quick tempers, and were apt to be violent 
 when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated 
 Amy, and semi-occasional explosions occurred, of 
 which both were much ashamed afterward. Although 
 
yo fueeis Apollyon, 1 1 1 
 
 the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had 
 hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which 
 was continually getting her into trouble ; her anger 
 never lasted long, and, having humbly confessed her 
 fault, she sincerely repented, and tried to do better. 
 Her sisters used to say, that they rather liked to get 
 Jo into a fury, because she was such an angel after- 
 ward. Poor Jo tried desperately to be good, but her 
 bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat 
 her ; and it took years of patient effort to subdue it. 
 
 When they got home, they found Amy reading in 
 the parlor. She assumed an injured air as they came 
 in ; never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a 
 single question. Perhaps curiosity might have con- 
 quered resentment, if Beth had not been there to 
 inquire, and receive a glowing description of the play. 
 On going up to put away her best hat, Jo's first look 
 was toward the bureau ; for, in their last quarrel, Amy 
 had soothed her feelings by turning Jo's top drawer 
 upside down, on the floor. Everything was in its 
 place, however ; and after a hasty glance into her 
 various closets, bags and boxes, Jo decided that Amy 
 had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs. 
 
 There Jo was mistaken ; for next day she made a 
 discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth and 
 Amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, 
 when Jo burst into the room, looking excited, and 
 demanding, breathlessly, " Has any one taken my 
 story.?" 
 
 Meg and Beth said " No," at once, and looked sur- 
 prised ; Amy poked the fire, and said nothing. Jo 
 
112 Little Women, 
 
 saw her color rise, and was down upon her in a 
 minute. 
 
 " Amy, you've got it ! " 
 
 " No, I haven't." 
 
 " You know where it is, then ! '* 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 " Thaf s a fib ! " cried Jo, taking her by the shoul- 
 ders, and looking .fierce enough to frighten a much 
 braver child than Amy. 
 
 "It isn't. I haven't got it, don't know where it is 
 now, and don't care." 
 
 " You know something about it, and you'd better 
 tell at once, or I'll make you," and Jo gave her a slight 
 shake. 
 
 " Scold as much as you like, you'll never get your 
 silly old story again," cried Amy, getting excited in 
 her turn. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I burnt it up." 
 
 " What ! my little book I was so fond of, and 
 worked over, and meant to finish before father got 
 home ? Have you really burnt it ? " said Jo, turning 
 very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands 
 clutched Amy nervously. 
 
 " Yes, I did ! I told you I'd make you pay for 
 being so cross yesterday, and I have, so — " 
 
 Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered 
 her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her 
 head ; crying, in a passion of grief and anger, — 
 
 " You wicked, wicked girl ! I never can write it 
 again, and I'll never forgive you as long as I live." 
 
 Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but 
 
Jo meets Af oily on, 113 
 
 Jo was quite beside herself; and, with a parting box 
 on her sister's ear, she rushed out of the room up to 
 the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone. 
 
 The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came 
 home, and, having heard the story, soon brought Amy 
 to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister. Jo's 
 book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded 
 by her family as a licerary sprout of great promise. It 
 was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but Jo had 
 worked over them patiently, putting her whole heart 
 into her work, hoping to make something good enough 
 to print. She had just copied them with great care, 
 and had destroyed the old manuscript, so that Amy's 
 bonfire had consumed the loving work of several 
 years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it 
 was a dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never 
 could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a 
 departed kitten, and Meg refused to defend her pet ; 
 Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt 
 that no one would love her till she had asked pardon 
 for the act which she now regretted more than any of 
 them. 
 
 When the tea-bell rung, Jo appeared, looking so 
 grim and unapproachable, that it took all Amy's 
 courage to say, meekly, — 
 
 " Please forgive me, Jo ; I'm very, very sorry." 
 
 " I never shall forgive you," was Jo's stern answer ; 
 and, from that moment, she ignored Amy entirely. 
 
 No one spoke of the great trouble, — not even Mrs. 
 
 March, — for all had learned by experience that when 
 
 Jo was in that mood words were wasted ; and the 
 
 wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or 
 
 8 
 
114 Little Women, 
 
 her own generous nature, softened Jo's resentment, and 
 healed the breach. It was not a happy evening ; for, 
 though they sewed as usual, while their mother read 
 aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something 
 was wanting, and the sweet home-peace was disturbed. 
 They felt this most when singing-time came ; for Beth 
 could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy 
 broke down, so Meg and mother sung alone. But, in 
 spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flute- 
 like voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and 
 all felt out of tune. 
 
 As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March 
 whispered, gently, — 
 
 "My dear, don't let the sun go down upon your 
 anger ; forgive each other, help each other, and begin 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly 
 bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away ; but tears 
 were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply 
 injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet. So 
 she winked hard, shook her head, and said, gruffly, 
 because Amy was listening, — 
 
 " It was an abominable thing, and she don't deserve 
 to be foi'given." 
 
 With that she marched off to bed, and there was 
 no merry or confidential gossip that night. 
 
 Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace 
 had been repulsed, and began to wish she had not 
 humbled herself, to feel more injured than ever, and 
 to plume herself on her superior virtue in a waywhich 
 was particularly exasperating. Jo still looked like a 
 thunder-cloud, and nothing went well all day. It was 
 
yo meets Af oily on, 115 
 
 bitter cold in the morning ; she dropped her precious 
 turn-over in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of 
 fidgets, Meg was pensive, Beth would look grieved 
 and wistful when she got home, and Amy kept mak- 
 ing remarks about people who were always talking 
 about being good, and yet wouldn't try, when other 
 people set them a virtuous example. 
 
 "Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to go 
 skating. He is always kind and jolly, and will put 
 me to rights, I know," said Jo to herself, and off she 
 went. 
 
 Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with 
 an impatient exclamation, — 
 
 " There ! she promised I should go next time, for 
 this is the last ice we shall have. But it's no use to 
 ask such a cross patch to take me." 
 
 " Don't say that ; you were very naughty, and it is 
 hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book ; 
 but I think she might do it now, and I guess she will, 
 if you try her at the right minute," said Meg. " Go 
 after them ; don't say anything till Jo has got good- 
 natured with Laurie, then take a quiet minute, and 
 just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and I'm sure 
 she'll be friends again, with all her heart." 
 
 "I'll try," said Amy, for the advice suited her ; and, 
 after a flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, 
 who were just disappearing over the hill. 
 
 It was not far to the river, but both were ready 
 before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and 
 turned her back ; Laurie did not see, for he was care- 
 fully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a 
 warm spell had preceded the cold snap. 
 
ii6 Little Women, 
 
 " I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right, 
 before we begin to race," Amy heard him say, as he 
 shot away, looking like a young Russian, in his 
 fur-trimmed coat and cap. 
 
 Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet, 
 and blowing her fingers, as she tried to put her skates 
 on ; but Jo never turned, and went slowly zigzagging 
 down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of satis- 
 tion in her sister's troubles. She had cherished her 
 anger till it grew strong, and took possession of her, as 
 evil thoughts and feelings always do, unless cast out 
 at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted 
 back, — 
 
 " Keep near the shore ; it isn't safe in the middle." 
 
 Jo heard, but Amy was just struggling to her feet, 
 and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoul- 
 der, and the little demon she was harboring said in 
 her ear, — 
 
 " No matter whether she heard or not, let her take 
 care of herself." 
 
 Laurie had vanished round the bend ; Jo was just at 
 the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the 
 smoother ice in the middle of the river. For a min- 
 ute Jo stood still, with a strange feeling at her heart ; 
 then she resolved to go on, but something held and 
 turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up 
 her hands and go down, with the sudden crash of rot- 
 ten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that made Jo's 
 heart stand still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, 
 but her voice was gone ; she tried to rush forward, 
 but her feet seemed to have no strength in them ; and, 
 for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring, 
 
"Keep near the shore; it isn't safe in the middle." Jo heard, 
 but Amy was just struggling to her feet, and did not catch a word. — 
 Page 116. 
 
yo meets A-pollyon, 117 
 
 with a terror-stricken face, at the little blue hood 
 above the black water. Something rushed swiftly by 
 her, and Laurie's voice cried out, — 
 
 '' Bring a rail ; quick, quick ! " 
 
 How she did it, she never knew ; but for the next 
 few minutes she worked as if possessed, blindly obey- 
 ing Laurie, who was quite self-possessed ; and, lying 
 flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey, till Jo 
 dragged a rail from the fence, and together they got 
 the child out, more frightened than hurt. 
 
 "Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we 
 can ; pile our things on her, while I get off these 
 confounded skates," cried Laurie, wrapping his coat 
 round Amy, and tugging away at the straps, which 
 never seemed so intricate before. 
 
 Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy 
 home ; and, after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, 
 rolled in blankets, before a hot fire. During the 
 bustle Jo had scarcely spoken ; but flown about, look- 
 ing pale and wild, with her things half off*, her dress 
 torn, and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails, 
 and refractory buckles. When Amy was comfortably 
 asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the 
 bed, she called Jo to her, and began to bind up the 
 hurt hands. 
 
 "Are you sure she is safe.?" whispered Jo, looking 
 remorsefully at the golden head, which might have 
 been swept away from her sight forever, under the 
 treacherous ice. 
 
 " Qtiite safe, dear ; she is not hurt, and won't even 
 take cold, I think, you were so sensible in covering 
 
ii8 Little Women, 
 
 and getting her home quickly," replied her mother, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " Laurie did it all ; I only let her go. Mother, if she 
 should die, it would be my fault ; " and Jo dropped 
 down beside the bed, in a passion of penitent tears, 
 telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her 
 hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for 
 being spared the heavy punishment which might have 
 come upon her. 
 
 " It's my dreadful temper ! I try to cure it ; I think 
 I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. Oh, 
 mother ! what shall I do ! what shall I do ? " cried 
 poor Jo, in despair. 
 
 " Watch and pray, dear ; never get tired of trying ; 
 and never think it is impossible to conquer your 
 fault," said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head 
 to her shoulder, and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly, 
 that Jo cried harder than ever. 
 
 "You don't know; you can't guess how bad it is! 
 It seems as if I could do anything when I'm in a 
 passion ; I get so savage, I could hurt any one, and 
 enjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful 
 some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody 
 hate me. Oh, mother ! help me, do help me ! " 
 
 "I will, my child; I will. Don't cry so bitterly, 
 but remember this day, and resolve, with all your soul, 
 that you will never know another like it. Jo, dear, 
 we all have our temptations, some far greater than 
 yours, and it often takes us all our lives to conquer 
 them. You think your temper is the worst in the 
 world ; but mine used to be just like it." 
 
Jo meets Apollyon, 119 
 
 "Yours, mother? Why, you are never angry!'* 
 and, for the moment, Jo forgot remorse in surprise. 
 
 " I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and 
 have only succeeded in controlling it. I am angry 
 nearly every day of my life, Jo ; but I have learned 
 not to show^ It ; and I still hope to learn not to feel it, 
 though it may take me another forty years to do so." 
 
 The patience and the humility of the face she loved 
 so well, was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest 
 lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at 
 once by the sympathy and confidence given her ; the 
 knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers, and 
 tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear, and 
 strengthened her resolution to cure it ; though forty 
 years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray, 
 to a girl of fifteen. 
 
 " Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips 
 tight together, and go out of the room sometimes, 
 when Aunt March scolds, or people worry you?" 
 asked Jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than 
 ever before. 
 
 " Yes, I've learned to check the hasty words that 
 rise to my lips ; and when I feel that they mean to 
 break out against my will, I just go away a minute, 
 and give myself a little shake, for being so weak and 
 wicked," answered Mrs. March, with a sigh and a 
 smile, as she smoothed and fastened up Jo's dishev- 
 elled hair. 
 
 " How did you learn to keep still ? That is what 
 troubles me — for the sharp words fly out before I 
 know what I'm about ; and the more I say the worse I 
 get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings, and 
 
I20 Little Women, 
 
 say dreadful things. Tell me how you do it, Marmee 
 dear/' * 
 
 "My good mother used to help me — " 
 " As you do us — " interrupted Jo, with a grateful 
 kiss. 
 
 " But I lost her when I was a little older than you 
 are, and for years had to struggle on alone, for I was 
 too proud to confess my weakness to any one else. I 
 had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter 
 tears over my failures ; for, in spite of my efforts, I 
 never seemed to get on. Then your father came, and 
 I was so happy that I found it easy to be good. But 
 by and by, when I had four little daughters round me, 
 and we were poor, then the old trouble began again ; 
 for I am not patient by nature, and it tried me very 
 much to see my children wanting anything." 
 " Poor mother ! what helped you then } " 
 "Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, — 
 never doubts or complains, — but always hopes, and 
 works, and waits so cheerfully, that one is ashamed to 
 do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted 
 me, and showed me that I must try to practise all the 
 virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was 
 their example. It was easier to try for your sakes 
 than for my own ; a startled or surprised look from 
 one of you, when I spoke sharply, rebuked me more 
 than any words could have done ; and the love, 
 respect, and confidence of my children was the sweet- 
 est reward I could receive for my efforts to be the 
 woman I would have them copy." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! if I'm ever half as good as you, I 
 shall be satisfied," cried Jo, much touched. 
 
Jo fneets Apollyon. 121 
 
 " I hope you will be a great deal better, dear ; but 
 you must keep watch over your ' bosom enem}'^,' as 
 father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. 
 You have had a warnmg ; remember it, and try with 
 heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it 
 brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have 
 known today." 
 
 " I will try, mother ; I truly will. But you must 
 help me, remind me, and keep me from flying out. I 
 used to see father sometimes put his finger on his lips, 
 and look at you with a very kind, but sober face ; and 
 you always folded your lips tight, or went away ; was 
 he reminding you then.?" asked Jo, softly. 
 
 ''Yes; I asked him to help me so, and he never 
 forgot it, but saved me from many a sharp word by 
 that little gesture and kind look." 
 
 Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled, and her lips 
 trembled, as she spoke ; and, fearing that she had said 
 too much, she whispered anxiously, "Was it wrong 
 to watch you, and to speak of it.^* I didn't mean to 
 be rude, but it's so comfortable to say all I think to 
 you, and feel so safe and happy here." 
 
 "My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for 
 it is my greatest happiness and pride to feel that my 
 girls confide in me, and know how much I love them." 
 
 " I thought I'd grieved you." 
 
 " No, dear ; but speaking of father reminded me 
 how much I miss him, how much I owe him, and 
 how faithfully I should watch and work to keep his 
 little daughters safe and good for him." 
 
 "Yet you told him to go, mother, and didn't cry 
 
122 Little Women, 
 
 when he went, and never complain now, or seem as 
 if you needed any help," said Jo, wondering. 
 
 "I gave my best to the country I love, and kept 
 my tears till he was gone. Why should I complain, 
 when we both have merely done our duty, and will 
 surely be the happier for it in the end? If I don't 
 seem to need help, it is because I have a better friend, 
 even than father, to comfort and sustain me. My 
 child, the troubles and temptations of your life are 
 beginning, and may be many ; but you can overcome 
 and outlive them all, if you learn to feel the strength 
 and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do 
 that of your earthly one. The more you love and 
 trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the 
 less you will depend on human power and wisdom. 
 His love and care never tire or change, can never be 
 taken from you, but may become the source of life- 
 long peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this 
 heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and 
 hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly 
 as you come to your mother." 
 
 jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and, 
 in the silence which followed, the sincerest prayer she 
 had ever prayed left her heart, without words ; for in 
 that sad, yet happy hour, she had learned not only the 
 bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness 
 of self-denial and self-control ; and, led by her mother's 
 hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friend who wel- 
 comes every child with a love stronger than that of 
 any father, tenderer than that of any mother. 
 
 Amy stirred, and sighed in her sleep ; and, as if 
 eager to begin at once to mend her fault, Jo looked up 
 
Jo meets Apollyon, 123 
 
 with an expression on her face which it had never 
 worn before. 
 
 "I let the sun go down on my anger ; I wouldn't 
 forgive her, and today, if it hadn't been for Laurie, 
 It might have been too late ! How could I be so 
 wicked?" said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her 
 sister, softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the 
 pillow. 
 
 As if she heard. Amy opened her eyes, and held 
 out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo's 
 heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one 
 another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything 
 was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR. 
 
 I DO think it was the most fortunate thing in the 
 world, that those children should have the 
 measles just now," said Meg, one April day, as 
 she stood packing the " go abroady " trunk in her 
 room, surrounded by her sisters. 
 
 "And so nice of Annie Moffat, not to forget her 
 promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly 
 splendid," replied Jo, looking like a windmill, as she 
 folded skirts with her long arms. 
 
 " And such lovely weather ; I'm so glad of that," 
 added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in 
 her best box, lent for the great occasion. 
 
 " I wish I was going to have a fine time, and wear 
 all these nice things," said Amy, with her mouth full 
 of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister's 
 cushion. 
 
 " I wish you were all going; but, as you can't, I 
 shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come 
 back. I'm sure it's the least I can do, when you have 
 been so kind, lending me things, and helping me get 
 read}'," said Meg, glancing round the room at the 
 
 124 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair. 125 
 
 very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in 
 their eyes. 
 
 "What did mother give you out of the treasure- 
 box ? " asked Amy, w^ho had not been present at the 
 opening of a certain cedar chest, in which Mrs. March 
 kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her 
 girls when the proper time came. 
 
 *' A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, 
 and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk ; but 
 there isn't time to make it over, so I must be contented 
 with my old tarlatan." 
 
 " It will look nicely over my new muslin skirt, and 
 the sash will set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn't 
 smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had 
 it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose 
 possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much 
 use. 
 
 " There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the 
 treasure-box ; but mother said real flowers were the 
 prettiest ornament for a young girl, and Laurie prom- 
 ised to send me all I want," replied Meg. "Now, 
 let me see; there's my new gray walking-suit, — just 
 curl up the feather in my hat, Beth, — then my poplin, 
 for Sunday, and the small party, — it looks heavy for 
 spring, don't W.} the violet silk would be so nice ; oh, 
 dear ! " 
 
 " Never mind ; you've got the tarlatan for the big 
 party, and you always look like an angel in white," 
 said Amy, brooding over the little store of finery in 
 which her soul delighted. 
 
 "It isn't low-necked, and it don't sweep enough, 
 but it will have to do. My blue house-dress looks so 
 
126 " Little Women. 
 
 well, turned and freshly trimmed, that I feel as if I'd 
 got a new one. My silk sacque isn't a bit the fashion, 
 and my bonnet don't look like Sallie's ; I didn't like 
 to say anything, but I was dreadfully disappointed in 
 my umbrella. I told mother black, with a white 
 handle, but she forgot, and bought a green one, with 
 an ugly yellowish handle. It's strong and neat, so I 
 ought not to complain, but I know I shall feel ashamed 
 of it beside Annie's silk one, wuth a gold top," sighed 
 Meg, surveying the little umbrella^^ith gi'eat disfavor. 
 
 "Change it," advised Jo. 
 
 " I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, 
 when she took so much pains to get my things. It's 
 a nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm not going to 
 give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of 
 spandy gloves are my comfort. You are a dear, to 
 lend me yours, Jo ; I feel so rich, and sort of elegant, 
 with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for 
 common ; " and Meg took a refreshing peep at her 
 glove-box. 
 
 "Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her 
 night-caps ; would you put some on mine } " she 
 asked, as Beth brought up a pile* of snowy muslins, 
 fresh from Hannah's hands. 
 
 "No, I wouldn't; for the smart, caps won't match 
 the plain gowns, without any trimming on them. 
 Poor folks shouldn't rig," said Jo, decidedly. 
 
 " I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have 
 real lace on my clothes, and bows on my caps t " said 
 Meg, impatiently. 
 
 " You said the otlier day that you'd be perfectly happy 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 127 
 
 if you could only go to Annie Moffat's," observed 
 Beth, in her quiet way. 
 
 " So I did ! Well, I am happy, and I won't fret ; 
 but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one 
 wants, don't it? There, now, the trays are ready, 
 and everything in but my ball-dress, which I shall 
 leave for mother," said Meg, cheering up, as she 
 glanced from the half-filled trunk to the many-times 
 pressed and mended white tarlatan, which she called 
 her " ball-dress," with an important air. 
 
 The next day was fine, and Meg departed, in style, 
 for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March 
 had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing 
 that Margaret would come back more discontented 
 than she went. But she had begged so hard, and 
 Sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a 
 little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter of 
 hard work, that the mother yielded, and the daughter 
 went to take her first taste of fashionable life. 
 
 The Moftats were very fashionable, and simple Meg 
 was rather daunted, at first j by the splendor of the 
 house, and the elegance of its occupants. But they 
 were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they 
 led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps 
 Meg felt, without undenstanding why, that they were 
 not particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and 
 that all their gilding could not quite conceal the or- 
 dinary material of which they were made. It certainly 
 was agreeable to fare sumptuousl}^, drive in a fine car- 
 riage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing 
 but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly ; and soon siie 
 began to imitate the manners and conversation of 
 
128 Little Women. 
 
 those about her ; to put on little airs and graces, use 
 French phrases, crimp her hair, take in -her dresses, 
 and talk about the fashions, as well as she could. The 
 more she saw of Annie Moffat's pretty things, the 
 more she envied her, and sighed to be rich. Home 
 now looked bare and dismal as she thought of it, work 
 grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a very 
 destitute and much injured girl, in spite of the new 
 gloves and silk stockings. 
 
 She had not much time for repining, however, for 
 the three young girls were busily employed in " having 
 a good time." They shopped, walked, rode, and 
 called all day ; went to theatres and operas, or frol- 
 icked at home in the evening ; for Annie had many 
 friends, and knew how to entertain them. Her older 
 sisters were very fine young ladies, and one was en- 
 gaged, which was extremely interesting and roman- 
 tic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat was a fat, jolly old 
 gentleman, who knew her father ; and Mrs. Moffat, a 
 fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg 
 as her daughter had done. Every one petted her ; and 
 "Daisy," as they called her, was in a fair way to have 
 her head turned. 
 
 When the evening for the " small party" came, she 
 found that the poplin wouldn't do at all, for the other 
 girls were putting on thin dresses, and making them- 
 selves very fine indeed ; so out came the tarleton, 
 looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever, beside 
 Sallie's crisp new on,e. Meg saw the girls glance at 
 it, and then at one another, and her cheeks began to 
 burn ; for, with all her gentleness, she was very proud. 
 No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to do 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 129 
 
 her hair, and Annie to tie her sash, and Belle, the 
 engaged sister, praised her white arms ; but, in their 
 kindness, Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her 
 heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while 
 the others laughed and chattered, prinked, and flew 
 about like gauzy butterflies. The hard, bitter feeling 
 was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a 
 box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had 
 the cover oft', and all were exclaiming at the lovely 
 roses, heath, and ferns within. 
 
 " It's for Belle, of course ; George always sends her 
 some, but these are altogether ravishing," cried Annie, 
 with a great sniff'. 
 
 " They are for Miss March," the man said. " And 
 here's a note," put in the maid, holding it to Meg. 
 
 "What fun! Who are they are from? Didn't 
 know you had a lover," cried the girls, fluttering 
 about Meg in a high state of curiosity and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "The note is from mother, and the flowers from 
 Laurie," said Meg, simply, yet much gratified that he 
 had not forgotten her. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " said Annie, with a funny look, as 
 Meg slipped the note into her pocket, as a sort of tal- 
 isman against envy, vanity, and false pride ; for the 
 few loving words had done her good, and the flowers 
 cheered her up by their beauty. 
 
 Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns 
 and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest 
 in dainty bouquets for the breasts, hair, or skirts of 
 her friends, offering them so prettily, that Clara, the 
 elder sister, told her she was " the sweetest little thing 
 9 
 
130 Little Women, 
 
 she ever saw ; " and they looked quite charmed with 
 her small attention. Somehow the kind act finished 
 her despondency ; and, when all the rest went to 
 show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, 
 bright-eyed face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns 
 against her rippling hair, and fastened the roses in 
 the di'ess that didn't strike her as so very shabby now. 
 
 She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she 
 danced to her heart's content ; every one was very 
 kind, and she had three compliments. Annie made 
 her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine 
 voice ; Major Lincoln asked who "the fresh little girl, 
 with the beautiful eyes, v^as ; " and Mr. Moftat in- 
 sisted on dancing with her, because she " didn't 
 dawdle, but had some spring in her," as he grace- 
 fully expressed it. So, altogether, she had a very nice 
 time, till she overheard a bit of a conversation, which 
 disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just inside 
 the consei-vatory, waiting for her partner to bring her 
 an ice, when she heard a voice ask, on the other side 
 of the flowery wall, — 
 
 "How old is he.?" 
 
 " Sixteen or seventeen, I should say," replied an- 
 other voice. 
 
 " It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, 
 wouldn't \\.} Sallie says they are very intimate now, 
 and the old man quite dotes on them." 
 
 "Mrs. M. has laid her plans, I dare say, and will 
 play her cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently 
 doesn't think of it yet," said Mrs. Moffat. 
 
 " She told that fib about her mamma, as if she did 
 know, and colored up when the flowers came, quite 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 131 
 
 prettily. Poor thing ! she'd be so nice if she was only 
 got up in style. Do you think she'd be offended if we 
 offered to lend her a dress for Thursday?" asked 
 another voice. 
 
 " She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for 
 that dowdy tarlatan is all she has got. She may tear 
 it to-night, and that will be a good excuse for offering 
 a decent one." 
 
 " We'll see ; I shall ask that Laurence, as a com- 
 pliment to her, and we'll have fun about it afterward." 
 
 Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking 
 much flushed, and rather agitated. She was proud, 
 and her pride was useful just then, for it helped hei 
 hide her mortification, anger, and disgust, at what 
 she had just heard ; for, innocent and unsuspicious as 
 she was, she could not help understanding the gossip 
 of her friends. She tried to forget it, but could not, 
 and kept repeating to herself, " Mrs. M. has her 
 plans," "that fib about her mamma," and "dowdy 
 tarlatan," till she was ready to cry, and rush home 
 to tell her troubles, and ask for advice. As that was 
 impossible, she did her best to seem gay ; and, being 
 rather excited, she succeeded so well, that no one 
 dreamed what an effort she was making. vShe was 
 very glad when it was all over, and she was quiet in 
 her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume 
 till her head ached, and her hot cheeks were cooled 
 by a few natural tears. Those foolish, yet well- 
 meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and 
 much disturbed the peace of the old one, in which, 
 till now, she had lived as happily as a child. Her 
 innocent friendship with Laurie was spoilt by the 
 
132 Little Women, 
 
 silly speeches she had overheard ; her faith in her 
 mother was a little shaken by the worldly plans 
 attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others 
 by herself; and the sensible resolution to be con- 
 tented with the simple wardrobe which suited *i poor 
 man's daughter, was weakened by the unnecessary 
 pit}^ of girls, who thought a shabby dress one of the 
 greatest calamities under heaven. 
 
 Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy- 
 eyed, unhappy, half resentful toward her friends, 
 and half ashamed of herself for not speaking out 
 frankly, and setting everything right. Everybody 
 dawdled that morning, and it was noon before the 
 girls found energy enough even to take up their wors- 
 ted work. Something in the manner of her friends 
 struck Meg at once ; they treated her with more re- 
 spect, she thought ; took quite a tender interest in what 
 she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly be- 
 trayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered her, 
 though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked 
 up from her writing, and said, with a sentimental 
 air, — 
 
 " Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, 
 Mr. Laurence, for Thursday. We should like to 
 know him, and it's only a proper compliment to you.'* 
 
 Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the 
 girls made her reply, demurely, — 
 
 *' You are very kind, but I'm afraid he won't come.'* 
 
 "Why not, cherie.?" asked Miss Belle. 
 
 " He's too old." 
 
 "My child, what do you mean.^^ What is his age, 
 I beg to know ! " cried Miss Clara. 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 133 
 
 '' Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, count- 
 ing stitches, to hide the merriment in her eyes. 
 
 " You sly creature ! of course, we meant the young 
 man," exclaimed Miss Belle, laughing. 
 
 " There isn't any ; Laurie is only a little boy," and 
 Meg laughed also at the queer look which the sisters 
 exchanged, as she thus described her supposed lover. 
 
 " Aboijt your age," Nan said. 
 
 "Nearer my sister Jo's ; /am seventeen in August," 
 returned Meg, tossing her head. 
 
 "It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" 
 said Annie, looking wise about nothing. 
 
 "Yes, he often does, to all of us ; for their house is 
 full, and we are so fond of them. My mother and 
 old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know, so it is quite 
 natural that we children should play together ; " and 
 Meg hoped they would say no more. 
 
 "It's evident Daisy isn't out yet," said Miss Clara to 
 Belle, with a nod. 
 
 " Qiiite a pastoral state of innocence all round," 
 returned Miss Belle, with a shrug. 
 
 " I'm going out to get some little matters for my 
 girls ; can I do anything for you, young ladies?" asked 
 Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in, like an elephant, in silk and 
 lace. 
 
 " No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie ; " I've got 
 my new pink silk for Thursday, and don't want a 
 thing." 
 
 "Nor I — " began Meg, but stopped, because it 
 occurred to her that she did want several things, and 
 could not have them. 
 
 "What shall vou wear?" asked Sallie. 
 
134 Little Women. 
 
 "My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be 
 seen ; it got sadly torn last night," said Meg, trying to 
 speak quite easily, but feeling very uncomfortable. 
 
 "Why don't you send home for another?" said 
 Sallie, who was not an observing young lady. 
 
 " I haven't got any other." It cost Meg an effort to 
 say that, but Sallie did not see it, and exclaimed, in 
 amiable surprise, — 
 
 "Only that? how funny — ." She did not finish 
 her speech, for Belle shook her head at her, and broke 
 in, saying, kindly, — 
 
 " Not at all ; where is the use of having a lot of 
 dresses when she isn't out? There's no need of send- 
 ing home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, for I've got 
 a sweet blue silk laid away, which I've outgrown, and 
 you shall wear it, to please me ; won't you, dear?" 
 
 "You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress, 
 if you don't ; it does well enough for a little girl like 
 me," said Meg. 
 
 " Now do let me please myself by dressing you up 
 in style. I admire to do it, and you'd be a regular 
 little beauty, with a touch here and there. I shan't 
 let any one see you till you are done, and then we'll 
 burst upon them like Cinderella and her godmother, 
 going to the ball," said Belle, in her persuasive tone. 
 
 Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for 
 a desire to see if she would be "a little beauty" after 
 touching up caused her to accept, and forget all her 
 former uncomfortable feelings towards the Moffats. 
 
 On the Thursday evening. Belle shut herself up 
 with her maid ; and, between them, they turned Meg 
 into a fine lady. They crimped and curled her hair, 
 
For several minutes, she stood like the jackdaw in the fable, 
 enjoying her borrowed plumes. — Page 135. 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 135 
 
 they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant 
 powder, touched her lips with coralline salve, to make 
 them redder, and Hortense would have added " a 
 soupcon of rouge," if Meg had not rebelled. They 
 laced her into a sky-blue dress, which w^as so tight 
 she could hardly breathe, and so low in the neck that 
 modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. A set 
 of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, 
 brooch, and even ear-rings, for Hortense tied them on, 
 with a bit of pink siik, which did not show. A clus- 
 ter of tea rose-buds at the bosom, and a ruche^ recon- 
 ciled Meg to the display of her pretty white shoulders, 
 and a pair of high-heeled blue silk boots satisfied the 
 last wish of her heart. A laced handkerchief, a 
 plumy fan, and a bouquet in a silver holder, finished 
 her off'; and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satis- 
 faction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is charmante, tres jolie, is she not.?" 
 cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rap- 
 ture. 
 
 "Come and show yourself," said Miss Belle, leading 
 the way to the room where the others were waiting. 
 
 As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts 
 trailing, her ear-rings tinkling, her curls waving, and 
 her heart beating, she felt as if her "fun" had really 
 begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that 
 she was " a little beauty." Her friends repeated the 
 pleasing phrase enthusiastically ; and, for several min- 
 utes, she stood, like the jackdaw in the fable, enjoying 
 her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a 
 party of magpies. 
 
 " While I dress, do you drill her. Nan, in the man- 
 
136 Little Women, 
 
 agement of her skirt, and those French heels, or she 
 will trip herself up. Put your silver butterfly in the 
 middle of that white barbe, and catch up that long 
 curl on the left side of her head, Clara, and don't any 
 of you disturb the charming work of my hands," said 
 Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with 
 her success. 
 
 " I'm afraid to go down, I feel so queer and stiff, 
 and half-dressed," said Meg to Sallie, as the bell rang, 
 and Mrs. Moffat sent to ask the young ladies to appear 
 at once. 
 
 "You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are 
 very nice. I'm nowhere beside you, for Belle has 
 heaps of taste, and you're quite French, I assure you. 
 Let your flowers hang ; don't be so careful of them, 
 and be sure you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying 
 not to care that Meg was prettier than herself. 
 
 Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret 
 got safely down stairs, and sailed into the drawing- 
 rooms, where the Moffats and a few early guests were 
 assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a 
 charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class 
 of people, and secures their respect. Several young 
 ladies, w^ho had taken no notice of her before, ^vere 
 very affectionate all of a sudden ; several young gen- 
 tlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, 
 now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and 
 said all manner of foolish, but ag^reeable thino^s to her ; 
 and several old ladies, who sat on sofas, and criticised 
 the rest of the party, inquired who she was, with an 
 air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one 
 of thenij — 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 137 
 
 "Daisy March — father a colonel in the army — one 
 of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know ; 
 intimate friends of the Laurences ; sweet creature, I 
 assure you ; my Ned is quite wild about her." 
 
 •'Dear me ! " said the old lady, putting up her glass 
 for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as 
 if she had not heard, and been rather shocked at Mrs. 
 Moftat's fibs. 
 
 The "queer feeling" did not pass away, but she 
 imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady, and 
 so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her 
 a side-ache, the train kept getting under her feet, and 
 she was in constant fear lest her ear-rings should fly 
 off', and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan, 
 and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman 
 who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped 
 laughing, and looked confused ; for, just opposite, she 
 saw Laurie. He was staring at her with undisguised 
 surprise, and disapproval also, she thought ; for, 
 though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his 
 honest eyes made her blush, and wish she had her old 
 dress on. To complete her confusion, she saw Belle 
 nudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, 
 who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish 
 and shy. Ii 
 
 " Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head ! 
 I won't care for it, or let it change me a bit," thought 
 Meg, and rustled across the room to shake hands with 
 her friend. 
 
 "I'm glad you came, for I was afraid you wouldn't," 
 she said, with her most grown-up air. 
 
 "Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you 
 
138 Little Women. 
 
 looked, so I did ; " answered Laurie, without turning 
 his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her mater- 
 nal tone. 
 
 "What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of 
 curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at 
 ease with him, for the first time. 
 
 " I shall say I didn't know you ; for you look so 
 grown-up, and unlike yourself, I'm quite afraid of 
 you," he said, fumbling at his glove-button. 
 
 " How absurd of you ! the girls dressed me up for 
 fun, and I rather like it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw 
 me ? " said Meg, bent on making him say whether he 
 thought her improved or not. 
 
 *' Yes, I think she would," returned Laurie, gravely. 
 
 "Don't you like me so?" asked Meg. 
 
 " No, I don't," was the blunt reply. 
 
 " Why not.'"' in an anxious tone. 
 
 He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, 
 and fantastically trimmed dress, with an expression 
 that abashed her more than his answer, which had 
 not a particle of his usual politeness about it. 
 
 " I don't like fuss and feathers." 
 
 That was altogether too much from a lad younger 
 than herself; and Meg walked away, saying, petu- 
 lantly^ — 
 
 "You are the rudest boy I ever saw." 
 
 Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a 
 quiet window, to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress 
 gave her an uncomfortably brilliant color. As she 
 stood there. Major Lincoln passed by ; and, a minute 
 after, she heard him saying to his mother, — 
 
 " They are making a fool of that little girl ; I 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 139 
 
 waiited you to see her, but they have spoilt her en- 
 tirely ; she's nothing but a doll, to-night." 
 
 "Oh, dear !" sighed Meg; " I wish I'd been sen- 
 sible, and worn my own things ; then I should not 
 have disgusted other people, or felt so uncomfortable 
 and ashamed myself." 
 
 She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and 
 stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that 
 her favorite waltz had begun, till some one touched 
 her ; and, turning, she saw Laurie looking penitent, as 
 he said, with his very best bow, and his hand out, — 
 
 "Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance 
 with me." 
 
 " I'm afraid it will be too disagreeable to you," 
 said Meg, trying to look offended, and failing entirely. 
 
 "Not a bit of it; I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll 
 be good ; I don't like your gown, but I do think you 
 are — just splendid ;" and he waved his hands, as if 
 words failed to express his admiration. 
 
 Meg smiledj and relented, and whispered, as they 
 stood waiting to catch the time. 
 
 " Take care my skirt don't trip you up ; it's the 
 plague of my life, and I was a goose to wear it." 
 
 " Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," 
 said Laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, 
 which he evidently approved of. 
 
 Away they went, fleetly and gracefully ; for, having 
 practised at home, they were well matched, and the 
 blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as 
 they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more 
 friendly than ever after their small tiff. 
 
 " Laurie, I want you to do me a favor ; will you?" 
 
140 Little Women, 
 
 said Meg, as he stood fanning her, when her breath 
 gave out, which it did, very soon, though she would 
 not own why. 
 
 " Won't I ! " said Laurie, with alacrity. 
 
 " Please don't tell them at home about my dress 
 to-night. They won't understand the joke, and it will 
 v/orry mother." 
 
 " Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so 
 plainly, that Meg hastily added, — 
 
 " I shall tell them, myself, all about it, and ' 'fess' to 
 mother how silly I've been. But I'd rather do it 
 myself; so you'll not tell, will you?" 
 
 " I give you my word I won't ; only what shall I say 
 when they ask me ? " 
 
 "Just say I looked nice, and was having a good 
 time." 
 
 " I'll say the first, with all my heart ; but how about 
 the other? You don't look as if you were having a 
 good time ; are you } " and Laurie looked at her with 
 an expression which made her answer, in a whisper, — 
 
 " No ; not just now. Don't think I'm horrid ; I 
 only wanted a little fun, but this sort don't pay, I find, 
 and I'm getting tired of it." 
 
 "Here comes Ned Moffat; what does he want?" 
 said Laurie, knitting his black brows, as if he did not 
 regard his young host in the light of a pleasant addi- 
 tion to the party. 
 
 " He put his name down for three dances, and I 
 suppose he's coming for them ; what a bore ! " said 
 Meg, assuming a languid air, which amused Laurie 
 immensely. 
 
 He did not speak to her again till supper-time, 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 141 
 
 when he saw her drinking champagne with Ned, and 
 his friend Fisher, who were behaving " like a pair of 
 fools," as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly 
 sort of right to watch over the Marches, and fight 
 their battles, whenever a defender was needed. 
 
 "You'll have a splitting headache to-morrow, if you 
 drink much of that. I wouldn't, Meg; your mother 
 don't like it, you know," he whispered, leaning over 
 her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass, and Fisher 
 stooped to pick up her fan. 
 
 " I'm not Meg, to-night ; I'm ' a doll,' who does all 
 sorts of crazy things. To-morrow I shall put away 
 my ' fuss and feathers,' and be desperately good again," 
 she answered, with an affected little laugh. 
 
 " Wish to-morrow was here, then," muttered Laurie, 
 walking off, ill-pleased at the change he saw in her. 
 
 Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as 
 the other girls did ; after supper she undertook the 
 German, and blundered through it, nearly upsetting 
 her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way 
 that scandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated 
 a lecture. But he got no chance to deliver it, for Meg 
 kept away from him till he came to say good-night. 
 
 "Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the 
 splitting headache had already begun. 
 
 " Silence a la mort," replied Laurie, with a melo- 
 dramatic flourish, as he went away. 
 
 This little bit of by-play excited Annie's curiosity ; 
 but Meg was too tired for gossip, and went to bed, 
 feeling as if she had been to a masquerade, and hadn't 
 enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was 
 sick all the next day, and on Saturday went home, 
 
142 Little Women, 
 
 quite used up with her fortnight's fun, and feeling that 
 she had sat in the lap of luxuiy long enough. 
 
 " It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have 
 company manners on all the time. Home is a nice 
 place, though it isn't splendid," said Meg, looking 
 about her with a restful expression, as she sat with 
 her mother and Jo on the Sunday evening. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid 
 home would seem dull and poor to you, after your 
 fine quarters," replied her mother, who had given her 
 many anxious looks that day ; for motherly eyes are 
 quick to see any change in children's faces. 
 
 Meg had told her adventures gayly, and said over 
 and over what a charming time she had had ; but 
 something still seemed to weigh upon her spirits, and, 
 when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat 
 thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little, and looking 
 worried. As the clock struck nine, and Jo proposed 
 bed, Meg suddenly left her chair, and, taking Beth's 
 stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying, 
 bravely, — 
 
 "Marmee, I want to "fess.'" 
 
 " I thought so ; what is it, dear.?" 
 
 " Shall I go away?" asked Jo, discreetly. 
 
 " Of course not ; don't I always tell you everything? 
 I was ashamed to speak of it before the children, but 
 I want you to know all the dreadful things I did at 
 the Moffats." 
 
 " We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling, but 
 looking a little anxious. 
 
 " I told you they rigged me up, but I didn't tell you 
 tliat they powdered, and squeezed, and frizzled, and 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 143 
 
 made me look like a fashion-plate. Laurie thought I 
 wasn't proper ; I know he did, though he didn't say- 
 so, and one man called me ' a doll.' I knew it was 
 silly, but they flattered me, and said I was a beauty, 
 and quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a fool 
 of me." 
 
 "Is that all.?" asked Jo, as Mrs March looked 
 silently at the downcast face of her pretty daughter, 
 and could not find it in her heart to blame her little 
 follies. 
 
 " No ; I drank champagne, and romped, and tried 
 to flirt, and was, altogether, abominable," said Meg, 
 self-reproachfully. 
 
 " There is something more, I think ; " and Mrs. 
 March smoothed the soft cheek, which suddenly grew 
 rosy, as Meg answered, slowly, — 
 
 " Yes ; it's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I 
 hate to have people say and think such things about 
 us and Laurie." 
 
 Then she told the various bits of gossip she had 
 heard at the MofFats ; and, as she spoke, Jo saw her 
 mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill pleased that such 
 ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind. 
 
 " Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever 
 heard," cried Jo, indignantly. "Why didn't you pop 
 out and tell them so, on the spot ? " 
 
 " I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I 
 couldn't help hearing, at :first, and then I was so angry 
 and ashamed, I didn't remember that I ought to go 
 away." 
 
 "Just wait till /see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you 
 how to settle such ridiculous stuff*. The idea of having 
 
144 Little Women, 
 
 ' plans,' and being kind to Laurie, because he's rich, 
 and may marry us by and by ! Won't he shout, when 
 I tell him what those silly things say about us poor 
 children?" and Jo laughed, as if, on second thoughts, 
 the thing struck her as a good joke. 
 
 " If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you ! She 
 mustn't, must she, mother?" said Meg, looking dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 " No ; never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget 
 it as soon as you can," said Mrs. March, gravely. " I 
 was very unwise to let you go among people of whom 
 I know so little ; kind, I dare say, but worldly, ill- 
 bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young people. 
 I am more sorry than I can express, for the mischief 
 this visit may have done you, Meg." 
 
 " Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me ; I'll forget 
 all the bad, and remember only the good ; for I did 
 enjoy a. great deal, and thank you very much for letting 
 me go. I'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, mother ; 
 I know I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you till 
 I'm fit to take care of myself. But it is nice to be 
 praised and admired, and I can't help saying I like 
 it," said Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession. 
 
 " That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if 
 the liking does not become a passion, and lead one to 
 do foolish or unmaidenly things. Learn to know and 
 value the praise which is worth having, and to excite 
 the admiration of excellent people, by being modest as 
 well as pretty, Meg." 
 
 Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood 
 with her hands behind her, looking both interested 
 and a little perplexed ; for it was a new thing to see 
 
Meg goes to Vanity Fair, 145 
 
 Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, 
 and things of that sort, and Jo felt as if during that 
 fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and was 
 drifting away from her into a world where she could 
 not follow. 
 
 "Mother, do you have ' plans,' as Mrs. Moffat said ?" 
 asked Meg, bashfully. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, I have a great many; all mothers 
 do, but mine differ somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I 
 suspect. I will tell you some of them, for the time 
 has come when a word may set this romantic little 
 head and heart of yours right, on a very serious sub- 
 ject. You are young, Meg; but not too young to 
 understand me, and mothers' lips are the fittest to 
 speak of such things to girls like you. Jo, your turn 
 will come in time, perhaps, so listen to my ' plans,' 
 and help me carry them out, if they are good." 
 
 Jo went and sat on one a.rm of the chair, looking as 
 if she thought they were about to join in some very 
 solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, and watching 
 the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her 
 serious yet cheery way, — 
 
 " I want my daughters to be beautiful, accom- 
 plished, and good ; to be admired, loved, and re- 
 spected, to have a happy youth, to be well and wisely 
 married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as 
 little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to 
 send. To be loved and chosen by a good man is the 
 best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman ; 
 and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beau- 
 tiful experience. It is natural to think of it, Meg ; 
 right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for 
 10 
 
i^6 Little Women, 
 
 it ; so that, when the happy time comes, you may feel 
 ready for the duties, and worthy of the joy. My dear 
 girls, I a7n ambitious for you, but not to have you 
 make a dash in the world, — marry rich men merely- 
 because they are rich, or have splendid houses, whicii 
 are not homes, because love is wanting. Money is a 
 needful and precious thing, — and, when well used, a 
 noble thing, — but I never want you to think it is the 
 first or only prize to strive for. I'd rather see you 
 poor men's Avives, if you were happy, beloved, con- 
 tented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect 
 and peace." 
 
 " Poor girls don't stand any chance. Belle says, 
 unless they put themselves forward," sighed Meg. 
 
 '' Then we'll be old maids," said Jo, stoutly. 
 
 " Right, Jo ; better be happy old maids than un- 
 happy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to 
 find husbands," said Mrs. March, decidedly. " Don't 
 be troubled, Meg ; poverty seldom daunts a sincere 
 lover. Some of the best and most honored women I 
 know were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they 
 were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these things 
 to time ; make this home happy, so that you may be fit 
 for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and 
 contented here if they are not. One thing remember, 
 my girls, mother is always ready to be your confidant, 
 father to be your friend ; and both of us trust and hope 
 that our daughters, whether married or single, will be 
 the pride and comfort of our lives." 
 
 "We will, Marmee, we will ! " cried both, with all 
 their hearts, as she bade them good-night. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE P. C. AND P. O. 
 
 AS spring came on, a new set of amusements 
 became the fashion, and the lengthening days 
 gave long afternoons for work and play of all 
 sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each 
 sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she 
 liked with. Hannah used to say, "I'd know which 
 each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in 
 Chiny ;" and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed 
 as much as their characters. Meg's had roses and heli- 
 otrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree in it. Jo's bed 
 was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying 
 experiments ; this year it was to be a plantation of sun- 
 flowers, the seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant 
 were to feed "Aunt Cockle-top" and her family of 
 chicks. Beth had old-fashioned,fragrant flowers in her 
 garden ; sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, 
 pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the 
 bird and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in 
 hers, — rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to 
 look at, — with honeysuckles and morning-glories hang- 
 ing their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths 
 147 ■ 
 
148 Little Women, 
 
 all over it ; tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many 
 brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blos- 
 som there. 
 
 Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower-^ 
 hunts employed the fine days ; and for rainy ones, 
 they had house diversions, — some old, some new, — 
 all more or less original. One of these was the " P. 
 C." ; for, as secret societies were the fashion, it was 
 thought proper to have one ; and, as all of the girls 
 admired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick 
 Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this 
 up for a year, and met every Saturday evening in the 
 big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were 
 as follows : Three chairs were arranged in a row be- 
 fore a table, on which was a lamp, also four white 
 badges, with a big "P. C." in different colors on each, 
 and the weekly newspaper, called " The Pickwick 
 Portfolio," to which all contributed something ; while 
 Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At 
 seven o'clock, the four members ascended to the club- 
 room, tied their badges round their heads, and took 
 their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, 
 was Samuel Pickwick ; Jo, being of a literary turn, 
 Augustus Snodgrass ; Beth, because she was round 
 and rosy, Tracy Tupman ; and Amy, who was always 
 trying to do what she couldn't, was Nathaniel Winkle. 
 Pickwick, the President, read the paper, which was 
 filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny 
 advertisements, and hints, in which they good-na- 
 turedly reminded each other of their faults and short- 
 comings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a 
 pair of spectacles without any glasses, rapped upon 
 
The P, C. and P. O. 
 
 149 
 
 the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. 
 Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he 
 arranged himself properly, began to read, — 
 
 MAY 20, 18-. 
 
 Poet's Corner. 
 
 ANNIVERSARY ODE. 
 
 Again we meet to celebrate 
 "With badge and solemn rite, 
 
 Our iifty-second anniversary, 
 In Pickwick Hall, to-night. 
 
 We all are here in perfect health, 
 None gone from our small band ; 
 
 Again we see each well-known face, 
 And press each friendly hand. 
 
 Our Pickwick, always at his post. 
 
 With reverence we greet. 
 As, spectacles on nose, he reads 
 
 Our well-filled weekly sheet. 
 
 Although he suffers from a cold. 
 We joy to hear him speak, 
 
 For words of wisdom from him fall. 
 In spite of croak or squeak. 
 
 Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high. 
 
 With elephantine grace, 
 And beams upon the company. 
 
 With brown and jovial face. 
 
 Poetic fire lights up his eye, 
 He struggles 'gainst his lot ; 
 
 Behold ambition on his brow. 
 And on his nose a blot 1 
 
 Next our peaceful Tupman comes. 
 So rosy, plump and sweet. 
 
 Who chokes with laughter at the puns, 
 And tumbles off his seat. 
 
 Prim little Winkle too is here, 
 
 With every hair in place, 
 A model of propriety. 
 
 Though he hates to wash his face. 
 
 The year is gone, we still unite 
 To joke and laugh and read. 
 
 And tread the path of literature 
 That doth to glory lead. 
 
 Long may our paper prosper well, 
 
 Our club unbroken be, 
 And coming years their blessings pour 
 
 On the useful, gay " P. C." 
 
 A. Snodgrass. 
 
 THE MASKED MARRIAGE. 
 A TALE OF VENICE. 
 
 Gondola after gondola swept up to 
 the marble steps, and left its lovely 
 load to swell the brilliant throng that 
 filled the stately halls of Count de 
 Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves 
 and pages, monks and flower-girls, 
 all mingled gaily in the dance. Sweet 
 voices and rich melody filled the air; 
 and so with mirth and music the mas- 
 querade went on. 
 
ISO 
 
 Little Women, 
 
 " Has your Highness seen the Lady 
 Viola to-night ? " asked a gallant trou- 
 badour of the fairy queen who floated 
 down the hall upon his arm. 
 
 " Yes ; is she not lovely, though so 
 ead 1 Her dress is well chosen, too, 
 for in a week she weds Count Anto- 
 nio, whom she passionately hates." 
 
 " By ray faith I envy him. Yonder 
 he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, 
 except the black mask. When that is 
 off we shall see how he regards the 
 fair maid whose heart he cannot win, 
 though her stern father bestows her 
 hand," returned the troubadour. 
 
 " 'Tis whispered that she loves the 
 young English artist who haunts her 
 steps, and is spurned by the old 
 count," said the lady, as they joined 
 the dance. 
 
 The revel was at its height when a 
 priest appeared, and, withdrawing the 
 young pair to an alcove hung with 
 purple velvet, he motioned them to 
 kneel. Instant silence fell upon the 
 gay throng; and not a sound, but the 
 dash of fountains or the rustle of 
 orange groves sleeping in the moon- 
 light, broke the hush, as Count de 
 Adelon spoke thus : — 
 
 "My lords and ladies; pardon the 
 ruse by which I have gathered j^ou 
 here to witness the marriage of mj' 
 daughter. Father, we wait your ser- 
 vices." 
 
 All eyes turned toward the bridal 
 party, and a low murmur of amaze- 
 ment went through the throng, for 
 neither bride nor groom removed 
 their masks. Curiosity and wonder 
 possessed all hearts, but respect re- 
 strained all tongues till the holy rite 
 was over. Then the eager spectators 
 gathered round the count, demanding 
 an explanation. 
 
 " Gladly would I give it if I could ; 
 but I only know that it waa the whim 
 
 of my timid Viola, and I yielded to it. 
 Now, my children, let the play end. 
 Unmask, and receive my blessing." 
 
 But neither bent the knee; for the 
 young bridegroom replied, in a tone 
 that startled all listeners, as the mask 
 fell, disclosing the noble face of Fer- 
 dinand Devereux, the artist lover, and, 
 leaning on the breast where now 
 flashed the star of an English earl, 
 was the lovely Viola, radiant with 
 joy and beauty. 
 
 " My lord, you scornfully bade me 
 claim your daughter when I could 
 boast as high a name and vast a for- 
 tune as the Count Antonio. I can do 
 more ; for even your ambitious soul 
 cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux 
 and De Vere, when he gives his an- 
 cient name and boundless wealth in 
 return for the beloved hand of this 
 fair lady, now my wife." 
 
 The count stood like one changed 
 to stone; and, turning to the bewil- 
 dered crowd, Ferdinand added, with 
 a gay smile of triumph, " To you, my 
 gallant friends, I can only wish that 
 your wooing may prosper as mine 
 has done ; and that j^ou may all win as 
 fair a bride as I have, by this masked 
 
 marriage." 
 
 S. Pickwick. 
 
 Why is the P. C. like the Tower 
 of Babel ? It is full of unruly mem- 
 bers. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH. 
 
 Once upon a time a farmer planted 
 a little seed in his garden, and after a 
 while it sprouted and became a vine, 
 and bore many squashes. One day in 
 October, when they were ripe, he 
 picked one and took it to market. A 
 grocer man bought and put it in his 
 shop. That same morning, a little 
 
The P. C. and P. O. 
 
 151 
 
 girl, in a brown hat and blue dress, 
 ■with a round face and snubby nose, 
 went and bought it for her mother. 
 She lugged it home, cut it up, and 
 boiled it in the big pot ; mashed some 
 of it, with salt and butter, for dinner ; 
 and to the rest she added a pint of 
 milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, 
 nutmeg, and some crackers; put it 
 in a deep dish, and baked it till it was 
 brown and nice ; and next day it was 
 eaten by a family named March. 
 
 T. TUPMAN. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick, Sir: — 
 
 I address you upon the subject of 
 sin the sinner I mean is a man named 
 Winkle who makes trouble in his 
 club by laughing and sometimes won't 
 write his piece in this fine paper I 
 hope you will pardon his badness 
 and let him send a French fable be- 
 cause he can't write out of his head 
 as he has so many lessons to do and no 
 brains in future I will try to take time 
 by the fetlock and prepare some work 
 which will be all commy la fo that 
 means all right I am in haste as it is 
 nearly school time 
 
 Yours respectably N. "Winkle. 
 
 [The above is amanly and handsome 
 acknowledgment of past misdemean- 
 ors. If our young friend studied 
 punctuation, it would be well.] 
 
 A SAD ACCIDENT. 
 
 On Friday last, we were startled 
 by a violent shock in our basement, 
 followed by cries of distress. On 
 rushing, in a body, to the cellar, we 
 discovered our beloved President 
 prostrate upon the floor, having 
 tripped and fallen while getting wood 
 for domestic purposes, A perfect 
 ficene of ruin met our eyes; for in his 
 
 fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his 
 head and shoulders into a tub of 
 water, upset a keg of soft soap upon 
 his manly form, and torn his gar- 
 ments badly. On being removed 
 from this perilous situation, it was 
 discovered that he had sufiered no 
 injury but sevei-al bruises; and, we 
 are happy to add, is now doing well. 
 Ed. 
 
 THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 It is our painful duty to record 
 the sudden and mysterious disap- 
 pearance of our cherished friend, 
 Mrs. Snowball Pat Paw. This love- 
 ly and beloved cat was the pet of a 
 large circle of warm and admiring 
 friends ; for her beauty attracted all 
 eyes, her graces and virtues en- 
 deared her to all hearts, and her 
 loss is deeply felt by the whole 
 community. 
 
 When last seen, she was sitting 
 at the gate, watching the butcher's 
 cart ; and it is feared that some vil- 
 lain, tempted by her charms, basely 
 stole her. Weeks have passed, but 
 no trace of her has been discovered ; 
 and we relinquish all hope, tie a 
 black ribbon to her basket, set aside 
 her dish, and weep for her as one 
 lost to us forever. 
 
 A sympathizing friend sends the 
 following gem : — 
 
 A LAMENT 
 FOR 8. B. PAT PAW. 
 
 We mourn the loss of our little pet, 
 And sigh o'er her hapless fate, 
 
 For never more by the fire she'll sit, 
 Nor play by the old green gate. 
 
152 
 
 Little W 0711671. 
 
 The little grave where her infant 
 sleeps, 
 
 Is 'neath the chestnut tree ; 
 But o'er Tier grave we may not weep, 
 
 We know not where it may be. 
 
 Her empty bed, her idle ball, 
 
 Will never see her more ; 
 No gentle tap, no loving purr 
 
 Is heard at the parlor door. 
 
 Another cat comes after her mice, 
 
 A cat with a dirty face ; 
 But she does not hunt as our darling 
 did. 
 
 Nor play with her airy grace. 
 
 Her stealthy paws tread the very hall 
 Where Snowball used to play. 
 
 Bat she only spits at the dogs our pet 
 So gallantly drove away. 
 
 She is useful and mild, and does her 
 best, 
 But she is not fair to see ; 
 And we cannot give her your place, 
 dear. 
 Nor worship her as we worship thee. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. * 
 
 MISS ORANTHT BLUGG-AGE, 
 the accomplished Strong-Mindod Lec- 
 turer, will deliver her famous Lecture 
 on " Woman and Her Position," 
 at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday 
 Evening, after the usual perform- 
 
 A WEEKLY MEETING will be 
 held at Kitchen Place, to teach young 
 ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown 
 will preside; and all are invited to 
 attend. 
 
 THE DUSTPAN SOCIETY will 
 meet on Wednesday next, and parade 
 in the upper story of the Club House. 
 All members to appear in uniform 
 and shoulder their brooms at nine 
 precisely. 
 
 MRS. BETH BOUNCER will open 
 her new assortment of Doll's Millinery 
 next week. The latest Paris Fash 
 ions have arrived, and orders are re- 
 spectfully solicited. 
 
 A NEW PLAY will appear at the 
 Barnville Theatre, in the course of a 
 few weeks, which will surpass any- 
 thing ever seen on the American stage. 
 " The Greek Slave, or Constan- 
 tine the Avenger," is the name of this 
 thrilling dran::a 1 ! I 
 
 HINTS. 
 If S. P. didn't use so much soap ou 
 his hands, he wouldn't always be late 
 at breakfast. A. S. is requested not 
 to whistle in the street. T. T. please 
 don't forget Amy's napkin. N. W. 
 must not fret because his dress has 
 not nine tucks. 
 
 WEEKLY REPORT. 
 Meg — Good. 
 Jo — Bad. 
 Beth — Very good. 
 Amy — Middling. 
 
 As the President finished reading the paper (which 
 T beg leave to assure my readers is a bona Jide copy 
 of one written by bona Jide girls once upon a time). 
 
The P, a and P. O. 153 
 
 a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass 
 rose to make a proposition. 
 
 " Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming 
 a parliamentary attitude and tone, " I wish to propose 
 the admission of a new member ; one who highly de- 
 sei-ves the honor, vvould be deeply grateful for it, and 
 would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the 
 literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and 
 nice. I propose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary 
 member of the P. C. Come now, do have him." 
 
 Jo's sudden change of- tone made the girls laugh ; 
 but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word, 
 as Snodgrass took his seat. 
 
 "We'll put it to vote," said the President. " All in 
 favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying 
 ' Aye.' " 
 
 A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to every- 
 body's surprise, by a timid one from Beth. 
 
 "Contrary minded say 'No.'" 
 
 Meg and Amy were contrary minded ; and Mr. 
 Winkle rose to say, with great elegance, " We don't 
 wish any boys ; they only joke and bounce about. 
 This is a ladies' club, and we wish to be private and 
 proper." 
 
 " I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun 
 of us afterward," observed Pickwick, pulling the little 
 curl on her forehead, as she always did when doubtful. 
 
 Up bounced Snodgrass, very much in earnest. 
 " Sir ! I give you my word as a gentleman, Laurie 
 won't do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and 
 he'll give a tone to our contributions, and keep us 
 from being sentimental, don't you see ? We can do 
 
154 Little Women, 
 
 so little for him, and he does so much for us, I think 
 the least we can do is to offer him a place here, and 
 make him welcome, if he comes." 
 
 This artful allusion to benefits conferred, brought 
 Tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made 
 up his mind. 
 
 " Yes ; we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I 
 say he may come, and his grandpa too, if he likes." 
 
 This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, 
 and Jo left her seat to shake hands approvingly. 
 •' Now then, vote again. Everybody remember it's 
 our Laurie, and say ' Aye ! ' " cried Snodgrass, ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 " Aye ! aye ! aye ! " replied three voices at once. 
 
 "Good! bless you! now, as there's nothing like 
 * taking time by the fetlock^' as Winkle characteris- 
 tically observes, allow me to present the new member ; " 
 and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw 
 open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie 
 sitting on a rag-bag, flushed and twinkling with sup- 
 pressed laughter. 
 
 "You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?" 
 cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend 
 triumphantly forth ; and, producing both a chair and a 
 badge, installed him in a jiffy. 
 
 " The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," be 
 gan Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown, 
 and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile. 
 But the new member was equal to the occasion ; and, 
 rising with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said, 
 in the most engaging manner, — "Mr. President and 
 ladies, — I beg pardon, gentlemen, — allow me to in- 
 
The F. a and F. O. 155 
 
 troduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble ser- 
 vant of the club." 
 
 " Good, good ! " cried Jo, pounding M^ith the handle 
 of the old warming-pan on which she leaned. 
 
 " My faithful friend and noble patron," continued 
 Laurie, with a wave of the hand, " who has so flatter- 
 ingly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base 
 stratagem of to-night. I planned it, and she only 
 gave in after lots of teasing." 
 
 " Come now, don't lay it all on yourself; you know 
 I proposed the cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who 
 was enjoying the joke amazingly. 
 
 " Never you mind what she says. I'm the wretch 
 that did it, sir," said the new member, with a Weller- 
 esque nod to Mr. Pickwick. " But on my honor, I 
 never will do so again, and henceforth dewote myself 
 to the interest of this immortal club." 
 
 " Hear ! hear ! " cried Jo, clashing the lid of the 
 warming-pan like a cymbal. 
 
 " Go on, go on ! " added Winkle and Tupman, 
 while the President bowed benignly. 
 
 " I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my 
 gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means 
 of promoting friendly relations between adjoining 
 nations, I have set up a post-office in the hedge in the 
 lower corner of the garden ; a fine, spacious build- 
 ing, with padlocks on the doors, and every con- 
 venience for the mails, — also the females, if I may be 
 allowed the expression. It's the old martin-house ; 
 but I've stopped up the door, and made the roof open, 
 so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable 
 
156 JLittle Wofuen, 
 
 time. Letters, manuscripts, books and bundles can be 
 passed in there ; and, as each nation has a key, it will 
 be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present 
 the club key ; and, with many thanks for your favor, 
 take my seat." 
 
 Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little 
 key on the table, and subsided ; the warming-pan 
 clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time be- 
 fore order could be restored. A long discussion fol- 
 lowed, and every one came out surprising, for every 
 one did her best ; so it was an unusually lively meet- 
 ing, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it 
 broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. 
 
 No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Wel- 
 ler, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial 
 member no club could have. He certainly did add 
 " spirit" to the meetings, and " a tone " to the paper ; 
 for his orations convulsed his hearers, and his contribu- 
 tions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, com- 
 ical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded 
 them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare ; 
 and remodelled her own works with good effect, she 
 thought. 
 
 The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flour- 
 ished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things 
 passed through it as through the real office. Trag- 
 edies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and 
 long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invi- 
 tations, scoldings and puppies. The old gentleman 
 liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd 
 bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; 
 
The P, C. and P, O, 157 
 
 and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah's 
 charms, actually sent a love-letter to Jo's care. How 
 they laughed when the secret came out, never dream- 
 ing how many love-letters that little post-office would 
 hold in the years to come ! 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 THE first of June ; the Kings are off to the sea- 
 sliore to-morrow, and I'm free ! Three months' 
 vacation ! how I shall enjoy it ! " exclaimed 
 Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon 
 the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth 
 took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for 
 the refreshment of the whole party. 
 
 " Aunt March went to-day, for which, oh be joyful ! " 
 said Jo. " I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go 
 with her ; if she had, I should have felt as if I ought 
 to do it ; but Plumfield is about as festive as a church- 
 yard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had 
 a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a scare 
 every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry 
 to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and 
 sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from 
 me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and 
 had a final fright, for, as it drove off, she popped out her 
 head, saying, ' Josy-phine, won't you — ?^ I didn't hear 
 any more, for I basely turned and fled ; I did actually 
 run, and whisked round the corner, where I felt safe." 
 
 158 
 
Experiments, 159 
 
 " Poor old Jo ! she came in looking as if bears were 
 after her," said Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet 
 with a motherly air. 
 
 "Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" 
 observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically. 
 
 " She means vainpire^ not sea-weed ; but it don't 
 matter ; it's too warm to be particular about one's 
 parts of speech," murmured Jo. 
 
 "What shall you do all your vacation.?" asked 
 Amy, changing the subject, with tact. 
 
 " I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied 
 Meg, from the depths of the rocking-chair. " I've been 
 routed up early all winter, and had to spend my days 
 w^orking for other people ; so now I'm going to rest 
 and revel to my heart's content." 
 
 "Hum!" said Jo; " that dozy way wouldn't suit 
 me. I've laid in a heap of books, and I'm going to 
 improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the 
 old apple-tree, when I'm not having 1 — " 
 
 " Don't say ' larks ! ' " implored Amy, as a return 
 snub for the " samphire " correction. 
 
 "I'll sa)' ' nightingales, ' then, with Laurie; that's 
 proper and appropriate, since he's a warbler." 
 
 " Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but 
 play all the time, and rest, as the girls mean to," pro- 
 posed Amy. 
 
 " Well, I will, if mother don't mind. I want to 
 learn some new songs, and my children need fixing 
 up for the summer ; they are dreadfully out of order, 
 and really suffering for clothes." 
 
 '^ May we, mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. 
 
i6o Little Women. 
 
 March, who sat sewing, in what they called " Mar- 
 mee's corner." 
 
 " You may try your experiment for a week, and see 
 how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will 
 find that all play, and no work, is as bad as all work, 
 and no play." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! it will be delicious, I'm sure," said 
 Meg, complacently. 
 
 " I now propose a toast, as my ' friend and pardner, 
 Sairy Gamp,** says. Fun forever, and no grubbage," 
 cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went 
 round. 
 
 They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment 
 by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, 
 Meg did not appear till ten o'clock ; her solitary 
 breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed 
 lonely and untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth 
 had not dusted, and Amy's books lay scattered about. 
 Nothing was neat and pleasant but " Marmee's corner," 
 which looked as usual ; and there she sat, to " rest and 
 read," which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty 
 summer dresses she would get with her salary. Jo 
 spent the morning on the river, with Laurie, and the 
 afternoon reading and crying over " The Wide, Wide 
 World," up in the apple-tree. Beth began by rummag- 
 ing everything out of the big closet, where her family 
 resided ; but, getting tired before half done, she left 
 her establishment topsy-turvy, and went to her music, 
 rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy 
 arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, 
 smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw, under the 
 honeysuckles, hoping some one would see and in- 
 
Experiments, i6i 
 
 quire who the young artist was. As no one appeared 
 but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her 
 work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a 
 shower, and came home dripping. 
 
 At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed 
 that it had been a delightful, though unusually long 
 day. Meg, who went shopping in the afternoon, and 
 got a " sweet blue muslin," had discovered, after she 
 had cut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which 
 mishap made her slightly cross. Jo had burnt the 
 skin off her nose boating, and got a raging headache 
 by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confu- 
 sion of her closet, and the difficulty of learning three 
 or four songs at once ; and Amy deeply regretted the 
 damage done her frock, for Katy Brown's party was 
 to be the next day ; and now, like Flora McFlimsy, she 
 had " nothing to wear." But these were mere trifles ; 
 and they assured their mother that the experiment 
 was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and, 
 with Hannah's help, did their neglected work, keeping 
 home pleasant, and the domestic machinery running 
 smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiar and 
 uncomfortable state of things was produced by the 
 "resting and revelling" process. The days kept 
 getting longer and longer ; the weather was unusually 
 variable, and so were tempers ; an unsettled feeling 
 possessed every one, and Satan found plenty of mis- 
 chief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, 
 Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time 
 hang so heavily, that she fell to snipping and spoiling 
 her clothes, in her attempts to furbish .them up, a la 
 Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was 
 
 T 1 
 
1 6 2 L ittle Woffi e n . 
 
 sick of books ; got so fidgety that even good-natured 
 Laurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in 
 spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with 
 Aunt March. Beth got on prett}^ well, for she was 
 constantly forgetting that it*was to be all play^ and 
 no work^ and fell back into her old ways, now and 
 then ; but something in the air affected her, and, more 
 than once, her tranquillity' was much disturbed ; so 
 much so, that, on one occasion, she actually shook 
 poor dear Joanna, and told her she was " a fright." 
 Amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small ; 
 and, when her sisters left her to amuse and care for 
 herself, she soon found that accomplished and impor- 
 tant little self a great burden. She didn't like dolls ; 
 fairy tales were childish, and one couldn't draw all the 
 time. Tea-parties didn't amount to much, neither did 
 picnics, unless very well conducted. "If one could 
 have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go travelling, 
 the summer would be delightful ; but to stay at home 
 with three selfish sisters, and a grown-up boy, was 
 enough to try the patience of a Boaz," complained 
 Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, 
 fretting, and e?i7iui. 
 
 No one would own that they were tired of the exper- 
 iment ; but, by Friday night, each acknowledged to 
 herself that they were glad the week was nearly 
 done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, 
 Mrs. March, who had a good deal of humor, resolved 
 to finish oft' the trial in an appropriate manner ; so she 
 gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls enjoy the full 
 effect of the play system. 
 
 When they got up on Saturday morning, there was 
 
Experiments, 163 
 
 no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining-room, 
 and no mother anywhere to be seen. 
 
 '^ Mercy on us ! what has happened ? " cried Jo, 
 staring about her in dismay. 
 
 Meg ran up stairs, and soon came back again, 
 looking relieved*, but rather bewildered, and a little 
 ashamed. 
 
 " Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she 
 is going to stay quietly in her room all day, and let us 
 do the best we can. It's a very queer thing for her to 
 do, she don't act a bit like herself; but she says it has 
 been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble, but 
 take care of ourselves." 
 
 " That's easy enough, and I like the idea ; Fm ach- 
 ing for something to do — that is, some new amuse- 
 ment, you know," added Jo, quickly. 
 
 In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have 
 a little work, and they took hold with a will, but soon 
 realized the truth of Hannah's saying, " Housekeep- 
 ing ain't no joke." There was plenty of food in the 
 larder, and, while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg 
 and Jo got breakfast ; wondering, as they did so, why 
 servants ever talked about hard work. 
 
 " I shall take some up to mother, though she said 
 we were not to think of her, for she'd take care of her- 
 self," said Meg, who presided, and felt quite matronly 
 behind the teapot. 
 
 So a tray was fitted out before any one began, and 
 taken up, with the cook's compliments. The boiled 
 tea was very bitter, the omelette scorched, and the 
 biscuits speckled with saleratus ; but Mrs. March re- 
 
1 64 L it tie Wo men, 
 
 ceived her repast with thanks, and laughed heartily 
 over it after Jo was gone. 
 
 " Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm 
 afraid ; but they w^on't suffer, and it will do them 
 good," she said, producing the more palatable viands 
 with which she had provided herself, and disposing of 
 the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be 
 hurt ; — a motherly little deception, for which they were 
 grateful. 
 
 Many were the complaints below, and great the 
 chagrin of the head cook, at her failures. "Never 
 mind, I'll get the dinner, and be servant ; you be 
 missis, keep your hands nice, see company, and give 
 orders," said Jo, who knew still less than Meg about 
 culinary affairs. 
 
 This obliging offer was gladly accepted ; and Mar- 
 garet retired to the parlor, which she hastily put in 
 order by whisking the litter under the sofa, and shut- 
 ting the blinds, to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, 
 with perfect faith in her own powers, and a friendly 
 desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note 
 in the office, inviting Laurie to dinner. 
 
 "You'd better see what you have got before you 
 think of having company," said Meg, when informed 
 of the hospitable, but rash act. 
 
 " Oh, there's corned beef, and plenty of potatoes ; 
 and I shall get some asparagus, and a lobster, ' for a 
 relish,' as Hannah says. We'll have lettuce, and 
 make a salad ; I don't kpow how, but the book tells. 
 I'll have blanc-mange and strawberries for dessert; 
 and coffee, too, if you want to be elegant." 
 
 " Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make 
 
Experiments, 165 
 
 anything but gingerbread and molasses candy, fit to 
 eat. I wash my hands of the dinner-party ; and, since 
 you have asked Laurie on your own responsibility, 
 you may just take care of him." 
 
 " I don't want you to do anything but be clever to 
 him, and help to the pudding. You'll give me your 
 advice if I get stuck, won't you ? " asked Jo, rather 
 hurt. 
 
 "Yes ; but I don't know much, except about bread^ 
 and a few trifles. You had better ask mother's leave, 
 before you onder anything," returned Meg, prudently. 
 
 " Of course I shall ; I ain't a fool," and Jo went off 
 in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers. 
 
 " Get what you like, and don't disturb me ; I'm 
 going out to dinner, and can't worry about things at 
 home," said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to her. " I 
 never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a 
 vacation today, and read, write, go visiting and amuse 
 myself." 
 
 The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking 
 comfortably, and reading early in the morning, made 
 Jo feel as if some natural phenomenon had occurred ; 
 for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption 
 would hardly have seemed stranger. 
 
 " Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to 
 herself, going down stairs. " There's Beth crying ; 
 thaf s a sure sign that something is wrong with this 
 family. If Amy is bothering, Til shake her." 
 
 Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried 
 into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the 
 canary, who lay dead in the cage, with his little claws 
 
1 66 Little Women, 
 
 pathetically extended, as if imploring the food, for 
 want of which he had died. 
 
 "It's all my fault — I forgot him — there isn't a 
 seed or drop left — oh, Pip ! oh, Pip ! how could I be 
 so cruel to you ? " cried Beth, taking the poor thing in 
 her hands, and trying to restore him. 
 
 Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, 
 and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head, and 
 offered her domino-box for a coffin. 
 
 " Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm, 
 and revive," said Amy, hopefully. 
 
 " He's been starved, and he shan't be baked, now 
 he's dead. I'll make him a shroud, and he shall be 
 buried in the grave ; and I'll never have another bird, 
 never, my Pip ! for I am too bad to own one," mur- 
 mured Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in 
 her hands. 
 
 " The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will 
 all go. Now, don't cry, Bethy ; it's a pity, but noth- 
 ing goes right this week, and Pip has had the worst 
 of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in 
 my box ; and, after the dinner-party, we'll have a nice 
 little funeral," said Jo, beginning to feel as if she had 
 undertaken a good deal. 
 
 Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to 
 the kitchen, which v^as in a most discouraging state 
 of confusion. Putting on a big apron, she fell to 
 work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, 
 when she discovered that the fire was out. 
 
 " Here's a sweet prospect ! " muttered Jo, slamming 
 the stove door open, and poking vigorously among the 
 cinders. 
 
^Experiments, 167 
 
 Having rekindled it, she thought she would go to 
 market while the water heated. The walk revived 
 her spirits ; and, flattering herself that she had made 
 good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying 
 a very young lobster, some very old asparagus, and 
 two boxes of acid strawberries. By the time she got 
 cleared up, the dinner arrived, and the stove was red- 
 hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had 
 worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second 
 rising, and forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie 
 Gardiner, in the parlor, when the door flew open, and 
 a floury, crocky, flushed and dishevelled figure ap- 
 peared, demanding, tartly, — 
 
 " I say, isn't bread ' riz ' enough when it runs over 
 the pans } " 
 
 Sallie began to laugh ; but Meg nodded, and lifted 
 her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused 
 the apparition to vanish, and put the sour bread into 
 the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, 
 after peeping here and there to see how matters went, 
 also saying a word of comfort to Beth, who sat making 
 a winding-sheet, while the dear departed lay in state 
 in the domino-box. A strange sense of helplessness 
 fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round 
 the corner ; and despair seized them, when, a few min- 
 utes later. Miss Crocker appeared, and said she'd come 
 to dinner. Now this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, 
 with a sharp nose, and inquisitive eyes, who saw 
 everything, and gossiped about all she saw. They 
 disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her, 
 simply because she was old and poor, and had few 
 friends. So Meg gave her the easy-chair, and tried to 
 
i68 Little Women. 
 
 entertain her, while she asked questions, criticised 
 everything, and told stories of the people whom she 
 knew. 
 
 Language cannot describe the anxieties, experi- 
 ences, and exertions which Jo underwent that morn- 
 ing ; and the dinner she served up became a standing 
 joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her 
 best alone, and discovered that something more than 
 energy and good-will is necessary to make a cook. 
 She boiled the asparagus hard for an hour, and was 
 grieved to find the heads cooked off, and the stalks 
 harder than ever. The bread burnt black ; for the 
 salad dressing so aggravated her, that she let every- 
 thing else go, till she had convinced herself that she 
 could not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a 
 scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked, 
 till it was unshelled, and its meagre proportions con- 
 cealed in a grove of lettuce-leaves. The potatoes bad 
 to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and 
 were not done at last. The blanc-mange was lumpy, 
 and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, 
 having been skilfully " deaconed." 
 
 " Well, they can eat beef, and bread and butter, if 
 they are hungry ; only it's mortifying to have to spend 
 your whole morning for nothing," thought Jo, as she 
 rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood 
 hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread 
 for Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and 
 Miss Crocker, whose curious eyes would mark all 
 failures, and whose tattling tongue would report them 
 far and wide. 
 
 Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as 
 
JSxperiments, i6g 
 
 one thing after another was tasted and left; while 
 Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, Miss Crocker 
 pursed xip her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed 
 with all his might, to give a cheerful tone to the fes- 
 tive scene. Jo's one strong point was the fruit, for 
 she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich 
 cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, 
 and she drew a long breath, as the pretty glass plates 
 went round, and every one looked graciously at the 
 little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream. Miss 
 Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some 
 water hastily. Jo, who had refused, thinking there 
 might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after 
 the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was 
 eating away . manfully, though there was a slight 
 pucker about his mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on 
 his plate. Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took 
 a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her nap- 
 kin, and left the table precipitately. 
 
 " Oh, what is it.'' " exclaimed Jo, trembling. 
 
 " Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," re- 
 plied Meg, with a tragic gesture. 
 
 Jo uttered a groan, and fell back in her chair; 
 remembering that she had given a last hasty powder- 
 ing to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the 
 kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in 
 the refrigerator. She turned scarlet, and was on the 
 verge of crying, when she met Laurie's eyes, which 
 would look merry in spite of his heroic eflbrts ; the 
 comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and 
 she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So 
 did every one else, even " Croaker," as the girls called 
 
lyo Little Wo?nen. 
 
 the old lady ; and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily, 
 with bread and butter, olives and fun. 
 
 " I -haven't strength of mind enough to clear up 
 now^, so w^e will sober ourselves with a funeral," said 
 Jo, as they rose ; and Miss Crocker made ready to go, 
 being eager to tell the new story at another friend's 
 dinner-table. 
 
 They did sober themselves, for Beth's sake ; Laurie 
 dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little Pip 
 was laid in, with many tears, by his tender-hearted 
 mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of 
 violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which 
 bore his epitaph, composed by Jo, while she struggled 
 with the dinner : — 
 
 " Here lies Pip March, 
 
 Who died the 7th of June; 
 Loved and lamented sore, 
 And not forgotten soon." 
 
 At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired 
 to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster ; 
 but there was no place of repose, for the beds were 
 not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by 
 beating up pillows and putting things in order. Meg 
 helped Jo clear away the remains of the feast, which 
 took half the afternoon, and left them so tired that 
 they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for 
 supper. Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a 
 deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have 
 had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came 
 home to find the three older girls hard at work in the 
 middle of the afternoon ; and a glance at the closet 
 
Experiments, 171 
 
 gave her an idea of the success of one part of the 
 experiment. 
 
 Before the housewives could rest, several people 
 called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see 
 them ; then tea must be got, errands done ; and one pr 
 two bits of sewing were necessary, but neglected till 
 the last minute. As twilight fell, dewy and still, one 
 by one they gathered in the porch where the June 
 roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or 
 sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled. 
 
 " What a dreadful day this has been ! " begun Jo, 
 usually the first to speak. 
 
 " It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncom- 
 fortable," said Meg. 
 
 ''Not a bit like home," added Amy. 
 
 " It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," 
 sighed Beth, glancing, with full eyes, at the empty 
 cage above her head. 
 
 " Here's mother, dear, and you shall have another 
 bird to-morrow, if you want it." 
 
 As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place 
 among them, looking as if her holiday had not been 
 much pleasanter than theirs. 
 
 " Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or 
 do you want another week of it?" she asked, as Beth 
 nestled up to her, and the rest turned toward her with 
 brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun. 
 
 " I don't ! " cried Jo, decidedly. 
 
 " Nor I," echoed the others. 
 
 " You think, then, that it is better to have a few 
 duties, and live a little for others, do you } " 
 
 " Lounging and larking don't pay," observed Jo, 
 
172 Little Women, 
 
 shaking her head. " I'm tired of it, and mean to go 
 to work at something right off." 
 
 " Suppose you learn plain cooking ; that's a useful 
 accomplishment, which no woman should be with- 
 out," said Mrs. March, laughing audibly at the recol- 
 lection of Jo's dinner-party ; for she had met Miss 
 Crocker, and heard her account of it. 
 
 " Mother! did you go away and let everything be, 
 just to see how we'd get on } " cried Meg, who had 
 had suspicions all day. 
 
 "Yes ; I wanted you to see how the comfort of all 
 depends on each doing their share faithfully. While 
 Hannah and I did your work, you got on pretty well, 
 though I don't think you were very happy or amiable ; 
 so I thought, as a little lesson, I would show you 
 what happens when every one thinks only of herself. 
 Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, 
 to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it 
 comes, and to bear or forbear, that home may be com- 
 fortable and lovely to us all } " 
 
 " We do, mother, we do ! " cried the girls. 
 
 " Then let me advise you to take up your little bur- 
 dens again ; for though they seem heavy sometimes, they 
 are good for us, and lighten as we learn to carry them. 
 Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for every one ; 
 it keeps us from e7tnui?c[vdi mischief; is good for health 
 and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and inde- 
 pendence better than money or fashion." 
 
 " We'll work like bees, and love it too ; see if we 
 don't!" said Jo. "I'll learn plain cooking for my 
 holiday task ; and the next dinner-party I have shall 
 be a success." 
 
Experiments, 173 
 
 "I'll, make the set of shirts for father, instead of 
 letting you do it, Marmee. I can and I will, though 
 I'm not fond of sewing ; that will be better than 
 fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice 
 enough as they are," said Meg. 
 
 " I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so 
 much time with my music and dolls. I am a stupid 
 thing, and ought to be studying, not playing," was 
 Beth's resolution ; while Amy followed their example, 
 by heroically declaring, " I shall learn to make button- 
 holes, and attend to my parts of speech." 
 
 " Ver}^ good ! then I am quite satisfied with the 
 experiment, and fancy that w^e shall not have to repeat 
 it ; only don't go to the other extreme, and delve like 
 slaves. Have regular hours for work and play ; make 
 each day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you 
 understand the worth of time by employing it well. 
 Then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few 
 regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite 
 of poverty." 
 
 " We'll remember, mother ! " and they did. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CAMP LAURENCE, 
 
 BETH was post-mistress, for, being most at home, 
 she could attend to it regularly, and dearly 
 liked the daily task of unlocking the little door 
 and distributing the mail. One July day she came in 
 with her hands full, and went about the house leav- 
 ing letters and parcels, like the penny post. 
 
 " Here's your posy, mother ! Laurie never forgets 
 that," she said, putting the fresh nosegay in the vase 
 that stood in " Marmee's corner," and was kept sup- 
 plied by the affectionate boy. 
 
 " Miss Meg March, one letter, and a glove," con- 
 tinued Beth, delivering the articles to her sister, who 
 sat near her mother, stitching wristbands. 
 
 " Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only 
 one," said Meg, looking at the gray cotton glove. 
 
 "Didn't you drop the other in the garden?" 
 
 " No, I'm sure I didn't ; for there was only one in 
 the office." 
 
 " I hate to have odd gloves ! Never mind, the other 
 may be found. My letter is only a translation of the 
 174 
 
Camp Laurence, 175 
 
 German song I wanted ; I guess Mr. Brooke did it, 
 for this isn't Laurie's writing." 
 
 Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very 
 pretty in her gingham morning-gown, with the little 
 curls blowing about her forehead, and very womanly, 
 as she sat sewing at her little work-table, full of tidy 
 white rolls ; so, unconscious of the thought in her 
 mother's mind, she sewed and sung while her fingers 
 flew, and her mind was busied with girlish fancies as 
 innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that Mrs. 
 March smiled, and was satisfied. 
 
 " Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old 
 hat, which covered the whole post-office, stuck out- 
 side," said Beth, laughing, as she went into the study, 
 where Jo sat writing. 
 
 "What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished 
 bigger hats were the fashion, because I burn my face 
 every hot day. He said, ' Why mind the fashion ? 
 wear a big hat, and be comfortable ! ' I said I would, 
 if I had one, and he has sent me this, to try me ; I'll 
 wear it, for fun, and show him I donH care for the 
 fashion ; " and, hanging the antique broad-brim on a 
 bust of Plato, Jo read her letters. 
 
 One from her mother made her cheeks glow, and 
 her eyes fill, for it said to her, — 
 
 •' My dear : 
 
 " I write a little word to tell you with how much 
 satisfaction I watch your efforts to control your tem- 
 per. You say nothing about your trials, failures, or 
 successes, and think, perhaps, that no one sees them 
 but the Friend whose help you daily ask, if I may 
 
176 L it tie Wo 731 e n . 
 
 trust the well-worn cover of your guide-book, /, too, 
 have seen them all, and heartily believe in the sincerity 
 of your resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go 
 on, dear, patiently and bravely, and always believe 
 that no one sympathizes more tenderly with you than 
 your loving Mother." 
 
 " That does me good ! that's worth millions of 
 money, and pecks of praise. Oh, Marmee, I do try ! 
 I will keep on trying, and not get tired, since I have 
 you to help me." 
 
 Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little 
 romance with a few happy tears, for she Jiad thought 
 that no one saw and appreciated her efforts to be 
 good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly 
 encouraging, because unexpected, and from the person 
 whose commendation she most valued. Feeling 
 stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon, 
 she pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a 
 reminder, lest she be taken unaware, and proceeded 
 to open her other letter, quite ready for either good or 
 bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Laurie wrote, — 
 
 " Dear Jo, 
 
 What ho ! 
 Some English girls and boys are coming to see me 
 to-morrow, and I want to have a jolly time. If it's 
 fine, Tm going to pitch my tent in Longmeadow, and 
 row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet ; — have 
 a fire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of 
 larks. They are nice people, and like such things. 
 Brooke will go, to keep us boys steady, and Kate 
 Vaughn will play propriety for the girls. I want you 
 
Camp Laurence, 177 
 
 all.ro come ; can't let Beth off, at any price, and no- 
 body shall worry her. Don't bother about rations, — 
 I'll see to that, and everything else, — only do come, 
 there's a good fellow ! 
 
 " In a tearing hurry, 
 Yours ever, Laurie." 
 
 " Here's richness ! " cried Jo, flying in to tell the 
 news to Meg. " Of course we can go, mother ! it will 
 be such a help to Laurie, for I can row, and Meg see 
 to the lunch, and the children be useful some way." 
 
 " I hope the Vaughn's are not fine, grown-up people. 
 Do you know anything about them, Jo?" asked Meg. 
 
 " Only that there are four of them. Kate is older 
 than you, Fred and Frank (twins) about my age, and 
 a little girl (Grace), who is nine or ten. Laurie knew 
 them abroad, and liked the boys ; I fancied, from the 
 way he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, 
 that he didn't admire Kate much." 
 
 "I'm so glad my French print is clean, it's just the 
 thing, and so becoming ! " observed Meg, compla- 
 cently. " Have you anything decent, Jo .?" 
 
 " Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for 
 me ; I shall row and tramp about, so I don't want 
 any starch to think of. You'll come, Betty.?" 
 
 " If you won't let any of the boys talk to me." 
 
 " Not a boy ! " 
 
 *' I like to please Laurie ; and I'm not afraid of Mr. 
 Brooke, he is so kind ; but I don't want to play, or 
 sing, or say anything. I'll work hard, and not trouble 
 any one ; and you'll take care of me, Jo, so I'll go." 
 
 " That's my good girl ; you do try to fight off your 
 12 
 
178 Little Womeft, 
 
 shyness, and I love you for it ; fighting faults isn't 
 easy, as I know ; and a cheery word kind of gives a 
 lift. Thank you, mother," and Jo gave the thin 
 cheek a grateful 'kiss, more precious to Mrs. March 
 than if it had given her back the rosy roundness of 
 her youth. 
 
 " I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I 
 wanted to copy," said Amy, showing her mail. 
 
 " And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me 
 to come over and play to him to-night, before the 
 lamps are lighted, and I shall go," added Beth, whose 
 friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely. 
 
 "Now let's fly round, and do double duty today, so 
 that we can play to-morrow with free minds," said Jo, 
 preparing to re]f>lace her pen with a broom. 
 
 When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next 
 morning, to promise them a fine day, he saw a comical 
 sight. Each had made such preparation for the fete 
 as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra 
 row of little curl papers across her forehead, Jo had 
 copiously anointed her afflicted face with cold cream, 
 Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for 
 the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the 
 climax by putting a clothes-pin on her nose, to uplift 
 the offending feature. It was one of the kind artists 
 use to hold the paper on their drawing-boards ; there- 
 fore, quite appropriate and effective for the purpose to 
 which it was now put. This funny spectacle appeared 
 to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance 
 that Jo woke up, and roused all her sisters by a hearty 
 laugh at Amy's ornament. 
 
 Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a 
 
Camp Laurence, 179 
 
 pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both 
 houses. Beth, who was ready first, kept reporting 
 what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' 
 toilets by frequent telegrams from the window. 
 
 " There goes the man with the tent ! I see Mrs. 
 Barker doing up the lunch, in a hamper, and a great 
 basket. Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the 
 sky, and the weathercock ; I wish he would go, too ! 
 There's Laurie looking like a sailor, — nice boy ! Oh, 
 mercy me ! here's a carriage full of people — a tall 
 lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys. One is 
 lame ; poor thing, he's got a crutch ! Laurie didn't tell 
 us that. Be quick, girls ! it's getting late. Why, there 
 is Ned Moftat, I do declare. Look, Meg ! isn't that the 
 man who bowed to you one day, when we were shop- 
 ping?"^ 
 
 "So it is ; how queer that he should come ! I 
 thought he was at the Mountains. There is Sallie ; 
 I'm glad she got back in time. Am I'all right, Jo?" 
 cried Meg, in a flutter. 
 
 " A regular daisy ; hold up your dress, and put your 
 hat straight ; it looks sentimental tipped that way, and 
 will fly oft^ at the first puft'. Now, then, come on ! " 
 
 "Oh, oh, Jo! you ain't going to wear that awful 
 hat.? It's too absurd ! You shall not make a guy of 
 yourself," remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down, with a 
 red ribbon, the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned Leghorn 
 Laurie had sent for a joke. 
 
 " I just will, though ! it's capital ; so shady, light, and 
 big. It will make fun 5 and I don't mind being a guy, 
 if I'm comfortable." With that Jo marched straight 
 away, and the rest followed ; a bright little band of 
 
i8o Little Wofnen, 
 
 sisters, all looking their best, in summer suits, with 
 happy faces, under the jaunty hat-brims. 
 
 Laurie ran to meet, and present them to his friends, 
 in the most cordial manner. The lawn was the recep- 
 tion room, and for several minutes a lively scene was 
 enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss 
 Kate, though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity 
 w^hich American girls would do well to imitate ; and 
 she was much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances that 
 he came especially to see her. Jo understood why 
 Laurie "primmed up his mouth" when speaking of 
 Kate, for that young lady had a stand-off'-don't-touch- 
 me air, which contrasted strongly with the free and easy 
 demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observa- 
 tion of the new boys, and decided that the lame one 
 was not " dreadful," but gentle and feeble, and she 
 would be kind to him, on that account. Amy found 
 Grace a well-mannered, merry little person ; and, after 
 staring dumbly at one another for a few minutes, they 
 suddenly became very good friends. 
 
 Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent 
 on beforehand, the party was soon embarked, and the 
 two boats pushed off together, leaving Mr. Laurence 
 waving his hat on the shore. Laurie and Jo rowed 
 one boat ; Mr. Brooke and Ned the other ; while Fred 
 Vaughn, the riotous twin, did his best to upset both, 
 by paddling about in a wherry, like a disturbed water- 
 bug. Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it 
 was of general utility ; it broke the ice in the begin- 
 ning, by producing a laugh ; it created quite a refresh- 
 ing breeze, flapping to and fro, as she rowed, and 
 would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, 
 
Camp Laurence, i8i 
 
 if a shower came up, she said. Kate looked rather 
 amazed at Jo's proceedings, especially as she exclaimed 
 "• Christopher Columbus ! " when she lost her oar ; and 
 Laurie said, " My dear fellow, did I hurt you?" when 
 he tripped over her feet in taking his place. But 
 after putting up her glass to examine the queer girl 
 several times, Miss Kate decided that she was " odd, 
 but rather clever," and smiled upon her from afar. 
 
 Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face 
 to face with the rowers, who both admired the pros- 
 pect, and feathered their oars with uncommon " skill 
 and dexterity." Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young 
 man, with handsome brown eyes, and a pleasant 
 voice. Meg liked his quiet manners, and considered 
 him a walking encyclopaedia of useful knowledge. 
 He never talked to her much ; but he looked at her a 
 good deal, and she felt sure that he did not regard her 
 with aversion. Ned being in college, of course put 
 on all the airs which Freshmen think it their bounden 
 duty to assume ; he was not very wise, but very 
 good-natured and merry, and, altogether, an excellent 
 person to carry on a picnic. Sallie Gardiner was ab- 
 sorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean, and 
 chattering with the ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in 
 constant terror by his pranks. 
 
 It was not far to Longmeadow ; but the tent was 
 pitched, and the wickets down, by the time they 
 arrived. A pleasant green field, with three wide- 
 spreading oaks in the middle, and a smooth strip of 
 turf for croquet. 
 
 " Welcome to Camp Laurence ! " said the young 
 host, as they landed, with exclamations of delight. 
 
1 82 Little Women, 
 
 "Brooke is commander-in-chief; I am commissary- 
 general ; the other fellows are staff-officers ; and you, 
 ladies, are company. The tent is for your especial 
 benefit, and that oak is your drawing-room ; this is 
 the mess-room, and the tliird is the camp kitchen. 
 Now let's have a game before it gets hot, and then 
 we'll see about dinner." 
 
 Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace, sat down to watch 
 the game played by the other eight. Mr. Brooke 
 chose Meg, Kate, and Fred ; Laurie took Sallie, Jo, 
 and Ned. The Englishers played well ; but the 
 Americans played better, and contested every inch of 
 the ground as strongly as if the spirit of '76 inspired 
 them. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes, and once 
 narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the 
 last wicket, and had missed the stroke, which failure 
 ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind her, 
 and his turn came before hers ; he gave a stroke, his 
 ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong 
 side. No one was very near ; and, running up to ex- 
 amine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which put 
 it just an inch on the right side. 
 
 ''I'm through! now. Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and 
 get in first," cried the young gentleman, swinging his 
 mallet for another blow. 
 
 " You pushed it ; I saw you ; it's my turn now," 
 said Jo, sharply. 
 
 '• Upon my word I didn't move it I it rolled a bit, 
 perhaps, but that is allovyed ; so stand off, please, and 
 let me have a go at the stake." 
 
 "We don't cheat in America; hut you can, if you 
 choose," said Jo, angrily. 
 
Camp Laurence, 183 
 
 *' Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody 
 /inows. There you go," returned Fred, croqueting 
 her ball far away. • 
 
 Jo opened her lips to say something rude ; but 
 checked herself in time, colored up to her forehead, 
 and stood a minute, hammering down~ a wicket with 
 all her might, while Fred hit the stake, and declared 
 himself out, with much exultation. She went off to 
 get her ball, and was a long time finding it, among 
 the bushes ; but she came back, looking cool and 
 quiet, and waited her turn patiently. It took several 
 strokes to regain the place she had lost ; and, when she 
 got there, the other side had nearly won, for Kate's 
 ball was the last but one, and lay near the stake. 
 
 " By George, it's all up with us ! Good-by, Kate ; 
 Miss Jo owes me one, so you are finished," cried Fred, 
 excitedly, as they all drew near to see the finish. 
 
 "Yankees have a trick of being generous to their 
 enemies," said Jo, with a look that made the lad 
 redden, " especially when they beat them," she added, 
 as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game 
 by a clever stroke. 
 
 Laurie threw up his hat ; then remembered that it 
 wouldn't do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and 
 stopped in the middle of a cheer to whisper to his 
 friend, — 
 
 " Good for you, Jo ! he did cheat, I saw him ; we 
 can't tell him so, but he won't do it again, take my 
 word for it." 
 
 Meg drew her aside, under pretence of pinning up 
 a loose braid, and said, approvingly, — 
 
184 Little Wo7nen, 
 
 " It was dreadfully provoking ; but you kept your 
 temper, and I'm so glad, Jo." 
 
 " Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears 
 this minute. I should certainly have boiled over, if 
 I hadn't stayed among the nettles till I got my rage 
 under enough to hold my tongue. It's simmering 
 now, so I hope he'll keep out of my way," returned 
 Jo, biting her lips, as she glowered at Fred from 
 under her big hat. 
 
 " Time for lunch," said Mr. Brooke, looking at his 
 watch. " Commisary-general, will you make the fire, 
 and get water, while Miss March, Miss Sallie, and I 
 spread the table. Who can make good coffee?" 
 
 "Jo can," said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. 
 So Jo, feeling that her late lessons in cookery were 
 to do her honor, went to preside over the coffee-pot, 
 while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys 
 made a fire, and got water from a spring near by. 
 Miss Kate sketched, and Frank talked to Beth, who 
 was making little mats of braided rushes, to serve as 
 plates. 
 
 The commander-in-chief and his aids soon spread 
 the table-cloth with an inviting array of eatables and 
 drinkables, prettily decorated with green leaves. Jo 
 announced that the cofiee was ready, and every one 
 settled themselves to a hearty meal ; for youth is sel- 
 dom dyspeptic, and exercise develops wholesome 
 appetites. A very merry lunch it was ; for everything 
 seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter 
 startled a venerable horse, who fed near by. There 
 was a pleasing inequality in the table, which produced 
 many mishaps to cuj)s and plates ; acorns dropped 
 
Camp Laurence, 185 
 
 into the milk, little black ants partook of the refresh- 
 ments without being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars 
 swung down from the tree, to see what was going on. 
 Three white-headed children peeped over the fence, 
 and an objectionable dog barked at them from the 
 other side of the river, with all his might and main. 
 
 " There's salt, here, if you prefer it," said Laurie, 
 as he handed Jo a saucer of berries. 
 
 " Thank you ; I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing 
 up two unwary little ones, who had gone to a creamy 
 death. " How dare you remind me of that horrid 
 dinner-party, when yours is so nice in every way ? " 
 added Jo, as they both laughed, and ate out of one 
 plate, the china having run short. 
 
 '* I had an uncommonly good time that day, and 
 haven't got over it yet. This is no credit to me, you 
 know ; I don't do anything ; it's you, and Meg, and 
 Brooke, who make it go, and I'm no end obliged to 
 you. What shall we do when we can't eat any more } " 
 asked Laurie, feeling that his trump card had been 
 played when lunch was over. 
 
 '• Have games, till it's cooler. I brought ' Authors,* 
 and I dare say Miss Kate knows something new and 
 nice. Go and ask her ; she's company, and you ought 
 to stay with her more." 
 
 "Aren't you company, too? I thought she'd suit 
 Brooke ; but he keeps talking to Meg, and Kate just 
 stares at them through that ridiculous glass of hers. 
 I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for 
 you can't do it, Jo." 
 
 Miss Kate > did know several new games; and as 
 the girls would not, :inil tiic bu\ s couici not, eat any 
 
i86 Little Women, 
 
 more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room, to play 
 " Rigmarole." 
 
 " One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, 
 and tells as long as they please, only taking care to 
 stop short at some exciting point, when the next takes 
 it up, and does the same. It's very funny, when well 
 done, and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical 
 stuff to laugh over. Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said 
 Kate, with a commanding gesture, which surprised 
 Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as 
 any other gentleman. 
 
 Lying on the grass, at the feet of the two young 
 ladies, Mr. Brooke obediently began the story, with 
 the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed upon the sun-i 
 shiny river. 
 
 '• Once on a time, a knight went out into the world 
 to seek his fortune, for he had nothing but his sword 
 and his shield. He travelled a long while, nearly 
 eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till 
 he came to the palace of a good old king, who had 
 offered a reward to any one who would tame and train 
 a fine, -but unbroken colt, of which he was very fond. 
 The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly, but surely ; 
 for the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to 
 love his new master, though he was freakish and wild. 
 Every day, when he gave his lessons to this pet of the 
 king's, the knight rode him through the city ; and, as 
 he rode, he looked ever^^vhere for a certain beautiful 
 face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, 
 but never found. One day, as he went prancing down 
 a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous 
 castle the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired 
 
Camp Laurence. 187 
 
 who lived in this old castle, and was told that several 
 captive princesses were kept there by a spell, and 
 spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. 
 The knight wished intensely that he could free them ; 
 but he was poor, and could only go by each day, 
 watching for the sweet face, and longing to see it out 
 in the sunshine. At last, he resolved to get into the 
 castle, and ask how he could help them. He went 
 and knocked ; the great door flew open, and he be- 
 held— " 
 
 "A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a 
 cry of rapture, ' At last ! at last ! ' " continued Kate, 
 who had read French novels, and admired the style. 
 " ' 'Tis she ! ' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet 
 in an ecstasy of joy. ' Oh, rise ! ' she said, extending a 
 hand of marble fairness. ' Neve'r ! till you tell me 
 how I may rescue you,' swore the knight, still kneel- 
 ing. 'Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain 
 here till my tyrant is destroyed.' ' Where is the vil- 
 lain .'" 'In the mauve salon ; go, brave heart, and 
 save me from despair.' ' I obey, and return victorious 
 or dead ! ' With these thrilling words he rushed away, 
 and, flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was 
 about to enter, when he received — " 
 
 " A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, 
 which an old fellow in a black gown fired at him," 
 said Ned. " Instantly Sir What's-his-name recovered 
 himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and 
 turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump 
 on his brow ; found the door locked, tore up the 
 curtains, make a rope ladder, got half-way down when 
 ladder broke, and he went head first i?ito the moat. 
 
1 88 Little Women, 
 
 sixty feet below. Could swim like a duck, paddled 
 round the castle till he came to a little door guarded 
 by two stout fellows ; knocked their heads together 
 till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a 
 trifling exertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed 
 in the door, went up a pair of stone steps covered 
 with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and 
 spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss 
 March. At the top of these steps he came plump 
 upon a sight that took his breath away and chilled his 
 blood — " 
 
 " A tall figure, all in white, with a veil over its face, 
 and a lamp in its wasted hand," went on Meg. " It 
 beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him down a cor- 
 ridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies 
 in armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, 
 the lamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure ever and 
 anon turned its face toward him, showing the glitter 
 of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a 
 curtained door, behind which sounded lovely music ; 
 he sprang forward to enter, but the spectre plucked 
 him back, and waved, threateningly, before him a — " 
 
 '' Snuff'-box," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which 
 convulsed the audience. " ' Thankee,' said the knight, 
 politely, as he took a pinch, and sneezed seven times 
 so violently that his head fell off*. ' Ha ! ha ! ' laughed 
 the ghost ; and, having peeped through the keyhole at 
 the princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil 
 spirit picked up her victim and put him in a large tin 
 box, where there were eleven other knights packed 
 together without their heads, like sardines, who all 
 rose and besran to — -" * 
 
Camp Laurence. 189 
 
 " Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for 
 breath ; " and, as they danced, the rubbishy old castle 
 turned to a man-of-war in full sail. ' Up with the jib, 
 reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard a lee, and man 
 the guns,* roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate 
 hove in sight, with a flag black as ink flying from her 
 foremast. ' Go in and win my hearties,' says the cap- 
 tain ; and a tremendous fight begun. Of course the 
 British beat — they always do ; and, having taken the 
 pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the schooner, 
 whose decks were piled with dead, and whose lee- 
 scuppers ran blood, for the order had been ' Cutlasses, 
 and die hard.' 'Bosen's mate, take a bight of the 
 flying jib sheet, and start this villain if he don't confess 
 his sins double quick,' said the British captain. The 
 Portuguese held his tongue like a brick, and Walked 
 the plank, while the jolly tars cheered like mad. But 
 the sly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war, 
 scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail set, 
 ' To the bottom of the sea, sea, sea,' where — " 
 
 " Oh, gracious ! what shall I say.?" cried Sallie, as 
 Fred ended his rigmarole, in which he had jumbled 
 together, pell-mell, nautical phrases and facts, out of 
 one of his favorite books. "Well, they went to the 
 bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but 
 was much grieved on finding the box of headless 
 knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, hoping to 
 discover the mystery about them ; for, being a woman, 
 she was curious. By and by a diver came down, and 
 the mermaid said, ' I'll give you this box of pearls 
 if you can take it up ; ' for she wanted to restore the 
 poor thing* to life, and couldn't raise the heavy load 
 
190 Little Women. 
 
 herself. So the diver hoisted it up, and was much 
 disappointed, on opening it, to find no pearls. He left 
 it in a great lonely field, where it was found by a — " 
 
 " Little goose-girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in 
 the field," said Amy, when Sallie's invention gave out. 
 " The little girl was sorry for them, and asked an old 
 woman what she should do to help them. 'Your 
 geese will tell you, they know everything,' said the old 
 woman. So she asked what she should use for new 
 heads, since the old ones were lost, and all the geese 
 opened their hundred mouths, and screamed — " 
 
 " ' Cabbages ! ' continued Laurie, promptly. 'Just 
 the thing,' said the girl, and ran to get twelve fine 
 ones from her garden. She put them on, the knights 
 revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way 
 rejoicing, never knowing the difierence, for there were 
 so many other heads like them in the world, that no 
 one thought anything of it. The knight in whom I'm 
 interested went back to find the pretty face, and 
 learned that the princesses had spun themselves free, 
 and all gone to be married, but one. He was in a 
 great state of mind at that ; and, mounting the colt, 
 who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to 
 the castle to see which was left. Peeping over the 
 hedge, he saw the queen of his affections picking 
 flowers in her garden. 'Will you give me arose?' 
 said he. ' You must come and get it ; I can't come to 
 you ; it isn't proper,' said she, as sweet as honey. He 
 tried to climb over the hedge, but it seemed to grow 
 higher and higher ; then he tried to push through, but 
 it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. 
 So he patiently broke twig after twig, till 1^ had made 
 
Camp Laurence. 191 
 
 a little hole, through which he peeped, saying, im- 
 ploringly, ' Let me ' in ! let me in ! ' But the pretty 
 princess did not seem to understand, for she picked 
 her roses quietly, and left him to fight his way in. 
 Whether he did or not, Frank will tell you." 
 
 " I can't ; I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, 
 dismayed at the sentimental predicament out of which 
 he was to rescue the absurd couple. Beth had disap- 
 peared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep. 
 
 '' So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the 
 hedge, is he?" asked Mr. Brooke, still watching the 
 river, and playing with the wild rose in^his button-hole. 
 
 " I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened 
 the gate, after awhile," said Laurie, smiling to himself, 
 as he threw acorns at his tutor. 
 
 " What a piece* of nonsense we have made ! With 
 practice we might do something quite clever. Do 
 you know 'Truth?'" asked Sallie, after they had 
 laughed over their story. 
 . " I hope so," said Meg, soberly. 
 
 " The game, I mean? " 
 
 " What is it? " said Fred. 
 
 " Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, 
 and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at 
 the number has to answer truly any questions put by 
 the rest. It's great fun." 
 
 " Let's try it," said Jo, who liked new experiments. 
 
 Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg and Ned, declined ; 
 but Fred, Sallie, Jo and Laurie piled and drew ; and 
 the lot fell to Laurie. 
 
 "Who are your heroes?" asked Jo. 
 
 " Grand^ther and Napoleon." 
 
192 Little Women » 
 
 "What lady do you think prettiest?" said Sallie. 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 " Which do you like best? " from Fred. 
 
 "Jo, of course." 
 
 •' What silly questions you ask ! " and Jo gave a 
 disdainful shrug as the rest laughed at Laurie's matter- 
 of-fact tone. 
 
 " Try again ; Truth isn't a bad game," said Fred. 
 
 " It's a very good one for you," retorted Jo, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 Her turn came next. 
 
 " What is yoyr greatest fault.? " asked Fred, by way 
 of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself. 
 
 " A quick temper." 
 
 "What do you most wish for?" said Laurie. 
 
 "A pair of boot-lacings," returned Jo, guessing 
 and defeating his purpose. 
 
 " Not a true answer ; you must say what you really 
 do want most." 
 
 " Genius ; don't you wish you. could give it to me, 
 Laurie? " and she slyly smiled in his disappointed face. 
 
 "What virtues do you most admire in a man?" 
 asked Sallie. 
 
 " Courage and honesty." 
 
 "Now my turn," said Fred, as his hand came last. 
 
 " Lef s give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who 
 nodded, and asked at once, — 
 
 " Didn't you cheat at croquet? " 
 
 "Well, yes, a little bit." 
 
 " Good ! Didn't you take your story out of ' The 
 Sea Lion?"*" said Laurie. 
 
 " Rather." ^ 
 
Camp Laurence, 193 
 
 "Don't you think the English nation perfect in 
 every respect? " asked Sallie. 
 
 " I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't." 
 
 " He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you 
 shall have a chance without waiting to draw. I'll 
 harrow up your feelings first by asking if you don't 
 think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo 
 nodded to Fred, as a sign that peace was declared. 
 
 " You impertinent boy ! of course I'm not," ex- 
 claimed Sallie, with an air that proved the contrary. 
 
 " What do you hate most? " asked Fred. 
 
 " Spiders and rice pudding." 
 
 " What do you like best? " asked Jo. 
 
 " Dancing and French gloves." 
 
 " Well, /think Truth is a very silly play ; let's have 
 a sensible game of Authors, to refresh our minds," 
 proposed Jo. 
 
 Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, 
 while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking. 
 Miss Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret 
 watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with 
 a book, which he did not read. 
 
 " How beautifully you do it; I wish I could draw," 
 said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Why don't you learn? I should think you had 
 taste and talent for it," replied Miss Kate, graciously. 
 
 " I haven't time." 
 
 "Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I 
 fancy. So did mine ; but I proved to her that I had 
 talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and then she 
 13 
 
194 Little. Women, 
 
 was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the 
 same with your governess?" 
 
 " I have none." 
 
 "I forgot; young ladies in America go to school 
 more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, 
 papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I don't go at all ; I am a governess myself." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " said Miss Kate ; but she might as 
 well have said, "Dear me, how dreadful ! " for her 
 tone implied it, and something in her face made Meg 
 color, and wish she had not been so frank. 
 
 Mr. Brooke looked up, and said, quickly, " Young 
 ladies in America love independence as much as their 
 ancestors did, and are admired and respected for sup- 
 porting themselves." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; of course ! it's very nice and proper in 
 them to do so. We have many most respectable and 
 worthy young women, who do the same ; and are 
 employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters 
 of gentlemen, they are both well-bred and accom- 
 plished, you know," said Miss Kate, in a patronizing 
 tone, that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem 
 not only more distasteful, but degrading. 
 
 " Did the German song suit. Miss March .^ " inquked 
 Mr. Brooke, breaking an awkward pause. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it was very sweet, and I'm much obliged 
 to whoever translated it for me ; " and Meg's downcast 
 face brightened as she spoke. 
 
 " Don't you read German?" asked Miss Kate, with 
 a look of surprise. 
 
 "Not very well. My father, who taught me, is 
 
Camp Laurence. 195 
 
 away, and 1 don't get on very fast alone, for I've no 
 one to correct my pronunciation." 
 
 " Try a little nov^ ; here is Schiller's ' Mary Stuart/ 
 and a tutor w^ho loves to teach," and Mr. Brooke laid 
 his book on her lap, v^ith an inviting smile. 
 
 " It's so hard, I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, 
 but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young 
 lady beside her. 
 
 " I'll read a bit, to encourage you ; " and Miss Kate 
 read one of the most beautiful passages, in a perfectly 
 correct, but perfectly expressionless, manner. 
 
 Mr Brooke made no comment, as she returned the 
 book to Meg, who said, innocently, — 
 
 " I thought it was poetry." 
 
 " Some of it is ; try this passage." 
 
 There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's moutn, 
 as he opened at poor Mary's lament. 
 
 Meg, obediently following the long grass-blade 
 which her new tutor used to point with, read, slowly 
 and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard 
 words, by the soft intonation of her musical voice. 
 Down the page went the green guide, and presently, 
 forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, 
 Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy 
 to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen 
 the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short ; 
 but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoilt 
 for her. 
 
 " Very well, indeed ! " said Mr. Brooke, as she 
 paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes, and looking 
 as if he did, indeed, " love to teach." 
 
 Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a 
 
796 Little Wofnen. 
 
 survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketch- 
 book, saying, with condescension, — 
 
 "You've a nice accent, and, in time, will be a clever 
 reader. I advise you to learn, for German is a valu- 
 able accomplishment to teachers. I must look after 
 jrace, she is romping ; " and Miss Kate strolled away, 
 id'liiig to herself, with a shrug, " I didn't come to 
 -.hape.ro.:e a governess, though she is young and 
 jpretty. What odd people these Yankees are ! I'm 
 afraid Laurie will be quite spoilt among them." 
 
 " I forgot that English people rather turn up their 
 noses at governesses, and don't treat them as we do," 
 said Meg, looking after the retreating figure with an 
 annoyed expression. 
 
 " Tutors, also, have rather a hard time of it there, 
 as I know to my sorrow. There's no place like 
 America for us workers, Miss Margaret," and Mr. 
 Brooke looked so contented and cheerful, that Meg 
 was ashamed to lament her hard lot. 
 • " I'm glad I live in it, then. I don't like my work, 
 but I get a good deal of satisfaction out of it, after all, 
 so I won't complain ; I only wish I liked teaching as 
 you do." 
 
 " I tl.ink you would, if you had Laurie for a pupil. 
 I shall be very sorry to lose him next year," said Mr. 
 Brooke, busily punching holes in the turf. 
 
 "Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked 
 that question, but Ir^r eyes added, "And what becomes 
 of you?" 
 
 " Yes ; it's high time he went, for he is nearly ready, 
 and as soon as he is off I shall turn soldier." 
 
 "I'm glad of that!" exclaimed Meg; "I should 
 
Camp Laurence, 197 
 
 think every young man would want to go ; though 
 it is hard for the mothers and sisters, who stay at 
 home," she added, sorrowfully. 
 
 "I have neither, and very few friends, to care 
 whether I live or die," said Mr. Brooke, rather bitterly, 
 as he absently put the dead rose in the hole he had 
 made, and covered it up, like a little grave. 
 
 "Laurie and his grandfather would care a great 
 deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any 
 harm happen to you," said, Meg, heartily. 
 
 " Thank you ; that sounds pleasant," began Mr. 
 Brooke, looking cheerful again ; but, before he could 
 finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old horse, 
 came lumbering up, to display his equestrian skill 
 before the young ladies, and there was no more quiet 
 that day. 
 
 "Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as 
 they stood resting, after a race round the field with 
 the others, led by Ned. 
 
 " I dote upon it ; my sister Meg used to ride, when 
 papa was rich, but we don't keep any horses now, — 
 except Ellen Tree," added Amy, laughing. 
 
 " Tell me about Ellen Tree ; is it a donkey.'' " asked 
 Grace, curiously. 
 
 " Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses, and so am 
 I, but we've only got an old side-saddle, and no horse. 
 Out in our garden is an apple-tree, that has a nice 
 low branch ; so I, put the saddle on it, fixed some 
 reins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away 
 on Ellen Tree whenever we like." 
 
 "How funny!" laughed Grace. "I have a pony 
 at home, and ride nearly every day in the park, with 
 
198 Little Women, 
 
 Fred and Kate ; if s very nice, for my friends go too, 
 and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 " Dear, liow charming ! I hope I shall go abroad, 
 some day ; but I'd rather go to Rome than the Row," 
 said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what the 
 Row was, and wouldn't have asked for the world. 
 
 Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, -heard what 
 they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from 
 him with an impatient gesture, as he watched the 
 active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnas- 
 tics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author- 
 cards, looked up, and said, in her shy yet friendly 
 way, — 
 
 " I'm afraid you are tired ; can I do anything for 
 you?" 
 
 " Talk to me, please ; it's dull, sitting by myself,'* 
 answered Frank, who had evidently been used to be- 
 ing made much of at home. 
 
 If he had asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it 
 would not have seemed a more impossible task to 
 bashful Beth ; but there was no place to run to, no Jo 
 to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wist- 
 fully at her, that she bravely resolved to try. 
 
 "What do you like to talk about.?" she asked, 
 fumbling over the cards, and dropping half as she 
 tried to tie them up. 
 
 " Well, I like to hear about cricket, and boating, 
 and hunting," said Frank, who had not yet learned to 
 suit his amusements to his strength. 
 
 " My heart ! whatever shall I do ! I don't know 
 anything about them," thought Beth ; and, forgetting 
 the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to 
 
Camp Laurence, 199 
 
 make him talk, " I never saw any hunting, but I sup- 
 pose you know all about it." 
 
 " I did once ; but I'll never hunt again, for I got 
 hurt leaping a confounded five-barred gate ; so there's 
 no more horses and hounds for me," said Frank, with 
 a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent 
 blunder. 
 
 " Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffa- 
 loes," she said, turning to the prairies for help, and 
 feeling glad that she had read one of the boys' books 
 in which Jo delighted. 
 
 Buffaloes 'proved soothing and satisfactory; and, in 
 her eagerness to amuse another, Beth forgot herself, 
 and was quite unconscious of her sister's surprise and 
 delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking away 
 to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had 
 begged protection. 
 
 "Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good 
 to him," said Jo, beaming at her from the croquet- 
 ground. 
 
 " I always said she was a little saint," added Meg, 
 as if there could be no further doubt of it. 
 
 " I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so 
 long," said Grace to Amy, as they sat discussing dolls, 
 and making tea-sets out of the acorn-cups. 
 
 " My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl, when she 
 likes to be," said Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. 
 She meant " fascinating," but, as Grace didn't know the 
 exact meaning of either word, " fastidious " sounded 
 well, and made a good impression. 
 
 An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an am- 
 icable game of croquet, finished the afternoon. At 
 
200 Little Women, 
 
 sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets 
 pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated 
 down the river, singing at the tops of their voices. 
 Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the 
 pensive refrain, — 
 
 "Alone, alone, ah I woe, alone,** 
 
 and at the lines — 
 
 "We each are young, we each have a heart, 
 Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?'* 
 
 \ 
 he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression, 
 that she laughed outright, and spoilt his song^ 
 
 " How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, 
 under cover of a lively chorus ; " you've kept close to 
 that starched-up English woman all day, and now-you . 
 snub me." 
 
 " I didn't mean to ; but you looked so funny I really 
 couldn't help it," replied Meg, passing over the first 
 part of his reproach ; for it was quite true that she 
 had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and 
 the talk after it. 
 
 Ned was offended, and turned to Sallie for consola- 
 tion, saying to her, rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit 
 of flirt in that girl, is there ? " 
 
 " Not a particle ; but she's a dear," returned Sallie, 
 defending her friend even while confessing her short- 
 comings. 
 
 *' She's not a stricken deer, any- way," said Ned, 
 trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very 
 young gentlemen usually do. 
 
Camp Laurence, 201 
 
 On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party- 
 separated with cordial good-nights and good-byes, for 
 the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four 
 sisters went home through the garden. Miss Kate 
 looked after them, saying, without the patronizing 
 tone in her voice, " In spite of their demonstrative 
 manners, American girls are very nice when one 
 knows them." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR, 
 
 LAURIE lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in 
 his hammock, one warm September afternoon, 
 wondering what his neighbors were about, but 
 too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his 
 moods ; for the day had been both unprofitable 'and 
 unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it 
 over again. The hot weather made him indolent ; 
 and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's 
 patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by 
 practising half the afternoon, frightened the maid- 
 servants half out of their wits, by mischievously 
 hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after 
 high words with the stableman about some fancied 
 neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his 
 hammock, to fume over the stupidity of the world in 
 general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in 
 spite of himself. Staring up into the green gloom of 
 the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams 
 of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing 
 on the ocean, in a voyage round the world, w*hen the 
 sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash. Peep- 
 202 
 
Castles in the Air, 203 
 
 ing through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the 
 Marches coming out, as if bound on some expedition. 
 
 "What in the world are those girls about now?" 
 thought Laurie, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good 
 look, for there was something rather peculiar in the 
 appearance of his neighbors. Each wore a large, 
 flapping hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one 
 shoulder, and carried a long staff; Meg had a cushion, 
 Jo a book, Beth a dipper, and Amy a portfolio. All 
 walked quietly through the garden, out at the little 
 back gate, and began to climb the hill that lay between 
 the house and river. 
 
 " Well, that's cool ! " said Laurie to himself, " to 
 have a picnic and never ask me. They can't be going 
 in the boat, for they haven't got the key. Perhaps 
 they forgot it ; I'll take it to them, and see what's 
 going on." 
 
 Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him 
 some time to find one ; then there was a hunt for the 
 key, which was at last discovered in his pocket, so 
 that the girls were quite out of sight when he leaped 
 the fence and ran after them. Taking the shortest 
 way to the boat-house, he waited for them to appear ; 
 but no one came, and he went up the hill to take an 
 observation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, 
 and from the heart of this green spot came a clearer 
 sound than the soft sigh of the pines, or the drowsy 
 chirp of the crickets. 
 
 " Here's a landscape ! " thought Laurie, peeping 
 through the bushes, and looking wide awake and good- 
 natured already. 
 
 It vjas rather a pretty little picture ; for the sisters 
 
204 Little Women, 
 
 sat together in the shady nook, with sun and shadow 
 flickering over them, — the aromatic wind lifting their 
 hair and cooling their hot cheeks, — and all the little 
 wood-people going on with their affairs as if these 
 were no strangers, but old friends. Meg sat upon her 
 cushion, sewing daintily with her white hands, and 
 looking as fresh and sweet as a rose, in her pink 
 dress, among the green. Beth was sorting the cones 
 that lay thick under the hemlock near by, for she 
 made pretty things of them. Amy was sketching a 
 group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud. 
 A shadow passed over the boy's face a^ he watched 
 them, feeling that he ought to go, because uninvited ; 
 yet lingering, because home seemed very lonely, and 
 this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his 
 restless spirit. He stood so still, that a squirrel, busy 
 with its hai*vesting, ran down a pine close beside 
 him, saw him suddenly, and skipped back, scolding so 
 shrilly that Beth looked up, espied the wistful face 
 behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring 
 smile. 
 
 "May I come in, please? or shall I be a bother?" 
 he asked, advancing slowly. 
 
 Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defi- 
 antly, and said, at once, " Of course you may. We 
 should have asked you before, only we thought you 
 wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this." 
 
 " I always like your games ; but if Meg don't want 
 me, I'll go away." 
 
 " I've no objection, if you do something; it's against 
 the rule to be idle here," replied Meg, gravely, but 
 graciously. 
 
Castles in the Air. 205 
 
 " Much obliged ; I'll do anything if you'll let me 
 stop a bit, for it's as dull as the desert of Sahara down 
 there. Shall I sew, read, cone, draw, or do all at 
 once ? Bring on your bears ; I'm ready," and Laurie 
 sat down with a submissive expression delightful to 
 behold. 
 
 " Finish this story while I set my heel," said Jo, 
 handing him the book. 
 
 " Yes'm," was the meek answer, as he began, doing 
 his best to prove his gratitude for the favor of an 
 admission into the " Busy Bee Society." 
 
 The story was not a long one, and, when it was 
 finished, he ventured to ask a few questions as a 
 reward of merit. 
 
 " Please, mum, could I inquire if this highly in- 
 structive and charming institution is a new one ? " 
 
 "Would you tell him?" asked Meg of her sisters. 
 
 " He'll laugh," said Amy, warningly. 
 
 "Who cares?" said Jo. 
 
 " I guess he'll like it," added Beth. 
 
 " Of course I shall ! I give you my word I won't 
 laugh. Tell away, Jo, and don't be afraid." 
 
 " The idea of being afraid of you ! Well, you see 
 we used to play ' Pilgrim's Progress,' and we have 
 been going on with it in earnest, all winter and 
 summer." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Laurie, nodding wisely. 
 
 "Who told you?" demanded Jo. 
 
 " Spirits." 
 
 " No, it was me ; I wanted to amuse him one night 
 when you were all away, and he was rather dismal. 
 He did like it, so don't scold, Jo," said Beth, meekly. 
 
2o6 Little Women, 
 
 " You can't keep a secret. Never mind ; it sav^es 
 trouble now." 
 
 " Go on, please," said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed 
 in her work, looking a trifle displeased. 
 
 " Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of 
 ours? Well, we have tried not to waste our holiday, 
 but each has had a task, and worked at it with a will. 
 The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, 
 and we are ever so glad that we didn't dawdle." 
 
 "Yes, I should think so;" and Laurie thought 
 regretfully of his own idle days. 
 
 " Mother likes to have us out of doprs as much as 
 possible ; so we bring our work here, and have nice 
 times. For the fun of it we bring our things in these 
 bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill, 
 and play pilgrims, as we used to do years ago. We 
 call this hill the ' Delectable Mountain,' for we can 
 look far away and see the country where we hope to 
 live some time." 
 
 Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine ; for 
 through an opening in the wood one could look across 
 the wide, blue river, — the meadows on the other 
 side, — far over the outskirts of the great city, to the 
 green hills that rose to meet the sky. The sun was 
 low, and the heavens glowed with the splendor of an 
 autumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds lay on the 
 hill-tops ; and rising high into the ruddy light were 
 silvery white peaks, that shone like the airy spires of 
 some Celestial City. 
 
 " How beautiful that is ! " said Laurie, softly, for he 
 was quick to see and feel beauty of any kind. 
 
 " It's often so ; and we like to watch it, for it is 
 
Castles in the Air. 207 
 
 never the same, but always splendid," replied Amy, 
 wishing she could paint it. 
 
 "Jo talks about the country where we hope to live 
 some time ; the real country, she means, with pigs and 
 chickens, and haymaking. It would be nice, but I 
 wish the beautiful countiy up there was real, and we 
 could ever go to it," said Beth, musingly. 
 
 " There is a lovelier country even than that, where 
 we shall go, by and by, when we are good enough," 
 answered Meg, with her sweet voice. 
 
 " It seems so long to wait, so hard to do ; I want to 
 fly away at once, as those swallows fly, and go in at 
 that splendid gate." 
 
 "You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later ; no fear of 
 that," said Jo ; "I'm the one that will have to fight and 
 work, and climb and wait, and maybe never get in 
 after all." 
 
 " You'll have me for company, if that's any com- 
 fort. I shall have to do a deal of travelling before I 
 come in sight of your Celestial City. If I arrive late, 
 you'll say a good word for me, won't you, Beth ? " 
 
 Something in the boy's face troubled his little friend ; 
 but she said cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the 
 changing clouds, " If people really want to go, and 
 really try all their lives, I think they will get in ; 
 for I don't believe there are any locks on that door, or 
 any guards at the gate. I always imagine it is as it is 
 in the picture, where the shining ones stretch out their 
 hands to welcome poor Christian as he comes up from 
 the river." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air 
 
2o8 Little Women, 
 
 which we make could come true, and we could live 
 in them?" said Jo, after a little pause. 
 
 " I've made such quantities it would be hard to 
 choose which I'd have," said Laurie, lying flat, and 
 throwing cones at the squirrel who had betrayed 
 him. 
 
 " You'd have to take your favorite one. What is 
 it?" asked Meg. 
 
 " If I tell mine, will you tell yours?" 
 
 " Yes, if the girls will too." 
 
 " We will. Now, Laurie ! " 
 
 " After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, 
 I'd like to settle in Germany, and have just as much 
 music as I choose. I'm to be a famous musician 
 myself, and all creation is to rush to hfear me ; and 
 I'm never to be bothered about money or business, but 
 just enjoy myself, and live for what I like. Thaf s 
 my favorite castle. What's yours, Meg?" 
 
 Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, 
 and moved a brake before her face, as if to disperse 
 imaginary gnats, while she said, slowly, " I should 
 like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious things ; 
 nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant 
 people, and heaps of money. I am to be mistress of 
 it, and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so 
 I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy it ! for 
 I wouldn't be idle, but do good, and make every one 
 love me dearly." 
 
 " Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the 
 air } " asked Laurie, slyly. 
 
 *' I said ' pleasant people,' you know ; " and Meg 
 
Castles in the Air, 209 
 
 carefully tied up her shoe as she spoke, so that no one 
 saw her face. 
 
 " Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, 
 good husband, and some angelic little children? you 
 know your castle wouldn't be perfect without," said 
 blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather 
 scorned romance, except in books. 
 
 " You'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and 
 novels in yours," answered Meg, petulantly. 
 
 " Wouldn't I, though ! I'd have a stable full of 
 Arabian steeds, rooms piled with books, and I'd write 
 out of a magic inkstand, so that my works should be 
 as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do some- 
 thing splendid before I go into my castle, — something 
 heroic, or wonderful, — that won't be forgotten after 
 I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch 
 for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day. I 
 think I shall write books, and get rich and famous ; 
 that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream." 
 
 "Mine is to stay at home safe with father and 
 mother, and help take care of the family," said Beth, 
 contentedly. 
 
 " Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie. 
 
 " Since I had my little piano I am perfectly satisfied. 
 I only wish we may all keep well, and be together ; 
 nothing else." 
 
 " I have lots of w^ishes ; but the pet one is to be an 
 artist, and go to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be 
 the best artist in the whole world," was Amy's modest 
 desire. 
 
 "We're an ambitious set, aren't we? Every one 
 of us, but Beth, wants to be rich and famous, and 
 H 
 
2IO Little Women. 
 
 gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder if any of us 
 will ever get our wishes," said Laurie, chewing grass, 
 like a meditative calf. 
 
 " Fve got the key to my castle in the air ; but 
 whether I can unlock the door, remains to be seen," 
 observed Jo, mysteriously. 
 
 •'I've got the key to mine, but Fm not allowed to 
 try it. Hang college ! " muttered Laurie, with an 
 impatient sigh. 
 
 " Here's mine ! " and Amy waved her pencil. 
 
 "I haven't got any," said Meg, forlornly. 
 
 "Yes you have," said Laurie, at once. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In your face." 
 
 " Nonsense ; that's of no use." 
 
 " Wait and see if it doesn't bring you something 
 worth having," replied the boy, laughing at the 
 thought of a charming little secret which he fancied 
 he knew. 
 
 Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no ques- 
 tions, and looked across the river with the same 
 expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had worn 
 when he told the story of the knight. 
 
 "If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and 
 see how many of us have got our wishes, or how 
 much nearer we are them than now," said Jo, always 
 ready with a plan. 
 
 " Bless me ! how old I shall be, — twenty-seven ! " 
 exclaimed Meg, who felt grown up already, having 
 just reached seventeen. 
 
 "You and I shall be twenty-six, Teddy; Beth 
 
Castles in the Air. 211 
 
 twenty-four, and Amy twenty-two ; what a venerable 
 party ! " said Jo. 
 
 " I hope I shall have done something to be proud 
 of by that time ; but I'm such a lazy dog, I'm afraid I 
 shall ' dawdle,' Jo." 
 
 " You need a motive, mother says ; and when you 
 get it, she is sure you'll work splendidly." 
 
 " Is she } By Jupiter I will, if I only get the 
 chance ! " cried Laurie, sitting up with sudden energy. 
 " I ought to be satisfied to please grandfather, and I 
 do try, but it's working against the grain, you see, and 
 comes hard. He wants me to be an India merchant, 
 as he was, and I'd rather be shot ; I hate tea, and silk, 
 and spices, and every sort of rubbish his old ships 
 bring, and I don't care how soon they go to the 
 bottom when I own them. Going to college ought to 
 satisfy him, for if I give him four years he ought to 
 let me oflf from the business ; but he's set, and I've got 
 to do just as he did, unless I break away and please 
 myself, as my father did. If there was any one left to 
 stay with the old gentleman, I'd do it to-morrow." 
 
 Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry 
 his threat into execution on the slightest provocation ; 
 for he was growing up very fast, and, in spite of his 
 indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of subjec- 
 tion, — a young man's restless longing to try the world 
 for himself. 
 
 " I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and 
 never come home again till you have tried your own 
 way," said Jo, whose imagination was fired b}^ the 
 thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy 
 was excited by what she called " Teddy's wrongs." 
 
212 Little Wo7nen. 
 
 *' That's not right, Jo ; you mustn't talk in that way, 
 and Laurie mustn't take your bad advice. You should 
 do just what your grandfather wishes, my dear boy," 
 said Meg, in her most maternal tone. " Do your best 
 at college, and, when he sees that you try to please 
 liim, I'm sure he won't be hard or unjust to you. As 
 you say, there is no one else to stay with and love him, 
 and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him with- 
 out his permission. Don't be dismal, or fret, but do 
 your duty ; and you'll get your reward, as good Mr. 
 Brooke has, by being respected and loved." 
 
 "What do you know about him?" asked Laurie, 
 grateful for the good advice, but objecting to the 
 lecture, and glad to turn the conversatiorl from him- 
 self, after his unusual outbreak. 
 
 " Only what your grandpa told mother about him ; 
 how he took good care of his own mother till she 
 died, and wouldn't go abroad as tutor to some nice 
 person, because he wouldn't leave her; and how he 
 provides now for an old woman who nursed his 
 mother ; and never tells any one, but is just as gen- 
 erous, and patient, and good as he can be." 
 
 " So he is, dear old fellow ! " said Laurie, heartily, 
 as Meg paused, looking flushed and earnest, with her 
 story. " It's like grandpa to find out all about him, 
 without letting him know, and to tell all his good- 
 ness to others, so that they might like him. Brooke 
 couldn't understand why your mother was so kind 
 to him, asking him over with me, and treating him 
 in her beautiful, friendly way. He thought she was 
 just perfect, and talked about it for days and days, 
 
Castles in the Air, 213 
 
 and went on about you all, in flaming style. If ever 
 I do get my wish, you see what I'll do for Brooke." 
 
 " Begin to do something now, by not plaguing his 
 life out," said Meg, sharply. 
 
 " How do you know I do, miss?" 
 
 " I can always tell by his face, when he goes away. 
 If you have been good, he looks satisfied, and walks 
 briskly ; if you have plagued4».,him, he's sober, and 
 walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his 
 work better." 
 
 "Well, I like that! So you keep an account of 
 my good and bad marks in Brooke's face, do you ? I 
 see him bow and smile as he passes your window, 
 but I didn't know you'd got up a telegraph." 
 
 " We haven't ; don't be angry, and oh, don't tell him 
 I said anything ! It was only to show that I cared 
 how you get on, and what is said here is said in 
 confidence, you know," cried Meg, much alarmed at 
 the thought of what might follow from her careless 
 speech. 
 
 " /don't tell tales," replied Laurie, with his " high 
 and mighty" air, as Jo called a certain expression 
 which he occasionally wore. " Only if- Brooke is 
 going to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair 
 weather for him to report." 
 
 " Please don't be offended ; I didn't mean to preach 
 or tell tales, or be silly ; I only thought Jo was en- 
 couraging you in a feeling which you'd be sorry for, 
 by and by. You are so kind to us, we feel as if you 
 were our brother, and say just what we think ; forgive 
 me, I meant it kindly ! " and Meg offered her hand with 
 a gesture both affectionate and timid. 
 
214 Little Women. 
 
 Ashamed of his momentary pique, Laurie squeezed 
 the kind little hand, and said, frankly, "I'm the one to 
 be forgiven ; I'm cross, and have been out of sorts all 
 day. I like to have you tell me my faults, and be 
 sisterly ; so don't mind if I am grumpy sometimes ; I 
 thank you all the same." 
 
 Bent on show^ing that he was not offended, he made 
 himself as agreeable as possible ; wound cotton for 
 Meg, recited poetry to please Jo, shook down cones 
 for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, — proving 
 himself a fit person to belong to the "Busy Bee Soci- 
 ety." In the midst of an animated discussion on the 
 domestic habits of turtles (one of which amiable crea- 
 tures having strolled up from the river), the faint 
 sound of a bell warned them that Hannah had put 
 the tea " to draw," and they would just have time to 
 get home 'to supper. 
 
 " May I come again?" asked Laurie. 
 
 "Yes, if you are good, and love your book, as the 
 boys in the primer are told to do," said Meg, smiling. 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 " Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as 
 the Scotch-men do ; there's a demand for socks just 
 now," added Jo, waving hers, like a big blue worsted 
 banner, as they parted at the gate. 
 
 That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurerfce in 
 the twilight, Laurie, standing in the shadow of the 
 curtain, listened to the little David, whose simple 
 music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched 
 the old man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, 
 thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had 
 -loved so much. Remembering the conversation of 
 
Castles in the Air, 215 
 
 the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve 
 to make the sacrifice cheerfully, " I'll let my castle 
 go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while he 
 needs me, for I am all he has." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SECRETS. * 
 
 JO was very busy up in the garret, for the October 
 days began to grow chilly, and the., afternoons 
 were short. For two or three hours the sun lay 
 warmly in at the high window, showing Jo seated on 
 the old sofa writing busily, with her papers spread out 
 upon a trunk before her, while Scrabble, the pet rat, 
 promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied by his 
 oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very- 
 proud of his whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, 
 Jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, when 
 she signed her name with a flourish, and threw down 
 her pen, exclaiming, — 
 
 " There, I've done my best ! If this don't suit I 
 shall have to wait till I can do better." 
 
 Lying back on the sofa, she read the manuscript 
 carefully through, making dashes here and there, and 
 putting in many exclamation points, which looked like 
 little balloons ; then she tied it up with a smart red 
 ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wist- 
 ful expression, which plainly showed how earnest her 
 work had been. Jo's desk up here was an old tin 
 
 216 
 
Secrets, 217 
 
 kitchen, which hung against the wall. In it she kept 
 her papers, and a few books, safely shut away from 
 Scrabble, who, being likewise of a literary turn, was 
 fond of making a circulating library of such books as 
 were left in his way, by eating the leaves. From this 
 tin receptacle Jo produced another manuscript ; and, 
 putting both in her pocket, "crept quietly down stairs, 
 leaving her friends to nibble her pens and taste her ink. 
 
 She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as pos- 
 sible, and, going to the back entry window, got out 
 upon the roof of a low porch, swung herself down to 
 the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the 
 road. Once there she composed herself, hailed a 
 passing omnibus, and rolled away to town, looking 
 very merry and mysterious. 
 
 If any one had been watching her, he would have 
 thought her movements decidedly peculiar ; for, on 
 alighting, she went off at a great pace till she reached 
 a certain number in a certain busy street ; having 
 found the place with some difficulty, she went into 
 the door-way, looked up the dirty stairs, and, after 
 standing stock still a minute, suddenly dived into the 
 street, and walked away as rapidly as she came. This 
 manoeuvre she repeated several times, to the great 
 amusement of a black-eyed young gentleman lounging 
 in the window of a building opposite. On returning 
 for the third time, Jo gave herself a shake, pulled her 
 hat over her eyes, and walked up the stairs, looking as 
 if she was going to have all her teeth out. 
 
 There was a dentist's sign, among others, which 
 adorned the entrance, and, after staring a moment at 
 the pair of artificial jaws which slowly opened and 
 
2i8 Little Women, 
 
 shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the young 
 gentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down 
 to post himself in the opposite door-way, saying, with a 
 smile and a shiver, — 
 
 " It's like her to come alone, but if she has a bad 
 time she'll need some one to help her home." 
 
 In ten minutes Jo came running down stairs with a 
 very red face, and the general appearance of a person 
 who had just passed through a trying ordeal of some 
 sort. When she saw the young gentleman she looked 
 anything but pleased, and passed him with a nod ; 
 but he followed, asking with an air of sympathy, — 
 
 " Did you have a bad time ? " *» 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 " You got through quick." 
 
 " Yes, thank goodness ! " 
 
 " Why did you go alone .'* " 
 
 "Didn't want any one to know." 
 
 "You're the oddest fellow I ever saw. How many 
 did you have out ? " 
 
 Jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand 
 him ; then began to laugh, as if mightily amused at 
 something. 
 
 " There are two which I want to have come out, 
 but I must wait a week." 
 
 "What are you laughing at? You are up to some 
 mischief, Jo," said Laurie, looking mystified. 
 
 " So are you. What were you doing, sir, up in that 
 billiard saloon ? " 
 
 "Begging your pardon, ma'am, it wasn't a billiard 
 saloon, but a gymnasium, and I was taking a lesson in 
 fencing." 
 
Secrets, 219 
 
 "I'm glad of that!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You can teach me ; and then, when we play Hamlet, 
 you can be Laertes, and we'll make a fine thing of the 
 fencing scene." 
 
 Laurie burst out with a hearty boy's laugh, which 
 made several passers-by smile in spite of themselves. 
 
 " I'll teach you, whether we play Hamlet or not ; it's 
 grand fun, and will straighten you up capitally. But 
 I don't believe that was your only reason for saying 
 ' I'm glad,' in that decided way ; was it, now ? " 
 
 " No, I was glad you were not in the saloon, be- 
 cause I hope you never go to such places. Do you?" 
 
 "Not often." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't." 
 
 " It's no harm, Jo, I have billiards at home, but it's 
 no fun unless you have good players ; so, as I'm fond of 
 it, I come sometimes and have a game with Ned Mof- 
 fat or some of the other fellows." 
 
 " Oh dear, I'm so sorry, for you'll get to liking it 
 better and better, and will waste time and money, and 
 grow like those dreadful boys. I did hope you'd stay 
 respectable, and be a satisfaction to your friends," said 
 Jo, shaking her head. 
 
 " Can't a fellow take a little innocent amusement 
 now and then without losing his respectability.?" 
 asked Laurie, looking nettled. 
 
 " That depends upon how and where he takes it. 
 I don't like Ned and his set, and wish you'd keep out 
 of it. Mother won't let us have him at our house, 
 though he wants to come, and if you grow like him 
 
220 Little Women, 
 
 she won't be willing to have us frolic together as we 
 do now." 
 
 " Won't she? " asked Laurie, anxiously. 
 
 " No, she can't bear fashionable young men, and 
 she'd shut us all up in bandboxes rather than have us 
 associate with them." 
 
 " Well, she needn't get out her bandboxes yet ; I'm 
 not a fashionable party, and don't mean to be ; but I do 
 like harmless larks now and then, don't you?" 
 
 " Yes, nobody minds them, so lark away, but don't 
 get wild, will you ? or there will be an end of all our 
 good times." 
 
 " I'll be a double distilled saint." 
 
 " I can't bear saints ; just be a simple, honest, re- 
 spectable boy, and we'll never desert you. I don't 
 know what I should do if you acted like Mr. King's 
 son ; he had plenty of money, but didn't know how to 
 spend it, and got tipsy, and gambled, and ran away, 
 and forged his father's name, I believe, and was alto- 
 gether horrid." 
 
 "'You think I'm likely to do the same? Much 
 obliged." 
 
 "No I don't — oh, dear^ no! — but I hear people 
 talking about money being such a temptation, and I 
 sometimes wish you were poor ; I shouldn't worry 
 then." 
 
 " Do you worry about me, Jo ? " 
 
 " A little, when you look moody or discontented, as 
 you sometimes do, for you've got such a strong will if 
 you once get started wrong, I'm afraid it would be 
 hard to stop you." 
 
 Laurie walked In silence a few minutes, and Jo 
 
Secrets. 
 
 221 
 
 watched him, wishing she had held her tongue, for 
 his eyes looked angry, though his lips still smiled as 
 if at her warnings. 
 
 "Are you going to deliver lectures all the way 
 home?" he asked, presently. 
 
 " Of course not ; why? " 
 
 '* Because if you are, I'll take a 'bus ; if you are 
 not, I'd like to walk with you, and tell you something 
 very interesting." 
 
 " I won't preach any more, and I'd like to hear the 
 news immensely." 
 
 " Very well, then ; come on. It's a secret, and if I 
 tell you, you must tell me yours." 
 
 "I haven't got any," began Jo, but stopped sud- 
 denly, remembering that she had. 
 
 " You know you have ; you can't hide anything, so 
 up and 'fess, or I won't tell," cried Laurie. 
 
 '* Is your secret a nice one } " 
 
 •' Oh, isn't it ! all about people you know, and such 
 fun ! You ought to hear it, and I've been aching to 
 tell this long time. Come ! you begin." 
 
 "You'll not say anything about it at home, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " And you won't tease me in private?" 
 
 " I never tease." 
 
 " Yes, you do ; you get everything you want out of 
 people. I don't know how you do it, but you are a 
 born wheedler." 
 
 " Thank you ; fire away ! " 
 
 " Well, I've left two stories with a newspaper man, 
 
222 Little Women. 
 
 and he's to give his answer next week/' whispered Jo, 
 in her confidant's ear. 
 
 " Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American 
 authoress ! " cried Laurie, throwing up . his hat and 
 catching it again, to the great delight of two ducks, 
 four cats, five hens, and half a dozen Irish children ; 
 for they were out of the city now. 
 
 " Hush ! it won't come to anything, I dare say ; but 
 I couldn't rest till I had tried, and I said nothing 
 about it, because I didn't want any one else to be 
 disappointed." 
 
 " It won't fail ! Why, Jo, your stories are works 
 of Shakespeare compared to half the rubbish that's 
 published every day. Won't it be fun to see them in 
 print ; and shan't we feel proud of our authoress ? " 
 
 Jo's eyes sparkled, for it's always pleasant to be 
 believed in ; and a friend's praise is always sweeter 
 than a dozen newspaper pufts. 
 
 " Where's jK<? 2^ r secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I'll 
 never believe you again," she said, trying to extin- 
 guish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at a word of 
 encouragement. 
 
 " I may get into a scrape for telling ; but I didn't 
 promise not to, so I will, for I never feel easy in my 
 mind till I've told you any plummy bit of news I get. 
 I know where Meg's glove is." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Jo, looking disappointed, as 
 Laurie nodded and twinkled, with a face full of mys- 
 terious intelligence. 
 
 " It's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree 
 when I tell you where it is." 
 
 " Teil, then." 
 
Secrets, 223 
 
 Laurie bent and whispered three words in Jo's ear, 
 which produced a comical change. She stood and 
 stared at him for a minute, looking both surprised and 
 displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, " How do 
 you know ? " 
 
 " Saw it." 
 
 "Where.?" 
 
 " Pocket." 
 
 "All this time?" 
 
 " Yes ; isn't that romantic ? " 
 
 " No, if s horrid." 
 
 " Don't you like it .? " 
 
 "Of course I don't; it's ridiculous; it won't be 
 allowed. My patience ! what would Meg say ? " 
 
 " You are not to tell any one ; mind that." 
 
 "I didn't promise." 
 
 " That was understood, and I trusted you." 
 
 " Well, I won't for the present, any way ; but I'm 
 disgusted, and wish you hadn't told me." 
 
 " I thought you'd be pleased." 
 
 " At the idea of anybody coming to take Meg 
 away ? No, thank you." 
 
 "You'll feel better about it when somebody comes 
 to take you away." 
 
 " I'd like to see any one try it," cried Jo, fiercely. 
 
 " So should I ! " and Laurie chuckled at the idea. 
 
 " I don't think secrets agree with me ; I feel rumpled 
 up in my mind since you told me that," said Jo, rather 
 ungratefully. 
 
 " Race down this hill with me, and you'll be all 
 right," suggested Laurie. 
 
 No one was in sight ; the smooth road sloped in- 
 
2 24 Little Wotnen, 
 
 vitingly before her, and, finding the temptation irre- 
 sistible, Jo darted away, soon leaving hat and comb 
 behind her, and scattering hair-pins as she ran. Lau- 
 rie reached the goal first, and was quite satisfied with 
 the success of his treatment ; for his Atlanta came 
 panting up with flying hair, bright eyes, ruddy cheeks, 
 and no signs of dissatisfaction in her face. 
 
 " I wish I was a horse ; then I could run for miles 
 in this splendid air, and not lose my breath. It was 
 capital ; but see what a guy it's made me. Go, pick 
 up my things, like a cherub as you are," said Jo, drop- 
 ping down under a maple tree, which was carpeting 
 the bank with crimson leaves. 
 
 Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost prop- 
 erty, and Jo bundled up her braids, hoping no one 
 would pass by till she was tidy again. But some one 
 did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking par- 
 ticularly lady-like in her state and festival suit, for she 
 had been making calls. 
 
 "What in the world are you doing here.?" she 
 asked, regarding her dishevelled sister with well-bred 
 surprise. 
 
 " Getting leaves," meekly answered Jo, sorting the 
 rosy handful she had just swept up. 
 
 "And hair-pins," added Laurie, throwing half a 
 dozen into Jo's lap. " They grow on this road, Meg ; 
 so do qombs and brown straw hats." 
 
 "You have been running, Jo; how could you.f* 
 When will you stop such romping ways?" said Meg, 
 reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs and smoothed her 
 hair, with which the wind had taken liberties. 
 
 "Never till I'm stiff and old, and have to use a 
 
Secrets, 225 
 
 crutch. Don*t try to make me grow up before my 
 time, Meg ; it's hard enough to have you change all 
 of a sudden ; let me be a little girl as long as I can." 
 
 As she spoke, Jo bent over her work to hide the 
 trembling of her lips ; for lately she had felt that Mar- 
 garet was fast getting to be a woman, and Laurie's 
 secret made her dread the separation which must 
 surely come some time, and now seemed very near. 
 He saw the trouble in her face, and drew Meg's 
 attention from it by asking, quickly, "Where have 
 you been calling, all so fine ? " 
 
 " At the Gardiners ; and Sallie has been telling me 
 all about Belle Moffat's wedding. It was very splen- 
 did, and they have gone to spend the winter in Paris ; 
 just think how delightful that must be ! " 
 
 " Do you envy her, Meg?" said Laurie. 
 
 " I'm afraid I do." 
 
 " I'm glad of it ! " muttered Jo, tying on her hat 
 with a jerk. 
 
 "Why.?" asked Meg, looking surprised. 
 
 " Because, if you care much about riches, you will 
 never go and marry a poor man," said Jo, frowning at 
 Laurie, who was mutely warning her to mind what 
 she said. 
 
 " I shall never ''go and marry ' any one," observed 
 Meg, walking on with great dignity, while the others 
 followed, laughing, whispering, skipping stones, and 
 "behaving like children," as Meg said to herself, 
 though she might have been tempted to join them if 
 she had not had her best dress on. 
 
 For a week or two Jo behaved so queerly, that her 
 sisters got quite bewildered. She rushed to the door 
 
226 Little Wo 111671. 
 
 when the postman rang ; was rude to Mr. Brooke 
 whenever they met ; would sit looking at Meg with a 
 woe-begone face, occasionally jumping up to sliake, 
 and then to kiss her, in a very mysterious manner ; 
 Laurie and she were always making signs to one 
 another, and talking about " Spread Eagles," till the 
 girls declared they had both lost their wits. On the 
 second Saturday after Jo got out of the window^, Meg, 
 as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by 
 the sight of Laurie chasing Jo all over the garden, and 
 finally capturing her in Amy's bower. What went 
 on there, Meg could not see, but shrieks of laughter 
 were heard, followed by the murmur- of voices, and a 
 great flapping of newspapers. 
 
 "What shall we do with that girl? She never 
 ivill behave like a young lady," sighed Meg, as she 
 watched the race with a disapproving face. 
 
 " I hope she won't ; she is so funny and dear as she 
 is," said Beth, who had never betrayed that she w^as a 
 little hurt at Jo's having secrets with any one but her. 
 
 " It's very trying, but we never can make her covime 
 la fo" added Amy, who sat making some new frills 
 for herself, with her curls tied up in a very becoming 
 way, — two agreeable things, which made her feel 
 unusually elegant and lady-like. 
 
 In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the 
 sofa, and affected to read. 
 
 "Have you anything interesting there.'*" asked 
 Meg, with condescension. 
 
 "Nothing but a story; don't amount to much, I 
 guess," returned Jo, carefully keeping the name of 
 the paper out of sight. 
 
Secrets, 227 
 
 *' You'd better read it loud ; that will amuse us, and 
 keep you out of mischief," said Amy, in her most 
 grown-up tone. 
 
 "What's the name?" asked Beth, wondering why 
 Jo kept her face behind the sheet. 
 
 "The Rival Painters." 
 
 " That sounds well ; read it," said Meg. 
 
 With a loud " hem ! " and a long breath, Jo began 
 to read very fast. The girls listened with interest, for 
 the tale was romantic, and somewhat pathetic, as most 
 of the characters died in the end. 
 
 " I like that about the splendid picture," was Amy's 
 approving remark, as Jo paused. 
 
 " I prefer the lovering part. Viola and Angelo are 
 two of our favorite names ; isn't that queer ? " said 
 Meg, wiping her eyes, for the " lovering part" was 
 tragical. 
 
 "Who wrote it?" asked Beth, who had caught a 
 glimpse of Jo's face. 
 
 The reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, 
 displaying a flushed countenance, and, with a funny 
 mixture of solemnity and excitement, replied in a loud 
 voice, " Your sister ! " 
 
 " You ? " cried Meg, dropping her work. 
 
 " It's very good," said Amy, critically. 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! oh, my Jo, I am so proud ! " 
 and Beth ran to hug her sister and exult over this 
 splendid success. 
 
 Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure ; 
 how Meg wouldn't believe it till she saw the words, 
 "Miss Josephine March," actually printed in the 
 paper ; how graciously Amy criticised the artistic 
 
228 Little Women, 
 
 parts of the story, and offered hints for a sequel, which 
 unfortunately couldn't be carried out, as the hero and 
 heroine were dead ; how Beth got excited, and skipped 
 and sung with joy ; how Hannah came in to exclaim, 
 " Sakes alive, well I never ! " in great astonishment at 
 " that Jo's doins ; " how proud Mrs. March was when 
 she knew it ; how Jo laughed, with tears in her eyes, 
 as she declared she might as well be a peacock and 
 done with it ; and how the " Spread Eagle " might be 
 said to flap his wings triumphantly over the house of 
 March, as the paper passed from hand to hand. 
 
 " Tell us about it." " When did it gome ? " " How 
 much did you get for it? " " What will father say? " 
 "Won't Laurie laugh?" cried the family, all in one 
 breath, as they clustered about Jo ; for these foolish, 
 affectionate people made a jubilee of every little house- 
 hold joy. 
 
 " Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything," 
 said Jo, wondering if Miss Burney felt any grander 
 over her "Evelina" than she did over her "Rival 
 Painters." Having told how she disposed of her 
 tales, Jo added, — "And when I went to get my 
 answer the man said he liked them both, but didn't 
 pay beginners, only let them print in his paper, and 
 noticed the stories. It was good practice, he said ; 
 and, when the beginners improved, any one would pay. 
 So I let him have the two stories, and today this was 
 sent to me, and Laurie caught me with it, and insisted 
 on seeing it, so I let him ; and he said it was good, and 
 I shall write more, and he's going to get the next paid 
 for, and oh — I am so happy, for in time I may be 
 able to support myself and help the girls." 
 
Secrets. 229 
 
 Jo*s breath gave out here ; and, wrapping her head 
 in the paper, she bedewed her little story with a few 
 natural tears ; for to be independent, and earn the praise 
 of those she loved, were the dearest wishes of her heart, 
 and this seemed to be the first step toward that 
 happy end. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A TELEGRAM. 
 
 NOVEMBER is the most disagreeable month in 
 the whole year," said Margaret, standing at 
 the window one dull afternoon, looking out at 
 the frost-bitten garden. 
 
 " Thafs the reason I was born in it," observed Jo, 
 pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose. 
 
 " If something very pleasant should happen now, 
 we should think it a delightful month," said Beth, who 
 took a hopeful view of everything, even November. 
 
 " I dare say ; but nothing pleasant ever does happen 
 in this family," said Meg, who was out of sorts. " We 
 go grubbing along day after day, without a bit of 
 change, and very little fun. We might as well be in a 
 tread-mill." 
 
 " My patience, how blue we are ! " cried Jo. " I 
 don't much wonder, poor dear, for you see other girls 
 having splendid times, while you grind, grind, year in 
 and year out. Oh, don't I wish I could fix things for 
 you as I do for my heroines ! you're pretty enough 
 and good enough already, so I'd have some rich re- 
 lation leave you a fortune unexpectedly ; then you'd 
 230 
 
A Telegram, 231 
 
 dash out as an heiress, scorn every one who has 
 slighted you, go abroad, and come home my Lady 
 Something, in a blaze of splendor and elegance." 
 
 " People don't have fortunes left them in that style 
 nowadays ; men have to work, and women to marry 
 for money. It's a dreadfully unjust world," said Meg, 
 bitterly. 
 
 *' Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all ; 
 just wait ten years, and see if we don't," said Amy, 
 who sat in a corner making " mud pies," as Hannah 
 called her little clay models of birds, fruit and faces. 
 
 " Can't wait, and I'm afraid I haven't much faith in 
 ink and dirt, though I'm grateful for your good in- 
 tentions." 
 
 Meg sighed, and turned to the frost-bitten garden 
 again ; Jo groaned, and leaned both elbows on the 
 table in a despondent attitude, but Amy spatted away 
 energetically ; and Beth, who sat at the other window, 
 said, smiling, " Two pleasant things are going to hap- 
 pen right away ; Marmee is coming down the street, 
 and Laurie is tramping through the garden as if he 
 had something nice to tell." 
 
 In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual 
 question, " Any letter from father, girls?" and Laurie 
 to say, in his persuasive way, " Won't some of you 
 come for a drive ? I've been pegging away at mathe- 
 matics till my head is in a muddle, and I'm going to 
 freshen my wits by a brisk turn. It's a dull day, but 
 the air isn't bad, and I'm going to take Brooke home, 
 so it will be gay inside, if it isn't out. Come, Jo, you 
 and Beth will go, won't you .? ' 
 *' Of course we will." 
 
232 Little Wo?nen, 
 
 , " Much obliged, but I'm busy ; " and Meg whisked 
 out her work-basket, for she had agreed v/ith her 
 mother that it was best, for her at least, not to drive 
 often with the young gentleman. 
 
 " We three will be ready in a minute," cried Amy, 
 running away to wash her hands. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you. Madam Mother.'*" 
 asked Laurie, leaning over Mrs. March's chair, with 
 the affectionate look and tone he always gave her. 
 
 " No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be 
 so kind, dear. It's our day for a letter, and the penny 
 postman hasn't been. Father is as regular as the sun, 
 but there's some delay on the way, perhaps." 
 
 A sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after 
 Hannah came in with a letter. 
 
 " It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," 
 she said, handing it as if she was afraid it would ex- 
 plode, and do some ^damage. 
 
 At the word " telegraph," Mrs. March snatched it, 
 read the two lines it contained, and dropped back into 
 her chair as white as if the little paper had sent a 
 bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed down stairs for 
 water, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo 
 read aloud, in a frightened voice, — 
 
 "Mrs. March: 
 
 " Your husband is very ill. Come at once. 
 "S. Hale, 
 • " Blank Hospital, Washington." 
 
 How still the room was as they listened breath- 
 lessly ! how strangely the day darkened outside ! and 
 
A Telegram, 233 
 
 how suddenly the whole world seemed to change, as 
 the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if 
 all the happiness and support of their lives was about 
 to be taken from them. Mrs. March was herself 
 again directly ; read the message over, and stretched 
 out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they 
 never forgot, " I shall go at once, but it may be too 
 late ; oh, children, children ! help me to bear it ! " 
 
 For several minutes there was nothing but the sound 
 of sobbing in the room, mingled with broken words 
 of comfort, tender assurances of help, and hopeful 
 whispers, that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was 
 the first to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she 
 set all the rest a good example ; for, with her, work 
 was the panacea for most afflictions. 
 
 " The Lord keep the dear man ! I won't waste no 
 time a cryin', but git your things ready right away, 
 mum," she said, heartily, as she wiped her face on her 
 apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand 
 with her own hard one, and went away to work, like 
 three women in one. 
 
 " She's right ; there's no time for tears now. Be 
 calm, girls, and let me think." 
 
 They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother 
 sat up, looking pale, but steady, and put away her 
 grief to think and plan for them. 
 
 " Where's Laurie .f* " she asked presently, when she 
 had collected her thoughts, and decided on the first 
 duties to be done. 
 
 " Here, ma'am ; oh, let me do something ! " cried the 
 boy, hurrying from the next room, whither he had 
 
234 Little Women, 
 
 withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow was too 
 sacred for even his friendly eyes to see. 
 
 " Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The 
 next train goes early in the morning ; I'll take that." 
 
 " What else ? The horses are ready ; I can go any- 
 where, — do anything," he said, looking ready to fly 
 to the ends of the earth. 
 
 " Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that 
 pen and paper." 
 
 Tearing off" the blank side of one of her newly- 
 copied pages, Jo drew the table before her mother, 
 well knowing that money for the long, sad journey, 
 must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do any- 
 thing to add a little to the sum for her father. 
 
 " Now go, dear ; but don't kill yourself driving at a 
 desperate pace ; there is no need of that." 
 
 Mrs. March's warning was evidently thrown away ; 
 for five minutes later Laurie tore by the window, on 
 his own fleet horse, ridipg as if for his life. 
 
 ''Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I 
 can't come. On the way get these things. I'll put 
 them down ; they'll be needed, and I must go prepared 
 for nursing. Hospital stores are not always good. 
 Beth, go and ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles 
 of old wine ; I'm not too proud to beg for father ; he 
 shall have the best of everything. Amy, tell Hannah 
 to get down the black trunk ; and Meg, come and help 
 me find my things, for I'm half bewildered." 
 
 Writing, thinking, and directing all at once, might 
 well bewilder the poor lady, and Meg begged her 
 to sit quietly in her room for a little while, and let 
 them work. Every one scattered, like leaves before a 
 
A Telegra7n, 235 
 
 gust of wind; and the quiet, happy household was 
 broken up as suddenly as if the paper had been an 
 evil spell. 
 
 Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bring- 
 ing every comfort the kind old gentleman could think 
 of for the invalid, and friendliest promises of protec- 
 tion for the girls, during the mother's absence, which 
 comforted her very much. There was nothing he 
 didn't offer, from his own dressing-gown to himself as 
 escort. But that last was impossible. Mrs. March 
 would not hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the 
 long journey ; yet an expression of relief was visible 
 when he spoke of it, for anxiety ill fits one for travel- 
 ling. He saw the look, knit his heavy eyebrows, 
 rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying 
 he'd be back directly. No one had time to think of 
 him again till, as Meg ran through the entry, with a 
 pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of tea in the 
 other, she came suddenly upon Mr. Brooke. 
 
 " I'm very sorry to hear of this. Miss March," he 
 said, in the kind, quiet tone which sounded very 
 pleasantly to her perturbed spirit. " I came to offer 
 myself as escort to your mother. Mr. Laurence has 
 commissions for me in Washington, and it will give 
 me real satisfaction to be of service to her there." 
 
 Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very 
 near following, as Meg put out her hand, with a face 
 so full of gratitude, that Mr. Brooke would have felt 
 repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling 
 one of time and comfort, which he was about to make. 
 
 " How kind you all are ! Mother will accept, I'm 
 sure ; and it will be such a relief to know that she has 
 
236 Little Women. 
 
 some one to take care of her. Thank you very, very 
 much ! " 
 
 Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till 
 something in the brown eyes looking down at her 
 made her remember the cooling tea, and lead the way 
 into the parlor, saying she would call her mother. 
 
 Everything was arranged by the time Laurie re- 
 turned with a note from Aunt March, enclosing the 
 desired sum, and a few lines repeating what she had 
 often said before, that she had always told them it 
 was absurd for March to go into the army, alwayji 
 predicted that no good would come of it, and she 
 hoped they would take her advice next time. Mrs. 
 March put the note in the fire, the money in her 
 purse, and went on with her preparations, with her 
 lips folded tightly, in a way which Jo would have 
 understood if she had been there. 
 
 The short afternoon wore away ; all the other 
 errands were done, and Meg and her mother busy at 
 some necessary needle-work, while Beth and Amy got 
 tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she 
 called a " slap and a bang," but still Jo did not come. 
 They began to get anxious ; and Laurie went off to 
 find her, for no one ever knew what freak Jo might 
 take into her head. He missed her, however, and she 
 came walking in with a very queer expression of 
 countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear, 
 satisfaction and regi-et in it, which puzzled the family 
 as much as did the roll of bills she laid before her 
 mother, saying, with a little choke in her voice, 
 " That* s my contribution towards making father com- 
 fortable, and bringing him home ! " 
 
A Telegram- 237 
 
 " My dear, where did you get it ! Twenty-five 
 dollars ! Jo, I hope you haven't done anything rash?" 
 
 " No, it's mine honestly ; I didn't beg, borrow, nor 
 steal it. I earned it ; and I don't think you'll blame 
 me, for I only sold what was my own." 
 
 As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general 
 outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short. 
 
 " Your hair ! Your beautiful hair ! " " Oh, Jo, how 
 could you? Your one beauty." "My dear girl, there 
 was no need of this." " She don't look like my Jo 
 any more, but I love her dearly for it ! " 
 
 As every one exclaimed, and Beth hugged the 
 cropped head tenderly, Jo assumed an indifferent air, 
 which did not deceive any one a particle, and said, 
 rumpling up the brown bush, and trying to look as 
 if she liked it, "It doesn't affect the fate of the nation, 
 so don't wail, Beth. It will be good for my vanity ; I 
 was getting too proud of my wig. It will do my 
 brains good to have that mop taken off; my head feels 
 deliciously light and cool, and the barber said I could 
 soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becom- 
 ing, and easy to keep in order. I'm satisfied ; so 
 please take the money, and let's have supper." 
 
 " Tell me all about it, Jo ; / am not quite satisfied, 
 but I can't blame you, for I know how willingly you 
 sacrificed your vanity, as you call it, to your love. 
 But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraid 
 you will regret it, one of these days," said Mrs. March. 
 
 "No I won't!" returned Jo, stoutly, feeling much 
 relieved that her prank was not entirely condemned. 
 
 " What made you do it.?" asked Amy, who would 
 
23 8 Little Wofjien. 
 
 as soon have thought of cutting off her head as her 
 pretty hair. 
 
 " Well, I was wild to do something for father," 
 replied Jo, as they gathered about the table, for healthy 
 young people can eat even in the midst of trouble. 
 " I hale to borrow as much as mother does, and I 
 knew Aunt March would croak; she always does, if 
 you ask for a ninepence. Meg gave all her quarterly 
 salary toward the rent, and I only got some clothes 
 with mine, so I felt wicked, and was bound to have 
 some money, if I sold the nose off my face to get it." 
 
 "You needn't feel wicked, my child, you had no 
 winter things, and got the simplest, with your own 
 hard earnings," said Mrs. March, with a look that 
 warmed Jo's heart. 
 
 " I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, 
 but as I went along I kept thinking what I could do, 
 and feeling as if I'd like to dive into some of the rich 
 stores and help myself. In a barber's window I saw 
 tails of hair with the prices marked ; and one black 
 tail, longer, but not so thick as mine, was forty dollars. 
 It came over me all of a sudden that I had one thing 
 to make money out of, and, without stopping to think, 
 I walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they 
 would give for mine." 
 
 " I don't see how you dared to do it," said Beth, in a 
 tone of awe. 
 
 " Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely 
 lived to oil his hair. He rather stared, at first, as if he 
 wasn't used to having girls bounce into his shop and 
 ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn't care 
 about mine, it wasn't the fashionable color, and he 
 
A Telegram. 239 
 
 never paid much for it in the first place ; the work put 
 into it made it dear, and so on. It was getting late, 
 and I was afraid, if it wasn't done right away, that I 
 shouldn't have it done at all, and you know, when I 
 start to do a thing, I hate to give it up ; so I begged 
 him to take it, and told him why I was in such a hurry. 
 It was silly, I dare say, but it changed his mind, for I 
 got rather excited, and told the story in my topsy- 
 turvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly," — 
 
 " ' Take it, Thomas, and oblige the young lady ; I'd 
 do as much for our Jimmy any day if I had a spire 
 of hair worth selling.' " 
 
 "•Who was Jimmy?" asked Amy, v/ho liked to 
 have things explained as they went along. 
 
 " Her son, she said, who is in the army. How 
 friendly such things make strangers feel, don't they? 
 She talked away all the time the man clipped, and 
 diverted my mind nicely." 
 
 " Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut 
 came } " asked Meg, with a shiver. 
 
 " I took a last look at my hair while the man got 
 his things, and that was the end of it. I never snivel 
 over trifles like that ; I will confess, though, I felt queer 
 vsdien I saw the dear old hair laid out on the table, and 
 felt only the short, rough ends on my head. It almost 
 seemed as if I'd an arm or a leg off. The woman saw 
 me look at it, and picked out a long lock for me to 
 keep. I'll give it to you, Marmee, just to remember 
 past glories by ; for a crop is so comfortable I don't 
 think I shall ever have a mane again." 
 
 Mrs. March folded the wavy, chestnut lock, and laid 
 •it away with a short gray one in her desk. She only 
 
240 Little Women. 
 
 said " Thank you, deary," bat something in her face 
 made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully 
 as they could about Mr. Brooke's kindness, the prospect 
 of a fine day to-morrow, and the happy times they 
 would have when father came home to be nursed. 
 
 No one wanted to go to bed, when, at ten o'clock, 
 Mrs. March put by the last finished job, and said, 
 " Come, girls." Beth went to the piano and played 
 the father's favorite hymn ; all began bravely, but 
 broke down one by one till Beth was left alone, sing- 
 ing with .all her heart, for to hef music was always a 
 sweet consoler. 
 
 " Go to bed, and don't talk, for we must be up early, 
 and shall need all the sleep we can get. Good-night, 
 my darlings," said Mrs. March, as the hymn ended, 
 for no one cared to try another. 
 
 They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently 
 as if the dear invalid lay in the next room. Beth and 
 Amy soon fell asleep in spite of the great trouble, but 
 Meg lay awake thinking the most serious thoughts she 
 had ever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, 
 and her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled 
 sob made her exclaim, as she touched a wet cheek, — 
 
 "Jo, dear, what is it.^* Are you crying about 
 father?" 
 
 " No, not now." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " My — my hair," burst out poor Jo, trying vainl}^ to 
 smother her emotion in the pillow. 
 
 It did not sound at all comical to Meg, who kissed 
 and caressed the afflicted heroine in the tenderest 
 manner. 
 
A Telegram, 241 
 
 'Tm not sorry," protested Jo, with a choke. "I'd 
 do it again to-morrow, if I could. It's only the vain, 
 selfish part of me that goes and cries in this silly w^ay. 
 Don't tell any one, it's all over now. I thought you 
 were asleep, so I just made a little private moan for 
 -. my one beauty. How came you to be awake ? " 
 
 " I can't sleep, I'm so anxious," said Meg. 
 
 " Think about something pleasant, and you'll soon 
 drop off." 
 
 " I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever." 
 
 '* What did you think of? " 
 
 " Handsome faces ; eyes particularly,'* answered 
 Meg smilingly, to herself, in the dark. 
 
 "What color do you like best?" 
 
 " Brown — that is sometimes — blue are lovely." 
 
 Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to 
 talk, then amiably promised to make her hair curl, 
 and fell asleep to dream of living in her castle in the 
 air. 
 
 The clocks were striking midnight, and the rooms 
 were very still, as a figure glided quietly from bed to 
 bed, smoothing a coverlid here, setting a pillow there, 
 and pausing to look long and tenderly at each un- 
 conscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely 
 blessed, and to pray the fervent prajers which only 
 mothers utter. As she lifted the cui tain to look out 
 into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from 
 behind the clouds, and shone upon her like a bright 
 benignant face, which seemed to whisper in the silence, 
 " Be comforted, dear heart ! there is always light 
 behind the clouds." 
 t6 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 IN the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp, and 
 read their chapter with an earnestness never felt 
 before, for now the shadow of a real trouble had 
 come, showing them how rich in sunshine their lives 
 had been. The little books were full of help and 
 comfort ; and, as they dressed, they agreed to say good- 
 by cheerfully, hopefully, and send their mother on her 
 anxious journey unsaddened by tears or complaints 
 from them. Everything seemed very strange when 
 they went down ; so dim and still outside, so full of 
 light and bustle within. Breakfast at that early hour 
 seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face looked 
 unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her night 
 cap on. The big trunk stood ready in the hall 
 mother's cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and mother 
 herself sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and worn 
 with sleeplessness and anxiety, that the girls found it 
 very hard to keep their resolution. Meg's eyes kept 
 filling in spite of herself; Jo was obliged to hide her 
 face in the kitchen roller more, than once, and the 
 243 
 
Letters, 243 
 
 little girls' young faces- wore a grave, troubled ex- 
 pression, as if sorrow was a new experience to them. 
 
 Nobody talked much, but, as the time drew very 
 near, and they sat waiting for the carriage, Mrs. 
 March said to the girls, who were all busied about her, 
 one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the 
 strings of her bonnet, a third putting on her over-- 
 shoes, and a fourth fastening up her travelling bag, — 
 
 " Children, I leave you to Hannah's care, and Mr. 
 Laurence's protection ; Hannah is faithfulness itself, 
 and our good neighbor will guard you as if you were 
 his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious 
 that you should take this trouble rightly. Don't grieve 
 and fret when I am gone, or think that you can com- 
 fort yourselves by being idle, and trying to forget. Go 
 on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed 
 solace. Hope, and keep busy ; and, whatever happens, 
 remember that you never can be fatherless." 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 "Meg dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, 
 consult Hannah, and, in any perplexity, go to Mr. 
 Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent, or 
 do rash things ; write to me often, and be my brave 
 girl, ready to help and cheer us all. Beth, comfort 
 yourself with your music, and be faithful to the little 
 home duties ; and you, Amy, help all you can, be 
 obedient, and keep happy safe at home." 
 
 " We will, mother ! we will ! " 
 
 The rattle of an approaching carriage made them 
 all start and listen. That was the hard minute, but 
 the girls stood It well ; no one cried, no one ran away, 
 or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were 
 
244 Little Wofhen. 
 
 very heavy as they sent loving messages to father, 
 remembering, as they spoke, that it might be too late 
 to deliver them. They kissed their mother quietly, 
 clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands 
 cheerfully, when she drove away. 
 
 Laurie and his gi-andfather came over to see her off, 
 and Mr. Brooke looked so strong, and sensible, and 
 kind, that the girls christened him " Mr. Greatheart," 
 on the spot. 
 
 " Good-by, my darlings ! ^ God bless and keep us 
 all," whispered Mrs. March, as she kissed one dear 
 little face after the other, and hurried into the carriage. 
 
 As she rolled away, the sun came out, and, looking 
 back, she saw it shining on the group at the gate, like 
 a good omen. They saw it also, and smiled and 
 waved their hands ; and the last thing she beheld, as 
 she turned the corner, was the four bright faces, and 
 behind them, like a body-guard, old Mr. Laurence, 
 faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie. 
 
 " How kind every one is to us," she said, turning to 
 find fresh proof of it in the respectful sympathy of the 
 young man's face. 
 
 " I don't 5ee how they can help it," returned Mr. 
 Brooke, laughing so infectiously that Mrs. March could 
 not help smiling ; and so the long journey began with 
 the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful 
 words. 
 
 " I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said 
 Jo, as their neighbors went home to breakfast, leaving 
 them to rest and refresh themselves. 
 
 " It seems as if half the house was gone," added 
 Meg, forlornly. 
 
* Letters, 245 
 
 Beth opened her lips to say something, but could 
 only point to the pile of nicely-mended hose which 
 lay on mother's table, showing that even in her last 
 hurried moments she had thought and worked foi 
 them. It was a little thing, but it went straight to 
 their hearts ; and, in spite of their brave resolutions, 
 they all broke down, and cried bitterly. 
 
 Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feel- 
 ings ; and, when the shower showed signs of clearing 
 up, she came to the rescue, armed with a coffee-pot. 
 
 " Now, my dear young ladies, remember what your 
 ma said, and don't fret ; come and have a ciip of coffee 
 all round, and then let's fall to work, and be a credit 
 to the family." 
 
 Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact 
 in making it that morning. No one could resist her 
 persuasive nods, or the fragrant invitation issuing 
 from the nose of the coffee-pot. They drew up to the 
 table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and, 
 in ten minutes, were all right again. 
 
 " ' Hope and keep busy ; ' that's the motto for us, 
 so let's see who will remember it best. I shall go to 
 Aunt March, as usual ; oh, won't she lecture, though ! " 
 said Jo, as she sipped, with returning spirit. 
 
 " I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather 
 stay at home and attend to things here," said Meg, 
 wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red. 
 
 "No need of that; Beth and I can keep house per- 
 fectly well," put in Amy, with an important air. 
 
 " Hannah will tell us what to do ; and we'll' have 
 everything nice when you come home," added Beth, 
 getting out her mop and dish-tub without delay. 
 
246 Little Women, 
 
 " I think anxiety is very interesting," observed Amy^ 
 eating sugar, pensively. 
 
 The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for 
 it, though Meg shook her head at the young lady who 
 could, find consolation in a sugar-bowl. 
 
 The sight of the turn-overs made Jo sober again ; 
 and, when the two went out to their daily tasks, 
 they looked sorrowfully back at the window where 
 they were accustomed to see their mother's face. It 
 was gone ; but Beth had remembered the little house- 
 hold ceremony, and there she was, nodding away at 
 them like a rosy-faced mandarin. 
 
 " That's so like my Beth ! " said Jo, waving her hat, 
 with a grateful fiice. " Good-by, Meggy ; I hope the 
 Kings won't train to-day. Don't fret about father, 
 dear," she added, as they parted. 
 
 "And I hope Aunf March won't croak. Your 
 hair is becoming, and it looks very boyish and nice," 
 returned Meg, trying not to smile at the curly head, 
 which looked comically small on her tall sister's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " That's my only comfort ; " and, touching her hat 
 a la Laurie, away went Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep 
 o 1 a wintry day. 
 
 News from their father comforted the girls very 
 much ; for, though dangerously ill, the presence of the 
 best and tenderest of nurses had already done him 
 good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and, as 
 the head of the family, Meg insisted on reading the 
 despatches, which grew more and more cheering as 
 the week passed. At first, every one was eager to 
 write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into 
 
Letters. 247 
 
 the letter-box, by one or other of the sisters, who felt 
 rather important with their Washington correspond- 
 ence. As one of these packets contained characteristic 
 notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, 
 and read them : — 
 
 '•My Dearest Mother, — 
 
 " It is impossible to tell you how happy your 
 last letter made us, for the news was so good we 
 couldn't help laughing and crying over it. How very 
 kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate that Mr. Lau- 
 rence's business detains him near you so long, since he 
 is so useful to you and father. The girls are all as 
 good as gold. Jo helps me with the sewing, and 
 insists on doing all sorts of hard jobs. I should be 
 afraid she might overdo, if I didn't know that her 
 'moral fit' wouldn't last long. Beth is as regulai 
 about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what you 
 told her. She grieves about father, and looks sober, 
 except when she is at her little piano. Amy minds 
 me nicely, and I take great care of her. She does her 
 own hair, and I am teaching her to make button-holes, 
 and mend her stockings. She tries very hard, and I 
 know you will be pleased with her improvement when 
 you come. Mr. Laurence watches over us like a 
 motherly old hen, as Jo says ; and Laurie is very kind 
 and neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we 
 get pretty blue sometimes, and feel like orphans, with 
 you so far away. Hannah is a perfect saint ; she does 
 not scold at all, and always calls me ' Miss Margaret,' 
 which is quite proper, you know, and treats me with 
 respect. We are all well and busy ; but we long, day 
 
248 Little Women. 
 
 and night, to have you back. Give my dearest love 
 to father, and behave me, ever your own Meg." 
 
 This note, prettily written on scented paper, was 
 a great contrast to the next, which was scribbled on a 
 big sheet of thin, foreign paper, ornamented with 
 blots, and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed 
 letters : — 
 
 s» 
 "My precious Marmee, — 
 
 " Three cheers for dear old father ! Brooke was 
 a trump to telegraph right off, and let us know the 
 minute he was better. I rushed up garret when the 
 letter came, and tried to thank God for being so good 
 to us ; but I could only cry, and say, ' I'm glad ! I'm 
 glad ! ' Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer ? 
 for I felt a great many in my heart. We have such 
 funny times ; and now I can enjoy 'em, for every one 
 is so desperately good, it's like living in a nest of 
 turtle-doves. You'd laugh to see Meg head the table, 
 and try to be motherish. She gets prettier every day, 
 and I'm in love with her sometimes. The -children 
 are regular archangels, and I — well, I'm Jo, and 
 never shall be anything else. Oh, I must tell you that 
 I came near having a quarrel with Laurie. I freed my 
 mind about a silly little thing, and he was oflended. 
 I was right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he 
 marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till I 
 begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't, and got mad. 
 It lasted all day ; I felt bad, and wanted you very 
 much. Laurie and I are both so proud, it's hard to 
 beg pardon ; but I thought lie'd come to it, for I was 
 
Letters, 249 
 
 in the right. He didn't came ; and just at night 1 
 remembered what you said when Amy fell into the 
 river. I read my little book, felt better, resolved not 
 to let the sun set on my anger, and ran over to tell 
 Laurie I was sorry. I met him at the gate, coming 
 for the same thing. We both laughed, begged each 
 other's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again. 
 "I made a ' pome' yesterday, when I was helping 
 Hannah wash ; and, as father likes my silly little 
 things, I put it in to amuse him. Give him the lov- 
 ingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen 
 times, for your 
 
 " ToPSY-TuRVY Jo. 
 
 « A SONG FROM THE SUDS. 
 
 " Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, 
 
 While the white foam rises high; 
 And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring, 
 
 And fasten the clothes to dry; 
 Then out in the free fresh air they swing, 
 
 Under the sunny sky. 
 
 " I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls 
 
 The stains of the week away, 
 And let water and air by their magic make 
 
 Ourselves as pure as they; 
 Then on the earth there would be indeed 
 
 A glorious washing-day! 
 
 " Along the path of a useful life. 
 
 Will heart's-ease ever bloom; 
 The busy mind has no time to think 
 
 Of sorrow, or care, or gloom ; 
 And anxious thoughts may be swept away. 
 
 As we busily wield a broom. 
 
250 Little Women. 
 
 "I am glad a task to me is given, 
 
 To labor at day by day; 
 For it brings me health, and strength, and hope, 
 
 And I cheerfully learn to say, — 
 * Head you may think, Heart you may feel, 
 
 But Hand you shall work alway!'" 
 
 " Dear Mother : 
 
 " There is only room for me to send my love^ 
 and some pressed pansies from the root I have been 
 keeping safe in the house, for father to see. I read 
 every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself 
 to sleep with father's tune. I can't sing ' Land of the 
 Leal' now; it makes me cry. Everyone is very kind, 
 and we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy 
 wants the rest of the page, so I must stop. I didn't 
 forget to cover the holders, and I wind the clock and 
 air the rooms every day. 
 
 " Kiss dear father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, 
 do come soon to your loving 
 
 "Little Beth." 
 
 "Ma Chere Mamma: 
 
 "We are all well I do my lessons always and 
 never corroberate the girls — Meg says I mean con- 
 tradick so I put in both words and you can take the 
 properest. Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me 
 have jelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo says 
 because it keeps me sweet tempered. Laurie is not 
 as respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in 
 my teens, he calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by 
 
Letters, 251 
 
 talking French to me very fast when I say Merci or 
 Bon jour as Hattie King does. The sleeves of my 
 blue dress were all worn out and Meg put in new 
 ones but the full front came wrong and they are more 
 blue than the dress. I felt bad but did not fret I beai 
 my troubles well but I do wish Hannah would pul 
 more starch in my aprons and have buck wheats every 
 day. Can't she? Didn't I make that interrigation 
 point nice. Meg says my punchtuation and spelling 
 are disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have 
 so many things to do I can't stop. Adieu, I send 
 heaps of love to Papa. 
 
 *'Your affectidnate daughter, 
 
 " Amy Curtis March." 
 
 " Dear Mis March : 
 
 "I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate. 
 The girls is clever and fly round right smart. Miss 
 Meg is goin to make a proper good housekeeper ; she 
 hes the liking for it, and gits the hang of things sur- 
 prisin quick. Jo do:)S beat all for goin ahead, 'but 
 she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you never know 
 where she's like to bring up. She done out a tub of 
 clothes on Monday, but she starched em afore they 
 was wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till I 
 thought I should a died a, laughin. Beth is the best 
 of little creeters, and a sight of help to me, bein so 
 forehanded and dependable. She tries to learn every- 
 thing, and really goes to market beyond her years ; 
 likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite won- 
 derful. We have got on very economical so fur ; I 
 
252 Little Women, 
 
 don't let the girls hev coffee only once a week, accordin 
 to your wish, and keep em on plain wholesome vittles. 
 Amy does well about frettin, wearin her best clothes 
 and eatin sweet stuff. • Mr. Laurie is as full of didoes 
 as usual, and turns the house upside down frequent ; 
 but he heartens up the girls, and so I let em hev full 
 swing. The old man sends heaps of things, and is 
 rather wearin, but means wal, and it aint my place to 
 say nothin. My bread is riz, so no more at this time. 
 I send my duty to Mr. March, and hope he's seen the 
 last of his Pewmonia. 
 
 "Yours respectful, 
 
 " Hannah Mullet " 
 
 " Head Nurse of Ward II. : 
 
 "All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in 
 fine condition, commissary department well conducted, 
 the Home Guard under Colonel Teddy always on 
 duty. Commander-in-chief General Laurence reviews 
 the army daily. Quartermaster Mullett keeps order in 
 camp, and Major Lion does picket duty at night. A 
 salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt of 
 good news from Washington, and a dress parade took 
 place at head-quarters. Commander-in-chief sends best 
 wishes, in which he is heartily joined by 
 
 Colonel Teddy." 
 
 "Dear Mada5i: 
 
 " The little girls are all well ; Beth and my 
 boy report daily ; Hannah is a model servant, guards 
 pretty Meg like a dragon. Glad the fine weather 
 
Letters, 253 
 
 holds ; pray make Brooke useful, and draw on me for 
 funds if expenses exceed your estimate. Don't let 
 your husband want anything. Thank God he is 
 mending. 
 
 " Your sincere friend and servant, 
 
 "James Laurence.". 
 
% 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LITTLE FAITHFUL 
 
 I~10R a week the amount of virtue in the old house 
 ' would have supplied the neighborhood. It 
 was really amazing, for every one seemed in 
 a heavenly frame of mind, and self-denial was all 
 the fashion. Relieved of their first anxiety about their 
 father, the girls insensibly relaxed their praiseworthy 
 efforts a little, and began to fall back into the old ways. 
 They did not forget their motto, but hoping and keep- 
 ing busy seemed to grow easier ; and, after such tre- 
 mendous exertions, they felt that Endeavor deserved a 
 holiday, and gave it a good many. 
 
 Jo caught a bad cold through neglecting to cover 
 the shorn head enough, and was ordered to stay at 
 home till she was better, for Aunt March didn't like 
 to hear people read with colds in their heads. Jo liked 
 this, and after an energetic rummage from garret to 
 cellar, subsided on to the sofa to nurse her cold witli 
 arsenicum and books. Amy found that house-work 
 and art did not go well together, and returned to her 
 mud pies. Meg went daily to her kingdom, and 
 sewed, or thought she did, at home, but much time 
 2H 
 
Little Faithful, 255 
 
 was spent in writing long letters to her mother, 01 
 reading the Washington despatches over and over. 
 Beth kept on with only slight relapses into idleness or 
 grieving. All the little duties were faithfully done 
 each day, and many of her sisters' also, for they were 
 forgetful, and the house seemed like a clock, whose 
 pendulum was gone a-visiting. When her heart got 
 heavy with longings for mother, or fears for father, 
 she went away into a certain closet, hid her face in 
 the folds of a certain dear old gown, and made her 
 little moan, and prayed her little prayer quietly by 
 herself. Nobody knew what cheered her up after a 
 sober fit, but every one felt how sweet and helpful 
 Beth was, and fell into a way of going to her for com- 
 fort or advice in their small affairs. 
 
 All were unconscious that this experience was a test 
 of character ; and, when the first excitement was over, 
 felt that they had done well, and deserved praise. So 
 they did ; but their mistake was in ceasing to do well, 
 and they learned this lesson through much anxiety and 
 regret. 
 
 " Meg, I wish you'd go and see the Hummels ; you 
 know mother told us not to forget them," said Beth, 
 ten days after Mrs. March's departure. 
 
 " I'm too tired to go this afternoon," replied Meg, 
 rocking comfortably, as she sewed. 
 . " Can't you, Jo ? " asked Beth. 
 
 *' Too stormy for me, with my cold." 
 
 *' I thought it was most well." 
 
 " It's well enough for me to go out with Laurie, 
 but not well enough to go the Hummels," said Jo, 
 
256 Little Women. 
 
 laughing, but looking a little ashamed of her in- 
 consistency-. 
 
 " Why don't you go yourself? " asked Meg. 
 
 " I have been every d_ay, but the baby is sick, and I 
 don't know what to do for it. Mrs. Hummel goes 
 away to work, and Lottchen takes care of it ; but it 
 gets sicker and sicker, and I think you or Hannah 
 ought to go." 
 
 Beth spoke earnestly, and Meg promised she would 
 go to-morrow. ^^ 
 
 "Ask Hannah for some nice little mess, and take it 
 round, Beth, the air will do you good ; " said Jo, adding 
 apologetically, " I'd go, but I want to finish my story." 
 
 "My head aches, and I'm tired, so I thought maybe 
 some of you v/ould go," said Beth. 
 
 " Amy will be in presently, and she will run down 
 for us," suggested Meg. 
 
 " Well, I'll rest a little, and wait for her." 
 
 So Beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to 
 their work, and the Hummels were foi;gotten. An 
 hour passed, Amy did not come ; Meg went to her 
 room to try on a new dress ; Jo was absorbed in her 
 story, and Hannah was sound asleep before the kitchen 
 fire, when Beth quietly put on her hood, filled her 
 basket with odds and ends for the poor children, and 
 went out into the chilly air with a heavy head, and a 
 grieved look in her patient eyes. It was late when she 
 came back, and no one saw her creep upstairs and 
 shut herself into her mother's room. Half an hour 
 after Jo went to " mother's closet " for something, and 
 there found Beth sitting on the medicine chest, looking 
 
Little Faithful. 257 
 
 very grave, with red eyes, and a camphor bottle in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Christopher Columbus ! what's the matter?" cried 
 Jo, as Beth put out her hand as if to warn her off, and 
 asked quickly, — 
 
 " You've had scarlet fever, haven't you ? " 
 
 " Years ago, when Meg did. Why ? " 
 
 " Then I'll tell you — oh, Jo, the bab/s dead ! " 
 
 "What baby?" 
 
 " Mrs. Hummel's ; it died in my lap before she got 
 home," cried Beth, with a sob. 
 
 " My poor dear, how dreadful for you ! •! ought to 
 nave gone," said Jo, taking her sister in her lap as she 
 sat down in her mother's big chair, with a remorseful 
 face. 
 
 " It wasn't dreadful, Jo, only so sad ! I saw in a 
 minute that it was sicker, but Lottchen said her mother 
 had gone for a doctor, so I took baby and let Lotty rest. 
 It seemed asleep, but all of a sudden it gave a little 
 cry, and trembled, and then lay very still. I tried to 
 warm its feet, and Lotty gave it some milk, but it 
 didn't stir, and I knew it was dead." 
 
 " Don't cry, dear ! what did you do } '* 
 
 " I just sat and held it softly till Mrs. Hummel came 
 with the doctor. He said it was dead, and looked at 
 Heinrich and Minna, who have got sore throats. 
 ' Scarlet fever, ma'am ; ought to have called me be- 
 fore,' he said, crossly. Mrs. Hummel told him she 
 was poor, and had tried to cure baby herself, but now 
 it was too late, and she could only ask him to help the 
 others, and trust to charity for his pay. He smiled 
 then, and was kinder, but it was very sad, and I cried 
 17 
 
258 Little Women, 
 
 with them till he turned round all of a sudden, and 
 told nie to go home and take belladonna right away, 
 or I'd have the fever." 
 
 " No you won't I " cried Jo, hugging her close, with 
 a frightened look. "Oh, Beth, if you should be sick 
 I never could forgive myself! What shall we do.? " 
 
 " Don't be f^-ightened, I guess I shan't have it badly ; 
 I looked in mother's book, and saw that it begins with 
 headache, sore throat, and queer feelings like mine, so 
 I did take some belladonna, and I feel better," said 
 Beth, laying her cold hands on her hot forehead, and 
 trying to look well. 
 
 " If mother was only at home ! " exclaimed Jo, 
 seizing the book, and feeling that Washington was an 
 immense way off. She read a page, looked at Beth, 
 felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then said, 
 gravely, " You've been over the baby every day for 
 more than a week, and among the others who are 
 going to have it, so I'm afraid you're going to have it, 
 Beth. I'll call Hannah ; she knows all about sickness." 
 
 *' Don't let Amy come ; she never had it, and I 
 should hate to give it to her. Can't you and Meg 
 nave it over again } " asked Beth, anxiously. 
 
 "I guess not; don't care if I do ; serve me right, 
 selfish pig, to let you go, and stay writing rubbish my- 
 self! " muttered Jo, as she went to consult Hannah. 
 
 The good soul was wide awake in a minute, and 
 took the lead at once, assuring Jo that there was no 
 need to worry ; every one had scarlet fever, and, if 
 rightly treated, nobody died ; all of which Jo be- 
 lieved, and felt much relieved as they went up to call 
 Meg. 
 
Little Faithful. 259 
 
 " Now I'll tell you what we'll do," said Hannah, 
 when she had examined and questioned Beth ; " we 
 will have Dr. Bangs, just to take a look at you, dear, 
 and see that we start right ; then we'll send Amy off 
 to Aunt March's, for a spell, to keep her out of harm's 
 way, and one of you girls can stay at home and 
 amuse Beth for a day or two." 
 
 " I shall stay, of course, I'm oldesf;" began Meg, 
 looking anxious and self-reproachful. 
 
 " / shall, because it's my fault she is sick ; I told 
 mother I'd do the errands, and I haven't," said Jo, 
 decidedly. 
 
 "Which will you have, Beth? there ain't no need 
 of but one," said Hannah. 
 
 "Jo, please ; " and Beth leaned her head against her 
 sister, with a contented look, which effectually settled 
 that point. 
 
 " I'll go and tell Amy," said Meg, feeling a little 
 hurt, yet rather relieved, on the whole, for she did not 
 like nursing, and Jo did. 
 
 Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared 
 that she had rather have the fever than go to Aunt 
 March. Meg reasoned, pleaded, and commanded, all 
 in vain. Amy protested that she would not go ; and 
 Meg left her in despair, to ask Hannah what should 
 be done. Before she came back, Laurie walked into 
 the parlor to find Amy sobbing, with her head in the 
 sofa cushions. She told her story, expecting to be 
 consoled ; butLaurie only put his hands in his pockets 
 and walked about the room, whistling softly, as he knit 
 his brows in deep thought. Presently he sat down 
 beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, 
 
26o Little Women. 
 
 " Now be a sensible little woman, and do as they say. 
 No, don't cry, but hear what a jolly plan I've got. 
 You go to Aunt March's, and I'll come and take you 
 out eveiy day, driving or walking, and we'll have 
 capital times. Won't that be better than moping 
 here?" 
 
 " I don't wish to be sent off as if I was in the way," 
 began Amy, in an injured voice. 
 
 "Bless your heart, child! it's to keep you well. 
 You don't want to be sick, do you } " 
 
 " No, I'm sure I don't ; but I dare say I shall be, for 
 I've been with Beth all this time." 
 
 " That's the very reason you ought to go away at 
 once, so that you may escape it. Change of air and 
 care will keep you well, I dare say ; or, if it don't 
 entirely, you will have the fever more lightly. I 
 advise you to be oft^ as soon as you can, for scarlet 
 fever is no joke, miss." 
 
 " But it's dull at Aunt March's, and she is so cross," 
 said Amy, looking rather frightened. 
 
 " It won't be dull with me popping in every day 
 to tell you how Beth is, and take you out gallivant- 
 ing. The old lady likes me, and I'll be as clever 
 as possible to her, so she won't peck at us, whatever 
 we do." 
 
 *' Will you take me out in the trotting wagon with 
 Puck.?" 
 
 " On my honor as a gentleman." 
 
 " And come every single day ? " 
 
 " See if I don't." 
 
 " And bring me back the minute Beth is well?" 
 
 " The identical minute." 
 
Little FaithfuL 261 
 
 " And go to the theatre, truly ? " 
 
 " A dozen theatres, if we may." 
 
 "Well — I guess — I will," said Amy, slowly. 
 
 " Good girl ! Sing out for Meg, and tell her you'll 
 give in," said Laurie, with an approving pat, which 
 annoyed Amy more than the " giving in." 
 
 Meg and Jo came running down to behold the 
 miracle which had been wrought ; and Amy, feeling 
 very precious and self-sacrificing, promised to go, if 
 the doctor said Beth was going to be ill. 
 
 "How is the little dear?" asked Laurie; for Beth 
 was his especial pet, and he felt more anxious about 
 her than he liked to show. 
 
 " She is lying down on mother's bed, and feels bet- 
 ter. The baby's death troubled her, but I dare say 
 she has only got cold. Hannah says she thinks so ; 
 but she looks worried, and that makes me fidgety," 
 answered Meg. 
 
 " What a trying world it is ! " said Jo, rumpling up 
 her hair in a fretful sort of way. "No sooner do we 
 get out of one trouble than down comes another. 
 There don't seem to be a^nything to hold on to when 
 mother's gone ; so I'm all at sea." 
 
 "Well, don't make a porcupine of yourself, it isn't 
 becoming. Settle your wig, Jo, and tell me if I shall 
 telegraph to your mother, or do anything ? " asked 
 Laurie, who never had been reconciled to the loss of 
 his friend's one beauty. 
 
 " That is what troubles me," said Meg. " I think 
 we ought to tell her if Beth is really ill, but Hannah 
 says we mustn't, for mother can't leave father, .' iid it 
 will only make them anxious. Beth won't be sick 
 
262 Little Women. 
 
 long, and Hannah knows just what to do, and mother 
 said we were to mind her, so I suppose we must, but 
 it don't seem quite right to me." 
 
 " Hum, well, I can't say ; suppose you ask grand- 
 father, after the doctor has been." 
 
 *' We will ; Jo, go and get Dr. Bangs at once," com- 
 manded Meg ; " we can't decide anything till he has 
 been." 
 
 " Stay where you are, Jo ; I'm errand boy to this 
 establishment," said Laurie, taking up his cap. 
 
 " I'm afraid you are busy," began Meg. 
 
 "No, I've done my lessons for the day." 
 
 " Do you study in vacation time?" asked Jo. 
 
 " I follow the good example my neighbors set me," 
 was Laurie's answer, as he swung himself out of the 
 room. 
 
 " I have great hopes of my boy," observed Jo, 
 watching him fty over the fence with an approving 
 smile. 
 
 " He does very well — for a boy," was Meg's some- 
 what ungracious answer, for the subject did not in- 
 terest her. 
 
 Dr. Bangs came, said Beth had symptoms of the 
 fever, but thought she would have it lightly, though he 
 looked sober over the Hummel story. Amy was 
 ordered off' at once, and provided with something to 
 ward off danger ; she departed in great state, with Jo 
 and Laurie as escort. 
 
 Aunt March received them with her usual hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 "What do you want now?" she asked, looking 
 
Little Faithful. "263 
 
 sharply over her spectacles, while the parrot, sitting 
 on the back of her chair, called out, — 
 
 " Go away ; no boys allowed here." 
 
 Laurie retired to the window, and Jo told her story. 
 
 *' No more than I expected, if you are allowed to go 
 poking about among poor folks. Amy can stay and 
 make herself useful if she isn't sick, which I've no 
 doubt she will be, — looks like it now. Don't cry, child, 
 it worries me to hear people sniff." 
 
 Amy was on the point of crying, but Laurie slyly 
 pulled the parrot's tail, which caused Polly to utter an 
 astonished croak, and call out, — 
 
 " Bless my boots ! " in such a funny way, that she 
 laughed instead. 
 
 " What do you hear from your mother? " asked the 
 old lady, gruffly. 
 
 '' Father is much better," replied Jo, trying to keep 
 sober. 
 
 "Oh, is he.? Well, that won't last long, I fancy ; 
 March never had any stamina," was the cheerful 
 reply. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! never say die, take a pinch of snuft', good- 
 by, good-by ! " squalled Polly, dancing on her perch, 
 and clawing at the old lady's cap as Laurie tweaked 
 him in the rear. 
 
 '• Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird ! 
 and, Jo, you'd better go at once ; it isn't proper to 
 be gadding about so late with a rattle-pated boy 
 like — " ; 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird ! " 
 cried Polly, tumbling off the chair with a bounce and 
 
264 Little Women, 
 
 running to peck the " rattle-pated " boy, who was 
 shaking with laughter at the last speech. 
 
 " I don't think I can bear it, but I'll try," thought 
 Amy, as she was left alone with Aunt March. 
 
 " Get along, you're a fright ! " screamed Polly, and at 
 that rude speech Amy could not restrain a sniff. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DARK DAYS, 
 
 BETH did have the fever, and was much sicker 
 than any one but Hannah and the doctor sus- 
 pected. The girls knew nothing about illness, 
 and Mr. Laurence vs^as not allowed to see her, so 
 Hannah had everything all her own way, and busy 
 Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the 
 excellent nurse. Meg stayed at home, lest she should 
 infect the Kings, and kept house, feeling very anxious, 
 and a little guilty, when she wrote letters in which no 
 mention was made of Beth's illness. She could not 
 think it right to deceive her mother, but she had been 
 bidden to mind Hannah, and Hannah wouldn't hear 
 of " Mrs. March bein' told, and worried just for sech a 
 trifle." Jo devoted herself to Beth day and night ; not 
 a hard task, for Beth was very patient, and bore her 
 pain uncomplainingly as long as she could control 
 herself. But there came a time when during the 
 fever fits she began to talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to 
 play on the coverlet, as if on her beloved little piano, 
 and try to sing with a throat so swollen, that there was 
 no music left; a time when she did not know the 
 
 265 
 
266 Little Women. 
 
 familiar faces round her, but addressed them by wrong 
 names, and called imploringly for her mother. Then 
 Jo grew frightened, Meg begged to be allowed to 
 write the truth, and even Hannah said she "would 
 think of it, though there was no danger yet.^' A 
 letter from Washington added to their trouble, for Mr. 
 March had had a relapse, and could not think of 
 coming home fo^* a long while. 
 
 How dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely 
 the house, and how heavy were the hearts of the 
 sisters as they worked and waited, while the shadow 
 of death hovered over the once happy home ! Then it 
 was that Margaret, sitting alone with tears dropping 
 often on her work, felt how rich she had been in 
 things more precious than any luxuries money could 
 buy ; in love, protection, peace and health, the real 
 blessings of life. Then it was that Jo, living in the 
 darkened room with that suffering little sister always 
 before her eyes, and that pathetic voice sounding in 
 her ears, learned to see the beauty and the sweetness 
 of Beth's nature, to feel how deep and tender a place 
 she filled in all hearts, and to acknowledge the worth 
 of Beth's unselfish ambition, to live for others, and 
 make home happy by the exercise of those simple 
 virtues which all may possess, and which all should 
 love and value more than talent, wealth or beauty. 
 And Amy, in her exile, longed eagerly to be at home, 
 that she might work for Beth, feeling now that no 
 service would be hard or irksome, and remembering, 
 with regi'etful grief, how many neglected tasks those 
 willing hands had done for her. Laurie haunted the 
 house like a restless ghost, and Mr. Laurence locked 
 
Dark Days. \ 267 
 
 the grand piano, because he could not bear to be re- 
 minded of the young neighbor who used to make the 
 twilight pleasant for him. Every one missed Beth. 
 The milk-man, baker, grocer and butcher inquired 
 how she did ; poor Mrs. Hummel came to beg pardon 
 for her thoughtlessness, and to get a shroud for Minna ; 
 the neighbors sent all sorts of comforts and good 
 wishes, and even those who knew her best, were sur- 
 prised to find how many friends shy little Beth had 
 made. 
 
 Meanwhile she lay on her bed with old Joanna at 
 her side, for even in her wanderings she did not forget 
 her forlorn protege. She longed for her cats, but 
 would not have them brought, lest they should get 
 sick ; and, in her quiet hours, she was full of anxiety 
 about Jo. She sent loving messages to Amy, bade 
 them tell her mother that she would write soon ; and 
 often begged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, 
 that father might not think she had neglected him. 
 But soon even these intervals of consciousness ended, 
 and she lay hour after hour tossing to and fro with in- 
 coherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavy sleep 
 which brought her no refreshment. Dr. Bangs came 
 twice a day, Hannah sat up at night, Meg kept a 
 telegram in her desk all ready to send off at any 
 minute, and Jo never stirred from Beth's side. 
 
 The first of December was a wintry day indeed to 
 them, for a bitter wind blew, snow fell fast, and the 
 year seemed getting ready for its death. When Dr. 
 Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, 
 held the hot hand in both his own a minute, and laid it 
 gently down, saying, in a low tone, to Hannah, — 
 
^p 
 
 Little Women. 
 
 "If Mrs. March can leave her husband, she*d better 
 be sent for." 
 
 Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips 
 twitched nei*vously ; Meg dropped down into a chair 
 as the strength seemed to go out of her limbs at the 
 sound of those words, and Jo, after standing with a 
 pale face for a minute, ran to the parlor, snatched up 
 the telegi'am, and, throwing on her things, rushed out 
 into the storm. She was soon back, and, while noise- 
 lessly taking off her cloak, Laurie came in with a 
 letter, saying that Mr. March was mending again. Jo 
 read it thankfully, but the heavy weight did not seem 
 lifted off her heart, and ■ her face was so full of misery 
 that Laurie asked, quickly, — 
 
 " What is it? is Beth worse } " 
 
 " I've sent for mother," said Jo, tugging at her rub- 
 ber boots with a tragical expression. 
 
 " Good for you, Jo ! Did you do it on your own 
 responsibility.?" asked Laurie, as he seated her in the 
 hall chair, and took off the rebellious boots, seeing how 
 her hands shook. 
 
 " No, the doctor told us to." 
 
 " Oh, Jo, if s not so bad as that? " cried Laurie, with 
 a startled face. 
 
 " Yes, it is ; she don't know us, she don't even talk 
 about the flocks of green doves, as she calls the vine 
 leaves on the wall ; she don't look like my Beth, and 
 there's nobody to help us bear it ; mother and father 
 both gone, and God seems so far away I can't find 
 Him." 
 
 As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo's cheeks, 
 she stretched out her hand in a helpless sort of way, 
 
Dark Days, 269 
 
 as if groping in the dark, and Laurie took it in his, 
 whispering, as well as he could, with a lump in his 
 throat, — 
 
 '' I'm here, hold on to me, Jo, dear ! " 
 
 She could not speak, but she did " hold on," and 
 the warm grasp of the friendly human hand com- 
 forted her sore heart, and seemed to lead her nearer 
 to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in 
 her trouble. Laurie longed to say something tender 
 and comfortable, but no fitting words came to him, so 
 he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head as her 
 mother used to do. It was the best thing he could 
 have done ; far more soothing than the most eloquent 
 words, for Jo felt the unspoken sympathy, and, in the 
 silence, learned the sweet solace which affection ad- 
 ministers to sorrow. Soon she dried the tears which 
 had relieved her, and looked up with a grateful face. 
 
 " Thank you, Teddy, I'm better now ; I don't feel 
 so forlorn, and will try to bear it if it comes." 
 
 " Keep hoping for the best ; that will help you lots, 
 Jo. Soon your mother will be here, and then every- 
 thing will be right." 
 
 " I'm so glad father is better ; now she won't feel so 
 bad about leaving him. Oh, me ! it does seem as if 
 all the troubles came in a heap, and I got the heaviest 
 part on my shoulders," sighed Jo, spreading her wet 
 handkerchief over her knees, to dry. 
 
 "Don't Meg pull fair?" asked Laurie, looking in- 
 dignant. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; she tiies to, but she don't love Bethy as I 
 do ; and she won't miss her as I shall. Beth is my 
 conscience, and I canH give her up ; I can't ! I can't ! *'■ 
 
270 Little Women, 
 
 Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, 
 and she cried despairingly ; for she had kept up 
 bravely till now, and never shed a tear. Laurie 
 drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak 
 till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat, 
 and steadied his lips. It might be unmanly, but he 
 couldn't help it, and I am glad of it. Presently, as 
 Jo's sobs quieted, he said, hopefully, " I don't think 
 she will die ; she's so good, and we all love her so 
 much, I don't believe God will take her away yet." 
 
 '' The good and dear people always do die," groaned 
 Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words 
 cheered her up, in spite of her own doubts and fears. 
 
 " Poor girl ! you're worn out. It isn't like you to 
 be forlorn. Stop a bit ; I'll hearten you up in a jiffy." 
 
 Laurie went off two stairs at a time, andjo laid her 
 wearied head down on Beth's little brown hood, whicl 
 no one had thought of moving from the table where 
 she left it. It must have possessed some magic, for 
 the submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to 
 enter into Jo ; and, when Laurie came running down 
 with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, and 
 said, bravely, " I drink — Health to my Beth ! You 
 are a good doctor, Teddy, and such a comfortable 
 friend ; how can I ever pay you ? " she added, as the 
 wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done 
 her troubled mind. 
 
 "I'll send in my bill, by and by; and to-night I'll 
 give you something that will warm the cockles of your 
 heart better than quarts of wine," said Laurie, beam- 
 ing at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at 
 something. 
 
Dark Days, 271 
 
 "What is it?" cried Jo, forgetting her woes for a 
 minute, in her wonder. 
 
 "I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and 
 Brooke answered she'd come at once, and she'll be 
 here to-night, and everything will be all right. Aren't 
 you glad I did it?" 
 
 Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited 
 all in a minute, for he had kept his plot a secret, for 
 fear of disappointing the girls or harming Beth. Jo 
 grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the 
 moment he stopped speaking she electrified him by 
 throwing her arms round his neck, and crying out, 
 with a joyful cry, " Oh, Laurie ! oh, mother ! I am so 
 glad ! " She did not weep again, but laughed hyster- 
 ically, and trembled and clung to her friend as if she 
 was a little bewildered by the sudden news. Laurie, 
 though decidedly amazed, behaved with great pres- 
 ence of mind ; he patted her back soothingly, and, 
 finding that she was recovering, followed it up by a 
 bashful kiss or two, which brought Jo round at once. 
 Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently 
 away, saying, breathlessly, " Oh, don't ! I didn't 
 mean to ; it was dreadful of me ; but you were such a 
 dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah, that I couldn't 
 help flying at you. Tell me all about it, and don't 
 give me wine again ; it makes me act so." 
 
 " I don't mind ! " laughed Laurie, as he settled his 
 tie. " Why, you see I got fidgety, and so did grandpa. 
 We thought Hannah was overdoing the authority 
 iXisiness, and your mother ought to know. She'd 
 never forgive us if Beth, — well, if anything happened, 
 yon know. So I got grandpa to say it was high time 
 
2/2 Little Women. 
 
 we did something, and off I pelted to the office yester- 
 day, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most 
 took my head off when I proposed a telegram. I 
 never can bear to be ' marmed over ; ' so that settled 
 my mind, and I did it. Your mother will come, I 
 know, and the late train is in at two, A. m. I shall go 
 for her ; and you've only got to bottle up your rapture, 
 and keep Beth quiet, till that blessed lady gets here." 
 
 " Laurie, you're an angel ! How shall I ever thank 
 you.?" 
 
 " Fly at me again ; I rather like it," said Laurie, 
 looking mischievous, — a thing he had not done for a 
 fortnight. 
 
 "No, thank you. I'll do it by proxy, when your 
 grandpa comes. Don't tease, but go home and rest, 
 for you'll be up half the night. Bless you, Teddy ; 
 bless you ! " 
 
 Jo had backed into a corner ; and, as she finished her 
 speech, she vanished precipitately into the kitchen, 
 where, she sat down upon a dresser, and told the 
 assembled cats that she was " happy, oh, so happy ! " 
 while Laurie departed, feeling that he had made rather 
 a neat thing of it. 
 
 " That's the interferingest chap I ever see ; but I 
 forgive him, and do hope Mrs. March is coming oa 
 right away," said Hannah, with an air of relief, when 
 Jo told the good news. 
 
 Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the 
 letter, while Jo set the sick-room in order, and Han- 
 nah "knocked up a couple of pies in case of company 
 unexpected." A breath of fresh air seemed to blow 
 through the house, and something better than sunshine 
 
Darh Days, 273 
 
 brightened the quiet rooms ; everything appeared to 
 feel the hopeful change ; Beth's bird began to chirp 
 again, and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy's 
 bush in the window ; the fires seemed to burn with 
 unusual cheeriness, and every time the girls met their 
 pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one another, 
 whispering, encouragingly, " Mother's coming, dear ! 
 mother's coming ! " Every one rejoiced but Beth ; she 
 lay in that heavy stupor, alike unconscious of hope and 
 joy, doubt and danger. It was a piteous sight, — the 
 once rosy face so changed and vacant, — the once busy 
 hands so weak and wasted, — the once smiling lips 
 quite dumb, — and the once pretty, well-kept hair 
 scattered rough and tangled on the pillow. All day 
 she lay so, only rousing now and then to mutter, 
 " Water ! " with lips so parched they could hardly 
 shape the word ; all day Jo and Meg hovered over her, 
 watching, waiting, hoping, and trusting in God and 
 mother; and all day the snow fell, the bitter wind 
 raged, and the hours dragged slowly by. But night 
 came at last; and every time the clock struck the 
 sisters, still sitting on either side the bed, looked at 
 each other with brightening eyes, for each hour 
 brought help nearer. The doctor had been in to say 
 that some change for better or worse would probably 
 take place about midnight, at which time he would 
 return. 
 
 Hannah, quite worn out, lay down on the sofa at 
 the bed's foot, and fell fast asleep ; Mr. Laurence 
 marched to and fro in the parlor, feeling that he would 
 rather face a rebel battery than Mrs. March's anxious 
 countenance as she entered ; Laurie lay on the rug, 
 18 
 
274 Little Women, 
 
 pretending to rest, but staring into the fire with the 
 thoughtful look which made his black eyes beautifully 
 soft and clear. 
 
 The girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came 
 to them as they kept their watch, with that dreadful 
 sense of powerlessness which comes to us in hours 
 like those. 
 
 " If God spares Beth I never will complain again," 
 whispered Meg, earnestly. 
 
 " If God spares Beth I'll try to love and serve Him 
 all my life," answered Jo, with equal fervor. 
 
 " I wish I had no heart, it aches so," sighed Meg, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " If life is often as hard as this, I don't see how we 
 ever shall get through it," added her sister, despond- 
 ently. 
 
 Here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot them- 
 selves in watching Beth, for they fancied a change 
 passed over her wan face. The house was still as 
 death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke 
 the deep hush. Weary Hannah slept on, and no one 
 but the sisters saw the pale shadow which seemed to 
 fall upon the little bed. An hour went by, and nothing 
 happened except Laurie's quiet departure for the sta- 
 tion. Another hour, — still no one came ; and anxious 
 fears of delay in the storm, or accidents by the way, 
 or, worst of all, a great grief at Washington, haunted 
 the poor girls. 
 
 It was past two, when Jo, who stood at the win- 
 dow thinking how dreary the world looked in its 
 winding-sheet of snow, heard a movement by the bed, 
 and, turning quickly, saw Meg kneeling before their 
 
Dark Days, 275 
 
 mother's easy-chair, with her face hidden. A dreadful 
 fear passed coldly over Jo, as she thought, " Beth is 
 dead, and Meg is afraid to tell me." 
 
 She was back at her post in an instant, and to 
 her excited eyes a great change seemed to have taken 
 place. The fever flush, and the look of pain, were 
 gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and 
 peaceful in its utter repose, that Jo felt no desire to 
 weep or to lament. Leaning low over this dearest of 
 her sisters, she kissed the damp forehead with her 
 heart on her lips, and softly whispered, " Good-by, 
 my Beth ; good-by ! " 
 
 As if waked by the stir, Hannah started out of her 
 sleep, hurried to the bed, looked at Beth, felt her 
 hands, listened at her lips, and then, throwing her 
 apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro, ex- 
 claiming, under her breath, " The fever's turned ; she's 
 sleepin nat'ral ; her skin's damp, and she breathes easy. 
 Praise be given ! Oh, my goodness me ! " 
 
 Before the girls could believe the happy truth, the 
 doctor came to confirm 'it. He was a homely man, ^ 
 but they thought his face quite heavenly when he |p. 
 smiled, and said, with a fatherly look at them, " Yes, 
 my dears ; I think the little girl will pull through this 
 time. Keep the house quiet ; let her sleep, and when 
 she wakes, give her — " 
 
 What they were to give, neither heard ; for both 
 crept into the dark hall, and, sitting on the stairs, held 
 each other close, rejoicing with hearts too full for 
 words. When they went back to be kissed and cud- 
 dled by faithful Hannah, they found Beth lying, as she 
 used to do, with her cheek pillowed on her liand, the 
 
276 Little Women. 
 
 dreadful pallor gone, and breathing quietly, as if just 
 fallen asleep. 
 
 " If mother would only come now ! " said Jo, as the 
 winter night began to wane. 
 
 " See," said Meg, coming up with a white, half- 
 opened rose,- '* I thought this would hardly be ready 
 to lay in Beth's hand to-morrow if she — went away 
 from us. But it has blossomed in the night, and now 
 I mean to put it in my vase here, so that when the 
 darling wakes, the first thing she sees will be the little 
 rose, and mother's face." 
 
 Never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never 
 had the world seemed so lovely, as it did to the heavy 
 eyes of Meg and Jo, as they looked out in the early 
 morning, when their long, sad vigil was done. 
 
 *'It looks like a fairy world," said Meg, smiling to. 
 herself, as she stood behind the curtain watching the 
 dazzling sight. 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Jo, starting to her feet. 
 
 Yes, there was a sound of bells at the door below, 
 a cry from Hannah, and then Laurie's voice, saying, in 
 It joyful whisper, " Girls ! she's come ! she's come ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AMY'S WILL. 
 
 WHILE these things were happening at home, 
 Amy was having hard times at Aunt March's. 
 She felt her exile deeply, and, for the first time 
 in her life, realized how much she was beloved and 
 petted at home. Aunt March never petted any one ; 
 she did not approve of it ; but she meant to be kind, for 
 the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and 
 Aunt March had a soft place in her old heart for her 
 nephew's children, though she didn't think proper to 
 confess it. She really did her best to make Amy 
 happy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made ! Some 
 old people keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles 
 and gray hairs, can sympathize with children's little 
 cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can hide 
 wise lessons under pleasant plays, giving and receiving 
 friendship in the sweetest way. But Aunt March had 
 not this gift, and she worried Amy most to death with 
 her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy 
 talks. Finding the child more docile and amiable 
 than her sister, the old lady felt it her duty to try and 
 counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of home 
 
 277 
 
278 Little Women, 
 
 freedom and indulgence. So she took Amy in hand, 
 and taught her as she herself had been taught sixty 
 years ago ; a process which carried dismay to Amy's 
 soul, and made her feel like a fly in the web of a very 
 strict spider. 
 
 She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish 
 up the old-fashioned spoons, the fat silver teapot, and 
 the glasses, till they shone. Then she must dust the 
 room, and what a trying job that was ! Not a speck 
 escaped Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had 
 claw legs, and much carving, which was never dusted 
 to suit. Then Polly must be fed, the lap-dog combed, 
 and a dozen trips upstairs and down, to get things or 
 deliver orders, for the old lady was very lame, and 
 seldom left her big chair. After these tiresome labors 
 she must do her lessons, which was a daily trial of 
 every virtue she possessed. Then she was allowed 
 one hour for exercise or play, and didn't she enjoy it.? 
 Laurie came every day, and wheedled Aunt March 
 till Amy was allowed to go out with him, when they 
 walked and rode, and had capital times. After dinner 
 she had to read aloud, and sit still while the old lady 
 slept, which she usually did for an hour, as she 
 dropped ofl' over the first page. Then patch-work or 
 towels appeared, and Amy sewed with outward meek- 
 ness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was al- 
 lowed to amuse herself as she liked, till tea-time. 
 The evenings were the v^orst of all, for Aunt March 
 fell to telling long stories about her youth, which were 
 so unutterably dull, that Amy was always ready to go 
 to bed, intending to cry over her hard fate, but usually 
 
Amy's Will. 279 
 
 going to sleep before she had squeezed out more than 
 a tear or two. \ 
 
 If it had not been for Laurie and old Esther, the 
 maid, she felt that she never could have got through 
 that dreadful time. The parrot alone was enough to 
 drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did not 
 admire him, and revenged himself by being as mis- 
 chievous as possible. He pulled her hair whenever 
 she came near him, upset his bread and milk to plague 
 her when she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop 
 bark by pecking at him while Madame dozed ; called 
 her names before company, and behaved in all re- 
 spects like a reprehensible old bird. Then she could 
 not endure the dog, a fat, cross beast, who snarled and 
 yelped at her when she made his toilet, and who laid 
 on his back with all his legs in the air, and a most 
 idiotic expression of countenance, when he wanted 
 something to eat, which was about a dozen. times a 
 day. The cook was bad-tempered, the old coachman 
 deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any 
 notice of the young lady. 
 
 Esther was a French woman, who had lived with 
 " Madame," as she called her mistress, for many years, 
 and who rather tyrannized over the old lady, who could 
 not get along without her. Her real name was Estelle ; 
 but Aunt March ordered her to change it, and she 
 obeyed, on condition that she was never asked to 
 change her religion. She took a fancy to Mad- 
 emoiselle, and amused her very much, with odd 
 stories of her life in France, when Amy sat with her 
 while she got up Madame's laces. She also allowed 
 her to roam aboiH- the great house, and examine the 
 
28o Little Women, 
 
 curious and pretty things stored away in the big 
 wardrobes and the ancient cliests ; for Aunt March 
 hoarded like a magpie. Amy's chief dehght was an 
 Indian cabinet full of queer drawers, little pigeon- 
 holes, and secret places in which were kept all sorts 
 of ornaments, some precious, some merely curious, all 
 more or less antique. To examine and arrange these 
 things gave Amy great satisfaction, especially the jewel 
 cases ; in which, on velvet cushions, reposed the orna- 
 ments which had adorned a belle forty years ago. 
 There was the garnet set which Aunt March wore 
 when she came out, the pearls her father gave her on 
 her wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet 
 mourning rings and pins, the queei lockets, with 
 portraits of dead friends, and weeping willows made 
 of hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter 
 had worn ; Uncle March's big watch, with the red seal 
 so many childish hands had played with, and in a box, 
 all by itself, lay Aunt March's wedding ring, too small 
 now for her fat finger, but put carefully away, like the 
 most precious jewel of them all. 
 
 "Which would Mademoiselle choose if she had her 
 will ? " asked Esther, who always sat near to watch 
 over and lock up the valuables. 
 
 " I like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace 
 among them, and I'm fond of necklaces, they are so 
 becoming. I should choose this if I might," replied 
 Amy, looking with great admiration at a string of gold 
 and ebony beads, from which hung a heavy cross of 
 the same. 
 
 " I, too, covet that, but not as a necklace ; ah, no ! to 
 me it is a rosarv, and as such I should use it like a 
 
Amfs WilL 281 
 
 good Catholic," said Esther, eyeing the handsome thing 
 wistfully. 
 
 " Is it meant to use as you use the string of good- 
 smelling wooden beads hanging over your glass?'* 
 asked Amy. *• 
 
 " Truly, yes, to pray with. It would be pleasing to 
 the saints if one used so fine a rosary as this, instead 
 of wearing it as a vain bijou." 
 
 "You seem to take a deal of comfort in your prayers, 
 Esther, and always come down looking quiet and 
 satisfied. I wish I could." 
 
 " If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find 
 true comfort ; but, as that is not to be, it would be 
 well if you went apart each day to meditate, and pray, 
 as did the good mistress whom I served before 
 Madame. She had a little chapel, and in it found 
 solacement for much trouble." 
 
 "Would it be right for me to do so too?" asked 
 Amy, who, in her loneliness, felt the need of help of 
 some sort, and found that she was apt to forget her 
 little book, now that Beth was not there to remind 
 her of it. 
 
 " It would be excellent and charming ; and I shall 
 gladly arrange the little dressing-room for you, if you 
 like it. Say nothing to Madame, but when she sleeps 
 go you and sit alone a while to think good thoughts, 
 and ask the dear God to preserve your sister." 
 
 Esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her ad- 
 vice ; for she had an affectionate heart, and felt much 
 for the sisters in their anxiety. Amy liked the idea, 
 and gave her leave to arrange the light closet next her 
 room, hoping it woiilJ do licr good. 
 
2 82 Little Women, 
 
 " I wish I knew where all these pretty things would 
 go when Aunt March dies," she said, as she slowly- 
 replaced the shining rosary, and shut the jewel cases 
 one by one. 
 
 " To you and your sisters. I know it ; Madame con- 
 fides in me ; I witnessed her will, and it is to be so," 
 whispered Esther, smiling. 
 
 " How nice ! but I wish she'd let us have them now. 
 Pro-cras-ti-nation is not agreeable," observed Amy, 
 taking a last look at the diamonds. 
 
 "•It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear 
 these things. The first one who is affianced will have 
 the pearls — Madame has said it ; and I have a fancy 
 that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when 
 you go, for Madame approves your good behavior 
 and charming manners." 
 
 " Do you think so t Oh, I'll be a lamb, if I can only 
 have that lovely ring ! It's ever so much prettier than 
 Kitty Bryant's. I do like Aunt March, after all ; " and 
 Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face, and 
 a firm resolve to earn it. 
 
 From that day she was a model of obedience, and 
 the old lady complacently admired the success of her 
 training. Esther fitted up the closet with a little table, 
 placed a footstool before it, and over it a picture, 
 taken from one of the shut-up rooms. She thought it 
 was of no great value, but, being appropriate, she bor- 
 rowed it, well knowing that Madame would never 
 know it, nor care if she did. It was, however, a very 
 valuable copy of one of the famous pictures of the 
 world, and Amy's beauty-loving eyes were never tired 
 of looking up at the sweet face of the divine mother, 
 
Amfs Will. 283 
 
 while tender thoughts of her own were busy at her 
 heart. On the table she laid her little Testament and 
 hymn-book, kept a vase always full of the best flowers 
 Laurie brought her, and came every day to " sit alone, 
 thinking good thoughts, and praying the dear God to 
 preserve her sister." Esther had given her a rosary 
 of black beads, with a silver cross, but Amy hung it up, 
 and did not use it, feeling doubtful as to its fitness for 
 Protestant prayers. 
 
 The little girl was very sincere in all this, for, being 
 left alone outside the safe home-nest, she felt the need 
 of some kind hand to hold by so sorely, that she in- 
 stinctively turned to the strong and tender Friend, 
 whose fatherly love most closely surrounds His little 
 children. She missed her motiier's help to understand 
 and rule herself, but having been taught where to look, 
 she did her best to find the way, and walk in it con- 
 fidingly. But Amy was a young pilgrim, and just now 
 her burden seemed very heavy. She tried to forget 
 herself, to keep cheerful, and be satisfied with doing 
 right, though no one saw or praised her for it. In her 
 first effort at being very, very good, she decided to 
 make her will, as Aunt March had done ; so that if she 
 did fall ill and die, her possessions might be justly 
 and generously divided. It cost her a pang even to 
 think of giving up the little treasures which in her 
 eyes were as precious as the old lady's jewels. 
 
 During one of her play hours she wrote out the 
 important document as well as she could, with some 
 help from Esther as to certain legal terms ; and, when 
 the good-natured Frenchwoman had signed her name, 
 Amy felt relieved, and laid it by to show Laurie, 
 
284 Little Wo 7116 71, 
 
 whom she wanted as a second witness. As it was a 
 rainy day, she went up stairs to amuse herself in one 
 of the large chambers, and took Polly with her for 
 company. In this room there was a wardrobe full of 
 old-fashioned costumes, with which Esther allowed 
 her to play, and it was her favorite amusement to 
 array herself in the faded brocades, and parade up and 
 down before the long mirror, making stately courtesies, 
 and sw^eeping her train about, ^vith a rustle which 
 delighted her ears. So busy was she on this day, that 
 she did not hear Laurie's ring, nor see his face peeping 
 in at her, as she gravely promenaded to and fro, flii-t- 
 ing hei* fan and tossing her head, on which she wore 
 a great pink turban, contrasting oddly with her blue 
 brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat. She was 
 obliged to walk carefully, for she had on high-heeled 
 shoes, and, as Laurie told Jo afterward, it was a com- 
 ical sight to see her mince along in her gay suit, with 
 Polly sidling and bridling just behind her, imitating 
 her as well as he could, and occasionally stopping to 
 laugh, or exclaim, "Ain't we fine? Get along you 
 fright ! Hold your tongue ! Kiss me, dear ; ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Having with difficulty restrained an explosion of 
 merriment, lest it should offend lier majesty, Laurie 
 tapped, and was graciously received. 
 
 " Sit down and rest while I put tjiese things away ; 
 then I want to consult you about a very serious mat- 
 ter," said Amy, when she had shown her splendor, 
 and driven Polly into a corner. " That bird is the 
 trial of my life," she continued, removing the pink 
 mountain from her ^ead, while Laurie seated himself 
 astride of a chair. " Ycsterdav, when aunt was 
 
Amfs WilL 285 
 
 asleep, and I was trying to be as still as a mouse, 
 Polly began to squall and flap about in his cage ; so I 
 went to let him out, and found a big spider there. I 
 poked it out, and it ran under the book-case ; Polly 
 marched straight after it, stooped down and peeped 
 under the book-case, saying, in his funny way, with a 
 cock of his eye, ' Come out and take a walk, my dear. 
 I couldnH help laughing, which made Poll swear, and 
 aunt woke up and scolded us both." 
 
 " Did the spider accept the old fellow's invitation ? " 
 asked Laurie, yawning. 
 
 " Yes ; out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened 
 to death, and scrambled up on aunt's chair, calling 
 out, ' Catch her ! catch her ! catch her ! ' as I chased 
 the ^ider." 
 
 " That's a lie ! Oh lor !" cried the parrot, pecking 
 at Laurie's toes. 
 
 " I'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old 
 torment," cried Laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, 
 who put his head on one side, and gravely croaked, 
 " Allyluyer ! bless your buttons, dear ! " 
 
 "Now Pm ready," said Amy, shutting the ward- 
 robe, and taking a paper out of her pocket. "I want 
 you to read that, please, and tell me if it is legal and 
 right. I felt that I ought to do it, for life is uncertain, 
 and I don't want any ill-feeling over my tomb." 
 
 Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the 
 pensive speaker, read the following document, with 
 praiseworthy gravity, considering the spelling : — 
 
 " MY LAST WILL AND TESTIMENT. 
 
 " I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do 
 
286 Little Women, 
 
 give and bequeethe all my earthly property — viz. to 
 wit : — namely 
 
 " To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, 
 and works of art, including frames. Also my $ioo, 
 to do what he likes with. 
 
 " To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue 
 apron with pockets, — also my likeness, and my medal, 
 with much love. 
 
 "To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise 
 ring (if I get it), also my green box with the doves 
 on it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my 
 sketch of her as a memorial of her ' little girl.* 
 
 " To Jo I leave my breast-pin, the one mended 
 with sealing wax, also my bronze inkstand — she lost 
 the cover, — and my most precious plaster rabbit, be- 
 cause I am sorry I burnt up her story. 
 
 " To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls 
 and the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my 
 new slippers if she can wear them being thin when 
 she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my 
 regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna. 
 
 " To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I 
 bequeethe my paper marshay portfolio, my clay model 
 of a horse though he did say it hadn't any neck. 
 Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of 
 affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, Noter 
 Dame is the best. 
 
 " To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave 
 my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which 
 will be nice for his pens and remind him of the de- 
 parted girl who thanks him for his favors to her 
 family, specially Beth. 
 
Amfs Will, 287 
 
 " I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have 
 the blue silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss. 
 
 " To Hannah I give the band-box she wanted and 
 all the patch work I leave hoping she ' will remember 
 me, when it you see.' 
 
 "And now having disposed of my most valuable 
 property I hope all will be satisfied and not blame the 
 dead. I forgive every one, and trust we may all meet 
 when the trump shall sound. Amen. 
 
 " To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal 
 on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861. 
 
 " Amy Curtis March. 
 
 _-._. C ESTELLE VaLNOR, 
 
 " Witnesses : s rr^ t m 
 
 ^ Theodore Laurence. 
 
 # 
 
 The last name was written in pencil, and Amy ex- 
 plained that he was to rewrite it in ink, and seal it up 
 for her properly. 
 
 "What put it into your head? Did anyone tell 
 you about Beth's giving away her things?" asked 
 Laurie, soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape, with 
 sealing-wax, a taper, and a standish before him. 
 
 She explained ; and then asked, anxiously, " What 
 about Beth?" 
 
 " I'm sorry I spoke ; but as I did, I'll tell you. She 
 felt so ill one day, that she told Jo she wanted to give 
 her piano to Meg, her bird to you, and the poor old 
 doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was 
 sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair 
 to the rest of us, and her best love to grandpa. She 
 never thought of a will." 
 
 Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and 
 
288 Little Women, 
 
 did not look up till a great tear dropped on the paper. 
 Amy's face was full of trouble ; but she only said, 
 " Don't people put sort of postscrips to their wills, 
 sometimes." 
 
 "Yes; 'codicils,' they call them." 
 
 " Put one in mine then — • that I wish all my curls 
 cut off, and given round to my friends. I forgot it ; 
 but I want it done, though it will spoil my looks." 
 
 Laurie added it, smiling at Amy's last and greatest 
 sacrifice. Then he amused her for an hour, and was 
 much interested in all her trials. But when he came 
 to go, Amy held him back to whisper, with trembling 
 lips, "Is there really any danger about Beth.^"' 
 
 " I'm afraid there is ; but we must hope for the best, 
 so don't cry, dear ; " and Laurie put his arm about her 
 with a brotherly gesture, which was very comforting. 
 
 When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, 
 and, sitting in the twilight, prayed for Beth with 
 streaming tears and an aching heart, feeling that a 
 million turquoise rings would not console her for the 
 loss of her gentle little sister. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CONFIDENTIAL. 
 
 I DON'T think I have any words in which to tell 
 the meeting of the mother and daughters ; such 
 hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to de- 
 scribe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my 
 readers ; merely saying that the house was full of 
 genuine happiness, and that Meg's tender hope was 
 realized ; for when Beth woke from that long, healing 
 sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the 
 little rose and mother's face. Too weak to wonder at 
 anything, she only smiled, and nestled close into the 
 loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry longing 
 was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the 
 girls waited upon their mother, for she would not un- 
 clasp the thin hand which clung to hers, even in sleep. 
 Hannah had " dished up " an astonishing breakfast for 
 the traveller, finding it impossible to vent her ex- 
 citement in any other way ; and Meg and Jo fed their 
 mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to 
 her whispered account of father's state, Mr. Brooke's 
 promise to stay and nurse him, the delays which the 
 storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the 
 19 289 
 
290 Little Women, 
 
 unspeakable comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given 
 her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety 
 and cold. 
 
 What a strange, yet pleasant day that was ! so bril- 
 liant and gay without, for all the world seemed abroad 
 to welcome the first snow ; so quiet and reposeful 
 within, for every one slept, spent with watching, and 
 a Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while 
 nodding Hannah mounted guard at the door. With a 
 blissful sense of burdens lifted off, Meg and Jo closed 
 their weary eyes, and lay at rest like storm-beaten 
 boats, safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March 
 would not leave Beth's side, but rested in the big 
 chair, waking often to look at, touch, and brood over 
 her child, like a miser over some recovered treasure. 
 
 Laurie, meanwhile, posted otf to comfort Amy, and 
 told his story so well that Aunt March actually 
 *' sniffed " herself, and never once said, "I told you 
 so." Amy came out so strong on this occasion, that I 
 think the good thoughts in the little chapel really 
 began to bear fruit. She dried her tears quickly, re- 
 strained her impatience to see her mother, and never 
 even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady 
 heartily agreed in Laurie's opinion, that she behaved 
 *' like a capital little woman." Even Polly seemed 
 impressed, for he called her "good girl," blessed her 
 buttons, and begged her to '• come and take a walk, 
 dear," in his most affable tone. She would very 
 gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright wintry 
 weather ; but, discovering that Laurie was dropping 
 with sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the 
 fact, she persuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she 
 
Confidential. 291 
 
 wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time 
 about it ; and, when returned, he was stretched out with 
 both arms under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt 
 March had pulled down the curtains, and sat doing 
 nothing in an unusual fit of benignity. 
 
 After a while, they began to think he was not going 
 to wake till night, and I'm not sure that he would, had 
 he not been effectually roused by Amy's cry of joy at 
 sight of her mother. There probably were a good 
 many happy little girls in and about the city that day, 
 but it is my private opinion that Amy was the happiest 
 of all, when she sat in her- mother's lap and told her 
 trials, receiving consolation and compensation in the 
 shape of approving smiles and fond caresses. They 
 were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother 
 did not object when its purpose was explained to her. 
 
 " On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," she 
 said, looking from the dusty rosary to the well-worn 
 little book, and th« lovely picture with its garland of 
 evergreen. "It is an excellent plan to haA'-e some 
 place where we can go to be quiet, when things vex or 
 grieve us. There are a good many hard times in this 
 life of ours, but we can always bear them if we ask 
 help in the right way. I think my little girl is 
 learning this?" 
 
 " Yes, mother ; and when I go home I mean to have 
 a corner in the big closet to put my books, and the 
 copy of that picture which I've tried to make. The 
 woman's face is not good, it's too beautiful for me to 
 draw, but the baby is done better, and I love it very 
 much. I like to think He was a little child once, for 
 then I don't seem so far away, and that helps me." 
 
292 Little Women, 
 
 As Amy pointed to the smilino^ Christ-child on his 
 mother's knee, Mrs. March saw something on the lifted 
 hand that made her smile. She said nothing, but 
 Amy understood the look, and, after a minute's pause, 
 she added, gravely, — 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot 
 it. Aunt gave me the ring today ; she called me to 
 her and kissed m.e, and put it on my finger, and said I 
 was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep me always. 
 She gave that funny guard to keep the torquoise on, 
 as it's too big. I'd like to wear them, mother ; can I } " 
 
 '■' They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too 
 young for such ornaments. Amy," said Mrs. March, 
 looking at the plump little hand, with the band of sky- 
 blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard, 
 formed of two tiny, golden hands clasped together. 
 
 " I'll try not to be vain," said Amy ; " I don't think 
 I like it, only because it's so pretty ; but I want to wear 
 it as the girl in the story wore her bracelet, to remind 
 me of something." 
 
 " Do you mean Aunt March?" asked her mother, 
 laughing. 
 
 "No, to remind me not to be selfish." Amy looked 
 so earnest and sincere about it, that her mother stopped 
 laughing, and listened respectfully to the little plan. 
 
 " I've thought a great deal lately about ' my bundle 
 of naughties,' and being selfish is the largest one in it ; 
 so I'm going to try hard to cure it, if I can. Beth isn't 
 selfish, and that's the reason every one loves her, and 
 feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People 
 wouldn't feel half so bad about me if I was sick, and I 
 don't deserve to have them ; but I'd like to be loved 
 
Confidential, 293 
 
 and missed by a great many friends, so I'm going to 
 try and be like Beth all I can. I'm apt to forget my 
 resolutions ; but, if I had something always about me to 
 remind me, I guess I should do better. May I try 
 this way ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I have more faith in the corner of the big 
 closet. Wear your ring, dear, and do your best ; I 
 think you will prosper, for the sincere wish to be good 
 is half the battle. Now, I must go back to Beth. 
 Keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon 
 have you home again." 
 
 That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, 
 to report the traveller's safe arrival, Jo slipped up- 
 stairs into Beth's room, and, finding her mother in her 
 usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her 
 hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look. 
 
 "What is it, deary.?" asked Mrs. March, holding 
 out her hand with a face which invited confidence. 
 
 " I want to tell you something, mother." 
 
 "About Meg?" 
 
 " How quick you guessed ! Yes, it's about her, and 
 though it's a little thing, it fidgets me." 
 
 " Beth is asleep ; speak low, and tell me all about 
 it. That Moffat hasn't been here, I hope.^*" asked 
 Mrs. March, rather sharply. 
 
 " No ; I should have shut the door in his face if 
 he had," said Jo, settling herself on the floor at her 
 mother's feet. " Last summer Meg left a pair of 
 gloves over at the Laurences, and only one was re- 
 turned. We forgot all about it, till Teddy told me 
 that Mr. Brooke had it. He kept it in his waistcoat 
 pocket, and once it fell out, and Teddy joked him 
 
294 Little Women, 
 
 about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, 
 but didn't dare say so, she was so young and he so 
 poor. Now isn't it a di-eadivA state of things ? " 
 
 "Do 3^ou think Meg cares for him? " asked Mrs. 
 March, with an anxious look. 
 
 " Mercy me ! I don't know anything about love, 
 and such nonsense ! " cried Jo, with a funny mixture 
 of interest and contempt. " In novels, the girls show 
 it by starting and Blushing, fainting away, growing 
 thin, and acting like fools. Now Meg don't do any- 
 thing of the sort ; she eats and drinks, and sleeps, like 
 a sensible creature ; she looks straight in my face 
 when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little 
 bit when Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to 
 do it, but he don't mind me as he ought." 
 
 " Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in 
 John?" 
 
 " Who ? " cried Jo, staring. 
 
 " Mr. Brooke ; I call him 'John ' now ; w^e fell into 
 the vv^ay of doing so at the hospital, and he likes it." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I knov^ you'll take his part ; he's been 
 good to father, and you won't send him away, but let 
 Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean thing ! to go 
 petting pa and truckling to you, just to wheedle you 
 into liking him ; " and Jo pulled her hair again with a 
 wrathful tweak. 
 
 '•' My dear, don't get angry about it, and I will 
 tell you how it happened. John went with me at 
 Mr. Laurence's request, and was so devoted to poor 
 father, that we couldn't help getting fond of him. He 
 was perfectly open and honorable about Meg, for he 
 told us he loved her ; but would earn a comfortable 
 
Confidential, 295 
 
 home before he asked her to marry him. He only 
 wanted our leave to love her and work for her, and 
 the right to make her love him if he could. He. is a 
 truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse 
 to listen to him ; but I will not consent to Meg's en- 
 gaging herself so young." 
 
 " Of course not ; it would be idiotic ! I knew there 
 was mischief brewing ; I felt it ; and now it's worse 
 than I imagined. I just wish I could marry Meg 
 myself, and keep her safe in the family." 
 
 This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile ; but 
 she said, gravely, "Jo, I confide in you, and don't 
 wish you to say anything to Meg yet. When John 
 comes back, and I see them together, I can judge 
 better of her feelings toward him." 
 
 " She'll see his in those handsome eyes that she talks 
 about, and then it will be all up with her. She's got 
 such a soft heart, it will melt like butter in the sun if 
 any one looks sentimentally at her. She read the 
 short reports he sent more than she did your letters, 
 and pinched me when I spoke of it, and likes brown 
 eyes, and don't think John an ugly name, and she'll 
 go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and 
 fun, and cosy times, together. I see it all ! they'll go 
 lovering round the house, and we shall have to dodge ; 
 Meg will be absorbed, and no good to me any more ; 
 Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, — carry 
 her off and make a hole in the family ; and I shall 
 break my heart, and everything will be abominably 
 uncomfortable. Oh, deary me ! v^'hy weren't we all 
 boys ? then there wouldn't be any bother ! " 
 
 Jo leaned her chin on her knees, in a disconsolate 
 
296 Little Womeu, 
 
 attitude, and shook her fist at the reprehensible John. 
 Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up with an air of 
 lelief. 
 
 ''You don't like it, mother? I'm glad of it; let's 
 send him about his business, and not tell Meg a word 
 of it, but all be jolly together as we always have 
 been." 
 
 " I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right 
 you should all go to homes of your own, in time ; but 
 I do want to keep my girls as long as I can ; and I 
 am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only 
 seventeen, and it will be some years before John can 
 make a home for her. Your father and I have agreed 
 that she shall not bind herself in any way, ■ nor be 
 married, before twenty. If she and John love one 
 another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so. 
 She is conscientious, and I have no fear of her treat- 
 ing him unkindly. My pretty, tender-hearted girl ! I 
 hope things will go happily with her." 
 
 "Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" 
 asked Jo, as her mother's voice faltered a little over 
 the last words. 
 
 " Money is a good and useful thing, Jo ; and I hope 
 my girls will never feel the need of it too bitterly, nor 
 be tempted by too much. I should like to know that 
 John was firmly established in some good business, 
 which gave him an income large enough to keep 
 free from debt, and make Meg comfortable. I'm not 
 ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionable posi- 
 tion, or a great name for my girls. If rank and 
 money come with love and virtue, also, I should 
 accept them gi-atefuUy, and enjoy your good fortune ; 
 
Confidential, 297 
 
 but I know, by experience, how much genuine hap- 
 piness can be had in a plain little house, where the 
 daily bread is earned, and some privations give sweet- 
 ness to the few pleasures ; I am content to see Meg 
 begin humbly, for, if I am not mistaken, she will be 
 rich in the possession of a good man's heart, and 
 that is better than a fortune." 
 
 " I understand, mother, and quite agree ; but Fm 
 disappointed -about Meg, for I'd planned to have her 
 marry Teddy by and by, and sit in the lap of luxury 
 all her days. Wouldn't it be nice .? " asked Jo, looking 
 up with a brighter face. 
 
 " He is younger than she, you know," began Mrs. 
 March ; but Jo broke in, — 
 
 " Oh, that don't matter ; he's old for his age, and 
 tall ; and can be quite grown-up in his manners, if he 
 likes. Then he's rich, and generous, and good, and 
 loves us all ; and / say it's a pity my plan is spoilt." 
 
 "' I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown-up enough for 
 Meg, and altogether too much of a weathercock, just 
 now, for any one to depend on. Don't make plans, 
 Jo ; but let time and their own hearts mate your 
 friends. We can't meddle safely in such matters, and 
 had better not get ' romantic rubbish,' as you call it, 
 into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship." 
 
 "Well, I won't; but I hate to see things going all 
 criss-cross, and getting snarled up, when a pull here, 
 and a snip there, would straighten it out. I wish 
 wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from 
 growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, 
 cats, — more's the pity ! " 
 
 "What's that about flat-irons and cats?" asked 
 
298 Little Women. 
 
 Meg, as she crept into the room, with the finished 
 letter in her hand. 
 
 " Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to 
 bed ; come on, Peggy," said Jo, unfolding herself, like 
 an animated puzzle. 
 
 " Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add 
 that I send my love to John," said Mrs. March, as she 
 glanced over the letter, and gave it back. 
 
 "Do you call him 'John'?" asked Meg, smiling, 
 with her innocent eyes looking down into her mother's. 
 
 " Yes ; he has b.een like a son to us, and we are 
 very fond of him," replied Mrs. March, returning the 
 look with a keen one. 
 
 " I'm glad of that ; he is so lonely. Good-night, 
 mother, dear. It is so inexpressibly comfortable to 
 have you here," was Meg's quiet answer. 
 
 The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender 
 one ; and, as she went away, Mrs. March said, with a 
 mixture of satisfaction and regret, " She does not love 
 John yet, but will soon learn to." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE. 
 
 JO'S face was a study next day, for the secret rather 
 weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to 
 look mysterious and important. Meg observed 
 it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she 
 had learned that the best way to manage Jo was by 
 the law of contraries, so she* felt sure of being told 
 everything if she did not ask. She was rather sur- 
 prised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, 
 and Jo assumed a patronizing air, which decidedly 
 aggravated Meg, who in her turn assumed an air of 
 dignified reserve, and devoted herself to her mother. 
 This left* Jo to her own devices ; for Mrs. March had 
 tal^n her place as nurse, and bid her rest, exercise, and 
 amuse herself after her long confinement. Amy being 
 gone, Laurie was her only refuge ; and, much as she 
 enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, 
 for he was an incorrigible tease, and she feared he 
 would coax her secret from her. 
 
 She was quite right ; for the mischief-loving lad no 
 sooner suspected a mystery, than he set himself to 
 finding it out, and led Jo a trying life of it. He 
 
 299 
 
300 Litte Women, 
 
 wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened and scolded ; 
 affected indifference, that he might surprise the truth 
 from her ; declared he knew, then that he didn't care ; 
 and, at last, by dint of perseverance, he satisfied himself 
 that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke. Feeling in- 
 dignant that he was not taken into his tutor's con- 
 fidence, he set his wits to work to devise some proper 
 retaliation for the slight. 
 
 Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter, 
 and was absorbed in preparations for her father's re- 
 turn ; but all of a sudden a change seemed to come 
 over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike 
 herself. She started when spoken to, blushed when 
 looked at, was very quiet, and sat over her sewing 
 with a timid, troubled look on her face. To her 
 mother's inquiries she answered that she was quite 
 well, and Jo's she silenced by begging to be let alone. 
 
 "She feels it in the air — love, I mean — and she's 
 going very fast. She's got most of the symptoms, is 
 twittery and cross, don't eat, lies awake, and mopes 
 in corners. I caught her singing that song about ' the 
 silver-voiced brook,' and once she said 'John,' as you 
 do, and then turned as red as a poppy. Whatever 
 shall we do ? " said Jo, looking ready for any measures, 
 however violent. 
 
 "Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and 
 patient, and father's coming will settle everything,'* 
 replied her mother. 
 
 " Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How 
 odd ! Teddy never seals mine," said Jo, next day, as 
 she distributed the contents of the little post-office. 
 
 Mrs, March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, 
 
Laurie makes Mischief, 301 
 
 when a sound from Meg made them look up to see 
 her staring at her note, with a frightened face. 
 
 "My child, w4iat is it^" cried her mother, running 
 to her, while Jo tried to take the paper which had done 
 the mischief. 
 
 " It's all a mistake — he didn't send it — oh, Jo, how 
 could you do it } " and Meg hid her face in her hands, 
 crying as if her heart was quite broken. 
 
 "Me! I've done nothing! What's she talking 
 about?" cried Jo, bewildered. 
 
 Meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled 
 a crumpled note from her pocket, and threw it at Jo, 
 saying, reproachfully, — 
 
 " You wrote it, and that bad boy helped you. How 
 could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel to us both.'' " 
 
 Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were 
 reading the note, which was written in a peculiar hand. 
 
 "My Dearest Margaret, — 
 
 "I can no longer restrain my passion, and must 
 know my fate before I return. I dare not tell your 
 parents yet, but I think they would consent if they 
 knew that we adored one another. Mr. Laurence 
 will help me to some good place, and then, my sweet 
 girl, you will make me happy. I implore you to say 
 nothing to your family yet, but to send one word of 
 hope through Laurie to 
 
 " Your devoted 
 
 "John." 
 
 " Oh, the little villain ! that's the way he meant to 
 pay me for keeping my word to mother. I'll give him 
 
302 Little Women, 
 
 a hearty scolding, and bring him over to beg pardon," 
 cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice. But 
 her mother held her back, saying, with a look she 
 seldom wore, — 
 
 '' Stop', Jo, 3^ou must clear yourself first. You have 
 played so man}' pranks, that I am afraid you have had 
 a hand in this." 
 
 " On my word, mother, I haven't ! I never saw 
 that note before, and don't know anything about it, as 
 true as I live ! " said Jo, so earnestly, that they believed 
 her. " If I had taken a part in it I'd have done it 
 better than this, and have written a sensible note. I 
 should think you'd have known Mr. Brooke wouldn't 
 write such stuff as that," she added, scornfully tossing 
 down the paper. 
 
 " It's like his writing," faltered Meg, comparing it 
 with the note in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, Meg, you didn't answer it? " cried Mrs. March, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Yes, I did ! " and Meg hid her face again, over- 
 come with shame. 
 
 " Here's a scrape ! Do let me bring that wicked 
 boy over to explain, and be lectured. I can't rest till 
 I get hold of him ; " and Jo made for the door again. 
 
 " Hush ! let me manage this, for it is worse than I 
 thought. Margaret, tell me the whole story," com- 
 manded Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg, yet keeping 
 hold of Jo, lest she should fly off. 
 
 "I received the first letter from Laurie, who didn't 
 look as if he knew anything about it," began Meg, 
 without looking up. " I was worried at first, and 
 meant to tell you ; then I remembered how you liked 
 
Laurie makes Mischief. 303 
 
 Ml. Brooke, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I kept 
 my little secret for a few days. I'm so silly that I 
 liked to think no one knew ; and, while I was deciding 
 what to say, I felt like the girls in books, who have 
 such things to do. Forgive me, mother, I'm paid for 
 my silliness now ; I never can look him in the face 
 again." 
 
 " What did you say to him? " asked Mrs. March. 
 
 " I only said I was too young to do anything about 
 it yet ; that I didn't wish to have secrets from you, and 
 he must speak to father. I was very grateful for his 
 kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, 
 for a long while." 
 
 Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped 
 her hands, exclaiming, with a laugh, — 
 
 " You are almost equal to Caroline Percy, who was 
 a pattern of prudence ! Tell on, Meg. What did he 
 say to that ? " 
 
 " He writes in a different way entirely ; telling me 
 that he never sent any love-letter at all, and is very 
 sorry that my roguish sister, Jo, should take such 
 liberties with our names. It's very kind and re- 
 spectful, but think how dreadful for me ! " 
 
 Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image 
 of despair, and Jo tramped about the room, calling 
 Laurie names. All of a sudden she stopped, caught 
 up the two notes, and, after looking at them closely, 
 said, decidedly, " I don't believe Brooke ever saw 
 either of these letters. Teddy wrote both, and keeps 
 yours to crow over me with, because I wouldn't tell 
 him my secret." 
 
 " Don't have any secrets, Jo ; tell it to mother, and 
 
304 Little Women. 
 
 keep out of trouble, as I should have done," said 
 Meg, warningly. 
 
 '' Bless you, child ! mother told me." 
 
 " That will do, Jo* I'll comfort Meg while you go 
 and get Laurie. I shall sift the matter to the bottom, 
 and put a stop to such pranks at once." 
 
 Away ran Jo, and Mrs. March ^ntly told Meg Mr. 
 Brooke's real feelings. " Now, dear, what are your 
 own.f* Do you love him enough to wait till he can 
 m^ke a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite 
 M-ee for thfe present } " 
 
 " I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to 
 have anything to do with lovers for a long while, — 
 perhaps never," answered Meg, petulantly. " If John 
 doesn't know anything about this nonsense, don't tell 
 him, and make Jo and Laurie hold their tongues. I 
 won't be deceived and plagued, and made a fool of, — 
 it's a shame ! " 
 
 Seeing that Meg's usually gentle temper was roused, 
 and her pride hurt by this mischievous joke, Mrs. 
 March soothed her by promises of entire silence, and 
 great discretion for the future. The instant Laurie's 
 step was heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, 
 and Mrs. March received the culprit alone. Jo had 
 not told him why he was wanted, fearing he wouldn't 
 come ; but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March's 
 face, and stood twirling his hat with a guilty air, 
 which convicted him at once. Jo was dismissed, but 
 chose to march up and down the hall like a sentinel, 
 having some fear that the prisoner might bolt. The 
 sound of voices in the parlor rose and fell for half an 
 
Laurie makes Mischief. 305 
 
 hour ; but what happened during that interview the 
 girls never knew. 
 
 When they were called in, Laurie was standing by 
 their mother with such a penitent face, that Jo forgave 
 him on the spot, but did not think it wise to betray the 
 fact. Meg received his humble apology, and was 
 much comforted by the assurance that Brooke knew 
 nothing of the joke. 
 
 " I'll never tell him to my dying day, — wild horses 
 shan't drag it out of me ; so you'll forgive me, Meg, 
 and I'll do anything to show how out-and-out sorry I 
 am," he added, looking very much ashamed of himself. 
 
 " I'll try ; but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to 
 do. I didn't think you could be so sly and malicious, 
 Laurie," replied Meg, trying to hide her maidenly 
 confusion under a gravely reproachful air. 
 
 " It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve 
 to be spoken to for a month ; but you will, though, 
 won't you ? " and Laurie folded his hands together, 
 with such an imploring gesture, and rolled up his eyes 
 in such a meekly repentant way, as he spoke in his 
 irresistibly persuasive tone, that it was impossible to 
 frown upon him, in spite of his scandalous behavior. 
 Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face re- 
 laxed, in spite of her efforts to keep sober, when she 
 heard him declare that he would atone for his sins 
 by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a 
 worm before the injured damsel. 
 
 Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her 
 heart against him, and succeeding only in primming 
 up her face into an expression of entire disapproba- 
 tion. Laurie looked * at her once or twice, but, as she 
 20 
 
3o6 Little Women. 
 
 showed no sign of relenting, he felt injured, and 
 turned his back on her till the others were done with 
 him, when he made her a low bow, and walked off 
 without a word. 
 
 As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been 
 more forgiving ; and, when Meg and her mother 
 went up stairs, she felt lonely, and longed for Teddy. 
 After resisting for some time, she yielded to the im- 
 pulse, and, armed with a book to return, went over to 
 the big house. 
 
 " Is Mr. Laurence in ? " asked Jo, of a housemaid, 
 who was coming down stairs. 
 
 '• Yes, miss ; but I don't believe he's seeable just yet." 
 
 "Why not; is he ill?" 
 
 " La, no, miss ! but he's had a scene with Mr. Lau- 
 rie, who is in one of his tantrums about something, 
 which vexes the old gentleman, so I dursn't go nigh 
 him." 
 
 " Where is Laurie ? " 
 
 '' Shut up in his room, and he won't answer, though 
 I've been a-tapping. I don't know what's to become 
 of the dinner, for it's ready, and there's no one to eat 
 it." 
 
 " I'll go and see what the matter is. I'm not afraid 
 of either of them." 
 
 Up went Jo, and knocked smartly on the door of 
 Laurie's little study. 
 
 '' Stop that, or I'll open the door and make you ! " 
 called out the young gentleman, in a threatening tone. 
 
 Jo immediately pounded again ; the door flew open, 
 and in she bounced, before Laurie could recover from 
 his surprise. Seeing that he really was out of temper, 
 
Laurie makes Mischief, 307 
 
 Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a con- 
 trite expression, and, going artistically down upon her 
 knees, said, meekl}^, '"' Please forgive me for being so 
 cross. I came to make it up, and can't go away till I 
 have." 
 
 " It's all right ; get up, and don't be a goose, Jo," 
 was the cavalier reply to her petition. 
 
 " Thank you ; I will. Could I ask what's the mat- 
 ter? You don't look exactly easy in your mind." 
 
 " I've been shaken, and I won't bear it ! " growled 
 Laurie, indignantly. 
 
 " Who did it.?" demanded Jo. 
 
 "Grandfather; if it had been any one else I'd 
 have — " and the injured youth finished his sentence 
 by an energetic gesture of the right arm. 
 
 " That's nothing ; I often shake you, and you don't 
 mind," said Jo, soothingly. 
 
 '' Pooh ! you're a girl, and it's fun ; but I'll allow no 
 man to shake meT 
 
 " I don't think any one would care to try it, if you 
 looked as much like a thunder-cloud as you do now. 
 Why were you treated so } " 
 
 "Just because I wouldn't say what your mother 
 wanted me for. I'd promised not to tell, and of course 
 I wasn't going to break my woi;d." 
 
 " Couldn't you satisfy your grandpa in any other 
 way ? " 
 
 " No ; he ivould have the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth. I'd have told my part of the 
 scrape, if I could, without bringing Meg in. As I 
 couldn't, I held my tongue, and bore the scolding till 
 
3o8 Little Women, 
 
 the. old gentleman collared me. Then I got angry, 
 and bolted, for fear I should forget myself." 
 
 " It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know ; so go down 
 and make up. I'll help you." 
 
 " Hanged if I do ! I'm not going to be lectured 
 and pummelled by every one, just for a bit of a frolic. 
 I "djas sorry about Meg, and begged pardon like a man ; 
 but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in the wrong." 
 
 " He didn't know that." 
 
 " He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a 
 baby. It's no use, Jo ; he's got to learn that I'm able 
 to take care of myself, and don't need any one's apron- 
 string to hold on by." 
 
 "What pepper-pots you are ! " sighed Jo. "How 
 do you mean to settle this affair?" 
 
 " Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me 
 when I say I can't tell him what the row's about." 
 
 " Bless you ! he won't do that." 
 
 "• I won't go down till he does." 
 
 " Now, Teddy, be sensible ; let it pass, and I'll ex- 
 plain what I can. You can't stay here, so what's the 
 use of being melodramatic ? " 
 
 " I don't intend to stay here long, any-way. I'll 
 slip off and take a journey somewhere, and when 
 grandpa misses me he'll come round fast enough." 
 
 " I dare say ; but you ought not to go and worry 
 him." 
 
 " Don't preach. I'll go to Washington and see 
 Brooke ; it's gay there, and I'll enjoy myself after the 
 troubles." 
 
 " What fun you'd have ! I wish I could run off 
 
Laurie makes Mischief, 309 
 
 too ! " said Jo, forgetting her part of Mentor in lively 
 visions of martial life at the capital. 
 
 "Come on, then! Why not? You go and sur- 
 prise your father, and I'll stir up old Brooke. It 
 wouM be a glorious joke ; let's do it, Jo ! We'll leave 
 a letter saying we are all right, and trot off at once. 
 I've got money enough ; it v\^ill do you good, and be 
 no harm, as you go to your father." 
 
 For a moment Jo looked as if she vs^ould agree ; for, 
 wild as the' plan was, it just suited her. She was tired 
 of care and confinement, longed for change, and 
 thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the 
 novel charms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun. 
 Her eyes kindled as they turned wistfully toward the 
 window, but they fell on the old house opposite, and 
 she shook her head with sorrowful decision. 
 
 " If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have 
 a capital time ; but as I'm a miserable girl, I must be 
 proper, and stop at home. Don't tempt me, Teddy, 
 it's a crazy plan." 
 
 " Thaf s the fun of it ! " began Laurie, who had got 
 a wilful fit on him, and was possessed to break out of 
 bounds in some way. 
 
 " Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears. 
 ' Prunes and prisms' are my doom, and I may as well 
 make up my mind to it. I came here to moralize, 
 not to hear about things that make me skip to 
 think of." 
 
 " I knew Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, 
 but I thought you had more spirit," began Laurie, in- 
 sinuajtingly. 
 
 " Bad boy, be quiet. Sit down and think of your 
 
3IO Little Women, 
 
 own sins, don't go making me add to mine. If I get 
 your grandpa to apologize for the shaking, will you 
 give up running away?" asked Jo, seriously. 
 
 " Yes, but you won't do it," answered Laurie, who 
 wished to " make up," but felt that his outraged dignity 
 must be appeased first. 
 
 " If I can manage the young one I can the old one," 
 muttered Jo, as she walked a.way, leaving Laurie bent 
 over a railroad map, with his head propped up on 
 both hands. 
 
 '-' Come in ! " and Mr. Laurence's gruftVoice sounded 
 gruffer than ever, as Jo tapped at his door. 
 
 " It's only me, sir, come to return a book," she said, 
 blandly, as she entered. 
 
 "Want any more?" asked the old gentleman, look- 
 ing grim and vexed, but trying not to show it. 
 
 •' Yes, please, I like old Sam so well, I think I'll 
 try the second volume," returned Jo, hoping to pro- 
 pitiate him by accepting a second dose of " Boswell's 
 Johnson," as he had recommended that lively work. 
 
 The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little, as he rolled 
 the steps toward the shelf where the Johnsonian 
 literature was placed. Jo skipped up, and, sitting on 
 the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but 
 was really wondering how best to introduce the dan- 
 gerous object of her visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to 
 suspect that something was brewing in her mind ; for, 
 after taking several brisk turns about the room, he 
 faced round on her, speaking so abruptly, that " Ras- 
 selas " tumbled face downward on the floor. 
 
 "What has that boy been about? Don't try to 
 shield him, now ! I know he has been in mischief, 
 
Laurie makes Mischief, 311 
 
 by the way he acted when he came home. I can't get 
 a word from him ; and, when I threatened to shake the 
 truth out of him, he bolted up stairs, and locked him- 
 self into his room." 
 
 " He did do wrong, but we forgave him, and all 
 promised not to say 'a word to any one," began Jo, 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " That won't do ; he shall not shelter himself behind 
 a promise from you soft-hearted girls. If he's done 
 anything amiss, he shall confess, beg pardon, and be 
 punished. Out with it, Jo ! I won't be kept in the 
 dark." 
 
 Mr. Laurence looked so alarming, and spoke so 
 sharply, that Jo would have gladly run away, if she 
 could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, and he 
 stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay 
 and brave it out. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I cannot tell, mother forbid it. Laurie 
 has confessed, asked pardon, and been punished quite 
 enough. We don't keep silence to shield him, but 
 some one else, and it will make more trouble if you 
 interfere. Please don't ; it was partly my fault, but it's 
 all right now, so let's forget it, and talk about the 
 '• Rambler,' or something pleasant." 
 
 " Hang the ' Rambler ! ' come down and give me 
 your word that this harum-scarum boy of mine hasn't 
 done anything ungrateful or impertinent. If he has, 
 after all your kindness to him, I'll thrash him with 
 my own hands." 
 
 The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for 
 she knew the irascible old man would never lift a 
 finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to 
 
312 Little Women, 
 
 the contrary. She obediently descended, and made as 
 h'ght of the prank as she could without betraying Meg, 
 or forgetting the truth. 
 
 " Hum ! ha ! well, if the boy held his tongue because 
 he'd promised, and not from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. 
 He's a stubborn fellow, and hard to manage," said Mr. 
 Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he'd 
 been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his 
 brow with an air of relief. 
 
 *' So am I ; but a kind word will govern me when 
 all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't," 
 said Jo, trying to say a kind word for her friend, who 
 seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another. 
 
 "You think I'm not kind to him, hey?" was the 
 sharp answer. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, sir ; you are rather too kind some- 
 times, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries youi 
 patience. Don't you think you are ? " 
 
 Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to 
 look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her 
 bold speech. To her great relief and surprise, the old 
 gentleman only threw his spectacles on to the table 
 with a rattle, and exclaimed, frankly, — 
 
 ^'You're right, girl, I am I I love the boy, but' he 
 tries my patience past bearing, and I don't know how 
 it will end, if we go on so." 
 
 " I'll tell you, — he'll run away." Jo was sorry for 
 that speech the minute it was made ; she meant to 
 warn him that Laurie would not bear much restraint, 
 and hoped he would be more forbearing with the lad. 
 
 Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and 
 he sat down with a troubled glance at the picture of 
 
Laurie makes Mischief, 313 
 
 a handsome man, which hung over his table. It was 
 Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and 
 married against the imperious old man's will. Jo 
 fancied he remembered and regretted the past, and 
 she wished she had held her tongue. 
 
 " He won't do it, unless he is very much worried, 
 and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of 
 studying. I often think I should like to, especially 
 since my hair was cut ; so, if you ever miss us, you 
 may advertise for two boys, and look among the ships 
 bound for India." 
 
 She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked 
 relieved, evidently taking the whole as a joke. 
 
 " You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? where's 
 your respect for me, and your proper bringing up.? 
 Bless the boys and girls ! what torments they are ; yet 
 we can't do without them," he said, pinching her 
 cheeks good-humoredly. 
 
 " Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell 
 him it's all right, and advise him not to put on 
 tragedy airs with his grandfather ; I won't bear it." 
 
 " He won't come, sir; he feels badly because you 
 didn't bel'leve him when he said he couldn't tell. I 
 think the shaking hurt his feelings very much." 
 
 Jo tried to look pathetic, but must have failed, for 
 Mr. Laurence began to laugh, and she knew the day 
 was won. 
 
 "I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not 
 shaking me^ I suppose. What the dickens does the 
 fellow expect ? " and the old gentleman looked a trifle 
 ashamed of his own testiness. 
 
 "If I was you, I'd write liim an apology, sir. He 
 
314 Little Women, 
 
 says he won fc come down till he has one ; and talks 
 about Washino^ton, and goes on in an absurd way. A 
 formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, 
 and bring him d^wn quite amiable. Try it ; he likes 
 fun, and this way is better than talking. I'll carry it 
 up^ and teach him his duty." 
 
 Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his 
 spectacles, saying, slowly, "You're a sly puss! but I 
 don't mind being managed by you and Beth. Here, 
 give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this 
 nonsense." 
 
 The note w is written in the terms which one gen- 
 tleman would use to another after offering some deep 
 insult. Jo dropped a kiss on the top of Mr. Lau- 
 rence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology 
 under Laurie's door, advising him, through the key- 
 hole, to be submissive, decorous, and a few other 
 agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door locked 
 again, she left the note to do its work, and was going 
 quietly away, when the young gentleman slid down 
 the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, say- 
 ing, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, 
 "What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get 
 blown up.^" he added, laughing. 
 
 " No ; he was pretty clever, on the whole." 
 
 " Ah ! I got it all round ! even you cast me off over 
 there, and I felt just ready to go to the deuce," he be- 
 gan, apologetically. 
 
 " Don't talk in that way ; turn over a new leaf and 
 begin again, Teddy, my son." 
 
 "I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling 
 them, as I used to spoil my copy-books ; and I make 
 
La urie makes Mischief, 315 
 
 so many beginnings there never will be an end/' he 
 said, dolefully. 
 
 " Go and eat your dinner ; you'll feel better after it. 
 Men always croak when they are hungry," and Jo 
 whisked out at the front door after that. 
 
 "That's a 'label 'on my ' sect,' answered Laurie, 
 quoting Amy, as he went to partake of humble-pie 
 dutifully with his grandfather, who was quite saintly 
 in temper, and overwhelmingly respectful in manner, 
 all the rest of the day. 
 
 Every one thought the matter ended, and the little 
 cloud blown over ; but the mischief was done, for, 
 though others forgot it, Meg remembered. She never 
 alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a 
 good deal, dreamed dreams more than ever ; and, once, 
 Jo, rummaging her sister's desk for stamps, found a 
 oit of paper scribbled over with the words, "Mrs. 
 John Brooke ; " whereat she groaned tragically, and 
 cast it into the fire, feeling that Laurie's prank had 
 hastened the evil day for her. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PLEASANT MEADOWS. 
 
 LIKE sunshine after storm were the peaceful 
 weeks which followed. The invalids im- 
 proved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk 
 of returning early in the new year. Beth was soon 
 able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself 
 with the well-beloved cats, at first, and, in time, with 
 doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. 
 Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo 
 took her a dafly airing about the house, in her strong 
 arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burnt her white 
 hands cooking delicate messes for "the dear;" while 
 Am}^, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return 
 by giving away as many of her treasures as she could 
 prevail on her sisters to accept. 
 
 As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began 
 to haunt the house, and Jo frequently convulsed the 
 family by proposing utterly impossible, or magnifi- 
 cently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually 
 merry Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, 
 and would have had bonfires, sky-rockets, and tri- 
 umphal arches, if he had had his own way. After 
 UKuix- skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pari 
 
Pleasant Meadows. 317 
 
 were considered effectually quenched, and went about 
 with forlorn faces, which were rather belied by explo- 
 sions of laughter when the two got together. 
 
 Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered 
 in a splendid Christmas-day. Hannah "felt in her 
 bones that it was going to be an uncommonly plummy 
 da}'," and she proved herself a true prophetess, for 
 everybody and everything seemed bound to produce 
 a grand success. To begin with : Mr. March wrote 
 that he should soon be with them ; then Beth felt 
 uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in 
 her mother's gift, — a soft crimson merino wrapper, — 
 was borne in triumph to the window, to behold the 
 offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had 
 done their best to be worthy of the name, for, like 
 elves, they had worked by night, and conjured up a 
 comical surprise. Out in the garden stood a stately 
 snow-maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket 
 of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of new 
 music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an Afghan 
 round her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas carol 
 issuing from her lips, on a pink paper streamer : — 
 
 " THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH. 
 
 " God bless you, dear Queen Bess ! 
 May nothing you dismay; 
 But health, and peace, and happiness, 
 Be yours, this Christmas-day. 
 
 "Here's fruit to feed our busy bee, 
 And -flowers for her nose ; 
 Here's music for her pianee, — 
 An Afghan for her toes 
 
3i8 Little Womefi, 
 
 "A portrait of Joanna, see, 
 By Raphael No. 2, 
 Who labored with great industry, 
 To make it fair and true. 
 
 " Accept a ribbon red I beg. 
 For Madam Purrer's tail ; 
 And ice cream made bj lovely Peg,— 
 A Mont Blanc in a pail. 
 
 "Their dearest love my makers laid 
 Within my breast of snow. 
 Accept it, and the Alpine maid. 
 From Laurie and from Jo." 
 
 How Beth laughed when she saw it ! how Laurie 
 ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridic- 
 ulous speeches Jo made as she presented them ! 
 
 " Fm so full of happiness, that, if father was only 
 here, I couldn't hold one drop more," said Beth, quite 
 sighing with contentment as Jo carried her oft' to the 
 study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh her- 
 self with some of the delicious grapes the "Jungfrau" 
 had sent her. 
 
 " So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein 
 reposed the long-desired Undine and Sintram. 
 
 " I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the en- 
 graved copy of the Madonna and Child, which her 
 mother had given her, in a pretty frame. 
 
 " Of course I am," cried Meg, smoothing the silvery 
 folds of her first silk dress ; for Mr. Laurence had 
 insisted on giving it. 
 
 " How can / be otherwise ! " said Mrs. March, grate- 
 fully, as her eyes went from her husband's letter to 
 
Pleasant Meado'Cos, 319 
 
 Beth's smiling face, and her hand caressed the brooch 
 made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown 
 hair, which the girls had just fastened on her breast. 
 
 Now and then, in this work-a-day world, things do 
 happen in the delightful story-book fashion, and what 
 a comfort that is. Half an hour after every one had 
 said they were so happy they could only hold one 
 drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the 
 parlor door, and popped his head in very quietly. 
 He might just as well have turned a somersault, and 
 uttered an Indian war-whoop ; for his face was so 
 full of suppressed excitement, and his voice so treach- 
 erously joyful, that every one jumped up, though he 
 only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "Here's another 
 Christmas present for the March family." 
 
 Before the words were well out of his mouth, he 
 was whisked away somehow, and in his place ap- 
 peared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on 
 the arm of another tall man, who tried to say some- 
 thing and couldn't. Of course there was a general 
 stampede ; and for several minutes everybody seemed to 
 lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and 
 no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in 
 the embrace of four pairs of loving arms ; Jo disgraced 
 herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored 
 by Laurie in the china closet ; Mr. Brooke kissed Meg- 
 entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently 
 explained ; and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a 
 stool, and, never stopping to get up, hugged and cried 
 over her father's boots in the .most touching manner. 
 Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held 
 
320 Little Women, 
 
 up her hand with a warning, " Hush ! remember 
 Beth ! " 
 
 But it was too late ; the study door flew open, — the 
 little red wrapper appeared on the threshold, — joy 
 put strength into the feeble limbs, — and Beth ran 
 straight into her father's arms. Never mind what 
 happened just after that ; for the full hearts over- 
 flowed, washing away the bitterness of the past, and 
 leaving only the sweetness of the present. 
 
 It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set 
 everybody straight again, — for Hannah was dis- 
 covered behind the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, 
 which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed 
 up from the kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. 
 March began to thank Mr. Brooke for his faithful 
 care of her husband, at which Mr, Brooke suddenly 
 remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and, seizing 
 Laurie, he precipitately retired. Then the two in- 
 valids were ordered to repose, which they did, by both 
 sitting in one big chair, and talking hard. 
 
 Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise 
 them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had 
 been allowed by his doctor to take advantage of it ; 
 how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was 
 altogether a most estimable and upright young man. 
 Why Mr. March paused a minute just there, and^ 
 after a glance at Meg, who w^as violently poking the 
 fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the 
 eyebrows, I leave you to imagine ; also why Mrs. 
 March gently nodded • her head, and asked, rather 
 abruptly, if he wouldn't have something to eat. Jo 
 saw and understood the look ; and she stalked grimly 
 

 lll!:f!.~^: 
 
 But it -was too late; the study-door flew open, and Beth ran 
 straight into her father's arms. — Pack 320. 
 
Pleasant Meadows. 321 
 
 away, to get wine and beef tea, muttering to herself, 
 as she slammed the door, " I hate estimable young 
 men with brown eyes ! " 
 
 There never was such a Christmas dinner as they 
 had that day. The fat turkey was a sight to behold, 
 when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned and 
 decorated. So was the plum-pudding, which quite 
 melted in one's mouth ; likewise the jellies, in which 
 Amy revelled like a fly in a honey-pot. Everything 
 turned out well ; which was a mercy, Hannah said, 
 " For my mind was that flustered, mum, that it's a 
 merrycle I didn't roast the pudding and stuff' the 
 turkey with raisens, let alone bilin' of it in a cloth." 
 
 Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them ; 
 also Mr. Brooke, — at whom Jo glowered darkly, to 
 Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy-chairs stood 
 'side by side at the head of the table, in which sat 
 Beth and her father, feasting, modestly, on chicken and 
 a little fruit. They drank healths, told stories, sung 
 songs, "reminisced," as the old folks say, and had 
 a thoroughly good time. A sleigh-ride had been 
 planned, but the girls would not leave their father ; so 
 the guests departed early, and, as twilight gathered, 
 the happy family sat together round the fire. 
 
 " Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal 
 Christmas we expected to have. Do you remember ? " 
 asked Jo, breaking a short pause, which had followed 
 a long conversation about many things. 
 
 " Rather a pleasant year on the whole ! " said Meg, 
 smiling at the fire, and congratulating herself on 
 having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity. 
 
 "I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed 
 
322 Little Women, 
 
 Amy, watching the light shine on her ring, with 
 thoughtful eyes. 
 
 " I'm glad it's over, because we've 'got you back," 
 whispered Beth, who sat on her father's knee. 
 
 " Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little 
 pilgrims, especially the latter part of it. But you 
 have got on bravely ; and I think the burdens are in a 
 fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March, 
 looking, with fatherly satisfaction, at the four young 
 faces gathered round him. 
 
 "How do you know? Did mother tell you.?" 
 asked Jo. 
 
 " Not much ; stravs^s show which way the wind 
 blows ; and I've made several discoveries today." 
 
 "Oh, tell us what they are!" cried Meg, who sat 
 beside him. 
 
 " Here is one ! " and, taking up the hand which lay' 
 on the arm of his chair, he pointed to the roughened 
 forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or three little 
 hard spots on the palm. " I remember a time when 
 this hand was white and smooth, and your first care 
 was to keep it so. It was very pretty then, but to 
 me it is much prettier now, — for in these seeming 
 blemishes I read a little history. A burnt offering has 
 been made of vanity ; this hardened palm has earned 
 something better than blisters, and I'm sure the sew- 
 ing done by these pricked fingers will last a long time, 
 so much good-will went into the stitches. Meg, my 
 dear, I value the womanly skill which keeps home 
 happy, more than white hands or fashionable accom- 
 plishments ; I'm proud to shake this good, industrious 
 
Pleasant Meadows, 323 
 
 little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give 
 it away." 
 
 If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient 
 labor, she received it in the hearty pressure of her 
 father's hand, and the approving smile he gave her. 
 
 "What about Jo? Please say something nice ; for 
 she has tried so hard, and been so very, very good to 
 me," said Beth, in her father's ear. 
 
 He laughed, and looked across at the tall girl who 
 sat opposite, with an unusually mild expression in her 
 brown face. 
 
 " In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the 'son Jo' 
 whom I left a year ago," said Mr. March. " I see a 
 young lady who pins her collar straight, laces her 
 boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies 
 on the rug, as she used to do. Her face is rather thin 
 and pale, just now, with watching and anxiety ; but I 
 like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her 
 voice is lower ; she doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, 
 and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly 
 way, which delights me. I rather miss my wild girl ; 
 but if I get a strong, helpful, tender-hearted woman 
 in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don't know 
 whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but I 
 do know that in all Washington I couldn't find any- 
 thing beautiful enough to be bought with the five-and- 
 twenty dollars which my good girl sent me." 
 
 Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and 
 her thin face grew rosy in the firelight, as she received 
 her father's praise, feeling that she did deserve a 
 portion of it. 
 
324 Little Women, 
 
 " Now Beth ; " said Amy, longing for her turn, but 
 ready to wait. 
 
 " There's so little of her I'm afraid to say much, for 
 fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not 
 so shy as she used to be," began their father, cheer- 
 fully ; but, recollecting how nearly he had lost her, 
 he held her close, saying, tenderly, with her cheek 
 against his own, " I've got you safe, my Beth, and I'll 
 keep you so, please God." 
 
 After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, 
 who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said, with a 
 caress of the shining hair, — 
 
 " I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, 
 ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave Meg 
 her place to-night, and has waited on every one with 
 patience and good-humor. I also observe that she 
 does not fret much, nor prink at the glass, and has 
 not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she 
 wears ; so I conclude that she has learned to think 
 of other people more, and of herself less, and has 
 decided to try and mould her character as carefully as 
 she moulds her little clay figures. I am glad of this ; 
 for though I should be very proud of a graceful statue 
 made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable 
 daughter, with a talent for making life beautiful to 
 herself and others." 
 
 "What are you thinking of, Beth.?" asked Jo, when 
 Amy had thanked her father, and told about her ring. 
 
 "I read in 'Pilgrim's Progress' today, how, after 
 many troubles. Christian and Hopeful came to a 
 pleasant green meadow, where lilies bloomed all the 
 year round, and there they rested happily, as we do 
 
Pleasant Meadows, 325 
 
 now, before they went on to their journe/s end," 
 answered Beth ; adding, as she slipped out of her 
 father's arms, and went slowly to the instrument, 
 " It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old 
 place. I'll try to sing the song of the shepherd boy 
 which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for 
 father, because he likes the verses." 
 
 So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly 
 touched the keys, and, in the sweet voice they had 
 never thought to hear again, sung, to her own accom- 
 paniment, the quaint hymn, which was a singularly 
 fitting song for her : — 
 
 "He that is down need fear no fall; 
 He that is low no pride; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God tb be his guide. 
 
 "I am content with what I have, 
 Little be it or much ; 
 And, Lord ! contentment still I crave, 
 Because Thou savest such. 
 
 "Fulness to them a burden is, 
 That go on Pilgrimage ; 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
 Is best from age to age ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE Q^UESTION. 
 
 LIKE bees swarming after their queen, mother 
 and daughters hovered about Mr. March the 
 next day, neglecting everything to look at, 
 wait upon, and listen to, the new invalid, who was in 
 a fair way to be killed by kindness. As he sat propped 
 up in the big chair by Beth's sofa, with the other three 
 close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and 
 then, "to peek at the dear man," nothing seemed 
 needed to complete their happiness. But something 
 ivas needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none 
 confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at 
 one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes 
 followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and 
 was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke's umbrella, 
 which had been left in the hall ; Meg was absent- 
 minded, shy and silent, started when the bell rang, 
 and colored when John's name was mentioned ; Amy 
 said " Every one seemed waiting for something, and 
 couldn't settle down, which was queer, since father 
 Vv'as safe at home,'.' and Beth innocently wondered 
 why their neighbors didn't run over as usual. 
 326 
 
Aunt March settles the Question, 327 
 
 Laurie went by in the afternoon, and, seeing Meg 
 at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a 
 melodramatic fit, for he fell down upon one knee in 
 the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped 
 his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon ; and 
 vhen Meg told him to behave himself, and go away, 
 he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, 
 and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair. 
 
 " What does the goose mean ? " said Meg, laughing, 
 and trying to look unconscious. 
 
 " He's showing you how your John will go on by 
 and by. Touching, isn't it.'^" answered Jo, scornfully. 
 
 "Don't say my yohn^ it isn't proper or true;" but 
 Meg's voice lingered over the words as if they sounded 
 pleasant to her. " Please don't plague me, Jo ; I've 
 told you I don't care jnuch about him, and there isn't 
 to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and 
 go on as before." 
 
 " We can't, for something has been said, and Laurie's 
 mischief has spoilt you for me. I see it, and so does 
 mother ; you are not like your old self a bit, and seem 
 ever so far away from me. I don't mean to plague 
 you, and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was 
 all settled. I hate to wait; so if you mean ever to do 
 it, make haste, and have it over quick," said Jo, 
 pettishly. 
 
 " / can't say or do anything till he speaks, and he 
 won't, because father said I was too young," began 
 Meg, bending over her work with a queer little smile, 
 which suggested that she did not quite agree with her 
 father on that point. 
 
 "If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, 
 
328 Little Women, 
 
 but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, 
 instead of giving a good, decided. No." 
 
 " I'm not so silly and weak as you think. I know 
 just what I should say, for Fve planned it all, so I 
 needn't be taken unawares ; there's no knowing what 
 may happen, and I wished to be prepared." 
 
 Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which 
 Meg had unconsciously assumed, and which was as 
 becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks. 
 
 "Would you mind telling me what you'd say?" 
 asked Jo, more respectfully. 
 
 " Not at all ; you are sixteen now, quite old enough 
 to be my confidant, and my experience will be useful 
 to you by and by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this 
 sort." 
 
 "Don't mean to have any; it's fun to watch other 
 people philander, but I should feel like a fool doing it 
 myself," said Jo, looking alarmed at the thought. 
 
 " I guess not, if you liked any one very much, and he 
 liked you." Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced 
 out at the lane where she had often seen lovers walking 
 together in the summer twilight. 
 
 " I thought you were going to tell your speech to 
 that man," said Jo, rudely shortening her sister's little 
 revery. 
 
 "Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and de- 
 cidedly, ' Thank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, 
 but I agree with father, that I am too young to enter 
 into any engagement at present ; so please say no more, 
 but let us be friends as we were.' " 
 
 " Hum ! that's stiff and cool enough. I don't believe 
 you'll ever say it, and I know he won't be satisfied if 
 
Aunt March settles the Question, 329 
 
 you do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in 
 books, you'll give in, rather than hurt his feelings." 
 
 "No I v^on't! I shall tell him I've made up my 
 mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity." 
 
 Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to re- 
 hearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made 
 her fly into her seat, and begin to sew as if her life 
 depended on finishing that particular seam in a given 
 time. Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, 
 and, when some one gave a modest tap, opened the 
 door with a grim aspect, which was anything but 
 hospitable. 
 
 "Good afternoon, I came to get my umbrella, — 
 that is, to see how your father finds himself today," 
 said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused, as his eye 
 went from one tell-tale face to the other. 
 
 "It's very well, he's in the rack, I'll get him, and 
 tell it you are here," and having jumbled her father 
 and the umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped 
 out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her 
 speech, and air her dignity. But the instant she 
 vanished, Meg began to sidle toward the door, mur- 
 muring, — 
 
 "Mother will like to see you, pray sit down, I'll 
 call her." 
 
 "Don't go; are you afraid of me, Margaret?" and 
 Mr. Brooke looked so hurt, that Meg thought she must 
 have done something very rude. She blushed up to 
 the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called 
 her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find 
 how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. 
 Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put 
 
330 Little Women, 
 
 out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said, 
 gratefully, — 
 
 "How can I be afraid when you have been so kind 
 to father? I only wish I could thank j^ou for it." 
 
 " Shall I tell you how? " asked Mr. Brooke, holding 
 the small hand fast in both his big ones, and looking 
 down at Meg with so much love in the brown eyes, 
 that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to 
 run away and to stop and listen. 
 
 "Oh no, please don't — I'd rather not," she said, 
 trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened 
 in spite of her denial. 
 
 " I won't trouble you, I only want to know if you 
 care for me a little, Meg, I love you so much, dear," 
 added Mr. Brooke, tenderly. 
 
 This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, 
 but Meg didn't make it, she forgot every word of it, 
 hung her head, and answered, " I don't know," so 
 softly, that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish 
 little reply. 
 
 He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, toi 
 he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the 
 plump hand gratefully, and said, in his most persua- 
 sive tone, "Will you try and find out? I want to 
 know so much ; for I can't go to work with any heart 
 until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the 
 end or not." 
 
 " I'm too young," faltered Meg, wondering whv she 
 was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it. 
 
 "I'll wait; and, in the mean time, you could be 
 learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, 
 dear ? " 
 
Aunt March settles the Question. 331 
 
 "Not if I chose to learn it, but — " 
 
 " Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and 
 this is easier than German," broke in John, getting 
 possession of the other hand, so that she had no way 
 of hiding her face, as he bent to look into it. 
 
 His tone was properly beseeching ; but, stealing a 
 shy look at him, Meg saw that his eyes were merry as 
 well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of 
 one who had no doubt of his success. This nettled 
 her ; Annie Moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came 
 into her mind, and the love of power, which sleeps in 
 the bosoms of the best of little women, woke up all 
 of a sudden, and took possession of her. She felt 
 excited and strange, and, not knowing what else to do, 
 followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her 
 hands, said, petulantly, " I donH choose ; please go 
 away, and let me be ! " 
 
 Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the 
 air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen 
 Meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered 
 him. 
 
 " Do you really mean that ? " he asked, anxiously, 
 following her as she walked away. 
 
 "Yes, I do ; I don't want to be worried about such 
 things. Father says I needn't ; it's too soon, and I'd 
 rather not." 
 
 " Mayn't I hope you'll change your mind by and 
 by? I'll wait, and say nothing till you have had more 
 time. Don't play with me, Meg. I didn't think that 
 of you." 
 
 " Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't," 
 
332 Little Women, 
 
 said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her 
 lover's patience and her own power. 
 
 He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly 
 more like the novel heroes whom she admii ed ; but he 
 neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the 
 room, as they did ; he just stood looking at her so 
 wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relent- 
 ing in spite of her. What would have happened 
 next I cannot say, if x\unt March had not come hob- 
 bling in at this interesting minute. 
 
 The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her 
 nephew ; for she had met Laurie as she took her 
 airing, and, hearing of Mr. March's arrival, drove 
 straight out to see him. The family were all busy in 
 the back part of the house, and she had made her way 
 quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise 
 two of them so much, that Meg started as if she had 
 seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study. 
 
 "Bless me! what's all this?" cried the old lady, 
 with a rap of her cane, as she glanced from the pale 
 young gentleman to the scarlet young lady. 
 
 " It's father's friend. I'm so surprised to see you ! " 
 stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture 
 now. 
 
 " That's evident," returned Aunt March, sitting 
 down. " But what is father's friend saying, to make 
 you look like a peony? There's mischief going on, 
 and I insist upon knowing what it is ! " w^ith another 
 rap. 
 
 " We were merely talking. Mr. Brooke came for 
 his umbrella," began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke 
 and the umbrella were safelv out of the house. 
 
Aunt March settles the Question. 2)7)?i 
 
 "Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand 
 now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a 
 wrong message in one of your pa's letters, and I made 
 her tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, 
 child?" cried Aunt March, looking scandalized. 
 
 "Hush! he'll hear! Shan't I call mother?" said 
 Meg, much troubled. 
 
 " Not yet. I've something to say to you, and I 
 must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean 
 to marry this Cook ? If you do, not one penny of my 
 money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a 
 sensible girl," said the old lady, impressively. 
 
 Now Aunt March possessed, in perfection, the art 
 of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest 
 people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us have 
 a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are 
 young, and in love. If Aunt March had begged Meg 
 to accept John Brooke, she would probably have 
 declared she couldn't think of it ; but, as she was 
 peremptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately 
 made up her mind that she would. Inclination as 
 well as perversity made the decision easy, and, being 
 already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with 
 unusual spirit. 
 
 P^ " I shall marry whom I please. Aunt March, and 
 you can leave your money to any one you like," she 
 said, nodding her head with a resolute air. 
 
 " Highty tighty ! Is that the way you take my ad- 
 vice, miss? You'll be soiTy for it, by and by, when 
 you've tried love in a cottage, and found it a failure." 
 
 " It can't be a worse one than some people find in 
 big houses," retorted Meg. 
 
334 ' Little Women, 
 
 Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at 
 the girl, — for she did not know her in this new 
 mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave 
 and independent, — so glad to defend John, and assert 
 her right to love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw 
 that she had begun wrong, and, after a little pause, 
 made a fresh start, saying, as mildly as she could, 
 " Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable, and take my 
 advice. I mean it kindly, and don't w^ant you to 
 spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the 
 beginning. You ought to marry well, and help your 
 family ; it's your duty to make a rich match, and it 
 ought to be impressed upon you." 
 
 "Father and mother don't think so ; they like John, 
 though he is poor." 
 
 " Your pa and ma, my dear, have no more worldly 
 wisdom than two babies." 
 
 " I'm glad of it," cried Meg, stoutly. 
 
 Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her 
 lecture. " This Rook is poor, and hasn't got any rich 
 relations, has he } " 
 
 " No ; but he has many warm friends." 
 
 " You can't live on friends ; try it, and see how cool 
 they'll grow. He hasn't any business, has he?" 
 
 " Not yet ; Mr. Laurence is going to help him." jfl|||^ 
 
 " That won't last long. James Laurence is a 
 crotchety old fellow, and not to be depended on. So 
 you intend to marry a man without money, position, 
 or business, and go on w^orking harder than you do 
 now, when you might be comfortable all your days by 
 minding me, and doing better? I thought 3-ou had 
 more sense. Mes"." 
 
Aunt March settles the Question. 335 
 
 " I couldn't do better if I waited half my life ! 
 John is good and wise ; he's got heaps of talent ; he's 
 willing to work, and sure to get on, he's so energetic 
 and brave. Every one likes and respects him, and 
 I'm proud to think he cares for me, though I'm so 
 poor, and young, and silly," said Meg, looking pret- 
 tier than ever in her earnestness. 
 
 " He knows you have got rich relations, child ; 
 that's the secret of his liking, I suspect." 
 
 "Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? 
 John is above such meanness, and I won't listen to 
 you a minute if you talk so," cried Meg, indignantly, 
 forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady's 
 suspicions. " My John wouldn't marry for money, 
 any more than I would. We are willing to work, and 
 we mean to wait. I'm not afraid of being poor, for 
 I've been happy so far, and I know I shall be with 
 him, because he loves me, and I — " 
 
 Meg stopped there, remembering, all of a sudden, 
 that she hadn't made up her mind ; that she had told 
 "her John" to go away, and that he might be over- 
 hearing her inconsistent remarks. 
 
 Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her 
 heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, 
 and something in the girl's happy young face made 
 the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour. 
 
 ** Well ; I wash my hands of the whole affair ! 
 You are a wilful child, and you've lost more than you 
 know by this piece of folly. No, I won't stop ; I'm 
 disappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your pa 
 now. Don't expect anything from me when you are 
 
33^ Little Woinen. 
 
 married ; your Mr. Book's friends must take care of 
 you. I'm done with you forever." 
 
 And, slamming the door in Meg's face, Aunt March 
 drove off in liigh dudgeon. She seemed to take all 
 the girl's courage w^ith her ; for, when left alone, Meg 
 stood a moment undecided whether to laugh or cry. 
 Before she could make up her mind, she was taken 
 possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said, all in one 
 breath, " I couldn't help hearing, Meg. Thank you 
 for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that 
 you do care for me a little bit." 
 
 ".I didn't know how much, till she abused you," 
 began Meg. 
 
 " And I needn't go away, but may stay and be 
 happy — may I, dear } " 
 
 Here was another fine chance to make the crushing 
 speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of 
 doing either, and disgraced herself forever in Jo's eyes, 
 by meekly whispering, "Yes, John," and hiding her 
 face on Mr. Brooke's waistcoat. 
 
 Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo 
 came softly down stairs, paused an instant at the par- 
 lor door, and, hearing no sound within, nodded and 
 smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, 
 "She has sent him away as we planned, and that aftjj|k 
 is settled. I'll go and hear the fun, and have a good 
 laugh over it." 
 
 But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was trans- 
 fixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held 
 her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open 
 as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy, 
 and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banish- 
 
Aunt Ma}xh settles the Question, 337 
 
 ment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a 
 shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting 
 on the sofa, with the strong-minded sister enthroned 
 upon his knee, and wearing an expression of the most 
 abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold 
 shower-bath had suddenly fallen upon her, — for such 
 an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her 
 breath away. At the odd sound, the lovers turned 
 and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud 
 and shy; but " that man," as Jo called him, actually 
 laughed, and said, coolly, as he kissed the astonished 
 new comer, " Sister Jo, congratulate us ! " 
 
 That was adding insult to injury ! it was altogether 
 too much ! and, making some wild demonstration 
 with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rush- 
 ing up stairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming, 
 - tragically, as she burst into the room, " Oh, do some- 
 body go down quick ! John Brooke is acting dread- 
 fully, and Meg likes it ! " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed ; and, 
 casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded 
 tempestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and 
 Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most 
 agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little com- 
 jpfort from them ; so she went up to her refuge in the 
 garret, and confided her troubles to the rats. 
 
 Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that 
 afternoon ; but a great deal of talking was done, 
 and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by the 
 eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, 
 told his plans, and persuaded them to ^arrange every- 
 thing just as he wanted it. 
 
23^ Little Women. 
 
 The tea-bell rangf before he had finished describing^ 
 the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and ho 
 proudly took her into supper, both looking so happy, 
 th^t Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy 
 was very much impressed by John's devotion and 
 Meg's dignity. Beth beamed at them from a distance, 
 while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed the young couple 
 w^ith such tender satisfaction, that it was perfectly 
 evident Aunt March was right in calling them as 
 " unworldly as a pair of babies." No one ate much, 
 but every one looked very happy, and the old room 
 seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first ro- 
 mance of the family began there. 
 
 " You can't say ' nothing pleasant ever happens 
 now,' can you, Meg?" said Amy, ti-ying to decide 
 how she would group the lovers in the sketch she was 
 planning to take. 
 
 " No, I'm sure I can't. How much has happened 
 since I said that ! It seems a year ago," answered 
 Meg, who was in a blissful dream, lifted far above 
 such common things as bread and butter. 
 
 " The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, 
 and I rather think the changes have begun," said Mrs. 
 March. " In most families there comes, now and 
 then, a year full of events ; this has been such an one, 
 but it ends well, after all." 
 
 " Hope the next will end better," muttered Jo, who 
 found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger 
 before her face ; for Jo loved a few persons very 
 dearly, and dreaded to have their affection lost or 
 lessened in any way. 
 
 " I hope the third year from this will end better ; I 
 
Aunt March settles the Question, 339 
 
 mean it shall, if I live to work out my plans," baid 
 Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if everytliing had 
 become possible to him now. 
 
 " Doesn't it seem very long to wait? " asked Amy, 
 who was in a hurry for the wedding. 
 
 '' I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, 
 it seems a short time to me," answered Meg, with a 
 sweet gravity in her face, never seen there before. 
 
 " You have only to wait. / am to do the work," 
 said John, beginning his labors by picking up Meg's 
 napkin, with an expression which caused Jo to shake 
 her head, and then say to herself, with an air of relief, 
 as the front door banged, " Here comes Laurie ; now 
 we shall have a little sensible conversation." 
 
 But Jo was mistaken ; for Laurie came prancing in, 
 overflowing with spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking 
 bouquet for " Mrs. John Brooke," and evidently labor- 
 ing under the delusion that the whole affair had been 
 brought about by his excellent management. 
 
 " I knew Brooke would have it all his own wa}', — 
 he always does ; for when he makes up his mind to 
 accomplish anything, it's done, though the sky falls," 
 said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and 
 his congratulations. 
 
 "Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it 
 as a good omen for the future, and invite you to my 
 wedding on the spot," answered Mr. Brooke^ who felt 
 at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil. 
 
 " I'll come if I'm at the ends of the earth ; for the 
 sight of Jo's face alone, on that occasion, would be 
 worth a long journey. You don't look festive, ma'am ; 
 what's the matter.?" asked Laurie, following her into 
 
340 Little Women, 
 
 a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to 
 greet Mr. Laurence. 
 
 " I don't approve of the match, but I've made up 
 my mind to bear it, and shall not say a w^ord against 
 it," said Jo, solemnly. " You can't know how hard it 
 is for me to give up Meg," she continued, with a little 
 quiver in her voice. 
 
 '' You don't give her up. You only go halves," 
 said Laurie, consolingly. 
 
 " It never can be the same again. I've lost my 
 dearest friend, sighed Jo." 
 
 " You've got me, anyhow. I'm not good for much, 
 I know ; but I'll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my 
 life ; upon my word I will ! " and Laurie meant what 
 he said. 
 
 " I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged ; 
 you are always a great comfort to me, Teddy," re- 
 turned Jo, gratefully shaking hands. 
 
 "Well, now, don't be dismal, there's a good fellow. 
 It's all right, you see. Meg is happy ; Brooke will fly 
 round and get settled immediately ; grandpa will at- 
 tend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her 
 own little house. We'll have capital times after she 
 is gone, for I shall be through college before long, and 
 then we'll go abroad, or some nice trip or other. 
 Wouldn't that console you } " 
 
 " I rather think it would ; but there's no knowing 
 what may happen in three years," said Jo, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " That's true ! Don't you wish you could take a 
 look forward, and see where we shall all be then? I 
 do," returned Laurie. 
 
Aunt March settles the Question, 341 
 
 " I think not, for I might see something sad ; and 
 every one looks so happy now, I don't beheve they 
 could be much improved," and Jo's eyes went slowly 
 round the room, brightening as they looked, for the 
 prospect was a pleasant one. 
 
 Fatherland mother sat together quietly re-living the 
 first chapter of the romance which for them began 
 some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the 
 lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their 
 own,, the light of which touched their faces with a 
 grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her 
 sofa talking cheerily with her old friend, who held 
 her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power 
 to lead him along the peaceful ways she walked. Jo 
 lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave, quiet 
 look which best became her ; and Laurie, leaning on 
 the back of her chair, his chin on- a level with her 
 curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and 
 nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them 
 both! 
 
 So grouped the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth 
 and Amy. Whether it ever rises again, depends upon 
 the reception given to the first act of the domestic 
 drama, called " Little Women." 
 
 End of Part First. 
 
 Part Second, completing '■^Little Women" is published in a 
 volume to match this. 
 
yean Ingeloiifs 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- 
 lisli, 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." — 
 A themeum. 
 
 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 fi-om 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." — Gracf 
 Greenwood in " The Little Pilgrim." 
 
 pOOR MATT; or, The Clouded Intellect. With an 
 
 -*- Illustration. One vol. i8mo. 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 
 " The Little Pilgrim." 
 
 A 
 
 SISTER'S BYE-HOURS. Comprising Seven Stories. 
 In one vol. i6mo. Price, $ 1.25. 
 
 ■ Mailed to any address, post-paid, on receipt of the price, by the 
 Publishers, 
 
 ROBEBTS BROTHERS, Boston. 
 
Messrs. Robe7'ts Brothej's' Fublicattons. 
 
 Jean Ingelow's Writings, 
 
 " Except Mrs. Browning, Jean Ingelow is fii'st among the women whom th« 
 S'orld calls poets," — The Independent 
 
 " Miss Ingelow's new volume exhibits abmidant evidence that time, study, an^ 
 devotion to her vocation have both elevated and mellowed the powers of the most 
 ijifted 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, S 18.00. 
 
 "The book is certainly among the most baautiful of the holiday offerings 
 fhe lovers of the poet will not tolerate even this slightly qualified praise, but 
 pronounce it the most beautiful." 
 
 SOWGS OF SEVETiT. Illustrated Edition, small quarto, 
 bound in cloth, gilt, price $5.00 ; or in Morocco, price S8.00. 
 
 " This work is an acknowledged triumph of typographic art, with its delicate 
 creamy page and red-line border." 
 
 POEMS. The first volume. 
 
 A STORY OP DOOM, and Other Poems. 
 
 Both volumes, 16mo, cloth, gilt top, price S3.50; or sep. 
 arately, nrice S 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, 16m o, cloth, 
 gilt top, bevelled boards, price $2.25. 
 
 ^r^^ Moifpd to n^.y riddrfxs. p^>^t-pQ.id. O) rccpipt of 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 ON THE HEIGHTS. A Novel. By Berthold Auek- 
 BACH. 16mo. With Pictorial Title. Pri-je, $2.00. 
 
 " ' On the Heij?hts,' 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 
 m.nal purity 5 and the problems treated are the deepest problems of life." — 
 Rochester Democrat. 
 
 WHEHE 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. Tour 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, 16rao. 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 teachpr 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. 
 
 STOBIES OF SCHOOL LIFE. By Ascott R. Hope. 
 In Press. 
 
 ^^^ Mailed, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the price, by ths 
 Publishers. 
 
Messrs. nooeris Brothers' Publications. 
 
 LIVES OF EXEMPLARY WOMEN 
 
 Messrs. Roberts' Bros, are publishing; a series of Lives of Exemplary 
 
 Women, uniform in size and price. The first volume is 
 MEMOIKS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF MADAME 
 
 RECAMIER. Translated from the French and edited by Miss 
 LUYSTER. With a fine portrait of Madame Kecamier. Sixth edition. 
 One handsome 12mo volume. Price $ 2.00. 
 " Her own contributions to it are exceedingly brief, but her individuality permeates the 
 whole work and gives it unity. She was undoubtedly a woman of genius ; but it was in hei 
 life alone, in her noble friendships, in her unselfish devotion to all bound to her by any ties, 
 that gave her genius expression, and it is only fair, therefore, that 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 " Tht Leader." 
 
 The second volume is 
 UEE AND LETTERS OP MADAME ST/^TETCHINE. By 
 
 Count de Falloux. 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 11.) was gentle and kind, 
 ready to sacrifloe herself to any extent to advance the material influence of her friends, but 
 ■he 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 aU 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 as a book of reference is more valuable. We freguently meet the same people 
 in each, and in this respect they serve to illustrate and explam each other." — Frovidenct 
 Journal. 
 
 The third volume is 
 THE FRIENDSHIPS OF "WOMEN. By Rev. W. K. Algee. 
 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 the 
 loveliness of her person." — Salem Gazette. 
 
 The fourth volume is 
 
 SAINT BEUVE'S PORTRAITS OF CELEBRATED 
 ■WOMEN. 
 MADAME DE SEVIOKE. MADAME DE DURAS. 
 
 MADAME DE LA FAYETTE. MADAME DE REMUS AT. 
 
 yATiAMK DE SOVZA. MADAME DE KRUDENER. 
 
 MADAME ROLAND. MADAME OWIZOT. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL. 
 
 To match "Madame Kecamier," "Madame Swetchine," and «*Th« 
 Friendships of Women." In one volume, 12mo. Price $2.00. 
 
 $9- Mailed, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the price, by ths 
 Publishera. 
 
 12 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Fubiicattons, 
 
 JUVENILES, 
 
 SWEET COUNSEL. A Book for Girls. By Sarah 
 Tytler. 16mo. $2.25. 
 
 THE PIGEON PIE. A Tale of Roundhead Times. By 
 Miss YoNGE. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 HELEN AND HER COUSINS ; or, Two Months at 
 Ashfield Rectory, Illustrated. 18mo. 50 cents. 
 
 THE TANNER BOY. A Life of General Grant. Illus- 
 trated. IGmo. $1.50. 
 
 GASCOYNE ; The Sandal-Wood Trader. By Ballantyne. 
 
 Illustrated. 16mo. $ .50. 
 
 THE TIGER PRINCE : or, Adventures in tKe Wilds of 
 Abyssinia. By Dalton. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 THE PRIVATEERSMAN. Adventures by Sea and 
 Land. By Captain Marryatt. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. 
 
 SANDPORB AND MERTON. By Thomas Day. 
 
 Illustrated. Square IGmo. $1.25. 
 
 POPULAR FAIRY TALES. Containing the choicest 
 and best known J'airy Stories. Illustrated. 2 vols., square 
 16mo. Each, $1.25. 
 
 PAUL PRESTON'S VOYAGES, Travels, and Re- 
 markable Adventures. Illustrated. Square 16mo. $1.25. 
 
 FIRESIDE TALES. In Prose and Verse. By Mary 
 Hov^iTT. Illustrated. 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 THE SCOTTISH ORPHANS ; and Arthur Monteith. 
 By Mrs. Blackford. Illustrated. 16mo. 75 cents. 
 
 ^W Mailed^ post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the price by the 
 Publishers. 
 
 18 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers^ Publications. 
 
 THE LAYlilAN'S BREVIARY. A Selection for Every 
 Day in the Year. Translated from the German of Leopold Schefeb, 
 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' wiU adorn drawing-room centre-tables, 
 bouaoirs, 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 sermom ; 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 subscribof to 
 we cannot teU ; 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. 
 
 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 
 DO 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 suff"er for years in prison on account of their po- 
 litical opinions." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 90;- Mailed, post paid, to any address, on receipt of the price, by tJu 
 Publishers. 
 
 16 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers'* Publications. 
 
 Juveniles. 
 
 LITTLE WOMEN; or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. 
 
 A Girl's Book. By Louisa M. Alcott. With Illustrations. 
 
 One volume, 16mo. Price, $ 1..50. 
 " One of the pleasantest books we have read for a long time is ' Little Women,' 
 the story of four young girls, —Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. This is a thoroughly- 
 natural and charming book, fresh and full of life, and we heartily recommend it 
 to all young people, big or little. We gave it to a little girl of twelve to reai?, for 
 whose opinion we have grfeat respect, and she pronounced it just the nicest book. 
 ' I could read it right through three times, and it would be nicer and funnier every 
 time.' And, to our certain knowledge, she read it twice in one week, and would 
 have read it again had not the book been carried off." — Putnam's Magazine. 
 
 THE LITTLE GYPSY. Translated from the French of 
 Eli Sauvage by Miss Lutster. With 12 Illustrations by 
 Frolich. Square 12mo. Bevelled cloth, gilt side. Price, 
 $1.50. 
 
 »' It is seldom we find a story so rich in material. There is truth, simplicity, 
 pathos, romance, variety, purity, kindness enough concentrated for a dozen 
 ordinary books. We give our unqualified approbation to the artistic merits and 
 unwearying interest of The Little Gypsy, who has stolen our heart by her rare 
 loveliness and goodness, just as she did that of all those who came within the 
 sphere of her magnetic influence." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 NEW ILLUSTRATED HUMOROUS SERIES. 
 
 1. Mischievous Joe. 
 
 2. Foolish Zoe. 
 
 3. Boasting Hector. 
 
 The Text by their Mammas ; the Designs by L. Frolich. 
 
 Bound in flexible cloth. Price, 75 cents each. 
 These illustrated picture-books are produced in the highest style of the art, 
 and will please the little folks bej'ond measure. 
 
 " The illustrations are very successful, and are just naughty enough to please 
 the little folks. They always take special pleasure in the tragic element, and 
 find stories of perfectly good boys and girls too tame and uninteresting to suit 
 their desire to see in books just such children as they are themselves, — passion- 
 ate, proud, vain, struggling with their evil impulses, and only growing better by 
 constant effort, aided by wise precept and the highest of all influences, good 
 example." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 MISS LILY'S VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. 
 
 Undertaken in company with her two cousins, Masters Paul 
 and Toto, and Little Peter. Translated from the French by 
 Miss Luyster. With 48 designs by Lorenz Frolich. 
 8vo. Bevelled cloth, gilt side. Price, % 3.50^ 
 This narrative of a voyage planned by four adventurers, who, fascinated by 
 
 reading R,obinson Crusoe, wished to become great travellers, is made irresistibly 
 
 humorous by Frdlich's admirable designs. 
 
 (5^^ Mailed^ post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the price, by the 
 Publishers. 
 
 17 
 
HANDY VOLUME SERIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 HAPPY THOUGHTS. By F. C. Burnand. Price, in Cloth, 
 $i.oo; in Illuminated Paper Covers, 75 cents. 
 Frojn the Lo7idon A tJiencetnn. 
 " 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 lea.st, 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 Mr. Bumand's fun, that there is not a headache 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 imcritical 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 fiind of humor in every page of the book that 
 ca'.m analysis is out of t'.e question. ^Ir. 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 simph- 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 inten.-iew 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 Thght. — Go to bed in my boots,' is not comic if you try to analyze 
 it. But th;;n j'ou don't analj-ze it You accept it without scrutiny. You 
 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 d'd, 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 ]\Ir. Burnand's hands. He 
 may do what he likes with us." 
 
 From the 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 The 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 v^hat iMr. 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. 
 
 IL 
 
 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 tlie others are subordinate ; one of the most skilfully drawn, 
 original, and unsatisfactory characters we have ever met with. A man of 
 briliiant 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." 
 
 Frovi 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 P'rankfort 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 nature, manners which tasclnate 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 intentionr.l 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 Cojjzmonwealth. 
 " 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 
 book of double the price." 
 
 Athen^um. — " The size is handy, the type neat, the paper good, and the- 
 price moderate." 
 
 Illustrated Tii\iES. — " 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. 
 
 HANDY VOLUME SERIES, 
 
 I. 
 
 HAPPY THOUGHTS. By F. C. Burnand. Price in 
 
 cloth, $i.oo; paper covers, 75 cents. 
 
 2. 
 DOCTOR JACOB. A Novel. By Miss M. Betham Ed- 
 wards. Price in cloth, i.oo; paper covers, 75 cents. 
 
 3- 
 PLANCHETTE ; or, The Despair of Science. Being a full 
 account of Modern Spiritualism. Price in cloth, $1.25; 
 paper covers, $1.00. 
 
 Other volumes will follow the above at convenient intervals. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 
 14 
 
mi 
 
 m 
 
 k