The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Women, by Louisa May AlcottThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Little WomenAuthor: Louisa May AlcottPosting Date: September 13, 2008 [EBook #514]Release Date: May, 1996[This file last updated on August 19, 2010]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE WOMEN ***LITTLE WOMENbyLouisa May AlcottCONTENTSPART 1          ONE  PLAYING PILGRIMS          TWO  A MERRY CHRISTMAS        THREE  THE LAURENCE BOY         FOUR  BURDENS         FIVE  BEING NEIGHBORLY          SIX  BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL        SEVEN  AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION        EIGHT  JO MEETS APOLLYON         NINE  MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR          TEN  THE P.C. AND P.O.       ELEVEN  EXPERIMENTS       TWELVE  CAMP LAURENCE     THIRTEEN  CASTLES IN THE AIR     FOURTEEN  SECRETS      FIFTEEN  A TELEGRAM      SIXTEEN  LETTERS    SEVENTEEN  LITTLE FAITHFUL     EIGHTEEN  DARK DAYS     NINETEEN  AMY'S WILL       TWENTY  CONFIDENTIAL   TWENTY-ONE  LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE   TWENTY-TWO  PLEASANT MEADOWS TWENTY-THREE  AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTIONPART 2  TWENTY-FOUR  GOSSIP  TWENTY-FIVE  THE FIRST WEDDING   TWENTY-SIX  ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS TWENTY-SEVEN  LITERARY LESSONS TWENTY-EIGHT  DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES  TWENTY-NINE  CALLS       THIRTY  CONSEQUENCES   THIRTY-ONE  OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT   THIRTY-TWO  TENDER TROUBLES THIRTY-THREE  JO'S JOURNAL  THIRTY-FOUR  FRIEND  THIRTY-FIVE  HEARTACHE   THIRTY-SIX  BETH'S SECRET THIRTY-SEVEN  NEW IMPRESSIONS THIRTY-EIGHT  ON THE SHELF  THIRTY-NINE  LAZY LAURENCE        FORTY  THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW    FORTY-ONE  LEARNING TO FORGET    FORTY-TWO  ALL ALONE  FORTY-THREE  SURPRISES   FORTY-FOUR  MY LORD AND LADY   FORTY-FIVE  DAISY AND DEMI    FORTY-SIX  UNDER THE UMBRELLA  FORTY-SEVEN  HARVEST TIMECHAPTER ONEPLAYING PILGRIMS"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lyingon the rug."It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her olddress."I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of prettythings, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with aninjured sniff."We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth contentedlyfrom her corner.The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at thecheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, "We haven't gotFather, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say"perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of Father faraway, where the fighting was.Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, "You knowthe reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas wasbecause it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks weought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so inthe army.  We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, andought to do it gladly.  But I am afraid I don't," and Meg shook herhead, 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'veeach got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our givingthat.  I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do wantto buy _Undine and Sintran_ for myself.  I've wanted it so long," saidJo, who was a bookworm."I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a little sigh,which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle-holder."I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils; I really needthem," said Amy decidedly."Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us togive up everything.  Let's each buy what we want, and have a littlefun; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining theheels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner."I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'mlonging to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining toneagain."You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would youlike to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keepsyou trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready tofly out the window or cry?""It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping thingstidy is the worst work in the world.  It makes me cross, and my handsget so stiff, I can't practice well at all." And Beth looked at herrough 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'thave to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if youdon't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label yourfather 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 Papawas a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing."I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It'sproper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary," returned Amy,with dignity."Don't peck at one another, children.  Don't you wish we had the moneyPapa lost when we were little, Jo?  Dear me! How happy and good we'dbe, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who could remember better times."You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than theKing children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, inspite of their money.""So I did, Beth.  Well, I think we are.  For though we do have to work,we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.""Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look atthe long figure stretched on the rug.Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began towhistle."Don't, Jo.  It's so boyish!""That's why I do it.""I detest rude, unladylike girls!""I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!""Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the peacemaker, withsuch 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 tolecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. "You are old enough to leave offboyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine.  It didn't matter somuch when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn upyour hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.""I'm not!   And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in twotails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking downa chestnut mane.  "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be MissMarch, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster!  It'sbad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work andmanners!  I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy.  Andit's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa. AndI can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!"And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled likecastanets, and her ball bounded across the room."Poor Jo!  It's too bad, but it can't be helped.  So you must try to becontented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to usgirls," said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all thedish washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in itstouch."As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether too particularand prim.  Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affectedlittle goose, if you don't take care. I like your nice manners andrefined ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant.  But yourabsurd words are as bad as Jo's slang.""If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?" asked Beth,ready to share the lecture."You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly, and no onecontradicted her, for the 'Mouse' was the pet of the family.As young readers like to know 'how people look', we will take thismoment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who satknitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietlywithout, and the fire crackled cheerfully within.  It was a comfortableroom, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for agood picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses,chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and apleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, beingplump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweetmouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-oldJo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for shenever seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were verymuch in her way.  She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp,gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce,funny, or thoughtful.  Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but itwas usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.  Round shouldershad Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and theuncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into awoman and didn't like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her,was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shymanner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldomdisturbed.  Her father called her 'Little Miss Tranquility', and thename suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world ofher own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her ownopinion at least.  A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellowhair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carryingherself like a young lady mindful of her manners.  What the charactersof the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pairof slippers down to warm.  Somehow the sight of the old shoes had agood effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyonebrightened to welcome her.  Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted thelamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgothow tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to theblaze."They are quite worn out.  Marmee must have a new pair.""I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth."No, I shall!" cried Amy."I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, "I'm the manof the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, forhe 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 somethingfor Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.""That's like you, dear!  What will we get?" exclaimed Jo.Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if theidea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I shall giveher 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 costmuch, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," added Amy."How will we give the things?" asked Meg."Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles.Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?" answered Jo."I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chairwith the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give thepresents, with a kiss.  I liked the things and the kisses, but it wasdreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,"said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the sametime."Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and thensurprise her.  We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is somuch to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching upand down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air."I don't mean to act any more after this time.  I'm getting too old forsuch 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 gownwith your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the bestactress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit theboards," said Jo.  "We ought to rehearse tonight.  Come here, Amy, anddo the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that.""I can't help it.  I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to makemyself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do.  If I can go downeasily, I'll drop.  If I can't, I shall fall into a chair and begraceful.  I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol,"returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosenbecause she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villainof the piece."Do it this way.  Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room,crying frantically, 'Roderigo! Save me! Save me!'" and away went Jo,with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, andjerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her "Ow!" wasmore suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish.Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth lether bread burn as she watched the fun with interest. "It's no use!  Dothe best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don'tblame me.  Come on, Meg."Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speechof two pages without a single break.  Hagar, the witch, chanted anawful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weirdeffect.  Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died inagonies 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 andrubbed his elbows."I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo.You're a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed thather sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things."Not quite," replied Jo modestly.  "I do think _The Witches Curse, anOperatic Tragedy_ is rather a nice thing, but I'd like to try_Macbeth_, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo.  I always wanted to dothe killing part.  'Is that a dagger that I see before me?" mutteredJo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famoustragedian do."No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead of thebread.  Beth's stage-struck!" cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in ageneral burst of laughter."Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at the door,and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a'can I help you' look about her which was truly delightful. She was notelegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought thegray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother inthe world."Well, dearies, how have you got on today?  There was so much to do,getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't come home todinner.  Has anyone called, Beth?  How is your cold, Meg?  Jo, you looktired to death.  Come and kiss me, baby."While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet thingsoff, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amyto her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day.  Thegirls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her ownway.  Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs,dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched.  Bethtrotted to and fro between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amygave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularlyhappy face, "I've got a treat for you after supper."A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Bethclapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed upher napkin, crying, "A letter!  A letter!  Three cheers for Father!""Yes, a nice long letter.  He is well, and thinks he shall get throughthe cold season better than we feared.  He sends all sorts of lovingwishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs.March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there."Hurry and get done!  Don't stop to quirk your little finger and simperover your plate, Amy," cried Jo, choking on her tea and dropping herbread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the treat.Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and broodover the delight to come, till the others were ready."I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was tooold to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier," said Megwarmly."Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan--what's its name?  Or anurse, 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 ofbad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug," sighed Amy."When will he come home, Marmee?" asked Beth, with a little quiver inher voice."Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick.  He will stay and do hiswork faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back aminute sooner than he can be spared.  Now come and hear the letter."They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at herfeet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning onthe back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the lettershould happen to be touching.  Very few letters were written in thosehard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers senthome.  In this one little was said of the hardships endured, thedangers faced, or the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful,hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, andmilitary news, and only at the end did the writer's heart over-flowwith fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home."Give them all of my dear love and a kiss.  Tell them I think of themby day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in theiraffection at all times.  A year seems very long to wait before I seethem, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that thesehard days need not be wasted.  I know they will remember all I said tothem, that they will be loving children to you, will do their dutyfaithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselvesso beautifully that when I come back to them I may be fonder andprouder than ever of my little women." Everybody sniffed when they cameto that part.  Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off theend of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as shehid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfishgirl!  But I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed inme by-and-by.""We all will," cried Meg.  "I think too much of my looks and hate towork, 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 berough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhereelse," said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a muchharder task than facing a rebel or two down South.Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock andbegan to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty thatlay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be allthat Father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happycoming home.Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in hercheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims Progresswhen you were little things?  Nothing delighted you more than to haveme tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats andsticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house fromthe cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop,where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make aCelestial City.""What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, andpassing through the valley where the hob-goblins were," said Jo."I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs,"said Meg."I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellarand the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at thetop.  If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play itover again," said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish thingsat the mature age of twelve."We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we areplaying all the time in one way or another.  Our burdens are here, ourroad is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is theguide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peacewhich is a true Celestial City.  Now, my little pilgrims, suppose youbegin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you canget before Father comes home.""Really, Mother?  Where are our bundles?" asked Amy, who was a veryliteral young lady."Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I ratherthink she hasn't got any," said her mother."Yes, I have.  Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nicepianos, and being afraid of people."Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, butnobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much."Let us do it," said Meg thoughtfully.  "It is only another name fortrying to be good, and the story may help us, for though we do want tobe good, it's hard work and we forget, and don't do our best.""We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came and pulledus out as Help did in the book.  We ought to have our roll ofdirections, like Christian.  What shall we do about that?" asked Jo,delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dulltask of doing her duty."Look under your pillows Christmas morning, and you will find yourguidebook," replied Mrs. March.They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, thenout came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as thegirls made sheets for Aunt March.  It was uninteresting sewing, buttonight no one grumbled.  They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the longseams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa,and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when theytalked about the different countries as they stitched their way throughthem.At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed.No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she hada way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasantaccompaniment to the simple songs they sang.  Meg had a voice like aflute, and she and her mother led the little choir.  Amy chirped like acricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, alwayscoming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled themost pensive tune.  They had always done this from the time they couldlisp...    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 thehouse singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the samecheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiarlullaby.CHAPTER TWOA MERRY CHRISTMASJo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. Nostockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as muchdisappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell downbecause it was crammed so full of goodies.  Then she remembered hermother's promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out alittle crimson-covered book.  She knew it very well, for it was thatbeautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that itwas a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey.  She wokeMeg with a "Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was under herpillow.  A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside,and a few words written by their mother, which made their one presentvery precious in their eyes.  Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummageand find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, andall sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosywith the coming day.In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature,which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who lovedher very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gentlygiven."Girls," said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside herto the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, "Mother wantsus 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 allthis war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things.  You cando as you please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read alittle every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me goodand help me through the day."Then she opened her new book and began to read.  Jo put her arm roundher and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expressionso seldom seen on her restless face."How good Meg is!  Come, Amy, let's do as they do.  I'll help you withthe hard words, and they'll explain things if we don't understand,"whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and hersisters' example."I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy.  and then the rooms were very stillwhile the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in totouch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting."Where is Mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her fortheir gifts, half an hour later."Goodness only knows.  Some poor creeter came a-beggin', and your mawent straight off to see what was needed.  There never was such a womanfor givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin'," replied Hannah,who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered bythem all more as a friend than a servant."She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everythingready," said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in abasket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the propertime.  "Why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?" she added, as thelittle flask did not appear."She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon onit, or some such notion," replied Jo, dancing about the room to takethe first stiffness off the new army slippers."How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they?  Hannah washed and ironedthem for me, and I marked them all myself," said Beth, looking proudlyat 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 one up."Isn't that right?  I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg'sinitials are M.M., and I don't want anyone to use these but Marmee,"said Beth, looking troubled."It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, forno one can ever mistake now.  It will please her very much, I know,"said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth."There's Mother.  Hide the basket, quick!" cried Jo, as a door slammedand steps sounded in the hall.Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sistersall 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 soearly."Don't laugh at me, Jo!  I didn't mean anyone should know till the timecame.  I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and Igave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish anymore."As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheapone, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forgetherself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her 'atrump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose toornament the stately bottle."You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking aboutbeing good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it theminute 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 thegirls to the table, eager for breakfast."Merry Christmas, Marmee!  Many of them!  Thank you for our books.  Weread some, and mean to every day," they all cried in chorus."Merry Christmas, little daughters!  I'm glad you began at once, andhope you will keep on.  But I want to say one word before we sit down.Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for theyhave no fire.  There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boycame to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold.  My girls, willyou give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?"They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for aminute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, "I'mso glad you came before we began!""May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" askedBeth eagerly."I shall take the cream and the muffings," added Amy, heroically givingup the article she most liked.Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into onebig plate."I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. "Youshall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread andmilk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime."They were soon ready, and the procession set out.  Fortunately it wasearly, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, andno one laughed at the queer party.A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire,ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale,hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in."Ach, mein Gott!  It is good angels come to us!" said the poor woman,crying for joy."Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and set them to laughing.In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at workthere.  Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up thebroken panes with old hats and her own cloak.  Mrs. March gave themother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, whileshe dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own.  Thegirls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, andfed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying tounderstand the funny broken English."Das ist gut!"  "Die Engel-kinder!" cried the poor things as they ateand warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls hadnever been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable,especially Jo, who had been considered a 'Sancho' ever since she wasborn.  That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any ofit.  And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think therewere not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry littlegirls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves withbread and milk on Christmas morning."That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it," saidMeg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairscollecting clothes for the poor Hummels.Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up inthe few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, whitechrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gavequite an elegant air to the table."She's coming!  Strike up, Beth!  Open the door, Amy!  Three cheers forMarmee!" cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother tothe seat of honor.Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enactedescort with great dignity.  Mrs. March was both surprised and touched,and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read thelittle notes which accompanied them.  The slippers went on at once, anew handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy'scologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves werepronounced a perfect fit.There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in thesimple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant atthe time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell towork.The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest ofthe day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities.  Beingstill too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough toafford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put theirwits to work, and necessity being the mother of invention, madewhatever they needed.  Very clever were some of their productions,pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter boatscovered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glitteringwith tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with thesame useful diamond shaped bits left in sheets when the lids ofpreserve pots were cut out.  The big chamber was the scene of manyinnocent revels.No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart'scontent and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather bootsgiven 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 somepicture, were Jo's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions.  Thesmallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actorsto take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some creditfor the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts,whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stagebesides.  It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmlessamusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have beenidle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was thedress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in amost flattering state of expectancy.  There was a good deal of rustlingand whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and anoccasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in theexcitement of the moment.  Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flewapart, and the _operatic tragedy_ began."A gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was represented by afew shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in thedistance.  This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureausfor walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a blackpot on it and an old witch bending over it.  The stage was dark and theglow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issuedfrom the kettle when the witch took off the cover.  A moment wasallowed for the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain,stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, blackbeard, mysterious cloak, and the boots.  After pacing to and fro inmuch agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain,singing of his hatred for Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasingresolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo'svoice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, werevery impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused forbreath.  Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, hestole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding,"What ho, minion! I need thee!"Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red andblack robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak.  Hugodemanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo.Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to callup the spirit who would bring the love philter.    Hither, hither, from thy home,    Airy sprite, I bid thee come!    Born of roses, fed on dew,    Charms and potions canst thou brew?    Bring me here, with elfin speed,    The fragrant philter which I need.    Make it sweet and swift and strong,    Spirit, answer now my song!A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the caveappeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, goldenhair, and a garland of roses on its head.  Waving a wand, it sang...    Hither I come,    From my airy home,    Afar in the silver moon.    Take the magic spell,    And use it well,    Or its power will vanish soon!And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spiritvanished.  Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not alovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, havingcroaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with amocking laugh.  Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in hisboots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he hadkilled a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, andintends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him.  Then the curtainfell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing themerits of the play.A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, butwhen it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had beengot up, no one murmured at the delay.  It was truly superb. A towerrose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burningin it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue andsilver dress, waiting for Roderigo.  He came in gorgeous array, withplumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, ofcourse.  Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade inmelting tones.  Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consentedto fly.  Then came the grand effect of the play.  Roderigo produced arope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zarato descend.  Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand onRoderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when "Alas!Alas for Zara!" she forgot her train.  It caught in the window, thetower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried theunhappy lovers in the ruins.A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from thewreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you so!  I toldyou so!"  With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire,rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside..."Don't laugh!  Act as if it was all right!" and, ordering Roderigo up,banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedlyshaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the oldgentleman and refused to stir.  This dauntless example fired Zara.  Shealso defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeonsof the castle.  A stout little retainer came in with chains and ledthem away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting thespeech he ought to have made.Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come tofree the lovers and finish Hugo.  She hears him coming and hides, seeshim put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid littleservant, "Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them Ishall 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 thecup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirstyafter a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good dealof clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs himwhat she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might havethought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hairrather marred the effect of the villain's death.  He was called beforethe curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whosesinging was considered more wonderful than all the rest of theperformance put together.Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbinghimself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just asthe dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window,informing him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her ifhe will.  A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm ofrapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue hislady love.Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. Hewishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and after atouching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demandsher hand.  Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout andgesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bearaway the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letterand a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared.  The latterinforms the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pairand an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy.  The bagis opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stagetill it is quite glorified with the glitter.  This entirely softens thestern sire.  He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus,and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro'sblessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for thecot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up andextinguished the enthusiastic audience.  Roderigo and Don Pedro flew tothe rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechlesswith laughter.  The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannahappeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walkdown to supper."This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table,they looked at one another in rapturous amazement.  It was like Marmeeto get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this wasunheard of since the departed days of plenty.  There was ice cream,actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit anddistracting French bonbons and, in the middle of the table, four greatbouquets of hot house flowers.It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table andthen at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely."Is it fairies?" asked Amy."Santa Claus," said Beth."Mother did it." And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her graybeard and white eyebrows."Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper," cried Jo, with asudden inspiration."All wrong.  Old Mr. Laurence sent it," replied Mrs. March."The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thinginto his head?  We don't know him!" exclaimed Meg."Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is anodd 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 wouldallow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sendingthem a few trifles in honor of the day.  I could not refuse, and so youhave a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milkbreakfast.""That boy put it into his head, I know he did!  He's a capital fellow,and I wish we could get acquainted.  He looks as if he'd like to knowus but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to himwhen we pass," said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began tomelt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction."You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you?"asked one of the girls.  "My mother knows old Mr. Laurence, but sayshe's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keepshis grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor,and makes him study very hard.  We invited him to our party, but hedidn't come.  Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to usgirls.""Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over thefence, and were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on,when he saw Meg coming, and walked off.  I mean to know him some day,for he needs fun, I'm sure he does," said Jo decidedly."I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so I've noobjection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. Hebrought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I hadbeen sure what was going on upstairs.  He looked so wistful as he wentaway, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own.""It's a mercy you didn't, Mother!" laughed Jo, looking at her boots."But we'll have another play sometime that he can see.  Perhaps he'llhelp act.  Wouldn't that be jolly?""I never had such a fine bouquet before!  How pretty it is!" And Megexamined her flowers with great interest."They are lovely.  But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said Mrs.March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I could send mybunch to Father.  I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas aswe are."CHAPTER THREETHE LAURENCE BOY"Jo!  Jo!  Where are you?" cried Meg at the foot of the garret stairs."Here!" answered a husky voice from above, and, running up, Meg foundher sister eating apples and crying over the Heir of Redclyffe, wrappedup 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 adozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of apet rat who lived near by and didn't mind her a particle.  As Megappeared, Scrabble whisked into his hole.  Jo shook the tears off hercheeks and waited to hear the news."Such fun!  Only see!  A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardinerfor tomorrow night!" cried Meg, waving the precious paper and thenproceeding to read it with girlish delight."'Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephine ata little dance on New Year's Eve.' Marmee is willing we should go, nowwhat shall we wear?""What's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear ourpoplins, because we haven't got anything else?" answered Jo with hermouth full."If I only had a silk!" sighed Meg.  "Mother says I may when I'meighteen perhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait.""I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us.Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine.Whatever shall I do?  The burn shows badly, and I can't take any out.""You must sit still all you can and keep your back out of sight. Thefront is all right.  I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmeewill lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, andmy gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd like.""Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones, so Ishall have to go without," said Jo, who never troubled herself muchabout dress."You must have gloves, or I won't go," cried Meg decidedly. "Gloves aremore important than anything else.  You can't dance without them, andif you don't I should be so mortified.""Then I'll stay still.  I don't care much for company dancing. It's nofun 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 areso careless.  She said when you spoiled the others that she shouldn'tget you any more this winter.  Can't you make them do?""I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know howstained they are.  That's all I can do.  No!  I'll tell you how we canmanage, 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 glovedreadfully," began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her."Then I'll go without.  I don't care what people say!" cried Jo, takingup 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 'ChristopherColumbus!' will you?""Don't worry about me.  I'll be as prim as I can and not get into anyscrapes, if I can help it.  Now go and answer your note, and let mefinish this splendid story."So Meg went away to 'accept with thanks', look over her dress, and singblithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo finished herstory, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble.On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girlsplayed dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in theall-important business of 'getting ready for the party'.  Simple as thetoilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughingand talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded thehouse.  Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook topinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs."Ought they to smoke like that?" asked Beth from her perch on the bed."It's the dampness drying," replied Jo."What a queer smell!  It's like burned feathers," observed Amy,smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air."There, now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of littleringlets," said Jo, putting down the tongs.She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for thehair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser laid a row oflittle scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim."Oh, oh, oh! What have you done?  I'm spoiled!  I can't go!  My hair,oh, my hair!" wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle onher forehead."Just my luck!  You shouldn't have asked me to do it.  I always spoileverything.  I'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I've madea mess," groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black pancakes withtears of regret."It isn't spoiled.  Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the endscome on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion.I've seen many girls do it so," said Amy consolingly."Serves me right for trying to be fine.  I wish I'd let my hair alone,"cried Meg petulantly."So do I, it was so smooth and pretty.  But it will soon grow outagain," said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by theunited exertions of the entire family Jo's hair was got up and herdress on.  They looked very well in their simple suits, Meg's insilvery drab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin.Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a whitechrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. Each put on one nice lightglove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect "quiteeasy and fine".  Meg's high-heeled slippers were very tight and hurther, though she would not own it, and Jo's nineteen hairpins all seemedstuck 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 wentdaintily down the walk.  "Don't eat much supper, and come away ateleven when I send Hannah for you."  As the gate clashed behind them, avoice cried from a window..."Girls, girls!  Have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?""Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers," cried Jo, addingwith a laugh as they went on, "I do believe Marmee would ask that if wewere all running away from an earthquake.""It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a reallady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief," repliedMeg, 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 sashright?  And does my hair look very bad?" said Meg, as she turned fromthe glass in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing room after a prolonged prink."I know I shall forget.  If you see me doing anything wrong, justremind me by a wink, will you?" returned Jo, giving her collar a twitchand her head a hasty brush."No, winking isn't ladylike.  I'll lift my eyebrows if any thing iswrong, and nod if you are all right.  Now hold your shoulder straight,and take short steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced toanyone.  It isn't the thing.""How do you learn all the proper ways?  I never can.  Isn't that musicgay?"Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went toparties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an event tothem.  Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly andhanded them over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallieand was at her ease very soon, but Jo, who didn't care much for girlsor girlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against thewall, and felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden.  Halfa dozen jovial lads were talking about skates in another part of theroom, and she longed to go and join them, for skating was one of thejoys of her life.  She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrowswent up so alarmingly that she dared not stir.  No one came to talk toher, and one by one the group dwindled away till she was left alone.She could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burned breadthwould show, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancingbegan.  Meg was asked at once, and the tight slippers tripped about sobriskly that none would have guessed the pain their wearer sufferedsmilingly.  Jo saw a big red headed youth approaching her corner, andfearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess,intending to peep and enjoy herself in peace.  Unfortunately, anotherbashful person had chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fellbehind her, she found herself face to face with the 'Laurence boy'."Dear me, I didn't know anyone was here!" stammered Jo, preparing toback out as speedily as she had bounced in.But the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a littlestartled, "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 feltrather strange at first, you know.""So did I.  Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather."The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying tobe polite and easy, "I think I've had the pleasure of seeing youbefore.  You live near us, don't you?""Next door."  And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's primmanner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted aboutcricket when he brought the cat home.That put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in herheartiest way, "We did have such a good time over your nice Christmaspresent.""Grandpa sent it.""But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?""How is your cat, Miss March?" asked the boy, trying to look soberwhile his black eyes shone with fun."Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence.  But I am not Miss March, I'm onlyJo," 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 calledme Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead.""I hate my name, too, so sentimental!  I wish every one would say Joinstead 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."  AndJo resigned herself with a sigh."Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" asked Laurie, looking as if hethought the name suited her."I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone islively.  In a place like this I'm sure to upset something, tread onpeople's toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out of mischief andlet Meg sail about.  Don't you dance?""Sometimes.  You see I've been abroad a good many years, and haven'tbeen into company enough yet to know how you do things here.""Abroad!" cried Jo.  "Oh, tell me about it!  I love dearly to hearpeople describe their travels."Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin, but Jo's eager questionssoon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay,where the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of boats on the lake,and for holiday fun went on walking trips about Switzerland with theirteachers."Don't I wish I'd been there!" cried Jo.  "Did you go to Paris?""We spent last winter there.""Can you talk French?""We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay.""Do say some!  I can read it, but can't pronounce.""Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis?""How nicely you do it!  Let me see ... you said, 'Who is the young ladyin the pretty slippers', didn't you?""Oui, mademoiselle.""It's my sister Margaret, and you knew it was!  Do you think she ispretty?""Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh andquiet, and dances like a lady."Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, andstored it up to repeat to Meg.  Both peeped and criticized and chattedtill they felt like old acquaintances.  Laurie's bashfulness soon woreoff, for Jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, andJo was her merry self again, because her dress was forgotten and nobodylifted their eyebrows at her.  She liked the 'Laurence boy' better thanever and took several good looks at him, so that she might describe himto the girls, for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boyswere almost unknown creatures to them."Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose, fineteeth, small hands and feet, taller than I am, very polite, for a boy,and altogether jolly.  Wonder how old he is?"It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask, but she checked herself intime and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a round-about way."I suppose you are going to college soon?  I see you pegging away atyour books, no, I mean studying hard."  And Jo blushed at the dreadful'pegging' which had escaped her.Laurie smiled but didn't seem shocked, and answered with a shrug.  "Notfor a year or two.  I won't go before seventeen, anyway.""Aren't you but fifteen?" asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom shehad imagined seventeen already."Sixteen, next month.""How I wish I was going to college!  You don't look as if you liked it.""I hate it!  Nothing but grinding or skylarking.  And I don't like theway fellows do either, in this country.""What do you like?""To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way."Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his black browslooked rather threatening as he knit them, so she changed the subjectby saying, as her foot kept time, "That's a splendid polka!  Why don'tyou go and try it?""If you will come too," he answered, with a gallant little bow."I can't, for I told Meg I wouldn't, because..." There Jo stopped, andlooked undecided whether to tell or to laugh."Because, what?""You won't tell?""Never!""Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn myfrocks, and I scorched this one, and though it's nicely mended, itshows, and Meg told me to keep still so no one would see it.  You maylaugh, if you want to.  It is funny, I know."But Laurie didn't laugh.  He only looked down a minute, and theexpression of his face puzzled Jo when he said very gently, "Never mindthat.  I'll tell you how we can manage.  There's a long hall out there,and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please come."Jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves whenshe saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore.  The hall wasempty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well, and taughther the German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing andspring.  When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to gettheir breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students'festival at Heidelberg when Meg appeared in search of her sister.  Shebeckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where shefound her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale."I've sprained my ankle.  That stupid high heel turned and gave me asad wrench.  It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don't know how I'mever going to get home," she said, rocking to and fro in pain."I knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly shoes.  I'm sorry.  But Idon't see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here allnight," answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke."I can't have a carriage without its costing ever so much.  I dare sayI can't get one at all, for most people come in their own, and it's along way to the stable, and no one to send.""I'll go.""No, indeed!  It's past nine, and dark as Egypt.  I can't stop here,for the house is full.  Sallie has some girls staying with her. I'llrest till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can.""I'll ask Laurie.  He will go," said Jo, looking relieved as the ideaoccurred to her."Mercy, no!  Don't ask or tell anyone.  Get me my rubbers, and putthese slippers with our things.  I can't dance anymore, but as soon assupper 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'tstir."So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering awayto 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 alittle private refreshment.  Making a dart at the table, she securedthe coffee, which she immediately spilled, thereby making the front ofher dress as bad as the back."Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!" exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg'sglove by scrubbing her gown with it."Can I help you?" said a friendly voice.  And there was Laurie, with afull 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 someoneshook me, and here I am in a nice state," answered Jo, glancingdismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove."Too bad!   I was looking for someone to give this to.  May I take itto your sister?""Oh, thank you!  I'll show you where she is.  I don't offer to take itmyself, 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 alittle table, brought a second installment of coffee and ice for Jo,and was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a 'niceboy'.  They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were inthe midst of a quiet game of _Buzz_, with two or three other youngpeople who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared.  Meg forgot her footand rose so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of Jo, with anexclamation of pain."Hush!  Don't say anything," she whispered, adding aloud, "It'snothing.  I turned my foot a little, that's all," and limped upstairsto put her things on.Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits' end, till shedecided to take things into her own hands.  Slipping out, she ran downand, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. Ithappened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neighborhoodand Jo was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard what shesaid, came up and offered his grandfather's carriage, which had justcome for him, he said."It's so early!  You can't mean to go yet?" began Jo, looking relievedbut hesitating to accept the offer."I always go early, I do, truly!  Please let me take you home. It's allon my way, you know, and it rains, they say."That settled it, and telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefullyaccepted and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party.  Hannahhated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and theyrolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive andelegant.  Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot up, and thegirls talked over their party in freedom."I had a capital time.  Did you?" asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, andmaking herself comfortable."Yes, till I hurt myself.  Sallie's friend, Annie Moffat, took a fancyto 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 beperfectly splendid, if Mother only lets me go," answered Meg, cheeringup at the thought."I saw you dancing with the red headed man I ran away from.  Was henice?""Oh, very!  His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and Ihad a delicious redowa with him.""He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step. Laurieand I couldn't help laughing.  Did you hear us?""No, but it was very rude.  What were you about all that time, hiddenaway there?"Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were athome.  With many thanks, they said good night and crept in, hoping todisturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two littlenightcaps 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 somebonbons for the little girls, and they soon subsided, after hearing themost thrilling events of the evening."I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come homefrom the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown with a maid towait on me," said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica and brushedher hair."I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than wedo, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece and tightslippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them."And I think Jo was quite right.CHAPTER FOURBURDENS"Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on,"sighed Meg the morning after the party, for now the holidays were over,the week of merrymaking did not fit her for going on easily with thetask she never liked."I wish it was Christmas or New Year's all the time. Wouldn't it befun?" answered Jo, yawning dismally."We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it doesseem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties,and drive home, and read and rest, and not work.  It's like otherpeople, you know, and I always envy girls who do such things, I'm sofond of luxury," said Meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gownswas the least shabby."Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble but shoulder ourbundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does.  I'm sure AuntMarch is a regular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I'velearned to carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or getso light that I shan't mind her."This idea tickled Jo's fancy and put her in good spirits, but Megdidn't brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoiled children,seemed heavier than ever. She had not heart enough even to make herselfpretty as usual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hairin the most becoming way."Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those crossmidgets, 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 mydays, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and uglyand 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 agreeableat breakfast time.  Everyone seemed rather out of sorts and inclined tocroak.Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself withthe cat and three kittens.  Amy was fretting because her lessons werenot learned, and she couldn't find her rubbers.  Jo would whistle andmake a great racket getting ready.Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go atonce, 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 whenshe had upset an inkstand, broken both boot lacings, and sat down uponher hat."You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, washing out the sumthat was all wrong with the tears that had fallen on her slate."Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have themdrowned," exclaimed Meg angrily as she tried to get rid of the kittenwhich had scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of reach.Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed because shecouldn't remember how much nine times twelve was."Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute!  I must get this off by theearly mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry," cried Mrs.March, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter.There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laid twohot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again. These turnovers werean institution, and the girls called them 'muffs', for they had noothers and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on coldmornings.Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy shemight be, for the walk was long and bleak. The poor things got no otherlunch and were seldom home before two."Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy. Goodbye, Marmee.We are a set of rascals this morning, but we'll come home regularangels.  Now then, Meg!"  And Jo tramped away, feeling that thepilgrims were not setting out as they ought to do.They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother wasalways 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 withoutthat, for whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of thatmotherly face was sure to affect them like sunshine."If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it wouldserve us right, for more ungrateful wretches than we are were neverseen," cried Jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the snowy walk andbitter wind."Don't use such dreadful expressions," replied Meg from the depths ofthe veil in which she had shrouded herself like a nun sick of the world."I like good strong words that mean something," replied Jo, catchingher hat as it took a leap off her head preparatory to flying awayaltogether."Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither a rascal nor awretch and I don't choose to be called so.""You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you can'tsit in the lap of luxury all the time.  Poor dear, just wait till Imake my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice cream andhigh-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with.""How ridiculous you are, Jo!"  But Meg laughed at the nonsense and feltbetter in spite of herself."Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs and tried to bedismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state. Thank goodness, I canalways find something funny to keep me up.  Don't croak any more, butcome home jolly, there's a dear."Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they partedfor the day, each going a different way, each hugging her little warmturnover, and each trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather,hard work, and the unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth.When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunatefriend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do somethingtoward their own support, at least.  Believing that they could notbegin too early to cultivate energy, industry, and independence, theirparents consented, and both fell to work with the hearty good willwhich in spite of all obstacles is sure to succeed at last.Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with hersmall salary.  As she said, she was 'fond of luxury', and her chieftrouble was poverty.  She found it harder to bear than the othersbecause she could remember a time when home was beautiful, life full ofease and pleasure, and want of any kind unknown.  She tried not to beenvious or discontented, but it was very natural that the young girlshould long for pretty things, gay friends, accomplishments, and ahappy life.  At the Kings' she daily saw all she wanted, for thechildren's older sisters were just out, and Meg caught frequentglimpses of dainty ball dresses and bouquets, heard lively gossip abouttheaters, concerts, sleighing parties, and merrymakings of all kinds,and saw money lavished on trifles which would have been so precious toher.  Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made herfeel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learned toknow how rich she was in the blessings which alone can make life happy.Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed an activeperson to wait upon her.  The childless old lady had offered to adoptone of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended becauseher offer was declined.  Other friends told the Marches that they hadlost all chance of being remembered in the rich old lady's will, butthe unworldly Marches only said..."We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes.  Rich or poor, wewill keep together and be happy in one another."The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but happening to meetJo at a friend's, something in her comical face and blunt mannersstruck the old lady's fancy, and she proposed to take her for acompanion.  This did not suit Jo at all, but she accepted the placesince nothing better appeared and, to every one's surprise, got onremarkably well with her irascible relative.  There was an occasionaltempest, and once Jo marched home, declaring she couldn't bear itlonger, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and sent for her tocome back again with such urgency that she could not refuse, for in herheart 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.  Joremembered the kind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroadsand bridges with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about queerpictures in his Latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread wheneverhe met her in the street.  The dim, dusty room, with the busts staringdown from the tall bookcases, the cozy chairs, the globes, and best ofall, 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, Johurried to this quiet place, and curling herself up in the easy chair,devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regularbookworm.  But, like all happiness, it did not last long, for as sureas she had just reached the heart of the story, the sweetest verse of asong, or the most perilous adventure of her traveler, a shrill voicecalled, "Josy-phine! Josy-phine!" and she had to leave her paradise towind yarn, wash the poodle, or read Belsham's Essays by the hourtogether.Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid.  What it was, she hadno idea as yet, but left it for time to tell her, and meanwhile, foundher greatest affliction in the fact that she couldn't read, run, andride as much as she liked.  A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restlessspirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a seriesof ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic. But the trainingshe received at Aunt March's was just what she needed, and the thoughtthat she was doing something to support herself made her happy in spiteof the perpetual "Josy-phine!"Beth was too bashful to go to school.  It had been tried, but shesuffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at homewith her father.  Even when he went away, and her mother was called todevote her skill and energy to Soldiers' Aid Societies, Beth wentfaithfully on by herself and did the best she could.  She was ahousewifely little creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat andcomfortable for the workers, never thinking of any reward but to beloved.  Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for her littleworld was peopled with imaginary friends, and she was by nature a busybee.  There were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morning,for Beth was a child still and loved her pets as well as ever.  Not onewhole or handsome one among them, all were outcasts till Beth took themin, for when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to herbecause Amy would have nothing old or ugly. Beth cherished them all themore tenderly for that very reason, and set up a hospital for infirmdolls.  No pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals, no harshwords or blows were ever given them, no neglect ever saddened the heartof the most repulsive, but all were fed and clothed, nursed andcaressed with an affection which never failed. One forlorn fragment ofdollanity had belonged to Jo and, having led a tempestuous life, wasleft a wreck in the rag bag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescuedby Beth and taken to her refuge.  Having no top to its head, she tiedon a neat little cap, and as both arms and legs were gone, she hidthese deficiencies by folding it in a blanket and devoting her best bedto this chronic invalid.  If anyone had known the care lavished on thatdolly, I think it would have touched their hearts, even while theylaughed. She brought it bits of bouquets, she read to it, took it outto breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sang it lullabies andnever went to bed without kissing its dirty face and whisperingtenderly, "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 buta very human little girl, she often 'wept a little weep' as Jo said,because she couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano.  Sheloved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and practiced away sopatiently at the jingling old instrument, that it did seem as ifsomeone (not to hint Aunt March) ought to help her.  Nobody did,however, and nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the yellow keys, thatwouldn't keep in tune, when she was all alone. She sang like a littlelark about her work, never was too tired for Marmee and the girls, andday after day said hopefully to herself, "I know I'll get my music sometime, if I'm good."There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in cornerstill needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees thesacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, andthe sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadowbehind.If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, shewould have answered at once, "My nose."  When she was a baby, Jo hadaccidently dropped her into the coal hod, and Amy insisted that thefall 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 worldcould not give it an aristocratic point.  No one minded it but herself,and it was doing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of aGrecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to console herself."Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided talent fordrawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designingfairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art.  Herteachers complained that instead of doing her sums she covered herslate with animals, the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy mapson, and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came flutteringout of all her books at unlucky moments.  She got through her lessonsas well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being a modelof deportment.  She was a great favorite with her mates, beinggood-tempered and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort.Her little airs and graces were much admired, so were heraccomplishments, for besides her drawing, she could play twelve tunes,crochet, and read French without mispronouncing more than two-thirds ofthe words.  She had a plaintive way of saying, "When Papa was rich wedid so-and-so," which was very touching, and her long words wereconsidered 'perfectly elegant' by the girls.Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted her, and hersmall vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely. One thing,however, rather quenched the vanities.  She had to wear her cousin'sclothes.  Now Florence's mama hadn't a particle of taste, and Amysuffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet,unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit.  Everything wasgood, well made, and little worn, but Amy's artistic eyes were muchafflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dullpurple with yellow dots and no trimming."My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, "is thatMother doesn't take tucks in my dresses whenever I'm naughty, as MariaParks's mother does.  My dear, it's really dreadful, for sometimes sheis so bad her frock is up to her knees, and she can't come to school.When I think of this _deggerredation_, I feel that I can bear even myflat nose and purple gown with yellow sky-rockets on it."Meg was Amy's confidant and monitor, and by some strange attraction ofopposites Jo was gentle Beth's.  To Jo alone did the shy child tell herthoughts, and over her big harum-scarum sister Beth unconsciouslyexercised more influence than anyone in the family.  The two oldergirls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of theyounger sisters into her keeping and watched over her in her own way,'playing mother' they called it, and put their sisters in the places ofdiscarded dolls with the maternal instinct of little women."Has anybody got anything to tell?  It's been such a dismal day I'mreally dying for some amusement," said Meg, as they sat sewing togetherthat evening."I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'lltell you about it," began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories.  "I wasreading that everlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, forAunt soon drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read likefury till she wakes up.  I actually made myself sleepy, and before shebegan to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant byopening my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once.""I wish I could, and be done with it," said I, trying not to be saucy."Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit andthink them over while she just 'lost' herself for a moment. She neverfinds herself very soon, so the minute her cap began to bob like atop-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 towhere they all tumbled into the water when I forgot and laughed outloud.  Aunt woke up and, being more good-natured after her nap, told meto read a bit and show what frivolous work I preferred to the worthyand instructive Belsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, thoughshe only said..."'I don't understand what it's all about.  Go back and begin it,child.'""Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could.Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly,'I'm afraid it tires you, ma'am.  Shan't I stop now?'""She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gaveme a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way, 'Finishthe chapter, and don't be impertinent, miss'.""Did she own she liked it?" asked Meg."Oh, bless you, no!  But she let old Belsham rest, and when I ran backafter my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicarthat she didn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall because ofthe good time coming.  What a pleasant life she might have if only shechose!  I don't envy her much, in spite of her money, for after allrich people have about as many worries as poor ones, I think," added Jo."That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got something to tell. It isn'tfunny, like Jo's story, but I thought about it a good deal as I camehome.  At the Kings' today I found everybody in a flurry, and one ofthe children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful,and Papa had sent him away.  I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. Kingtalking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces whenthey passed me, so I shouldn't see how red and swollen their eyes were.I didn't ask any questions, of course, but I felt so sorry for them andwas rather glad I hadn't any wild brothers to do wicked things anddisgrace the family.""I think being disgraced in school is a great deal try_inger_ thananything bad boys can do," said Amy, shaking her head, as if herexperience of life had been a deep one.  "Susie Perkins came to schooltoday with a lovely red carnelian ring.  I wanted it dreadfully, andwished I was her with all my might.  Well, she drew a picture of Mr.Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, 'Young ladies,my eye is upon you!' coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing.  Wewere laughing over it when all of a sudden his eye _was_ on us, and heordered Susie to bring up her slate.  She was _parry_lized with fright,but she went, and oh, what _do_ you think he did?  He took her by theear--the ear!  Just fancy how horrid!--and led her to the recitationplatform, and made her stand there half an hour, holding the slate soeveryone could see.""Didn't the girls laugh at the picture?" asked Jo, who relished thescrape."Laugh? Not one! They sat still as mice, and Susie cried quarts, I knowshe did.  I didn't envy her then, for I felt that millions of carnelianrings wouldn't have made me happy after that. I never, never shouldhave got over such a agonizing mortification." And Amy went on with herwork, in the proud consciousness of virtue and the successful utteranceof two long words in a breath."I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it atdinner, but I forgot," said Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basket inorder as she talked.  "When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr.Laurence was in the fish shop, but he didn't see me, for I kept behindthe fish barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter the fish-man. A poorwoman came in with a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he wouldlet her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she hadn't anydinner for her children, and had been disappointed of a day's work.Mr. Cutter was in a hurry and said 'No', rather crossly, so she wasgoing away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr. Laurence hooked up a bigfish with the crooked end of his cane and held it out to her.  She wasso glad and surprised she took it right into her arms, and thanked himover and over.  He told her to 'go along and cook it', and she hurriedoff, so happy!  Wasn't it good of him?  Oh, she did look so funny,hugging the big, slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed in heavenwould be 'aisy'."When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked their mother for one,and after a moments thought, she said soberly, "As I sat cutting outblue flannel jackets today at the rooms, I felt very anxious aboutFather, and thought how lonely and helpless we should be, if anythinghappened to him.  It was not a wise thing to do, but I kept on worryingtill an old man came in with an order for some clothes.  He sat downnear me, and I began to talk to him, for he looked poor and tired andanxious."'Have you sons in the army?' I asked, for the note he brought was notto me.""Yes, ma'am.  I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner, andI'm going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital.' heanswered quietly.""'You have done a great deal for your country, sir,' I said, feelingrespect now, instead of pity.""'Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am.  I'd go myself, if I was anyuse.  As I ain't, I give my boys, and give 'em free.'""He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to givehis all, that I was ashamed of myself.  I'd given one man and thoughtit too much, while he gave four without grudging them.  I had all mygirls to comfort me at home, and his last son was waiting, miles away,to say good-by to him, perhaps!  I felt so rich, so happy thinking ofmy blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him some money, andthanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me.""Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it, like this. I liketo think about them afterward, if they are real and not too preachy,"said Jo, after a minute's silence.Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to thislittle audience for many years, and knew how to please them."Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat anddrink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends andparents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented." (Herethe listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sewdiligently.) "These girls were anxious to be good and made manyexcellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and wereconstantly saying, 'If only we had this,' or 'If we could only dothat,' quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many thingsthey actually could do.  So they asked an old woman what spell theycould use to make them happy, and she said, 'When you feeldiscontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.'" (Here Jolooked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeingthat the story was not done yet.)"Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon weresurprised to see how well off they were.  One discovered that moneycouldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses, anotherthat, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with heryouth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble oldlady who couldn't enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeable as itwas to help get dinner, it was harder still to go begging for it andthe fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as goodbehavior.  So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessingsalready possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be takenaway entirely, instead of increased, and I believe they were neverdisappointed or sorry that they took the old woman's advice.""Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own storiesagainst us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!" cried Meg."I like that kind of sermon.  It's the sort Father used to tell us,"said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo's cushion."I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be morecareful than ever now, for I've had warning from Susie's downfall,"said Amy morally."We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it.  If we do so, you justsay 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 lifeof her, help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, thoughshe took it to heart as much as any of them.CHAPTER FIVEBEING NEIGHBORLY"What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?" asked Meg one snowyafternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubberboots, old sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in theother."Going out for exercise," answered Jo with a mischievous twinkle in hereyes."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 thefire, as I do," said Meg with a shiver."Never take advice!  Can't keep still all day, and not being apussycat, I don't like to doze by the fire.  I like adventures, and I'mgoing to find some."Meg went back to toast her feet and read _Ivanhoe_, and Jo began to digpaths with great energy.  The snow was light, and with her broom shesoon swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when thesun came out and the invalid dolls needed air.  Now, the gardenseparated the Marches' house from that of Mr. Laurence.  Both stood ina suburb of the city, which was still country-like, with groves andlawns, large gardens, and quiet streets.  A low hedge parted the twoestates.  On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare andshabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls and theflowers, which then surrounded it.  On the other side was a statelystone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury,from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory andthe glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains.Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no childrenfrolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, andfew people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchantedpalace, full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed.  She hadlong wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the Laurenceboy, who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how tobegin.  Since the party, she had been more eager than ever, and hadplanned many ways of making friends with him, but he had not been seenlately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spieda brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down into theirgarden, where Beth and Amy were snow-balling one another."That boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself. "Hisgrandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up allalone.  He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody youngand lively.  I've a great mind to go over and tell the old gentlemanso!"The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things and was alwaysscandalizing Meg by her queer performances.  The plan of 'going over'was not forgotten.  And when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved totry what could be done.  She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off, and thensallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused and tooka survey.  All quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants outof sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on athin hand at the upper window."There he is," thought Jo, "Poor boy!  All alone and sick this dismalday.  It's a shame!  I'll toss up a snowball and make him look out, andthen say a kind word to him."Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing aface which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyesbrightened and the mouth began to smile.  Jo nodded and laughed, andflourished her broom as she called out..."How do you do?  Are you sick?"Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven..."Better, thank you.  I've had a bad cold, and been shut up a week.""I'm sorry.  What do you amuse yourself with?""Nothing.  It's dull as tombs up here.""Don't you read?""Not much.  They won't let me.""Can't somebody read to you?""Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and I hate toask Brooke all the time.""Have someone come and see you then.""There isn't anyone I'd like to see.  Boys make such a row, and my headis weak.""Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you?  Girls are quietand like to play nurse.""Don't know any.""You know us," began Jo, then laughed and stopped."So I do!  Will you come, please?" cried Laurie."I'm not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me. I'll goask her.  Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till I come."With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house,wondering what they would all say to her.  Laurie was in a flutter ofexcitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready,for as Mrs. March said, he was 'a little gentleman', and did honor tothe coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh color,and trying to tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozenservants, was anything but neat.  Presently there came a loud ring,than a decided voice, asking for 'Mr. Laurie', and a surprised-lookingservant came running up to announce a young lady."All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo," said Laurie, going to the doorof his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and quiteat her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's three kittensin the other."Here I am, bag and baggage," she said briskly.  "Mother sent her love,and was glad if I could do anything for you.  Meg wanted me to bringsome of her blanc mange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought hercats would be comforting.  I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn'trefuse, she was so anxious to do something."It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing, for inlaughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grewsociable at once."That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jouncovered the dish, and showed the blanc mange, surrounded by a garlandof 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 eatit, and being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat.What a cozy room this is!""It might be if it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and I don'tknow how to make them mind.  It worries me though.""I'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearthbrushed, so--and the things made straight on the mantelpiece, so--andthe books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned fromthe 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 thingsinto place and given quite a different air to the room.  Laurie watchedher in respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, hesat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully..."How kind you are!  Yes, that's what it wanted.  Now please take thebig chair and let me do something to amuse my company.""No, I came to amuse you.  Shall I read aloud?" and Jo lookedaffectionately toward some inviting books near by."Thank you!  I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'd rathertalk," answered Laurie."Not a bit.  I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going. Beth says Inever know when to stop.""Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goesout 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 youcalling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't helplooking over at your house, you always seem to be having such goodtimes.  I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forgetto put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are. And whenthe lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire,and you all around the table with your mother.  Her face is rightopposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can't helpwatching it.  I haven't got any mother, you know." And Laurie poked thefire 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 wassick and lonely, and feeling how rich she was in home and happiness,she gladly tried to share it with him. Her face was very friendly andher sharp voice unusually gentle as she said..."We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to lookas much as you like.  I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'dcome over and see us.  Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps ofgood, and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy woulddance.  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 hedoes not look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he'safraid I might be a bother to strangers," began Laurie, brighteningmore and more."We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think you'd bea bother.  We want to know you, and I've been trying to do it this everso long.  We haven't been here a great while, you know, but we have gotacquainted with all our neighbors but you.""You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much whathappens outside.  Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you know,and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and geton as I can.""That's bad.  You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhereyou are asked, then you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant placesto go to.  Never mind being bashful.  It won't last long if you keepgoing."Laurie turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accused ofbashfulness, for there was so much good will in Jo it was impossiblenot to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant."Do you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject, after alittle pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jo looked abouther, well pleased."Don't go to school, I'm a businessman--girl, I mean.  I go to wait onmy great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too," answered Jo.Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering justin time that it wasn't manners to make too many inquiries into people'saffairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.Jo liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at AuntMarch, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady,her fat poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the library whereshe reveled.Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim oldgentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and in the middle of a finespeech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boylay back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maidpopped her head in to see what was the matter."Oh!  That does me no end of good.  Tell on, please," he said, takinghis face out of the sofa cushion, red and shining with merriment.Much elated with her success, Jo did 'tell on', all about their playsand plans, their hopes and fears for Father, and the most interestingevents of the little world in which the sisters lived.  Then they gotto talking about books, and to Jo's delight, she found that Laurieloved them as well as she did, and had read even more than herself."If you like them so much, come down and see ours.  Grandfather is out,so you needn't be afraid," said Laurie, getting up."I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a toss of the head."I don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at her with muchadmiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason tobe a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some of hismoods.The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie led the wayfrom room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck herfancy.  And so, at last they came to the library, where she clapped herhands and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted.  It waslined with books, and there were pictures and statues, and distractinglittle cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollowchairs, and queer tables, and bronzes, and best of all, a great openfireplace with quaint tiles all round it."What richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chairand gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction. "TheodoreLaurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she addedimpressively."A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his head as heperched on a table opposite.Before he could more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaiming withalarm, "Mercy me!  It's your grandpa!""Well, what if it is?  You are not afraid of anything, you know,"returned the boy, looking wicked."I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know why I shouldbe.  Marmee said I might come, and I don't think you're any the worsefor it," said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on thedoor."I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I'm onlyafraid you are very tired of talking to me.  It was so pleasant, Icouldn't bear to stop," said Laurie gratefully."The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as she spoke."Would you mind if I left you for a minute?  I suppose I must see him,"said Laurie."Don't mind me.  I'm happy as a cricket here," answered Jo.Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She wasstanding before a fine portrait of the old gentleman when the dooropened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, "I'm sure nowthat I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes, though hismouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own.He isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him.""Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to hergreat dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart beganto beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said.  For aminute a wild desire to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly,and the girls would laugh at her, so she resolved to stay and get outof the scrape as she could.  A second look showed her that the livingeyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones,and there was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a gooddeal.  The gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the old gentleman saidabruptly, after the dreadful pause, "So you're not afraid of me, hey?""Not much, sir.""And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?""Not quite, sir.""And I've got a tremendous will, have I?""I only said I thought so.""But you like me in spite of it?""Yes, I do, sir."That answer pleased the old gentleman.  He gave a short laugh, shookhands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up herface, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod, "You'vegot your grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face.  He was a fineman, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, andI was proud to be his friend.""Thank you, sir," And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for itsuited her exactly."What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was the nextquestion, sharply put."Only trying to be neighborly, sir."  And Jo told how her visit cameabout."You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?""Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him goodperhaps.  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," saidJo 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 toldall about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friendsthan they were."Just her father's way of doing good.  I shall come and see your mothersome fine day.  Tell her so.  There's the tea bell, we have it early onthe boy's account.  Come down and go on being neighborly.""If you'd like to have me, sir.""Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't."  And Mr. Laurence offered her his armwith old-fashioned courtesy."What would Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marched away,while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling thestory at home."Hey!  Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the oldgentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with astart of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with hisredoubtable grandfather."I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a triumphantlittle glance."That's evident, by the way you racket downstairs.  Come to your tea,sir, and behave like a gentleman."  And having pulled the boy's hair byway of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through aseries of comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced anexplosion 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 oldfriends, and the change in his grandson did not escape him.  There wascolor, 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 cando for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened.  He likedJo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understandthe boy almost as well as if she had been one herself.If the Laurences had been what Jo called 'prim and poky', she would nothave got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward.But finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a goodimpression.  When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he hadsomething more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory,which had been lighted for her benefit.  It seemed quite fairylike toJo, as she went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls oneither side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderfulvines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut thefinest 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 drawingroom, but Jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, whichstood open."Do you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectfulexpression."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 inheliotrope and tea roses.  Her respect and regard for the 'Laurence'boy increased very much, for he played remarkably well and didn't puton any airs.  She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so,only praised him till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came tohis rescue."That will do, that will do, young lady.  Too many sugarplums are notgood for him.  His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do as well inmore important things.  Going?  well, I'm much obliged to you, and Ihope you'll come again.  My respects to your mother. Good night, DoctorJo."He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him.When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said somethingamiss.  He shook his head."No, it was me.  He doesn't like to hear me play.""Why not?""I'll tell you some day.  John is going home with you, as I can't.""No need of that.  I am not a young lady, and it's only a step.  Takecare 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 feltinclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something veryattractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. Marchwanted to talk of her father with the old man who had not forgottenhim, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory, Beth sighed for the grandpiano, and Amy was eager to see the fine pictures and statues."Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?" asked Jo,who was of an inquiring disposition."I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's father,married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, whois very proud.  The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but hedid not like her, and never saw his son after he married.  They bothdied when Laurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took himhome.  I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, andthe old man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful.Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother,and I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician.At any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and sohe 'glowered' as Jo said.""Dear me, how romantic!" exclaimed Meg."How silly!" said Jo.  "Let him be a musician if he wants to, and notplague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go.""That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, Isuppose.  Italians are always nice," said Meg, who was a littlesentimental."What do you know about his eyes and his manners?  You never spoke tohim, hardly," cried Jo, who was not sentimental."I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how tobehave.  That was a nice little speech about the medicine Mother senthim.""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 herbefore."I never saw such a girl!  You don't know a compliment when you getit," said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about thematter."I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to be sillyand spoil my fun.  Laurie's a nice boy and I like him, and I won't haveany sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish.  We'll all begood to him because he hasn't got any mother, and he may come over andsee us, mayn't he, Marmee?""Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg willremember that children should be children as long as they can.""I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet," observedAmy.  "What do you say, Beth?""I was thinking about our '_Pilgrim's Progress_'," answered Beth, whohad not heard a word.  "How we got out of the Slough and through theWicket 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 goingto be our Palace Beautiful.""We have got to get by the lions first," said Jo, as if she ratherliked the prospect.CHAPTER SIXBETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFULThe big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some timefor all to get in, and Beth found it very hard to pass the lions.  OldMr. Laurence was the biggest one, but after he had called, saidsomething funny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over oldtimes with their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timidBeth.  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'smotherly welcome, their cheerful society, and the comfort he took inthat humble home of theirs.  So they soon forgot their pride andinterchanged kindnesses without stopping to think which was the greater.All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time, for the newfriendship flourished like grass in spring.  Every one liked Laurie,and he privately informed his tutor that "the Marches were regularlysplendid girls."  With the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they tookthe solitary boy into their midst and made much of him, and he foundsomething very charming in the innocent companionship of thesesimple-hearted girls.  Never having known mother or sisters, he wasquick to feel the influences they brought about him, and their busy,lively ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led. He was tiredof books, and found people so interesting now that Mr. Brooke wasobliged to make very unsatisfactory reports, for Laurie was alwaysplaying truant and running over to the Marches'."Never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it up afterward," saidthe old gentleman.  "The good lady next door says he is studying toohard and needs young society, amusement, and exercise.  I suspect sheis right, and that I've been coddling the fellow as if I'd been hisgrandmother.  Let him do what he likes, as long as he is happy. Hecan'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, suchsleigh rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the oldparlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house.Meg could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked and revel inbouquets, Jo browsed over the new library voraciously, and convulsedthe old gentleman with her criticisms, Amy copied pictures and enjoyedbeauty to her heart's content, and Laurie played 'lord of the manor' inthe most delightful style.But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck upcourage to go to the 'Mansion of Bliss', as Meg called it.  She wentonce 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!" soloud, that he frightened her so much her 'feet chattered on the floor',she never told her mother, and she ran away, declaring she would nevergo there any more, not even for the dear piano.  No persuasions orenticements could overcome her fear, till, the fact coming to Mr.Laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending matters.During one of the brief calls he made, he artfully led the conversationto music, and talked away about great singers whom he had seen, fineorgans he had heard, and told such charming anecdotes that Beth foundit impossible to stay in her distant corner, but crept nearer andnearer, as if fascinated.  At the back of his chair she stopped andstood listening, with her great eyes wide open and her cheeks red withexcitement of this unusual performance.  Taking no more notice of herthan if she had been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie'slessons and teachers.  And presently, as if the idea had just occurredto him, he said to Mrs. March..."The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for he was gettingtoo fond of it.  But the piano suffers for want of use.  Wouldn't someof your girls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, justto keep it in tune, you know, ma'am?"Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together tokeep from clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation, andthe thought of practicing on that splendid instrument quite took herbreath away.  Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence went on withan odd little nod and smile..."They needn't see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time. For I'mshut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out agreat deal, and the servants are never near the drawing room after nineo'clock."Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for thatlast arrangement left nothing to be desired.  "Please, tell the youngladies what I say, and if they don't care to come, why, never mind."Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with aface 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!" ashe looked down at her very kindly."I'm Beth.  I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite surenobody will hear me, and be disturbed," she added, fearing to be rude,and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke."Not a soul, my dear.  The house is empty half the day, so come anddrum 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 wasnot frightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because shehad no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. Theold gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stoopingdown, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard..."I had a little girl once, with eyes like these.  God bless you, mydear!  Good day, madam."  And away he went, in a great hurry.Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart theglorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not home.How blithely she sang that evening, and how they all laughed at herbecause she woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face inher sleep.  Next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman outof the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at theside door, and made her way as noiselessly as any mouse to the drawingroom where her idol stood.  Quite by accident, of course, some pretty,easy music lay on the piano, and with trembling fingers and frequentstops to listen and look about, Beth at last touched the greatinstrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everythingelse but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it waslike the voice of a beloved friend.She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner, but she had noappetite, and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general stateof beatitude.After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearlyevery day, and the great drawing room was haunted by a tuneful spiritthat came and went unseen.  She never knew that Mr. Laurence opened hisstudy door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked.  She never sawLaurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away. She neversuspected that the exercise books and new songs which she found in therack were put there for her especial benefit, and when he talked to herabout music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell thingsthat helped her so much.  So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found,what isn't always the case, that her granted wish was all she hadhoped.  Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessingthat 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 sokind to me, I must thank him, and I don't know any other way. Can I doit?" asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his."Yes, dear.  It will please him very much, and be a nice way ofthanking him.  The girls will help you about them, and I will pay forthe making up," replied Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure ingranting Beth's requests because she so seldom asked anything forherself.After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen,the materials bought, and the slippers begun.  A cluster of grave yetcheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced veryappropriate and pretty, and Beth worked away early and late, withoccasional lifts over hard parts.  She was a nimble little needlewoman,and they were finished before anyone got tired of them.  Then she wrotea short, simple note, and with Laurie's help, got them smuggled ontothe study table one morning before the old gentleman was up.When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen.All day passed and a part of the next before any acknowledgementarrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crochetyfriend.  On the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do anerrand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise.  Asshe came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four headspopping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her,several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed..."Here's a letter from the old gentleman!  Come quick, and read it!""Oh, Beth, he's sent you..." began Amy, gesticulating with unseemlyenergy, but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming downthe window.Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense.  At the door her sistersseized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, allpointing and all saying at once, "Look there!  Look there!"  Beth didlook, and turned pale with delight and surprise, for there stood alittle cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directedlike a sign board to "Miss Elizabeth March.""For me?" gasped Beth, holding onto Jo and feeling as if she shouldtumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether."Yes, all for you, my precious!  Isn't it splendid of him?  Don't youthink he's the dearest old man in the world?  Here's the key in theletter.  We didn't open it, but we are dying to know what he says,"cried Jo, hugging her sister and offering the note."You read it!  I can't, I feel so queer!  Oh, it is too lovely!" andBeth 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 sawwere..."Miss March: "Dear Madam--""How nice it sounds!  I wish someone would write to me so!" said Amy,who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant."'I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had anythat suited me so well as yours,'" continues Jo.  "'Heart's-ease is myfavorite 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' tosend you something which once belonged to the little grand daughter helost.  With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain "'Your gratefulfriend and humble servant, 'JAMES LAURENCE'.""There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm sure! Laurie told mehow fond Mr. Laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he keptall her little things carefully.  Just think, he's given you her piano.That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music," said Jo, tryingto soothe Beth, who trembled and looked more excited than she had everbeen 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 andstool, all complete," added Meg, opening the instrument and displayingits beauties."'Your humble servant, James Laurence'.  Only think of his writing thatto you.  I'll tell the girls.  They'll think it's splendid," said Amy,much impressed by the note."Try it, honey.  Let's hear the sound of the baby pianny," said Hannah,who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows.So Beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable pianoever heard.  It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-pieorder, but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm lay in thehappiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovinglytouched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the brightpedals."You'll have to go and thank him," said Jo, by way of a joke, for theidea of the child's really going never entered her head."Yes, I mean to.  I guess I'll go now, before I get frightened thinkingabout it." And, to the utter amazement of the assembled family, Bethwalked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at theLaurences' door."Well, I wish I may die if it ain't the queerest thing I ever see!  Thepianny has turned her head!  She'd never have gone in her right mind,"cried Hannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quitespeechless by the miracle.They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth didafterward.  If you will believe me, she went and knocked at the studydoor before she gave herself time to think, and when a gruff voicecalled out, "come in!" she did go in, right up to Mr. Laurence, wholooked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only asmall quaver in her voice, "I came to thank you, sir, for..." But shedidn't finish, for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speechand, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, sheput both arms round his neck and kissed him.If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentlemanwouldn't have been more astonished.  But he liked it. Oh, dear, yes, heliked it amazingly!  And was so touched and pleased by that confidinglittle kiss that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her onhis knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling asif he had got his own little granddaughter back again.  Beth ceased tofear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as ifshe had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and gratitudecan conquer pride.  When she went home, he walked with her to her owngate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat as he marched backagain, looking very stately and erect, like a handsome, soldierly oldgentleman, as he was.When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way ofexpressing her satisfaction, Amy nearly fell out of the window in hersurprise, and Meg exclaimed, with up-lifted hands, "Well, I do believethe world is coming to an end."CHAPTER SEVENAMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION"That boy is a perfect cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy one day, as Laurieclattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as he passed."How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes?  And very handsomeones they are, too," cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks abouther friend."I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you needfire up when I admire his riding.""Oh, my goodness!  That little goose means a centaur, and she calledhim a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter."You needn't be so rude, it's only a 'lapse of lingy', as Mr. Davissays," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin.  "I just wish I had alittle of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if toherself, yet hoping her sisters would hear."Why?" asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy'ssecond blunder."I need it so much.  I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn tohave the rag money for a month.""In debt, Amy?  What do you mean?" And Meg looked sober."Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, youknow, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything chargedat the shop.""Tell me all about it.  Are limes the fashion now?  It used to bepricking bits of rubber to make balls."  And Meg tried to keep hercountenance, Amy looked so grave and important."Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want tobe thought mean, you must do it too.  It's nothing but limes now, foreveryone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading themoff 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 withher, she eats one before her face, and doesn't offer even a suck.  Theytreat by turns, and I've had ever so many but haven't returned them,and I ought for they are debts of honor, you know.""How much will pay them off and restore your credit?" asked Meg, takingout her purse."A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for atreat for you.  Don't you like limes?""Not much.  You may have my share.  Here's the money.  Make it last aslong 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 agrand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week.  I felt delicateabout taking any, as I couldn't return them, and I'm actually sufferingfor one."Next day Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist thetemptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paperparcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk.During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had gottwenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on the way) and was going totreat circulated through her 'set', and the attentions of her friendsbecame quite overwhelming.  Katy Brown invited her to her next party onthe spot.  Mary Kingsley insisted on lending her her watch till recess,and Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy uponher limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet and offered to furnishanswers to certain appalling sums.  But Amy had not forgotten MissSnow's cutting remarks about 'some persons whose noses were not tooflat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people who were nottoo proud to ask for them', and she instantly crushed 'that Snowgirl's' hopes by the withering telegram, "You needn't be so polite allof 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 herfoe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assumethe airs of a studious young peacock.  But, alas, alas!  Pride goesbefore a fall, and the revengeful Snow turned the tables withdisastrous success.  No sooner had the guest paid the usual stalecompliments and bowed himself out, than Jenny, under pretense of askingan important question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy Marchhad pickled limes in her desk.Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnlyvowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking thelaw.  This much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing gumafter a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscatednovels and newspapers, had suppressed a private post office, hadforbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and doneall that one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls inorder.  Boys are trying enough to human patience, goodness knows, butgirls are infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen withtyrannical tempers and no more talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber.Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, algebra, and ologies ofall sorts so he was called a fine teacher, and manners, morals,feelings, and examples were not considered of any particularimportance.  It was a most unfortunate moment for denouncing Amy, andJenny knew it.  Mr. Davis had evidently taken his coffee too strongthat morning, there was an east wind, which always affected hisneuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the credit which he felt hedeserved.  Therefore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, languageof a schoolgirl, "He was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear".The word 'limes' was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, andhe rapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seatwith unusual rapidity."Young ladies, attention, if you please!"At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black,gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance."Miss March, come to the desk."Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressedher, for the limes weighed upon her conscience."Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpectedcommand which arrested her before she got out of her seat."Don't take all." whispered her neighbor, a young lady of greatpresence 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 whenthat delicious perfume met his nose.  Unfortunately, Mr. Davisparticularly detested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgustadded 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 themout of the window."There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, asthe last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips.Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times,and as each doomed couple, looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell fromher reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish ofthe girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over bythe little Irish children, who were their sworn foes.  This--this wastoo much.  All flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorableDavis, 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 sorrythis has happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and Inever break my word.  Miss March, hold out your hand."Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploringlook which pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter.She was rather a favorite with 'old Davis', as, of course, he wascalled, and it's my private belief that he would have broken his wordif the indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found ventin a hiss.  That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irasciblegentleman, 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 headdefiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on herlittle palm.  They were neither many nor heavy, but that made nodifference 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 herdown."You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis,resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun.That was dreadful.  It would have been bad enough to go to her seat,and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of herfew enemies, but to face the whole school, with that shame fresh uponher, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if she could onlydrop down where she stood, and break her heart with crying.  A bittersense of wrong and the thought of Jenny Snow helped her to bear it,and, taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on the stovefunnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, somotionless and white that the girls found it hard to study with thatpathetic figure before them.During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitivelittle girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.  Toothers it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was ahard experience, for during the twelve years of her life she had beengoverned by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched herbefore.  The smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were forgottenin the sting of the thought, "I shall have to tell at home, and theywill be so disappointed in me!"The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last,and the word 'Recess!' had never seemed so welcome to her before."You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt,uncomfortable.He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as shewent, without a word to anyone, straight into the anteroom, snatchedher things, and left the place "forever," as she passionately declaredto herself.  She was in a sad state when she got home, and when theolder girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was heldat once.  Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, andcomforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner. Megbathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, Beth felt that evenher beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, Jowrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay, andHannah shook her fist at the 'villain' and pounded potatoes for dinneras if she had him under her pestle.No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates, but thesharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant inthe afternoon, also unusually nervous.  Just before school closed, Joappeared, wearing a grim expression as she stalked up to the desk, anddelivered a letter from her mother, then collected Amy's property, anddeparted, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door mat, asif she shook the dust of the place off her feet."Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study alittle every day with Beth," said Mrs. March that evening. "I don'tapprove of corporal punishment, especially for girls.  I dislike Mr.Davis's manner of teaching and don't think the girls you associate withare doing you any good, so I shall ask your father's advice before Isend you anywhere else.""That's good!  I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his oldschool.  It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes,"sighed Amy, with the air of a martyr."I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deservedsome punishment for disobedience," was the severe reply, which ratherdisappointed 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 hermother, "but I'm not sure that it won't do you more good than a boldermethod.  You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it isquite time you set about correcting it.  You have a good many littlegifts and virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceitspoils the finest genius.  There is not much danger that real talent orgoodness will be overlooked long, even if it is, the consciousness ofpossessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm ofall 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, andshe didn't know it, never guessed what sweet little things she composedwhen she was alone, and wouldn't have believed it if anyone had toldher.""I wish I'd known that nice girl.  Maybe she would have helped me, I'mso stupid," said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly."You do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could,"answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in hismerry black eyes that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her facein the sofa cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery.Jo let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth, whocould not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. SoLaurie did his best, and sang delightfully, being in a particularlylively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of hischaracter.  When he was gone, Amy, who had been pensive all evening,said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, "Is Laurie anaccomplished boy?""Yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent. He willmake a fine man, if not spoiled by petting," replied her mother."And he isn't conceited, is he?" asked Amy."Not in the least.  That is why he is so charming and we all like himso much.""I see.  It's nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not toshow off or get perked up," said Amy thoughtfully."These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner andconversations, if modestly used, but it is not necessary to displaythem," said Mrs. March."Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns andribbons at once, that folks may know you've got them," added Jo, andthe lecture ended in a laugh.CHAPTER EIGHTJO MEETS APOLLYON"Girls, where are you going?" asked Amy, coming into their room oneSaturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with anair of secrecy which excited her curiosity."Never mind.  Little girls shouldn't ask questions," returned Josharply.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 stillmore trying to us.  Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined tofind out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, whonever 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 herpiano, 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 inimpatiently, "Now, Meg, be quiet or you will spoil it all.  You can'tgo, Amy, so don't be a baby and whine about it.""You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are.  You werewhispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and youstopped 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 herpocket."I know!  I know!  You're going to the theater to see the _SevenCastles!_" she cried, adding resolutely, "and I shall go, for Mothersaid I might see it, and I've got my rag money, and it was mean not totell 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 notwell enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece.  Next week youcan go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.""I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Pleaselet me.  I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I'm dyingfor some fun.  Do, Meg!  I'll be ever so good," pleaded Amy, looking aspathetic as she could."Suppose we take her.  I don't believe Mother would mind, if we bundleher up well," began Meg."If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it, and itwill be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy.  Ishould think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted," saidJo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety childwhen she wanted to enjoy herself.Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying,in her most aggravating way, "I shall go.  Meg says I may, and if I payfor myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it.""You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn't sitalone, so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil ourpleasure.  Or he'll get another seat for you, and that isn't properwhen you weren't asked.  You shan't stir a step, so you may just staywhere you are," scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked herfinger in her hurry.Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry and Meg toreason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girlshurried down, leaving their sister wailing.  For now and then sheforgot her grown-up ways and acted like a spoiled child.  Just as theparty was setting out, Amy called over the banisters in a threateningtone, "You'll be sorry for this, Jo March, see if you ain't.""Fiddlesticks!" returned Jo, slamming the door.They had a charming time, for _The Seven Castles Of The Diamond Lake_was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. But in spite of thecomical red imps, sparkling elves, and the gorgeous princes andprincesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it.  The fairyqueen's yellow curls reminded her of Amy, and between the acts sheamused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her'sorry for it'.  She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in thecourse of their lives, for both had quick tempers and were apt to beviolent when fairly roused.  Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, andsemioccasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamedafterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and hadhard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continuallygetting her into trouble.  Her anger never lasted long, and havinghumbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to dobetter. Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into afury because she was such an angel afterward.  Poor Jo trieddesperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flameup 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 assumedan injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes from her book, orasked a single question.  Perhaps curiosity might have conqueredresentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowingdescription of the play.  On going up to put away her best hat, Jo'sfirst look was toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy hadsoothed her feelings by turning Jo's top drawer upside down on thefloor.  Everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty glanceinto her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy hadforgiven and forgotten her wrongs.There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produceda tempest.  Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in theafternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demandingbreathlessly, "Has anyone taken my book?"Meg and Beth said, "No." at once, and looked surprised.  Amy poked thefire and said nothing.  Jo saw her color rise and was down upon her ina minute."Amy, you've got it!""No, I haven't.""You know where it is, then!""No, I don't.""That's a fib!" cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and lookingfierce 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'tcare.""You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or I'llmake you."  And Jo gave her a slight shake."Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old bookagain," cried Amy, getting excited in her turn."Why not?""I burned it up.""What!  My little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant tofinish before Father got home?  Have you really burned it?" said Jo,turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amynervously."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 Amytill her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief andanger..."You wicked, wicked girl!  I never can write it again, and I'll neverforgive you as long as I live."Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite besideherself, and with a parting box on her sister's ear, she rushed out ofthe 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 heardthe story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done hersister.  Jo's book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by herfamily as a literary sprout of great promise.  It was only half a dozenlittle fairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting herwhole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough toprint.  She had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed theold manuscript, so that Amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work ofseveral years.  It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was adreadful 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 herpet.  Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no onewould love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she nowregretted more than any of them.When the tea bell rang, Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachablethat 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 thatmoment she ignored Amy entirely.No one spoke of the great trouble, not even Mrs. March, for all hadlearned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words were wasted,and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her owngenerous nature, softened Jo's resentment and healed the breach.  Itwas not a happy evening, for though they sewed as usual, while theirmother read aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something waswanting, and the sweet home peace was disturbed.  They felt this mostwhen singing time came, for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as astone, and Amy broke down, so Meg and Mother sang alone.  But in spiteof their efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flutelike voices did notseem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune.As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently, "Mydear, don't let the sun go down upon your anger.  Forgive each other,help each other, and begin again tomorrow."Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry hergrief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and shefelt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet.  Soshe winked hard, shook her head, and said gruffly because Amy waslistening, "It was an abominable thing, and she doesn't deserve to beforgiven."With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry orconfidential 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 injuredthan ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way whichwas particularly exasperating.  Jo still looked like a thunder cloud,and nothing went well all day.  It was bitter cold in the morning, shedropped her precious turnover in the gutter, Aunt March had an attackof the fidgets, Meg was sensitive, Beth would look grieved and wistfulwhen she got home, and Amy kept making remarks about people who werealways talking about being good and yet wouldn't even try when otherpeople set them a virtuous example."Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to go skating.  He is alwayskind 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 impatientexclamation."There!  She promised I should go next time, for this is the last icewe shall have.  But it's no use to ask such a crosspatch to take me.""Don't say that.  You were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive theloss of her precious little book, but I think she might do it now, andI guess she will, if you try her at the right minute," said Meg.  "Goafter them.  Don't say anything till Jo has got good-natured withLaurie, than take a quiet minute and just kiss her, or do some kindthing, 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 toget ready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing overthe hill.It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reachedthem.  Jo saw her coming, and turned her back.  Laurie did not see, forhe was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warmspell had preceded the cold snap."I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right before webegin to race," Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like ayoung Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing onher fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but Jo never turned andwent slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort ofsatisfaction in her sister's troubles. She had cherished her anger tillit grew strong and took possession of her, as evil thoughts andfeelings 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 Amywas struggling to her feet and did not catch a word.  Jo glanced overher shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear..."No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself."Laurie had vanished round the bend, Jo was just at the turn, and Amy,far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of theriver.  For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in herheart, then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned herround, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with asudden crash of rotten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that madeJo's heart stand still with fear.  She tried to call Laurie, but hervoice was gone.  She tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to haveno strength in them, and for a second, she could only stand motionless,staring with a terror-stricken face at the little blue hood above theblack water. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie's voice criedout..."Bring a rail.  Quick, quick!"How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes she workedas if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed,and lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Jo draggeda rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, morefrightened than hurt."Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can.  Pile our things onher, while I get off these confounded skates," cried Laurie, wrappinghis coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemedso intricate before.Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home, and after anexciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets before a hotfire.  During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown about,looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, andher hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles. WhenAmy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting bythe 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 thegolden head, which might have been swept away from her sight foreverunder the treacherous ice."Quite safe, dear.  She is not hurt, and won't even take cold, I think,you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly," repliedher mother cheerfully."Laurie did it all.  I only let her go.  Mother, if she should die, itwould be my fault."  And Jo dropped down beside the bed in a passion ofpenitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning herhardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared theheavy punishment which might have come upon her."It's my dreadful temper!  I try to cure it, I think I have, and thenit breaks out worse than ever.  Oh, Mother, what shall I do?  Whatshall I do?" cried poor Jo, in despair."Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it isimpossible to conquer your fault," said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzyhead to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jocried even harder."You don't know, you can't guess how bad it is!  It seems as if I coulddo anything when I'm in a passion.  I get so savage, I could hurtanyone and enjoy it.  I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful someday, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me. Oh, Mother, helpme, do help me!""I will, my child, I will.  Don't cry so bitterly, but remember thisday, and resolve with all your soul that you will never know anotherlike it.  Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater thanyours, and it often takes us all our lives to conquer them.  You thinkyour temper is the worst in the world, but mine used to be just likeit.""Yours, Mother?  Why, you are never angry!"  And for the moment Joforgot remorse in surprise."I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeededin controlling it.  I am angry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but Ihave 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 abetter lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof.  Shefelt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her.  Theknowledge 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 agirl of fifteen."Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and goout 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, andwhen I feel that they mean to break out against my will, I just go awayfor a minute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak andwicked," answered Mrs. March with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothedand fastened up Jo's disheveled hair."How did you learn to keep still?  That is what troubles me, for thesharp words fly out before I know what I'm about, and the more I saythe worse I get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and saydreadful 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 yearshad to struggle on alone, for I was too proud to confess my weakness toanyone else.  I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tearsover 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 begood.  But by-and-by, when I had four little daughters round me and wewere poor, then the old trouble began again, for I am not patient bynature, 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 ashamedto do otherwise before him.  He helped and comforted me, and showed methat I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my littlegirls possess, for I was their example.  It was easier to try for yoursakes than for my own. A startled or surprised look from one of youwhen I spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done,and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetestreward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have themcopy.""Oh, Mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied,"cried Jo, much touched."I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watchover your 'bosom enemy', as father calls it, or it may sadden, if notspoil your life.  You have had a warning. Remember it, and try withheart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings yougreater 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 hisfinger on his lips, and look at you with a very kind but sober face,and you always folded your lips tight and went away.  Was he remindingyou then?" asked Jo softly."Yes.  I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved mefrom many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look."Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled as shespoke, 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 berude, but it's so comfortable to say all I think to you, and feel sosafe and happy here.""My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatesthappiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know howmuch I love them.""I thought I'd grieved you.""No, dear, but speaking of Father reminded me how much I miss him, howmuch I owe him, and how faithfully I should watch and work to keep hislittle daughters safe and good for him.""Yet you told him to go, Mother, and didn't cry when he went, and nevercomplain 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 wasgone.  Why should I complain, when we both have merely done our dutyand will surely be the happier for it in the end?  If I don't seem toneed help, it is because I have a better friend, even than Father, tocomfort and sustain me.  My child, the troubles and temptations of yourlife are beginning and may be many, but you can overcome and outlivethem all if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of yourHeavenly Father as you do that of your earthly one.  The more you loveand trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you willdepend on human power and wisdom.  His love and care never tire orchange, can never be taken from you, but may become the source oflifelong peace, happiness, and strength.  Believe this heartily, and goto God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, asfreely and confidingly as you come to your mother."Jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and in the silence whichfollowed the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed left her heartwithout words.  For in that sad yet happy hour, she had learned notonly the bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness ofself-denial and self-control, and led by her mother's hand, she haddrawn nearer to the Friend who always welcomes every child with a lovestronger 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 onceto mend her fault, Jo looked up with an expression on her face which ithad 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 Ibe so wicked?" said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sistersoftly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with asmile that went straight to Jo's heart.  Neither said a word, but theyhugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything wasforgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.CHAPTER NINEMEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR"I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that thosechildren should have the measles just now," said Meg, one April day, asshe stood packing the 'go abroady' trunk in her room, surrounded by hersisters."And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise.  A wholefortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied Jo, looking likea windmill as she folded skirts with her long arms."And such lovely weather, I'm so glad of that," added Beth, tidilysorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the greatoccasion."I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these nicethings," said Amy with her mouth full of pins, as she artisticallyreplenished her sister's cushion."I wish you were all going, but as you can't, I shall keep myadventures to tell you when I come back.  I'm sure it's the least I cando when you have been so kind, lending me things and helping me getready," said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit,which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes."What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?" asked Amy, who hadnot 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 whenthe proper time came."A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely bluesash.  I wanted the violet silk, but there isn't time to make it over,so I must be contented with my old tarlaton.""It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set itoff beautifully.  I wish I hadn't smashed my coral bracelet, for youmight have had it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whosepossessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use."There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure chest, butMother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament for a young girl,and Laurie promised to send me all I want," replied Meg.  "Now, let mesee, there's my new gray walking suit, just curl up the feather in myhat, Beth, then my poplin for Sunday and the small party, it looksheavy for spring, doesn't it?  The violet silk would be so nice.  Oh,dear!""Never mind, you've got the tarlaton for the big party, and you alwayslook like an angel in white," said Amy, brooding over the little storeof finery in which her soul delighted."It isn't low-necked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it will have todo.  My blue housedress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, thatI feel as if I'd got a new one.  My silk sacque isn't a bit thefashion, and my bonnet doesn't look like Sallie's.  I didn't like tosay anything, but I was sadly disappointed in my umbrella.  I toldMother black with a white handle, but she forgot and bought a green onewith a yellowish handle.  It's strong and neat, so I ought not tocomplain, but I know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie's silk onewith a gold top," sighed Meg, surveying the little umbrella with greatdisfavor."Change it," advised Jo."I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she took so muchpains to get my things.  It's a nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm notgoing to give up to it.  My silk stockings and two pairs of new glovesare my comfort.  You are a dear to lend me yours, Jo.  I feel so richand sort of elegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned upfor common."  And Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove box."Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her nightcaps. Would you putsome 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 withoutany 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 myclothes and bows on my caps?" said Meg impatiently."You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could onlygo 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 ifthe more one gets the more one wants, doesn't it?  There now, the traysare ready, and everything in but my ball dress, which I shall leave forMother to pack," said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from thehalf-filled trunk to the many times pressed and mended white tarlaton,which she called her 'ball dress' with an important air.The next day was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fortnight ofnovelty and pleasure.  Mrs. March had consented to the visit ratherreluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontentedthan she went.  But she begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to takegood care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after awinter of irksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter wentto take her first taste of fashionable life.The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted,at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of itsoccupants.  But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous lifethey led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt,without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivatedor intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quiteconceal the ordinary material of which they were made.  It certainlywas agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear herbest frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself.  It suited herexactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation ofthose about her, to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases,crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions aswell 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 bareand dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and shefelt that she was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in spite ofthe new gloves and silk stockings.She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girlswere busily employed in 'having a good time'.  They shopped, walked,rode, and called all day, went to theaters and operas or frolicked athome in the evening, for Annie had many friends and knew how toentertain them.  Her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and onewas engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought.Mr. Moffat was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, andMrs. Moffat, a fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg asher daughter had done.  Everyone petted her, and 'Daisey', as theycalled her, was in a fair way to have her head turned.When the evening for the small party came, she found that the poplinwouldn't do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dressesand making themselves very fine indeed.  So out came the tarlatan,looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie's crisp newone.  Meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and hercheeks began to burn, for with all her gentleness she was very proud.No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, andAnnie to tie her sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised her whitearms.  But in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and herheart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the otherslaughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies.  The hard,bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a boxof flowers.  Before she could speak, Annie had the cover off, and allwere exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within."It's for Belle, of course, George always sends her some, but these arealtogether ravishing," cried Annie, with a great sniff."They are for Miss March, the man said.  And here's a note," put in themaid, holding it to Meg."What fun!  Who are they from?  Didn't know you had a lover," cried thegirls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise."The note is from Mother, and the flowers from Laurie," said Megsimply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her."Oh, indeed!" said Annie with a funny look, as Meg slipped the noteinto her pocket as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and falsepride, for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowerscheered her up by their beauty.Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses forherself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for thebreasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily thatClara, the elder sister, told her she was 'the sweetest little thingshe ever saw', and they looked quite charmed with her small attention.Somehow the kind act finished her despondency, and when all the restwent to show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyedface in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair andfastened the roses in the dress that didn't strike her as so veryshabby now.She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to herheart's content.  Everyone was very kind, and she had threecompliments.  Annie made her sing, and some one said she had aremarkably fine voice.  Major Lincoln asked who 'the fresh little girlwith the beautiful eyes' was, and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing withher because she 'didn't dawdle, but had some spring in her', as hegracefully expressed it.  So altogether she had a very nice time, tillshe overheard a bit of conversation, which disturbed her extremely.She was sitting just inside the conservatory, waiting for her partnerto bring her an ice, when she heard a voice ask on the other side ofthe flowery wall..."How old is he?""Sixteen or seventeen, I should say," replied another voice."It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it?  Salliesays they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them.""Mrs. M.  has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well,early as it is.  The girl evidently doesn't think of it yet," said Mrs.Moffat."She told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and colored upwhen the flowers came quite prettily.  Poor thing! She'd be so nice ifshe was only got up in style.  Do you think she'd be offended if weoffered to lend her a dress for Thursday?" asked another voice."She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlatonis all she has got.  She may tear it tonight, and that will be a goodexcuse for offering a decent one."Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed andrather agitated.  She was proud, and her pride was useful just then,for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at whatshe had just heard.  For, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, shecould not help understanding the gossip of her friends.  She tried toforget it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, "Mrs. M.  hasmade her plans," "that fib about her mamma," and "dowdy tarlaton," tillshe was ready to cry and rush home to tell her troubles and ask foradvice.  As that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay, andbeing rather excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what aneffort she was making. She was very glad when it was all over and shewas quiet in her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume tillher 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, andmuch disturbed the peace of the old one in which till now she had livedas happily as a child.  Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoiledby the silly speeches she had overheard.  Her faith in her mother was alittle shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat,who judged others by herself, and the sensible resolution to becontented with the simple wardrobe which suited a poor man's daughterwas weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabbydress one of the greatest calamities under heaven.Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, halfresentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for notspeaking out frankly and setting everything right.  Everybody dawdledthat morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough evento take up their worsted work.  Something in the manner of her friendsstruck Meg at once.  They treated her with more respect, she thought,took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her witheyes that plainly betrayed curiosity.  All this surprised and flatteredher, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up fromher writing, and said, with a sentimental air..."Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, forThursday.  We should like to know him, and it's only a propercompliment to you."Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her replydemurely, "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!" criedMiss Clara."Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, counting stitches to hidethe merriment in her eyes."You sly creature!  Of course we meant the young man," exclaimed MissBelle, laughing."There isn't any, Laurie is only a little boy."  And Meg laughed alsoat the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described hersupposed lover."About your age," Nan said."Nearer my sister Jo's; I am seventeen in August," returned Meg,tossing her head."It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" said Annie,looking wise about nothing."Yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and we areso 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 Meghoped they would say no more."It's evident Daisy isn't out yet," said Miss Clara to Belle with a nod."Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned Miss Bellewith a shrug."I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls.  Can I doanything for you, young ladies?" asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in likean elephant in silk and lace."No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie.  "I've got my new pink silk forThursday and don't want a thing.""Nor I..." began Meg, but stopped because it occurred to her that shedid want several things and could not have them."What shall you wear?" asked Sallie."My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen, it got sadlytorn last night," said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feelingvery uncomfortable."Why don't you send home for another?" said Sallie, who was not anobserving young lady."I haven't got any other."  It cost Meg an effort to say that, butSallie did not see it and exclaimed in amiable surprise, "Only that?How funny..."  She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook her headat her and broke in, saying kindly..."Not at all.  Where is the use of having a lot of dresses when sheisn't out yet?  There's no need of sending home, Daisy, even if you hada 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 doeswell enough for a little girl like me," said Meg."Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire todo it, and you'd be a regular little beauty with a touch here andthere.  I shan't let anyone see you till you are done, and then we'llburst 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 ifshe would be 'a little beauty' after touching up caused her to acceptand forget all her former uncomfortable feelings toward the Moffats.On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid, andbetween them they turned Meg into a fine lady.  They crimped and curledher hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder,touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortensewould have added 'a soupcon of rouge', if Meg had not rebelled.  Theylaced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardlybreathe and so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself inthe mirror.  A set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace,brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pinksilk which did not show.  A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, anda ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders,and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of herheart.  A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulderholder finished her off, and Miss Belle surveyed her with thesatisfaction 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 rapture."Come and show yourself," said Miss Belle, leading the way to the roomwhere the others were waiting.As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earringstinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if herfun had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her thatshe was 'a little beauty'.  Her friends repeated the pleasing phraseenthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw inthe fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered likea party of magpies."While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirtand those French heels, or she will trip herself up.  Take your silverbutterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head,Clara, and don't any of you disturb the charming work of my hands,"said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success."You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I'm nowherebeside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you're quite French, Iassure you.  Let your flowers hang, don't be so careful of them, and besure you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg wasprettier than herself.Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely down stairsand sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few earlyguests were assembled.  She very soon discovered that there is a charmabout fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and securestheir respect.  Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of herbefore, were very affectionate all of a sudden.  Several younggentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not onlystared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish butagreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas,and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an airof interest.  She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them..."Daisy March--father a colonel in the army--one of our first families,but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences;sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her.""Dear me!" said the old lady, putting up her glass for anotherobservation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and beenrather shocked at Mrs. Moffat's fibs. The 'queer feeling' did not passaway, but she imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady and sogot on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, thetrain kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lesther earrings should fly off and get lost or broken.  She was flirtingher fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who triedto be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused,for just opposite, she saw Laurie.  He was staring at her withundisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though hebowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush andwish she had her old dress on. To complete her confusion, she saw Bellenudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy tosee, looked unusually boyish and shy."Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head.  I won't care forit, or let it change me a bit," thought Meg, and rustled across theroom to shake hands with her friend."I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't." she said, with her mostgrown-up air."Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did," answeredLaurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at hermaternal tone."What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of curiosity to know hisopinion 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 unlikeyourself, I'm quite afraid of you," he said, fumbling at his glovebutton."How absurd of you!  The girls dressed me up for fun, and I rather likeit.  Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me?" said Meg, bent on making him saywhether 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 fantasticallytrimmed dress with an expression that abashed her more than his answer,which had not a particle of his usual politeness in it."I don't like fuss and feathers."That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself, and Megwalked away, saying petulantly, "You are the rudest boy I ever saw."Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window to coolher cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliantcolor.  As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by, and a minute aftershe heard him saying to his mother..."They are making a fool of that little girl.  I wanted you to see her,but they have spoiled her entirely.  She's nothing but a doll tonight.""Oh, dear!" sighed Meg.  "I wish I'd been sensible and worn my ownthings, then I should not have disgusted other people, or felt souncomfortable and ashamed of myself."She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by thecurtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till someone touched her, and turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as hesaid, 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 tolook offended and failing entirely."Not a bit of it, I'm dying to do it.  Come, I'll be good. I don't likeyour gown, but I do think you are just splendid." And he waved hishands, as if words failed to express his admiration.Meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting to catchthe time, "Take care my skirt doesn't trip you up.  It's the plague ofmy life and I was a goose to wear it.""Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said Laurie,looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of.Away they went fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced at home,they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasantsight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling morefriendly than ever after their small tiff."Laurie, I want you to do me a favor, will you?" said Meg, as he stoodfanning her when her breath gave out, which it did very soon though shewould not own why."Won't I!" said Laurie, with alacrity."Please don't tell them at home about my dress tonight. They won'tunderstand the joke, and it will worry Mother.""Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so plainly that Meghastily added..."I shall tell them myself all about it, and 'fess' to Mother how sillyI've been.  But I'd rather do it myself.  So you'll not tell, will you?""I give you my word I won't, only what shall I say when they ask me?""Just say I looked pretty well and was having a good time.""I'll say the first with all my heart, but how about the other?  Youdon't look as if you were having a good time.  Are you?" And Laurielooked 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 littlefun, but this sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm getting tired of it.""Here comes Ned Moffat.  What does he want?" said Laurie, knitting hisblack brows as if he did not regard his young host in the light of apleasant addition to the party."He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's coming forthem.  What a bore!" said Meg, assuming a languid air which amusedLaurie immensely.He did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw her drinkingchampagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving 'like apair of fools', as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sortof right to watch over the Marches and fight their battles whenever adefender was needed."You'll have a splitting headache tomorrow, if you drink much of that.I wouldn't, Meg, your mother doesn't like it, you know," he whispered,leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass and Fisherstooped to pick up her fan."I'm not Meg tonight, I'm 'a doll' who does all sorts of crazy things.Tomorrow I shall put away my 'fuss and feathers' and be desperatelygood again," she answered with an affected little laugh."Wish tomorrow was here, then," muttered Laurie, walking off,ill-pleased at the change he saw in her.Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did.After supper she undertook the German, and blundered through it, nearlyupsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way thatscandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture.  But he gotno chance to deliver it, for Meg kept away from him till he came to saygood night."Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache hadalready begun."Silence a la mort," replied Laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, ashe went away.This little bit of byplay excited Annie's curiosity, but Meg was tootired for gossip and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to amasquerade and hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she expected.  She wassick all the next day, and on Saturday went home, quite used up withher fortnight's fun and feeling that she had 'sat in the lap of luxury'long enough."It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on allthe 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 motherand Jo on the Sunday evening."I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seemdull and poor to you after your fine quarters," replied her mother, whohad given her many anxious looks that day.  For motherly eyes are quickto see any change in children's faces.Meg had told her adventures gayly and said over and over what acharming time she had had, but something still seemed to weigh upon herspirits, and when the younger girls were gone to bed, she satthoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little and looking worried.As the clock struck nine and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left herchair 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 tospeak of it before the younger children, but I want you to know all thedreadful things I did at the Moffats'.""We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling but looking a littleanxious."I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that theypowdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like afashion-plate.  Laurie thought I wasn't proper.  I know he did, thoughhe 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 ofnonsense, so I let them make a fool of me.""Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcastface of her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart toblame her little follies."No, I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and wasaltogether abominable," said Meg self-reproachfully."There is something more, I think."  And Mrs. March smoothed the softcheek, which suddenly grew rosy as Meg answered slowly..."Yes.  It's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to havepeople 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 illpleased that such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind."Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried Joindignantly.  "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 atfirst, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't remember that Iought to go away.""Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settlesuch ridiculous stuff.  The idea of having 'plans' and being kind toLaurie because he's rich and may marry us by-and-by!  Won't he shoutwhen 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 goodjoke."If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you!  She mustn't, must she,Mother?" said Meg, looking distressed."No, never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as youcan," said Mrs. March gravely.  "I was very unwise to let you go amongpeople 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 moresorry 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 andremember only the good, for I did enjoy a great deal, and thank youvery 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 tillI'm fit to take care of myself.  But it is nice to be praised andadmired, and I can't help saying I like it," said Meg, looking halfashamed of the confession."That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does notbecome a passion and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things.Learn to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excitethe admiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty,Meg."Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behindher, looking both interested and a little perplexed, for it was a newthing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, andthings of that sort.  And Jo felt as if during that fortnight hersister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into aworld 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 differsomewhat 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 andheart of yours right, on a very serious subject.  You are young, Meg,but not too young to understand me, and mothers' lips are the fittestto speak of such things to girls like you.  Jo, your turn will come intime, perhaps, so listen to my 'plans' and help me carry them out, ifthey are good."Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought theywere about to join in some very solemn affair. Holding a hand of each,and watching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in herserious yet cheery way..."I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good. To beadmired, loved, and respected.  To have a happy youth, to be well andwisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little careand sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosenby a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to awoman, and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautifulexperience.  It is natural to think of it, Meg, right to hope and waitfor it, and wise to prepare for it, so that when the happy time comes,you may feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy.  My deargirls, I am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in theworld, marry rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendidhouses, which are not homes because love is wanting.  Money is aneedful and precious thing, and when well used, a noble thing, but Inever want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for.I'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved,contented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace.""Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they putthemselves forward," sighed Meg."Then we'll be old maids," said Jo stoutly."Right, Jo.  Better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, orunmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. Marchdecidedly.  "Don't be troubled, Meg, poverty seldom daunts a sincerelover.  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. Leavethese things to time.  Make this home happy, so that you may be fit forhomes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if theyare not.  One thing remember, my girls.  Mother is always ready to beyour confidant, Father to be your friend, and both of us hope and trustthat our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride andcomfort of our lives.""We will, Marmee, we will!" cried both, with all their hearts, as shebade them good night.CHAPTER TENTHE P.C. AND P.O.As spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and thelengthening 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 thelittle plot to do what she liked with.  Hannah used to say, "I'd knowwhich each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny," and soshe might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters.Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it.Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always tryingexperiments.  This year it was to be a plantation of sun flowers, theseeds of which cheerful land aspiring plant were to feed AuntCockle-top and her family of chicks.  Beth had old-fashioned fragrantflowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks,pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birds and catnip forthe pussies.  Amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy, butvery pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morning-glories hangingtheir colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tallwhite lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plantsas would consent to blossom there.Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts employed the finedays, and for rainy ones, they had house diversions, some old, somenew, all more or less original.  One of these was the 'P.C.', for assecret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one,and as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves thePickwick Club.  With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for ayear, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on whichoccasions the ceremonies were as follows:  Three chairs were arrangedin a row before a table on which was a lamp, also four white badges,with a big 'P.C.' in different colors on each, and the weekly newspapercalled, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed something,while Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seveno'clock, the four members ascended to the clubroom, tied their badgesround their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity.  Meg, asthe eldest, was Samuel Pickwick, Jo, being of a literary turn, AugustusSnodgrass, 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 originaltales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in whichthey good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and shortcomings.  On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacleswithout any glass, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and having staredhard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till hearranged himself properly, began to read:    _________________________________________________    "THE PICKWICK PORTFOLIO"    MAY 20, 18--    POET'S CORNER    ANNIVERSARY ODE    Again we meet to celebrate    With badge and solemn rite,    Our fifty-second anniversary,    In Pickwick Hall, tonight.    We all are here in perfect health,    None gone from our small band:    Again we see each well-known face,    And press each friendly hand.    Our Pickwick, always at his post,    With reverence we greet,    As, spectacles on nose, he reads    Our well-filled weekly sheet.    Although he suffers from a cold,    We joy to hear him speak,    For words of wisdom from him fall,    In spite of croak or squeak.    Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,    With elephantine grace,    And beams upon the company,    With brown and jovial face.    Poetic fire lights up his eye,    He struggles 'gainst his lot.    Behold ambition on his brow,    And on his nose, a blot.    Next our peaceful Tupman comes,    So rosy, plump, and sweet,    Who chokes with laughter at the puns,    And tumbles off his seat.    Prim little Winkle too is here,    With every hair in place,    A model of propriety,    Though he hates to wash his face.    The year is gone, we still unite    To joke and laugh and read,    And tread the path of literature    That doth to glory lead.    Long may our paper prosper well,    Our club unbroken be,    And coming years their blessings pour    On the useful, gay 'P.  C.'.    A.  SNODGRASS    ________    THE MASKED MARRIAGE    (A Tale Of Venice)    Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble    steps, and left its lovely load to swell the    brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count    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 masquerade went on.    "Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola tonight?"    asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who    floated down the hall upon his arm.    "Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad!  Her    dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds    Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates."    "By my faith, I envy him.  Yonder he comes,    arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask.    When that is off we shall see how he regards the    fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her    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 on the gay throng, and not a    sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle of    orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the    hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:    "My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which    I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of    my daughter.  Father, we wait your services."    All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a    murmur of amazement went through the throng, for    neither bride nor groom removed their masks.  Curiosity    and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained    all tongues till the holy rite was over.  Then the    eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding    an explanation.    "Gladly would I give it if I could, but I only    know that it was the whim 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 Ferdinand    Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the    breast where now flashed the star of an English earl    was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.    "My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your    daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a    fortune as the Count Antonio.  I can do more, for even    your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux    and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless    wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady,    now my wife."    The count stood like one changed to stone, and    turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with    a gay smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I    can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has    done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have    by this masked marriage."    S.  PICKWICK    Why is the P.  C.  like the Tower of Babel?    It is full of unruly members.    _________    THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH    Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed    in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became    a vine and bore many squashes.  One day in October,    when they were ripe, he picked one and took it    to market.  A grocerman bought and put it in his shop.    That same morning, a little girl in a brown hat    and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went    and bought it for her mother.  She lugged it home, cut    it up, and boiled it in the big pot, mashed some of it    with salt and butter, for dinner.  And to the rest she added    a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg,    and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it    till it was brown and nice, and next day it was eaten    by a family named March.    T.  TUPMAN    _________    Mr. Pickwick, Sir:--    I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner    I mean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his    club by laughing and sometimes won't write his piece in    this fine paper I hope you will pardon his badness and    let him send a French fable because he can't write out    of his head as he has so many 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 a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past    misdemeanors.  If our young friend studied punctuation, it    would be well.]    _________    A SAD ACCIDENT    On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock    in our basement, followed by cries of distress.    On rushing in a body to the cellar, we discovered our beloved    President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and    fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes.  A perfect    scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick    had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water,    upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form,  and torn    his garments badly.  On being removed from this perilous    situation, it was discovered that he had suffered    no injury but several bruises, and we are happy to add,    is now doing well.    ED.    _________    THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT    It is our painful duty to record the sudden and    mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs.    Snowball Pat Paw.  This lovely 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    endeared 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 villain,    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 S.  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.    The little grave where her infant sleeps    Is 'neath the chestnut tree.    But o'er her grave we may not weep,    We know not where it may be.    Her empty bed, her idle ball,    Will never see her more;    No gentle tap, no loving purr    Is heard at the parlor door.    Another cat comes after her mice,    A cat with a dirty face,    But she does not hunt as our darling did,    Nor play with her airy grace.    Her stealthy paws tread the very hall    Where Snowball used to play,    But she only spits at the dogs our pet    So gallantly drove away.    She is useful and mild, and does her best,    But she is not fair to see,    And we cannot give her your place dear,    Nor worship her as we worship thee.    A.S.    _________    ADVERTISEMENTS    MISS ORANTHY BLUGGAGE, the accomplished    strong-minded lecturer, will deliver her    famous lecture on "WOMAN AND HER POSITION"    at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening,    after the usual performances.    A WEEKLY MEETING will be held at Kitchen    Place, to teach young ladies how to cook.    Hannah Brown will 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 fashions have arrived,    and orders are respectfully solicited.    A NEW PLAY will appear at the Barnville    Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which    will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage.    "The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger," is the name    of this thrilling drama!!!    HINTS    If S.P.  didn't use so much soap on 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 I beg leave toassure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girlsonce upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrassrose to make a proposition."Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentaryattitude and tone, "I wish to propose the admission of a newmember--one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful forit, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literaryvalue 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, dohave him."Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh, but all looked ratheranxious, and no one said a word as Snodgrass took his seat."We'll put it to a vote," said the President.  "All in favor of thismotion please to manifest it by saying, 'Aye'."A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to everybody's surprise, by atimid one from Beth."Contrary-minded say, 'No'."Meg and Amy were contrary-minded, and Mr. Winkle rose to say with greatelegance, "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 shealways did when doubtful.Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest.  "Sir, I give you my word as agentleman, 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 beingsentimental, don't you see?  We can do so little for him, and he doesso much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer him a placehere, 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, andhis grandpa, too, if he likes."This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left herseat to shake hands approvingly.  "Now then, vote again. Everybodyremember it's our Laurie, and say, 'Aye!'" cried Snodgrass excitedly."Aye!  Aye!  Aye!" replied three voices at once."Good!  Bless you!  Now, as there's nothing like 'taking time by thefetlock', as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to presentthe new member."  And, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threwopen the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag bag,flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter."You rogue!  You traitor!  Jo, how could you?" cried the three girls,as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth, and producing both achair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy."The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick,trying to get up an awful frown and only succeeding in producing anamiable smile.  But the new member was equal to the occasion, andrising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said in the mostengaging manner, "Mr. President and ladies--I beg pardon,gentlemen--allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humbleservant of the club.""Good!  Good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warmingpan on which she leaned."My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie with a wave ofthe hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamedfor the base stratagem of tonight.  I planned it, and she only gave inafter lots of teasing.""Come now, don't lay it all on yourself.  You know I proposed thecupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly."Never mind what she says.  I'm the wretch that did it, sir," said thenew member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick.  "But on my honor,I never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interestof this immortal club.""Hear!  Hear!" cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan like acymbal."Go on, go on!" added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowedbenignly."I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for thehonor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations betweenadjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in thelower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks onthe doors and every convenience for the mails, also the females, if Imay be allowed the expression.  It's the old martin house, but I'vestopped up the door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sortsof things, and save our valuable time.  Letters, manuscripts, books,and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, itwill 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 andsubsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was sometime before order could be restored.  A long discussion followed, andeveryone came out surprising, for everyone did her best.  So it was anunusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when itbroke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted,well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly didadd 'spirit' to the meetings, and 'a tone' to the paper, for hisorations convulsed his hearers and his contributions were excellent,being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but neversentimental.  Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, orShakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought.The P.  O.  was a capital little institution, and flourishedwonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it asthrough the real post office.  Tragedies and cravats, poetry andpickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers,invitations, scoldings, and puppies.  The old gentleman liked the fun,and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, andfunny telegrams, and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah'scharms, actually sent a love letter to Jo's care.  How they laughedwhen the secret came out, never dreaming how many love letters thatlittle post office would hold in the years to come.CHAPTER ELEVENEXPERIMENTS"The first of June!  The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, andI'm free.  Three months' vacation--how I shall enjoy it!" exclaimedMeg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in anunusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, andAmy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party."Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo. "I wasmortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her.  If she had, I should havefelt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as achurchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurrygetting the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke tome, for I was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonlyhelpful 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 of, she popped out her head, saying, 'Josyphine, won'tyou--?' I didn't hear any more, for I basely turned and fled.  I didactually run, and whisked round the corner where I felt safe.""Poor old Jo!  She came in looking as if bears were after her," saidBeth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air."Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy, tastingher mixture critically."She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter.  It's too warmto be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured Jo."What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing the subjectwith tact."I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from the depthsof the rocking chair.  "I've been routed up early all winter and had tospend my days working for other people, so now I'm going to rest andrevel to my heart's content.""No," said Jo, "that dozy way wouldn't suit me.  I've laid in a heap ofbooks, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch inthe old apple tree, when I'm not having l----""Don't say 'larks!'" implored Amy, as a return snub for the 'samphire'correction."I'll say 'nightingales' then, with Laurie.  That's proper andappropriate, since he's a warbler.""Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the timeand rest, as the girls mean to," proposed Amy."Well, I will, if Mother doesn't mind.  I want to learn some new songs,and my children need fitting up for the summer.  They are dreadfullyout of order and really suffering for clothes.""May we, Mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing inwhat they called 'Marmee's corner'."You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it.  Ithink by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is asbad 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 grubbing!" cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as thelemonade went round.They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for therest of the day.  Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o'clock.Her solitary breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed lonelyand untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, andAmy's books lay scattered about.  Nothing was neat and pleasant but'Marmee's corner', which looked as usual.  And there Meg sat, to 'restand read', which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dressesshe would get with her salary.  Jo spent the morning on the river withLaurie and the afternoon reading and crying over _The Wide, WideWorld_, up in the apple tree.  Beth began by rummaging everything outof the big closet where her family resided, but getting tired beforehalf done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy and went to hermusic, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged herbower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down todraw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire whothe young artist was.  As no one appeared but an inquisitivedaddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk,got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been adelightful, though unusually long day.  Meg, who went shopping in theafternoon and got a 'sweet blue muslin', had discovered, after she hadcut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made herslightly cross.  Jo had burned the skin off her nose boating, and got araging headache by reading too long.  Beth was worried by the confusionof her closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs atonce, and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for KatyBrown's party was to be the next day and now like Flora McFlimsey, shehad 'nothing to wear'.  But these were mere trifles, and they assuredtheir mother that the experiment was working finely.  She smiled, saidnothing, and with Hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping homepleasant and the domestic machinery running smoothly.  It wasastonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things wasproduced by the 'resting and reveling' process.  The days kept gettinglonger and longer, the weather was unusually variable and so weretempers; an unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan foundplenty of mischief for the idle hands to do.  As the height of luxury,Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily,that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts tofurbish them up a la Moffat.  Jo read till her eyes gave out and shewas sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had aquarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wishedshe had gone with Aunt March.  Beth got on pretty well, for she wasconstantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fellback into her old ways now and then.  But something in the air affectedher, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much sothat on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna and told hershe was 'a fright'.  Amy fared worst of all, for her resources weresmall, and when her sisters left her to amuse herself, she soon foundthat accomplished and important little self a great burden.  She didn'tlike dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one couldn't draw all thetime.  Tea parties didn't amount to much, neither did picnics, unlessvery well conducted.  "If one could have a fine house, full of nicegirls, or go traveling, the summer would be delightful, but to stay athome with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to trythe patience of a Boaz," complained Miss Malaprop, after several daysdevoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui.No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Fridaynight each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week wasnearly done.  Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, whohad a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in anappropriate manner, so she gave Hannah a holiday and let the girlsenjoy the full effect of the play system.When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen,no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen."Mercy on us!  What has happened?" cried Jo, staring about her indismay.Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but ratherbewildered, and a little ashamed."Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stayquietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can.  It's a veryqueer thing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself.  But shesays it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble but takecare of ourselves.""That's easy enough, and I like the idea, I'm aching for something todo, that is, some new amusement, you know," added Jo quickly.In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, andthey took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah'ssaying, "Housekeeping ain't no joke."  There was plenty of food in thelarder, and while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast,wondering as they did why servants ever talked about hard work."I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not to thinkof her, for she'd take care of herself," said Meg, who presided andfelt quite matronly behind the teapot.So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with thecook's compliments.  The boiled tea was very bitter, the omeletscorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but Mrs. Marchreceived her repast with thanks and laughed heartily over it after Jowas gone."Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid, but theywon't suffer, and it will do them good," she said, producing the morepalatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing ofthe bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherlylittle deception for which they were grateful.Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cookat her failures.  "Never mind, I'll get the dinner and be servant, yoube mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," saidJo, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs.This obliging offer was gladly accepted, and Margaret retired to theparlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under thesofa and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting.  Jo, withperfect faith in her own powers and a friendly desire to make up thequarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie todinner."You'd better see what you have got before you think of havingcompany," said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act."Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes, and I shall get someasparagus and a lobster, 'for a relish', as Hannah says. We'll havelettuce and make a salad.  I don't know how, but the book tells.  I'llhave blanc mange and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too, if youwant to be elegant.""Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything butgingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat.  I wash my hands of thedinner party, and since you have asked Laurie on your ownresponsibility, you may just take care of him.""I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him and help to thepudding.  You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?"asked Jo, rather hurt."Yes, but I don't know much, except about bread and a few trifles.  Youhad better ask Mother's leave before you order anything," returned Megprudently."Of course I shall.  I'm not a fool."  And Jo went off in a huff at thedoubts expressed of her powers."Get what you like, and don't disturb me.  I'm going out to dinner andcan't worry about things at home," said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke toher.  "I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacationtoday, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself."The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably andreading early in the morning made Jo feel as if some unnaturalphenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcaniceruption would hardly have seemed stranger."Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, goingdownstairs.  "There's Beth crying, that's a sure sign that something iswrong in this family.  If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her."Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor tofind Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage withhis little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food forwant of which he had died."It's all my fault, I forgot him, there isn't a seed or a drop left.Oh, Pip!  Oh, Pip!  How could I be so cruel to you?" cried Beth, takingthe poor thing in her hands and trying to restore him.Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and findinghim stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino box for acoffin."Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive," said Amyhopefully."He's been starved, and he shan't be baked now he's dead.  I'll makehim a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden, and I'll never haveanother bird, never, my Pip! for I am too bad to own one," murmuredBeth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands."The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go.  Now, don'tcry, Bethy.  It's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip hashad the worst of the experiment.  Make the shroud, and lay him in mybox, 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, whichwas 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, whenshe discovered that the fire was out."Here's a sweet prospect!" muttered Jo, slamming the stove door open,and poking vigorously among the cinders.Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while thewater heated.  The walk revived her spirits, and flattering herselfthat she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying avery young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acidstrawberries.  By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived andthe stove was red-hot.  Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg hadworked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, andforgotten it.  Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, whenthe door flew open and a floury, crocky, flushed, and disheveled figureappeared, 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 highas they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish and put thesour bread into the oven without further delay.  Mrs. March went out,after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying aword of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding sheet, while the deardeparted lay in state in the domino box.  A straLanguage cannot describenge sense ofhelplessness fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round thecorner, and despair seized them when a few minutes later Miss Crockerappeared, and said she'd come to dinner.  Now this lady was a thin,yellow spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saweverything and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but hadbeen taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor andhad few friends.  So Meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertainher, while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told storiesof the people whom she knew.Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertionswhich Jo underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became astanding joke.  Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone,and discovered that something more than energy and good will isnecessary to make a cook.  She boiled the asparagus for an hour and wasgrieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever.The bread burned black; for the salad dressing so aggravated her thatshe could not make it fit to eat.  The lobster was a scarlet mystery toher, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled and its meagerproportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves.  The potatoes hadto be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done atthe last.  The blanc mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripeas they looked, having been skilfully 'deaconed'."Well, they can eat beef and bread and butter, if they are hungry, onlyit's mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing,"thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, andstood, hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread beforeLaurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whosetattling tongue would report them far and wide.Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing afteranother was tasted and left, while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed,Miss Crocker pursed her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with allhis might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene.  Jo's onestrong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had apitcher 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, andeveryone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a seaof cream.  Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank somewater hastily.  Jo, who refused, thinking there might not be enough,for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, buthe was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about hismouth and he kept his eye fixed on his plate.  Amy, who was fond ofdelicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in hernapkin, and left the table precipitately."Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Jo, trembling."Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied Meg with atragic gesture.Jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she hadgiven a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxeson the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in therefrigerator.  She turned scarlet and was on the verge of crying, whenshe met Laurie's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroicefforts.  The comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and shelaughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.  So did everyone else, even'Croaker' as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinnerended gaily, with bread and butter, olives and fun."I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will soberourselves with a funeral," said Jo, as they rose, and Miss Crocker madeready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend'sdinner table.They did sober themselves for Beth's sake.  Laurie dug a grave underthe ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears by histender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath ofviolets 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, overcomewith emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose, for thebeds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating upthe pillows and putting things in order.  Meg helped Jo clear away theremains of the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them sotired 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 sourcream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper.  Mrs. March camehome to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of theafternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the successof one part of the experiment.Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there wasa scramble to get ready to see them.  Then tea must be got, errandsdone, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the lastminute.  As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered onthe porch where the June roses were budding beautifully, and eachgroaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled."What a dreadful day this has been!" began Jo, usually the first tospeak."It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable," said Meg."Not a bit like home," added Amy."It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," sighed Beth, glancingwith full eyes at the empty cage above her head."Here's Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if youwant it."As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking asif her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs."Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want anotherweek of it?" she asked, as Beth nestled up to her and the rest turnedtoward 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 alittle for others, do you?""Lounging and larking doesn't pay," observed Jo, shaking her head. "I'mtired 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 without," said Mrs. March, laughing inaudiblyat the recollection of Jo's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crockerand heard her account of it."Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'dget on?" cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day."Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doingher share faithfully.  While Hannah and I did your work, you got onpretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable.  So Ithought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens wheneveryone thinks only of herself.  Don't you feel that it is pleasanterto help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet whenit comes, and to bear and forbear, that home may be comfortable andlovely to us all?""We do, Mother, we do!" cried the girls."Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, forthough they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten aswe learn to carry them.  Work is wholesome, and there is plenty foreveryone.  It keeps us from ennui and mischief, is good for health andspirits, and gives us a sense of power and independence better thanmoney 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 dinnerparty I have shall be a success.""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 bebetter than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough asthey are." said Meg."I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my musicand dolls.  I am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, notplaying," was Beth's resolution, while Amy followed their example byheroically declaring, "I shall learn to make buttonholes, and attend tomy parts of speech.""Very good!  Then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancythat we shall not have to repeat it, only don't go to the other extremeand delve like slaves.  Have regular hours for work and play, make eachday both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worthof time by employing it well.  Then youth will be delightful, old agewill bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spiteof poverty.""We'll remember, Mother!" and they did.CHAPTER TWELVECAMP LAURENCEBeth was postmistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to itregularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little doorand distributing the mail.  One July day she came in with her handsfull, and went about the house leaving letters and parcels like thepenny 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 supplied by the affectionate boy."Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove," continued Beth, deliveringthe articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitchingwristbands."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 thegarden?""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.  Myletter is only a translation of the German song I wanted.  I think Mr.Brooke did it, for this isn't Laurie's writing."Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her ginghammorning gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, andvery womanly, as she sat sewing at her little worktable, full of tidywhite rolls, so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as shesewed and sang, while her fingers flew and her thoughts were busiedwith 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 coveredthe whole post office and stuck outside," said Beth, laughing as shewent into the study where Jo sat writing."What a sly fellow Laurie is!  I said I wished bigger hats were thefashion, because I burn my face every hot day.  He said, 'Why mind thefashion?  Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!' I said I would if I hadone, and he has sent me this, to try me.  I'll wear it for fun, andshow him I don't care for the fashion."  And hanging the antiquebroad-brim on a bust of Plato, Jo read her letters.One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it saidto her...My Dear:I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watchyour efforts to control your temper.  You say nothing about yourtrials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no one seesthem but the Friend whose help you daily ask, if I may trust thewell-worn cover of your guidebook.  I, too, have seen them all, andheartily believe in the sincerity of your resolution, since it beginsto bear fruit.  Go on, dear, patiently and bravely, and always believethat no one sympathizes more tenderly with you than your loving...Mother"That does me good!  That's worth millions of money and pecks ofpraise.  Oh, Marmee, I do try!  I will keep on trying, and not gettired, since I have you to help me."Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happytears, for she had thought that no one saw and appreciated her effortsto be good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging,because unexpected and from the person whose commendation she mostvalued.  Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon,she pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lestshe be taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quiteready for either good or bad news.  In a big, dashing hand, Lauriewrote...Dear Jo, What ho!Some English girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow and I want tohave a jolly time.  If it's fine, I'm going to pitch my tent inLongmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet--have afire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks.  They arenice people, and like such things.  Brooke will go to keep us boyssteady, and Kate Vaughn will play propriety for the girls.  I want youall to come, can't let Beth off at any price, and nobody shall worryher.  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 Ican row, and Meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in someway.""I hope the Vaughns are not fine grown-up people.  Do you know anythingabout them, Jo?" asked Meg."Only that there are four of them.  Kate is older than you, Fred andFrank (twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine orten.  Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys.  I fancied, from theway he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, that he didn't admireKate much.""I'm so glad my French print is clean, it's just the thing and sobecoming!" observed Meg complacently.  "Have you anything decent, Jo?""Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me.  I shall row andtramp about, so I don't want any starch to think of.  You'll come,Betty?""If you won't let any boys talk to me.""Not a boy!""I like to please Laurie, and I'm not afraid of Mr. Brooke, he is sokind.  But I don't want to play, or sing, or say anything. I'll workhard and not trouble anyone, and you'll take care of me, Jo, so I'llgo.""That's my good girl.  You do try to fight off your shyness, and I loveyou for it.  Fighting faults isn't easy, as I know, and a cheery wordkind of gives a lift.  Thank you, Mother," And Jo gave the thin cheek agrateful kiss, more precious to Mrs. March than if it had given backthe 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 tohim tonight, 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 playtomorrow with free minds," said Jo, preparing to replace her pen with abroom.When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next morning to promisethem a fine day, he saw a comical sight.  Each had made suchpreparation for the fete as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had anextra row of little curlpapers across her forehead, Jo had copiouslyanointed her afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna tobed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy hadcapped the climax by putting a clothespin on her nose to uplift theoffending feature.  It was one of the kind artists use to hold thepaper on their drawing boards, therefore quite appropriate andeffective for the purpose it was now being put.  This funny spectacleappeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Jowoke up and roused her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy's ornament.Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon alively bustle began in both houses.  Beth, who was ready first, keptreporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' toilets byfrequent telegrams from the window."There goes the man with the tent!  I see Mrs. Barker doing up thelunch in a hamper and a great basket.  Now Mr. Laurence is looking upat the sky and the weathercock.  I wish he would go too.  There'sLaurie, looking like a sailor, nice boy!  Oh, mercy me!  Here's acarriage full of people, a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadfulboys.  One is lame, poor thing, he's got a crutch. Laurie didn't tellus that.  Be quick, girls!  It's getting late. Why, there is NedMoffat, I do declare.  Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one daywhen we were shopping?""So it is.  How queer that he should come.  I thought he was at themountains.  There is Sallie.  I'm glad she got back in time. Am I allright, Jo?" cried Meg in a flutter."A regular daisy.  Hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, itlooks sentimental tipped that way and will fly off at the first puff.Now then, come on!""Oh, Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat?  It's too absurd!You shall not make a guy of yourself," remonstrated Meg, as Jo tieddown with a red ribbon the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned leghorn Lauriehad sent for a joke."I just will, though, for it's capital, so shady, light, and big. Itwill make fun, and I don't mind being a guy if I'm comfortable." Withthat Jo marched straight away and the rest followed, a bright littleband of sisters, all looking their best in summer suits, with happyfaces under the jaunty hatbrims.Laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordialmanner.  The lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes alively scene was enacted there.  Meg was grateful to see that MissKate, though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girlswould do well to imitate, and who was much flattered by Mr. Ned'sassurances that he came especially to see her.  Jo understood whyLaurie 'primmed up his mouth' when speaking of Kate, for that younglady had a standoff-don't-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly withthe free and easy demeanor of the other girls.  Beth took anobservation 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 thataccount.  Amy found Grace a well-mannered, merry, little person, andafter staring dumbly at one another for a few minutes, they suddenlybecame very good friends.Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, theparty was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leavingMr. Laurence waving his hat on the shore.  Laurie and Jo rowed oneboat, Mr. Brooke and Ned the other, while Fred Vaughn, the riotoustwin, did his best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like adisturbed water bug.  Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for itwas of general utility.  It broke the ice in the beginning by producinga laugh, it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro asshe rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, ifa shower came up, she said.  Miss Kate decided that she was 'odd', butrather clever, and smiled upon her from afar.Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face withthe rowers, who both admired the prospect and feathered their oars withuncommon 'skill and dexterity'.  Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent youngman, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice.  Meg liked hisquiet manners and considered him a walking encyclopedia of usefulknowledge.  He never talked to her much, but he looked at her a gooddeal, 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 ittheir bounden duty to assume.  He was not very wise, but verygood-natured, and altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic.Sallie Gardiner was absorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean andchattering with the ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in constant terrorby his pranks.It was not far to Longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wicketsdown by the time they arrived.  A pleasant green field, with threewide-spreading oaks in the middle and a smooth strip of turf forcroquet."Welcome to Camp Laurence!" said the young host, as they landed withexclamations of delight."Brooke is commander in chief, I am commissary general, the otherfellows are staff officers, and you, ladies, are company. The tent isfor your especial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this isthe messroom and the third is the camp kitchen.  Now, let's have a gamebefore it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner."Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by theother eight.  Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred. Laurie took Sallie,Jo, and Ned.  The English 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 oncenarrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket and hadmissed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal.  Fred wasclose behind her and his turn came before hers.  He gave a stroke, hisball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side.  No one wasvery near, and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with histoe, which put it just an inch on the right side."I'm through!  Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first," criedthe 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.  It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that isallowed.  So, stand off please, and let me have a go at the stake.""We don't cheat in America, but you can, if you choose," said Joangrily."Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows.  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 wicketwith all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself outwith much exultation.  She went off to get her ball, and was a longtime finding it among the bushes, but she came back, looking cool andquiet, and waited her turn patiently.  It took several strokes toregain the place she had lost, and when she got there, the other sidehad nearly won, for Kate's ball was the last but one and lay near thestake."By George, it's all up with us!  Goodbye, Kate.  Miss Jo owes me one,so you are finished," cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near tosee 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 aclever stroke.Laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn't do to exultover the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheerto 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 pretense of pinning up a loose braid, andsaid approvingly, "It was dreadfully provoking, but you kept yourtemper, and I'm so glad, Jo.""Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I shouldcertainly have boiled over if I hadn't stayed among the nettles till Igot my rage under control enough to hold my tongue. It's simmering now,so I hope he'll keep out of my way," returned Jo, biting her lips asshe glowered at Fred from under her big hat."Time for lunch," said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. "Commissarygeneral, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss March, MissSallie, and I spread the table?  Who can make good coffee?""Jo can," said Meg, glad to recommend her sister.  So Jo, feeling thather late lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside overthe coffeepot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boysmade a fire and got water from a spring near by.  Miss Kate sketchedand Frank talked to Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushesto serve as plates.The commander in chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with aninviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated withgreen leaves.  Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyonesettled themselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, andexercise develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was, foreverything seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughterstartled a venerable horse who fed near by.  There was a pleasinginequality in the table, which produced many mishaps to cups andplates, acorns dropped in the milk, little black ants partook of therefreshments without being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung downfrom the tree to see what was going on.  Three white-headed childrenpeeped over the fence, and an objectionable dog barked at them from theother side of the river with all his might and main."There's salt here," said Laurie, as he handed Jo a saucer of berries."Thank you, I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwarylittle ones who had gone to a creamy death.  "How dare you remind me ofthat horrid dinner party, when yours is so nice in every way?" addedJo, as they both laughed and ate out of one plate, the china having runshort."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 andMeg and Brooke who make it all go, and I'm no end obliged to you.  Whatshall we do when we can't eat anymore?" asked Laurie, feeling that histrump card had been played when lunch was over."Have games till it's cooler.  I brought Authors, and I dare say MissKate knows something new and nice.  Go and ask her.  She's company, andyou ought to stay with her more.""Aren't you company too?  I thought she'd suit Brooke, but he keepstalking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculousglass of hers.  I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, foryou can't do it, Jo."Miss Kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, andthe boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawingroom to play Rig-marole."One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long ashe pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, whenthe next takes it up and does the same.  It's very funny when welldone, and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laughover.  Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a commanding air,which surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as anyother gentleman.Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brookeobediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixedupon the sunshiny 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 traveled a longwhile, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, tillhe came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward toanyone who could tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which hewas 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 newmaster, though he was freakish and wild.  Every day, when he gave hislessons to this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through thecity, and as he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautifulface, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found.  Oneday, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of aruinous castle the lovely face.  He was delighted, inquired who livedin this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses werekept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy theirliberty.  The knight wished intensely that he could free them, but hewas poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face andlonging to see it out in the sunshine.  At last he resolved to get intothe castle and ask how he could help them.  He went and knocked.  Thegreat door flew open, and he beheld...""A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, 'Atlast!  At last!'" continued Kate, who had read French novels, andadmired the style.  "'Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at herfeet in an ecstasy of joy.  'Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand ofmarble fairness.  'Never! Till you tell me how I may rescue you,' sworethe knight, still kneeling. 'Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remainhere till my tyrant is destroyed.' 'Where is the villain?' 'In themauve salon.  Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.' 'I obey, andreturn victorious or dead!' With these thrilling words he rushed away,and flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, whenhe received...""A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in ablack gown fired at him," said Ned.  "Instantly, Sir What's-his-namerecovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned tojoin the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow, found the doorlocked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway down whenthe ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feetbelow.  Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he cameto a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their headstogether till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a triflingexertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up apair of stone steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big asyour fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, MissMarch.  At the top of these steps he came plump upon a sight that tookhis breath away and chilled his blood...""A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp inits wasted hand," went on Meg.  "It beckoned, gliding noiselesslybefore him down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb.  Shadowyeffigies in armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, thelamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its facetoward him, showing the glitter of awful eyes through its white veil.They reached a curtained door, behind which sounded lovely music.  Hesprang forward to enter, but the specter plucked him back, and wavedthreateningly before him a...""Snuffbox," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed theaudience.  "'Thankee,' said the knight politely, as he took a pinch andsneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off.  'Ha! Ha!'laughed the ghost, and having peeped through the keyhole at theprincesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up hervictim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven otherknights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who allrose and began to...""Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath, "and, as theydanced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail.'Up with the jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard alee, and manthe 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, myhearties!' says the captain, and a tremendous fight began.  Of coursethe British beat--they always do.""No, they don't!" cried Jo, aside."Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over theschooner, whose decks were piled high with dead and whose lee scuppersran blood, for the order had been 'Cutlasses, and die hard!' 'Bosun'smate, take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain ifhe doesn'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 upunder the man-of-war, scuttled her, and down she went, with all sailset, 'To the bottom of the sea, sea, sea' where...""Oh, gracious!  What shall I say?" cried Sallie, as Fred ended hisrigmarole, in which he had jumbled together pell-mell nautical phrasesand facts out of one of his favorite books. "Well, they went to thebottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved onfinding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine,hoping to discover the mystery about them, for being a woman, she wascurious.  By-and-by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, 'I'll giveyou a box of pearls if you can take it up,' for she wanted to restorethe poor things to life, and couldn't raise the heavy load herself.  Sothe diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed on opening it tofind no pearls.  He left it in a great lonely field, where it was foundby a...""Little goose girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field," saidAmy, when Sallie's invention gave out.  "The little girl was sorry forthem, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them.  'Yourgeese will tell you, they know everything.' said the old woman.  So sheasked 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 thegirl, 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 wayrejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many otherheads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it.  Theknight in whom I'm interested went back to find the pretty face, andlearned that the princesses had spun themselves free and all gone andmarried, but one.  He was in a great state of mind at that, andmounting the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed tothe castle to see which was left.  Peeping over the hedge, he saw thequeen of his affections picking flowers in her garden.  'Will you giveme a rose?' 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 overthe hedge, but it seemed to grow higher and higher.  Then he tried topush through, but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair.So he patiently broke twig after twig till he had made a little holethrough which he peeped, saying imploringly, 'Let me in!  Let me in!'But the pretty princess did not seem to understand, for she picked herroses quietly, and left him to fight his way in.  Whether he did ornot, Frank will tell you.""I can't.  I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at thesentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurdcouple.  Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep."So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?" askedMr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose inhis buttonhole."I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate after awhile," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at histutor."What a piece of nonsense we have made!  With practice we might dosomething quite clever.  Do you know Truth?""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 questionput 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."Grandfather and Napoleon.""Which lady here 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 therest 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 turncame next."What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her thevirtue he lacked himself."A quick temper.""What do you most wish for?" said Laurie."A pair of boot lacings," returned Jo, guessing and defeating hispurpose."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 sheslyly 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."Let's give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded and asked atonce..."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.""Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?" askedSallie."I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't.""He's a true John Bull.  Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chancewithout waiting to draw.  I'll harrrow up your feelings first by askingif you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jonodded to Fred as a sign that peace was declared."You impertinent boy!  Of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with anair 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, I think Truth is a very silly play.  Let's have a sensible gameof 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 sketchagain, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass witha book, which he did not read."How beautifully you do it!  I wish I could draw," said Meg, withmingled 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 Iproved to her that I had talent by taking a few lessons privately, andthen she was quite willing I should go on.  Can't you do the same withyour governess?""I have none.""I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us.  Veryfine schools they are, too, Papa says.  You go to a private one, Isuppose?""I don't go at all.  I am a governess myself.""Oh, indeed!" said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, "Dearme, how dreadful!" for her tone implied it, and something in her facemade Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.Mr. Brooke looked up and said quickly, "Young ladies in America loveindependence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired andrespected for supporting themselves.""Oh, yes, of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so.  Wehave many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same andare employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters ofgentlemen, they are both well bred and accomplished, you know," saidMiss Kate in a patronizing tone that hurt Meg's pride, and made herwork seem not only more distasteful, but degrading."Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breakingan awkward pause."Oh, yes!  It was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoevertranslated 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 away, and I don't get onvery fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation.""Try a little now.  Here is Schiller's Mary Stuart and a tutor wholoves to teach."  And Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap with aninviting smile."It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful inthe presence of the accomplished young lady beside her."I'll read a bit to encourage you." And Miss Kate read one of the mostbeautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionlessmanner.Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who saidinnocently, "I thought it was poetry.""Some of it is.  Try this passage."There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poorMary's lament.Meg obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor usedto point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry ofthe hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice.  Down thepage went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener inthe beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a littletouch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen.  If she had seenthe brown eyes then, she would have stopped short, but she never lookedup, and the lesson was not spoiled for her."Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring hermany mistakes, and looking as if he did indeed love to teach.Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the littletableau before her, shut her sketch book, saying with condescension,"You've a nice accent and in time will be a clever reader.  I adviseyou to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers.  Imust look after Grace, she is romping." And Miss Kate strolled away,adding to herself with a shrug, "I didn't come to chaperone agoverness, though she is young and pretty.  What odd people theseYankees are.  I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoiled among them.""I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governessesand don't treat them as we do," said Meg, looking after the retreatingfigure with an annoyed expression."Tutors also have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to mysorrow.  There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret."And Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful that Meg was ashamed tolament her hard lot."I'm glad I live in it then.  I don't like my work, but I get a gooddeal of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain. I onlywished I liked teaching as you do.""I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil.  I shall be verysorry to lose him next year," said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes inthe turf."Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked the question, but hereyes added, "And what becomes of you?""Yes, it's high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he isoff, I shall turn soldier.  I am needed.""I am glad of that!" exclaimed Meg.  "I should think every young manwould want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters whostay 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 thehole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave."Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should allbe very sorry to have any harm happen to you," said Meg heartily."Thank you, that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerfulagain, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the oldhorse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before theyoung ladies, and there was no more quiet that day."Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as they stood restingafter 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, butwe 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 gotan old sidesaddle and no horse.  Out in our garden is an apple treethat has a nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed somereins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Treewhenever we like.""How funny!" laughed Grace.  "I have a pony at home, and ride nearlyevery day in the park with Fred and Kate.  It's very nice, for myfriends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen.""Dear, how charming!  I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I'd rathergo to Rome than the Row," said Amy, who had not the remotest idea whatthe Row was and wouldn't have asked for the world.Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they weresaying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gestureas he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comicalgymnastics.  Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author cards,looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, "I'm afraid you aretired.  Can I do anything for you?""Talk to me, please.  It's dull, sitting by myself," answered Frank,who had evidently been used to being made much of at home.If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed amore 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 wistfully at herthat she bravely resolved to try."What do you like to talk about?" she asked, fumbling over the cardsand dropping half as she tried to tie them up."Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," saidFrank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.My heart!  What shall I do?  I don't know anything about them, thoughtBeth, and forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said,hoping to make him talk, "I never saw any hunting, but I suppose youknow all about it.""I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping aconfounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds forme," said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for herinnocent blunder."Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said,turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read oneof the boys' books in which Jo delighted.Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness toamuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of hersisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talkingaway to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had beggedprotection."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 beno further doubt of it."I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long," said Grace toAmy, as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorncups."My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl, when she likes to be," saidAmy, well pleased at Beth's success.  She meant 'facinating', but asGrace didn't know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious soundedwell and made a good impression.An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquetfinished the afternoon.  At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed,wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down theriver, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental,warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain...    Alone, alone, ah! 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 lackadiasical expression that she laughedoutright and spoiled his song."How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a livelychorus.  "You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman 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 wasquite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party andthe talk after it.Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to herrather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?""Not a particle, but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending herfriend even while confessing her shortcomings."She's not a stricken deer anyway," said Ned, trying to be witty, andsucceeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do.On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated withcordial good nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada.As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate lookedafter them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "Inspite of their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice whenone knows them.""I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke.CHAPTER THIRTEENCASTLES IN THE AIRLaurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warmSeptember afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but toolazy to go and find out.  He was in one of his moods, for the day hadbeen both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he couldlive it over again.  The hot weather made him indolent, and he hadshirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost,displeased his grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightenedthe maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting thatone of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stablemanabout some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into hishammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till thepeace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring upinto the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreameddreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on theocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought himashore in a flash. Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he sawthe Marches coming out, as if bound on some expedition."What in the world are those girls about now?" thought Laurie, openinghis sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something ratherpeculiar in the appearance of his neighbors.  Each wore a large,flapping hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carrieda long staff.  Meg had a cushion, Jo a book, Beth a basket, and Amy aportfolio.  All walked quietly through the garden, out at the littleback gate, and began to climb the hill that lay between the house andriver."Well, that's cool," said Laurie to himself, "to have a picnic andnever ask me!  They can't be going in the boat, for they haven't gotthe key.  Perhaps they forgot it.  I'll take it to them, and see what'sgoing on."Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to findone, then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered inhis pocket, so that the girls were quite out of sight when he leapedthe fence and ran after them.  Taking the shortest way to theboathouse, he waited for them to appear, but no one came, and he wentup the hill to take an observation.  A grove of pines covered one partof it, and from the heart of this green spot came a clearer sound thanthe soft sigh of the pines or the drowsy chirp of the crickets."Here's a landscape!" thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, andlooking wide-awake and good-natured already.It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together inthe shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromaticwind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all thelittle wood people going on with their affairs as if these were nostrangers but old friends.  Meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintilywith her white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose in herpink dress among the green.  Beth was sorting the cones that lay thickunder the hemlock near by, for she made pretty things with them.  Amywas sketching a group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud.A shadow passed over the boy's face as he watched them, feeling that heought to go away because uninvited; yet lingering because home seemedvery lonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to hisrestless spirit.  He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with itsharvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly andskipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espied thewistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile."May I come in, please?  Or shall I be a bother?" he asked, advancingslowly.Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly and said atonce, "Of course you may.  We should have asked you before, only wethought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this.""I always like your games, but if Meg doesn't want me, I'll go away.""I've no objection, if you do something.  It's against the rules to beidle here," replied Meg gravely but graciously."Much obliged.  I'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit, for it'sas 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 Lauriesat 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 hisgratitude for the favor of admission into the 'Busy Bee Society'.The story was not a long one, and when it was finished, he ventured toask a few questions as a reward of merit."Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charminginstitution 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 playPilgrim's Progress, and we have been going on with it in earnest, allwinter and summer.""Yes, I know," said Laurie, nodding wisely."Who told you?" demanded Jo."Spirits.""No, I did.  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," saidBeth meekly."You can't keep a secret.  Never mind, it saves 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 havetried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a task and worked atit 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 ownidle days."Mother likes to have us out-of-doors as much as possible, so we bringour work here and have nice times.  For the fun of it we bring ourthings 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 theDelectable Mountain, for we can look far away and see the country wherewe hope to live some time."Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine, for through an opening in thewood one could look cross the wide, blue river, the meadows on theother side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the greenhills that rose to meet the sky.  The sun was low, and the heavensglowed with the splendor of an autumn sunset.  Gold and purple cloudslay on the hilltops, and rising high into the ruddy light were silverywhite peaks that shone like the airy spires of some Celestial City."How beautiful that is!" said Laurie softly, for he was quick to seeand feel beauty of any kind."It's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, butalways splendid," replied Amy, wishing she could paint it."Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime--the realcountry, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking. It would benice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we couldever 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 sweetestvoice."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, andmaybe never get in after all.""You'll have me for company, if that's any comfort.  I shall have to doa deal of traveling before I come in sight of your Celestial City.  IfI 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 saidcheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds, "If peoplereally want to go, and really try all their lives, I think they willget in, for I don't believe there are any locks on that door or anyguards at the gate.  I always imagine it is as it is in the picture,where the shining ones stretch out their hands to welcome poorChristian as he comes up from the river.""Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make couldcome 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 hadbetrayed 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 settlein Germany and have just as much music as I choose.  I'm to be a famousmusician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me.  And I'm neverto be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself and livefor what I like.  That's my favorite castle. What's yours, Meg?"Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved abrake before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while shesaid slowly, "I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts ofluxurious things--nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture,pleasant people, and heaps of money.  I am to be mistress of it, andmanage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so I never need work abit.  How I should enjoy it!  For I wouldn't be idle, but do good, andmake everyone love me dearly.""Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air?" asked Laurieslyly."I said 'pleasant people', you know," and Meg carefully tied up hershoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face."Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband and someangelic little children?  You know your castle wouldn't be perfectwithout," said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and ratherscorned 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, roomspiled high with books, and I'd write out of a magic inkstand, so thatmy works should be as famous as Laurie's music.  I want to do somethingsplendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful thatwon't be forgotten after I'm dead.  I don't know what, but I'm on thewatch for it, and mean to astonish you all some day.  I think I shallwrite books, and get rich and famous, that would suit me, so that is myfavorite dream.""Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help takecare 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 wemay all keep well and be together, nothing else.""I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and goto Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the wholeworld," was Amy's modest desire."We're an ambitious set, aren't we?  Every one of us, but Beth, wantsto be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder ifany of us will ever get our wishes," said Laurie, chewing grass like ameditative calf."I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock thedoor remains to be seen," observed Jo mysteriously."I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it. Hangcollege!" 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," repliedthe boy, laughing at the thought of a charming little secret which hefancied he knew.Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions and looked acrossthe river with the same expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had wornwhen he told the story of the knight."If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see how many ofus have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then than now," saidJo, always ready with a plan."Bless me!  How old I shall be, twenty-seven!" exclaimed Meg, who feltgrown up already, having just reached seventeen."You and I will be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, and Amytwenty-two.  What a venerable party!" said Jo."I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time, butI'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 sureyou'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 pleaseGrandfather, 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, andI'd rather be shot.  I hate tea and silk and spices, and every sort ofrubbish his old ships bring, and I don't care how soon they go to thebottom when I own them.  Going to college ought to satisfy him, for ifI give him four years he ought to let me off from the business.  Buthe's set, and I've got to do just as he did, unless I break away andplease myself, as my father did.  If there was anyone left to stay withthe old gentleman, I'd do it tomorrow."Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat intoexecution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing up very fastand, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred ofsubjection, 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 homeagain till you have tried your own way," said Jo, whose imagination wasfired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy wasexcited by what she called 'Teddy's Wrongs'."That's not right, Jo.  You mustn't talk in that way, and Lauriemustn't take your bad advice.  You should do just what your grandfatherwishes, my dear boy," said Meg in her most maternal tone. "Do your bestat college, and when he sees that you try to please him, I'm sure hewon't be hard on you or unjust to you.  As you say, there is no oneelse to stay with and love him, and you'd never forgive yourself if youleft him without his permission.  Don't be dismal or fret, but do yourduty and you'll get your reward, as good Mr. Brooke has, by beingrespected and loved.""What do you know about him?" asked Laurie, grateful for the goodadvice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversationfrom himself after his unusual outbreak."Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care of hisown mother till she died, and wouldn't go abroad as tutor to some niceperson because he wouldn't leave her.  And how he provides now for anold woman who nursed his mother, and never tells anyone, but is just asgenerous 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 findout all about him without letting him know, and to tell all hisgoodness to others, so that they might like him. Brooke couldn'tunderstand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over with meand treating him in her beautiful friendly way.  He thought she wasjust perfect, and talked about it for days and days, and went on aboutyou all in flaming style.  If ever I do get my wish, you see what I'lldo for Brooke.""Begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out," said Megsharply."How do you know I do, Miss?""I can always tell by his face when he goes away.  If you have beengood, he looks satisfied and walks briskly.  If you have plagued him,he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his workbetter.""Well, I like that?  So you keep an account of my good and bad marks inBrooke's face, do you?  I see him bow and smile as he passes yourwindow, 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 hereis said in confidence, you know," cried Meg, much alarmed at thethought of what might follow from her careless speech."I don't tell tales," replied Laurie, with his 'high and mighty' air,as Jo called a certain expression which he occasionally wore. "Only ifBrooke is going to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair weatherfor him to report.""Please don't be offended.  I didn't mean to preach or tell tales or besilly.  I only thought Jo was encouraging you in a feeling which you'dbe sorry for by-and-by.  You are so kind to us, we feel as if you wereour 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.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 beenout of sorts all day.  I like to have you tell me my faults and besisterly, so don't mind if I am grumpy sometimes.  I thank you all thesame."Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeableas possible, wound cotton for Meg, recited poetry to please Jo, shookdown cones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself afit person to belong to the 'Busy Bee Society'.  In the midst of ananimated discussion on the domestic habits of turtles (one of thoseamiable creatures having strolled up from the river), the faint soundof a bell warned them that Hannah had put the tea 'to draw', and theywould 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 primerare told to do," said Meg, smiling."I'll try.""Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the Scotchmen do.There's a demand for socks just now," added Jo, waving hers like a bigblue worsted banner as they parted at the gate.That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence 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 oldman, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughtsof the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation ofthe afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make thesacrifice cheerfully, "I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dearold gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has."CHAPTER FOURTEENSECRETSJo was very busy in the garret, for the October days began to growchilly, and the afternoons were short.  For two or three hours the sunlay warmly in 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, accompaniedby his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud ofhis whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till thelast page was filled, when she signed her name with a flourish andthrew down her pen, exclaiming..."There, I've done my best!  If this won't suit I shall have to waittill 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 smartred ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistfulexpression, which plainly showed how earnest her work had been.  Jo'sdesk up here was an old tin kitchen which hung against the wall.  In itshe kept her papers, and a few books, safely shut away from Scrabble,who, being likewise of a literary turn, was fond of making acirculating library of such books as were left in his way by eating theleaves.  From this tin receptacle Jo produced another manuscript, andputting both in her pocket, crept quietly downstairs, leaving herfriends to nibble on her pens and taste her ink.She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going tothe back entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swungherself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road.Once there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolledaway to town, looking very merry and mysterious.If anyone had been watching her, he would have thought her movementsdecidedly peculiar, for on alighting, she went off at a great pace tillshe reached a certain number in a certain busy street.  Having foundthe place with some difficulty, she went into the doorway, looked upthe dirty stairs, and after standing stock still a minute, suddenlydived into the street and walked away as rapidly as she came.  Thismaneuver she repeated several times, to the great amusement of ablack-eyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a buildingopposite.  On returning for the third time, Jo gave herself a shake,pulled her hat over her eyes, and walked up the stairs, looking as ifshe were 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 slowlyopened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the younggentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himselfin the opposite doorway, saying with a smile and a shiver, "It's likeher to come alone, but if she has a bad time she'll need someone tohelp her home."In ten minutes Jo came running downstairs with a very red face and thegeneral appearance of a person who had just passed through a tryingordeal of some sort.  When she saw the young gentleman she lookedanything 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 quickly.""Yes, thank goodness!""Why did you go alone?""Didn't want anyone 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 tolaugh 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," saidLaurie, 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 agymnasium, and I was taking a lesson in fencing.""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 severalpassers-by smile in spite of themselves."I'll teach you whether we play _Hamlet_ or not.  It's grand fun andwill straighten you up capitally.  But I don't believe that was youronly reason for saying 'I'm glad' in that decided way, was it now?""No, I was glad that you were not in the saloon, because I hope younever 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 unlessyou have good players, so, as I'm fond of it, I come sometimes and havea game with Ned Moffat 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.  Idid 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 withoutlosing his respectability?" asked Laurie, looking nettled."That depends upon how and where he takes it.  I don't like Ned and hisset, and wish you'd keep out of it.  Mother won't let us have him atour house, though he wants to come.  And if you grow like him she won'tbe 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 inbandboxes rather than have us associate with them.""Well, she needn't get out her bandboxes yet.  I'm not a fashionableparty 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, respectable boy, andwe'll never desert you.  I don't know what I should do if you actedlike Mr. King's son.  He had plenty of money, but didn't know how tospend it, and got tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged hisfather's name, I believe, and was altogether 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 moneybeing such a temptation, and I sometimes wish you were poor. Ishouldn't worry then.""Do you worry about me, Jo?""A little, when you look moody and discontented, as you sometimes do,for you've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I'mafraid it would be hard to stop you."Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishing shehad held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips smiledas if at her warnings."Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?" he askedpresently."Of course not.  Why?""Because if you are, I'll take a bus.  If you're not, I'd like to walkwith 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 musttell me yours.""I haven't got any," began Jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering thatshe had."You know you have--you can't hide anything, so up and 'fess, or Iwon't tell," cried Laurie."Is your secret a nice one?""Oh, isn't it!  All about people you know, and such fun!  You ought tohear it, and I've been aching to tell it this long time. Come, youbegin.""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 knowhow you do it, but you are a born wheedler.""Thank you.  Fire away.""Well, I've left two stories with a newspaperman, and he's to give hisanswer next week," whispered Jo, in her confidant's ear."Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American authoress!" criedLaurie, throwing up his hat and catching it again, to the great delightof 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 tillI had tried, and I said nothing about it because I didn't want anyoneelse to be disappointed.""It won't fail.  Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespearecompared to half the rubbish that is published every day. Won't it befun to see them in print, and shan't we feel proud of our authoress?"Jo's eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in, and afriend's praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs."Where's your secret?  Play fair, Teddy, or I'll never believe youagain," she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazedup at a word of encouragement."I may get into a scrape for telling, but I didn't promise not to, so Iwill, for I never feel easy in my mind till I've told you any plummybit of news I get.  I know where Meg's glove is.""Is that all?" said Jo, looking disappointed, as Laurie nodded andtwinkled with a face full of mysterious intelligence."It's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree when I tell youwhere it is.""Tell, then."Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo's ear, which produced acomical change.  She stood and stared at him for a minute, looking bothsurprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, "How do youknow?""Saw it.""Where?""Pocket.""All this time?""Yes, isn't that romantic?""No, it's horrid.""Don't you like it?""Of course I don't.  It's ridiculous, it won't be allowed.  Mypatience!  What would Meg say?""You are not to tell anyone.  Mind that.""I didn't promise.""That was understood, and I trusted you.""Well, I won't for the present, anyway, but I'm disgusted, and wish youhadn'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 anyone 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 mindsince you told me that," said Jo rather ungratefully."Race down this hill with me, and you'll be all right," suggestedLaurie.No one was in sight, the smooth road sloped invitingly before her, andfinding the temptation irresistible, Jo darted away, soon leaving hatand comb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran. Laurie reachedthe goal first and was quite satisfied with the success of histreatment, for his Atlanta came panting up with flying hair, brighteyes, 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 mademe.  Go, pick up my things, like a cherub, as you are," said Jo,dropping down under a maple tree, which was carpeting the bank withcrimson leaves.Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundledup her braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again.But someone did pass, and who should it be but Meg, lookingparticularly ladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had beenmaking calls."What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, regarding herdisheveled sister with well-bred surprise."Getting leaves," meekly answered Jo, sorting the rosy handful she hadjust swept up."And hairpins," added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo's lap."They grow on this road, Meg, so do combs and brown straw hats.""You have been running, Jo.  How could you?  When will you stop suchromping ways?" said Meg reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs andsmoothed her hair, with which the wind had taken liberties."Never till I'm stiff and old and have to use a crutch.  Don't try tomake me grow up before my time, Meg.  It's hard enough to have youchange all of a sudden.  Let me be a little girl as long as I can."As she spoke, Jo bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of herlips, for lately she had felt that Margaret was fast getting to be awoman, and Laurie's secret made her dread the separation which mustsurely come some time and now seemed very near.  He saw the trouble inher face and drew Meg's attention from it by asking quickly, "Wherehave you been calling, all so fine?""At the Gardiners', and Sallie has been telling me all about BelleMoffat's wedding.  It was very splendid, and they have gone to spendthe 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 apoor man," said Jo, frowning at Laurie, who was mutely warning her tomind what she said."I shall never '_go_ and marry' anyone," observed Meg, walking on withgreat dignity while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skippingstones, and 'behaving like children', as Meg said to herself, thoughshe might have been tempted to join them if she had not had her bestdress on.For a week or two, Jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quitebewildered.  She rushed to the door when the postman rang, was rude toMr. Brooke whenever they met, would sit looking at Meg with awoe-begone face, occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her ina very mysterious manner.  Laurie and she were always making signs toone another, and talking about 'Spread Eagles' till the girls declaredthey had both lost their wits.  On the second Saturday after Jo got outof the window, Meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized bythe sight of Laurie chasing Jo all over the garden and finallycapturing her in Amy's bower.  What went on there, Meg could not see,but shrieks of laughter were heard, followed by the murmur of voicesand a great flapping of newspapers."What shall we do with that girl?  She never _will_ behave like a younglady," 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, whohad never betrayed that she was a little hurt at Jo's having secretswith anyone but her."It's very trying, but we never can make her _commy la fo_," added Amy,who sat making some new frills for herself, with her curls tied up in avery becoming way, two agreeable things that made her feel unusuallyelegant and ladylike.In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affectedto read."Have you anything interesting there?" asked Meg, with condescension."Nothing but a story, won't amount to much, I guess," returned Jo,carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight."You'd better read it aloud.  That will amuse us and keep you out ofmischief," said Amy in her most grown-up tone."What's the name?" asked Beth, wondering why Jo kept her face behindthe 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.  Thegirls listened with interest, for the tale was romantic, and somewhatpathetic, as most of the characters died in the end. "I like that aboutthe splendid picture," was Amy's approving remark, as Jo paused."I prefer the lovering part.  Viola and Angelo are two of our favoritenames, isn't that queer?" said Meg, wiping her eyes, for the loveringpart 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 flushedcountenance, and with a funny mixture of solemnity and excitementreplied 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 hugher sister and exult over this splendid success.Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure!  How Meg wouldn'tbelieve it till she saw the words.  "Miss Josephine March," actuallyprinted in the paper.  How graciously Amy criticized the artistic partsof the story, and offered hints for a sequel, which unfortunatelycouldn't be carried out, as the hero and heroine were dead.  How Bethgot excited, and skipped and sang with joy.  How Hannah came in toexclaim, "Sakes alive, well I never!" in great astonishment at 'thatJo's doin's'.  How proud Mrs. March was when she knew it.  How Jolaughed, with tears in her eyes, as she declared she might as well be apeacock and done with it, and how the 'Spread Eagle' might be said toflap his wings triumphantly over the House of March, as the paperpassed from hand to hand."Tell us about it."  "When did it come?" "How much did you get for it?""What will Father say?" "Won't Laurie laugh?" cried the family, all inone breath as they clustered about Jo, for these foolish, affectionatepeople made a jubilee of every little household joy."Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything," said Jo,wondering if Miss Burney felt any grander over her Evelina than she didover 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 themboth, but didn't pay beginners, only let them print in his paper, andnoticed the stories.  It was good practice, he said, and when thebeginners improved, anyone would pay.  So I let him have the twostories, and today this was sent to me, and Laurie caught me with itand insisted on seeing it, so I let him.  And he said it was good, andI shall write more, and he's going to get the next paid for, and I amso happy, for in time I may be able to support myself and help thegirls."Jo's breath gave out here, and wrapping her head in the paper, shebedewed her little story with a few natural tears, for to beindependent and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearestwishes of her heart, and this seemed to be the first step toward thathappy end.CHAPTER FIFTEENA TELEGRAM"November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year," saidMargaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at thefrostbitten garden."That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively, quiteunconscious of the blot on her nose."If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it adelightful 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 atreadmill.""My patience, how blue we are!" cried Jo.  "I don't much wonder, poordear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind,grind, year in and year out.  Oh, don't I wish I could manage thingsfor you as I do for my heroines!  You're pretty enough and good enoughalready, so I'd have some rich relation leave you a fortuneunexpectedly.  Then you'd dash out as an heiress, scorn everyone whohas slighted you, go abroad, and come home my Lady Something in a blazeof splendor and elegance.""People don't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays, men haveto work and women 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, asHannah 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 intentions."Meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again.  Jo groaned andleaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude, but Amyspatted away energetically, and Beth, who sat at the other window,said, smiling, "Two pleasant things are going to happen right away.Marmee is coming down the street, and Laurie is tramping through thegarden as if he had something nice to tell."In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, "Any letter fromFather, girls?" and Laurie to say in his persuasive way, "Won't some ofyou come for a drive?  I've been working away at mathematics till myhead 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 Brookehome, so it will be gay inside, if it isn't out.  Come, Jo, you andBeth will go, won't you?""Of course we will.""Much obliged, but I'm busy."  And Meg whisked out her workbasket, forshe had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least, notto drive too often with the young gentleman."We three will be ready in a minute," cried Amy, running away to washher hands."Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?" asked Laurie, leaning overMrs. March's chair with the affectionate look and tone he always gaveher."No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind, dear.It's our day for a letter, and the postman hasn't been.  Father is asregular 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 aletter."It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said, handling itas if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage.At the word 'telegraph', Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines itcontained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the littlepaper had sent a bullet to her heart.  Laurie dashed downstairs forwater, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo read aloud, in afrightened voice...    Mrs. March:    Your husband is very ill.  Come at once.    S.  HALE    Blank Hospital, Washington.How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely theday darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed tochange, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all thehappiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them.Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over, andstretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they neverforgot, "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 theroom, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help,and hopeful whispers that died away in tears.  Poor Hannah was thefirst to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest agood example, for with her, work was panacea for most afflictions."The Lord keep the dear man!  I won't waste no time a-cryin', but gityour things ready right away, mum," she said heartily, as she wiped herface on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with herown 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 letme think."They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, lookingpale but steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them."Where's Laurie?" she asked presently, when she had collected herthoughts and decided on the first duties to be done."Here, ma'am.  Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy, hurrying fromthe next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrowwas too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see."Send a telegram saying I will come at once.  The next train goes earlyin the morning.  I'll take that.""What else?  The horses are ready.  I can go anywhere, do anything," hesaid, 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 drewthe table before her mother, well knowing that money for the long, sadjourney must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything toadd 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 laterLaurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as if for hislife."Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can't come. On the wayget these things.  I'll put them down, they'll be needed and I must goprepared for nursing.  Hospital stores are not always good.  Beth, goand ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles of old wine.  I'm not tooproud 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 findmy things, for I'm half bewildered."Writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilder thepoor lady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a littlewhile, and let them work.  Everyone scattered like leaves before a gustof wind, and the quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as ifthe paper had been an evil spell.Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing every comfort thekind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, and friendliestpromises of protection for the girls during the mother's absence, whichcomforted her very much.  There was nothing he didn't offer, from hisown dressing gown to himself as escort.  But the last was impossible.Mrs. March would not hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the longjourney, yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it,for anxiety ill fits one for traveling. He saw the look, knit his heavyeyebrows, rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying he'd beback directly.  No one had time to think of him again till, as Meg ranthrough the entry, with a pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of teain 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.  "Icame to offer myself as escort to your mother.  Mr. Laurence hascommissions for me in Washington, and it will give me real satisfactionto be of service to her there."Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as Megput out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude that Mr. Brookewould have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the triflingone of time and comfort which he was about to take."How kind you all are!  Mother will accept, I'm sure, and it will besuch a relief to know that she has someone to take care of her.  Thankyou very, very much!"Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in thebrown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, andlead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother.Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note fromAunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating whatshe had often said before, that she had always told them it was absurdfor March to go into the army, always predicted that no good would comeof it, and she hoped they would take her advice the next time.  Mrs.March put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went onwith her preparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which Jowould have understood if she had been there.The short afternoon wore away.  All other errands were done, and Megand her mother busy at some necessary needlework, while Beth and Amygot tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a 'slapand a bang', but still Jo did not come.  They began to get anxious, andLaurie went off to find her, for no one knew what freak Jo might takeinto her head.  He missed her, however, and she came walking in with avery queer expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of funand fear, satisfaction and regret in it, which puzzled the family asmuch as did the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with alittle choke in her voice, "That's my contribution toward making Fathercomfortable and bringing him home!""My dear, where did you get it?  Twenty-five dollars!  Jo, I hope youhaven't done anything rash?""No, it's mine honestly.  I didn't beg, borrow, or steal it.  I earnedit, 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, forall her abundant hair was cut short."Your hair!  Your beautiful hair!"  "Oh, Jo, how could you? Your onebeauty."  "My dear girl, there was no need of this."  "She doesn't looklike my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!"As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Joassumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle,and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she likedit, "It doesn't affect the fate of the nation, so don't wail, Beth.  Itwill be good for my vanity, I was getting too proud of my wig.  It willdo my brains good to have that mop taken off.  My head feelsdeliciously light and cool, and the barber said I could soon have acurly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, 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.  I am not quite satisfied, but I can't blameyou, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you callit, to your love.  But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraidyou will regret it one of these days," said Mrs. March."No, I won't!" returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that herprank was not entirely condemned."What made you do it?" asked Amy, who would as soon have thought ofcutting off her head as her pretty hair."Well, I was wild to do something for Father," replied Jo, as theygathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even in themidst of trouble.  "I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knewAunt 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 someclothes 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 gotthe simplest with your own hard earnings," said Mrs. March with a lookthat warmed Jo's heart."I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I wentalong I kept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I'd like todive into some of the rich stores and help myself.  In a barber'swindow I saw tails of hair with the prices marked, and one black tail,not so thick as mine, was forty dollars.  It came to me all of a suddenthat I had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping tothink, I walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would givefor 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 hishair.  He rather stared at first, as if he wasn't used to having girlsbounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair.  He said he didn'tcare about mine, it wasn't the fashionable color, and he never paidmuch for it in the first place.  The work put into it made it dear, andso on.  It was getting late, and I was afraid if it wasn't done rightaway that I shouldn't have it done at all, and you know when I start todo a thing, I hate to give it up.  So I begged him to take it, and toldhim why I was in such a hurry.  It was silly, I dare say, but itchanged his mind, for I got rather excited, and told the story in mytopsy-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 anyday if I had a spire of hair worth selling.""Who was Jimmy?" asked Amy, who liked to have things explained as theywent along."Her son, she said, who was in the army.  How friendly such things makestrangers feel, don't they?  She talked away all the time the manclipped, and diverted my mind nicely.""Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?" asked Meg, with ashiver."I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and thatwas the end of it.  I never snivel over trifles like that. I willconfess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out onthe table, and felt only the short rough ends of my head. It almostseemed as if I'd an arm or leg off.  The woman saw me look at it, andpicked 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'tthink I shall ever have a mane again."Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a shortgray one in her desk.  She only said, "Thank you, deary," but somethingin her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfullyas they could about Mr. Brooke's kindness, the prospect of a fine daytomorrow, and the happy times they would have when Father came home tobe nursed.No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o'clock Mrs. March put by thelast finished job, and said, "Come girls."  Beth went to the piano andplayed the father's favorite hymn.  All began bravely, but broke downone by one till Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for toher music was always a sweet consoler."Go to bed and don't talk, for we must be up early and shall need allthe sleep we can get.  Good night, my darlings," said Mrs. March, asthe hymn ended, for no one cared to try another.They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dearinvalid lay in the next room.  Beth and Amy soon fell asleep in spiteof the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most seriousthoughts she had ever known in her short life.  Jo lay motionless, andher sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob made herexclaim, 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 vainly to smother heremotion in the pillow.It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed theafflicted heroine in the tenderest manner."I'm not sorry," protested Jo, with a choke.  "I'd do it againtomorrow, if I could.  It's only the vain part of me that goes andcries in this silly way.  Don't tell anyone, it's all over now.  Ithought you were asleep, so I just made a little private moan for myone 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, smiling to herselfin 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 amiablypromised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living inher castle in the air.The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as afigure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here,settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at eachunconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and topray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter.  As she lifted thecurtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly frombehind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face,which seemed to whisper in the silence, "Be comforted, dear soul!There is always light behind the clouds."CHAPTER SIXTEENLETTERSIn the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and read their chapterwith an earnestness never felt before.  For now the shadow of a realtrouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort, andas they dressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully and hopefully,and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears orcomplaints from them.  Everything seemed very strange when they wentdown, so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within.Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiarface looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her nightcapon.  The big trunk stood ready in the hall, Mother's cloak and bonnetlay on the sofa, and Mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking sopale and worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found itvery hard to keep their resolution.  Meg's eyes kept filling in spiteof herself, Jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller morethan once, and the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression, asif sorrow was a new experience to them.Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near and they sat waitingfor the carriage, Mrs. March said to the girls, who were all busiedabout her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings ofher bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a fourth fastening upher 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 asif you were his own.  I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious thatyou should take this trouble rightly.  Don't grieve and fret when I amgone, or think that you can be idle and comfort yourselves by beingidle and trying to forget.  Go on with your work as usual, for work isa blessed solace.  Hope and keep busy, and whatever happens, rememberthat you never can be fatherless.""Yes, Mother.""Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and inany perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence.  Be patient, Jo, don't getdespondent or do rash things, write to me often, and be my brave girl,ready to help and cheer all.  Beth, comfort yourself with your music,and be faithful to the little home duties, and you, Amy, help all youcan, 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 veryheavy as they sent loving messages to Father, remembering, as theyspoke that it might be too late to deliver them. They kissed theirmother quietly, clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their handscheerfully when she drove away.Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and Mr. Brookelooked 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 hurriedinto the carriage.As she rolled away, the sun came out, and looking back, she saw itshining 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 sheturned the corner was the four bright faces, and behind them like abodyguard, old Mr. Laurence, faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie."How kind everyone is to us!" she said, turning to find fresh proof ofit in the respectful sympathy of the young man's face."I don't see how they can help it," returned Mr. Brooke, laughing soinfectiously that Mrs. March could not help smiling. And so the journeybegan with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful words."I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said Jo, as theirneighbors went home to breakfast, leaving them to rest and refreshthemselves."It seems as if half the house was gone," added Meg forlornly.Beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pileof nicely mended hose which lay on Mother's table, showing that even inher last hurried moments she had thought and worked for them.  It was alittle thing, but it went straight to their hearts, and in spite oftheir brave resolutions, they all broke down and cried bitterly.Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and when theshower showed signs of clearing up, she came to the rescue, armed witha coffeepot."Now, my dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and don't fret.Come and have a cup of coffee all round, and then let's fall to workand be a credit to the family."Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact in making it thatmorning.  No one could resist her persuasive nods, or the fragrantinvitation issuing from the nose of the coffee pot.  They drew up tothe table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in tenminutes were all right again."'Hope and keep busy', that's the motto for us, so let's see who willremember it best.  I shall go to Aunt March, as usual. Oh, won't shelecture though!" said Jo, as she sipped with returning spirit."I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather stay at home and attendto things here," said Meg, wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red."No need of that.  Beth and I can keep house perfectly well," put inAmy, with an important air."Hannah will tell us what to do, and we'll have everything nice whenyou come home," added Beth, getting out her mop and dish tub withoutdelay."I think anxiety is very interesting," observed Amy, eating sugarpensively.The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for it, though Megshook her head at the young lady who could find consolation in a sugarbowl.The sight of the turnovers made Jo sober again; and when the two wentout to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the windowwhere they were accustomed to see their mother's face.  It was gone,but Beth had remembered the little household ceremony, and there shewas, nodding away at them like a rosyfaced mandarin."That's so like my Beth!" said Jo, waving her hat, with a gratefulface.  "Goodbye, Meggy, I hope the Kings won't strain today.  Don'tfret about Father, dear," she added, as they parted."And I hope Aunt March won't croak.  Your hair is becoming, and itlooks very boyish and nice," returned Meg, trying not to smile at thecurly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders."That's my only comfort." And, touching her hat a la Laurie, away wentJo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day.News from their father comforted the girls very much, for thoughdangerously ill, the presence of the best and tenderest of nurses hadalready done him good.  Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and asthe head of the family, Meg insisted on reading the dispatches, whichgrew more cheerful as the week passed.  At first, everyone was eager towrite, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter box byone or other of the sisters, who felt rather important with theirWashington correspondence.  As one of these packets containedcharacteristic notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, andread them.My dearest Mother:It is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made us, forthe news was so good we couldn't help laughing and crying over it.  Howvery kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate that Mr. Laurence's businessdetains 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, andinsists on doing all sorts of hard jobs.  I should be afraid she mightoverdo, if I didn't know her 'moral fit' wouldn't last long.  Beth isas regular about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what you toldher.  She grieves about Father, and looks sober except when she is ather 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 buttonholes andmend her stockings. She tries very hard, and I know you will be pleasedwith her improvement when you come.  Mr. Laurence watches over us likea 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 feellike orphans, with you so far away.  Hannah is a perfect saint.  Shedoes not scold at all, and always calls me Miss Margaret, which isquite proper, you know, and treats me with respect.  We are all welland busy, but we long, day and night, to have you back.  Give mydearest love to Father, and believe me, ever your own...MEGThis note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast tothe next, which was scribbled on a big sheet of thin foreign paper,ornamented with blots and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailedletters.My precious Marmee:Three cheers for dear Father!  Brooke was a trump to telegraph rightoff, and let us know the minute he was better.  I rushed up garret whenthe letter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but Icould only cry, and say, "I'm glad!  I'm glad!" Didn't that do as wellas a regular prayer?  For I felt a great many in my heart.  We havesuch funny times, and now I can enjoy them, for everyone is sodesperately good, it's like living in a nest of turtledoves.  You'dlaugh to see Meg head the table and try to be motherish.  She getsprettier every day, and I'm in love with her sometimes.  The childrenare regular archangels, and I--well, I'm Jo, and never shall beanything else.  Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a quarrelwith Laurie.  I freed my mind about a silly little thing, and he wasoffended.  I was right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he marchedhome, saying he wouldn't come again till I begged pardon.  I declared Iwouldn't and got mad. It lasted all day.  I felt bad and wanted youvery much.  Laurie and I are both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon.But I thought he'd come to it, for I was in the right.  He didn't come,and just at night I remembered what you said when Amy fell into theriver.  I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sunset on my anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I was sorry.  I met him atthe gate, coming for the same thing.  We both laughed, begged eachother's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again.I made a 'pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash, and asFather likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse him.  Givehim my lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times foryour...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 bravely wield a broom.    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 pansiesfrom 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 sleepwith Father's tune.  I can't sing 'LAND OF THE LEAL' now, it makes mecry.  Everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be withoutyou.  Amy wants the rest of the page, so I must stop.  I didn't forgetto 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 yourloving...LITTLE BETHMa Chere Mamma,We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate thegirls--Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words and you cantake the properest.  Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me havejelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo says because it keeps mesweet tempered.  Laurie is not as respeckful as he ought to be now I amalmost in my teens, he calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talkingFrench to me very fast when I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie Kingdoes.  The sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and Meg put innew ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than thedress.  I felt bad but did not fret I bear my troubles well but I dowish Hannah would put more starch in my aprons and have buckwheatsevery day.  Can't she?  Didn't I make that interrigation point nice?Meg says my punchtuation and spelling are disgraceful and I ammortyfied but dear me I have so many things to do, I can't stop.Adieu, I send heaps of love to Papa.  Your affectionate daughter...AMY CURTIS MARCHDear Mis March,I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate.  The girls is clever andfly round right smart.  Miss Meg is going to make a proper goodhousekeeper.  She hes the liking for it, and gits the hang of thingssurprisin quick.  Jo doos beat all for goin ahead, but she don't stopto 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 aforethey was wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till I thought Ishould a died a laughin.  Beth is the best of little creeters, and asight of help to me, bein so forehanded and dependable.  She tries tolearn everything, and really goes to market beyond her years, likewisekeeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful.  We have got on veryeconomical so fur.  I don't let the girls hev coffee only once a week,accordin to your wish, and keep em on plain wholesome vittles.  Amydoes well without frettin, wearin her best clothes and eatin sweetstuff. Mr. Laurie is as full of didoes as usual, and turns the houseupside down frequent, but he heartens the girls, so I let em hev fullswing.  The old gentleman sends heaps of things, and is rather wearin,but means wal, and it aint my place to say nothin.  My bread is riz, sono more at this time.  I send my duty to Mr. March, and hope he's seenthe last of his Pewmonia.Yours respectful,Hannah MulletHead Nurse of Ward No. 2,All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in fine condition, commisarydepartment well conducted, the Home Guard under Colonel Teddy always onduty, Commander in Chief General Laurence reviews the army daily,Quartermaster Mullet keeps order in camp, and Major Lion does picketduty at night.  A salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt ofgood news from Washington, and a dress parade took place atheadquarters.  Commander in chief sends best wishes, in which he isheartily joined by...COLONEL TEDDYDear Madam:The little girls are all well.  Beth and my boy report daily. Hannah isa model servant, and guards pretty Meg like a dragon. Glad the fineweather holds.  Pray make Brooke useful, and draw on me for funds ifexpenses exceed your estimate.  Don't let your husband want anything.Thank God he is mending.Your sincere friend and servant, JAMES LAURENCECHAPTER SEVENTEENLITTLE FAITHFULFor a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have suppliedthe neighborhood.  It was really amazing, for everyone seemed in aheavenly frame of mind, and self-denial was all the fashion.  Relievedof their first anxiety about their father, the girls insensibly relaxedtheir praiseworthy efforts a little, and began to fall back into oldways.  They did not forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busyseemed to grow easier, and after such tremendous exertions, they feltthat Endeavor deserved a holiday, and gave it a good many.Jo caught a bad cold through neglect to cover the shorn head enough,and was ordered to stay at home till she was better, for Aunt Marchdidn't like to hear people read with colds in their heads.  Jo likedthis, and after an energetic rummage from garret to cellar, subsided onthe sofa to nurse her cold with arsenicum and books.  Amy found thathousework and art did not go well together, and returned to her mudpies.  Meg went daily to her pupils, and sewed, or thought she did, athome, but much time was spent in writing long letters to her mother, orreading the Washington dispatches over and over.  Beth kept on, withonly slight relapses into idleness or grieving.All the little duties were faithfully done each day, and many of hersisters' also, for they were forgetful, and the house seemed like aclock whose pendulum was gone a-visiting.  When her heart got heavywith longings for Mother or fears for Father, she went away into acertain closet, hid her face in the folds of a dear old gown, and madeher little moan and prayed her little prayer quietly by herself.Nobody knew what cheered her up after a sober fit, but everyone felthow sweet and helpful Beth was, and fell into a way of going to her forcomfort or advice in their small affairs.All were unconscious that this experience was a test of character, andwhen the first excitement was over, felt that they had done well anddeserved praise.  So they did, but their mistake was in ceasing to dowell, 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 notto forget them." said Beth, ten days after Mrs. March's departure."I'm too tired to go this afternoon," replied Meg, rocking comfortablyas she sewed."Can't you, Jo?" asked Beth."Too stormy for me with my cold.""I thought it was almost well.""It's well enough for me to go out with Laurie, but not well enough togo to the Hummels'," said Jo, laughing, but looking a little ashamed ofher inconsistency."Why don't you go yourself?" asked Meg."I have been every day, but the baby is sick, and I don't know what todo for it.  Mrs. Hummel goes away to work, and Lottchen takes care ofit.  But it gets sicker and sicker, and I think you or Hannah ought togo."Beth spoke earnestly, and Meg promised she would go tomorrow."Ask Hannah for some nice little mess, and take it round, Beth, the airwill do you good," said Jo, adding apologetically, "I'd go but I wantto finish my writing.""My head aches and I'm tired, so I thought maybe some of you would go,"said Beth."Amy will be in presently, and she will run down for us," suggested Meg.So Beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to their work, andthe Hummels were forgotten.  An hour passed.  Amy did not come, Megwent 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 quietlyput on her hood, filled her basket with odds and ends for the poorchildren, and went out into the chilly air with a heavy head and agrieved look in her patient eyes.  It was late when she came back, andno 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, andthere found little Beth sitting on the medicine chest, looking verygrave, with red eyes and a camphor bottle in her hand."Christopher Columbus!  What's the matter?" cried Jo, as Beth put outher hand as if to warn her off, and asked quickly. . ."You've had the scarlet fever, haven't you?""Years ago, when Meg did.  Why?""Then I'll tell you.  Oh, Jo, the baby's dead!""What baby?""Mrs. Hummel's.  It died in my lap before she got home," cried Bethwith a sob."My poor dear, how dreadful for you!  I ought to have gone," said Jo,taking her sister in her arms as she sat down in her mother's bigchair, with a remorseful face."It wasn't dreadful, Jo, only so sad!  I saw in a minute it was sicker,but Lottchen said her mother had gone for a doctor, so I took Baby andlet Lotty rest.  It seemed asleep, but all of a sudden if gave a littlecry 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 wasdead.""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 sorethroats.  'Scarlet fever, ma'am.  Ought to have called me before,' hesaid crossly.  Mrs. Hummel told him she was poor, and had tried to curebaby herself, but now it was too late, and she could only ask him tohelp the others and trust to charity for his pay.  He smiled then, andwas kinder, but it was very sad, and I cried with them till he turnedround all of a sudden, and told me to go home and take belladonna rightaway, or I'd have the fever.""No, you won't!" cried Jo, hugging her close, with a frightened look."Oh, Beth, if you should be sick I never could forgive myself! Whatshall we do?""Don't be frightened, I guess I shan't have it badly.  I looked inMother's book, and saw that it begins with headache, sore throat, andqueer feelings like mine, so I did take some belladonna, and I feelbetter," said Beth, laying her cold hands on her hot forehead andtrying to look well."If Mother was only at home!" exclaimed Jo, seizing the book, andfeeling that Washington was an immense way off.  She read a page,looked at Beth, felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then saidgravely, "You've been over the baby every day for more than a week, andamong the others who are going to have it, so I'm afraid you are goingto 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 toher.  Can't you and Meg have it over again?" asked Beth, anxiously."I guess not.  Don't care if I do.  Serve me right, selfish pig, to letyou go, and stay writing rubbish myself!" muttered Jo, as she went toconsult Hannah.The good soul was wide awake in a minute, and took the lead at once,assuring that there was no need to worry; every one had scarlet fever,and if rightly treated, nobody died, all of which Jo believed, and feltmuch relieved as they went up to call Meg."Now I'll tell you what we'll do," said Hannah, when she had examinedand questioned Beth, "we will have Dr. Bangs, just to take a look atyou, dear, and see that we start right.  Then we'll send Amy off toAunt March's for a spell, to keep her out of harm's way, and one of yougirls can stay at home and amuse Beth for a day or two.""I shall stay, of course, I'm oldest," began Meg, looking anxious andself-reproachful."I shall, because it's my fault she is sick.  I told Mother I'd do theerrands, and I haven't," said Jo decidedly."Which will you have, Beth?  There ain't no need of but one," aidHannah."Jo, please." And Beth leaned her head against her sister with acontented look, which effectually settled that point."I'll go and tell Amy," said Meg, feeling a little hurt, yet ratherrelieved on the whole, for she did not like nursing, and Jo did.Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had ratherhave the fever than go to Aunt March.  Meg reasoned, pleaded, andcommanded, all in vain.  Amy protested that she would not go, and Megleft her in despair to ask Hannah what should be done.  Before she cameback, Laurie walked into the parlor to find Amy sobbing, with her headin the sofa cushions.  She told her story, expecting to be consoled,but Laurie only put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room,whistling softly, as he knit his brows in deep thought.  Presently hesat down beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, "Now be asensible little woman, and do as they say. No, don't cry, but hear whata jolly plan I've got.  You go to Aunt March's, and I'll come and takeyou out every 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 aninjured voice."Bless your heart, child, it's to keep you well.  You don't want to besick, do you?""No, I'm sure I don't, but I dare say I shall be, for I've been withBeth all the time.""That's the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you mayescape it.  Change of air and care will keep you well, I dare say, orif it does not entirely, you will have the fever more lightly.  Iadvise you to be off 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, lookingrather frightened."It won't be dull with me popping in every day to tell you how Beth is,and take you out gallivanting.  The old lady likes me, and I'll be assweet 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.""And go to the theater, truly?""A dozen theaters, if we may.""Well--I guess I will," said Amy slowly."Good girl!  Call Meg, and tell her you'll give in," said Laurie, withan approving pat, which annoyed Amy more than the 'giving in'.Meg and Jo came running down to behold the miracle which had beenwrought, and Amy, feeling very precious and self-sacrificing, promisedto 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 better.  The baby's deathtroubled her, but I dare say she has only got cold. Hannah says shethinks so, but she looks worried, and that makes me fidgety," answeredMeg."What a trying world it is!" said Jo, rumpling up her hair in a fretfulway.  "No sooner do we get out of one trouble than down comes another.There doesn't seem to be anything to hold on to when Mother's gone, soI'm all at sea.""Well, don't make a porcupine of yourself, it isn't becoming. Settleyour wig, Jo, and tell me if I shall telegraph to your mother, or doanything?" asked Laurie, who never had been reconciled to the loss ofhis friend's one beauty."That is what troubles me," said Meg.  "I think we ought to tell her ifBeth is really ill, but Hannah says we mustn't, for Mother can't leaveFather, and it will only make them anxious.  Beth won't be sick long,and Hannah knows just what to do, and Mother said we were to mind her,so I suppose we must, but it doesn't seem quite right to me.""Hum, well, I can't say.  Suppose you ask Grandfather after the doctorhas been.""We will.  Jo, go and get Dr. Bangs at once," commanded Meg. "We can'tdecide anything till he has been.""Stay where you are, Jo.  I'm errand boy to this establishment," saidLaurie, 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 for my boy," observed Jo, watching him fly over thefence with an approving smile."He does very well, for a boy," was Meg's somewhat ungracious answer,for the subject did not interest her.Dr. Bangs came, said Beth had symptoms of the fever, but he thought shewould have it lightly, though he looked sober over the Hummel story.Amy was ordered off at once, and provided with something to ward offdanger, she departed in great state, with Jo and Laurie as escort.Aunt March received them with her usual hospitality."What do you want now?" she asked, looking 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 amongpoor 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'stail, 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 anystamina," was the cheerful reply."Ha, ha!  Never say die, take a pinch of snuff, goodbye, goodbye!"squalled Polly, dancing on her perch, and clawing at the old lady's capas Laurie tweaked him in the rear."Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!  And, Jo, you'd bettergo at once.  It isn't proper to be gadding about so late with arattlepated boy like...""Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!" cried Polly, tumblingoff the chair with a bounce, and running to peck the 'rattlepated' 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 wasleft alone with Aunt March."Get along, you fright!" screamed Polly, and at that rude speech Amycould not restrain a sniff.CHAPTER EIGHTEENDARK DAYSBeth did have the fever, and was much sicker than anyone but Hannah andthe doctor suspected.  The girls knew nothing about illness, and Mr.Laurence was not allowed to see her, so Hannah had everything her ownway, and busy Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to theexcellent nurse.  Meg stayed at home, lest she should infect the Kings,and kept house, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wroteletters in which no mention was made of Beth's illness.  She could notthink it right to deceive her mother, but she had been bidden to mindHannah, and Hannah wouldn't hear of 'Mrs. March bein' told, and worriedjust for sech a trifle.'Jo devoted herself to Beth day and night, not a hard task, for Beth wasvery patient, and bore her pain uncomplainingly as long as she couldcontrol herself.  But there came a time when during the fever fits shebegan to talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to play on the coverlet as ifon her beloved little piano, and try to sing with a throat so swollenthat there was no music left, a time when she did not know the familiarfaces around her, but addressed them by wrong names, and calledimploringly for her mother.  Then Jo grew frightened, Meg begged to beallowed to write the truth, and even Hannah said she 'would think ofit, though there was no danger yet'.  A letter from Washington added totheir trouble, for Mr. March had had a relapse, and could not think ofcoming home for a long while.How dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely the house, and howheavy were the hearts of the sisters as they worked and waited, whilethe shadow of death hovered over the once happy home. Then it was thatMargaret, sitting alone with tears dropping often on her work, felt howrich she had been in things more precious than any luxuries money couldbuy--in love, protection, peace, and health, the real blessings oflife.  Then it was that Jo, living in the darkened room, with thatsuffering little sister always before her eyes and that pathetic voicesounding in her ears, learned to see the beauty and the sweetness ofBeth's nature, to feel how deep and tender a place she filled in allhearts, and to acknowledge the worth of Beth's unselfish ambition tolive for others, and make home happy by that exercise of those simplevirtues which all may possess, and which all should love and value morethan talent, wealth, or beauty.  And Amy, in her exile, longed eagerlyto be at home, that she might work for Beth, feeling now that noservice would be hard or irksome, and remembering, with regretfulgrief, how many neglected tasks those willing hands had done for her.Laurie haunted the house like a restless ghost, and Mr. Laurence lockedthe grand piano, because he could not bear to be reminded of the youngneighbor who used to make the twilight pleasant for him.  Everyonemissed Beth.  The milkman, baker, grocer, and butcher inquired how shedid, poor Mrs. Hummel came to beg pardon for her thoughtlessness and toget a shroud for Minna, the neighbors sent all sorts of comforts andgood wishes, and even those who knew her best were surprised to findhow many friends shy little Beth had made.Meanwhile she lay on her bed with old Joanna at her side, for even inher wanderings she did not forget her forlorn protege.  She longed forher 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 sentloving messages to Amy, bade them tell her mother that she would writesoon, and often begged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, thatFather might not think she had neglected him. But soon even theseintervals of consciousness ended, and she lay hour after hour, tossingto and fro, with incoherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavysleep 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 tosend 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 bitterwind blew, snow fell fast, and the year seemed getting ready for itsdeath.  When Dr. Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, heldthe hot hand in both his own for a minute, and laid it gently down,saying, in a low voice to Hannah, "If Mrs. March can leave her husbandshe'd better be sent for."Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously, Megdropped down into a chair as the strength seemed to go out of her limbsat the sound of those words, and Jo, standing with a pale face for aminute, ran to the parlor, snatched up the telegram, and throwing onher things, rushed out into the storm.  She was soon back, and whilenoiselessly taking off her cloak, Laurie came in with a letter, sayingthat Mr. March was mending again.  Jo read it thankfully, but the heavyweight did not seem lifted off her heart, and her face was so full ofmisery that Laurie asked quickly, "What is it?  Is Beth worse?""I've sent for Mother," said Jo, tugging at her rubber boots with atragic expression."Good for you, Jo!  Did you do it on your own responsibility?" askedLaurie, as he seated her in the hall chair and took off the rebelliousboots, seeing how her hands shook."No.  The doctor told us to.""Oh, Jo, it's not so bad as that?" cried Laurie, with a startled face."Yes, it is.  She doesn't know us, she doesn't even talk about theflocks of green doves, as she calls the vine leaves on the wall. Shedoesn'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 findHim."As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo's cheeks, she stretched out herhand in a helpless sort of way, as if groping in the dark, and Laurietook it in his, whispering as well as he could with a lump in histhroat, "I'm here.  Hold on to me, Jo, dear!"She could not speak, but she did 'hold on', and the warm grasp of thefriendly human hand comforted her sore heart, and seemed to lead hernearer to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble.Laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fittingwords came to him, so he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head asher mother used to do.  It was the best thing he could have done, farmore soothing than the most eloquent words, for Jo felt the unspokensympathy, and in the silence learned the sweet solace which affectionadministers to sorrow.  Soon she dried the tears which had relievedher, and looked up with a grateful face."Thank you, Teddy, I'm better now.  I don't feel so forlorn, and willtry to bear it if it comes.""Keep hoping for the best, that will help you, Jo.  Soon your motherwill be here, and then everything will be all right.""I'm so glad Father is better.  Now she won't feel so bad about leavinghim.  Oh, me!  It does seem as if all the troubles came in a heap, andI got the heaviest part on my shoulders," sighed Jo, spreading her wethandkerchief over her knees to dry."Doesn't Meg pull fair?" asked Laurie, looking indignant."Oh, yes, she tries to, but she can't love Bethy as I do, and she won'tmiss her as I shall.  Beth is my conscience, and I can't give her up.I can't!  I can't!"Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she crieddespairingly, for she had kept up bravely till now and never shed atear.  Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak tillhe 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 shewill die.  She's so good, and we all love her so much, I don't believeGod will take her away yet.""The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stoppedcrying, for her friend's words cheered her up in spite of her owndoubts and fears."Poor girl, you're worn out.  It isn't like you to be forlorn. Stop abit.  I'll hearten you up in a jiffy."Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head downon Beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving fromthe table where she left it.  It must have possessed some magic, forthe submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo, andwhen Laurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with asmile, and said bravely, "I drink-- Health to my Beth!  You are a gooddoctor, 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 doneher troubled mind."I'll send my bill, by-and-by, and tonight I'll give you something thatwill warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine," saidLaurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction atsomething."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 comeat once, and she'll be here tonight, 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, forhe had kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls orharming Beth.  Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and themoment he stopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her armsround his neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, "Oh, Laurie!  Oh,Mother!  I am so glad!"  She did not weep again, but laughedhysterically, and trembled and clung to her friend as if she was alittle bewildered by the sudden news.Laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence 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 atonce.  Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, sayingbreathlessly, "Oh, don't!  I didn't mean to, it was dreadful of me, butyou were such a dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I couldn'thelp flying at you.  Tell me all about it, and don't give me wineagain, it makes me act so.""I don't mind," laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie.  "Why, you see Igot fidgety, and so did Grandpa.  We thought Hannah was overdoing theauthority business, and your mother ought to know. She'd never forgiveus if Beth...  Well, if anything happened, you know.  So I got grandpato say it was high time we did something, and off I pelted to theoffice yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most took myhead off when I proposed a telegram.  I never can bear to be 'lordedover', so that settled my mind, and I did it. Your mother will come, Iknow, and the late train is in at two A.M. I shall go for her, andyou've only got to bottle up your rapture, and keep Beth quiet tillthat blessed lady gets here.""Laurie, you're an angel!  How shall I ever thank you?""Fly at me again.  I rather liked it," said Laurie, lookingmischievous, a thing he had not done for a fortnight."No, thank you.  I'll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes. Don'ttease, but go home and rest, for you'll be up half the night. Blessyou, Teddy, bless you!"Jo had backed into a corner, and as she finished her speech, shevanished precipitately into the kitchen, where she sat down upon adresser and told the assembled cats that she was "happy, oh, so happy!"while Laurie departed, feeling that he had made a rather neat thing ofit."That's the interferingest chap I ever see, but I forgive him and dohope Mrs. March is coming right away," said Hannah, with an air ofrelief, when Jo told the good news.Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while Jo setthe sickroom in order, and Hannah "knocked up a couple of pies in caseof company unexpected".  A breath of fresh air seemed to blow throughthe house, and something better than sunshine brightened the quietrooms.  Everything appeared to feel the hopeful change.  Beth's birdbegan to chirp again, and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy'sbush in the window. The fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness,and every time the girls met, their pale faces broke into smiles asthey hugged one another, whispering encouragingly, "Mother's coming,dear! Mother's coming!"  Every one rejoiced but Beth.  She lay in thatheavy stupor, alike unconscious of hope and joy, doubt and danger. Itwas a piteous sight, the once rosy face so changed and vacant, the oncebusy hands so weak and wasted, the once smiling lips quite dumb, andthe once pretty, well-kept hair scattered rough and tangled on thepillow.  All day she lay so, only rousing now and then to mutter,"Water!" with lips so parched they could hardly shape the word.  Allday Jo and Meg hovered over her, watching, waiting, hoping, andtrusting in God and Mother, and all day the snow fell, the bitter windraged, and the hours dragged slowly by.  But night came at last, andevery time the clock struck, the sisters, still sitting on either sideof the bed, looked at each other with brightening eyes, for each hourbrought help nearer.  The doctor had been in to say that some change,for better or worse, would probably take place about midnight, at whichtime he would return.Hannah, quite worn out, lay down on the sofa at the bed's foot and fellfast asleep, Mr. Laurence marched to and fro in the parlor, feelingthat he would rather face a rebel battery than Mrs. March's countenanceas she entered.  Laurie lay on the rug, pretending to rest, but staringinto the fire with the thoughtful look which made his black eyesbeautifully soft and clear.The girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came to them as theykept their watch, with that dreadful sense of powerlessness which comesto us in hours like those."If God spares Beth, I never will complain again," whispered Megearnestly."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 getthrough it," added her sister despondently.Here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot themselves in watchingBeth, for they fancied a change passed over her wan face. The house wasstill as death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deephush.  Weary Hannah slept on, and no one but the sisters saw the paleshadow which seemed to fall upon the little bed.  An hour went by, andnothing happened except Laurie's quiet departure for the station.Another hour, still no one came, and anxious fears of delay in thestorm, or accidents by the way, or, worst of all, a great grief atWashington, haunted the girls.It was past two, when Jo, who stood at the window thinking how drearythe world looked in its winding sheet of snow, heard a movement by thebed, and turning quickly, saw Meg kneeling before their mother's easychair with her face hidden.  A dreadful fear passed coldly over Jo, asshe 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 greatchange seemed to have taken place.  The fever flush and the look ofpain were gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and peacefulin its utter repose that Jo felt no desire to weep or to lament.Leaning low over this dearest of her sisters, she kissed the dampforehead with her heart on her lips, and softly whispered, "Good-by, myBeth.  Good-by!"As if awaked by the stir, Hannah started out of her sleep, hurried tothe bed, looked at Beth, felt her hands, listened at her lips, andthen, throwing her apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro,exclaiming, 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 toconfirm it.  He was a homely man, but they thought his face quiteheavenly when he smiled and said, with a fatherly look at them, "Yes,my dears, I think the little girl will pull through this time.  Keepthe house quiet, let her sleep, and when she wakes, give her..."What they were to give, neither heard, for both crept into the darkhall, and, sitting on the stairs, held each other close, rejoicing withhearts too full for words.  When they went back to be kissed andcuddled by faithful Hannah, they found Beth lying, as she used to do,with her cheek pillowed on her hand, the dreadful pallor gone, andbreathing quietly, as if just fallen asleep."If Mother would only come now!" said Jo, as the winter night began towane."See," said Meg, coming up with a white, half-opened rose, "I thoughtthis would hardly be ready to lay in Beth's hand tomorrow if she--wentaway from us.  But it has blossomed in the night, and now I mean to putit in my vase here, so that when the darling wakes, the first thing shesees will be the little rose, and Mother's face."Never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never had the world seemedso lovely as it did to the heavy eyes of Meg and Jo, as they looked outin the early morning, when their long, sad vigil was done."It looks like a fairy world," said Meg, smiling to herself, as shestood 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 a joyful whisper, "Girls, she's come!She's come!"CHAPTER NINETEENAMY'S WILLWhile these things were happening at home, Amy was having hard times atAunt March's.  She felt her exile deeply, and for the first time in herlife, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home.  Aunt Marchnever petted any one; she did not approve of it, but she meant to bekind, for the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and AuntMarch had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children,though she didn't think it proper to confess it.  She really did herbest to make Amy happy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made. Some oldpeople keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, cansympathize with children's little cares and joys, make them feel athome, and can hide wise lessons under pleasant plays, giving andreceiving friendship in the sweetest way.  But Aunt March had not thisgift, and she worried Amy very much with her rules and orders, her primways, and long, prosy talks.  Finding the child more docile and amiablethan her sister, the old lady felt it her duty to try and counteract,as far as possible, the bad effects of home freedom and indulgence.  Soshe took Amy by the hand, and taught her as she herself had been taughtsixty years ago, a process which carried dismay to Amy's soul, and madeher 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-fashionedspoons, the fat silver teapot, and the glasses till they shone.  Thenshe must dust the room, and what a trying job that was.  Not a speckescaped Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs and muchcarving, which was never dusted to suit.  Then Polly had to be fed, thelap dog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down to get things ordeliver orders, for the old lady was very lame and seldom left her bigchair.  After these tiresome labors, she must do her lessons, which wasa daily trial of every virtue she possessed.  Then she was allowed onehour for exercise or play, and didn't she enjoy it?Laurie came every day, and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowed togo 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 ladyslept, which she usually did for an hour, as she dropped off over thefirst page.  Then patchwork or towels appeared, and Amy sewed withoutward meekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowedto amuse herself as she liked till teatime.  The evenings were theworst of all, for Aunt March fell to telling long stories about heryouth, which were so unutterably dull that Amy was always ready to goto bed, intending to cry over her hard fate, but usually going to sleepbefore she had squeezed out more than a tear or two.If it had not been for Laurie, and old Esther, the maid, she felt thatshe never could have got through that dreadful time.  The parrot alonewas enough to drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did notadmire him, and revenged himself by being as mischievous as possible.He pulled her hair whenever she came near him, upset his bread and milkto plague her when she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop bark bypecking at him while Madam dozed, called her names before company, andbehaved in all respects like an reprehensible old bird.  Then she couldnot endure the dog, a fat, cross beast who snarled and yelped at herwhen she made his toilet, and who lay on his back with all his legs inthe air and a most idiotic expression of countenance when he wantedsomething to eat, which was about a dozen times a day.  The cook wasbad-tempered, the old coachman was deaf, and Esther the only one whoever took any notice of the young lady.Esther was a Frenchwoman, who had lived with 'Madame', as she called hermistress, for many years, and who rather tyrannized over the old lady,who could not get along without her. Her real name was Estelle, butAunt March ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition thatshe was never asked to change her religion.  She took a fancy toMademoiselle, and amused her very much with odd stories of her life inFrance, when Amy sat with her while she got up Madame's laces.  Shealso allowed her to roam about the great house, and examine the curiousand pretty things stored away in the big wardrobes and the ancientchests, for Aunt March hoarded like a magpie.  Amy's chief delight wasan Indian cabinet, full of queer drawers, little pigeonholes, andsecret places, in which were kept all sorts of ornaments, someprecious, some merely curious, all more or less antique. To examine andarrange these things gave Amy great satisfaction, especially the jewelcases, in which on velvet cushions reposed the ornaments which hadadorned a belle forty years ago.  There was the garnet set which AuntMarch wore when she came out, the pearls her father gave her on herwedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings and pins, thequeer lockets, with portraits of dead friends and weeping willows madeof hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn,Uncle March's big watch, with the red seal so many childish hands hadplayed 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 mostprecious 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'mfond of necklaces, they are so becoming.  I should choose this if Imight," replied Amy, looking with great admiration at a string of goldand 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 arosary, and as such I should use it like a good catholic," said Esther,eyeing the handsome thing wistfully."Is it meant to use as you use the string of good-smelling wooden beadshanging over your glass?" asked Amy."Truly, yes, to pray with.  It would be pleasing to the saints if oneused so fine a rosary as this, instead of wearing it as a vain bijou.""You seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, Esther, andalways come down looking quiet and satisfied.  I wish I could.""If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find true comfort, but asthat is not to be, it would be well if you went apart each day tomeditate and pray, as did the good mistress whom I served beforeMadame.  She had a little chapel, and in it found solacement for muchtrouble.""Would it be right for me to do so too?" asked Amy, who in herloneliness felt the need of help of some sort, and found that she wasapt to forget her little book, now that Beth was not there to remindher of it."It would be excellent and charming, and I shall gladly arrange thelittle 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 goodthoughts, and pray the dear God preserve your sister."Esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her advice, for she had anaffectionate heart, and felt much for the sisters in their anxiety.Amy liked the idea, and gave her leave to arrange the light closet nexther room, hoping it would do her good."I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt Marchdies," she said, as she slowly replaced the shining rosary and shut thejewel cases one by one."To you and your sisters.  I know it, Madame confides in me. Iwitnessed her will, and it is to be so," whispered Esther smiling."How nice!  But I wish she'd let us have them now. Procrastination isnot agreeable," observed Amy, taking a last look at the diamonds."It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things. Thefirst 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 youwhen you go, for Madame approves your good behavior and charmingmanners.""Do you think so?  Oh, I'll be a lamb, if I can only have that lovelyring!  It's ever so much prettier than Kitty Bryant's.  I do like AuntMarch after all." And Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted faceand a firm resolve to earn it.From that day she was a model of obedience, and the old ladycomplacently admired the success of her training.  Esther fitted up thecloset with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it apicture taken from one of the shut-up rooms.  She thought it was of nogreat value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it, well knowing thatMadame would never know it, nor care if she did.  It was, however, avery valuable copy of one of the famous pictures of the world, andAmy's beauty-loving eyes were never tired of looking up at the sweetface of the Divine Mother, while her tender thoughts of her own werebusy at her heart.  On the table she laid her little testament andhymnbook, kept a vase always full of the best flowers Laurie broughther, and came every day to 'sit alone' thinking good thoughts, andpraying the dear God to preserve her sister.  Esther had given her arosary of black beads with a silver cross, but Amy hung it up and didnot use it, feeling doubtful as to its fitness for Protestant prayers.The little girl was very sincere in all this, for being left aloneoutside the safe home nest, she felt the need of some kind hand to holdby so sorely that she instinctively turned to the strong and tenderFriend, whose fatherly love most closely surrounds His little children.She missed her mother's help to understand and rule herself, but havingbeen taught where to look, she did her best to find the way and walk init confidingly.  But, Amy was a young pilgrim, and just now her burdenseemed very heavy. She tried to forget herself, to keep cheerful, andbe 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 herwill, as Aunt March had done, so that if she did fall ill and die, herpossessions might be justly and generously divided.  It cost her a pangeven to think of giving up the little treasures which in her eyes wereas precious as the old lady's jewels.During one of her play hours she wrote out the important document aswell as she could, with some help from Esther as to certain legalterms, and when the good-natured Frenchwoman had signed her name, Amyfelt relieved and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as asecond witness.  As it was a rainy day, she went upstairs to amuseherself in one of the large chambers, and took Polly with her forcompany.  In this room there was a wardrobe full of old-fashionedcostumes with which Esther allowed her to play, and it was her favoriteamusement to array herself in the faded brocades, and parade up anddown before the long mirror, making stately curtsies, and sweeping hertrain about with a rustle which delighted her ears.  So busy was she onthis day that she did not hear Laurie's ring nor see his face peepingin at her as she gravely promenaded to and fro, flirting her fan andtossing her head, on which she wore a great pink turban, contrastingoddly with her blue brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat.  Shewas obliged to walk carefully, for she had on high-heeled shoes, and, asLaurie told Jo afterward, it was a comical sight to see her mince alongin her gay suit, with Polly sidling and bridling just behind her,imitating her as well as he could, and occasionally stopping to laughor 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 itshould offend her majesty, Laurie tapped and was graciously received."Sit down and rest while I put these things away, then I want toconsult you about a very serious matter," said Amy, when she had shownher splendor and driven Polly into a corner.  "That bird is the trialof my life," she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head,while Laurie seated himself astride a chair."Yesterday, when Aunt was asleep and I was trying to be as still as amouse, Polly began to squall and flap about in his cage, so I went tolet him out, and found a big spider there.  I poked it out, and it ranunder the bookcase.  Polly marched straight after it, stooped down andpeeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny way, with a cock of hiseye, 'Come out and take a walk, my dear.' I couldn't help laughing,which made Poll swear, and Aunt woke up and scolded us both.""Did the spider accept the old fellow's invitation?" asked Laurie,yawning."Yes, out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, andscrambled up on Aunt's chair, calling out, 'Catch her! Catch her! Catchher!' as I chased the spider.""That's a lie!  Oh, lor!" cried the parrot, pecking at Laurie's toes."I'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment," cried Laurie,shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side and gravelycroaked, "Allyluyer! bless your buttons, dear!""Now I'm ready," said Amy, shutting the wardrobe and taking a piece ofpaper out of her pocket.  "I want you to read that, please, and tell meif it is legal and right.  I felt I ought to do it, for life isuncertain 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 thespelling:MY LAST WILL AND TESTIMENTI, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, go give and bequeethe allmy earthly property--viz. to wit:--namelyTo my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art,including frames.  Also my $100, to do what he likes with.To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets--alsomy 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 forher neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her 'little girl'.To Jo I leave my breastpin, the one mended with sealing wax, also mybronze inkstand--she lost the cover--and my most precious plasterrabbit, because I am sorry I burned 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 beingthin when she gets well.  And I herewith also leave her my regret thatI ever made fun of old Joanna.To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my paper mashayportfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it hadn't anyneck.  Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of afflictionany one of my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best.To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with alooking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remindhim of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family,especially Beth.I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apronand my gold-bead ring with a kiss.To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork I leavehoping she 'will remember me, when it you see'.And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all will besatisfied and not blame the dead.  I forgive everyone, and trust we mayall meet when the trump shall sound.  Amen.To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal on this 20th day ofNov.  Anni Domino 1861.Amy Curtis MarchWitnesses:Estelle Valnor, Theodore Laurence.The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained that he was torewrite it in ink and seal it up for her properly."What put it into your head?  Did anyone tell you about Beth's givingaway 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 oneday that she told Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats toyou, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake.  Shewas sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the restof us, and her best love to Grandpa.  She never thought of a will."Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till agreat tear dropped on the paper.  Amy's face was full of trouble, butshe only said, "Don't people put sort of postscripts to their wills,sometimes?""Yes, 'codicils', they call them.""Put one in mine then, that I wish all my curls cut off, and givenround to my friends.  I forgot it, but I want it done though it willspoil my looks."Laurie added it, smiling at Amy's last and greatest sacrifice. Then heamused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials.  Butwhen 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 whichwas very comforting.When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in thetwilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart,feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for theloss of her gentle little sister.CHAPTER TWENTYCONFIDENTIALI don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of themother and daughters.  Such hours are beautiful to live, but very hardto describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers,merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and thatMeg's tender hope was realized, for when Beth woke from that long,healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the littlerose and Mother's face.  Too weak to wonder at anything, she onlysmiled and nestled close in the loving arms about her, feeling that thehungry longing was satisfied at last.  Then she slept again, and thegirls waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin handwhich clung to hers even in sleep.Hannah had 'dished up' an astonishing breakfast for the traveler,finding it impossible to vent her excitement in any other way, and Megand Jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listenedto her whispered account of Father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise tostay and nurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on thehomeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie's hopeful face hadgiven her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.What a strange yet pleasant day that was.  So brilliant and gaywithout, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow.  Soquiet and reposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching,and a Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannahmounted guard at the door.  With a blissful sense of burdens liftedoff, Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, likestorm-beaten boats safe at anchor in a quiet harbor.  Mrs. March wouldnot leave Beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often tolook at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over somerecovered treasure.Laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so wellthat Aunt March actually 'sniffed' herself, and never once said "I toldyou so".  Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the goodthoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit.  She driedher tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, andnever even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartilyagreed in Laurie's opinion, that she behaved 'like a capital littlewoman'.  Even Polly seemed impressed, for he called her a good girl,blessed her buttons, and begged her to "come and take a walk, dear", inhis most affable tone.  She would very gladly have gone out to enjoythe bright wintry weather, but discovering that Laurie was droppingwith sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, shepersuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she wrote a note to hermother.  She was a long time about it, and when she returned, he wasstretched out with both arms under his head, sound asleep, while AuntMarch had pulled down the curtains and sat doing nothing in an unusualfit of benignity.After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake up tillnight, and I'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectuallyroused by Amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably werea good many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but itis my private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat inher mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation andcompensation in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses.  Theywere alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not objectwhen its purpose was explained to her."On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," looking from the dustyrosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with itsgarland of evergreen.  "It is an excellent plan to have some placewhere we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us.  There are agood many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear themif we ask help in the right way.  I think my little girl is learningthis.""Yes, Mother, and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the bigcloset to put my books and the copy of that picture which I've tried tomake.  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 thinkHe was a little child once, for then I don't seem so far away, and thathelps me."As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ child on his Mother's knee, Mrs.March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile.  She saidnothing, but Amy understood the look, and after a minute's pause, sheadded 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 me, andput it on my finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she'd like tokeep me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, asit'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 suchornaments, Amy," said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand,with the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaintguard formed of two tiny golden hands clasped together."I'll try not to be vain," said Amy.  "I don't think I like it onlybecause it's so pretty, but I want to wear it as the girl in the storywore 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 andsincere about it that her mother stopped laughing, and listenedrespectfully to the little plan."I've thought a great deal lately about my 'bundle of naughties', andbeing selfish is the largest one in it, so I'm going to try hard tocure it, if I can.  Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason everyoneloves her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her.  Peoplewouldn't feel so bad about me if I was sick, and I don't deserve tohave them, but I'd like to be loved and missed by a great many friends,so I'm going to try and be like Beth all I can.  I'm apt to forget myresolutions, but if I had something always about me to remind me, Iguess I should do better.  May we try this way?""Yes, but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear yourring, dear, and do your best.  I think you will prosper, for thesincere wish to be good is half the battle.  Now I must go back toBeth.  Keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have youhome again."That evening while Meg was writing to her father to report thetraveler's safe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into Beth's room, andfinding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting herfingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look."What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with aface which invited confidence."I want to tell you something, Mother.""About Meg?""How quickly you guessed!  Yes, it's about her, and though it's alittle thing, it fidgets me.""Beth is asleep.  Speak low, and tell me all about it.  That Moffathasn'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 Megleft a pair of gloves over at the Laurences' and only one was returned.We forgot about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke owned that heliked Meg but didn't dare say so, she was so young and he so poor.Now, isn't it a dreadful state of things?""Do you think Meg cares for him?" asked Mrs. March, with an anxiouslook."Mercy me!  I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!" criedJo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. "In novels, thegirls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin,and acting like fools.  Now Meg does not do anything of the sort.  Sheeats and drinks and sleeps like a sensible creature, she looks straightin my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bitwhen Teddy jokes about lovers.  I forbid him to do it, but he doesn'tmind me as he ought.""Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in John?""Who?" cried Jo, staring."Mr. Brooke.  I call him 'John' now.  We fell into the way of doing soat the hospital, and he likes it.""Oh, dear!  I know you'll take his part.  He's been good to Father, andyou won't send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to.  Meanthing!  To go petting Papa and helping you, just to wheedle you intoliking 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 ithappened.  John went with me at Mr. Laurence's request, and was sodevoted to poor Father that we couldn't help getting fond of him.  Hewas perfectly open and honorable about Meg, for he told us he lovedher, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked her to marryhim.  He only wanted our leave to love her and work for her, and theright to make her love him if he could. He is a truly excellent youngman, and we could not refuse to listen to him, but I will not consentto Meg's engaging herself so young.""Of course not.  It would be idiotic!  I knew there was mischiefbrewing.  I felt it, and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish Icould 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.  WhenJohn comes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of herfeelings toward him.""She'll see those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then it willbe all up with her.  She's got such a soft heart, it will melt likebutter in the sun if anyone looks sentimentlly at her.  She read theshort reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched mewhen I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and doesn't think John anugly name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peaceand fun, and cozy times together. I see it all!  They'll go loveringaround the house, and we shall have to dodge.  Meg will be absorbed andno good to me any more. Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carryher off, and make a hole in the family, and I shall break my heart, andeverything will be abominably uncomfortable.  Oh, dear me!  Why weren'twe all boys, then there wouldn't be any bother."Jo leaned her chin on her knees in a disconsolate attitude and shookher fist at the reprehensible John.  Mrs. March sighed, and Jo lookedup with an air of relief."You don't like it, Mother?  I'm glad of it.  Let's send him about hisbusiness, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be happy together aswe always have been.""I did wrong to sigh, Jo.  It is natural and right you should all go tohomes of your own in time, but I do want to keep my girls as long as Ican, and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is onlyseventeen and it will be some years before John can make a home forher.  Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind herself inany way, nor be married, before twenty.  If she and John love oneanother, they can wait, and test the love by doing so.  She isconscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly.  Mypretty, tender hearted girl!  I hope things will go happily with her.""Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" asked Jo, as hermother's voice faltered a little over the last words."Money is a good and useful thing, Jo, and I hope my girls will neverfeel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much.  I shouldlike to know that John was firmly established in some good business,which gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and makeMeg comfortable.  I'm not ambitious for a splendid fortune, afashionable position, or a great name for my girls.  If rank and moneycome with love and virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, andenjoy your good fortune, but I know, by experience, how much genuinehappiness can be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread isearned, and some privations give sweetness to the few pleasures.  I amcontent to see Meg begin humbly, for if I am not mistaken, she will berich in the possession of a good man's heart, and that is better than afortune.""I understand, Mother, and quite agree, but I'm disappointed about Meg,for I'd planned to have her marry Teddy by-and-by and sit in the lap ofluxury all her days.  Wouldn't it be nice?" asked Jo, looking up with abrighter face."He is younger than she, you know," began Mrs. March, but Jo broke in..."Only a little, he's old for his age, and tall, and can be quitegrown-up in his manners if he likes.  Then he's rich and generous andgood, and loves us all, and I say it's a pity my plan is spoiled.""I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown-up enough for Meg, and altogethertoo much of a weathercock just now for anyone to depend on.  Don't makeplans, Jo, but let time and their own hearts mate your friends.  Wecan't meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get 'romanticrubbish' as you call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship.""Well, I won't, but I hate to see things going all crisscross andgetting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straightenit out.  I wish wearing flatirons on our heads would keep us fromgrowing up.  But buds will be roses, and kittens cats, more's the pity!""What's that about flatirons and cats?" asked Meg, as she crept intothe room with the finished letter in her hand."Only one of my stupid speeches.  I'm going to bed.  Come, Peggy," saidJo, unfolding herself like an animated puzzle."Quite right, and beautifully written.  Please add that I send my loveto John," said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter and gave itback."Do you call him 'John'?" asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyeslooking down into her mother's."Yes, he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him,"replied Mrs. March, returning the look with a keen one."I'm glad of that, he is so lonely.  Good night, Mother, dear.  It isso inexpressibly comfortable to have you here," was Meg's answer.The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one, and as she wentaway, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, "Shedoes not love John yet, but will soon learn to."CHAPTER TWENTY-ONELAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACEJo'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.  Megobserved it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she hadlearned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, soshe felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask.  She wasrather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Joassumed a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in turnassumed an air of dignified reserve and devoted herself to her mother.This left Jo to her own devices, for Mrs. March had taken her place asnurse, and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her longconfinement.  Amy being gone, Laurie was her only refuge, and much asshe enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he wasan incorrigible tease, and she feared he would coax the secret from her.She was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected amystery than he set himself to find it out, and led Jo a trying life ofit.  He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affectedindifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared heknew, then that he didn't care; and at last, by dint of perseverance,he satisfied himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke.  Feelingindignant that he was not taken into his tutor's confidence, he set hiswits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the slight.Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter and was absorbed inpreparations for her father's return, but all of a sudden a changeseemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlikeherself.  She started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was veryquiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on herface.  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, doesn't eat,lies awake, and mopes in corners.  I caught her singing that song hegave her, and once she said 'John', as you do, and then turned as redas a poppy.  Whatever shall we do?" said Jo, looking ready for anymeasures, however violent."Nothing but wait.  Let her alone, be kind and patient, and Father'scoming will settle everything," replied her mother."Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up.  How odd! Teddy never sealsmine," said Jo next day, as she distributed the contents of the littlepost office.Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from Megmade them look up to see her staring at her note with a frightened face."My child, what is it?" cried her mother, running to her, while Jotried 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 were quitebroken."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 fromher pocket and threw it at Jo, saying reproachfully, "You wrote it, andthat bad boy helped you.  How could you be so rude, so mean, and cruelto 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 Ireturn.  I dare not tell your parents yet, but I think they wouldconsent if they knew that we adored one another.  Mr. Laurence willhelp me to some good place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make mehappy.  I implore you to say nothing to your family yet, but to sendone word of hope through Laurie to,"Your devoted John.""Oh, the little villain!  That's the way he meant to pay me for keepingmy word to Mother.  I'll give him a hearty scolding and bring him overto beg pardon," cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice.  Buther mother held her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore..."Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first.  You have played so manypranks that I am afraid you have had a hand in this.""On my word, Mother, I haven't!  I never saw that note before, anddon't know anything about it, as true as I live!" said Jo, so earnestlythat they believed her.  "If I had taken part in it I'd have done itbetter than this, and have written a sensible note.  I should thinkyou'd have known Mr. Brooke wouldn't write such stuff as that," sheadded, scornfully tossing down the paper."It's like his writing," faltered Meg, comparing it with the note inher hand."Oh, Meg, you didn't answer it?" cried Mrs. March quickly."Yes, I did!" and Meg hid her face again, overcome with shame."Here's a scrape!  Do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain andbe lectured.  I can't rest till I get hold of him." And Jo made for thedoor again."Hush!  Let me handle this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret,tell me the whole story," commanded 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 knewanything about it," began Meg, without looking up. "I was worried atfirst and meant to tell you, then I remembered how you liked Mr.Brooke, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I kept my little secret for afew days.  I'm so silly that I liked to think no one knew, and while Iwas deciding what to say, I felt like the girls in books, who have suchthings to do.  Forgive me, Mother, I'm paid for my silliness now.  Inever 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'twish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father.  I was verygrateful 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, whowas 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 sentany love letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, Jo,should take liberties with our names.  It's very kind and respectful,but think how dreadful for me!"Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jotramped about the room, calling Laurie names.  All of a sudden shestopped, caught up the two notes, and after looking at them closely,said decidedly, "I don't believe Brooke ever saw either of theseletters.  Teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me withbecause I wouldn't tell him my secret.""Don't have any secrets, Jo.  Tell it to Mother and keep out oftrouble, 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.  Ishall sift the matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks atonce."Away ran Jo, and Mrs. March gently told Meg Mr. Brooke's real feelings."Now, dear, what are your own?  Do you love him enough to wait till hecan make a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for thepresent?""I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to have anything to dowith lovers for a long while, perhaps never," answered Meg petulantly."If John doesn't know anything about this nonsense, don't tell him, andmake Jo and Laurie hold their tongues.  I won't be deceived and plaguedand made a fool of. It's a shame!"Seeing Meg's usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt bythis mischievous joke, Mrs. March soothed her by promises of entiresilence and great discretion for the future.  The instant Laurie's stepwas heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March receivedthe culprit alone. Jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing hewouldn't come, but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March's face, andstood 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 asentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt.  The sound ofvoices in the parlor rose and fell for half an hour, but what happenedduring that interview the girls never knew.When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother with sucha penitent face that Jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think itwise to betray the fact.  Meg received his humble apology, and was muchcomforted 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 ofme, so you'll forgive me, Meg, and I'll do anything to show howout-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 thinkyou could be so sly and malicious, Laurie," replied Meg, trying to hideher maidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air."It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve to be spoken to fora month, but you will, though, won't you?" And Laurie folded his handstogether with such and imploring gesture, as he spoke in hisirresistibly persuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon himin spite of his scandalous behavior.Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face relaxed, in spite of herefforts to keep sober, when she heard him declare that he would atonefor his sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a wormbefore the injured damsel.Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, andsucceeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entiredisapprobation.  Laurie looked at her once or twice, but as she showedno sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her tillthe others were done with him, when he made her a low bow and walkedoff without a word.As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving, andwhen Meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely and longed forTeddy.  After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, andarmed with a book to return, went over to the big house."Is Mr. Laurence in?" asked Jo, of a housemaid, who was comingdownstairs."Yes, Miss, but I don't believe he's seeable just yet.""Why not?  Is he ill?""La, no Miss, but he's had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one ofhis tantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so Idursn'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, andthere'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 younggentleman in a threatening tone.Jo immediately knocked again.  The door flew open, and in she bouncedbefore Laurie could recover from his surprise.  Seeing that he reallywas out of temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contriteexpression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly,"Please forgive me for being so cross.  I came to make it up, and can'tgo away till I have.""It's all right.  Get up, and don't be a goose, Jo," was the cavalierreply to her petition."Thank you, I will.  Could I ask what's the matter?  You don't lookexactly 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 anyone else I'd have..." And the injuredyouth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm."That's nothing.  I often shake you, and you don't mind," said Josoothingly."Pooh!  You're a girl, and it's fun, but I'll allow no man to shake me!""I don't think anyone would care to try it, if you looked as much likea thundercloud as you do now.  Why were you treated so?""Just because I wouldn't say what your mother wanted me for. I'dpromised not to tell, and of course I wasn't going to break my word.""Couldn't you satisfy your grandpa in any other way?""No, he would have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but thetruth.  I'd have told my part of the scrape, if I could withoutbringing Meg in.  As I couldn't, I held my tongue, and bore thescolding till the old gentleman collared me.  Then I bolted, for fear Ishould forget myself.""It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know, so go down and make up.  I'llhelp you.""Hanged if I do!  I'm not going to be lectured and pummelled byeveryone, just for a bit of a frolic.  I was sorry about Meg, andbegged pardon like a man, but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in thewrong.""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'tneed anyone's apron string to hold on by.""What pepper pots you are!" sighed Jo.  "How do you mean to settle thisaffair?""Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can't tellhim what the fuss'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 explain what I can.You can't stay here, so what's the use of being melodramatic?""I don't intend to stay here long, anyway.  I'll slip off and take ajourney somewhere, and when Grandpa misses me he'll come round fastenough.""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 too," said Jo, forgettingher part of mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital."Come on, then!  Why not?  You go and surprise your father, and I'llstir up old Brooke.  It would 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 will do you good, and no harm, as you go toyour father."For a moment Jo looked as if she would agree, for wild as the plan was,it just suited her.  She was tired of care and confinement, longed forchange, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novelcharms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun.  Her eyes kindled asthey turned wistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old houseopposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision."If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time, butas I'm a miserable girl, I must be proper and stop at home. Don't temptme, Teddy, it's a crazy plan.""That's the fun of it," began Laurie, who had got a willful fit on himand 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 tomoralize, not to hear things that make me skip to think of.""I know Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but I thought you hadmore spirit," began Laurie insinuatingly."Bad boy, be quiet!  Sit down and think of your own sins, don't gomaking me add to mine.  If I get your grandpa to apologize for theshaking, will you give up running away?" asked Jo seriously."Yes, but you won't do it," answered Laurie, who wished to make up, butfelt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first."If I can manage the young one, I can the old one," muttered Jo, as shewalked away, leaving Laurie bent over a railroad map with his headpropped up on both hands."Come in!" and Mr. Laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, asJo tapped at his door."It's only me, Sir, come to return a book," she said blandly, as sheentered."Want any more?" asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, buttrying not to show it."Yes, please.  I like old Sam so well, I think I'll try the secondvolume," returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a seconddose of Boswell's Johnson, as he had recommended that lively work.The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward theshelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed.  Jo skipped up, andsitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but wasreally wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of hervisit.  Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing inher mind, for after taking several brisk turns about the room, he facedround on her, speaking so abruptly that Rasselas tumbled face downwardon the floor."What has that boy been about?  Don't try to shield him.  I know he hasbeen in mischief by the way he acted when he came home.  I can't get aword from him, and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him hebolted upstairs and locked himself into his room.""He did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a wordto anyone," began Jo reluctantly."That won't do.  He shall not shelter himself behind a promise from yousofthearted girls.  If he's done anything amiss, he shall confess, begpardon, 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 havegladly 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 andbrave it out."Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell.  Mother forbade it.  Laurie has confessed,asked pardon, and been punished quite enough.  We don't keep silence toshield him, but someone else, and it will make more trouble if youinterfere.  Please don't.  It was partly my fault, but it's all rightnow.  So let's forget it, and talk about the _Rambler_ or somethingpleasant.""Hang the _Rambler!_  Come down and give me your word that thisharum-scarum boy of mine hasn't done anything ungrateful orimpertinent.  If he has, after all your kindness to him, I'll thrashhim with my own hands."The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew theirascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson,whatever he might say to the contrary.  She obediently descended, andmade as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg orforgetting the truth."Hum... ha... well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, andnot from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. He's a stubborn fellow and hardto manage," said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as ifhe had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow withan air of relief."So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses andall the king's men couldn't," said Jo, trying to say a kind word forher friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall intoanother."You think I'm not kind to him, hey?" was the sharp answer."Oh, dear no, Sir.  You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just atrifle hasty when he tries your patience.  Don't you think you are?"Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid,though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great reliefand surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto thetable with a rattle and exclaimed frankly, "You're right, girl, I am!I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and I know howit will end, if we go on so.""I'll tell you, he'll run away." Jo was sorry for that speech theminute it was made.  She meant to warn him that Laurie would not bearmuch restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad.Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with atroubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over histable.  It was Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, andmarried against the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied he rememberedand 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 itsometimes, when he gets tired of studying.  I often think I should liketo, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you mayadvertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India."She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidentlytaking the whole as a joke."You hussy, how dare you talk in that way?  Where's your respect forme, and your proper bringing up?  Bless the boys and girls!  Whattorments they are, yet we can't do without them," he said, pinching hercheeks good-humoredly.  "Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tellhim it's all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with hisgrandfather.  I won't bear it.""He won't come, Sir.  He feels badly because you didn't believe himwhen he said he couldn't tell.  I think the shaking hurt his feelingsvery much."Jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence beganto laugh, and she knew the day was won."I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, Isuppose.  What the dickens does the fellow expect?" and the oldgentleman looked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness."If I were you, I'd write him an apology, Sir.  He says he won't comedown till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in anabsurd way.  A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, andbring him down quite amiable.  Try it.  He likes fun, and this way isbetter than talking.  I'll carry it up, and teach him his duty."Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, sayingslowly, "You're a sly puss, but I don't mind being managed by you andBeth.  Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with thisnonsense."The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use toanother after offering some deep insult.  Jo dropped a kiss on the topof Mr. Laurence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology underLaurie's door, advising him through the keyhole to be submissive,decorous, and a few other agreeable impossibilities. Finding the doorlocked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietlyaway, when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited forher at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression ofcountenance, "What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?" headded, laughing."No, he was pretty mild, on the whole.""Ah!  I got it all round.  Even you cast me off over there, and I feltjust ready to go to the deuce," he began apologetically."Don't talk that way, turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, myson.""I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoilmy copybooks, and I make so many beginnings there never will be anend," he said dolefully."Go and eat your dinner, you'll feel better after it.  Men always croakwhen 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 hewent to partake of humble pie dutifully with his grandfather, who wasquite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all therest of the day.Everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, butthe mischief was done, for though others forgot it, Meg remembered.She never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a gooddeal, dreamed dreams more than ever, and once Jo, rummaging hersister's desk for stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with thewords, 'Mrs. John Brooke', whereat she groaned tragically and cast itinto the fire, feeling that Laurie's prank had hastened the evil dayfor her.CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOPLEASANT MEADOWSLike sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed.The invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk of returningearly in the new year.  Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa allday, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats at first, and in timewith doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behind-hand.  Her onceactive limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her for a dailyairing about the house in her strong arms.  Meg cheerfully blackenedand burned her white hands cooking delicate messes for 'the dear',while Amy, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return by givingaway as many of her treasures as she could prevail on her sisters toaccept.As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house,and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossibleor magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merryChristmas.  Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have hadbonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way.After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were consideredeffectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which wererather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together.Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendidChristmas Day.  Hannah 'felt in her bones' that it was going to be anunusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, foreverybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success.  Tobegin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them, then Bethfelt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother'sgift, a soft crimson merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to thewindow to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie.  The Unquenchables haddone their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they hadworked by night and conjured up a comical surprise.  Out in the gardenstood a stately snow maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket offruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of music in the other, aperfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly shoulders, and aChristmas 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,    A portrait of Joanna, see,    By Raphael No. 2,    Who laboured with great industry    To make it fair and true.    Accept a ribbon red, I beg,    For Madam Purrer's tail,    And ice cream made by 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 bringin the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presentedthem."I'm so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn'thold one drop more," said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jocarried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and torefresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the 'Jungfrau' hadsent her."So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed thelong-desired _Undine and Sintram_."I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of theMadonna and Child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame."Of course I am!" cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her firstsilk dress, for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it. "How can I beotherwise?" said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went from herhusband's letter to Beth's smiling face, and her hand caressed thebrooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which thegirls had just fastened on her breast.Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in thedelightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort it is.  Half an hourafter everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold onedrop more, the drop came.  Laurie opened the parlor door and popped hishead in very quietly.  He might just as well have turned a somersaultand uttered an Indian war whoop, for his face was so full of suppressedexcitement and his voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumpedup, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "Here's anotherChristmas present for the March family."Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked awaysomehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes,leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something andcouldn't.  Of course there was a general stampede, and for severalminutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest thingswere 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 byLaurie in the china closet.  Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake,as he somewhat incoherently explained.  And Amy, the dignified, tumbledover a stool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over herfather's boots in the most touching manner.  Mrs. March was the firstto recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, "Hush!Remember Beth."But it was too late.  The study door flew open, the little red wrapperappeared on the threshold, joy put strength into the feeble limbs, andBeth ran straight into her father's arms.  Never mind what happenedjust after that, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away thebitterness of the past and leaving only the sweetness of the present.It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straightagain, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fatturkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from thekitchen.  As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brookefor his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenlyremembered that Mr. March needed rest, and seizing Laurie, heprecipitately retired.  Then the two invalids were ordered to repose,which they did, by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard.Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when thefine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantageof it, how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a mostestimable and upright young man.  Why Mr. March paused a minute justthere, and after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire,looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave youto imagine.  Also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head and asked,rather abruptly, if he wouldn't like to have something to eat.  Jo sawand understood the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine andbeef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, "I hateestimable young men with brown eyes!"There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fatturkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed,browned, and decorated.  So was the plum pudding, which melted in one'smouth, likewise the jellies, in which Amy reveled like a fly in ahoneypot.  Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said,"For my mind was that flustered, Mum, that it's a merrycle I didn'troast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin'of it in a cloth."Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, at whomJo glowered darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy chairsstood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and herfather, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit.  They drankhealths, told stories, sang songs, 'reminisced', as the old folks say,and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but thegirls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, andas twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire."Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expectedto have.  Do you remember?" asked Jo, breaking a short pause which hadfollowed 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 Amy, watching the lightshine on her ring with thoughtful eyes."I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, whosat on her father's knee."Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especiallythe latter part of it.  But you have got on bravely, and I think theburdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March,looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gatheredround him."How do you know?  Did Mother tell you?" asked Jo."Not much.  Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made severaldiscoveries 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 hischair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, andtwo or three little hard spots on the palm.  "I remember a time whenthis 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 thisseeming blemishes I read a little history.  A burnt offering has beenmade to vanity, this hardened palm has earned something better thanblisters, and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers willlast a long time, so much good will went into the stitches.  Meg, mydear, I value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than whitehands or fashionable accomplishments.  I'm proud to shake this good,industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give itaway."If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received itin the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile hegave her."What about Jo?  Please say something nice, for she has tried so hardand 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 anunusually mild expression in her face."In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the 'son Jo' whom I left ayear ago," said Mr. March.  "I see a young lady who pins her collarstraight, laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang,nor lies on the rug as she used to do.  Her face is rather thin andpale just now, with watching and anxiety, but I like to look at it, forit has grown gentler, and her voice is lower.  She doesn't bounce, butmoves quietly, and takes care of a certain little person in a motherlyway which delights me.  I rather miss my wild girl, but if I get astrong, helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place, I shall feel quitesatisfied. I don't know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep,but I do know that in all Washington I couldn't find anything beautifulenough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars my good girl sentme."Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grewrosy in the firelight as she received her father's praise, feeling thatshe did deserve a portion of it."Now, Beth," said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait."There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she willslip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be,"began their father cheerfully.  But recollecting how nearly he had losther, he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against hisown, "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 cricketat his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair..."I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for hermother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place tonight, and has waited onevery one with patience and good humor.  I also observe that she doesnot fret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a verypretty ring which she wears, so I conclude that she has learned tothink of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to tryand mold her character as carefully as she molds her little clayfigures.  I am glad of this, for though I should be very proud of agraceful statue made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovabledaughter with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others.""What are you thinking of, Beth?" asked Jo, when Amy had thanked herfather 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 liliesbloomed all year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now,before they went on to their journey's end," answered Beth, adding, asshe slipped out of her father's arms and went to the instrument, "It'ssinging time now, and I want to be in my old place.  I'll try to singthe song of the shepherd boy which the Pilgrims heard.  I made themusic for Father, because he likes the verses."So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, andin the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sang to herown accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting songfor her.    He that is down need fear no fall,    He that is low no pride.    He that is humble ever shall    Have God to be his guide.    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 TWENTY-THREEAUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTIONLike bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hoveredabout Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, waitupon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killedby kindness.  As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth's sofa, withthe other three close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then'to peek at the dear man', nothing seemed needed to complete theirhappiness.  But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it,though none confessed the fact.  Mr. and Mrs. March looked at oneanother with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg.  Jo hadsudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke'sumbrella, which had been left in the hall.  Meg was absent-minded, shy,and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when John's namewas mentioned.  Amy said, "Everyone seemed waiting for something, andcouldn't settle down, which was queer, since Father was safe at home,"and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn't run over asusual.Laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemedsuddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down on oneknee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his handsimploringly, as if begging some boon. And when Meg told him to behavehimself 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 lookunconscious."He's showing you how your John will go on by-and-by. Touching, isn'tit?" answered Jo scornfully."Don't say my John, it isn't proper or true," but Meg's voice lingeredover the words as if they sounded pleasant to her.  "Please don'tplague me, Jo, I've told you I don't care much about him, and thereisn't to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on asbefore.""We can't, for something has been said, and Laurie's mischief hasspoiled you for me.  I see it, and so does Mother.  You are not likeyour old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me.  I don't meanto plague you and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was allsettled.  I hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make haste andhave it over quickly," said Jo pettishly."I can't say anything till he speaks, and he won't, because Father saidI was too young," began Meg, bending over her work with a queer littlesmile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father onthat point."If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry orblush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decidedno.""I'm not so silly and weak as you think.  I know just what I shouldsay, for I've planned it all, so I needn't be taken unawares.  There'sno knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared."Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which Meg hadunconsciously assumed and which was as becoming as the pretty colorvarying 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 ownaffairs of this sort.""Don't mean to have any.  It's fun to watch other people philander, butI should feel like a fool doing it myself," said Jo, looking alarmed atthe thought."I think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you."  Megspoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had oftenseen 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 reverie."Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, 'Thank you, Mr.Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with Father that I am too youngto enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but letus be friends as we were.'""Hum, that's stiff and cool enough!  I don't believe you'll ever sayit, and I know he won't be satisfied if you do.  If he goes on like therejected lovers in books, you'll give in, rather than hurt hisfeelings.""No, I won't.  I shall tell him I've made up my mind, and shall walkout of the room with dignity."Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignifiedexit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin tosew as fast as if her life depended on finishing that particular seamin a given time.  Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and whensomeone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which wasanything but hospitable."Good afternoon.  I came to get my umbrella, that is, to see how yourfather finds himself today," said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confusedas his eyes went from one telltale face to the other."It's very well, he's in the rack.  I'll get him, and tell it you arehere."  And having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together inher reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make herspeech and air her dignity.  But the instant she vanished, Meg began tosidle toward the door, murmuring..."Mother will like to see you.  Pray sit down, I'll call her.""Don't go.  Are you afraid of me, Margaret?" and Mr. Brooke looked sohurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude.  Sheblushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never calledher Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural andsweet it seemed to hear him say it.  Anxious to appear friendly and ather ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and saidgratefully..."How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to Father? I only wishI could thank you for it.""Shall I tell you how?" asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fastin both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the browneyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run awayand to stop and listen."Oh no, please don't, I'd rather not," she said, trying to withdraw herhand, 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 makeit.  She forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, "I don'tknow," so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolishlittle reply.He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himselfas if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said inhis most persuasive tone, "Will you try and find out?  I want to knowso much, for I can't go to work with any heart until I learn whether Iam to have my reward in the end or not.""I'm too young," faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yetrather enjoying it."I'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me.Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?""Not if I chose to learn it, but. . .""Please choose to learn, Meg.  I love to teach, and this is easier thanGerman," broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so thatshe 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, Megsaw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore thesatisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success.  This nettledher.  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 littlewomen, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her.  She feltexcited and strange, and not knowing what else to do, followed acapricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, "Idon't choose.  Please go away and let me be!"Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumblingabout his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and itrather bewildered him."Do you really mean that?" he asked anxiously, following her as shewalked away."Yes, I do.  I don't want to be worried about such things. Father saysI 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 saynothing till you have had more time.  Don't play with me, Meg.  Ididn't think that of you.""Don't think of me at all.  I'd rather you wouldn't," said Meg, takinga naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power.He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novelheroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nortramped about the room as they did.  He just stood looking at her sowistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite ofherself.  What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March hadnot come hobbling in at this interesting minute.The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she hadmet 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 backpart of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping tosurprise them.  She did surprise two of them so much that Meg startedas 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 caneas 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 isFather's friend saying to make you look like a peony? There's mischiefgoing on, and I insist upon knowing what it is," with another rap."We were only talking.  Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella," began Meg,wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house."Brooke?  That boy's tutor?  Ah! I understand now.  I know all aboutit.  Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your Father's letters,and I made her tell me.  You haven't gone and accepted him, child?"cried Aunt March, looking scandalized."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 atonce.  Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook?  If you do, not onepenny of my money ever goes to you.  Remember that, and be a sensiblegirl," said the old lady impressively.Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit ofopposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it.  The best ofus have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young andin love.  If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she wouldprobably have declared she couldn't think of it, but as she waspreemptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mindthat she would.  Inclination as well as perversity made the decisioneasy, and being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady withunusual spirit."I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your moneyto anyone you like," she said, nodding her head with a resolute air."Highty-tighty!  Is that the way you take my advice, Miss? You'll besorry for it by-and-by, when you've tried love in a cottage and foundit a failure.""It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses," retortedMeg.Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she didnot know her in this new mood.  Meg hardly knew herself, she felt sobrave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right tolove him, if she liked.  Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, andafter a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as shecould, "Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice.  I mean itkindly, and don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistakeat the beginning.  You ought to marry well and help your family.  It'syour duty to make a rich match and it ought to be impressed upon you.""Father and Mother don't think so.  They like John though he is poor.""Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair ofbabies.""I'm glad of it," cried Meg stoutly.Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. "This Rook ispoor 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.  Hehasn't any business, has he?""Not yet.  Mr. Laurence is going to help him.""That won't last long.  James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow andnot to be depended on.  So you intend to marry a man without money,position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, whenyou might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better?I thought you had more sense, Meg.""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'sso energetic and brave.  Everyone likes and respects him, and I'm proudto think he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly," saidMeg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness."He knows you have got rich relations, child.  That's the secret of hisliking, I suspect.""Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing?  John is above suchmeanness, and I won't listen to you a minute if you talk so," cried Megindignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady'ssuspicions.  "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 beingpoor, for I've been happy so far, and I know I shall be with himbecause he loves me, and I..."Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't made upher mind, that she had told 'her John' to go away, and that he might beoverhearing her inconsistent remarks.Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having herpretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl's happy youngface made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour."Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair!  You are a willful child,and you've lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I won'tstop.  I'm disappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your fathernow.  Don't expect anything from me when you are married.  Your Mr.Brooke'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 highdudgeon.  She seemed to take all the girl's courage with her, for whenleft alone, Meg stood for 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 carefor 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 thestately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgracedherself forever in Jo's eyes by meekly whispering, "Yes,  John," andhiding her face on Mr. Brooke's waistcoat.Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo came softlydownstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no soundwithin, nodded and smiled with a satisfied expression, saying toherself, "She has seen him away as we planned, and that affair issettled.  I'll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it."But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon thethreshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouthnearly as wide open as her eyes.  Going in to exult over a fallen enemyand to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of anobjectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaidenemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strongminded sisterenthroned upon his knee and wearing an expression of the most abjectsubmission.  Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower bath hadsuddenly fallen upon her, for such an unexpected turning of the tablesactually took her breath away.  At the odd sound the lovers turned andsaw her.  Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but 'that man', asJo called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed theastonished newcomer, "Sister Jo, congratulate us!"That was adding insult to injury, it was altogether too much, andmaking some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without aword.  Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaimingtragically as she burst into the room, "Oh, do somebody go down quick!John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!"Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed, and casting herself uponthe bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful newsto Beth and Amy.  The little girls, however, considered it a mostagreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them,so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troublesto the rats.Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a greatdeal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friendsby the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told hisplans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it.The tea bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise whichhe meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, bothlooking so happy that Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amywas very much impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity, Bethbeamed at them from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed theyoung couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectlyevident Aunt March was right in calling them as 'unworldly as a pair ofbabies'.  No one ate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the oldroom seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of thefamily began there."You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?" saidAmy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in a sketch shewas planning to make."No, I'm sure I can't.  How much has happened since I said that! Itseems a year ago," answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted farabove such common things as bread and butter."The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think thechanges have begun," said Mrs. March.  "In most families there comes,now and then, a year full of events.  This has been such a one, but itends well, after all.""Hope the next will end better," muttered Jo, who found it very hard tosee Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face, for Jo loved a fewpersons very dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost orlessened in any way."I hope the third year from this will end better.  I mean it shall, ifI live to work out my plans," said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as ifeverything had become possible to him now."Doesn't it seem very long to wait?" asked Amy, who was in a hurry forthe wedding."I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a shorttime to me," answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face never seenthere before."You have only to wait, I am to do the work," said John beginning hislabors by picking up Meg's napkin, with an expression which caused Joto shake her head, and then say to herself with an air of relief as thefront door banged, "Here comes Laurie.  Now we shall have some sensibleconversation."But Jo was mistaken, for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing with goodspirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for 'Mrs. John Brooke',and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair hadbeen brought about by his excellent management."I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for whenhe makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done though the skyfalls," said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and hiscongratulations."Much obliged for that recommendation.  I take it as a good omen forthe 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 facealone on that occasion would be worth a long journey. You don't lookfestive, ma'am, what's the matter?" asked Laurie, following her into acorner 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, andshall not say a word against it," said Jo solemnly.  "You can't knowhow hard it is for me to give up Meg," she continued with a littlequiver in her voice."You don't give her up.  You only go halves," said Laurie consolingly."It can never be the same again.  I've lost my dearest friend," sighedJo."You've got me, anyhow.  I'm not good for much, I know, but I'll standby you, Jo, all the days of my life.  Upon my word I will!" and Lauriemeant what he said."I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged.  You are always a greatcomfort to me, Teddy," returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands."Well, now, don't be dismal, there's a good fellow.  It's all right yousee.  Meg is happy, Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately,Grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in herown little house.  We'll have capital times after she is gone, for Ishall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad on somenice trip or other.  Wouldn't that console you?""I rather think it would, but there's no knowing what may happen inthree years," said Jo thoughtfully."That's true.  Don't you wish you could take a look forward and seewhere we shall all be then?  I do," returned Laurie."I think not, for I might see something sad, and everyone looks sohappy now, I don't believe they could be much improved." And Jo's eyeswent slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for theprospect was a pleasant one.Father and Mother sat together, quietly reliving the first chapter ofthe romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawingthe lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the lightof which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could notcopy.  Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, whoheld her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to leadhim along the peaceful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite lowseat, 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 curlyhead, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the longglass which reflected them both.So the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.  Whether it everrises again, depends upon the reception given the first act of thedomestic drama called _Little Women_.LITTLE WOMEN PART 2In order that we may start afresh and go to Meg's wedding...CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURGOSSIPIn order that we may start afresh and go to Meg's wedding with freeminds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches.And here let me premise that if any of the elders think there is toomuch 'lovering' in the story, as I fear they may (I'm not afraid theyoung folks will make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March,"What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and adashing young neighbor over the way?"The three years that have passed have brought but few changes to thequiet family.  The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy withhis books and the small parish which found in him a minister by natureas by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is betterthan learning, the charity which calls all mankind 'brother', the pietythat blossoms into character, making it august and lovely.These attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity whichshut him out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him manyadmirable persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and asnaturally he gave them the honey into which fifty years of hardexperience had distilled no bitter drop.  Earnest young men found thegray-headed scholar as young at heart as they; thoughtful or troubledwomen instinctively brought their doubts to him, sure of finding thegentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel.  Sinners told their sins to thepure-hearted old man and were both rebuked and saved.  Gifted men founda companion in him.  Ambitious men caught glimpses of nobler ambitionsthan their own, and even worldlings confessed that his beliefs werebeautiful and true, although 'they wouldn't pay'.To outsiders the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and sothey did in many things, but the quiet scholar, sitting among hisbooks, was still the head of the family, the household conscience,anchor, and comforter, for to him the busy, anxious women always turnedin troublous times, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacredwords, husband and father.The girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their soulsinto their father's, and to both parents, who lived and labored sofaithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth andbound them tenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses life andoutlives death.Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when wesaw her last, and just now so absorbed in Meg's affairs that thehospitals and homes still full of wounded 'boys' and soldiers' widows,decidedly miss the motherly missionary's visits.John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was senthome, and not allowed to return.  He received no stars or bars, but hedeserved them, for he cheerfully risked all he had, and life and loveare very precious when both are in full bloom.  Perfectly resigned tohis discharge, he devoted himself to getting well, preparing forbusiness, and earning a home for Meg.  With the good sense and sturdyindependence that characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence's moregenerous offers, and accepted the place of bookkeeper, feeling bettersatisfied to begin with an honestly earned salary than by running anyrisks with borrowed money.Meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growing womanlyin character, wise in housewifely arts, and prettier than ever, forlove is a great beautifier.  She had her girlish ambitions and hopes,and felt some disappointment at the humble way in which the new lifemust begin.  Ned Moffat had just married Sallie Gardiner, and Megcouldn't help contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts,and splendid outfit with her own, and secretly wishing she could havethe same.  But somehow envy and discontent soon vanished when shethought of all the patient love and labor John had put into the littlehome awaiting her, and when they sat together in the twilight, talkingover their small plans, the future always grew so beautiful and brightthat she forgot Sallie's splendor and felt herself the richest,happiest girl in Christendom.Jo never went back to Aunt March, for the old lady took such a fancy toAmy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing lessons from one ofthe best teachers going, and for the sake of this advantage, Amy wouldhave served a far harder mistress.  So she gave her mornings to duty,her afternoons to pleasure, and prospered finely. Jo meantime devotedherself to literature and Beth, who remained delicate long after thefever was a thing of the past.  Not an invalid exactly, but never againthe rosy, healthy creature she had been, yet always hopeful, happy, andserene, and busy with the quiet duties she loved, everyone's friend,and an angel in the house, long before those who loved her most hadlearned to know it.As long as _The Spread Eagle_ paid her a dollar a column for her'rubbish', as she called it, Jo felt herself a woman of means, and spunher little romances diligently.  But great plans fermented in her busybrain and ambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held aslowly increasing pile of blotted manuscript, which was one day toplace the name of March upon the roll of fame.Laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, wasnow getting through it in the easiest possible manner to pleasehimself.  A universal favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent,and the kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying toget other people out of them, he stood in great danger of beingspoiled, and probably would have been, like many another promising boy,if he had not possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of thekind old man who was bound up in his success, the motherly friend whowatched over him as if he were her son, and last, but not least by anymeans, the knowledge that four innocent girls loved, admired, andbelieved in him with all their hearts.Being only 'a glorious human boy', of course he frolicked and flirted,grew dandified, aquatic, sentimental, or gymnastic, as college fashionsordained, hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once cameperilously near suspension and expulsion.  But as high spirits and thelove of fun were the causes of these pranks, he always managed to savehimself by frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irresistiblepower of persuasion which he possessed in perfection.  In fact, herather prided himself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill thegirls with graphic accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors,dignified professors, and vanquished enemies.  The 'men of my class',were heroes in the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of the exploitsof 'our fellows', and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles ofthese great creatures, when Laurie brought them home with him.Amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle amongthem, for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift offascination with which she was endowed.  Meg was too much absorbed inher private and particular John to care for any other lords ofcreation, and Beth too shy to do more than peep at them and wonder howAmy dared to order them about so, but Jo felt quite in her own element,and found it very difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanlyattitudes, phrases, and feats, which seemed more natural to her thanthe decorums prescribed for young ladies.  They all liked Jo immensely,but never fell in love with her, though very few escaped without payingthe tribute of a sentimental sigh or two at Amy's shrine.  And speakingof sentiment brings us very naturally to the 'Dovecote'.That was the name of the little brown house Mr. Brooke had prepared forMeg's first home.  Laurie had christened it, saying it was highlyappropriate to the gentle lovers who 'went on together like a pair ofturtledoves, with first a bill and then a coo'.  It was a tiny house,with a little garden behind and a lawn about as big as a pockethandkerchief in the front.  Here Meg meant to have a fountain,shrubbery, and a profusion of lovely flowers, though just at presentthe fountain was represented by a weather-beaten urn, very like adilapidated slopbowl, the shrubbery consisted of several young larches,undecided whether to live or die, and the profusion of flowers wasmerely hinted by regiments of sticks to show where seeds were planted.But inside, it was altogether charming, and the happy bride saw nofault from garret to cellar.  To be sure, the hall was so narrow it wasfortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got inwhole, the dining room was so small that six people were a tight fit,and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose ofprecipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coalbin.  Butonce get used to these slight blemishes and nothing could be morecomplete, for good sense and good taste had presided over thefurnishing, and the result was highly satisfactory.  There were nomarble-topped tables, long mirrors, or lace curtains in the littleparlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, astand of flowers in the bay window, and, scattered all about, thepretty gifts which came from friendly hands and were the fairer for theloving messages they brought.I don't think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost any of its beautybecause John put up the bracket it stood upon, that any upholsterercould have draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy'sartistic hand, or that any store-room was ever better provided withgood wishes, merry words, and happy hopes than that in which Jo and hermother put away Meg's few boxes, barrels, and bundles, and I am morallycertain that the spandy new kitchen never could have looked so cozy andneat if Hannah had not arranged every pot and pan a dozen times over,and laid the fire all ready for lighting the minute 'Mis.  Brooke camehome'.  I also doubt if any young matron ever began life with so rich asupply of dusters, holders, and piece bags, for Beth made enough tolast till the silver wedding came round, and invented three differentkinds of dishcloths for the express service of the bridal china.People who hire all these things done for them never know what theylose, for the homeliest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them,and Meg found so many proofs of this that everything in her small nest,from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, waseloquent of home love and tender forethought.What happy times they had planning together, what solemn shoppingexcursions, what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughterarose over Laurie's ridiculous bargains.  In his love of jokes, thisyoung gentleman, though nearly through college, was a much of a boy asever.  His last whim had been to bring with him on his weekly visitssome new, useful, and ingenious article for the young housekeeper.  Nowa bag of remarkable clothespins, next, a wonderful nutmeg grater whichfell to pieces at the first trial, a knife cleaner that spoiled all theknives, or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet and leftthe dirt, labor-saving soap that took the skin off one's hands,infallible cements which stuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of thedeluded buyer, and every kind of tinware, from a toy savings bank forodd pennies, to a wonderful boiler which would wash articles in its ownsteam with every prospect of exploding in the process.In vain Meg begged him to stop.  John laughed at him, and Jo called him'Mr. Toodles'.  He was possessed with a mania for patronizing Yankeeingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth. So each weekbeheld some fresh absurdity.Everything was done at last, even to Amy's arranging different coloredsoaps to match the different colored rooms, and Beth's setting thetable for the first meal."Are you satisfied?  Does it seem like home, and do you feel as if youshould be happy here?" asked Mrs. March, as she and her daughter wentthrough the new kingdom arm in arm, for just then they seemed to clingtogether more tenderly than ever."Yes, Mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and so happy thatI can't talk about it," with a look that was far better than words."If she only had a servant or two it would be all right," said Amy,coming out of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whetherthe bronze Mercury looked best on the whatnot or the mantlepiece."Mother and I have talked that over, and I have made up my mind to tryher way first.  There will be so little to do that with Lotty to run myerrands and help me here and there, I shall only have enough work tokeep me from getting lazy or homesick," answered Meg tranquilly."Sallie Moffat has four," began Amy."If Meg had four, the house wouldn't hold them, and master and missiswould have to camp in the garden," broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a bigblue pinafore, was giving the last polish to the door handles."Sallie isn't a poor man's wife, and many maids are in keeping with herfine establishment.  Meg and John begin humbly, but I have a feelingthat there will be quite as much happiness in the little house as inthe big one.  It's a great mistake for young girls like Meg to leavethemselves nothing to do but dress, give orders, and gossip.  When Iwas first married, I used to long for my new clothes to wear out or gettorn, so that I might have the pleasure of mending them, for I gotheartily sick of doing fancywork and tending my pocket handkerchief.""Why didn't you go into the kitchen and make messes, as Sallie says shedoes to amuse herself, though they never turn out well and the servantslaugh at her," said Meg."I did after a while, not to 'mess' but to learn of Hannah how thingsshould be done, that my servants need not laugh at me.  It was playthen, but there came a time when I was truly grateful that I not onlypossessed the will but the power to cook wholesome food for my littlegirls, and help myself when I could no longer afford to hire help.  Youbegin at the other end, Meg, dear, but the lessons you learn now willbe of use to you by-and-by when John is a richer man, for the mistressof a house, however splendid, should know how work ought to be done, ifshe wishes to be well and honestly served.""Yes, Mother, I'm sure of that," said Meg, listening respectfully tothe little lecture, for the best of women will hold forth upon the allabsorbing subject of house keeping.  "Do you know I like this room mostof all in my baby house," added Meg, a minute after, as they wentupstairs and she looked into her well-stored linen closet.Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves andexulting over the goodly array.  All three laughed as Meg spoke, forthat linen closet was a joke.  You see, having said that if Meg married'that Brooke' she shouldn't have a cent of her money, Aunt March wasrather in a quandary when time had appeased her wrath and made herrepent her vow.  She never broke her word, and was much exercised inher mind how to get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby shecould satisfy herself.  Mrs. Carrol, Florence's mamma, was ordered tobuy, have made, and marked a generous supply of house and table linen,and send it as her present, all of which was faithfully done, but thesecret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family, for AuntMarch tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she couldgive nothing but the old-fashioned pearls long promised to the firstbride."That's a housewifely taste which I am glad to see.  I had a youngfriend who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had fingerbowls for company and that satisfied her," said Mrs. March, patting thedamask tablecloths, with a truly feminine appreciation of theirfineness."I haven't a single finger bowl, but this is a setout that will last meall my days, Hannah says."  And Meg looked quite contented, as well shemight.A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a feltbasin of a hat, and a flyaway coat, came tramping down the road at agreat pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open thegate, straight up to Mrs. March, with both hands out and a hearty..."Here I am, Mother!  Yes, it's all right."The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him, akindly questioning look which the handsome eyes met so frankly that thelittle ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss."For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker's congratulations andcompliments.  Bless you, Beth!  What a refreshing spectacle you are,Jo.  Amy, you are getting altogether too handsome for a single lady."As Laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to Meg, pulledBeth's hair ribbon, stared at Jo's big pinafore, and fell into anattitude of mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, andeveryone began to talk."Where is John?" asked Meg anxiously."Stopped to get the license for tomorrow, ma'am.""Which side won the last match, Teddy?" inquired Jo, who persisted infeeling an interest in manly sports despite her nineteen years."Ours, of course.  Wish you'd been there to see.""How is the lovely Miss Randal?" asked Amy with a significant smile."More cruel than ever.  Don't you see how I'm pining away?" and Lauriegave his broad chest a sounding slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh."What's the last joke?  Undo the bundle and see, Meg," said Beth, eyingthe knobby parcel with curiosity."It's a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves,"observed Laurie, as a watchman's rattle appeared, amid the laughter ofthe girls."Any time when John is away and you get frightened, Mrs. Meg, justswing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhoodin a jiffy.  Nice thing, isn't it?" and Laurie gave them a sample ofits powers that made them cover up their ears."There's gratitude for you!  And speaking of gratitude reminds me tomention that you may thank Hannah for saving your wedding cake fromdestruction.  I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if shehadn't defended it manfully I'd have had a pick at it, for it lookedlike a remarkably plummy one.""I wonder if you will ever grow up, Laurie," said Meg in a matronlytone."I'm doing my best, ma'am, but can't get much higher, I'm afraid, assix feet is about all men can do in these degenerate days," respondedthe young gentleman, whose head was about level with the littlechandelier."I suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in thisspick-and-span bower, so as I'm tremendously hungry, I propose anadjournment," he added presently."Mother and I are going to wait for John.  There are some last thingsto settle," said Meg, bustling away."Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant's to get more flowers fortomorrow," added Amy, tying a picturesque hat over her picturesquecurls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody."Come, Jo, don't desert a fellow.  I'm in such a state of exhaustion Ican't get home without help.  Don't take off your apron, whatever youdo, it's peculiarly becoming," said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especialaversion in her capacious pocket and offered her arm to support hisfeeble steps."Now, Teddy, I want to talk seriously to you about tomorrow," began Jo,as they strolled away together.  "You must promise to behave well, andnot cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans.""Not a prank.""And don't say funny things when we ought to be sober.""I never do.  You are the one for that.""And I implore you not to look at me during the ceremony.  I shallcertainly laugh if you do.""You won't see me, you'll be crying so hard that the thick fog roundyou will obscure the prospect.""I never cry unless for some great affliction.""Such as fellows going to college, hey?" cut in Laurie, with suggestivelaugh."Don't be a peacock.  I only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company.""Exactly.  I say, Jo, how is Grandpa this week?  Pretty amiable?""Very.  Why, have you got into a scrape and want to know how he'll takeit?" asked Jo rather sharply."Now, Jo, do you think I'd look your mother in the face and say 'Allright', if it wasn't?" and Laurie stopped short, with an injured air."No, I don't.""Then don't go and be suspicious.  I only want some money," saidLaurie, walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone."You spend a great deal, Teddy.""Bless you, I don't spend it, it spends itself somehow, and is gonebefore I know it.""You are so generous and kind-hearted that you let people borrow, andcan't say 'No' to anyone.  We heard about Henshaw and all you did forhim.  If you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you,"said Jo warmly."Oh, he made a mountain out of a molehill.  You wouldn't have me letthat fine fellow work himself to death just for want of a little help,when he is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?""Of course not, but I don't see the use of your having seventeenwaistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat every time you come home. Ithought you'd got over the dandy period, but every now and then itbreaks out in a new spot.  Just now it's the fashion to be hideous, tomake your head look like a scrubbing brush, wear a strait jacket,orange gloves, and clumping square-toed boots.  If it was cheapugliness, I'd say nothing, but it costs as much as the other, and Idon't get any satisfaction out of it."Laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack,that the felt hat fell off, and Jo walked on it, which insult onlyafforded him an opportunity for expatiating on the advantages of arough-and-ready costume, as he folded up the maltreated hat, andstuffed it into his pocket."Don't lecture any more, there's a good soul!  I have enough allthrough the week, and like to enjoy myself when I come home. I'll getmyself up regardless of expense tomorrow and be a satisfaction to myfriends.""I'll leave you in peace if you'll only let your hair grow. I'm notaristocratic, but I do object to being seen with a person who lookslike a young prize fighter," observed Jo severely."This unassuming style promotes study, that's why we adopt it,"returned Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, havingvoluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand forquarter-inch-long stubble."By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperateabout Amy.  He talks of her constantly, writes poetry, and moons aboutin a most suspicious manner.  He'd better nip his little passion in thebud, hadn't he?" added Laurie, in a confidential, elder brotherly tone,after a minute's silence."Of course he had.  We don't want any more marrying in this family foryears to come.  Mercy on us, what are the children thinking of?" and Jolooked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet intheir teens."It's a fast age, and I don't know what we are coming to, ma'am. Youare a mere infant, but you'll go next, Jo, and we'll be leftlamenting," said Laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of thetimes."Don't be alarmed.  I'm not one of the agreeable sort.  Nobody willwant me, and it's a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in afamily.""You won't give anyone a chance," said Laurie, with a sidelong glanceand a little more color than before in his sunburned face. "You won'tshow the soft side of your character, and if a fellow gets a peep at itby accident and can't help showing that he likes it, you treat him asMrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart, throw cold water over him, and get sothorny no one dares touch or look at you.""I don't like that sort of thing.  I'm too busy to be worried withnonsense, and I think it's dreadful to break up families so. Now don'tsay any more about it.  Meg's wedding has turned all our heads, and wetalk of nothing but lovers and such absurdities.  I don't wish to getcross, so let's change the subject;"  and Jo looked quite ready tofling cold water on the slightest provocation.Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them ina long low whistle and the fearful prediction as they parted at thegate, "Mark my words, Jo, you'll go next."CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVETHE FIRST WEDDINGThe June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on thatmorning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine,like friendly little neighbors, as they were.  Quite flushed withexcitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind,whispering to one another what they had seen, for some peeped in at thedining room windows where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nodand smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved awelcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch,and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-blown flower to the palestbaby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and fragrance to the gentlemistress who had loved and tended them so long.Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetestin heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making itfair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk,lace, nor orange flowers would she have.  "I don't want a fashionablewedding, but only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish tolook and be my familiar self."So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopesand innocent romances of a girlish heart.  Her sisters braided up herpretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of thevalley, which 'her John' liked best of all the flowers that grew."You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovelythat I should hug you if it wouldn't crumple your dress," cried Amy,surveying her with delight when all was done."Then I am satisfied.  But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don'tmind my dress.  I want a great many crumples of this sort put into ittoday,"  and Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about herwith April faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had notchanged the old."Now I'm going to tie John's cravat for him, and then to stay a fewminutes with Father quietly in the study,"  and Meg ran down to performthese little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherever shewent, conscious that in spite of the smiles on the motherly face, therewas a secret sorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of thefirst bird from the nest.As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to theirsimple toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes whichthree years have wrought in their appearance, for all are looking theirbest just now.Jo's angles are much softened, she has learned to carry herself withease, if not grace.  The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil,more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure.  There is afresh color in her brown cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and onlygentle words fall from her sharp tongue today.Beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever.  The beautiful,kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one,although it is not sad itself.  It is the shadow of pain which touchesthe young face with such pathetic patience, but Beth seldom complainsand always speaks hopefully of 'being better soon'.Amy is with truth considered 'the flower of the family', for at sixteenshe has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman, not beautiful, butpossessed of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in thelines of her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of herdress, the droop of her hair, unconscious yet harmonious, and asattractive to many as beauty itself.  Amy's nose still afflicted her,for it never would grow Grecian, so did her mouth, being too wide, andhaving a decided chin.  These offending features gave character to herwhole face, but she never could see it, and consoled herself with herwonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and curls more golden andabundant than ever.All three wore suits of thin silver gray (their best gowns for thesummer), with blush roses in hair and bosom, and all three looked justwhat they were, fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment intheir busy lives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in theromance of womanhood.There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be asnatural and homelike as possible, so when Aunt March arrived, she wasscandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in,to find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, andto catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with agrave countenance and a wine bottle under each arm."Upon my word, here's a state of things!" cried the old lady, takingthe seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of herlavender moire with a great rustle.  "You oughtn't to be seen till thelast minute, child.""I'm not a show, Aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, tocriticize my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon.  I'm too happy tocare what anyone says or thinks, and I'm going to have my littlewedding just as I like it.  John, dear, here's your hammer."  And awaywent Meg to help 'that man' in his highly improper employment.Mr. Brooke didn't even say, "Thank you," but as he stooped for theunromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding door,with a look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket handkerchief witha sudden dew in her sharp old eyes.A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorousexclamation, "Jupiter Ammon!  Jo's upset the cake again!" caused amomentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousinsarrived, and 'the party came in', as Beth used to say when a child."Don't let that young giant come near me, he worries me worse thanmosquitoes," whispered the old lady to Amy, as the rooms filled andLaurie's black head towered above the rest."He has promised to be very good today, and he can be perfectly elegantif he likes," returned Amy, and gliding away to warn Hercules to bewareof the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with adevotion that nearly distracted her.There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the roomas Mr. March and the young couple took their places under the greenarch.  Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up.The fatherly voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make theservice more beautiful and solemn.  The bridegroom's hand trembledvisibly, and no one heard his replies.  But Meg looked straight up inher husband's eyes, and said, "I will!" with such tender trust in herown face and voice that her mother's heart rejoiced and Aunt Marchsniffed audibly.Jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only savedfrom a demonstration by the consciousness that Laurie was staringfixedly at her, with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in hiswicked black eyes.  Beth kept her face hidden on her mother's shoulder,but Amy stood like a graceful statue, with a most becoming ray ofsunshine touching her white forehead and the flower in her hair.It wasn't at all the thing, I'm afraid, but the minute she was fairlymarried, Meg cried, "The first kiss for Marmee!" and turning, gave itwith her heart on her lips.  During the next fifteen minutes she lookedmore like a rose than ever, for everyone availed themselves of theirprivileges to the fullest extent, from Mr. Laurence to old Hannah, who,adorned with a headdress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon herin the hall, crying with a sob and a chuckle, "Bless you, deary, ahundred times!  The cake ain't hurt a mite, and everything lookslovely."Everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or triedto, which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts arelight.  There was no display of gifts, for they were already in thelittle house, nor was there an elaborate breakfast, but a plentifullunch of cake and fruit, dressed with flowers. Mr. Laurence and AuntMarch shrugged and smiled at one another when water, lemonade, andcoffee were found to be to only sorts of nectar which the three Hebescarried round.  No one said anything, till Laurie, who insisted onserving the bride, appeared before her, with a loaded salver in hishand and a puzzled expression on his face."Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident?" he whispered, "or am Imerely laboring under a delusion that I saw some lying about loose thismorning?""No, your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and Aunt Marchactually sent some, but Father put away a little for Beth, anddispatched the rest to the Soldier's Home.  You know he thinks thatwine should be used only in illness, and Mother says that neither shenor her daughters will ever offer it to any young man under her roof."Meg spoke seriously and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh, but hedid neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuousway, "I like that!  For I've seen enough harm done to wish other womenwould think as you do.""You are not made wise by experience, I hope?" and there was an anxiousaccent in Meg's voice."No.  I give you my word for it.  Don't think too well of me, either,this is not one of my temptations.  Being brought up where wine is ascommon as water and almost as harmless, I don't care for it, but when apretty girl offers it, one doesn't like to refuse, you see.""But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come,Laurie, promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiestday of my life."A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a moment,for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial. Meg knew that ifhe gave the promise he would keep it at all costs, and feeling herpower, used it as a woman may for her friend's good. She did not speak,but she looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness,and a smile which said, "No one can refuse me anything today."Laurie certainly could not, and with an answering smile, he gave herhis hand, saying heartily, "I promise, Mrs. Brooke!""I thank you, very, very much.""And I drink 'long life to your resolution', Teddy," cried Jo,baptizing him with a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass andbeamed approvingly upon him.So the toast was drunk, the pledge made and loyally kept in spite ofmany temptations, for with instinctive wisdom, the girls seized a happymoment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all hislife.After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through thehouse and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within.  Meg andJohn happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass plot,when Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishingtouch to this unfashionable wedding."All the married people take hands and dance round the new-made husbandand wife, as the Germans do, while we bachelors and spinsters prance incouples outside!" cried Laurie, promenading down the path with Amy,with such infectious spirit and skill that everyone else followed theirexample without a murmur.  Mr. and Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrolbegan it, others rapidly joined in, even Sallie Moffat, after amoment's hesitation, threw her train over her arm and whisked Ned intothe ring.  But the crowning joke was Mr. Laurence and Aunt March, forwhen the stately old gentleman chasseed solemnly up to the old lady,she just tucked her cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to joinhands with the rest and dance about the bridal pair, while the youngfolks pervaded the garden like butterflies on a midsummer day.Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then peoplebegan to go."I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well, but I think you'llbe sorry for it," said Aunt March to Meg, adding to the bridegroom, ashe led her to the carriage, "You've got a treasure, young man, see thatyou deserve it.""That is the prettiest wedding I've been to for an age, Ned, and Idon't see why, for there wasn't a bit of style about it," observed Mrs.Moffat to her husband, as they drove away."Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, getone of those little girls to help you, and I shall be perfectlysatisfied," said Mr. Laurence, settling himself in his easy chair torest after the excitement of the morning."I'll do my best to gratify you, Sir," was Laurie's unusually dutifulreply, as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo had put in his buttonhole.The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg hadwas the quiet walk with John from the old home to the new. When shecame down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dove-colored suit andstraw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say'good-by', as tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour."Don't feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I loveyou any the less for loving John so much," she said, clinging to hermother, with full eyes for a moment.  "I shall come every day, Father,and expect to keep my old place in all your hearts, though I ammarried.  Beth is going to be with me a great deal, and the other girlswill drop in now and then to laugh at my housekeeping struggles. Thankyou all for my happy wedding day.  Good-by, good-by!"They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tenderpride as she walked away, leaning on her husband's arm, with her handsfull of flowers and the June sunshine brightening her happy face--andso Meg's married life began.CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXARTISTIC ATTEMPTSIt takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent andgenius, especially ambitious young men and women.  Amy was learningthis distinction through much tribulation, for mistaking enthusiasm forinspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity.For a long time there was a lull in the 'mud-pie' business, and shedevoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showedsuch taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasantand profitable.  But over-strained eyes caused pen and ink to be laidaside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted,the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration, for the odor ofburning wood pervaded the house at all hours, smoke issued from atticand shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay aboutpromiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water andthe dinner bell at her door in case of fire.  Raphael's face was foundboldly executed on the underside of the moulding board, and Bacchus onthe head of a beer barrel.  A chanting cherub adorned the cover of thesugar bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet suppliedkindling for some time.From fire to oil was a natural transition for burned fingers, and Amyfell to painting with undiminished ardor.  An artist friend fitted herout with his castoff palettes, brushes, and colors, and she daubedaway, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen onland or sea.  Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have takenprizes at an agricultural fair, and the perilous pitching of hervessels would have produced seasickness in the most nautical observer,if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigginghad not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance.  Swarthy boysand dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio,suggested Murillo; oily brown shadows of faces with a lurid streak inthe wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropiscal infants,Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orangelightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splashin the middle, which might be the sun or a bouy, a sailor's shirt or aking's robe, as the spectator pleased.Charcoal portraits came next, and the entire family hung in a row,looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coalbin. Softenedinto crayon sketches, they did better, for the likenesses were good,and Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes werepronounced 'wonderfully fine'.  A return to clay and plaster followed,and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, ortumbled off closet shelves onto people's heads.  Children were enticedin as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doingscaused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress.  Herefforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by anuntoward accident, which quenched her ardor.  Other models failing herfor a time, she undertook to cast her own pretty foot, and the familywere one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming and runningto the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shedwith her foot held fast in a pan full of plaster, which had hardenedwith unexpected rapidity.  With much difficulty and some danger she wasdug out, for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated thather knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorialof one artistic attempt, at least.After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set herto haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, andsighing for ruins to copy.  She caught endless colds sitting on dampgrass to book 'a delicious bit', composed of a stone, a stump, onemushroom, and a broken mullein stalk, or 'a heavenly mass of clouds',that looked like a choice display of featherbeds when done. Shesacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun tostudy light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose trying after'points of sight', or whatever the squint-and-string performance iscalled.If 'genius is eternal patience', as Michelangelo affirms, Amy had someclaim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of allobstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in timeshe should do something worthy to be called 'high art'.She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for shehad resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if shenever became a great artist.  Here she succeeded better, for she wasone of those happily created beings who please without effort, makefriends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that lessfortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a luckystar.  Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact.  She hadan instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said theright thing to the right person, did just what suited the time andplace, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amywent to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly whatto do."One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in 'our best society',without being quite sure what the best really was.  Money, position,fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirablethings in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessedthem, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was notadmirable.  Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, shecultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when theopportunity came she might be ready to take the place from whichpoverty now excluded her."My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuinelady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buyrefinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, andthat true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks."I want to ask a favor of you, Mamma," Amy said, coming in with animportant air one day."Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes thestately young lady still remained 'the baby'."Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separatefor the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day.  They are wildto see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the thingsthey admire in my book.  They have been very kind to me in many ways,and I am grateful, for they are all rich and I know I am poor, yet theynever made any difference.""Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what the girlscalled her 'Maria Theresa air'."You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearlyeveryone, so don't ruffle up like a dear, motherly hen, when yourchickens get pecked by smarter birds.  The ugly duckling turned out aswan, you know."  and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possesseda happy temper and hopeful spirit.Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked,"Well, my swan, what is your plan?""I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take themfor a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river,perhaps, and make a little artistic fete for them.""That looks feasible.  What do you want for lunch?  Cake, sandwiches,fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?""Oh, dear, no!  We must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolateand ice cream, besides.  The girls are used to such things, and I wantmy lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living.""How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning to looksober."Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come.""Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry themabout.""Why, Mother, how can you think of such a thing?  Not more than six oreight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach wagon and borrow Mr.Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of char-a-banc.)"All of this will be expensive, Amy.""Not very.  I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself.""Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things,and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler planwould be pleasanter to them, as a change if nothing more, and muchbetter for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need, andattempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances?""If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I knowthat I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will helpa little, and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it,"said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change intoobstinacy.Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when itwas possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which shewould gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to takingadvice as much as they did salts and senna."Very well, Amy, if your heart is set upon it, and you see your waythrough without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'llsay no more.  Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way youdecide, I'll do my best to help you.""Thanks, Mother, you are always so kind." and away went Amy to lay herplan before her sisters.Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything shepossessed, from her little house itself to her very best saltspoons.But Jo frowned upon the whole project and would have nothing to do withit at first."Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, andturn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care asixpence for you?  I thought you had too much pride and sense totruckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots andrides in a coupe," said Jo, who, being called from the tragic climax ofher novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises."I don't truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!"returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questionsarose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a greatdeal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what youcall fashionable nonsense.  You don't care to make people like you, togo into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes.  I do, andI mean to make the most of every chance that comes.  You can go throughthe world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call itindependence, if you like.  That's not my way."When Amy had whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got thebest of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side,while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities tosuch an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in anargument.  Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such agood hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a moreamiable turn.  Much against her will, Jo at length consented tosacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what sheregarded as 'a nonsensical business'.The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the followingMonday was set apart for the grand event.  Hannah was out of humorbecause her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef thewashin' and ironin' warn't done reg'lar, nothin' would go wellanywheres".  This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery hada bad effect upon the whole concern, but Amy's motto was 'Nildesperandum', and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded todo it in spite of all obstacles.  To begin with, Hannah's cookingdidn't turn out well.  The chicken was tough, the tongue too salty, andthe chocolate wouldn't froth properly.  Then the cake and ice cost morethan Amy expected, so did the wagon, and various other expenses, whichseemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward.Beth got a cold and took to her bed.  Meg had an unusual number ofcallers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mindthat her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly numerous,serious, and trying.If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday,an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree.  OnMonday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is moreexasperating than a steady pour.  It drizzled a little, shone a little,blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late foranyone else to make up theirs.  Amy was up at dawn, hustling people outof their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be gotin order.  The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby, butwithout stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skillfully made thebest of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in thecarpet, covering stains on the walls with homemade statuary, which gavean artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Joscattered about.The lunch looked charming, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hopedit would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silverwould get safely home again.  The carriages were promised, Meg andMother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannahbehind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as anabsent mind, and aching head, and a very decided disapproval ofeverybody and everything would allow, and as she wearily dressed, Amycheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment when, lunchsafely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon ofartistic delights, for the 'cherry bounce' and the broken bridge wereher strong points.Then came the hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlorto porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock.  A smartshower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the youngladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two theexhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume theperishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost."No doubt about the weather today, they will certainly come, so we mustfly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her nextmorning.  She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she hadsaid nothing about Tuesday, for her interest like her cake was gettinga little stale."I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad today,"said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression ofplacid despair."Use the chicken then, the toughness won't matter in a salad," advisedhis wife."Hannah left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got atit.  I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness ofcats."Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amydecidedly."Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimityof a martyr."You'd come bringing it home under your arm without any paper, just totry me.  I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was beginning tofail.Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel traveling basket, shedeparted, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit andfit her for the labors of the day.  After some delay, the object of herdesire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing to prevent furtherloss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with herown forethought.As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady,Amy pocketed her veil and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying tofind out where all her money had gone to.  So busy was she with hercard full of refractory figures that she did not observe a newcomer,who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said,"Good morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie'smost elegant college friends.  Fervently hoping that he would get outbefore she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, andcongratulating herself that she had on her new traveling dress,returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit.They got on excellently, for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest bylearning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chattingaway in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. Instumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and--oh horror!--thelobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to thehighborn eyes of a Tudor!"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth,poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparingto hand out the basket after the old lady."Please don't--it's--it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly asred as her fish."Oh, really, I beg pardon.  It's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?"said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interestthat did credit to his breeding.Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat,and said, laughing, "Don't you wish you were to have some of the saladhe's going to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eatit?"Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mindwere touched.  The lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo ofpleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about 'the charming young ladies'diverted his mind from the comical mishap."I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I shan't seethem, that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that,thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets ofdressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with thepreparations which now seemed more irksome than before, and at twelveo'clock all was ready again.  Feeling that the neighbors wereinterested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory ofyesterday's failure by a grand success today, so she ordered the'cherry bounce', and drove away in state to meet and escort her gueststo the banquet."There's the rumble, they're coming!  I'll go onto the porch and meetthem.  It looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a goodtime after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to theword.  But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribableexpression, for looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and oneyoung lady."Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table. Itwill be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl,"cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop evenfor a laugh.In came Amy, quite calm and delightfully cordial to the one guest whohad kept her promise.  The rest of the family, being of a dramaticturn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them amost hilarious set, for it was impossible to control entirely themerriment which possessed them.  The remodeled lunch being gailypartaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed withenthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce),and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when'the party went out'.As she came walking in, looking very tired but as composed as ever, sheobserved that every vestige of the unfortunate fete had disappeared,except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth."You've had a loverly afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother,as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come."Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, Ithought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth."Could you spare me some of your cake?  I really need some, I have somuch company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours," askedMeg soberly."Take it all.  I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and itwill mold before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with asigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this."It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat downto ice cream and salad for the second time in two days.A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and thewhole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed,"salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn..."Here a general explosion of laughter cut short the 'history of salads',to the great surprise of the learned gentleman."Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels.  Germanslike messes.  I'm sick of the sight of this, and there's no reason youshould all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy,wiping her eyes."I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling aboutin the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very bignutshell, and Mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighedJo, quite spent with laughter."I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best tosatisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret."I am satisfied.  I've done what I undertook, and it's not my faultthat it failed.  I comfort myself with that," said Amy with a littlequiver in her voice.  "I thank you all very much for helping me, andI'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, atleast."No one did for several months, but the word 'fete' always produced ageneral smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny corallobster in the shape of a charm for her watch guard.CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENLITERARY LESSONSFortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good luck penny in herpath.  Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million wouldhave given more real happiness then did the little sum that came to herin this wise.Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on herscribbling suit, and 'fall into a vortex', as she expressed it, writingaway at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that wasfinished she could find no peace.  Her 'scribbling suit' consisted of ablack woolen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and acap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into whichshe bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action.  This capwas a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during theseperiods kept their distance, merely popping in their headssemi-occasionally to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" Theydid not always venture even to ask this question, but took anobservation of the cap, and judged accordingly.  If this expressivearticle of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign thathard work was going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishlyaskew, and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off,and cast upon the floor.  At such times the intruder silently withdrew,and not until the red bow was seen gaily erect upon the gifted brow,did anyone dare address Jo.She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writingfit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led ablissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she satsafe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as realand dear to her as any in the flesh.  Sleep forsook her eyes, mealsstood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happinesswhich blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worthliving, even if they bore no other fruit.  The divine afflatus usuallylasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her 'vortex', hungry,sleepy, cross, or despondent.She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she wasprevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return forher virtue was rewarded with a new idea.  It was a People's Course, thelecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such asubject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some greatsocial evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfoldingthe glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busywith the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in tryingto solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx.They were early, and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking,Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied theseat with them.  On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheadsand bonnets to match, discussing Women's Rights and making tatting.Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by thehand, a somber spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and anold gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna.  Onher right, her only neighbor was a studious looking lad absorbed in anewspaper.It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her,idly wondering what fortuitous concatenation of circumstances neededthe melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume,tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while twoinfuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes,were stabbing each other close by, and a disheveled female was flyingaway in the background with her mouth wide open.  Pausing to turn apage, the lad saw her looking and, with boyish good nature offered halfhis paper, saying bluntly, "want to read it? That's a first-rate story."Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking forlads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love,mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of lightliterature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author'sinvention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half thedramatis personae, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall."Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the lastparagraph of her portion."I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo,amused at his admiration of the trash."I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could.  She makes a goodliving out of such stories, they say." and he pointed to the name ofMrs. S.L.A.N.G.  Northbury, under the title of the tale."Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest."No, but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in theoffice where this paper is printed.""Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jolooked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly sprinkledexclamation points that adorned the page."Guess she does!  She knows just what folks like, and gets paid wellfor writing it."Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for whileProfessor Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, andhieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper,and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in itscolumns for a sensational story.  By the time the lecture ended and theaudience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (notthe first founded on paper), and was already deep in the concoction ofher story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come beforethe elopement or after the murder.She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, muchto the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when'genius took to burning'.  Jo had never tried this style before,contenting herself with very mild romances for _The Spread Eagle_.  Herexperience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gaveher some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, andcostumes.  Her story was as full of desperation and despair as herlimited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her tomake it, and having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with anearthquake, as a striking and appropriate denouement.  The manuscriptwas privately dispatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying thatif the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect,she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl tokeep a secret, but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up allhope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived whichalmost took her breath away, for on opening it, a check for a hundreddollars fell into her lap.  For a minute she stared at it as if it hadbeen a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry.  If theamiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known whatintense happiness he was giving a fellow creature, I think he woulddevote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement, for Jovalued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging, andafter years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learnedto do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composedherself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with theletter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had wonthe prize.  Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the storycame everyone read and praised it, though after her father had told herthat the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and thetragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldlyway..."You can do better than this, Jo.  Aim at the highest, and never mindthe money.""I think the money is the best part of it.  What will you do with sucha fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with areverential eye."Send Beth and Mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jopromptly.To the seaside they went, after much discussion, and though Beth didn'tcome home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was much better,while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger.  So Jo wassatisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work witha cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. Shedid earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in thehouse, for by the magic of a pen, her 'rubbish' turned into comfortsfor them all.  The Duke's Daughter paid the butcher's bill, A PhantomHand put down a new carpet, and the Curse of the Coventrys proved theblessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns.Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunnyside, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuinesatisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand, and to theinspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and usefulblessings of the world.  Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, andceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge thatshe could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, andencouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fameand fortune.  Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it toall her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and tremblingto three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that shewould cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which sheparticularly admired."Now I must either bundle it back in to my tin kitchen to mold, pay forprinting it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers and get what I canfor it.  Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash ismore convenient, so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on thisimportant subject," said Jo, calling a family council."Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know,and the idea is well worked out.  Let it wait and ripen," was herfather's advice, and he practiced what he preached, having waitedpatiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in nohaste to gather it even now when it was sweet and mellow."It seems to me that Jo will profit more by taking the trial than bywaiting," said Mrs. March.  "Criticism is the best test of such work,for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help herto do better next time.  We are too partial, but the praise and blameof outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money.""Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it.  I've been fussingover the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, orindifferent.  It will be a great help to have cool, impartial personstake a look at it, and tell me what they think of it.""I wouldn't leave a word out of it.  You'll spoil it if you do, for theinterest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of thepeople, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on,"said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkablenovel ever written."But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief anddramatic, and let the characters tell the story'," interrupted Jo,turning to the publisher's note."Do as he tells you.  He knows what will sell, and we don't. Make agood, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By-and-by, whenyou've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophicaland metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictlypractical view of the subject."Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are 'philosophical andmetaphysical', it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things,except what I hear father say, sometimes.  If I've got some of his wiseideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me.  Now,Beth, what do you say?""I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, andsmiled in saying it.  But there was an unconscious emphasis on the lastword, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlikecandor, which chilled Jo's heart for a minute with a forboding fear,and decided her to make her little venture 'soon'.So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born onher table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre.  In the hope ofpleasing everyone, she took everyone's advice, and like the old man andhis donkey in the fable suited nobody.Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously gotinto it, so that was allowed to remain though she had her doubts aboutit.  Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much description.Out, therefore it came, and with it many necessary links in the story.Meg admired the tragedy, so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, whileAmy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Joquenched the spritly scenes which relieved the somber character of thestory.  Then, to complicate the ruin, she cut it down one third, andconfidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out intothe big, busy world to try its fate.Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it,likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than sheexpected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment from which ittook her some time to recover."You said, Mother, that criticism would help me.  But how can it, whenit's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written apromising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo,turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her withpride and joy one minute, wrath and dismay the next.  "This man says,'An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness.' 'All issweet, pure, and healthy.'" continued the perplexed authoress.  "Thenext, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies,spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.' Now, as I had notheory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied mycharacters from life, I don't see how this critic can be right.Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appearedfor years.' (I know better than that), and the next asserts that'Though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it isa dangerous book.' 'Tisn't!  Some make fun of it, some overpraise, andnearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I onlywrote it for the pleasure and the money.  I wish I'd printed the wholeor not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally.Yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant sowell and had apparently done so ill.  But it did her good, for thosewhose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is anauthor's best education, and when the first soreness was over, shecould laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feelherself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received."Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly,"and I've got the joke on my side, after all, for the parts that weretaken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd,and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced'charmingly natural, tender, and true'.  So I'll comfort myself withthat, and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another."CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTDOMESTIC EXPERIENCESLike most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with thedetermination to be a model housekeeper.  John should find home aparadise, he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuouslyevery day, and never know the loss of a button.  She brought so muchlove, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not butsucceed, in spite of some obstacles.  Her paradise was not a tranquilone, for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, andbustled about like a true Martha, cumbered with many cares.  She wastoo tired, sometimes, even to smile, John grew dyspeptic after a courseof dainty dishes and ungratefully demanded plain fare.  As for buttons,she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over thecarelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them on himself,and see if his work would stand impatient and clumsy fingers any betterthan hers.They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn'tlive on love alone.  John did not find Meg's beauty diminished, thoughshe beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot.  Nor did Megmiss any of the romance from the daily parting, when her husbandfollowed up his kiss with the tender inquiry, "Shall I send some vealor mutton for dinner, darling?" The little house ceased to be aglorified bower, but it became a home, and the young couple soon feltthat it was a change for the better.  At first they played keep-house,and frolicked over it like children.  Then John took steadily tobusiness, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon his shoulders,and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell towork, as before said, with more energy than discretion.While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius'sReceipt Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out theproblems with patience and care.  Sometimes her family were invited into help eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would beprivately dispatched with a batch of failures, which were to beconcealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the littleHummels.  An evening with John over the account books usually produceda temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit wouldensue, during which the poor man was put through a course of breadpudding, hash, and warmed-over coffee, which tried his soul, althoughhe bore it with praiseworthy fortitude.  Before the golden mean wasfound, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions what youngcouples seldom get on long without, a family jar.Fired a with housewifely wish to see her storeroom stocked withhomemade preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly. Johnwas requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and an extraquantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe and were to beattended to at once.  As John firmly believed that 'my wife' was equalto anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, he resolved thatshe should be gratified, and their only crop of fruit laid by in a mostpleasing form for winter use.  Home came four dozen delightful littlepots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currants forher.  With her pretty hair tucked into a little cap, arms bared to theelbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of thebib, the young housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about hersuccess, for hadn't she seen Hannah do it hundreds of times?  The arrayof pots rather amazed her at first, but John was so fond of jelly, andthe nice little jars would look so well on the top shelf, that Megresolved to fill them all, and spent a long day picking, boiling,straining, and fussing over her jelly.  She did her best, she askedadvice of Mrs. Cornelius, she racked her brain to remember what Hannahdid that she left undone, she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, butthat dreadful stuff wouldn't 'jell'.She longed to run home, bib and all, and ask Mother to lend her a hand,but John and she had agreed that they would never annoy anyone withtheir private worries, experiments, or quarrels.  They had laughed overthat last word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one,but they had held to their resolve, and whenever they could get onwithout help they did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March hadadvised the plan.  So Meg wrestled alone with the refractory sweetmeatsall that hot summer day, and at five o'clock sat down in hertopsy-turvey kitchen, wrung her bedaubed hands, lifted up her voice andwept.Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, "Myhusband shall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever helikes.  I shall always be prepared.  There shall be no flurry, noscolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and a gooddinner.  John, dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whom youplease, and be sure of a welcome from me."How charming that was, to be sure!  John quite glowed with pride tohear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have asuperior wife.  But, although they had had company from time to time,it never happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had anopportunity to distinguish herself till now.  It always happens so inthis vale of tears, there is an inevitability about such things whichwe can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can.If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would havebeen unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in theyear, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly.  Congratulatinghimself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feelingsure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasantanticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his prettywife came running out to meet him, he escorted his friend to hismansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young host andhusband.It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reachedthe Dovecote.  The front door usually stood hospitably open. Now it wasnot only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps.The parlor windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the prettywife sewing on the piazza, in white, with a distracting little bow inher hair, or a bright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as shegreeted her guest.  Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared but asanginary-looking boy asleep under the current bushes."I'm afraid something has happened.  Step into the garden, Scott, whileI look up Mrs. Brooke," said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude.Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burned sugar, andMr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face.  He pauseddiscreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared, but he could both seeand hear, and being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily.In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair.  One edition of jelly wastrickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third wasburning gaily on the stove.  Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmlyeating bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelesslyliquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, satsobbing dismally."My dearest girl, what is the matter?" cried John, rushing in, withawful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secretconsternation at the thought of the guest in the garden."Oh, John, I am so tired and hot and cross and worried!  I've been atit till I'm all worn out.  Do come and help me or I shall die!" and theexhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweetwelcome in every sense of the word, for her pinafore had been baptizedat the same time as the floor."What worries you dear?  Has anything dreadful happened?" asked theanxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which wasall askew."Yes," sobbed Meg despairingly."Tell me quick, then.  Don't cry.  I can bear anything better thanthat.  Out with it, love.""The... The jelly won't jell and I don't know what to do!"John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward, and thederisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, whichput the finishing stroke to poor Meg's woe."Is that all?  Fling it out of the window, and don't bother any moreabout it.  I'll buy you quarts if you want it, but for heaven's sakedon't have hysterics, for I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner,and..."John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with atragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone ofmingled indignation, reproach, and dismay..."A man to dinner, and everything in a mess!  John Brooke, how could youdo such a thing?""Hush, he's in the garden!  I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can'tbe helped now," said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye."You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought tohave remembered how busy I was," continued Meg petulantly, for eventurtledoves will peck when ruffled."I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, forI met him on the way out.  I never thought of asking leave, when youhave always told me to do as I liked.  I never tried it before, andhang me if I ever do again!" added John, with an aggrieved air."I should hope not!  Take him away at once.  I can't see him, and thereisn't any dinner.""Well, I like that!  Where's the beef and vegetables I sent home, andthe pudding you promised?" cried John, rushing to the larder."I hadn't time to cook anything.  I meant to dine at Mother's. I'msorry, but I was so busy," and Meg's tears began again.John was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day's work tocome home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an emptytable, and a cross wife was not exactly conducive to repose of mind ormanner.  He restrained himself however, and the little squall wouldhave blown over, but for one unlucky word."It's a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we'll pullthrough and have a good time yet.  Don't cry, dear, but just exertyourself a bit, and fix us up something to eat.  We're both as hungryas hunters, so we shan't mind what it is.  Give us the cold meat, andbread and cheese.  We won't ask for jelly."He meant it to be a good-natured joke, but that one word sealed hisfate.  Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, andthe last atom of patience vanished as he spoke."You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can.  I'm too used upto 'exert' myself for anyone.  It's like a man to propose a bone andvulgar bread and cheese for company.  I won't have anything of the sortin my house.  Take that Scott up to Mother's, and tell him I'm away,sick, dead, anything.  I won't see him, and you two can laugh at me andmy jelly as much as you like.  You won't have anything else here."  andhaving delivered her defiance all on one breath, Meg cast away herpinafore and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her ownroom.What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but Mr.Scott was not taken 'up to Mother's', and when Meg descended, afterthey had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuouslunch which filled her with horror.  Lotty reported that they had eaten"a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all thesweet stuff, and hide the pots."Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her ownshort-comings, of loyalty to John, "who might be cruel, but nobodyshould know it," restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, shedressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and beforgiven.Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in that light.He had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his littlewife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that hisfriend enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again, butJohn was angry, though he did not show it, he felt that Meg haddeserted him in his hour of need.  "It wasn't fair to tell a man tobring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and when he took youat your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch, tobe laughed at or pitied.  No, by George, it wasn't! And Meg must knowit."He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was overand he strolled home after seeing Scott off, a milder mood came overhim.  "Poor little thing!  It was hard upon her when she tried soheartily to please me.  She was wrong, of course, but then she wasyoung.  I must be patient and teach her."  He hoped she had not gonehome--he hated gossip and interference.  For a minute he was ruffledagain at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that Meg would cryherself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace,resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her whereshe had failed in her duty to her spouse.Meg likewise resolved to be 'calm and kind, but firm', and show him hisduty.  She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed andcomforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, she did nothing ofthe sort, and when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally,as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor.John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe, but feelingthat his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only cameleisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularlyrelevant remark, "We are going to have a new moon, my dear.""I've no objection," was Meg's equally soothing remark.  A few othertopics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke andwet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished.  John wentto one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it,figuratively speaking.  Meg went to the other window, and sewed as ifnew rosettes for slippers were among the necessaries of life. Neitherspoke.  Both looked quite 'calm and firm', and both felt desperatelyuncomfortable."Oh, dear," thought Meg, "married life is very trying, and does needinfinite patience as well as love, as Mother says."  The word 'Mother'suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, and received withunbelieving protests."John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to seeand bear with them, remembering your own.  He is very decided, butnever will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently.He is very accurate, and particular about the truth--a good trait,though you call him 'fussy'. Never deceive him by look or word, Meg,and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need.He has a temper, not like ours--one flash and then all over--but thewhite, still anger that is seldom stirred, but once kindled is hard toquench.  Be careful, be very careful, not to wake his anger againstyourself, for peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect.  Watchyourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard againstthe little piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pavethe way for bitter sorrow and regret."These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset,especially the last.  This was the first serious disagreement, her ownhasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, herown anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home tosuch a scene quite melted her heart.  She glanced at him with tears inher eyes, but he did not see them.  She put down her work and got up,thinking, "I will be the first to say, 'Forgive me'", but he did notseem to hear her.  She went very slowly across the room, for pride washard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head.  For aminute she felt as if she really couldn't do it, then came the thought,"This is the beginning. I'll do my part, and have nothing to reproachmyself with," and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on theforehead. Of course that settled it.  The penitent kiss was better thana world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, sayingtenderly..."It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me,dear.  I never will again!"But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, bothdeclaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made, for familypeace was preserved in that little family jar.After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, andserved him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the firstcourse, on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and madeeverything go off so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was alucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood allthe way home.In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg.  Sallie Moffatrenewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip atthe little house, or inviting 'that poor dear' to come in and spend theday at the big house.  It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg oftenfelt lonely.  All were busy at home, John absent till night, andnothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about.  So it naturally fellout that Meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend.Seeing Sallie's pretty things made her long for such, and pity herselfbecause she had not got them.  Sallie was very kind, and often offeredher the coveted trifles, but Meg declined them, knowing that Johnwouldn't like it, and then this foolish little woman went and did whatJohn disliked even worse.She knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trustedher, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to valuemore--his money.  She knew where it was, was free to take what sheliked, and all he asked was that she should keep account of everypenny, pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man'swife.  Till now she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept herlittle account books neatly, and showed them to him monthly withoutfear.  But that autumn the serpent got into Meg's paradise, and temptedher like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress.  Megdidn't like to be pitied and made to feel poor.  It irritated her, butshe was ashamed to confess it, and now and then she tried to consoleherself by buying something pretty, so that Sallie needn't think shehad to economize.  She always felt wicked after it, for the prettythings were seldom necessaries, but then they cost so little, it wasn'tworth worrying about, so the trifles increased unconsciously, and inthe shopping excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on.But the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when she cast upher accounts at the end of the month the sum total rather scared her.John was busy that month and left the bills to her, the next month hewas absent, but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Megnever forgot it.  A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, andit weighed upon her conscience.  Sallie had been buying silks, and Meglonged for a new one, just a handsome light one for parties, her blacksilk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only properfor girls.  Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present oftwenty-five dollars apiece at New Year's.  That was only a month towait, and here was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she hadthe money, if she only dared to take it.  John always said what was hiswas hers, but would he think it right to spend not only the prospectivefive-and-twenty, but another five-and-twenty out of the household fund?That was the question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered tolend the money, and with the best intentions in life had tempted Megbeyond her strength. In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely,shimmering folds, and said, "A bargain, I assure, you, ma'am." Sheanswered, "I'll take it," and it was cut off and paid for, and Salliehad exulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of noconsequence, and driven away, feeling as if she had stolen something,and the police were after her.When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse byspreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked less silvery now, didn'tbecome her, after all, and the words 'fifty dollars' seemed stampedlike a pattern down each breadth.  She put it away, but it haunted her,not delightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfully like the ghostof a folly that was not easily laid.  When John got out his books thatnight, Meg's heart sank, and for the first time in her married life,she was afraid of her husband.  The kind, brown eyes looked as if theycould be stern, and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he hadfound her out, but didn't mean to let her know it.  The house billswere all paid, the books all in order. John had praised her, and wasundoing the old pocketbook which they called the 'bank', when Meg,knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously..."You haven't seen my private expense book yet."John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so,and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things womenwanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely the meaningof a hug-me-tight, or wonder how a little thing composed of threerosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be abonnet, and cost six dollars.  That night he looked as if he would likethe fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at herextravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudentwife.The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him. Meggot behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinkles out ofhis tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panicincreasing with every word..."John, dear, I'm ashamed to show you my book, for I've really beendreadfully extravagant lately.  I go about so much I must have things,you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did, and my New Year'smoney will partly pay for it, but I was sorry after I had done it, forI knew you'd think it wrong in me."John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly,"Don't go and hide.  I won't beat you if you have got a pair of killingboots.  I'm rather proud of my wife's feet, and don't mind if she doespay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones."That had been one of her last 'trifles', and John's eye had fallen onit as he spoke.  "Oh, what will he say when he comes to that awfulfifty dollars!" thought Meg, with a shiver."It's worse than boots, it's a silk dress," she said, with the calmnessof desperation, for she wanted the worst over."Well, dear, what is the 'dem'd total', as Mr. Mantalini says?"That didn't sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her withthe straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet andanswer with one as frank till now.  She turned the page and her head atthe same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enoughwithout the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added.  Fora minute the room was very still, then John said slowly--but she couldfeel it cost him an effort to express no displeasure--. . ."Well, I don't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all thefurbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days.""It isn't made or trimmed," sighed Meg, faintly, for a suddenrecollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her."Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman,but I've no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat's when shegets it on," said John dryly."I know you are angry, John, but I can't help it.  I don't mean towaste your money, and I didn't think those little things would count upso.  I can't resist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, andpitying me because I don't.  I try to be contented, but it is hard, andI'm tired of being poor."The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, buthe did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself manypleasures for Meg's sake.  She could have bitten her tongue out theminute she had said it, for John pushed the books away and got up,saying with a little quiver in his voice, "I was afraid of this.  I domy best, Meg."  If he had scolded her, or even shaken her, it would nothave broken her heart like those few words.  She ran to him and heldhim close, crying, with repentant tears, "Oh, John, my dear, kind,hard-working boy.  I didn't mean it!  It was so wicked, so untrue andungrateful, how could I say it! Oh, how could I say it!"He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach,but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not beforgotten soon, although he might never allude to it again.  She hadpromised to love him for better or worse, and then she, his wife, hadreproached him with his poverty, after spending his earningsrecklessly.  It was dreadful, and the worst of it was John went on soquietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened, except that hestayed in town later, and worked at night when she had gone to cryherself to sleep.  A week of remorse nearly made Meg sick, and thediscovery that John had countermanded the order for his new greatcoatreduced her to a state of despair which was pathetic to behold.  He hadsimply said, in answer to her surprised inquiries as to the change, "Ican't afford it, my dear."Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall withher face buried in the old greatcoat, crying as if her heart wouldbreak.They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husbandbetter for his poverty, because it seemed to have made a man of him,given him the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught hima tender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longingsand failures of those he loved.Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, told thetruth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor.  The good-natured Mrs.Moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a presentof it immediately afterward.  Then Meg ordered home the greatcoat, andwhen John arrived, she put it on, and asked him how he liked her newsilk gown.  One can imagine what answer he made, how he received hispresent, and what a blissful state of things ensued.  John came homeearly, Meg gadded no more, and that greatcoat was put on in the morningby a very happy husband, and taken off at night by a most devotedlittle wife.  So the year rolled round, and at midsummer there came toMeg a new experience, the deepest and tenderest of a woman's life.Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dovecote one Saturday,with an excited face, and was received with the clash of cymbals, forHannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in theother."How's the little mamma?  Where is everybody?  Why didn't you tell mebefore I came home?" began Laurie in a loud whisper."Happy as a queen, the dear!  Every soul of 'em is upstairs aworshipin'.  We didn't want no hurrycanes round.  Now you go into theparlor, and I'll send 'em down to you," with which somewhat involvedreply Hannah vanished, chuckling ecstatically.Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upona large pillow.  Jo's face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled, andthere was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort."Shut your eyes and hold out your arms," she said invitingly.Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind himwith an imploring gesture.  "No, thank you.  I'd rather not.  I shalldrop it or smash it, as sure as fate.""Then you shan't see your nevvy," said Jo decidedly, turning as if togo."I will, I will!  Only you must be responsible for damages." andobeying orders, Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was putinto his arms.  A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah,and John caused him to open them the next minute, to find himselfinvested with two babies instead of one.No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enoughto convulse a Quaker, as he stood and stared wildly from theunconscious innocents to the hilarious spectators with such dismay thatJo sat down on the floor and screamed."Twins, by Jupiter!" was all he said for a minute, then turning to thewomen with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added,"Take 'em quick, somebody!  I'm going to laugh, and I shall drop 'em."Jo rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each arm,as if already initiated into the mysteries of babytending, while Laurielaughed till the tears ran down his cheeks."It's the best joke of the season, isn't it?  I wouldn't have told you,for I set my heart on surprising you, and I flatter myself I've doneit," said Jo, when she got her breath."I never was more staggered in my life.  Isn't it fun?  Are they boys?What are you going to name them? Let's have another look.  Hold me up,Jo, for upon my life it's one too many for me," returned Laurie,regarding the infants with the air of a big, benevolent Newfoundlandlooking at a pair of infantile kittens."Boy and girl.  Aren't they beauties?" said the proud papa, beamingupon the little red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels."Most remarkable children I ever saw.  Which is which?" and Laurie bentlike a well-sweep to examine the prodigies."Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, Frenchfashion, so you can always tell.  Besides, one has blue eyes and onebrown.  Kiss them, Uncle Teddy," said wicked Jo."I'm afraid they mightn't like it," began Laurie, with unusual timidityin such matters."Of course they will, they are used to it now.  Do it this minute,sir!" commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy.Laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peck at eachlittle cheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal."There, I knew they didn't like it!  That's the boy, see him kick, hehits out with his fists like a good one.  Now then, young Brooke, pitchinto a man of your own size, will you?" cried Laurie, delighted with apoke in the face from a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about."He's to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, after motherand grandmother.  We shall call her Daisey, so as not to have two Megs,and I suppose the mannie will be Jack, unless we find a better name,"said Amy, with aunt-like interest."Name him Demijohn, and call him Demi for short," said Laurie."Daisy and Demi, just the thing!  I knew Teddy would do it," cried Joclapping her hands.Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were 'Daisy' and'Demi' to the end of the chapter.CHAPTER TWENTY-NINECALLS"Come, Jo, it's time.""For what?""You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to makehalf a dozen calls with me today?""I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don'tthink I ever was mad enough to say I'd make six calls in one day, whena single one upsets me for a week.""Yes, you did, it was a bargain between us.  I was to finish the crayonof Beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return ourneighbors' visits.""If it was fair, that was in the bond, and I stand to the letter of mybond, Shylock.  There is a pile of clouds in the east, it's not fair,and I don't go.""Now, that's shirking.  It's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and youpride yourself on keeping promises, so be honorable, come and do yourduty, and then be at peace for another six months."At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking, for she wasmantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to herselfbecause she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provokingto be arrested in the act of a first trying-on, and ordered out to makecalls in her best array on a warm July day. She hated calls of theformal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain,bribe, or promise.  In the present instance there was no escape, andhaving clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that shesmelled thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hatand gloves with an air of resignation, told Amy the victim was ready."Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint!  You don'tintend to make calls in that state, I hope," cried Amy, surveying herwith amazement."Why not?  I'm neat and cool and comfortable, quite proper for a dustywalk on a warm day.  If people care more for my clothes than they dofor me, I don't wish to see them.  You can dress for both, and be aselegant as you please.  It pays for you to be fine.  It doesn't for me,and furbelows only worry me.""Oh, dear!" sighed Amy, "now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive medistracted before I can get her properly ready. I'm sure it's nopleasure to me to go today, but it's a debt we owe society, and there'sno one to pay it but you and me.  I'll do anything for you, Jo, ifyou'll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil.You can talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, andbehave so beautifully, if you try, that I'm proud of you.  I'm afraidto go alone, do come and take care of me.""You're an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross oldsister in that way.  The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred,and your being afraid to go anywhere alone!  I don't know which is themost absurd.  Well, I'll go if I must, and do my best.  You shall becommander of the expedition, and I'll obey blindly, will that satisfyyou?" said Jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamblikesubmission."You're a perfect cherub!  Now put on all your best things, and I'lltell you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a goodimpression.  I want people to like you, and they would if you'd onlytry to be a little more agreeable.  Do your hair the pretty way, andput the pink rose in your bonnet.  It's becoming, and you look toosober in your plain suit.  Take your light gloves and the embroideredhandkerchief.  We'll stop at Meg's, and borrow her white sunshade, andthen you can have my dove-colored one."While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them, notwithout entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustledinto her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnetstrings in an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as sheput on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally as she shook outthe handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as thepresent mission was to her feelings, and when she had squeezed herhands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the lasttouch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression ofcountenance, saying meekly..."I'm perfectly miserable, but if you consider me presentable, I diehappy.""You're highly satisfactory.  Turn slowly round, and let me get acareful view." Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and there, thenfell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, "Yes,you'll do.  Your head is all I could ask, for that white bonnet withthe rose is quite ravishing.  Hold back your shoulders, and carry yourhands easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch.  There's one thing youcan do well, Jo, that is, wear a shawl.  I can't, but it's very nice tosee you, and I'm so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one.  It'ssimple, but handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic.Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and have I looped my dressevenly? I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my noseisn't.""You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever," said Jo, looking throughher hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against thegolden hair.  "Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop itup, please, ma'am?""Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house.  The sweepingstyle suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirtsgracefully.  You haven't half buttoned one cuff, do it at once.  You'llnever look finished if you are not careful about the little details,for they make up the pleasing whole."Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doingup her cuff, but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as'pretty as picters', Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper windowto watch them."Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, soI want you to put on your best deportment.  Don't make any of yourabrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you?  Just be calm, cool, andquiet, that's safe and ladylike, and you can easily do it for fifteenminutes," said Amy, as they approached the first place, having borrowedthe white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm."Let me see.  'Calm, cool, and quiet', yes, I think I can promise that.I've played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I'll try itoff.  My powers are great, as you shall see, so be easy in your mind,my child."Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word, for duringthe first call she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every foldcorrectly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and assilent as the sphinx.  In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her 'charmingnovel', and the Misses Chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera,and the fashions.  Each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and ademure "Yes" or "No" with the chill on.  In vain Amy telegraphed theword 'talk', tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes withher foot.  Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportmentlike Maud's face, 'icily regular, splendidly null'."What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!" wasthe unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the doorclosed upon their guests.  Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall,but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and verynaturally laid the blame upon Jo."How could you mistake me so?  I merely meant you to be properlydignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock andstone.  Try to be sociable at the Lambs'.  Gossip as other girls do,and be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comesup.  They move in the best society, are valuable persons for us toknow, and I wouldn't fail to make a good impression there for anything.""I'll be agreeable.  I'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors andraptures over any trifle you like.  I rather enjoy this, and now I'llimitate what is called 'a charming girl'.  I can do it, for I have MayChester as a model, and I'll improve upon her.  See if the Lambs don'tsay, 'What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is!"Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish therewas no knowing where she would stop.  Amy's face was a study when shesaw her sister skim into the next drawing room, kiss all the youngladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, andjoin in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was takenpossession of by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced tohear a long account of Lucretia's last attack, while three delightfulyoung gentlemen hovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rushin and rescue her.  So situated, she was powerless to check Jo, whoseemed possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly asthe lady.  A knot of heads gathered about her, and Amy strained herears to hear what was going on, for broken sentences filled her withcuriosity, and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share thefun.  One may imagine her suffering on overhearing fragments of thissort of conversation."She rides splendidly.  Who taught her?""No one.  She used to practice mounting, holding the reins, and sittingstraight on an old saddle in a tree.  Now she rides anything, for shedoesn't know what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheapbecause she trains them to carry ladies so well.  She has such apassion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails, she can be ahorsebreaker, and get her living so."At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for theimpression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, whichwas her especial aversion.  But what could she do?  For the old ladywas in the middle of her story, and long before it was done, Jo was offagain, making more droll revelations and committing still more fearfulblunders."Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone,and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky thatyou had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal fora pleasure party, wasn't it?""Which did she choose?" asked one of the laughing gentlemen, whoenjoyed the subject."None of them.  She heard of a young horse at the farm house over theriver, and though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try,because he was handsome and spirited.  Her struggles were reallypathetic.  There was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so shetook the saddle to the horse.  My dear creature, she actually rowed itover the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to theutter amazement of the old man!""Did she ride the horse?""Of course she did, and had a capital time.  I expected to see herbrought home in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was thelife of the party.""Well, I call that plucky!" and young Mr. Lamb turned an approvingglance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make thegirl look so red and uncomfortable.She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when asudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress.  Oneof the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she woreto the picnic and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where itwas bought two years ago, must needs answer with unnecessary frankness,"Oh, Amy painted it.  You can't buy those soft shades, so we paint oursany color we like.  It's a great comfort to have an artistic sister.""Isn't that an original idea?" cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun."That's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There'snothing the child can't do.  Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots forSallie's party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliestshade of sky blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin,"added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister's accomplishments thatexasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw hercardcase at her."We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much,"observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady,who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed.Any mention of her 'works' always had a bad effect upon Jo, who eithergrew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusqueremark, as now.  "Sorry you could find nothing better to read.  I writethat rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it.  Are yougoing to New York this winter?"As Miss Lamb had 'enjoyed' the story, this speech was not exactlygrateful or complimentary.  The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake,but fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it wasfor her to make the first move toward departure, and did so with anabruptness that left three people with half-finished sentences in theirmouths."Amy, we must go.  Good-by, dear, do come and see us.  We are piningfor a visit.  I don't dare to ask you, Mr. Lamb, but if you shouldcome, I don't think I shall have the heart to send you away."Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester's gushing stylethat Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strongdesire to laugh and cry at the same time."Didn't I do well?" asked Jo, with a satisfied air as they walked away."Nothing could have been worse," was Amy's crushing reply. "Whatpossessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats andboots, and all the rest of it?""Why, it's funny, and amuses people.  They know we are poor, so it's nouse pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season,and have things as easy and fine as they do.""You needn't go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose ourpoverty in that perfectly unnecessary way.  You haven't a bit of properpride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when tospeak," said Amy despairingly.Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose withthe stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors."How shall I behave here?" she asked, as they approached the thirdmansion."Just as you please.  I wash my hands of you," was Amy's short answer."Then I'll enjoy myself.  The boys are at home, and we'll have acomfortable time.  Goodness knows I need a little change, for elegancehas a bad effect upon my constitution," returned Jo gruffly, beingdisturbed by her failure to suit.An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty childrenspeedily soothed her ruffled feelings, and leaving Amy to entertain thehostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo devotedherself to the young folks and found the change refreshing.  Shelistened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers andpoodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that "Tom Brown was a brick,"regardless of the improper form of praise, and when one lad proposed avisit to his turtle tank, she went with an alacrity which caused Mammato smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was leftin a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, anddearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from the hands of aninspired Frenchwoman.Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herselfto her heart's content.  Mr. Tudor's uncle had married an English ladywho was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the wholefamily with great respect, for in spite of her American birth andbreeding, she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the bestof us--that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings whichset the most democratic nation under the sun in ferment at the comingof a royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still hassomething to do with the love the young country bears the old, likethat of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him whileshe could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled.But even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of theBritish nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time, and when theproper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself fromthis aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hopingthat her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position whichshould bring disgrace upon the name of March.It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad.  For Jo sat on thegrass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dogreposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she relatedone of Laurie's pranks to her admiring audience.  One small child waspoking turtles with Amy's cherished parasol, a second was eatinggingerbread over Jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with hergloves, but all were enjoying themselves, and when Jo collected herdamaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to comeagain, "It was such fun to hear about Laurie's larks.""Capital boys, aren't they?  I feel quite young and brisk again afterthat." said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly fromhabit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol."Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?" asked Amy, wisely refraining fromany comment upon Jo's dilapidated appearance."Don't like him, he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries hisfather, and doesn't speak respectfully of his mother.  Laurie says heis fast, and I don't consider him a desirable acquaintance, so I lethim alone.""You might treat him civilly, at least.  You gave him a cool nod, andjust now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain,whose father keeps a grocery store.  If you had just reversed the nodand the bow, it would have been right," said Amy reprovingly."No, it wouldn't," returned Jo, "I neither like, respect, nor admireTudor, though his grandfather's uncle's nephew's niece was a thirdcousin to a lord.  Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever.I think well of him, and like to show that I do, for he is a gentlemanin spite of the brown paper parcels.""It's no use trying to argue with you," began Amy."Not the least, my dear," interrupted Jo, "so let us look amiable, anddrop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I'm deeplygrateful."The family cardcase having done its duty the girls walked on, and Jouttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and beingtold that the young ladies were engaged."Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March today.  We can run downthere any time, and it's really a pity to trail through the dust in ourbest bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross.""Speak for yourself, if you please.  Aunt March likes to have us payher the compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call. It's alittle thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don't believe itwill hurt your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumpingboys spoil them.  Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of yourbonnet.""What a good girl you are, Amy!" said Jo, with a repentant glance fromher own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh andspotless still.  "I wish it was as easy for me to do little things toplease people as it is for you.  I think of them, but it takes too muchtime to do them, so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, andlet the small ones slip, but they tell best in the end, I fancy."Amy smiled and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air,"Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones, for theyhave no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you'dremember that, and practice it, you'd be better liked than I am,because there is more of you.""I'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I'm willing to ownthat you are right, only it's easier for me to risk my life for aperson than to be pleasant to him when I don't feel like it.  It's agreat misfortune to have such strong likes and dislikes, isn't it?""It's a greater not to be able to hide them.  I don't mind saying thatI don't approve of Tudor any more than you do, but I'm not called uponto tell him so.  Neither are you, and there is no use in makingyourself disagreeable because he is.""But I think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men, andhow can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do anygood, as I know to my sorrow, since I've had Teddie to manage.  Butthere are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word,and I say we ought to do it to others if we can.""Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can't be taken as a sample of otherboys," said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would haveconvulsed the 'remarkable boy' if he had heard it.  "If we were belles,or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps, butfor us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don't approveof them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn't have aparticle of effect, and we should only be considered odd andpuritanical.""So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merelybecause we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That's a nice sortof morality.""I can't argue about it, I only know that it's the way of the world,and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for theirpains.  I don't like reformers, and I hope you never try to be one.""I do like them, and I shall be one if I can, for in spite of thelaughing the world would never get on without them.  We can't agreeabout that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new. You willget on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I shouldrather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think.""Well, compose yourself now, and don't worry Aunt with your new ideas.""I'll try not to, but I'm always possessed to burst out with someparticularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her.  It'smy doom, and I can't help it."They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some veryinteresting subject, but they dropped it as the girls came in, with aconscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about theirnieces.  Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned, butAmy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper and pleasedeverybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind.  This amiable spiritwas felt at once, and both aunts 'my deared' her affectionately,looking what they afterward said emphatically, "That child improvesevery day.""Are you going to help about the fair, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amysat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so wellin the young."Yes, Aunt.  Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend atable, as I have nothing but my time to give.""I'm not," put in Jo decidedly.  "I hate to be patronized, and theChesters think it's a great favor to allow us to help with their highlyconnected fair.  I wonder you consented, Amy, they only want you towork.""I am willing to work.  It's for the freedmen as well as the Chesters,and I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun.Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant.""Quite right and proper.  I like your grateful spirit, my dear. It's apleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts.  Some do not, andthat is trying," observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles atJo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression.If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balancefor one of them, she would have turned dove-like in a minute, butunfortunately, we don't have windows in our breasts, and cannot seewhat goes on in the minds of our friends.  Better for us that we cannotas a general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such asaving of time and temper.  By her next speech, Jo deprived herself ofseveral years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art ofholding her tongue."I don't like favors, they oppress and make me feel like a slave.  I'drather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent.""Ahem!" coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March."I told you so," said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol.Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose inthe air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting."Do you speak French, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, laying a hand on Amy's."Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as oftenas I like," replied Amy, with a grateful look, which caused the oldlady to smile affably."How are you about languages?" asked Mrs. Carrol of Jo."Don't know a word.  I'm very stupid about studying anything, can'tbear French, it's such a slippery, silly sort of language," was thebrusque reply.Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy,"You are quite strong and well now, dear, I believe?  Eyes don'ttrouble you any more, do they?""Not at all, thank you, ma'am.  I'm very well, and mean to do greatthings next winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever thatjoyful time arrives.""Good girl!  You deserve to go, and I'm sure you will some day," saidAunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up herball for her.    Crosspatch, draw the latch,    Sit by the fire and spin,squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair topeep into Jo's face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquirythat it was impossible to help laughing."Most observing bird," said the old lady."Come and take a walk, my dear?" cried Polly, hopping toward the chinacloset, with a look suggestive of a lump of sugar."Thank you, I will.  Come Amy." and Jo brought the visit to an end,feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect uponher constitution.  She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amykissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them theimpression of shadow and sunshine, which impression caused Aunt Marchto say, as they vanished..."You'd better do it, Mary.  I'll supply the money." and Aunt Carrol toreply decidedly, "I certainly will, if her father and mother consent."CHAPTER THIRTYCONSEQUENCESMrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it wasconsidered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to beinvited to take a table, and everyone was much interested in thematter.  Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for allparties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of herlife, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get oneasily.  The 'haughty, uninteresting creature' was let severely alone,but Amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of theart table, and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriateand valuable contributions to it.Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened, thenthere occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almostimpossible to avoid, when some five-and-twenty women, old and young,with all their private piques and prejudices, try to work together.May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greaterfavorite than herself, and just at this time several triflingcircumstances occurred to increase the feeling.  Amy's daintypen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed May's painted vases--that was onethorn.  Then the all conquering Tudor had danced four times with Amy ata late party and only once with May--that was thorn number two.  Butthe chief grievance that rankled in her soul, and gave an excuse forher unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip hadwhispered to her, that the March girls had made fun of her at theLambs'. All the blame of this should have fallen upon Jo, for hernaughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection, and thefrolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke to escape.  No hint of this hadreached the culprits, however, and Amy's dismay can be imagined, when,the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touchesto her pretty table, Mrs. Chester, who, of course, resented thesupposed ridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but with acold look..."I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies aboutmy giving this table to anyone but my girls.  As this is the mostprominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they arethe chief getters-up of the fair, it is thought best for them to takethis place.  I'm sorry, but I know you are too sincerely interested inthe cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall haveanother table if you like."Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver thislittle speech, but when the time came, she found it rather difficult toutter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspicious eyes looking straight ather full of surprise and trouble.Amy felt that there was something behind this, but could not guesswhat, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did,"Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?""Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg.  It's merely a matterof expediency, you see, my girls will naturally take the lead, and thistable is considered their proper place.  I think it very appropriate toyou, and feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty, butwe must give up our private wishes, of course, and I will see that youhave a good place elsewhere. Wouldn't you like the flower table? Thelittle girls undertook it, but they are discouraged.  You could make acharming thing of it, and the flower table is always attractive youknow.""Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which enlightened Amyas to one cause of her sudden fall from favor.  She colored angrily,but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered withunexpected amiability..."It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester.  I'll give up my place hereat once, and attend to the flowers, if you like.""You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," beganMay, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the prettyracks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had socarefully made and so gracefully arranged.  She meant it kindly, butAmy mistook her meaning, and said quickly..."Oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping hercontributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling thatherself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness."Now she's mad.  Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak,  Mama,"said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table."Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifleashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, whichcordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fellto work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically.But everything seemed against her.  It was late, and she was tired.Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to help her, and thelittle girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chatteredlike so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artlessefforts to preserve the most perfect order.  The evergreen archwouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened totumble down on her head when the hanging baskets were filled.  Her besttile got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid'scheek.  She bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in adraft, which last affliction filled her with apprehensions for themorrow.  Any girl reader who has suffered like afflictions willsympathize with poor Amy and wish her well through her task.There was great indignation at home when she told her story thatevening.  Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had doneright.  Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all, and Jodemanded why she didn't take all her pretty things and leave those meanpeople to get on without her."Because they are mean is no reason why I should be.  I hate suchthings, and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don't intend toshow it.  They will feel that more than angry speeches or huffyactions, won't they, Marmee?""That's the right spirit, my dear.  A kiss for a blow is always best,though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said her mother, withthe air of one who had learned the difference between preaching andpracticing.In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate,Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering herenemy by kindness.  She began well, thanks to a silent reminder thatcame to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged hertable that morning, while the little girls were in the anteroom fillingthe baskets, she took up her pet production, a little book, the antiquecover of which her father had found among his treasures, and in whichon leaves of vellum she had beautifully illuminated different texts.As she turned the pages rich in dainty devices with very pardonablepride, her eye fell upon one verse that made her stop and think.Framed in a brilliant scrollwork of scarlet, blue and gold, with littlespirits of good will helping one another up and down among the thornsand flowers, were the words, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.""I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from the brightpage to May's discontented face behind the big vases, that could nothide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled.  Amy stood aminute, turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweetrebuke for all heartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit. Many wiseand true sermons are preached us every day by unconscious ministers instreet, school, office, or home.  Even a fair table may become apulpit, if it can offer the good and helpful words which are never outof season.  Amy's conscience preached her a little sermon from thattext, then and there, and she did what many of us do not always do,took the sermon to heart, and straightway put it in practice.A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiring the prettythings, and talking over the change of saleswomen.  They dropped theirvoices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of thestory and judging accordingly.  It was not pleasant, but a betterspirit had come over her, and presently a chance offered for provingit.  She heard May say sorrowfully..."It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don'twant to fill up with odds and ends.  The table was just complete then.Now it's spoiled.""I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggested someone."How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did not finish,for Amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly..."You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them.  Iwas just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for they belong to yourtable rather than mine.  Here they are, please take them, and forgiveme if I was hasty in carrying them away last night."As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile,and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendlything than it was to stay and be thanked for it."Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?" cried one girl.May's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose temper wasevidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with adisagreeable laugh, "Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn't sell themat her own table."Now, that was hard.  When we make little sacrifices we like to havethem appreciated, at least, and for a minute Amy was sorry she had doneit, feeling that virtue was not always its own reward. But it is, asshe presently discovered, for her spirits began to rise, and her tableto blossom under her skillful hands, the girls were very kind, and thatone little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly.It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat behind hertable, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon.  Fewcared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop longbefore night.The art table was the most attractive in the room.  There was a crowdabout it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to andfro with important faces and rattling money boxes.  Amy often lookedwistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt at home andhappy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do.  It might seem nohardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was notonly tedious, but very trying, and the thought of Laurie and hisfriends made it a real martyrdom.She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quietthat they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made nocomplaint, and did not even tell what she had done.  Her mother gaveher an extra cordial cup of tea.  Beth helped her dress, and made acharming little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished her family bygetting herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that thetables were about to be turned."Don't do anything rude, pray Jo; I won't have any fuss made, so let itall pass and behave yourself," begged Amy, as she departed early,hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor littletable."I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to every one Iknow, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible. Teddy andhis boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet." returnedJo, leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie.  Presently the familiartramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him."Is that my boy?""As sure as this is my girl!" and Laurie tucked her hand under his armwith the air of a man whose every wish was gratified."Oh, Teddy, such doings!" and Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal."A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and I'll behanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, and camp downbefore her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing her cause withwarmth."The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may notarrive in time.  I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but Ishouldn't wonder if they never came at all.  When people do one meanthing they are very likely to do another," observed Jo in a disgustedtone."Didn't Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to.""I didn't know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grandpa waspoorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did want some.""Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking? They arejust as much yours as mine.  Don't we always go halves in everything?"began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn thorny."Gracious, I hope not!  Half of some of your things wouldn't suit me atall.  But we mustn't stand philandering here.  I've got to help Amy, soyou go and make yourself splendid, and if you'll be so very kind as tolet Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I'll bless youforever.""Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shutthe gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through thebars, "Go away, Teddy, I'm busy."Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, forHayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a loverly basket arrangedin his best manner for a centerpiece.  Then the March family turned outen masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not onlycame, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy's taste, andapparently enjoying themselves very much.  Laurie and his friendsgallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets,encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest spot inthe room.  Amy was in her element now, and out of gratitude, if nothingmore, was as spritely and gracious as possible, coming to theconclusion, about that time, that virtue was its own reward, after all.Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy was happilysurrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the Hall, pickingup various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject ofthe Chester change of base.  She reproached herself for her share ofthe ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible.  Shealso discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, andconsidered her a model of magnanimity.  As she passed the art table,she glanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no sign of them."Tucked away out of sight, I dare say," thought Jo, who could forgiveher own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered her family."Good evening, Miss Jo.  How does Amy get on?" asked May with aconciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could begenerous."She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she isenjoying herself.  The flower table is always attractive, you know,'especially to gentlemen'." Jo couldn't resist giving that little slap,but May took it so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell topraising the great vases, which still remained unsold."Is Amy's illumination anywhere about?  I took a fancy to buy that forFather," said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister's work."Everything of Amy's sold long ago.  I took care that the right peoplesaw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us," returnedMay, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy had,that day.Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, and Amy lookedboth touched and surprised by the report of May's word and manner."Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tablesas generously as you have by mine, especially the art table," she said,ordering out 'Teddy's own', as the girls called the college friends."'Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table, but do yourduty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of art in every senseof the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanxprepared to take the field."To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," said littleParker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, andgetting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said..."Very well, my son, for a small boy!" and walked him off, with apaternal pat on the head."Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coalsof fire on her enemy's head.To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, butpervaded the hall with one under each arm.  The other gentlemenspeculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, andwandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, paintedfans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases.Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and saidsomething to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beamwith satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride andanxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure tillseveral days later.The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amy goodnight, shedid not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a lookwhich said 'forgive and forget'.  That satisfied Amy, and when she gothome she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with agreat bouquet in each.  "The reward of merit for a magnanimous March,"as Laurie announced with a flourish."You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of characterthan I ever gave you credit for, Amy.  You've behaved sweetly, and Irespect you with all my heart," said Jo warmly, as they brushed theirhair together late that night."Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive.  It musthave been dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting your hearton selling your own pretty things.  I don't believe I could have doneit as kindly as you did," added Beth from her pillow."Why, girls, you needn't praise me so.  I only did as I'd be done by.You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a truegentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I knowhow.  I can't explain exactly, but I want to be above the littlemeannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women.  I'm farfrom it now, but I do my best, and hope in time to be what Mother is."Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, "I understand nowwhat you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again. You are getting onfaster than you think, and I'll take lessons of you in true politeness,for you've learned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary, you'll getyour reward some day, and no one will be more delighted than I shall."A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to bedelighted.  A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March's face wasilluminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, whowere with her, demanded what the glad tidings were."Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants...""Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in anuncontrollable rapture."No, dear, not you.  It's Amy.""Oh, Mother!  She's too young, it's my turn first.  I've wanted it solong.  It would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid.  Imust go!""I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo.  Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it isnot for us to dictate when she offers such a favor.""It's always so.  Amy has all the fun and I have all the work. It isn'tfair, oh, it isn't fair!" cried Jo passionately."I'm afraid it's partly your own fault, dear.  When Aunt spoke to methe other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independentspirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said--'Iplanned at first to ask Jo, but as 'favors burden her', and she 'hatesFrench', I think I won't venture to invite her.  Amy is more docile,will make a good companion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help thetrip may give her.""Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue!  Why can't I learn to keep itquiet?" groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing.  Whenshe had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March saidsorrowfully..."I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, sotry to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasure byreproaches or regrets.""I'll try," said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up thebasket she had joyfully upset.  "I'll take a leaf out of her book, andtry not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minuteof happiness.  But it won't be easy, for it is a dreadfuldisappointment," and poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she heldwith several very bitter tears."Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and I'm glad youare not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing her, basket andall, with such a clinging touch and loving face that Jo felt comfortedin spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears,and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden her with this favor, and see howgratefully she would bear it.By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the familyjubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but withoutrepinings at Amy's good fortune.  The young lady herself received thenews as tidings of great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture,and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that evening, leavingsuch trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed invisions of art than herself."It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, asshe scraped her best palette.  "It will decide my career, for if I haveany genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to proveit.""Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the newcollars which were to be handed over to Amy."Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied theaspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But she made a wry faceat the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent onvigorous measures before she gave up her hopes."No, you won't.  You hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man,and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days," said Jo."Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that onewill.  I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be an artist myself, Ishould like to be able to help those who are," said Amy, smiling, as ifthe part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poordrawing teacher."Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh.  "If you wish it you'll have it, for yourwishes are always granted--mine never.""Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose withher knife."Rather!""Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forumfor relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times.""Thank you.  I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful daycomes, if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague butmagnificent offer as gratefully as she could.There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a fermenttill Amy was off.  Jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blueribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and criedtill she couldn't cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till thesteamer sailed.  Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, itsuddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between herand those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the lastlingerer, saying with a sob..."Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything should happen...""I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I'll come and comfortyou," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon tokeep his word.So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always new andbeautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her fromthe shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befallthe happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could seenothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea.CHAPTER THIRTY-ONEOUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENTLondonDearest People, Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel,Piccadilly.  It's not a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped here yearsago, and won't go anywhere else.  However, we don't mean to stay long,so it's no great matter.  Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I enjoy itall!  I never can, so I'll only give you bits out of my notebook, forI've done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started.I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but afterthat I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty ofpleasant people to amuse me.  Everyone was very kind to me, especiallythe officers.  Don't laugh, Jo, gentlemen really are very necessaryaboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one, and as they havenothing to do, it's a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they wouldsmoke themselves to death, I'm afraid.Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, sowhen I had done what I could for them, I went and enjoyed myself.  Suchwalks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves!  It wasalmost as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on sograndly.  I wish Beth could have come, it would have done her so muchgood.  As for Jo, she would have gone up and sat on the maintop jib, orwhatever the high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, andtooted on the captain's speaking trumpet, she'd have been in such astate of rapture.It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and foundit very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there,ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's countryseats in thevalleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning,but I didn't regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full oflittle boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead.  Inever shall forget it.At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, Mr. Lennox, and whenI said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed, and sung,with a look at me...    "Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?    She lives on the banks of Killarney;    From the glance of her eye,    Shun danger and fly,    For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney."Wasn't that nonsensical?We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours.  It's a dirty, noisy place,and I was glad to leave it.  Uncle rushed out and bought a pair ofdogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved_à la_ mutton chop, the first thing. Then he flattered himself that helooked like a true Briton, but the first time he had the mud cleanedoff his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an American stood inthem, and said, with a grin, "There yer har, sir.  I've given 'em thelatest Yankee shine."  It amused Uncle immensely.  Oh, I must tell youwhat that absurd Lennox did!  He got his friend Ward, who came on withus, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my room wasa lovely one, with "Robert Lennox's compliments," on the card.  Wasn'tthat fun, girls? I like traveling.I never shall get to London if I don't hurry.  The trip was like ridingthrough a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes. Thefarmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves,latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors.  Thevery cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep inclover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never gotnervous like Yankee biddies.  Such perfect color I never saw, the grassso green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, I was in arapture all the way.  So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side tothe other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at therate of sixty miles an hour.  Aunt was tired and went to sleep, butUncle read his guidebook, and wouldn't be astonished at anything. Thisis the way we went on.  Amy, flying up--"Oh, that must be Kenilworth,that gray place among the trees!"  Flo, darting to my window--"Howsweet!  We must go there sometime, won't we Papa?" Uncle, calmlyadmiring his boots--"No, my dear, not unless you want beer, that's abrewery."A pause--then Flo cried out, "Bless me, there's a gallows and a mangoing up."  "Where, where?" shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall postswith a crossbeam and some dangling chains.  "A colliery," remarksUncle, with a twinkle of the eye.  "Here's a lovely flock of lambs alllying down," says Amy.  "See, Papa, aren't they pretty?" added Flosentimentally.  "Geese, young ladies," returns Uncle, in a tone thatkeeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy the _Flirtations ofCaptain Cavendish_, and I have the scenery all to myself.Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to beseen but fog and umbrellas.  We rested, unpacked, and shopped a littlebetween the showers.  Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came offin such a hurry I wasn't half ready. A white hat and blue feather, amuslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw.  Shoppingin Regent Street is perfectly splendid.  Things seem so cheap, niceribbons only sixpence a yard.  I laid in a stock, but shall get mygloves in Paris.  Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich?Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt andUncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward thatit wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone.  It was sodroll!  For when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove sofast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him, but he was upoutside behind somewhere, and I couldn't get at him.  He didn't hear mecall, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quitehelpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneckpace. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and onpoking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said..."Now, then, mum?"I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, withan "Aye, aye, mum," the man made his horse walk, as if going to afuneral.  I poked again and said, "A little faster," then off he went,helter-skelter as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are morearistocratic than we look.  The Duke of Devonshire lives near.  I oftensee his footmen lounging at the back gate, and the Duke of Wellington'shouse is not far off.  Such sights as I saw, my dear!  It was as goodas Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red andyellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvetcoats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front.  Smart maids, withthe rosiest children I ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep,dandies in queer English hats and lavender kids lounging about, andtall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side,looking so funny I longed to sketch them.Rotten Row means 'Route de Roi', or the king's way, but now it's morelike a riding school than anything else.  The horses are splendid, andthe men, especially the grooms, ride well, but the women are stiff, andbounce, which isn't according to our rules.  I longed to show them atearing American gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, intheir scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toyNoah's Ark.  Everyone rides--old men, stout ladies, littlechildren--and the young folks do a deal of flirting here, I saw a pairexchange rose buds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole,and I thought it rather a nice little idea.In the P.M.  to Westminster Abbey, but don't expect me to describe it,that's impossible, so I'll only say it was sublime! This evening we aregoing to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiestday of my life.It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning withouttelling you what happened last evening.  Who do you think came in, aswe were at tea?  Laurie's English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn!  Iwas so surprised, for I shouldn't have known them but for the cards.Both are tall fellows with whiskers, Fred handsome in the Englishstyle, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses nocrutches.  They had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came toask us to their house, but Uncle won't go, so we shall return the call,and see them as we can.  They went to the theater with us, and we didhave such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and Italked over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each otherall our days.  Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear ofher ill health.  Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his'respectful compliments to the big hat'. Neither of them had forgottenCamp Laurence, or the fun we had there.  What ages ago it seems,doesn't it?Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop.  Ireally feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late,with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks,theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say "Ah!" and twirltheir blond mustaches with the true English lordliness.  I long to seeyou all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving...AMYPARISDear girls,In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughnswere, and what pleasant parties they made for us.  I enjoyed the tripsto Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, forat Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and at the Museum, rooms full ofpictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other greatcreatures.  The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regularEnglish picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than Icould copy, also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up.  We 'did'London to our heart's content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorryto go away, for though English people are slow to take you in, whenthey once make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone inhospitality, I think.  The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter,and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don't, for Grace and Iare great friends, and the boys very nice fellows, especially Fred.Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying hehad come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked soberat first, but he was so cool about it she couldn't say a word.  And nowwe get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French likea native, and I don't know what we should do without him.  Uncledoesn't know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as ifit would make people understand him.  Aunt's pronunciation isold-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that weknew a good deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred dothe '_parley vooing_', as Uncle calls it.Such delightful times as we are having!  Sight-seeing from morning tillnight, stopping for nice lunches in the gay _cafes_, and meeting withall sorts of droll adventures.  Rainy days I spend in the Louvre,revelling in pictures.  Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some ofthe finest, because she has no soul for art, but I have, and I'mcultivating eye and taste as fast as I can.  She would like the relicsof great people better, for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat andgray coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush, also MarieAntoinette's little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword,and many other interesting things.  I'll talk for hours about them whenI come, but haven't time to write.The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of _bijouterie_ andlovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy them.Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow it.  Then theBois and Champs Elysees are _tres magnifique_. I've seen the imperialfamily several times, the emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, theempress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought--purpledress, green hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap is a handsome boy, whosits chatting to his tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as hepasses in his four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jacketsand a mounted guard before and behind.We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though theantique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Pere la Chaise is verycurious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and looking in,one sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs forthe mourners to sit in when they come to lament.  That is so Frenchy.Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and sitting on the balcony, we lookup and down the long, brilliant street.  It is so pleasant that wespend our evenings talking there when too tired with our day's work togo out.  Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the mostagreeable young man I ever knew--except Laurie, whose manners are morecharming.  I wish Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men, however,the Vaughns are very rich and come of an excellent family, so I won'tfind fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland, and as we shall travelfast, I shall only be able to give you hasty letters.  I keep my diary,and try to 'remember correctly and describe clearly all that I see andadmire', as Father advised. It is good practice for me, and with mysketchbook will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.Adieu, I embrace you tenderly. _"Votre Amie."_HEIDELBERGMy dear Mamma,Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell youwhat has happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see.The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it withall my might.  Get Father's old guidebooks and read about it.  Ihaven't words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblentz we had alovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquaintedon the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night, and aboutone o'clock Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under ourwindows.  We flew up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showedus Fred and the students singing away down below.  It was the mostromantic thing I ever saw--the river, the bridge of boats, the greatfortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heartof stone.When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramblefor them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughingaway, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose.  Next morning Fred showed meone of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked verysentimental.  I laughed at him, and said I didn't throw it, but Flo,which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, andturned sensible again.  I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with thatboy, it begins to look like it.The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where Fred lostsome money, and I scolded him.  He needs someone to look after him whenFrank is not with him.  Kate said once she hoped he'd marry soon, and Iquite agree with her that it would be well for him.  Frankfurt wasdelightful.  I saw Goethe's house, Schiller's statue, and Dannecker'sfamous 'Ariadne.'  It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed itmore if I had known the story better.  I didn't like to ask, aseveryone knew it or pretended they did.  I wish Jo would tell me allabout it.  I ought to have read more, for I find I don't know anything,and it mortifies me.Now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and Fred has justgone.  He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him.I never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till theserenade night.  Since then I've begun to feel that the moonlightwalks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to himthan fun.  I haven't flirted, Mother, truly, but remembered what yousaid to me, and have done my very best.  I can't help it if people likeme.  I don't try to make them, and it worries me if I don't care forthem, though Jo says I haven't got any heart.  Now I know Mother willshake her head, and the girls say, "Oh, the mercenary little wretch!",but I've made up my mind, and if Fred asks me, I shall accept him,though I'm not madly in love.  I like him, and we get on comfortablytogether.  He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich--ever somuch richer than the Laurences.  I don't think his family would object,and I should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generouspeople, and they like me.  Fred, as the eldest twin, will have theestate, I suppose, and such a splendid one it is!  A city house in afashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice ascomfortable and full of solid luxury, such as English people believein.  I like it, for it's genuine.  I've seen the plate, the familyjewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with itspark, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses.  Oh, it would beall I should ask!  And I'd rather have it than any title such as girlssnap up so readily, and find nothing behind.  I may be mercenary, but Ihate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer than I canhelp.  One of us _must_ marry well.  Meg didn't, Jo won't, Beth can'tyet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round.  I wouldn't marrya man I hated or despised.  You may be sure of that, and though Fred isnot my model hero, he does very well, and in time I should get fondenough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked.So I've been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for itwas impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me.  He said nothing, butlittle things showed it.  He never goes with Flo, always gets on myside of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when weare alone, and frowns at anyone else who ventures to speak to me.Yesterday at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and thensaid something to his friend, a rakish-looking baron, about '_einwonderschones Blondchen'_, Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut hismeat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate.  He isn't one of thecool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch bloodin him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least allof us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the PostRestante for letters.  We had a charming time poking about the ruins,the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made bythe elector long ago for his English wife.  I liked the great terracebest, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the roomsinside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion's head on thewall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it.  I felt as if I'dgot into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling throughthe valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, andwaiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl.  I had a feeling thatsomething was going to happen and I was ready for it.  I didn't feelblushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.By-and-by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying through thegreat arch to find me.  He looked so troubled that I forgot all aboutmyself, and asked what the matter was.  He said he'd just got a letterbegging him to come home, for Frank was very ill.  So he was going atonce on the night train and only had time to say good-by.  I was verysorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minutebecause he said, as he shook hands, and said it in a way that I couldnot mistake,  "I shall soon come back, you won't forget me, Amy?"I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, andthere was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he wasoff in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted tospeak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promisedhis father not to do anything of the sort yet a while, for he is a rashboy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law.  We shallsoon meet in Rome, and then, if I don't change my mind, I'll say "Yes,thank you," when he says "Will you, please?"Of course this is all _very private_, but I wished you to know what wasgoing on.  Don't be anxious about me, remember I am your 'prudent Amy',and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as youlike.  I'll use it if I can.  I wish I could see you for a good talk,Marmee.  Love and trust me.Ever your AMYCHAPTER THIRTY-TWOTENDER TROUBLES"Jo, I'm anxious about Beth.""Why, Mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came.""It's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits. I'm surethere is something on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is.""What makes you think so, Mother?""She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much asshe used.  I found her crying over the babies the other day.  When shesings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look inher face that I don't understand. This isn't like Beth, and it worriesme.""Have you asked her about it?""I have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my questions orlooked so distressed that I stopped.  I never force my children'sconfidence, and I seldom have to wait for long."Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemedquite unconscious of any secret disquietude but Beth's, and aftersewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo said, "I think she is growing up,and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets,without knowing why or being able to explain them.  Why, Mother, Beth'seighteen, but we don't realize it, and treat her like a child,forgetting she's a woman.""So she is.  Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her motherwith a sigh and a smile."Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts ofworries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one.  I promisenever to hop very far, if that is any comfort to you.""It's a great comfort, Jo.  I always feel strong when you are at home,now Meg is gone.  Beth is too feeble and Amy too young to depend upon,but when the tug comes, you are always ready.""Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there must always beone scrub in a family.  Amy is splendid in fine works and I'm not, butI feel in my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or halfthe family fall sick at once. Amy is distinguishing herself abroad, butif anything is amiss at home, I'm your man.""I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender littleheart to her Jo sooner than to anyone else.  Be very kind, and don'tlet her think anyone watches or talks about her.  If she only would getquite strong and cheerful again, I shouldn't have a wish in the world.""Happy woman!  I've got heaps.""My dear, what are they?""I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine. They arenot very wearing, so they'll keep." and Jo stitched away, with a wisenod which set her mother's heart at rest about her for the present atleast.While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched Beth, andafter many conflicting conjectures, finally settled upon one whichseemed to explain the change in her.  A slight incident gave Jo theclue to the mystery, she thought, and lively fancy, loving heart didthe rest.  She was affecting to write busily one Saturday afternoon,when she and Beth were alone together.  Yet as she scribbled, she kepther eye on her sister, who seemed unusually quiet.  Sitting at thewindow, Beth's work often dropped into her lap, and she leaned her headupon her hand, in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on thedull, autumnal landscape.  Suddenly some one passed below, whistlinglike an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out, "All serene! Comingin tonight."Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the passer-bytill his quick tramp died away, then said softly as if to herself, "Howstrong and well and happy that dear boy looks.""Hum!" said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face, for the brightcolor faded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and presently atear lay shining on the window ledge.  Beth whisked it off, and in herhalf-averted face read a tender sorrow that made her own eyes fill.Fearing to betray herself, she slipped away, murmuring something aboutneeding more paper."Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!" she said, sitting down in her ownroom, pale with the shock of the discovery which she believed she hadjust made.  "I never dreamed of such a thing. What will Mother say?  Iwonder if her..."  there Jo stopped and turned scarlet with a suddenthought.  "If he shouldn't love back again, how dreadful it would be.He must.  I'll make him!" and she shook her head threateningly at thepicture of the mischievous-looking boy laughing at her from the wall."Oh dear, we are growing up with a vengeance.  Here's Meg married and amamma, Amy flourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love.  I'm the onlyone that has sense enough to keep out of mischief." Jo thought intentlyfor a minute with her eyes fixed on the picture, then she smoothed outher wrinkled forehead and said, with a decided nod at the faceopposite, "No thank you, sir, you're very charming, but you've no morestability than a weathercock.  So you needn't write touching notes andsmile in that insinuating way, for it won't do a bit of good, and Iwon't have it."Then she sighed, and fell into a reverie from which she did not waketill the early twilight sent her down to take new observations, whichonly confirmed her suspicion.  Though Laurie flirted with Amy and jokedwith Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle,but so was everybody's. Therefore, no one thought of imagining that hecared more for her than for the others.  Indeed, a general impressionhad prevailed in the family of late that 'our boy' was getting fonderthan ever of Jo, who, however, wouldn't hear a word upon the subjectand scolded violently if anyone dared to suggest it. If they had knownthe various tender passages which had been nipped in the bud, theywould have had the immense satisfaction of saying, "I told you so."But Jo hated 'philandering', and wouldn't allow it, always having ajoke or a smile ready at the least sign of impending danger.When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month,but these small flames were as brief as ardent, did no damage, and muchamused Jo, who took great interest in the alternations of hope,despair, and resignation, which were confided to her in their weeklyconferences.  But there came a time when Laurie ceased to worship atmany shrines, hinted darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulgedoccasionally in Byronic fits of gloom.  Then he avoided the tendersubject altogether, wrote philosophical notes to Jo, turned studious,and gave out that he was going to 'dig', intending to graduate in ablaze of glory.  This suited the young lady better than twilightconfidences, tender pressures of the hand, and eloquent glances of theeye, for with Jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferredimaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the formercould be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latterwere less manageable.Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and Jowatched Laurie that night as she had never done before.  If she had notgot the new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual inthe fact that Beth was very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her.  Buthaving given the rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her ata great pace, and common sense, being rather weakened by a long courseof romance writing, did not come to the rescue.  As usual Beth lay onthe sofa and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with allsorts of gossip, for she depended on her weekly 'spin', and he neverdisappointed her.  But that evening Jo fancied that Beth's eyes restedon the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar pleasure, and thatshe listened with intense interest to an account of some excitingcricket match, though the phrases, 'caught off a tice', 'stumped offhis ground', and 'the leg hit for three', were as intelligible to heras Sanskrit.  She also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it,that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie's manner, thathe dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was alittle absent-minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with anassiduity that was really almost tender."Who knows?  Stranger things have happened," thought Jo, as she fussedabout the room.  "She will make quite an angel of him, and he will makelife delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only loveeach other.  I don't see how he can help it, and I do believe he wouldif the rest of us were out of the way."As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that sheought to dispose of herself with all speed.  But where should she go?And burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, shesat down to settle that point.Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa--long, broad,well-cushioned, and low, a trifle shabby, as well it might be, for thegirls had slept and sprawled on it as babies, fished over the back,rode on the arms, and had menageries under it as children, and restedtired heads, dreamed dreams, and listened to tender talk on it as youngwomen.  They all loved it, for it was a family refuge, and one cornerhad always been Jo's favorite lounging place.  Among the many pillowsthat adorned the venerable couch was one, hard, round, covered withprickly horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end.This repulsive pillow was her especial property, being used as a weaponof defense, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much slumber.Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deepaversion, having been unmercifully pummeled with it in former days whenromping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from the seat hemost coveted next to Jo in the sofa corner.  If 'the sausage' as theycalled it, stood on end, it was a sign that he might approach andrepose, but if it lay flat across the sofa, woe to man, woman, or childwho dared disturb it!  That evening Jo forgot to barricade her corner,and had not been in her seat five minutes, before a massive formappeared beside her, and with both arms spread over the sofa back, bothlong legs stretched out before him, Laurie exclaimed, with a sigh ofsatisfaction..."Now, this is filling at the price.""No slang," snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow.  But it was too late,there was no room for it, and coasting onto the floor, it disappearedin a most mysterious manner."Come, Jo, don't be thorny.  After studying himself to a skeleton allthe week, a fellow deserves petting and ought to get it.""Beth will pet you.  I'm busy.""No, she's not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort of thing,unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it.  Have you? Do you hateyour boy, and want to fire pillows at him?"Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard,but Jo quenched 'her boy' by turning on him with a stern query, "Howmany bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?""Not one, upon my word.  She's engaged.  Now then.""I'm glad of it, that's one of your foolish extravagances, sendingflowers and things to girls for whom you don't care two pins,"continued Jo reprovingly."Sensible girls for whom I do care whole papers of pins won't let mesend them 'flowers and things', so what can I do? My feelings need a'vent'.""Mother doesn't approve of flirting even in fun, and you do flirtdesperately, Teddy.""I'd give anything if I could answer, 'So do you'.  As I can't, I'llmerely say that I don't see any harm in that pleasant little game, ifall parties understand that it's only play.""Well, it does look pleasant, but I can't learn how it's done. I'vetried, because one feels awkward in company not to do as everybody elseis doing, but I don't seem to get on", said Jo, forgetting to playmentor."Take lessons of Amy, she has a regular talent for it.""Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far.  Isuppose it's natural to some people to please without trying, andothers to always say and do the wrong thing in the wrong place.""I'm glad you can't flirt.  It's really refreshing to see a sensible,straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a foolof herself.  Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really dogo on at such a rate I'm ashamed of them. They don't mean any harm, I'msure, but if they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward,they'd mend their ways, I fancy.""They do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellowsget the worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit.  If youbehaved properly, they would, but knowing you like their nonsense, theykeep it up, and then you blame them.""Much you know about it, ma'am," said Laurie in a superior tone. "Wedon't like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes.The pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully,among gentleman. Bless your innocent soul!  If you could be in my placefor a month you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon myword, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always want to saywith our friend Cock Robin...    "Out upon you, fie upon you,     Bold-faced jig!"It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict betweenLaurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his verynatural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable societyshowed him many samples.  Jo knew that 'young Laurence' was regarded asa most eligible parti by worldly mamas, was much smiled upon by theirdaughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcombof him, so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would bespoiled, and rejoiced more than she confessed to find that he stillbelieved in modest girls.  Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone,she said, dropping her voice, "If you must have a 'vent', Teddy, go anddevote yourself to one of the 'pretty, modest girls' whom you dorespect, and not waste your time with the silly ones.""You really advise it?" and Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture ofanxiety and merriment in his face."Yes, I do, but you'd better wait till you are through college, on thewhole, and be fitting yourself for the place meantime.  You're not halfgood enough for--well, whoever the modest girl may be." and Jo looked alittle queer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her."That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quitenew to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently wound Jo's apron tasselround his finger."Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo, adding aloud, "Go andsing to me.  I'm dying for some music, and always like yours.""I'd rather stay here, thank you.""Well, you can't, there isn't room.  Go and make yourself useful, sinceyou are too big to be ornamental.  I thought you hated to be tied to awoman's apron string?" retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words ofhis own."Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie gave an audacioustweak at the tassel."Are you going?" demanded Jo, diving for the pillow.He fled at once, and the minute it was well, "Up with the bonnets ofbonnie Dundee," she slipped away to return no more till the younggentleman departed in high dudgeon.Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the soundof a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's bedside, with the anxiousinquiry, "What is it, dear?""I thought you were asleep," sobbed Beth."Is it the old pain, my precious?""No, it's a new one, but I can bear it," and Beth tried to check hertears."Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did the other.""You can't, there is no cure."  There Beth's voice gave way, andclinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly that Jo wasfrightened."Where is it?  Shall I call Mother?""No, no, don't call her, don't tell her.  I shall be better soon.  Liedown here and 'poor' my head.  I'll be quiet and go to sleep, indeed Iwill."Jo obeyed, but as her hand went softly to and fro across Beth's hotforehead and wet eyelids, her heart was very full and she longed tospeak.  But young as she was, Jo had learned that hearts, like flowers,cannot be rudely handled, but must open naturally, so though shebelieved she knew the cause of Beth's new pain, she only said, in hertenderest tone, "Does anything trouble you, deary?""Yes, Jo," after a long pause."Wouldn't it comfort you to tell me what it is?""Not now, not yet.""Then I won't ask, but remember, Bethy, that Mother and Jo are alwaysglad to hear and help you, if they can.""I know it.  I'll tell you by-and-by.""Is the pain better now?""Oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, Jo.""Go to sleep, dear.  I'll stay with you."So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quiteherself again, for at eighteen neither heads nor hearts ache long, anda loving word can medicine most ills.But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project forsome days, she confided it to her mother."You asked me the other day what my wishes were.  I'll tell you one ofthem, Marmee," she began, as they sat along together.  "I want to goaway somewhere this winter for a change.""Why, Jo?" and her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggesteda double meaning.With her eyes on her work Jo answered soberly, "I want something new.I feel restless and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more thanI am.  I brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirringup, so as I can be spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way andtry my wings.""Where will you hop?""To New York.  I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it.  You knowMrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach herchildren and sew.  It's rather hard to find just the thing, but I thinkI should suit if I tried.""My dear, go out to service in that great boarding house!" and Mrs.March looked surprised, but not displeased."It's not exactly going out to service, for Mrs. Kirke is yourfriend--the kindest soul that ever lived--and would make thingspleasant for me, I know.  Her family is separate from the rest, and noone knows me there.  Don't care if they do. It's honest work, and I'mnot ashamed of it.""Nor I.  But your writing?""All the better for the change.  I shall see and hear new things, getnew ideas, and even if I haven't much time there, I shall bring homequantities of material for my rubbish.""I have no doubt of it, but are these your only reasons for this suddenfancy?""No, Mother.""May I know the others?"Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color inher cheeks.  "It may be vain and wrong to say it, but--I'mafraid--Laurie is getting too fond of me.""Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to carefor you?" and Mrs. March looked anxious as she put the question."Mercy, no!  I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immenselyproud of him, but as for anything more, it's out of the question.""I'm glad of that, Jo.""Why, please?""Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another.  As friendsyou are very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow over, but Ifear you would both rebel if you were mated for life. You are too muchalike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strongwills, to get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinitepatience and forbearance, as well as love.""That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it. I'm gladyou think he is only beginning to care for me.  It would trouble mesadly to make him unhappy, for I couldn't fall in love with the dearold fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?""You are sure of his feeling for you?"The color deepened in Jo's cheeks as she answered, with the look ofmingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speakingof first lovers, "I'm afraid it is so, Mother.  He hasn't saidanything, but he looks a great deal. I think I had better go awaybefore it comes to anything.""I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go."Jo looked relieved, and after a pause, said, smiling, "How Mrs. Moffatwould wonder at your want of management, if she knew, and how she willrejoice that Annie may still hope.""Ah, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is thesame in all--the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and Iam content with her success.  You I leave to enjoy your liberty tillyou tire of it, for only then will you find that there is somethingsweeter.  Amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her.For Beth, I indulge no hopes except that she may be well.  By the way,she seems brighter this last day or two.  Have you spoken to her?'"Yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by-and-by.I said no more, for I think I know it," and Jo told her little story.Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of thecase, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that for Laurie's sakeJo should go away for a time."Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled, then I'llrun away before he can collect his wits and be tragic. Beth must thinkI'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie toher.  But she can pet and comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure himof this romantic notion.  He's been through so many little trials ofthe sort, he's used to it, and will soon get over his lovelornity."Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fearthat this 'little trial' would be harder than the others, and thatLaurie would not get over his 'lovelornity' as easily as heretofore.The plan was talked over in a family council and agreed upon, for Mrs.Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her.The teaching would render her independent, and such leisure as she gotmight be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and societywould be both useful and agreeable.  Jo liked the prospect and waseager to be gone, for the home nest was growing too narrow for herrestless nature and adventurous spirit.  When all was settled, withfear and trembling she told Laurie, but to her surprise he took it veryquietly.  He had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant, andwhen jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly,"So I am, and I mean this one shall stay turned."Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come onjust then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart, for Bethseemed more cheerful, and hoped she was doing the best for all."One thing I leave in your especial care," she said, the night beforeshe left."You mean your papers?" asked Beth."No, my boy.  Be very good to him, won't you?""Of course I will, but I can't fill your place, and he'll miss yousadly.""It won't hurt him, so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague,pet, and keep in order.""I'll do my best, for your sake," promised Beth, wondering why Jolooked at her so queerly.When Laurie said good-by, he whispered significantly, "It won't do abit of good, Jo.  My eye is on you, so mind what you do, or I'll comeand bring you home."CHAPTER THIRTY-THREEJO'S JOURNALNew York, NovemberDear Marmee and Beth,I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps to tell,though I'm not a fine young lady traveling on the continent. When Ilost sight of Father's dear old face, I felt a trifle blue, and mighthave shed a briny drop or two, if an Irish lady with four smallchildren, all crying more or less, hadn't diverted my mind, for Iamused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every timethey opened their mouths to roar.Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared uplikewise and enjoyed my journey with all my heart.Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even in thatbig house full of strangers.  She gave me a funny little skyparlor--all she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in asunny window, so I can sit here and write whenever I like.  A fine viewand a church tower opposite atone for the many stairs, and I took afancy to my den on the spot. The nursery, where I am to teach and sew,is a pleasant room next Mrs. Kirke's private parlor, and the two littlegirls are pretty children, rather spoiled, I fancy, but they took to meafter telling them The Seven Bad Pigs, and I've no doubt I shall make amodel governess.I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to the greattable, and for the present I do, for I am bashful, though no one willbelieve it."Now, my dear, make yourself at home," said Mrs. K.  in her motherlyway, "I'm on the drive from morning to night, as you may suppose withsuch a family, but a great anxiety will be off my mind if I know thechildren are safe with you.  My rooms are always open to you, and yourown shall be as comfortable as I can make it.  There are some pleasantpeople in the house if you feel sociable, and your evenings are alwaysfree.  Come to me if anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can.There's the tea bell, I must run and change my cap."  And off shebustled, leaving me to settle myself in my new nest.As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flightsare very long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting at the head ofthe third one for a little servant girl to lumber up, I saw a gentlemancome along behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand,carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by, and walk away,saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent, "It goes better so.  Thelittle back is too young to haf such heaviness."Wasn't it good of him?  I like such things, for as Father says, triflesshow character.  When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that evening, shelaughed, and said, "That must have been Professor Bhaer, he's alwaysdoing things of that sort."Mrs. K.  told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good, but poor asa church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two littleorphan nephews whom he is educating here, according to the wishes ofhis sister, who married an American.  Not a very romantic story, but itinterested me, and I was glad to hear that Mrs. K.  lends him herparlor for some of his scholars. There is a glass door between it andthe nursery, and I mean to peep at him, and then I'll tell you how helooks.  He's almost forty, so it's no harm, Marmee.After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I attacked thebig workbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend.  Ishall keep a journal-letter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, andmore tomorrow.Tuesday EveHad a lively time in my seminary this morning, for the children actedlike Sancho, and at one time I really thought I should shake them allround.  Some good angel inspired me to try gymnastics, and I kept it uptill they were glad to sit down and keep still.  After luncheon, thegirl took them out for a walk, and I went to my needlework like littleMabel 'with a willing mind'.  I was thanking my stars that I'd learnedto make nice buttonholes, when the parlor door opened and shut, andsomeone began to hum, Kennst Du Das Land, like a big bumblebee. It wasdreadfully improper, I know, but I couldn't resist the temptation, andlifting one end of the curtain before the glass door, I peeped in.Professor Bhaer was there, and while he arranged his books, I took agood look at him.  A regular German--rather stout, with brown hairtumbled all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes Iever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, after oursharp or slipshod American gabble.  His clothes were rusty, his handswere large, and he hadn't a really handsome feature in his face, excepthis beautiful teeth, yet I liked him, for he had a fine head, his linenwas very nice, and he looked like a gentleman, though two buttons wereoff his coat and there was a patch on one shoe.  He looked sober inspite of his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinthbulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like an oldfriend.  Then he smiled, and when a tap came at the door, called out ina loud, brisk tone, "Herein!"I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of a childcarrying a big book, and stopped, to see what was going on."Me wants me Bhaer," said the mite, slamming down her book and runningto meet him."Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer.  Come, then, and take a goot hug from him,my Tina," said the Professor, catching her up with a laugh, and holdingher so high over his head that she had to stoop her little face to kisshim."Now me mus tuddy my lessin," went on the funny little thing.  So heput her up at the table, opened the great dictionary she had brought,and gave her a paper and pencil, and she scribbled away, turning a leafnow and then, and passing her little fat finger down the page, as iffinding a word, so soberly that I nearly betrayed myself by a laugh,while Mr. Bhaer stood stroking her pretty hair with a fatherly lookthat made me think she must be his own, though she looked more Frenchthan German.Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me back to mywork, and there I virtuously remained through all the noise andgabbling that went on next door.  One of the girls kept laughingaffectedly, and saying, "Now Professor," in a coquettish tone, and theother pronounced her German with an accent that must have made it hardfor him to keep sober.Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once I heard himsay emphatically, "No, no, it is not so, you haf not attend to what Isay," and once there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with hisbook, followed by the despairing exclamation, "Prut!  It all goes badthis day."Poor man, I pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took just onemore peep to see if he survived it.  He seemed to have thrown himselfback in his chair, tired out, and sat there with his eyes shut till theclock struck two, when he jumped up, put his books in his pocket, as ifready for another lesson, and taking little Tina who had fallen asleepon the sofa in his arms, he carried her quietly away.  I fancy he has ahard life of it.  Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the fiveo'clock dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, I thought I would,just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me.  So Imade myself respectable and tried to slip in behind Mrs. Kirke, but asshe is short and I'm tall, my efforts at concealment were rather afailure.  She gave me a seat by her, and after my face cooled off, Iplucked up courage and looked about me.  The long table was full, andevery one intent on getting their dinner, the gentlemen especially, whoseemed to be eating on time, for they bolted in every sense of theword, vanishing as soon as they were done.  There was the usualassortment of young men absorbed in themselves, young couples absorbedin each other, married ladies in their babies, and old gentlemen inpolitics.  I don't think I shall care to have much to do with any ofthem, except one sweetfaced maiden lady, who looks as if she hadsomething in her.Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Professor, shoutinganswers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf old gentleman onone side, and talking philosophy with a Frenchman on the other.  If Amyhad been here, she'd have turned her back on him forever because, sadto relate, he had a great appetite, and shoveled in his dinner in amanner which would have horrified 'her ladyship'.  I didn't mind, for Ilike 'to see folks eat with a relish', as Hannah says, and the poor manmust have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all day.As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were settlingtheir hats before the hall mirror, and I heard one say low to theother, "Who's the new party?""Governess, or something of that sort.""What the deuce is she at our table for?""Friend of the old lady's.""Handsome head, but no style.""Not a bit of it.  Give us a light and come on."I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a governess is asgood as a clerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't style, which is morethan some people have, judging from the remarks of the elegant beingswho clattered away, smoking like bad chimneys.  I hate ordinary people!ThursdayYesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing, and writing in mylittle room, which is very cozy, with a light and fire.  I picked up afew bits of news and was introduced to the Professor.  It seems thatTina is the child of the Frenchwoman who does the fine ironing in thelaundry here.  The little thing has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, andfollows him about the house like a dog whenever he is at home, whichdelights him, as he is very fond of children, though a 'bacheldore'.Kitty and Minnie Kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell allsorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings,and the splendid tales he tells.  The younger men quiz him, it seems,call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner ofjokes on his name.  But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. Kirke says, andtakes it so good-naturedly that they all like him in spite of hisforeign ways.The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated, and kind.  Shespoke to me at dinner today (for I went to table again, it's such funto watch people), and asked me to come and see her at her room.  Shehas fine books and pictures, knows interesting persons, and seemsfriendly, so I shall make myself agreeable, for I do want to get intogood society, only it isn't the same sort that Amy likes.I was in our parlor last evening when Mr. Bhaer came in with somenewspapers for Mrs. Kirke.  She wasn't there, but Minnie, who is alittle old woman, introduced me very prettily. "This is Mamma's friend,Miss March.""Yes, and she's jolly and we like her lots," added Kitty, who is an'enfant terrible'.We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and theblunt addition were rather a comical contrast."Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch.  If soagain, call at me and I come," he said, with a threatening frown thatdelighted the little wretches.I promised I would, and he departed, but it seems as if I was doomed tosee a good deal of him, for today as I passed his door on my way out,by accident I knocked against it with my umbrella.  It flew open, andthere he stood in his dressing gown, with a big blue sock on one handand a darning needle in the other.  He didn't seem at all ashamed ofit, for when I explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock andall, saying in his loud, cheerful way..."You haf a fine day to make your walk.  Bon voyage, Mademoiselle."I laughed all the way downstairs, but it was a little pathetic, also tothink of the poor man having to mend his own clothes. The Germangentlemen embroider, I know, but darning hose is another thing and notso pretty.SaturdayNothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, whohas a room full of pretty things, and who was very charming, for sheshowed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go withher to lectures and concerts, as her escort, if I enjoyed them.  Sheput it as a favor, but I'm sure Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, andshe does it out of kindness to me.  I'm as proud as Lucifer, but suchfavors from such people don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully.When I got back to the nursery there was such an uproar in the parlorthat I looked in, and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his hands and knees,with Tina on his back, Kitty leading him with a jump rope, and Minniefeeding two small boys with seedcakes, as they roared and ramped incages built of chairs."We are playing nargerie," explained Kitty."Dis is mine effalunt!" added Tina, holding on by the Professor's hair."Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon, whenFranz and Emil come, doesn't she, Mr. Bhaer?" said Minnie.The 'effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of them, andsaid soberly to me, "I gif you my wort it is so, if we make too large anoise you shall say Hush! to us, and we go more softly."I promised to do so, but left the door open and enjoyed the fun as muchas they did, for a more glorious frolic I never witnessed.  They playedtag and soldiers, danced and sang, and when it began to grow dark theyall piled onto the sofa about the Professor, while he told charmingfairy stories of the storks on the chimney tops, and the little'koblods', who ride the snowflakes as they fall.  I wish Americans wereas simple and natural as Germans, don't you?I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if motives ofeconomy didn't stop me, for though I've used thin paper and writtenfine, I tremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need.Pray forward Amy's as soon as you can spare them.  My small news willsound very flat after her splendors, but you will like them, I know.Is Teddy studying so hard that he can't find time to write to hisfriends?  Take good care of him for me, Beth, and tell me all about thebabies, and give heaps of love to everyone.  From your faithful Jo.P.S.  On reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather Bhaery, but Iam always interested in odd people, and I really had nothing else towrite about.  Bless you!DECEMBERMy Precious Betsey,As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to you, for itmay amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings on, for thoughquiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful!  After whatAmy would call Herculaneum efforts, in the way of mental and moralagriculture, my young ideas begin to shoot and my little twigs to bendas I could wish.  They are not so interesting to me as Tina and theboys, but I do my duty by them, and they are fond of me.  Franz andEmil are jolly little lads, quite after my own heart, for the mixtureof German and American spirit in them produces a constant state ofeffervescence.  Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether spent inthe house or out, for on pleasant days they all go to walk, like aseminary, with the Professor and myself to keep order, and then suchfun!We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take lessons.  I reallycouldn't help it, and it all came about in such a droll way that I musttell you.  To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke called to me one dayas I passed Mr. Bhaer's room where she was rummaging."Did you ever see such a den, my dear?  Just come and help me put thesebooks to rights, for I've turned everything upside down, trying todiscover what he has done with the six new handkerchiefs I gave him notlong ago."I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was 'a den' tobe sure.  Books and papers everywhere, a broken meerschaum, and an oldflute over the mantlepiece as if done with, a ragged bird without anytail chirped on one window seat, and a box of white mice adorned theother.  Half-finished boats and bits of string lay among themanuscripts.  Dirty little boots stood drying before the fire, andtraces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave ofhimself, were to be seen all over the room.  After a grand rummagethree of the missing articles were found, one over the bird cage, onecovered with ink, and a third burned brown, having been used as aholder."Such a man!" laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the relics inthe rag bay.  "I suppose the others are torn up to rig ships, bandagecut fingers, or make kite tails.  It's dreadful, but I can't scold him.He's so absent-minded and goodnatured, he lets those boys ride over himroughshod.  I agreed to do his washing and mending, but he forgets togive out his things and I forget to look them over, so he comes to asad pass sometimes.""Let me mend them," said I.  "I don't mind it, and he needn't know.I'd like to, he's so kind to me about bringing my letters and lendingbooks."So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two pairs of thesocks, for they were boggled out of shape with his queer darns.Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn't find it out, but one day lastweek he caught me at it.  Hearing the lessons he gives to others hasinterested and amused me so much that I took a fancy to learn, for Tinaruns in and out, leaving the door open, and I can hear.  I had beensitting near this door, finishing off the last sock, and trying tounderstand what he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid as I am.The girl had gone, and I thought he had also, it was so still, and Iwas busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a mostabsurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was Mr. Bhaerlooking and laughing quietly, while he made signs to Tina not to betrayhim."So!" he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, "you peep at me, Ipeep at you, and this is not bad, but see, I am not pleasanting when Isay, haf you a wish for German?""Yes, but you are too busy.  I am too stupid to learn," I blunderedout, as red as a peony."Prut!  We will make the time, and we fail not to find the sense.  Atefening I shall gif a little lesson with much gladness, for look you,Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay."  And he pointed to my work 'Yes,'they say to one another, these so kind ladies, 'he is a stupid oldfellow, he will see not what we do, he will never observe that his sockheels go not in holes any more, he will think his buttons grow out newwhen they fall, and believe that strings make theirselves.' "Ah!  But Ihaf an eye, and I see much.  I haf a heart, and I feel thanks for this.Come, a little lesson then and now, or--no more good fairy works for meand mine."Of course I couldn't say anything after that, and as it really is asplendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and we began.  I took fourlessons, and then I stuck fast in a grammatical bog.  The Professor wasvery patient with me, but it must have been torment to him, and now andthen he'd look at me with such an expression of mild despair that itwas a toss-up with me whether to laugh or cry.  I tried both ways, andwhen it came to a sniff or utter mortification and woe, he just threwthe grammar on to the floor and marched out of the room. I felt myselfdisgraced and deserted forever, but didn't blame him a particle, andwas scrambling my papers together, meaning to rush upstairs and shakemyself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if I'd coveredmyself in glory."Now we shall try a new way.  You and I will read these pleasant little_marchen_ together, and dig no more in that dry book, that goes in thecorner for making us trouble."He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Anderson's fairy tales soinvitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than ever, and went at mylesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely.I forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away (no other word will expressit) with all my might, tumbling over long words, pronouncing accordingto inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best.  When I finishedreading my first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands andcried out in his hearty way, "Das ist gut! Now we go well!  My turn.  Ido him in German, gif me your ear."  And away he went, rumbling out thewords with his strong voice and a relish which was good to see as wellas hear.  Fortunately the story was _The Constant Tin Soldier_, whichis droll, you know, so I could laugh, and I did, though I didn'tunderstand half he read, for I couldn't help it, he was so earnest, Iso excited, and the whole thing so comical.After that we got on better, and now I read my lessons pretty well, forthis way of studying suits me, and I can see that the grammar getstucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills in jelly.  I likeit very much, and he doesn't seem tired of it yet, which is very goodof him, isn't it?  I mean to give him something on Christmas, for Idare not offer money. Tell me something nice, Marmee.I'm glad Laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given up smokingand lets his hair grow.  You see Beth manages him better than I did.I'm not jealous, dear, do your best, only don't make a saint of him.I'm afraid I couldn't like him without a spice of human naughtiness.Read him bits of my letters.  I haven't time to write much, and thatwill do just as well.  Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable.JANUARYA Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family, which of courseincludes Mr. L.  and a young man by the name of Teddy. I can't tell youhow much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle, for I didn't get it tillnight and had given up hoping.  Your letter came in the morning, butyou said nothing about a parcel, meaning it for a surprise, so I wasdisappointed, for I'd had a 'kind of feeling' that you wouldn't forgetme. I felt a little low in my mind as I sat up in my room after tea,and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me, Ijust hugged it and pranced.  It was so homey and refreshing that I satdown on the floor and read and looked and ate and laughed and cried, inmy usual absurd way.  The things were just what I wanted, and all thebetter for being made instead of bought.  Beth's new 'ink bib' wascapital, and Hannah's box of hard gingerbread will be a treasure.  I'llbe sure and wear the nice flannels you sent, Marmee, and read carefullythe books Father has marked.  Thank you all, heaps and heaps!Speaking of books reminds me that I'm getting rich in that line, for onNew Year's Day Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine Shakespeare. It is one hevalues much, and I've often admired it, set up in the place of honorwith his German Bible, Plato, Homer, and Milton, so you may imagine howI felt when he brought it down, without its cover, and showed me my ownname in it, "from my friend Friedrich Bhaer"."You say often you wish a library.  Here I gif you one, for betweenthese lids (he meant covers) is many books in one.  Read him well, andhe will help you much, for the study of character in this book willhelp you to read it in the world and paint it with your pen."I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about 'my library', asif I had a hundred books.  I never knew how much there was inShakespeare before, but then I never had a Bhaer to explain it to me.Now don't laugh at his horrid name.  It isn't pronounced either Bear orBeer, as people will say it, but something between the two, as onlyGermans can give it. I'm glad you both like what I tell you about him,and hope you will know him some day.  Mother would admire his warmheart, Father his wise head.  I admire both, and feel rich in my new'friend Friedrich Bhaer'.Not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, I got several littlethings, and put them about the room, where he would find themunexpectedly.  They were useful, pretty, or funny, a new standish onhis table, a little vase for his flower, he always has one, or a bit ofgreen in a glass, to keep him fresh, he says, and a holder for hisblower, so that he needn't burn up what Amy calls 'mouchoirs'.  I madeit like those Beth invented, a big butterfly with a fat body, and blackand yellow wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes. It took his fancyimmensely, and he put it on his mantlepiece as an article of virtue, soit was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he didn't forget aservant or a child in the house, and not a soul here, from the Frenchlaundrywoman to Miss Norton forgot him.  I was so glad of that.They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time New Year's Eve.  I didn'tmean to go down, having no dress.  But at the last minute, Mrs. Kirkeremembered some old brocades, and Miss Norton lent me lace andfeathers.  So I dressed up as Mrs. Malaprop, and sailed in with a maskon.  No one knew me, for I disguised my voice, and no one dreamed ofthe silent, haughty Miss March (for they think I am very stiff andcool, most of them, and so I am to whippersnappers) could dance anddress, and burst out into a 'nice derangement of epitaphs, like anallegory on the banks of the Nile'.  I enjoyed it very much, and whenwe unmasked it was fun to see them stare at me.  I heard one of theyoung men tell another that he knew I'd been an actress, in fact, hethought he remembered seeing me at one of the minor theaters.  Meg willrelish that joke.  Mr. Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was Titania, aperfect little fairy in his arms.  To see them dance was 'quite alandscape', to use a Teddyism.I had a very happy New Year, after all, and when I thought it over inmy room, I felt as if I was getting on a little in spite of my manyfailures, for I'm cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and takemore interest in other people than I used to, which is satisfactory.Bless you all!  Ever your loving...  JoCHAPTER THIRTY-FOURFRIENDThough very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busywith the daily work that earned her bread and made it sweeter for theeffort, Jo still found time for literary labors.  The purpose which nowtook possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl,but the means she took to gain her end were not the best.  She saw thatmoney conferred power, money and power, therefore, she resolved tohave, not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she lovedmore than life.  The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Betheverything she wanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in herbedroom, going abroad herself, and always having more than enough, sothat she might indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for yearsJo's most cherished castle in the air.The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, afterlong traveling and much uphill work, lead to this delightful chateau enEspagne.  But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, forpublic opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks onbigger beanstalks than hers. Like that immortal hero, she reposedawhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and theleast lovely of the giant's treasures, if I remember rightly.  But the'up again and take another' spirit was as strong in Jo as in Jack, soshe scrambled up on the shady side this time and got more booty, butnearly left behind her what was far more precious than the moneybags.She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, evenall-perfect America read rubbish.  She told no one, but concocted a'thrilling tale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editorof the Weekly Volcano.  She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she hada womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful overmany than the worth of character or the magic of manners.  So shedressed herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself that shewas neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark anddirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigarsmoke, and the presence of three gentlemen, sitting with their heelsrather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of themtook the trouble to remove on her appearance.  Somewhat daunted by thisreception, Jo hesitated on the threshold, murmuring in muchembarrassment..."Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished tosee Mr. Dashwood."Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman,and carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advancedwith a nod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep.  Feelingthat she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced hermanuscript and, blushing redder and redder with each sentence,blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for theoccasion."A friend of mine desired me to offer--a story--just as anexperiment--would like your opinion--be glad to write more if thissuits."While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken the manuscript,and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirty fingers,and casting critical glances up and down the neat pages."Not a first attempt, I take it?" observing that the pages werenumbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon--suresign of a novice."No, sir.  She has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale inthe _Blarneystone Banner_.""Oh, did she?" and Mr. Dashwood gave Jo a quick look, which seemed totake note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet to thebuttons on her boots.  "Well, you can leave it, if you like.  We'vemore of this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with atpresent, but I'll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week."Now, Jo did _not_ like to leave it, for Mr. Dashwood didn't suit her atall, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do butbow and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she wasapt to do when nettled or abashed. Just then she was both, for it wasperfectly evident from the knowing glances exchanged among thegentlemen that her little fiction of 'my friend' was considered a goodjoke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, ashe closed the door, completed her discomfiture.  Half resolving neverto return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitchingpinafores vigorously, and in an hour or two was cool enough to laughover the scene and long for next week.When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced.  Mr.Dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable, and Mr.Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember hismanners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than thefirst."We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't object to a fewalterations.  It's too long, but omitting the passages I've marked willmake it just the right length," he said, in a businesslike tone.Jo hardly knew her own MS.  again, so crumpled and underscored were itspages and paragraphs, but feeling as a tender parent might on beingasked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a newcradle, she looked at the marked passages and was surprised to findthat all the moral reflections--which she had carefully put in asballast for much romance--had been stricken out."But, Sir, I thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so Itook care to have a few of my sinners repent."Mr. Dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for Jo hadforgotten her 'friend', and spoken as only an author could."People want to be amused, not preached at, you know.  Morals don'tsell nowadays."  Which was not quite a correct statement, by the way."You think it would do with these alterations, then?""Yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up--language good, and soon," was Mr. Dashwood's affable reply."What do you--that is, what compensation--" began Jo, not exactlyknowing how to express herself."Oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for things of thissort.  Pay when it comes out," returned Mr. Dashwood, as if that pointhad escaped him.  Such trifles do escape the editorial mind, it is said."Very well, you can have it," said Jo, handing back the story with asatisfied air, for after the dollar-a-column work, even twenty-fiveseemed good pay."Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one betterthan this?" asked Jo, unconscious of her little slip of the tongue, andemboldened by her success."Well, we'll look at it.  Can't promise to take it.  Tell her to makeit short and spicy, and never mind the moral.  What name would yourfriend like to put on it?" in a careless tone."None at all, if you please, she doesn't wish her name to appear andhas no nom de plume," said Jo, blushing in spite of herself."Just as she likes, of course.  The tale will be out next week. Willyou call for the money, or shall I send it?" asked Mr. Dashwood, whofelt a natural desire to know who his new contributor might be."I'll call.  Good morning, Sir."As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the gracefulremark, "Poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do."Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury hermodel, Jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of sensationalliterature, but thanks to the life preserver thrown her by a friend,she came up again not much the worse for her ducking.Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters andscenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses appearedupon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spiritas could be expected.  Her readers were not particular about suchtrifles as grammar, punctuation, and probability, and Mr. Dashwoodgraciously permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, notthinking it necessary to tell her that the real cause of hishospitality was the fact that one of his hacks, on being offered higherwages, had basely left him in the lurch.She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grewstout, and the little hoard she was making to take Beth to themountains next summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed.  Onething disturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tellthem at home.  She had a feeling that Father and Mother would notapprove, and preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardonafterward.  It was easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared withher stories.  Mr. Dashwood had of course found it out very soon, butpromised to be dumb, and for a wonder kept his word.She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to writenothing of which she would be ashamed, and quieted all pricks ofconscience by anticipations of the happy minute when she should showher earnings and laugh over her well-kept secret.But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills couldnot be produced except by harrowing up the souls of the readers,history and romance, land and sea, science and art, police records andlunatic asylums, had to be ransacked for the purpose.  Jo soon foundthat her innocent experience had given her but few glimpses of thetragic world which underlies society, so regarding it in a businesslight, she set about supplying her deficiencies with characteristicenergy. Eager to find material for stories, and bent on making themoriginal in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched newspapersfor accidents, incidents, and crimes.  She excited the suspicions ofpublic librarians by asking for works on poisons.  She studied faces inthe street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her.She delved in the dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so oldthat they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin,and misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed.  She thoughtshe was prospering finely, but unconsciously she was beginning todesecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman's character.She was living in bad society, and imaginary though it was, itsinfluence affected her, for she was feeding heart and fancy ondangerous and unsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocentbloom from her nature by a premature acquaintance with the darker sideof life, which comes soon enough to all of us.She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing ofother people's passions and feelings set her to studying andspeculating about her own, a morbid amusement in which healthy youngminds do not voluntarily indulge. Wrongdoing always brings its ownpunishment, and when Jo most needed hers, she got it.I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to readcharacter, or the natural instinct of a woman for what was honest,brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary heroes with everyperfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, whointerested her in spite of many human imperfections.  Mr. Bhaer, in oneof their conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, andlovely characters, wherever she found them, as good training for awriter.  Jo took him at his word, for she coolly turned round andstudied him--a proceeding which would have much surprised him, had heknown it, for the worthy Professor was very humble in his own conceit.Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first.  He was neitherrich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect what is calledfascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as agenial fire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally asabout a warm hearth.  He was poor, yet always appeared to be givingsomething away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longeryoung, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his facelooked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for hissake.  Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and at lastdecided that it was benevolence which worked the miracle.  If he hadany sorrow, 'it sat with its head under its wing', and he turned onlyhis sunny side to the world.  There were lines upon his forehead, butTime seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was toothers.  The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of manyfriendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, andhis big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive thanwords.His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of thewearer.  They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make himcomfortable.  His capacious waistcoat was suggestive of a large heartunderneath.  His rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pocketsplainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full.His very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspylike other people's."That's it!" said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered thatgenuine good will toward one's fellow men could beautify and dignifyeven a stout German teacher, who shoveled in his dinner, darned his ownsocks, and was burdened with the name of Bhaer.Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most femininerespect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about theProfessor added much to her regard for him. He never spoke of himself,and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man muchhonored and esteemed for learning and integrity, till a countryman cameto see him. He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with MissNorton divulged the pleasing fact.  From her Jo learned it, and likedit all the better because Mr. Bhaer had never told it.  She felt proudto know that he was an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poorlanguage-master in America, and his homely, hard-working life was muchbeautified by the spice of romance which this discovery gave it.Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a mostunexpected manner.  Miss Norton had the entree into most society, whichJo would have had no chance of seeing but for her.  The solitary womanfelt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly conferred manyfavors of this sort both on Jo and the Professor.  She took them withher one night to a select symposium, held in honor of severalcelebrities.Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she hadworshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off.  But her reverence forgenius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time torecover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men andwomen after all.  Imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timidadmiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on'spirit, fire, and dew', to behold him devouring his supper with anardor which flushed his intellectual countenance.  Turning as from afallen idol, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled herromantic illusions.  The great novelist vibrated between two decanterswith the regularity of a pendulum; the famous divine flirted openlywith one of the Madame de Staels of the age, who looked daggers atanother Corinne, who was amiably satirizing her, after outmaneuveringher in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed teaJohnsonianly and appeared to slumber, the loquacity of the ladyrendering speech impossible.  The scientific celebrities, forgettingtheir mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about art, while devotingthemselves to oysters and ices with characteristic energy; the youngmusician, who was charming the city like a second Orpheus, talkedhorses; and the specimen of the British nobility present happened to bethe most ordinary man of the party.Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned,that she sat down in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joinedher, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of thephilosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold anintellectual tournament in the recess.  The conversations were milesbeyond Jo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegelwere unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms,and the only thing 'evolved from her inner consciousness' was a badheadache after it was all over.  It dawned upon her gradually that theworld was being picked to pieces, and put together on new and,according to the talkers, on infinitely better principles than before,that religion was in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness, andintellect was to be the only God.  Jo knew nothing about philosophy ormetaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable,half painful, came over her as she listened with a sense of beingturned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on aholiday.She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found himlooking at her with the grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear.He shook his head and beckoned her to come away, but she was fascinatedjust then by the freedom of Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat,trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon afterthey had annihilated all the old beliefs.Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions,not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to belightly spoken.  As he glanced from Jo to several other young people,attracted by the brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knithis brows and longed to speak, fearing that some inflammable young soulwould be led astray by the rockets, to find when the display was overthat they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand.He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for anopinion, he blazed up with honest indignation and defended religionwith all the eloquence of truth--an eloquence which made his brokenEnglish musical and his plain face beautiful.  He had a hard fight, forthe wise men argued well, but he didn't know when he was beaten andstood to his colors like a man.  Somehow, as he talked, the world gotright again to Jo.  The old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemedbetter than the new.  God was not a blind force, and immortality wasnot a pretty fable, but a blessed fact.  She felt as if she had solidground under her feet again, and when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked butnot one whit convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professorher heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak outthen and there, because his conscience would not let him be silent.She began to see that character is a better possession than money,rank, intellect, or beauty, and to feel that if greatness is what awise man has defined it to be, 'truth, reverence, and good will', thenher friend Friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great.This belief strengthened daily.  She valued his esteem, she coveted hisrespect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when thewish was sincerest, she came near to losing everything.  It all grewout of a cocked hat, for one evening the Professor came in to give Joher lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head, which Tina had putthere and he had forgotten to take off."It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming down," thoughtJo, with a smile, as he said "Goot efening," and sat soberly down,quite unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and hisheadgear, for he was going to read her the Death of Wallenstein.She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big,hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discoverit for himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a Germanread Schiller is rather an absorbing occupation.  After the readingcame the lesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood thatnight, and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment.  TheProfessor didn't know what to make of her, and stopped at last to askwith an air of mild surprise that was irresistible. . ."Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face? Haf you norespect for me, that you go on so bad?""How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take your hat off?"said Jo.Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor gravely feltand removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a minute, and thenthrew back his head and laughed like a merry bass viol."Ah!  I see him now, it is that imp Tina who makes me a fool with mycap.  Well, it is nothing, but see you, if this lesson goes not well,you too shall wear him."But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr. Bhaercaught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with greatdisgust, "I wish these papers did not come in the house.  They are notfor children to see,  nor young people to read. It is not well, and Ihaf no patience with those who make this harm."Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of alunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper.  She did not like it, butthe impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure butfear, because for a minute she fancied the paper was the Volcano.  Itwas not, however, and her panic subsided as she remembered that even ifit had been and one of her own tales in it, there would have been noname to betray her.  She had betrayed herself, however, by a look and ablush, for though an absent man, the Professor saw a good deal morethan people fancied.  He knew that Jo wrote, and had met her down amongthe newspaper offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it, heasked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see her work.  Now itoccurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and ittroubled him.  He did not say to himself, "It is none of my business.I've no right to say anything," as many people would have done.  Heonly remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away frommother's love and father's care, and he was moved to help her with animpulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put outhis hand to save a baby from a puddle.  All this flashed through hismind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face, and bythe time the paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, he was readyto say quite naturally, but very gravely..."Yes, you are right to put it from you.  I do not think that good younggirls should see such things.  They are made pleasant to some, but Iwould more rather give my boys gunpowder to play with than this badtrash.""All may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there is a demand forit, I don't see any harm in supplying it. Many very respectable peoplemake an honest living out of what are called sensation stories," saidJo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slitsfollowed her pin."There is a demand for whisky, but I think you and I do not care tosell it.  If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they wouldnot feel that the living was honest.  They haf no right to put poisonin the sugarplum, and let the small ones eat it.  No, they should thinka little, and sweep mud in the street before they do this thing."Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper inhis hands.  Jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her, forher cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke andgone harmlessly up the chimney."I should like much to send all the rest after him," muttered theProfessor, coming back with a relieved air.Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make, and herhard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute.Then she thought consolingly to herself, "Mine are not like that, theyare only silly, never bad, so I won't be worried," and taking up herbook, she said, with a studious face, "Shall we go on, Sir? I'll bevery good and proper now.""I shall hope so," was all he said, but he meant more than sheimagined, and the grave, kind look he gave her made her feel as if thewords Weekly Volcano were printed in large type on her forehead.As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefullyreread every one of her stories.  Being a little shortsighted, Mr.Bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and Jo had tried them once, smilingto see how they magnified the fine print of her book.  Now she seemedto have on the Professor's mental or moral spectacles also, for thefaults of these poor stories glared at her dreadfully and filled herwith dismay."They are trash, and will soon be worse trash if I go on, for each ismore sensational than the last.  I've gone blindly on, hurting myselfand other people, for the sake of money.  I know it's so, for I can'tread this stuff in sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it,and what should I do if they were seen at home or Mr. Bhaer got hold ofthem?"Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into herstove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze."Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense. I'd betterburn the house down, I suppose, than let other people blow themselvesup with my gunpowder," she thought as she watched the Demon of the Jurawhisk away, a little black cinder with fiery eyes.But when nothing remained of all her three month's work except a heapof ashes and the money in her lap, Jo looked sober, as she sat on thefloor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages."I think I haven't done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for mytime," she said, after a long meditation, adding impatiently, "I almostwish I hadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient.  If I didn't careabout doing right, and didn't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, Ishould get on capitally. I can't help wishing sometimes, that Motherand Father hadn't been so particular about such things."Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that 'Father and Mother wereparticular', and pity from your heart those who have no such guardiansto hedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls toimpatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations to buildcharacter upon in womanhood.Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did notpay for her share of the sensation, but going to the other extreme, asis the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs.Sherwood, Miss Edgeworth, and Hannah More, and then produced a talewhich might have been more properly called an essay or a sermon, sointensely moral was it.  She had her doubts about it from thebeginning, for her lively fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at easein the new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff andcumbrous costume of the last century.  She sent this didactic gem toseveral markets, but it found no purchaser, and she was inclined toagree with Mr. Dashwood that morals didn't sell.Then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have disposed ofif she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy lucre for it.The only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to tryjuvenile literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission toconvert all the world to his particular belief.  But much as she likedto write for children, Jo could not consent to depict all her naughtyboys as being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls because they didnot go to a particular Sabbath school, nor all the good infants who didgo as rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded gingerbread toescorts of angels when they departed this life with psalms or sermonson their lisping tongues.  So nothing came of these trials, and Jocorked up her inkstand, and said in a fit of very wholesome humility..."I don't know anything.  I'll wait until I do before I try again, andmeantime, 'sweep mud in the street' if I can't do better, that'shonest, at least."  Which decision proved that her second tumble downthe beanstalk had done her some good.While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life hadbeen as busy and uneventful as usual, and if she sometimes lookedserious or a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer.  He didit so quietly that Jo never knew he was watching to see if she wouldaccept and profit by his reproof, but she stood the test, and he wassatisfied, for though no words passed between them, he knew that shehad given up writing.  Not only did he guess it by the fact that thesecond finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent herevenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, andstudied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent onoccupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo washappy, for while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessonsbesides German, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of herown life.It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs.Kirke till June.  Everyone seemed sorry when the time came.  Thechildren were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair stuck straight up allover his head, for he always rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind."Going home?  Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in," he said,when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard in the corner,while she held a little levee on that last evening.She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and whenhis turn came, she said warmly, "Now, Sir, you won't forget to come andsee us, if you ever travel our way, will you? I'll never forgive you ifyou do, for I want them all to know my friend.""Do you?  Shall I come?" he asked, looking down at her with an eagerexpression which she did not see."Yes, come next month.  Laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoycommencement as something new.""That is your best friend, of whom you speak?" he said in an alteredtone."Yes, my boy Teddy.  I'm very proud of him and should like you to seehim."Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasurein the prospect of showing them to one another. Something in Mr.Bhaer's face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie morethan a 'best friend', and simply because she particularly wished not tolook as if anything was the matter, she involuntarily began to blush,and the more she tried not to, the redder she grew.  If it had not beenfor Tina on her knee.  She didn't know what would have become of her.Fortunately the child was moved to hug her, so she managed to hide herface an instant, hoping the Professor did not see it. But he did, andhis own changed again from that momentary anxiety to its usualexpression, as he said cordially..."I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the friend muchsuccess, and you all happiness.  Gott bless you!"  And with that, heshook hands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away.But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with thetired look on his face and the 'heimweh', or homesickness, lying heavyat his heart.  Once, when he remembered Jo as she sat with the littlechild in her lap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his headon his hands a minute, and then roamed about the room, as if in searchof something that he could not find."It is not for me, I must not hope it now," he said to himself, with asigh that was almost a groan.  Then, as if reproaching himself for thelonging that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two tousledheads upon the pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and openedhis Plato.He did his best and did it manfully, but I don't think he found that apair of rampant boys, a pipe, or even the divine Plato, were verysatisfactory substitutes for wife and child at home.Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see Jo off, andthanks to him, she began her solitary journey with the pleasant memoryof a familiar face smiling its farewell, a bunch of violets to keep hercompany, and best of all, the happy thought, "Well, the winter's gone,and I've written no books, earned no fortune, but I've made a friendworth having and I'll try to keep him all my life."CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVEHEARTACHEWhatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purposethat year, for he graduated with honor, and gave the Latin oration withthe grace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes, so hisfriends said.  They were all there, his grandfather--oh, so proud--Mr.and Mrs. March, John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over himwith the sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, butfail to win from the world by any after-triumphs."I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home earlytomorrow.  You'll come and meet me as usual, girls?" Laurie said, as heput the sisters into the carriage after the joys of the day were over.He said 'girls', but he meant Jo, for she was the only one who kept upthe old custom. She had not the heart to refuse her splendid,successful boy anything, and answered warmly..."I'll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you, playing 'Hailthe conquering hero comes' on a jew's-harp."Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a sudden panic,"Oh, deary me!  I know he'll say something, and then what shall I do?"Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, andhaving decided that she wouldn't be vain enough to think people weregoing to propose when she had given them every reason to know what heranswer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping Teddywouldn't do anything to make her hurt his poor feelings.  A call atMeg's, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, stillfurther fortified her for the tete-a-tete, but when she saw a stalwartfigure looming in the distance, she had a strong desire to turn aboutand run away."Where's the jew's-harp, Jo?" cried Laurie, as soon as he was withinspeaking distance."I forgot it." And Jo took heart again, for that salutation could notbe called lover-like.She always used to take his arm on these occasions, now she did not,and he made no complaint, which was a bad sign, but talked on rapidlyabout all sorts of faraway subjects, till they turned from the roadinto the little path that led homeward through the grove.  Then hewalked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language, and nowand then a dreadful pause occurred.  To rescue the conversation fromone of the wells of silence into which it kept falling, Jo saidhastily, "Now you must have a good long holiday!""I intend to."Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find himlooking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreadedmoment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring, "No,Teddy.  Please don't!""I will, and you must hear me.  It's no use, Jo, we've got to have itout, and the sooner the better for both of us," he answered, gettingflushed and excited all at once."Say what you like then.  I'll listen," said Jo, with a desperate sortof patience.Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to 'have itout', if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject withcharacteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choky nowand then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady..."I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo, couldn't help it, you'vebeen so good to me.  I've tried to show it, but you wouldn't let me.Now I'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I can't goon so any longer.""I wanted to save you this.  I thought you'd understand..." began Jo,finding it a great deal harder than she expected."I know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know what theymean.  They say no when they mean yes, and drive a man out of his witsjust for the fun of it," returned Laurie, entrenching himself behind anundeniable fact."I don't.  I never wanted to make you care for me so, and I went awayto keep you from it if I could.""I thought so.  It was like you, but it was no use.  I only loved youall the more, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiardsand everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for Ihoped you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough..." Here there wasa choke that couldn't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups whilehe cleared his 'confounded throat'."You, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and I'm so gratefulto you, and so proud and fond of you, I don't know why I can't love youas you want me to.  I've tried, but I can't change the feeling, and itwould be a lie to say I do when I don't.""Really, truly, Jo?"He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question witha look that she did not soon forget."Really, truly, dear."They were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when the last wordsfell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie dropped her hands and turned asif to go on, but for once in his life the fence was too much for him.So he just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so stillthat Jo was frightened."Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if itwould do any good!  I wish you wouldn't take it so hard, I can't helpit.  You know it's impossible for people to make themselves love otherpeople if they don't," cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as shesoftly patted his shoulder, remembering the time when he had comfortedher so long ago."They do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post. "I don'tbelieve it's the right sort of love, and I'd rather not try it," wasthe decided answer.There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willowby the river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Presently Jo saidvery soberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile, "Laurie, I wantto tell you something."He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out ina fierce tone, "Don't tell me that, Jo, I can't bear it now!""Tell what?" she asked, wondering at his violence."That you love that old man.""What old man?" demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather."That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say youlove him, I know I shall do something desperate;" and he looked as ifhe would keep his word, as he clenched his hands with a wrathful sparkin his eyes.Jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself and said warmly, for shetoo, was getting excited with all this, "Don't swear, Teddy!  He isn'told, nor anything bad, but good and kind, and the best friend I've got,next to you.  Pray, don't fly into a passion.  I want to be kind, but Iknow I shall get angry if you abuse my Professor.  I haven't the leastidea of loving him or anybody else.""But you will after a while, and then what will become of me?""You'll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all thistrouble.""I can't love anyone else, and I'll never forget you, Jo, Never!Never!" with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words."What shall I do with him?" sighed Jo, finding that emotions were moreunmanagable than she expected.  "You haven't heard what I wanted totell you.  Sit down and listen, for indeed I want to do right and makeyou happy," she said, hoping to soothe him with a little reason, whichproved that she knew nothing about love.Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw himself down onthe grass at her feet, leaned his arm on the lower step of the stile,and looked up at her with an expectant face. Now that arrangement wasnot conducive to calm speech or clear thought on Jo's part, for howcould she say hard things to her boy while he watched her with eyesfull of love and longing, and lashes still wet with the bitter drop ortwo her hardness of heart had wrung from him?  She gently turned hishead away, saying, as she stroked the wavy hair which had been allowedto grow for her sake--how touching that was, to be sure! "I agree withMother that you and I are not suited to each other, because our quicktempers and strong wills would probably make us very miserable, if wewere so foolish as to..." Jo paused a little over the last word, butLaurie uttered it with a rapturous expression."Marry--no we shouldn't!  If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfectsaint, for you could make me anything you like.""No, I can't.  I've tried and failed, and I won't risk our happiness bysuch a serious experiment.  We don't agree and we never shall, so we'llbe good friends all our lives, but we won't go and do anything rash.""Yes, we will if we get the chance," muttered Laurie rebelliously."Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case," imploredJo, almost at her wit's end."I won't be reasonable.  I don't want to take what you call 'a sensibleview'.  It won't help me, and it only makes it harder.  I don't believeyou've got any heart.""I wish I hadn't."There was a little quiver in Jo's voice, and thinking it a good omen,Laurie turned round, bringing all his persuasive powers to bear as hesaid, in the wheedlesome tone that had never been so dangerouslywheedlesome before, "Don't disappoint us, dear!  Everyone expects it.Grandpa has set his heart upon it, your people like it, and I can't geton without you.  Say you will, and let's be happy.  Do, do!"Not until months afterward did Jo understand how she had the strengthof mind to hold fast to the resolution she had made when she decidedthat she did not love her boy, and never could.  It was very hard todo, but she did it, knowing that delay was both useless and cruel."I can't say 'yes' truly, so I won't say it at all.  You'll see thatI'm right, by-and-by, and thank me for it..." she began solemnly."I'll be hanged if I do!" and Laurie bounced up off the grass, burningwith indignation at the very idea."Yes, you will!" persisted Jo.  "You'll get over this after a while,and find some lovely accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make afine mistress for your fine house.  I shouldn't. I'm homely and awkwardand odd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel--wecan't help it even now, you see--and I shouldn't like elegant societyand you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get onwithout it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, andeverything would be horrid!""Anything more?" asked Laurie, finding it hard to listen patiently tothis prophetic burst."Nothing more, except that I don't believe I shall ever marry.  I'mhappy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in a hurry to give itup for any mortal man.""I know better!" broke in Laurie.  "You think so now, but there'll comea time when you will care for somebody, and you'll love himtremendously, and live and die for him.  I know you will, it's yourway, and I shall have to stand by and see it," and the despairing lovercast his hat upon the ground with a gesture that would have seemedcomical, if his face had not been so tragic."Yes, I will live and die for him, if he ever comes and makes me lovehim in spite of myself, and you must do the best you can!" cried Jo,losing patience with poor Teddy.  "I've done my best, but you won't bereasonable, and it's selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can'tgive.  I shall always be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend,but I'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better forboth of us--so now!"That speech was like gunpowder.  Laurie looked at her a minute as if hedid not quite know what to do with himself, then turned sharply away,saying in a desperate sort of tone, "You'll be sorry some day, Jo.""Oh, where are you going?" she cried, for his face frightened her."To the devil!" was the consoling answer.For a minute Jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself down the banktoward the river, but it takes much folly, sin or misery to send ayoung man to a violent death, and Laurie was not one of the weak sortwho are conquered by a single failure.  He had no thought of amelodramatic plunge, but some blind instinct led him to fling hat andcoat into his boat, and row away with all his might, making better timeup the river than he had done in any race.  Jo drew a long breath andunclasped her hands as she watched the poor fellow trying to outstripthe trouble which he carried in his heart."That will do him good, and he'll come home in such a tender, penitentstate of mind, that I shan't dare to see him," she said, adding, as shewent slowly home, feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing,and buried it under the leaves.  "Now I must go and prepare Mr.Laurence to be very kind to my poor boy.  I wish he'd love Beth,perhaps he may in time, but I begin to think I was mistaken about her.Oh dear!  How can girls like to have lovers and refuse them?  I thinkit's dreadful."Being sure that no one could do it so well as herself, she wentstraight to Mr. Laurence, told the hard story bravely through, and thenbroke down, crying so dismally over her own insensibility that the kindold gentleman, though sorely disappointed, did not utter a reproach.He found it difficult to understand how any girl could help lovingLaurie, and hoped she would change her mind, but he knew even betterthan Jo that love cannot be forced, so he shook his head sadly andresolved to carry his boy out of harm's way, for Young Impetuosity'sparting words to Jo disturbed him more than he would confess.When Laurie came home, dead tired but quite composed, his grandfathermet him as if he knew nothing, and kept up the delusion verysuccessfully for an hour or two.  But when they sat together in thetwilight, the time they used to enjoy so much, it was hard work for theold man to ramble on as usual, and harder still for the young one tolisten to praises of the last year's success, which to him now seemedlike love's labor lost.  He bore it as long as he could, then went tohis piano and began to play.  The windows were open, and Jo, walkingin the garden with Beth, for once understood music better than hersister, for he played the '_Sonata Pathetique_', and played it as henever did before."That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry.Give us something gayer, lad," said Mr. Laurence, whose kind old heartwas full of sympathy, which he longed to show but knew not how.Laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for severalminutes, and would have got through bravely, if in a momentary lullMrs. March's voice had not been heard calling, "Jo, dear, come in.  Iwant you."Just what Laurie longed to say, with a different meaning! As helistened, he lost his place, the music ended with a broken chord, andthe musician sat silent in the dark."I can't stand this," muttered the old gentleman.  Up he got, gropedhis way to the piano, laid a kind hand on either of the broadshoulders, and said, as gently as a woman, "I know, my boy, I know."No answer for an instant, then Laurie asked sharply, "Who told you?""Jo herself.""Then there's an end of it!"  And he shook off his grandfather's handswith an impatient motion, for though grateful for the sympathy, hisman's pride could not bear a man's pity."Not quite.  I want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end ofit," returned Mr. Laurence with unusual mildness. "You won't care tostay at home now, perhaps?""I don't intend to run away from a girl.  Jo can't prevent my seeingher, and I shall stay and do it as long as I like," interrupted Lauriein a defiant tone."Not if you are the gentleman I think you.  I'm disappointed, but thegirl can't help it, and the only thing left for you to do is to go awayfor a time.  Where will you go?""Anywhere.  I don't care what becomes of me," and Laurie got up with areckless laugh that grated on his grandfather's ear."Take it like a man, and don't do anything rash, for God's sake.  Whynot go abroad, as you planned, and forget it?""I can't.""But you've been wild to go, and I promised you should when you gotthrough college.""Ah, but I didn't mean to go alone!" and Laurie walked fast through theroom with an expression which it was well his grandfather did not see."I don't ask you to go alone.  There's someone ready and glad to gowith you, anywhere in the world.""Who, Sir?" stopping to listen."Myself."Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, sayinghuskily, "I'm a selfish brute, but--you know--Grandfather--""Lord help me, yes, I do know, for I've been through it all before,once in my own young days, and then with your father. Now, my dear boy,just sit quietly down and hear my plan.  It's all settled, and can becarried out at once," said Mr. Laurence, keeping hold of the young man,as if fearful that he would break away as his father had done beforehim."Well, sir, what is it?" and Laurie sat down, without a sign ofinterest in face or voice."There is business in London that needs looking after.  I meant youshould attend to it, but I can do it better myself, and things herewill get on very well with Brooke to manage them.  My partners doalmost everything, I'm merely holding on until you take my place, andcan be off at any time.""But you hate traveling, Sir.  I can't ask it of you at your age,"began Laurie, who was grateful for the sacrifice, but much preferred togo alone, if he went at all.The old gentleman knew that perfectly well, and particularly desired toprevent it, for the mood in which he found his grandson assured himthat it would not be wise to leave him to his own devices.  So,stifling a natural regret at the thought of the home comforts he wouldleave behind him, he said stoutly, "Bless your soul, I'm notsuperannuated yet.  I quite enjoy the idea.  It will do me good, and myold bones won't suffer, for traveling nowadays is almost as easy assitting in a chair."A restless movement from Laurie suggested that his chair was not easy,or that he did not like the plan, and made the old man add hastily, "Idon't mean to be a marplot or a burden. I go because I think you'd feelhappier than if I was left behind.  I don't intend to gad about withyou, but leave you free to go where you like, while I amuse myself inmy own way.  I've friends in London and Paris, and should like to visitthem.  Meantime you can go to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, where youwill, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery, and adventures to yourheart's content."Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken and theworld a howling wilderness, but at the sound of certain words which theold gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the brokenheart gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenlyappeared in the howling wilderness.  He sighed, and then said, in aspiritless tone, "Just as you like, Sir.  It doesn't matter where I goor what I do.""It does to me, remember that, my lad.  I give you entire liberty, butI trust you to make an honest use of it.  Promise me that, Laurie.""Anything you like, Sir.""Good," thought the old gentleman.  "You don't care now, but there'llcome a time when that promise will keep you out of mischief, or I'mmuch mistaken."Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck while the iron washot, and before the blighted being recovered spirit enough to rebel,they were off.  During the time necessary for preparation, Laurie borehimself as young gentleman usually do in such cases.  He was moody,irritable, and pensive by turns, lost his appetite, neglected his dressand devoted much time to playing tempestuously on his piano, avoidedJo, but consoled himself by staring at her from his window, with atragic face that haunted her dreams by night and oppressed her with aheavy sense of guilt by day.  Unlike some sufferers, he never spoke ofhis unrequited passion, and would allow no one, not even Mrs. March, toattempt consolation or offer sympathy.  On some accounts, this was arelief to his friends, but the weeks before his departure were veryuncomfortable, and everyone rejoiced that the 'poor, dear fellow wasgoing away to forget his trouble, and come home happy'.  Of course, hesmiled darkly at their delusion, but passed it by with the sadsuperiority of one who knew that his fidelity like his love wasunalterable.When the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal certaininconvenient emotions which seemed inclined to assert themselves.  Thisgaiety did not impose upon anybody, but they tried to look as if it didfor his sake, and he got on very well till Mrs. March kissed him, witha whisper full of motherly solicitude.  Then feeling that he was goingvery fast, he hastily embraced them all round, not forgetting theafflicted Hannah, and ran downstairs as if for his life.  Jo followed aminute after to wave her hand to him if he looked round.  He did lookround, came back, put his arms about her as she stood on the step abovehim, and looked up at her with a face that made his short appealeloquent and pathetic."Oh, Jo, can't you?""Teddy, dear, I wish I could!"That was all, except a little pause.  Then Laurie straightened himselfup, said, "It's all right, never mind," and went away without anotherword.  Ah, but it wasn't all right, and Jo did mind, for while thecurly head lay on her arm a minute after her hard answer, she felt asif she had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left her without alook behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie never would come again.CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXBETH'S SECRETWhen Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change inBeth.  No one spoke of it or seemed aware of it, for it had come toogradually to startle those who saw her daily, but to eyes sharpened byabsence, it was very plain and a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as shesaw her sister's face. It was no paler and but littler thinner than inthe autumn, yet there was a strange, transparent look about it, as ifthe mortal was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shiningthrough the frail flesh with an indescribably pathetic beauty.  Jo sawand felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the firstimpression lost much of its power, for Beth seemed happy, no oneappeared to doubt that she was better, and presently in other cares Jofor a time forgot her fear.But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the vague anxietyreturned and haunted her.  She had confessed her sins and beenforgiven, but when she showed her savings and proposed a mountain trip,Beth had thanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far away fromhome.  Another little visit to the seashore would suit her better, andas Grandma could not be prevailed upon to leave the babies, Jo tookBeth down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the openair, and let the fresh sea breezes blow a little color into her palecheeks.It was not a fashionable place, but even among the pleasant peoplethere, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for one another.Beth was too shy to enjoy society, and Jo too wrapped up in her to carefor anyone else.  So they were all in all to each other, and came andwent, quite unconscious of the interest they excited in those aboutthem, who watched with sympathetic eyes the strong sister and thefeeble one, always together, as if they felt instinctively that a longseparation was not far away.They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it, for often between ourselvesand those nearest and dearest to us there exists a reserve which it isvery hard to overcome.  Jo felt as if a veil had fallen between herheart and Beth's, but when she put out her hand to lift it up, thereseemed something sacred in the silence, and she waited for Beth tospeak.  She wondered, and was thankful also, that her parents did notseem to see what she saw, and during the quiet weeks when the shadowsgrew so plain to her, she said nothing of it to those at home,believing that it would tell itself when Beth came back no better. Shewondered still more if her sister really guessed the hard truth, andwhat thoughts were passing through her mind during the long hours whenshe lay on the warm rocks with her head in Jo's lap, while the windsblew healthfully over her and the sea made music at her feet.One day Beth told her.  Jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still,and putting down her book, sat looking at her with wistful eyes, tryingto see signs of hope in the faint color on Beth's cheeks.  But shecould not find enough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin,and the hands seemed too feeble to hold even the rosy little shellsthey had been collecting. It came to her then more bitterly than everthat Beth was slowly drifting away from her, and her arms instinctivelytightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed. For aminute her eyes were too dim for seeing, and when they cleared, Bethwas looking up at her so tenderly that there was hardly any need forher to say, "Jo, dear, I'm glad you know it.  I've tried to tell you,but I couldn't."There was no answer except her sister's cheek against her own, not eventears, for when most deeply moved, Jo did not cry.  She was the weakerthen, and Beth tried to comfort and sustain her, with her arms abouther and the soothing words she whispered in her ear."I've known it for a good while, dear, and now I'm used to it, it isn'thard to think of or to bear.  Try to see it so and don't be troubledabout me, because it's best, indeed it is.""Is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, Beth? You did not feelit then, and keep it to yourself so long, did you?" asked Jo, refusingto see or say that it was best, but glad to know that Laurie had nopart in Beth's trouble."Yes, I gave up hoping then, but I didn't like to own it. I tried tothink it was a sick fancy, and would not let it trouble anyone.  Butwhen I saw you all so well and strong and full of happy plans, it washard to feel that I could never be like you, and then I was miserable,Jo.""Oh, Beth, and you didn't tell me, didn't let me comfort and help you?How could you shut me out, bear it all alone?"Jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached to think ofthe solitary struggle that must have gone on while Beth learned to saygoodbye to health, love, and life, and take up her cross so cheerfully."Perhaps it was wrong, but I tried to do right.  I wasn't sure, no onesaid anything, and I hoped I was mistaken.  It would have been selfishto frighten you all when Marmee was so anxious about Meg, and Amy away,and you so happy with Laurie--at least I thought so then.""And I thought you loved him, Beth, and I went away because Icouldn't," cried Jo, glad to say all the truth.Beth looked so amazed at the idea that Jo smiled in spite of her pain,and added softly, "Then you didn't, dearie? I was afraid it was so, andimagined your poor little heart full of lovelornity all that while.""Why, Jo, how could I, when he was so fond of you?" asked Beth, asinnocently as a child.  "I do love him dearly.  He is so good to me,how can I help It?  But he could never be anything to me but mybrother.  I hope he truly will be, sometime.""Not through me," said Jo decidedly.  "Amy is left for him, and theywould suit excellently, but I have no heart for such things, now.  Idon't care what becomes of anybody but you, Beth. You must get well.""I want to, oh, so much!  I try, but every day I lose a little, andfeel more sure that I shall never gain it back.  It's like the tide,Jo, when it turns, it goes slowly, but it can't be stopped.""It shall be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nineteen is tooyoung, Beth.  I can't let you go.  I'll work and pray and fight againstit.  I'll keep you in spite of everything.  There must be ways, itcan't be too late.  God won't be so cruel as to take you from me,"cried poor Jo rebelliously, for her spirit was far less piouslysubmissive than Beth's.Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety.  It showsitself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence thanhomilies or protestations.  Beth could not reason upon or explain thefaith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, andcheerfully wait for death.  Like a confiding child, she asked noquestions, but left everything to God and nature, Father and Mother ofus all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach andstrengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come.  Shedid not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for herpassionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love,from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which Hedraws us closer to Himself.  She could not say, "I'm glad to go," forlife was very sweet for her.  She could only sob out, "I try to bewilling," while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of thisgreat sorrow broke over them together.By and by Beth said, with recovered serenity, "You'll tell them thiswhen we go home?""I think they will see it without words," sighed Jo, for now it seemedto her that Beth changed every day."Perhaps not.  I've heard that the people who love best are oftenblindest to such things.  If they don't see it, you will tell them forme.  I don't want any secrets, and it's kinder to prepare them.  Meghas John and the babies to comfort her, but you must stand by Fatherand Mother, won't you Jo?""If I can.  But, Beth, I don't give up yet.  I'm going to believe thatit is a sick fancy, and not let you think it's true." said Jo, tryingto speak cheerfully.Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way, "I don'tknow how to express myself, and shouldn't try to anyone but you,because I can't speak out except to my Jo.  I only mean to say that Ihave a feeling that it never was intended I should live long.  I'm notlike the rest of you.  I never made any plans about what I'd do when Igrew up.  I never thought of being married, as you all did.  I couldn'tseem to imagine myself anything but stupid little Beth, trotting aboutat home, of no use anywhere but there.  I never wanted to go away, andthe hard part now is the leaving you all.  I'm not afraid, but it seemsas if I should be homesick for you even in heaven."Jo could not speak, and for several minutes there was no sound but thesigh of the wind and the lapping of the tide.  A white-winged gull flewby, with the flash of sunshine on its silvery breast.  Beth watched ittill it vanished, and her eyes were full of sadness.  A littlegray-coated sand bird came tripping over the beach 'peeping' softly toitself, as if enjoying the sun and sea.  It came quite close to Beth,and looked at her with a friendly eye and sat upon a warm stone,dressing its wet feathers, quite at home.  Beth smiled and feltcomforted, for the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship andremind her that a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed."Dear little bird!  See, Jo, how tame it is.  I like peeps better thanthe gulls.  They are not so wild and handsome, but they seem happy,confiding little things.  I used to call them my birds last summer, andMother said they reminded her of me--busy, quaker-colored creatures,always near the shore, and always chirping that contented little songof theirs.  You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the stormand the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.  Meg is theturtledove, and Amy is like the lark she writes about, trying to get upamong the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest again.  Dearlittle girl!  She's so ambitious, but her heart is good and tender, andno matter how high she flies, she never will forget home.  I hope Ishall see her again, but she seems so far away.""She is coming in the spring, and I mean that you shall be all ready tosee and enjoy her.  I'm going to have you well and rosy by that time,"began Jo, feeling that of all the changes in Beth, the talking changewas the greatest, for it seemed to cost no effort now, and she thoughtaloud in a way quite unlike bashful Beth."Jo, dear, don't hope any more.  It won't do any good.  I'm sure ofthat.  We won't be miserable, but enjoy being together while we wait.We'll have happy times, for I don't suffer much, and I think the tidewill go out easily, if you help me."Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that silent kiss,she dedicated herself soul and body to Beth.She was right.  There was no need of any words when they got home, forFather and Mother saw plainly now what they had prayed to be saved fromseeing.  Tired with her short journey, Beth went at once to bed, sayinghow glad she was to be home, and when Jo went down, she found that shewould be spared the hard task of telling Beth's secret.  Her fatherstood leaning his head on the mantelpiece and did not turn as she camein, but her mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and Jo wentto comfort her without a word.CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENNEW IMPRESSIONSAt three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nicemay be seen on the Promenade des Anglais--a charming place, for thewide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, isbounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, linedwith hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards and the hills.Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumesworn, and on a sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as acarnival.  Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans, handsomeSpaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, alldrive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticizingthe latest celebrity who has arrived--Ristori or Dickens, VictorEmmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands.  The equipages are asvaried as the company and attract as much attention, especially the lowbasket barouches in which ladies drive themselves, with a pair ofdashing ponies, gay nets to keep their voluminous flounces fromoverflowing the diminutive vehicles, and little grooms on the perchbehind.Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, withhis hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance.He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had theindependent air of an American--a combination which caused sundry pairsof feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies inblack velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orangeflowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envyhim his inches. There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but theyoung man took little notice of them, except to glance now and then atsome blonde girl in blue.  Presently he strolled out of the promenadeand stood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go andlisten to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along the beachtoward Castle Hill.  The quick trot of ponies' feet made him look up,as one of the little carriages, containing a single young lady, camerapidly down the street.  The lady was young, blonde, and dressed inblue.  He stared a minute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving hishat like a boy, he hurried forward to meet her."Oh, Laurie, is it really you?  I thought you'd never come!" cried Amy,dropping the reins and holding out both hands, to the greatscandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps,lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free manners of these'mad English'."I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you,and here I am.""How is your grandfather?  When did you come?  Where are you staying?""Very well--last night--at the Chauvain.  I called at your hotel, butyou were out.""I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin!  Get in and we cantalk at our ease.  I was going for a drive and longing for company.Flo's saving up for tonight.""What happens then, a ball?""A Christmas party at our hotel.  There are many Americans there, andthey give it in honor of the day.  You'll go with us, of course?  Auntwill be charmed.""Thank you.  Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and folding hisarms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred to drive, for herparasol whip and blue reins over the white ponies' backs afforded herinfinite satisfaction."I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to Castle Hill.The view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. Have you everbeen there?""Often, years ago, but I don't mind having a look at it.""Now tell me all about yourself.  The last I heard of you, yourgrandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin.""Yes, I spent a month there and then joined him in Paris, where he hassettled for the winter.  He has friends there and finds plenty to amusehim, so I go and come, and we get on capitally.""That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something inLaurie's manner, though she couldn't tell what."Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still, so we eachsuit ourselves, and there is no trouble.  I am often with him, and heenjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that someone is glad to seeme when I get back from my wanderings.  Dirty old hole, isn't it?" headded, with a look of disgust as they drove along the boulevard to thePlace Napoleon in the old city."The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind.  The river and the hills aredelicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streets are mydelight.  Now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass.  It'sgoing to the Church of St.  John."While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under theircanopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and somebrotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felta new sort of shyness steal over her, for he was changed, and she couldnot find the merry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man besideher.  He was handsomer than ever and greatly improved, she thought, butnow that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tiredand spiritless--not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graverthan a year or two of prosperous life should have made him.  Shecouldn't understand it and did not venture to ask questions, so sheshook her head and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound awayacross the arches of the Paglioni bridge and vanished in the church."Que pensez-vous?" she said, airing her French, which had improved inquantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad."That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result ischarming," replied Laurie, bowing with his hand on his heart and anadmiring look.She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfyher like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when hepromenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was'altogether jolly', with a hearty smile and an approving pat on thehead.  She didn't like the new tone, for though not blase, it soundedindifferent in spite of the look."If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he'd stay a boy," shethought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, tryingmeantime to seem quite easy and gay.At Avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, giving the reinsto Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady roadbetween green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly as in June."Beth is very poorly, Mother says.  I often think I ought to go home,but they all say 'stay'.  So I do, for I shall never have anotherchance like this," said Amy, looking sober over one page."I think you are right, there.  You could do nothing at home, and it isa great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, andenjoying so much, my dear."He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self as he saidthat, and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heart was lightened,for the look, the act, the brotherly 'my dear', seemed to assure herthat if any trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land.Presently she laughed and showed him a small sketch of Jo in herscribbling suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuingfrom her mouth the words, 'Genius burns!'.Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket 'to keep it fromblowing away', and listened with interest to the lively letter Amy readhim."This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in themorning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night," saidAmy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock ofsplendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed.While Amy stood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbsto the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him,with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence hadwrought.  He found nothing to perplex or disappoint, much to admire andapprove, for overlooking a few little affectations of speech andmanner, she was as sprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition ofthat indescribable something in dress and bearing which we callelegance.  Always mature for her age, she had gained a certain aplombin both carriage and conversation, which made her seem more of a womanof the world than she was, but her old petulance now and then showeditself, her strong will still held its own, and her native franknesswas unspoiled by foreign polish.Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks,but he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried away apretty little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in the sunshine,which brought out the soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of hercheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a prominent figurein the pleasant scene.As they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill, Amy wavedher hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and said, pointinghere and there, "Do you remember the Cathedral and the Corso, thefishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to VillaFranca, Schubert's Tower, just below, and best of all, that speck farout to sea which they say is Corsica?""I remember.  It's not much changed," he answered without enthusiasm."What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" said Amy,feeling in good spirits and anxious to see him so also."Yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see theisland which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now made interestingin his sight."Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me whatyou have been doing with yourself all this while," said Amy, seatingherself, ready for a good talk.But she did not get it, for though he joined her and answered all herquestions freely, she could only learn that he had roved about theContinent and been to Greece.  So after idling away an hour, they drovehome again, and having paid his respects to Mrs. Carrol, Laurie leftthem, promising to return in the evening.It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately prinked that night.Time and absence had done its work on both the young people. She hadseen her old friend in a new light, not as 'our boy', but as a handsomeand agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire tofind favor in his sight.  Amy knew her good points, and made the mostof them with the taste and skill which is a fortune to a poor andpretty woman.Tarlatan and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herself in themon such occasions, and following the sensible English fashion of simpledress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with freshflowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which wereboth inexpensive and effective.  It must be confessed that the artistsometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged in antiquecoiffures, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies. But, dearheart, we all have our little weaknesses, and find it easy to pardonsuch in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their comeliness, and keepour hearts merry with their artless vanities."I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home," saidAmy to herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball dress, andcovered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her whiteshoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect. Her hairshe had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves andcurls into a Hebe-like knot at the back of her head."It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to make afright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, orbraid, as the latest style commanded.Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amy loopedher fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the whiteshoulders in delicate green vines.  Remembering the painted boots, shesurveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, andchassed down the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself."My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and thereal lace on Aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress. If I onlyhad a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy," she said,surveying herself with a critical eye and a candle in each hand.In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful asshe glided away.  She seldom ran--it did not suit her style, shethought, for being tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriatethan the sportive or piquante.  She walked up and down the long saloonwhile waiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself under thechandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair, then she thoughtbetter of it, and went away to the other end of the room, as if ashamedof the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one.  It sohappened that she could not have done a better thing, for Laurie camein so quietly she did not hear him, and as she stood at the distantwindow, with her head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress,the slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective asa well-placed statue."Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction sheliked to see in his eyes when they rested on her."Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at him, for he toolooked unusually debonair, and the thought of entering the ballroom onthe arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plainMisses Davis from the bottom of her heart."Here are your flowers.  I arranged them myself, remembering that youdidn't like what Hannah calls a 'sot-bookay'," said Laurie, handing hera delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she dailypassed it in Cardiglia's window."How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully.  "If I'd known you werecoming I'd have had something ready for you today, though not as prettyas this, I'm afraid.""Thank you.  It isn't what it should be, but you have improved it," headded, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist."Please don't.""I thought you liked that sort of thing.""Not from you, it doesn't sound natural, and I like your old bluntnessbetter.""I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned hergloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used todo when they went to parties together at home.The company assembled in the long salle a manger, that evening, wassuch as one sees nowhere but on the Continent.  The hospitableAmericans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and havingno prejudice against titles, secured a few to add luster to theirChristmas ball.A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talkwith a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's mother in black velvet witha pearl bridle under her chin.  A Polish count, aged eighteen, devotedhimself to the ladies, who pronounced him, 'a fascinating dear', and aGerman Serene Something, having come to supper alone, roamed vaguelyabout, seeking what he might devour.  Baron Rothschild's privatesecretary, a large-nosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon theworld, as if his master's name crowned him with a golden halo.  A stoutFrenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing,and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her littlefamily of eight.  Of course, there were many light-footed,shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto,and a few plain but piquante French demoiselles, likewise the usual setof traveling young gentlemen who disported themselves gaily, whilemammas of all nations lined the walls and smiled upon them benignlywhen they danced with their daughters.Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she 'took thestage' that night, leaning on Laurie's arm.  She knew she looked well,she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in aballroom, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes whenyoung girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born torule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood.  She did pity the Davisgirls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grimpapa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in herfriendliest manner as she passed, which was good of her, as itpermitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know whoher distinguished-looking friend might be.  With the first burst of theband, Amy's color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tapthe floor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted Laurie to knowit.  Therefore the shock she received can better be imagined thandescribed, when he said in a perfectly tranquil tone, "Do you care todance?""One usually does at a ball."Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error asfast as possible."I meant the first dance.  May I have the honor?""I can give you one if I put off the Count.  He dances divinely, but hewill excuse me, as you are an old friend," said Amy, hoping that thename would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to betrifled with."Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support...    A daughter of the gods,    Devinely tall, and most divinely fair,"was all the satisfaction she got, however.The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amywas compelled to walk decorously through a cotillion, feeling all thewhile as if she could dance the tarantella with relish.  Laurieresigned her to the 'nice little boy', and went to do his duty to Flo,without securing Amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want offorethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herselftill supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence. Sheshowed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when he strolledinstead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a glorious polkaredowa.  But his polite regrets didn't impose upon her, and when shegalloped away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down by her aunt withan actual expression of relief.That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him for a longwhile, except a word now and then when she came to her chaperon betweenthe dances for a necessary pin or a moment's rest.  Her anger had agood effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemedunusually blithe and brilliant.  Laurie's eyes followed her withpleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spiritand grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be.  He verynaturally fell to studying her from this new point of view, and beforethe evening was half over, had decided that 'little Amy was going tomake a very charming woman'.It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season tookpossession of everyone, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine,hearts happy, and heels light.  The musicians fiddled, tooted, andbanged as if they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those whocouldn't admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth.  The air wasdark with Davises, and many Joneses gamboled like a flock of younggiraffes.  The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteorwith a dashing French-woman who carpeted the floor with her pink satintrain.  The serene Teuton found the supper-table and was happy, eatingsteadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garcons by theravages he committed.  But the Emperor's friend covered himself withglory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, andintroduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him.  Theboyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold, for though he'carried weight', he danced like an India-rubber ball.  He ran, heflew, he pranced, his face glowed, his bald head shown, his coattailswaved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when themusic stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon hisfellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses.Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm but moregraceful agility, and Laurie found himself involuntarily keeping timeto the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by asindefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquishedher, with assurances that he was 'desolated to leave so early', she wasready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.It had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blighted affectionsfind a balm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, youngblood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to theenchantment of beauty, light, music, and motion.  Laurie had a waked-uplook as he rose to give her his seat, and when he hurried away to bringher some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "Ah, Ithought that would do him good!""You look like Balzac's '_Femme Peinte Par Elle-Meme_'," he said, as hefanned her with one hand and held her coffee cup in the other."My rouge won't come off." and Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, andshowed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laughoutright."What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a fold of her dressthat had blown over his knee."Illusion.""Good name for it.  It's very pretty--new thing, isn't it?""It's as old as the hills.  You have seen it on dozens of girls, andyou never found out that it was pretty till now--stupide!""I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see.""None of that, it is forbidden.  I'd rather take coffee thancompliments just now.  No, don't lounge, it makes me nervous."Laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty plate feeling an oddsort of pleasure in having 'little Amy' order him about, for she hadlost her shyness now, and felt an irrestible desire to trample on him,as girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of creation show anysigns of subjection."Where did you learn all this sort of thing?" he asked with a quizzicallook."As 'this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would you kindlyexplain?" returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, butwickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable."Well--the general air, the style, the self-possession,the--the--illusion--you know", laughed Laurie, breaking down andhelping himself out of his quandary with the new word.Amy was gratified, but of course didn't show it, and demurely answered,"Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self.  I study as well asplay, and as for this"--with a little gesture toward her dress--"why,tulle is cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used to makingthe most of my poor little things."Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't in goodtaste, but Laurie liked her better for it, and found himself bothadmiring and respecting the brave patience that made the most ofopportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers.Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, nor why he filled upher book with his own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest ofthe evening in the most delightful manner; but the impulse that wroughtthis agreeable change was the result of one of the new impressionswhich both of them were unconsciously giving and receiving.CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTON THE SHELFIn France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married,when 'Vive la liberte!' becomes their motto.  In America, as everyoneknows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoytheir freedom with republican zest, but the young matrons usuallyabdicate with the first heir to the throne and go into a seclusionalmost as close as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet.Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf assoon as the wedding excitement is over, and most of them might exclaim,as did a very pretty woman the other day, "I'm as handsome as ever, butno one takes any notice of me because I'm married."Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experiencethis affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her littleworld primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admiredand beloved than ever.As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was verystrong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utterexclusion of everything and everybody else.  Day and night she broodedover them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to thetender mercies of the help, for an Irish lady now presided over thekitchen department.  Being a domestic man, John decidedly missed thewifely attentions he had been accustomed to receive, but as he adoredhis babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a time,supposing with masculine ignorance that peace would soon be restored.But three months passed, and there was no return of repose.  Meg lookedworn and nervous, the babies absorbed every minute of her time, thehouse was neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who took life 'aisy', kepthim on short commons.  When he went out in the morning he wasbewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma, if he came gailyin at night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenched by a "Hush!They are just asleep after worrying all day."  If he proposed a littleamusement at home, "No, it would disturb the babies."  If he hinted ata lecture or a concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and adecided--"Leave my children for pleasure, never!"  His sleep was brokenby infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly toand fro in the watches of the night.  His meals were interrupted by thefrequent flight of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped,if a muffled chirp sounded from the nest above.  And when he read hispaper of an evening, Demi's colic got into the shipping list andDaisy's fall affected the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was onlyinterested in domestic news.The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him ofhis wife, home was merely a nursery and the perpetual 'hushing' madehim feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacredprecincts of Babyland.  He bore it very patiently for six months, andwhen no signs of amendment appeared, he did what other paternal exilesdo--tried to get a little comfort elsewhere.  Scott had married andgone to housekeeping not far off, and John fell into the way of runningover for an hour or two of an evening, when his own parlor was empty,and his own wife singing lullabies that seemed to have no end.  Mrs.Scott was a lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be agreeable,and she performed her mission most successfully.  The parlor was alwaysbright and attractive, the chessboard ready, the piano in tune, plentyof gay gossip, and a nice little supper set forth in tempting style.John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been solonely, but as it was he gratefully took the next best thing andenjoyed his neighbor's society.Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it arelief to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing inthe parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children.  Butby-and-by, when the teething worry was over and the idols went to sleepat proper hours, leaving Mamma time to rest, she began to miss John,and find her workbasket dull company, when he was not sitting oppositein his old dressing gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on thefender.  She would not ask him to stay at home, but felt injuredbecause he did not know that she wanted him without being told,entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited for her in vain.She was nervous and worn out with watching and worry, and in thatunreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers occasionallyexperience when domestic cares oppress them.  Want of exercise robsthem of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that idol of Americanwomen, the teapot, makes them feel as if they were all nerve and nomuscle."Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting old and ugly.John doesn't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his fadedwife and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances.Well, the babies love me, they don't care if I am thin and pale andhaven't time to crimp my hair, they are my comfort, and some day Johnwill see what I've gladly sacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?"To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with acrow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, whichsoothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased aspolitics absorbed John, who was always running over to discussinteresting points with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him.Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears oneday, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for Meg's droopingspirits had not escaped her observation."I wouldn't tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really do needadvice, for if John goes on much longer I might as well be widowed,"replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's bib with an injuredair."Goes on how, my dear?" asked her mother anxiously."He's away all day, and at night when I want to see him, he iscontinually going over to the Scotts'.  It isn't fair that I shouldhave the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish,even the best of them.""So are women.  Don't blame John till you see where you are wrongyourself.""But it can't be right for him to neglect me.""Don't you neglect him?""Why, Mother, I thought you'd take my part!""So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault is yours,Meg.""I don't see how.""Let me show you.  Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while youmade it a point to give him your society of an evening, his onlyleisure time?""No, but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend.""I think you could, dear, and I think you ought.  May I speak quitefreely, and will you remember that it's Mother who blames as well asMother who sympathizes?""Indeed I will!  Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I oftenfeel as if I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look tome for everything."Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and with a littleinterruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovinglytogether, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one thanever."You have only made the mistake that most young wives make--forgottenyour duty to your husband in your love for your children. A verynatural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better beremedied before you take to different ways, for children should drawyou nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, andJohn had nothing to do but support them.  I've seen it for some weeks,but have not spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time.""I'm afraid it won't.  If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous,and I wouldn't insult him by such an idea.  He doesn't see that I wanthim, and I don't know how to tell him without words.""Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away.  My dear, he's longingfor his little home, but it isn't home without you, and you are alwaysin the nursery.""Oughtn't I to be there?""Not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous, and then youare unfitted for everything.  Besides, you owe something to John aswell as to the babies.  Don't neglect husband for children, don't shuthim out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it.  His place isthere as well as yours, and the children need him.  Let him feel thathe has a part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and itwill be better for you all.""You really think so, Mother?""I know it, Meg, for I've tried it, and I seldom give advice unlessI've proved its practicability.  When you and Jo were little, I went onjust as you are, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless I devotedmyself wholly to you.  Poor Father took to his books, after I hadrefused all offers of help, and left me to try my experiment alone.  Istruggled along as well as I could, but Jo was too much for me.  Inearly spoiled her by indulgence.  You were poorly, and I worried aboutyou till I fell sick myself.  Then Father came to the rescue, quietlymanaged everything, and made himself so helpful that I saw my mistake,and never have been able to get on without him since.  That is thesecret of our home happiness.  He does not let business wean him fromthe little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to letdomestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits.  Each do our partalone in many things, but at home we work together, always.""It is so, Mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband andchildren what you have been to yours.  Show me how, I'll do anythingyou say.""You always were my docile daughter.  Well, dear, if I were you, I'dlet John have more to do with the management of Demi, for the boy needstraining, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what I haveoften proposed, let Hannah come and help you.  She is a capital nurse,and you may trust the precious babies to her while you do morehousework.  You need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, andJohn would find his wife again. Go out more, keep cheerful as well asbusy, for you are the sunshine-maker of the family, and if you getdismal there is no fair weather.  Then I'd try to take an interest inwhatever John likes--talk with him, let him read to you, exchangeideas, and help each other in that way.  Don't shut yourself up in abandbox because you are a woman, but understand what is going on, andeducate yourself to take your part in the world's work, for it allaffects you and yours.""John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I askquestions about politics and things.""I don't believe he would.  Love covers a multitude of sins, and ofwhom could you ask more freely than of him?  Try it, and see if hedoesn't find your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's suppers.""I will.  Poor John!  I'm afraid I have neglected him sadly, but Ithought I was right, and he never said anything.""He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, I fancy.This is just the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to growapart, and the very time when they ought to be most together, for thefirst tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it.And no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first yearsof the little lives given to them to train.  Don't let John be astranger to the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe andhappy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, andthrough them you will learn to know and love one another as you should.Now, dear, good-by.  Think over Mother's preachment, act upon it if itseems good, and God bless you all."Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though thefirst attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it.  Ofcourse the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon asthey found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever theywanted.  Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but Papa was notso easily subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse byan attempt at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demiinherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of character, we won't callit obstinacy, and when he made up his little mind to have or to doanything, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not changethat pertinacious little mind.  Mamma thought the dear too young to betaught to conquer his prejudices, but Papa believed that it never wastoo soon to learn obedience.  So Master Demi early discovered that whenhe undertook to 'wrastle' with 'Parpar', he always got the worst of it,yet like the Englishman, baby respected the man who conquered him, andloved the father whose grave "No, no," was more impressive than allMamma's love pats.A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a socialevening with John, so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor inorder, dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early,that nothing should interfere with her experiment.  But unfortunatelyDemi's most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and thatnight he decided to go on a rampage.  So poor Meg sang and rocked, toldstories and tried every sleep-prevoking wile she could devise, but allin vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut, and long after Daisy had gone tobyelow, like the chubby little bunch of good nature she was, naughtyDemi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awakeexpression of countenance."Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while Mamma runs down and givespoor Papa his tea?" asked Meg, as the hall door softly closed, and thewell-known step went tip-toeing into the dining room."Me has tea!" said Demi, preparing to join in the revel."No, but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll gobye-bye like Daisy.  Will you, lovey?""Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry thedesired day.Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away and randown to greet her husband with a smiling face and the little blue bowin her hair which was his especial admiration.  He saw it at once andsaid with pleased surprise, "Why, little mother, how gay we aretonight.  Do you expect company?""Only you, dear.""Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?""No, I'm tired of being dowdy, so I dressed up as a change.  You alwaysmake yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are, so whyshouldn't I when I have the time?""I do it out of respect for you, my dear," said old-fashioned John."Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young and prettyagain, as she nodded to him over the teapot."Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times.  This tastesright.  I drink your health, dear." and John sipped his tea with an airof reposeful rapture, which was of very short duration however, for ashe put down his cup, the door handle rattled mysteriously, and a littlevoice was heard, saying impatiently..."Opy doy.  Me's tummin!""It's that naughty boy.  I told him to go to sleep alone, and here heis, downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas,"said Meg, answering the call."Mornin' now," announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered, with hislong nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and every curl bobbinggayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the 'cakies' with lovingglances."No, it isn't morning yet.  You must go to bed, and not trouble poorMamma.  Then you can have the little cake with sugar on it.""Me loves Parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternalknee and revel in forbidden joys.  But John shook his head, and said toMeg..."If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him doit, or he will never learn to mind you.""Yes, of course.  Come, Demi,"  and Meg led her son away, feeling astrong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her,laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered assoon as they reached the nursery.Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave hima lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any morepromenades till morning."Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, andregarding his first attempt as eminently successful.Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, whenthe little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquenciesby boldly demanding, "More sudar, Marmar.""Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against theengaging little sinner.  "We shall never know any peace till that childlearns to go to bed properly.  You have made a slave of yourself longenough.  Give him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it.  Puthim in his bed and leave him, Meg.""He won't stay there, he never does unless I sit by him.""I'll manage him.  Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as Mammabids you.""S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted'cakie', and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity."You must never say that to Papa.  I shall carry you if you don't goyourself.""Go 'way, me don't love Parpar." and Demi retired to his mother'sskirts for protection.But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over tothe enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John," which struck the culpritwith dismay, for when Mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was athand.  Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by astrong hand to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain hiswrath, but openly defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all theway upstairs.  The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolledout on the other, and made for the door, only to be ignominiouslycaught up by the tail of his little toga and put back again, whichlively performance was kept up till the young man's strength gave out,when he devoted himself to roaring at the top of his voice.  This vocalexercise usually conquered Meg, but John sat as unmoved as the postwhich is popularly believed to be deaf.  No coaxing, no sugar, nolullaby, no story, even the light was put out and only the red glow ofthe fire enlivened the 'big dark' which Demi regarded with curiosityrather than fear.  This new order of things disgusted him, and hehowled dismally for 'Marmar', as his angry passions subsided, andrecollections of his tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat.The plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar went to Meg'sheart, and she ran up to say beseechingly..."Let me stay with him, he'll be good now, John.""No, my dear.  I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him, andhe must, if I stay here all night.""But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching herself fordeserting her boy."No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off and then the matteris settled, for he will understand that he has got to mind.  Don'tinterfere, I'll manage him.""He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harshness.""He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoiled by indulgence.  Godown, my dear, and leave the boy to me."When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and neverregretted her docility."Please let me kiss him once, John?""Certainly.  Demi, say good night to Mamma, and let her go and rest,for she is very tired with taking care of you all day."Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory, for after itwas given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottomof the bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind."Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying.  I'll cover himup, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest," thought John, creeping tothe bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.But he wasn't, for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi's eyesopened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, sayingwith a penitent hiccough, "Me's dood, now."Sitting on the stairs outside Meg wondered at the long silence whichfollowed the uproar, and after imagining all sorts of impossibleaccidents, she slipped into the room to set her fears at rest.  Demilay fast asleep, not in his usual spreadeagle attitude, but in asubdued bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm andholding his father's finger, as if he felt that justice was temperedwith mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and wiser baby.  So held,John had waited with a womanly patience till the little hand relaxedits hold, and while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by thattussle with his son than with his whole day's work.As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled toherself, and then slipped away again, saying in a satisfied tone, "Inever need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies.  He doesknow how to manage them, and will be a great help, for Demi is gettingtoo much for me."When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachfulwife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming abonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something about theelection, if he was not too tired.  John saw in a minute that arevolution of some kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions,knowing that Meg was such a transparent little person, she couldn'tkeep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clue would soonappear.  He read a long debate with the most amiable readiness and thenexplained it in his most lucid manner, while Meg tried to look deeplyinterested, to ask intelligent questions, and keep her thoughts fromwandering from the state of the nation to the state of her bonnet.  Inher secret soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad asmathematics, and that the mission of politicians seemed to be callingeach other names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, andwhen John paused, shook her head and said with what she thoughtdiplomatic ambiguity, "Well, I really don't see what we are coming to."John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a prettylittle preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded itwith the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken."She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and likemillinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John the Just, addingaloud, "That's very pretty.  Is it what you call a breakfast cap?""My dear man, it's a bonnet!   My very best go-to-concert-and-theaterbonnet.""I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one ofthe flyaway things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?""These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so,"and Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet and regarding him with anair of calm satisfaction that was irresistible."It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looksyoung and happy again," and John kissed the smiling face, to the greatdetriment of the rosebud under the chin."I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the newconcerts some night.  I really need some music to put me in tune.  Willyou, please?""Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like.  Youhave been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and I shallenjoy it, of all things.  What put it into your head, little mother?""Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervousand cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed change andless care, so Hannah is to help me with the children, and I'm to see tothings about the house more, and now and then have a little fun, justto keep me from getting to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman beforemy time.  It's only an experiment, John, and I want to try it for yoursake as much as for mine, because I've neglected you shamefully lately,and I'm going to make home what it used to be, if I can.  You don'tobject, I hope?"Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the littlebonnet had from utter ruin.  All that we have any business to know isthat John did not appear to object, judging from the changes whichgradually took place in the house and its inmates.  It was not allParadise by any means, but everyone was better for the division oflabor system.  The children throve under the paternal rule, foraccurate, steadfast John brought order and obedience into Babydom, whileMeg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty ofwholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidentialconversation with her sensible husband.  Home grew homelike again, andJohn had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him.  The Scottscame to the Brookes' now, and everyone found the little house acheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love.  EvenSallie Moffatt liked to go there.  "It is always so quiet and pleasanthere, it does me good, Meg," she used to say, looking about her withwistful eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use itin her great house, full of splendid loneliness, for there were noriotous, sunny-faced babies there, and Ned lived in a world of his own,where there was no place for her.This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg hadfound the key to it, and each year of married life taught them how touse it, unlocking the treasuries of real home love and mutualhelpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy.This is the sort of shelf on which young wives and mothers may consentto be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world, findingloyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who cling to them,undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age, walking side by side, throughfair and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is, in the truesense of the good old Saxon word, the 'house-band', and learning, asMeg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom is home, her highest honorthe art of ruling it not as a queen, but as a wise wife and mother.CHAPTER THIRTY-NINELAZY LAURENCELaurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month.  Hewas tired of wandering about alone, and Amy's familiar presence seemedto give a homelike charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore apart.  He rather missed the 'petting' he used to receive, and enjoyed ataste of it again, for no attentions, however flattering, fromstrangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girlsat home.  Amy never would pet him like the others, but she was veryglad to see him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was therepresentative of the dear family for whom she longed more than shewould confess.  They naturally took comfort in each other's society andwere much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at Niceno one can be very industrious during the gay season.  But, whileapparently amusing themselves in the most careless fashion, they werehalf-consciously making discoveries and forming opinions about eachother.  Amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank inhers, and each felt the truth before a word was spoken.  Amy tried toplease, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the many pleasures hegave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanlywomen know how to lend an indescribable charm.  Laurie made no effortof any kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably aspossible, trying to forget, and feeling that all women owed him a kindword because one had been cold to him.  It cost him no effort to begenerous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if shewould have taken them, but at the same time he felt that he could notchange the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded thekeen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such half-sorrowful,half-scornful surprise."All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day.  I preferred to stay athome and write letters.  They are done now, and I am going to Valrosato sketch, will you come?" said Amy, as she joined Laurie one lovelyday when he lounged in as usual, about noon."Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?" he answeredslowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after the glare without."I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, soyou'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella, and keep your glovesnice," returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids,which were a weak point with Laurie."Then I'll go with pleasure." and he put out his hand for hersketchbook.  But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp..."Don't trouble yourself.  It's no exertion to me, but you don't lookequal to it."Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she randownstairs, but when they got into the carriage he took the reinshimself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms andfall asleep on his perch.The two never quarreled.  Amy was too well-bred, and just now Lauriewas too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim with aninquiring air.  She answered him with a smile, and they went ontogether in the most amicable manner.It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesquescenes that delight beauty-loving eyes.  Here an ancient monastery,whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them.  There abare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacketover one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped amongthe rocks or lay at his feet.  Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden withpanniers of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in acapaline sitting between the green piles, or an old woman spinning witha distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from thequaint stone hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still onthe bough. Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their duskyfoliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemonesfringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights, theMaritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky.Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of perpetual summerroses blossomed everywhere.  They overhung the archway, thrustthemselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome topassers-by, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon trees andfeathery palms up to the villa on the hill. Every shadowy nook, whereseats invited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom, every coolgrotto had its marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and everyfountain reflected crimson, white, or pale pink roses, leaning down tosmile at their own beauty. Roses covered the walls of the house, drapedthe cornices, climbed the pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade ofthe wide terrace, whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean,and the white-walled city on its shore."This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it?  Did you ever see suchroses?" asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and aluxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by."No, nor felt such thorns," returned Laurie, with his thumb in hismouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower thatgrew just beyond his reach."Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," said Amy,gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wallbehind her.  She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and hestood a minute looking down at them with a curious expression, for inthe Italian part of his nature there was a touch of superstition, andhe was just then in that state of half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy,when imaginative young men find significance in trifles and food forromance everywhere. He had thought of Jo in reaching after the thornyred rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn oneslike that from the greenhouse at home.  The pale roses Amy gave himwere the sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridalwreaths, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for Jo or forhimself, but the next instant his American common sense got the betterof sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh than Amy had heardsince he came."It's good advice, you'd better take it and save your fingers," shesaid, thinking her speech amused him."Thank you, I will," he answered in jest, and a few months later he didit in earnest."Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?" she asked presently,as she settled herself on a rustic seat."Very soon.""You have said that a dozen times within the last three weeks.""I dare say, short answers save trouble.""He expects you, and you really ought to go.""Hospitable creature!  I know it.""Then why don't you do it?""Natural depravity, I suppose.""Natural indolence, you mean.  It's really dreadful!" and Amy lookedsevere."Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so Imight as well stay and plague you a little longer, you can bear itbetter, in fact I think it agrees with you excellently," and Lauriecomposed himself for a lounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade.Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an air ofresignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture 'that boy' and ina minute she began again."What are you doing just now?""Watching lizards.""No, no.  I mean what do you intend and wish to do?""Smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me.""How provoking you are!  I don't approve of cigars and I will onlyallow it on condition that you let me put you into my sketch.  I need afigure.""With all the pleasure in life.  How will you have me, full length orthree-quarters, on my head or my heels?  I should respectfully suggesta recumbent posture, then put yourself in also and call it 'Dolce farniente'.""Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like.  I intend to work hard,"said Amy in her most energetic tone."What delightful enthusiasm!" and he leaned against a tall urn with anair of entire satisfaction."What would Jo say if she saw you now?" asked Amy impatiently, hopingto stir him up by the mention of her still more energetic sister's name."As usual, 'Go away, Teddy.  I'm busy!'" He laughed as he spoke, butthe laugh was not natural, and a shade passed over his face, for theutterance of the familiar name touched the wound that was not healedyet.  Both tone and shadow struck Amy, for she had seen and heard thembefore, and now she looked up in time to catch a new expression onLaurie's face--a hard bitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, andregret.  It was gone before she could study it and the listlessexpression back again. She watched him for a moment with artisticpleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking inthe sun with uncovered head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, forhe seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie."You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his tomb," shesaid, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined against the darkstone."Wish I was!""That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life. You are sochanged, I sometimes think--" there Amy stopped, with a half-timid,half-wistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech.Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitatedto express, and looking straight into her eyes, said, just as he usedto say it to her mother, "It's all right, ma'am."That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begun to worryher lately.  It also touched her, and she showed that it did, by thecordial tone in which she said..."I'm glad of that!  I didn't think you'd been a very bad boy, but Ifancied you might have wasted money at that wicked Baden-Baden, lostyour heart to some charming Frenchwoman with a husband, or got intosome of the scrapes that young men seem to consider a necessary part ofa foreign tour.  Don't stay out there in the sun, come and lie on thegrass here and 'let us be friendly', as Jo used to say when we got inthe sofa corner and told secrets."Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amusehimself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of Amy's hat, that laythere."I'm all ready for the secrets." and he glanced up with a decidedexpression of interest in his eyes."I've none to tell.  You may begin.""Haven't one to bless myself with.  I thought perhaps you'd had somenews from home..""You have heard all that has come lately.  Don't you hear often?  Ifancied Jo would send you volumes.""She's very busy.  I'm roving about so, it's impossible to be regular,you know.  When do you begin your great work of art, Raphaella?" heasked, changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which hehad been wondering if Amy knew his secret and wanted to talk about it."Never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air. "Rome tookall the vanity out of me, for after seeing the wonders there, I felttoo insignificant to live and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair.""Why should you, with so much energy and talent?""That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energycan make it so.  I want to be great, or nothing. I won't be acommon-place dauber, so I don't intend to try any more.""And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask?""Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society, if I getthe chance."It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, but audacitybecomes young people, and Amy's ambition had a good foundation.  Lauriesmiled, but he liked the spirit with which she took up a new purposewhen a long-cherished one died, and spent no time lamenting."Good!  And here is where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy."Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a conscious look in herdowncast face that made Laurie sit up and say gravely, "Now I'm goingto play brother, and ask questions.  May I?""I don't promise to answer.""Your face will, if your tongue won't.  You aren't woman of the worldenough yet to hide your feelings, my dear.  I heard rumors about Fredand you last year, and it's my private opinion that if he had not beencalled home so suddenly and detained so long, something would have comeof it, hey?""That's not for me to say," was Amy's grim reply, but her lips wouldsmile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eye which betrayedthat she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge."You are not engaged, I hope?" and Laurie looked very elder-brotherlyand grave all of a sudden."No.""But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down on his knees,won't you?""Very likely.""Then you are fond of old Fred?""I could be, if I tried.""But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Bless my soul,what unearthly prudence!  He's a good fellow, Amy, but not the man Ifancied you'd like.""He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners," began Amy,trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed ofherself, in spite of the sincerity of her intentions."I understand.  Queens of society can't get on without money, so youmean to make a good match, and start in that way?  Quite right andproper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from the lips of one ofyour mother's girls.""True, nevertheless."A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was utteredcontrasted curiously with the young speaker.  Laurie felt thisinstinctively and laid himself down again, with a sense ofdisappointment which he could not explain.  His look and silence, aswell as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled Amy, and made herresolve to deliver her lecture without delay."I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little," she saidsharply."Do it for me, there's a dear girl.""I could, if I tried." and she looked as if she would like doing it inthe most summary style."Try, then.  I give you leave," returned Laurie, who enjoyed havingsomeone to tease, after his long abstinence from his favorite pastime."You'd be angry in five minutes.""I'm never angry with you.  It takes two flints to make a fire. You areas cool and soft as snow.""You don't know what I can do.  Snow produces a glow and a tingle, ifapplied rightly.  Your indifference is half affectation, and a goodstirring up would prove it.""Stir away, it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the big man saidwhen his little wife beat him.  Regard me in the light of a husband ora carpet, and beat till you are tired, if that sort of exercise agreeswith you."Being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see him shake off theapathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, andbegan."Flo and I have got a new name for you.  It's Lazy Laurence. How do youlike it?"She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his arms under hishead, with an imperturbable, "That's not bad. Thank you, ladies.""Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?""Pining to be told.""Well, I despise you."If she had even said 'I hate you' in a petulant or coquettish tone, hewould have laughed and rather liked it, but the grave, almost sad,accent in her voice made him open his eyes, and ask quickly..."Why, if you please?""Because, with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you arefaulty, lazy, and miserable.""Strong language, mademoiselle.""If you like it, I'll go on.""Pray do, it's quite interesting.""I thought you'd find it so.  Selfish people always like to talk aboutthemselves.""Am I selfish?" the question slipped out involuntarily and in a tone ofsurprise, for the one virtue on which he prided himself was generosity."Yes, very selfish," continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice, twice aseffective just then as an angry one.  "I'll show you how, for I'vestudied you while we were frolicking, and I'm not at all satisfied withyou.  Here you have been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing butwaste time and money and disappoint your friends.""Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year grind?""You don't look as if you'd had much.  At any rate, you are none thebetter for it, as far as I can see.  I said when we first met that youhad improved.  Now I take it all back, for I don't think you half sonice as when I left you at home.  You have grown abominably lazy, youlike gossip, and waste time on frivolous things, you are contented tobe petted and admired by silly people, instead of being loved andrespected by wise ones.  With money, talent, position, health, andbeauty, ah you like that old Vanity!  But it's the truth, so I can'thelp saying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, youcan find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead of being the man youought to be, you are only..."  there she stopped, with a look that hadboth pain and pity in it."Saint Laurence on a gridiron," added Laurie, blandly finishing thesentence.  But the lecture began to take effect, for there was awide-awake sparkle in his eyes now and a half-angry, half-injuredexpression replaced the former indifference."I supposed you'd take it so.  You men tell us we are angels, and saywe can make you what we will, but the instant we honestly try to do yougood, you laugh at us and won't listen, which proves how much yourflattery is worth." Amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back on theexasperating martyr at her feet.In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she could not draw,and Laurie's voice said, with a droll imitation of a penitent child, "Iwill be good, oh, I will be good!"But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tapping on theoutspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, "Aren't you ashamed of ahand like that?  It's as soft and white as a woman's, and looks as ifit never did anything but wear Jouvin's best gloves and pick flowersfor ladies.  You are not a dandy, thank Heaven, so I'm glad to seethere are no diamonds or big seal rings on it, only the little old oneJo gave you so long ago.  Dear soul, I wish she was here to help me!""So do I!"The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was energy enoughin the echo of her wish to suit even Amy.  She glanced down at him witha new thought in her mind, but he was lying with his hat half over hisface, as if for shade, and his mustache hid his mouth.  She only sawhis chest rise and fall, with a long breath that might have been asigh, and the hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, asif to hide something too precious or too tender to be spoken of. All ina minute various hints and trifles assumed shape and significance inAmy's mind, and told her what her sister never had confided to her.She remembered that Laurie never spoke voluntarily of Jo, she recalledthe shadow on his face just now, the change in his character, and thewearing of the little old ring which was no ornament to a handsomehand.  Girls are quick to read such signs and feel their eloquence.Amy had fancied that perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of thealteration, and now she was sure of it.  Her keen eyes filled, and whenshe spoke again, it was in a voice that could be beautifully soft andkind when she chose to make it so."I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if you weren'tthe sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd be very angry with me.But we are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn't bear to think theyshould be disappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhapsthey would understand the change better than I do.""I think they would," came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite astouching as a broken one."They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding,when I should have been more kind and patient than ever.  I never didlike that Miss Randal and now I hate her!" said artful Amy, wishing tobe sure of her facts this time."Hang Miss Randal!" and Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a lookthat left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady."I beg pardon, I thought..." and there she paused diplomatically."No, you didn't, you knew perfectly well I never cared for anyone butJo," Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone, and turned his faceaway as he spoke."I did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you cameaway, I supposed I was mistaken.  And Jo wouldn't be kind to you?  Why,I was sure she loved you dearly.""She was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky for her shedidn't love me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow you think me.  It'sher fault though, and you may tell her so."The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubledAmy, for she did not know what balm to apply."I was wrong, I didn't know.  I'm very sorry I was so cross, but Ican't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear.""Don't, that's her name for me!" and Laurie put up his hand with aquick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo's half-kind,half-reproachful tone.  "Wait till you've tried it yourself," he addedin a low voice, as he pulled up the grass by the handful."I'd take it manfully, and be respected if I couldn't be loved," saidAmy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it.Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well,making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to liveit down alone.  Amy's lecture put the matter in a new light, and forthe first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the firstfailure, and shut himself up in moody indifference.  He felt as ifsuddenly shaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to go tosleep again.  Presently he sat up and asked slowly, "Do you think Jowould despise me as you do?""Yes, if she saw you now.  She hates lazy people.  Why don't you dosomething splendid, and make her love you?""I did my best, but it was no use.""Graduating well, you mean?  That was no more than you ought to havedone, for your grandfather's sake.  It would have been shameful to failafter spending so much time and money, when everyone knew that youcould do well.""I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me," began Laurie,leaning his head on his hand in a despondent attitude."No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did you good, andproved that you could do something if you tried. If you'd only setabout another task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy selfagain, and forget your trouble.""That's impossible.""Try it and see.  You needn't shrug your shoulders, and think, 'Muchshe knows about such things'.  I don't pretend to be wise, but I amobserving, and I see a great deal more than you'd imagine.  I'minterested in other people's experiences and inconsistencies, andthough I can't explain, I remember and use them for my own benefit.Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, forit's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have theone you want.  There, I won't lecture any more, for I know you'll wakeup and be a man in spite of that hardhearted girl."Neither spoke for several minutes.  Laurie sat turning the little ringon his finger, and Amy put the last touches to the hasty sketch she hadbeen working at while she talked. Presently she put it on his knee,merely saying, "How do you like that?"He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing, for itwas capitally done, the long, lazy figure on the grass, with listlessface, half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came thelittle wreath of smoke that encircled the dreamer's head."How well you draw!" he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure ather skill, adding, with a half-laugh, "Yes, that's me.""As you are.  This is as you were." and Amy laid another sketch besidethe one he held.It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in itwhich atoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly thata sudden change swept over the young man's face as he looked.  Only arough sketch of Laurie taming a horse.  Hat and coat were off, andevery line of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding attitudewas full of energy and meaning.  The handsome brute, just subdued,stood arching his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one footimpatiently pawing the ground, and ears pricked up as if listening forthe voice that had mastered him.  In the ruffled mane, the rider'sbreezy hair and erect attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenlyarrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy thatcontrasted sharply with the supine grace of the '_Dolce far Niente_'sketch.  Laurie said nothing but as his eye went from one to the other,Amy saw him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read andaccepted the little lesson she had given him.  That satisfied her, andwithout waiting for him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way..."Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck, and we alllooked on?  Meg and Beth were frightened, but Jo clapped and pranced,and I sat on the fence and drew you.  I found that sketch in myportfolio the other day, touched it up, and kept it to show you.""Much obliged.  You've improved immensely since then, and Icongratulate you.  May I venture to suggest in 'a honeymoon paradise'that five o'clock is the dinner hour at your hotel?"Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bowand looked at his watch, as if to remind her that even moral lecturesshould have an end.  He tried to resume his former easy, indifferentair, but it was an affectation now, for the rousing had been moreeffacious than he would confess.  Amy felt the shade of coldness in hismanner, and said to herself..."Now, I've offended him.  Well, if it does him good, I'm glad, if itmakes him hate me, I'm sorry, but it's true, and I can't take back aword of it."They laughed and chatted all the way home, and little Baptiste, upbehind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in charmingspirits.  But both felt ill at ease.  The friendly frankness wasdisturbed, the sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite theirapparent gaiety, there was a secret discontent in the heart of each."Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?" asked Amy, as they partedat her aunt's door."Unfortunately I have an engagement.  Au revoir, madamoiselle," andLaurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion, whichbecame him better than many men.  Something in his face made Amy sayquickly and warmly..."No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'drather have a hearty English handshake than all the sentimentalsalutations in France.""Goodbye, dear," and with these words, uttered in the tone she liked,Laurie left her, after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness.Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which madeher smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.My Dear Mentor, Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult withinyourself, for 'Lazy Laurence' has gone to his grandpa, like the best ofboys.  A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a blissfulhoneymoon at Valrosa!  I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser.Tell him so, with my congratulations.Yours gratefully, Telemachus"Good boy!  I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an approving smile. Thenext minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding,with an involuntary sigh, "Yes, I am glad, but how I shall miss him."CHAPTER FORTYTHE VALLEY OF THE SHADOWWhen the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable,and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increasedaffection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times oftrouble.  They put away their grief, and each did his or her parttoward making that last year a happy one.The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it wasgathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano,the little worktable, and the beloved pussies.  Father's best booksfound their way there, Mother's easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finestsketches, and every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage,to make sunshine for Aunty Beth.  John quietly set apart a little sum,that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied withthe fruit she loved and longed for.  Old Hannah never wearied ofconcocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tearsas she worked, and from across the sea came little gifts and cheerfulletters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from landsthat know no winter.Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth,tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet,unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave life, she tried tomake it happier for those who should remain behind.  The feeble fingerswere never idle, and one of her pleasures was to make little things forthe school children daily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittensfrom her window for a pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some smallmother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling throughforests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all mannerof pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers of the ladder oflearning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came toregard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother, who sat abovethere, and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastes andneeds.  If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the brightlittle faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, andthe droll little letters which came to her, full of blots and gratitude.The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to lookround, and say "How beautiful this is!" as they all sat together in hersunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother andsisters working near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, fromthe wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, asapplicable now as when written centuries ago, a little chapel, where apaternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn,trying to show them that hope can comfort love, and faith makeresignation possible.  Simple sermons, that went straight to the soulsof those who listened, for the father's heart was in the minister'sreligion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquenceto the words he spoke or read.It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them aspreparation for the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, Beth said theneedle was 'so heavy', and put it down forever.  Talking wearied her,faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquilspirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feebleflesh.  Ah me! Such heavy days, such long, long nights, such achinghearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forcedto see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear thebitter cry, "Help me, help me!" and to feel that there was no help.  Asad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life withdeath, but both were mercifully brief, and then the natural rebellionover, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever.  With the wreckof her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though she said little,those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrimcalled was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore,trying to see the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossedthe river.Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said "I feel stronger whenyou are here."  She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renewthe fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldomasked for anything, and 'tried not to be a trouble'.  All day shehaunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of beingchosen then than of any honor her life ever brought her.  Precious andhelpful hours to Jo, for now her heart received the teaching that itneeded.  Lessons in patience were so sweetly taught her that she couldnot fail to learn them, charity for all, the lovely spirit that canforgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes thehardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trustsundoubtingly.Often when she woke Jo found Beth reading in her well-worn little book,heard her singing softly, to beguile the sleepless night, or saw herlean her face upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through thetransparent fingers, and Jo would lie watching her with thoughts toodeep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, wastrying to wean herself from the dear old life, and fit herself for thelife to come, by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the musicshe loved so well.Seeing this did more for Jo than the wisest sermons, the saintliesthymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter.  For witheyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderestsorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life--uneventful,unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which 'smell sweet, andblossom in the dust', the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest onearth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possibleto all.One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table, to findsomething to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost ashard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite,Pilgrims's Progress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in Jo'shand.  The name caught her eye and the blurred look of the lines madeher sure that tears had fallen on it."Poor Jo!  She's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave.  Sheshows me all her things, and I don't think she'll mind if I look atthis", thought Beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug,with the tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fellapart.    MY BETH    Sitting patient in the shadow    Till the blessed light shall come,    A serene and saintly presence    Sanctifies our troubled home.    Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows    Break like ripples on the strand    Of the deep and solemn river    Where her willing feet now stand.    O my sister, passing from me,    Out of human care and strife,    Leave me, as a gift, those virtues    Which have beautified your life.    Dear, bequeath me that great patience    Which has power to sustain    A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit    In its prison-house of pain.    Give me, for I need it sorely,    Of that courage, wise and sweet,    Which has made the path of duty    Green beneath your willing feet.    Give me that unselfish nature,    That with charity divine    Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake--    Meek heart, forgive me mine!    Thus our parting daily loseth    Something of its bitter pain,    And while learning this hard lesson,    My great loss becomes my gain.    For the touch of grief will render    My wild nature more serene,    Give to life new aspirations,    A new trust in the unseen.    Henceforth, safe across the river,    I shall see forever more    A beloved, household spirit    Waiting for me on the shore.    Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,    Guardian angels shall become,    And the sister gone before me    By their hands shall lead me home.Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they broughta look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face, for her one regret hadbeen that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her thather life had not been useless, that her death would not bring thedespair she feared.  As she sat with the paper folded between herhands, the charred log fell asunder.  Jo started up, revived the blaze,and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept."Not asleep, but so happy, dear.  See, I found this and read it. I knewyou wouldn't care.  Have I been all that to you, Jo?" she asked, withwistful, humble earnestness."_Oh_, Beth, so much, so much!" and Jo's head went down upon the pillowbeside her sister's."Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life.  I'm not so good as youmake me, but I have tried to do right.  And now, when it's too late tobegin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone lovesme so much, and feels as if I'd helped them.""More than any one in the world, Beth.  I used to think I couldn't letyou go, but I'm learning to feel that I don't lose you, that you'll bemore to me than ever, and death can't part us, though it seems to.""I know it cannot, and I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I shallbe your Beth still, to love and help you more than ever.  You must takemy place, Jo, and be everything to Father and Mother when I'm gone.They will turn to you, don't fail them, and if it's hard to work alone,remember that I don't forget you, and that you'll be happier in doingthat than writing splendid books or seeing all the world, for love isthe only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes theend so easy.""I'll try, Beth." and then and there Jo renounced her old ambition,pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty ofother desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in theimmortality of love.So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earthgreener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back intime to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child,clung to the hands that had led her all her life, as Father and Motherguided her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and gave her upto God.Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions,or depart with beatified countenances, and those who have sped manyparting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simplyas sleep.  As Beth had hoped, the 'tide went out easily', and in thedark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her firstbreath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one lovinglook, one little sigh.With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sisters made herready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing withgrateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the patheticpatience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverentjoy that to their darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantomfull of dread.When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out,Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still.  But a bird sangblithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshlyat the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benedictionover the placid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peacethat those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thankedGod that Beth was well at last.CHAPTER FORTY-ONELEARNING TO FORGETAmy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own ittill long afterward.  Men seldom do, for when women are the advisers,the lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuadedthemselves that it is just what they intended to do.  Then they actupon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half thecredit of it.  If it fails, they generously give her the whole.  Lauriewent back to his grandfather, and was so dutifully devoted for severalweeks that the old gentleman declared the climate of Nice had improvedhim wonderfully, and he had better try it again. There was nothing theyoung gentleman would have liked better, but elephants could not havedragged him back after the scolding he had received.  Pride forbid, andwhenever the longing grew very strong, he fortified his resolution byrepeating the words that had made the deepest impression--"I despiseyou." "Go and do something splendid that will make her love you."Laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon broughthimself to confess that he had been selfish and lazy, but then when aman has a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagariestill he has lived it down.  He felt that his blighted affections werequite dead now, and though he should never cease to be a faithfulmourner, there was no occasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously.  Jowouldn't love him, but he might make her respect and admire him bydoing something which should prove that a girl's 'No' had not spoiledhis life.  He had always meant to do something, and Amy's advice wasquite unnecessary.  He had only been waiting till the aforesaidblighted affections were decently interred. That being done, he feltthat he was ready to 'hide his stricken heart, and still toil on'.As Goethe, when he had a joy or a grief, put it into a song, so Laurieresolved to embalm his love sorrow in music, and to compose a Requiemwhich should harrow up Jo's soul and melt the heart of every hearer.Therefore the next time the old gentleman found him getting restlessand moody and ordered him off, he went to Vienna, where he had musicalfriends, and fell to work with the firm determination to distinguishhimself.  But whether the sorrow was too vast to be embodied in music,or music too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he soon discovered thatthe Requiem was beyond him just at present.  It was evident that hismind was not in working order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying, foroften in the middle of a plaintive strain, he would find himselfhumming a dancing tune that vividly recalled the Christmas ball atNice, especially the stout Frenchman, and put an effectual stop totragic composition for the time being.Then he tried an opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning,but here again unforeseen difficulties beset him.  He wanted Jo for hisheroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tenderrecollections and romantic visions of his love.  But memory turnedtraitor, and as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, wouldonly recall Jo's oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her inthe most unsentimental aspects--beating mats with her head tied up in abandanna, barricading herself with the sofa pillow, or throwing coldwater over his passion a la Gummidge--and an irresistable laugh spoiledthe pensive picture he was endeavoring to paint.  Jo wouldn't be putinto the opera at any price, and he had to give her up with a "Blessthat girl, what a torment she is!" and a clutch at his hair, as becamea distracted composer.When he looked about him for another and a less intractable damsel toimmortalize in melody, memory produced one with the most obligingreadiness.  This phantom wore many faces, but it always had goldenhair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily beforehis mind's eye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies,and blue ribbons.  He did not give the complacent wraith any name, buthe took her for his heroine and grew quite fond of her, as well hemight, for he gifted her with every gift and grace under the sun, andescorted her, unscathed, through trials which would have annihilatedany mortal woman.Thanks to this inspiration, he got on swimmingly for a time, butgradually the work lost its charm, and he forgot to compose, while hesat musing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get some newideas and refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettledstate that winter.  He did not do much, but he thought a great deal andwas conscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself."It's genius simmering, perhaps.  I'll let it simmer, and see whatcomes of it," he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that itwasn't genius, but something far more common.  Whatever it was, itsimmered to some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented withhis desultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to goat, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion thateveryone who loved music was not a composer.  Returning from one ofMozart's grand operas, splendidly performed at the Royal Theatre, helooked over his own, played a few of the best parts, sat staring at thebusts of Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Bach, who stared benignly backagain.  Then suddenly he tore up his music sheets, one by one, and asthe last fluttered out of his hand, he said soberly to himself..."She is right!  Talent isn't genius, and you can't make it so.  Thatmusic has taken the vanity out of me as Rome took it out of her, and Iwon't be a humbug any longer.  Now what shall I do?"That seemed a hard question to answer, and Laurie began to wish he hadto work for his daily bread.  Now if ever, occurred an eligibleopportunity for 'going to the devil', as he once forcibly expressed it,for he had plenty of money and nothing to do, and Satan is proverbiallyfond of providing employment for full and idle hands.  The poor fellowhad temptations enough from without and from within, but he withstoodthem pretty well, for much as he valued liberty, he valued good faithand confidence more, so his promise to his grandfather, and his desireto be able to look honestly into the eyes of the women who loved him,and say "All's well," kept him safe and steady.Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, "I don't believe it, boyswill be boys, young men must sow their wild oats, and women must notexpect miracles."  I dare say you don't, Mrs. Grundy, but it's truenevertheless.  Women work a good many miracles, and I have a persuasionthat they may perform even that of raising the standard of manhood byrefusing to echo such sayings.  Let the boys be boys, the longer thebetter, and let the young men sow their wild oats if they must.  Butmothers, sisters, and friends may help to make the crop a small one,and keep many tares from spoiling the harvest, by believing, andshowing that they believe, in the possibility of loyalty to the virtueswhich make men manliest in good women's eyes.  If it is a femininedelusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it half thebeauty and the romance of life is lost, and sorrowful forebodings wouldembitter all our hopes of the brave, tenderhearted little lads, whostill love their mothers better than themselves and are not ashamed toown it.Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorball his powers for years, but to his great surprise he discovered itgrew easier every day.  He refused to believe it at first, got angrywith himself, and couldn't understand it, but these hearts of ours arecurious and contrary things, and time and nature work their will inspite of us.  Laurie's heart wouldn't ache.  The wound persisted inhealing with a rapidity that astonished him, and instead of trying toforget, he found himself trying to remember.  He had not foreseen thisturn of affairs, and was not prepared for it.  He was disgusted withhimself, surprised at his own fickleness, and full of a queer mixtureof disappointment and relief that he could recover from such atremendous blow so soon.  He carefully stirred up the embers of hislost love, but they refused to burst into a blaze.  There was only acomfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him intoa fever, and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyishpassion was slowly subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, verytender, a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to passaway in time, leaving a brotherly affection which would last unbrokento the end.As the word 'brotherly' passed through his mind in one of his reveries,he smiled, and glanced up at the picture of Mozart that was beforehim..."Well, he was a great man, and when he couldn't have one sister he tookthe other, and was happy."Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them, and the nextinstant kissed the little old ring, saying to himself, "No, I won't!  Ihaven't forgotten, I never can.  I'll try again, and if that fails, whythen..."Leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote toJo, telling her that he could not settle to anything while there wasthe least hope of her changing her mind. Couldn't she, wouldn'tshe--and let him come home and be happy? While waiting for an answer hedid nothing, but he did it energetically, for he was in a fever ofimpatience.  It came at last, and settled his mind effectually on onepoint, for Jo decidedly couldn't and wouldn't.  She was wrapped up inBeth, and never wished to hear the word love again.  Then she beggedhim to be happy with somebody else, but always keep a little corner ofhis heart for his loving sister Jo.  In a postscript she desired himnot to tell Amy that Beth was worse, she was coming home in the springand there was no need of saddening the remainder of her stay.  Thatwould be time enough, please God, but Laurie must write to her often,and not let her feel lonely, homesick or anxious."So I will, at once.  Poor little girl, it will be a sad going home forher, I'm afraid," and Laurie opened his desk, as if writing to Amy hadbeen the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeksbefore.But he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out hisbest paper, he came across something which changed his purpose.Tumbling about in one part of the desk among bills, passports, andbusiness documents of various kinds were several of Jo's letters, andin another compartment were three notes from Amy, carefully tied upwith one of her blue ribbons and sweetly suggestive of the little deadroses put away inside.  With a half-repentant, half-amused expression,Laurie gathered up all Jo's letters, smoothed, folded, and put themneatly into a small drawer of the desk, stood a minute turning the ringthoughtfully on his finger, then slowly drew it off, laid it with theletters, locked the drawer, and went out to hear High Mass at SaintStefan's, feeling as if there had been a funeral, and though notoverwhelmed with affliction, this seemed a more proper way to spend therest of the day than in writing letters to charming young ladies.The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for Amywas homesick, and confessed it in the most delightfully confidingmanner.  The correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew toand fro with unfailing regularity all through the early spring.  Lauriesold his busts, made allumettes of his opera, and went back to Paris,hoping somebody would arrive before long.  He wanted desperately to goto Nice, but would not till he was asked, and Amy would not ask him,for just then she was having little experiences of her own, which madeher rather wish to avoid the quizzical eyes of 'our boy'.Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had oncedecided to answer, "Yes, thank you," but now she said, "No, thank you,"kindly but steadily, for when the time came, her courage failed her,and she found that something more than money and position was needed tosatisfy the new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopesand fears.  The words, "Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man Ifancied you would ever like," and Laurie's face when he uttered them,kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own did when she said inlook, if not in words, "I shall marry for money."  It troubled her toremember that now, she wished she could take it back, it sounded sounwomanly. She didn't want Laurie to think her a heartless,  worldlycreature.  She didn't care to be a queen of society now half so much asshe did to be a lovable woman.  She was so glad he didn't hate her forthe dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully and waskinder than ever.  His letters were such a comfort, for the homeletters were very irregular and not half so satisfactory as his whenthey did come.  It was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them,for the poor fellow was forlorn, and needed petting, since Jo persistedin being stonyhearted.  She ought to have made an effort and tried tolove him.  It couldn't be very hard, many people would be proud andglad to have such a dear boy care for them.  But Jo never would actlike other girls, so there was nothing to do but be very kind and treathim like a brother.If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period, theywould be a much happier race of beings than they are.  Amy neverlectured now.  She asked his opinion on all subjects, she wasinterested in everything he did, made charming little presents for him,and sent him two letters a week, full of lively gossip, sisterlyconfidences, and captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her.As few brothers are complimented by having their letters carried aboutin their sister's pockets, read and reread diligently, cried over whenshort, kissed when long, and treasured carefully, we will not hint thatAmy did any of these fond and foolish things.  But she certainly didgrow a little pale and pensive that spring, lost much of her relish forsociety, and went out sketching alone a good deal.  She never had muchto show when she came home, but was studying nature, I dare say, whileshe sat for hours, with her hands folded, on the terrace at Valrosa, orabsently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, a stalwart knightcarved on a tomb, a young man asleep in the grass, with his hat overhis eyes, or a curly haired girl in gorgeous array, promenading down aballroom on the arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left a bluraccording to the last fashion in art, which was safe but not altogethersatisfactory.Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred, and findingdenials useless and explanations impossible, Amy left her to think whatshe liked, taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone toEgypt.  That was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved, as hesaid to himself, with a venerable air..."I was sure she would think better of it.  Poor old fellow! I've beenthrough it all, and I can sympathize."With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged hisduty to the past, put his feet up on the sofa and enjoyed Amy's letterluxuriously.While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home.But the letter telling that Beth was failing never reached Amy, andwhen the next found her at Vevay, for the heat had driven them fromNice in May, and they had travelled slowly to Switzerland, by way ofGenoa and the Italian lakes.  She bore it very well, and quietlysubmitted to the family decree that she should not shorten her visit,for since it was too late to say goodbye to Beth, she had better stay,and let absence soften her sorrow.  But her heart was very heavy, shelonged to be at home, and every day looked wistfully across the lake,waiting for Laurie to come and comfort her.He did come very soon, for the same mail brought letters to them both,but he was in Germany, and it took some days to reach him.  The momenthe read it, he packed his knapsack, bade adieu to his fellowpedestrians, and was off to keep his promise, with a heart full of joyand sorrow, hope and suspense.He knew Vevay well, and as soon as the boat touched the little quay, hehurried along the shore to La Tour, where the Carrols were living enpension.  The garcon was in despair that the whole family had gone totake a promenade on the lake, but no, the blonde mademoiselle might bein the chateau garden.  If monsieur would give himself the pain ofsitting down, a flash of time should present her.  But monsieur couldnot wait even a 'flash of time', and in the middle of the speechdeparted to find mademoiselle himself.A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnutsrustling overhead, ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of thetower falling far across the sunny water.  At one corner of the wide,low wall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work, orconsole herself with the beauty all about her.  She was sitting herethat day, leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavyeyes, thinking of Beth and wondering why Laurie did not come.  She didnot hear him cross the courtyard beyond, nor see him pause in thearchway that led from the subterranean path into the garden.  He stooda minute looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seenbefore, the tender side of Amy's character. Everything about her mutelysuggested love and sorrow, the blotted letters in her lap, the blackribbon that tied up her hair, the womanly pain and patience in herface, even the little ebony cross at her throat seemed pathetic toLaurie, for he had given it to her, and she wore it as her onlyornament. If he had any doubts about the reception she would give him,they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, fordropping everything, she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone ofunmistakable love and longing..."Oh, Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come to me!"I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stoodtogether quite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent downprotectingly over the light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort andsustain her so well as Laurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the onlywoman in the world who could fill Jo's place and make him happy.  Hedid not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt thetruth, were satisfied, and gladly left the rest to silence.In a minute Amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears,Laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundrywell-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future.As he sat down beside her, Amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red atthe recollection of her impulsive greeting."I couldn't help it, I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad tosee you.  It was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as I wasbeginning to fear you wouldn't come," she said, trying in vain to speakquite naturally."I came the minute I heard.  I wish I could say something to comfortyou for the loss of dear little Beth, but I can only feel, and..."  Hecould not get any further, for he too turned bashful all of a sudden,and did not quite know what to say.  He longed to lay Amy's head downon his shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare,so took her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that wasbetter than words."You needn't say anything, this comforts me," she said softly.  "Bethis well and happy, and I mustn't wish her back, but I dread the goinghome, much as I long to see them all. We won't talk about it now, forit makes me cry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay.  You needn'tgo right back, need you?""Not if you want me, dear.""I do, so much.  Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one ofthe family, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a littlewhile."Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full thatLaurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what shewanted--the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation sheneeded."Poor little soul, you look as if you'd grieved yourself half sick!I'm going to take care of you, so don't cry any more, but come and walkabout with me, the wind is too chilly for you to sit still," he said,in the half-caressing, half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tiedon her hat, drew her arm through his, and began to pace up and down thesunny walk under the new-leaved chestnuts.  He felt more at ease uponhis legs, and Amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon,a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfullyfor her alone.The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemedexpressly made for them, so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing butthe tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo oftheir words, as it rippled by below.  For an hour this new pair walkedand talked, or rested on the wall, enjoying the sweet influences whichgave such a charm to time and place, and when an unromantic dinner bellwarned them away, Amy felt as if she left her burden of loneliness andsorrow behind her in the chateau garden.The moment Mrs. Carrol saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminatedwith a new idea, and exclaimed to herself, "Now I understand itall--the child has been pining for young Laurence.  Bless my heart, Inever thought of such a thing!"With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayedno sign of enlightenment, but cordially urged Laurie to stay and beggedAmy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so muchsolitude.  Amy was a model of docility, and as her aunt was a good dealoccupied with Flo, she was left to entertain her friend, and did itwith more than her usual success.At Nice, Laurie had lounged and Amy had scolded.  At Vevay, Laurie wasnever idle, but always walking, riding, boating, or studying in themost energetic manner, while Amy admired everything he did and followedhis example as far and as fast as she could.  He said the change wasowing to the climate, and she did not contradict him, being glad of alike excuse for her own recovered health and spirits.The invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise workedwholesome changes in minds as well as bodies. They seemed to getclearer views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills.The fresh winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, andmoody mists.  The warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts ofaspiring ideas, tender hopes, and happy thoughts.  The lake seemed towash away the troubles of the past, and the grand old mountains to lookbenignly down upon them saying, "Little children, love one another."In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy thatLaurie could not bear to disturb it by a word.  It took him a littlewhile to recover from his surprise at the cure of his first, and as hehad firmly believed, his last and only love.  He consoled himself forthe seeming disloyalty by the thought that Jo's sister was almost thesame as Jo's self, and the conviction that it would have beenimpossible to love any other woman but Amy so soon and so well.  Hisfirst wooing had been of the tempestuous order, and he looked back uponit as if through a long vista of years with a feeling of compassionblended with regret.  He was not ashamed of it, but put it away as oneof the bitter-sweet experiences of his life, for which he could begrateful when the pain was over. His second wooing, he resolved, shouldbe as calm and simple as possible.  There was no need of having ascene, hardly any need of telling Amy that he loved her, she knew itwithout words and had given him his answer long ago.  It all came aboutso naturally that no one could complain, and he knew that everybodywould be pleased, even Jo.  But when our first little passion has beencrushed, we are apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, soLaurie let the days pass, enjoying every hour, and leaving to chancethe utterance of the word that would put an end to the first andsweetest part of his new romance.He had rather imagined that the denoument would take place in thechateau garden by moonlight, and in the most graceful and decorousmanner, but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter wassettled on the lake at noonday in a few blunt words. They had beenfloating about all the morning, from gloomy St.  Gingolf to sunnyMontreux, with the Alps of Savoy on one side, Mont St.  Bernard and theDent du Midi on the other, pretty Vevay in the valley, and Lausanneupon the hill beyond, a cloudless blue sky overhead, and the bluer lakebelow, dotted with the picturesque boats that look like white-wingedgulls.They had been talking of Bonnivard, as they glided past Chillon, and ofRousseau, as they looked up at Clarens, where he wrote his Heloise.Neither had read it, but they knew it was a love story, and eachprivately wondered if it was half as interesting as their own.  Amy hadbeen dabbling her hand in the water during the little pause that fellbetween them, and when she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oarswith an expression in his eyes that made her say hastily, merely forthe sake of saying something..."You must be tired.  Rest a little, and let me row.  It will do megood, for since you came I have been altogether lazy and luxurious.""I'm not tired, but you may take an oar, if you like.  There's roomenough, though I have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat won'ttrim," returned Laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangement.Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offeredthird of a seat, shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar.She rowed as well as she did many other things, and though she usedboth hands, and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat wentsmoothly through the water."How well we pull together, don't we?" said Amy, who objected tosilence just then."So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you,Amy?" very tenderly."Yes, Laurie," very low.Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty littletableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflectedin the lake.CHAPTER FORTY-TWOALL ALONEIt was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up inanother, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example.  But whenthe helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the belovedpresence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then Jofound her promise very hard to keep.  How could she 'comfort Father andMother' when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for hersister, how could she 'make the house cheerful' when all its light andwarmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the oldhome for the new, and where in all the world could she 'find someuseful, happy work to do', that would take the place of the lovingservice which had been its own reward?  She tried in a blind, hopelessway to do her duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while, for itseemed unjust that her few joys should be lessened, her burdens madeheavier, and life get harder and harder as she toiled along.  Somepeople seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow.  It was notfair, for she tried more than Amy to be good, but never got any reward,only disappointment, trouble and hard work.Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair cameover her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house,devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty thatnever seemed to grow any easier.  "I can't do it. I wasn't meant for alife like this, and I know I shall break away and do somethingdesperate if somebody doesn't come and help me," she said to herself,when her first efforts failed and she fell into the moody, miserablestate of mind which often comes when strong wills have to yield to theinevitable.But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her goodangels at once because they wore familiar shapes and used the simplespells best fitted to poor humanity.  Often she started up at night,thinking Beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bedmade her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, "Oh, Beth,come back!  Come back!" she did not stretch out her yearning arms invain.  For, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear hersister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not withwords only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tearsthat were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and brokenwhispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation wenthand-in-hand with natural sorrow. Sacred moments, when heart talked toheart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing,which chastened grief and strengthened love.  Feeling this, Jo's burdenseemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked moreendurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's arms.When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise foundhelp, for one day she went to the study, and leaning over the good grayhead lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said very humbly,"Father, talk to me as you did to Beth.  I need it more than she did,for I'm all wrong.""My dear, nothing can comfort me like this," he answered, with a falterin his voice, and both arms round her, as if he too, needed help, anddid not fear to ask for it.Then, sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo told hertroubles, the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts thatdiscouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and allthe sad bewilderment which we call despair.  She gave him entireconfidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolationin the act.  For the time had come when they could talk together notonly as father and daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad toserve each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual love.  Happy,thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called 'the church ofone member', and from which she came with fresh courage, recoveredcheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit. For the parents who hadtaught one child to meet death without fear, were trying now to teachanother to accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use itsbeautiful opportunities with gratitude and power.Other helps had Jo--humble, wholesome duties and delights that wouldnot be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learnedto see and value.  Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distastefulas they once had been, for Beth had presided over both, and somethingof her housewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop andthe old brush, never thrown away.  As she used them, Jo found herselfhumming the songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, andgiving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh andcozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, though shedidn't know it till Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand..."You thoughtful creeter, you're determined we shan't miss that dearlamb ef you can help it.  We don't say much, but we see it, and theLord will bless you for't, see ef He don't."As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sisterMeg was, how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanlyimpulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husband andchildren, and how much they were all doing for each other."Marriage is an excellent thing, after all.  I wonder if I shouldblossom out half as well as you have, if I tried it?, always_'perwisin'_ I could," said Jo, as she constructed a kite for Demi inthe topsy-turvy nursery."It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of yournature, Jo.  You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, butsilky-soft within, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get at it.  Lovewill make you show your heart one day, and then the rough burr willfall off.""Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shake to bringthem down.  Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be bagged by them,"returned Jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows wouldever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob.Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit, butshe felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in herpower, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two ofMeg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly.Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready forthe bag.  A little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy'simpatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from theburr, and find the kernal sound and sweet. If she suspected this, shewould have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever, fortunatelyshe wasn't thinking about herself, so when the time came, down shedropped.Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought atthis period of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced theworld, and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts inher pocket.  But, you see, Jo wasn't a heroine, she was only astruggling human girl like hundreds of others, and she just acted outher nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the moodsuggested.  It's highly virtuous to say we'll be good, but we can't doit all at once, and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull alltogether before some of us even get our feet set in the right way.  Johad got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy ifshe did not, but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing!  Shehad often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard,and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than todevote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make home as happy tothem as they had to her?  And if difficulties were necessary toincrease the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for arestless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, anddesires, and cheerfully live for others?Providence had taken her at her word.  Here was the task, not what shehad expected, but better because self had no part in it. Now, could shedo it?  She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt shefound the helps I have suggested.  Still another was given her, and shetook it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as Christian took therefreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbedthe hill called Difficulty."Why don't you write?  That always used to make you happy," said hermother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed Jo."I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things.""We do.  Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world.Try it, dear.  I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much.""Don't believe I can."  But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaulher half-finished manuscripts.An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratchingaway, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, whichcaused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with the successof her suggestion.  Jo never knew how it happened, but something gotinto that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it,for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it,much against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to herutter surprise, it was not only paid for, but others requested.Letters from several persons, whose praise was honor, followed theappearance of the little story, newspapers copied it, and strangers aswell as friends admired it.  For a small thing it was a great success,and Jo was more astonished than when her novel was commended andcondemned all at once."I don't understand it.  What can there be in a simple little storylike that to make people praise it so?" she said, quite bewildered."There is truth in it, Jo, that's the secret.  Humor and pathos make italive, and you have found your style at last.  You wrote with nothoughts of fame and money, and put your heart into it, my daughter.You have had the bitter, now comes the sweet.  Do your best, and growas happy as we are in your success.""If there is anything good or true in what I write, it isn't mine.  Iowe it all to you and Mother and Beth," said Jo, more touched by herfather's words than by any amount of praise from the world.So taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories, and sentthem away to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a verycharitable world to such humble wanderers, for they were kindlywelcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, likedutiful children whom good fortune overtakes.When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March feared thatJo would find it difficult to rejoice over it, but her fears were soonset at rest, for though Jo looked grave at first, she took it veryquietly, and was full of hopes and plans for 'the children' before sheread the letter twice.  It was a sort of written duet, wherein eachglorified the other in loverlike fashion, very pleasant to read andsatisfactory to think of, for no one had any objection to make."You like it, Mother?" said Jo, as they laid down the closely writtensheets and looked at one another."Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that she had refusedFred.  I felt sure then that something better than what you call the'mercenary spirit' had come over her, and a hint here and there in herletters made me suspect that love and Laurie would win the day.""How sharp you are, Marmee, and how silent!  You never said a word tome.""Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they havegirls to manage.  I was half afraid to put the idea into your head,lest you should write and congratulate them before the thing wassettled.""I'm not the scatterbrain I was.  You may trust me.  I'm sober andsensible enough for anyone's confidante now.""So you are, my dear, and I should have made you mine, only I fanciedit might pain you to learn that your Teddy loved someone else.""Now, Mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish,after I'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if not best?""I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if hecame back, and asked again, you might perhaps, feel like giving anotheranswer.  Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing that you are verylonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes tomy heart.  So I fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if hetried now.""No, Mother, it is better as it is, and I'm glad Amy has learned tolove him.  But you are right in one thing.  I am lonely, and perhaps ifTeddy had tried again, I might have said 'Yes', not because I love himany more, but because I care more to be loved than when he went away.""I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on. There areplenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with Father and Mother,sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of allcomes to give you your reward.""Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don't mind whisperingto Marmee that I'd like to try all kinds.  It's very curious, but themore I try to satisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, themore I seem to want.  I'd no idea hearts could take in so many.  Mineis so elastic, it never seems full now, and I used to be quitecontented with my family.  I don't understand it.""I do," and Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back theleaves to read what Amy said of Laurie."It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me.  He isn'tsentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it in all hesays and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seemto be the same girl I was.  I never knew how good and generous andtender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find itfull of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, and am so proud to knowit's mine.  He says he feels as if he 'could make a prosperous voyagenow with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast'.  I pray hemay, and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captainwith all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him, whileGod lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaventhis world could be, when two people love and live for one another!""And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy!  Truly, love does workmiracles.  How very, very happy they must be!" and Jo laid the rustlingsheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of alovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and hefinds himself alone in the workaday world again.By-and-by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could notwalk.  A restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again,not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why onesister should have all she asked, the other nothing.  It was not true,she knew that and tried to put it away, but the natural craving foraffection was strong, and Amy's happiness woke the hungry longing forsomeone to 'love with heart and soul, and cling to while God let thembe together'. Up in the garret, where Jo's unquiet wanderings endedstood four little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its ownersname, and each filled with relics of the childhood and girlhood endednow for all.  Jo glanced into them, and when she came to her own,leaned her chin on the edge, and stared absently at the chaoticcollection, till a bundle of old exercise books caught her eye.  Shedrew them out, turned them over, and relived that pleasant winter atkind Mrs. Kirke's.  She had smiled at first, then she lookedthoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message written inthe Professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out ofher lap, and she sat looking at the friendly words, as they took a newmeaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart."Wait for me, my friend.  I may be a little late, but I shall surelycome.""Oh, if he only would!  So kind, so good, so patient with me always, mydear old Fritz.  I didn't value him half enough when I had him, but nowhow I should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me,and I'm all alone."And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to befulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag bag, and cried,as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof.Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits?  Or was it the wakingup of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as itsinspirer?  Who shall say?CHAPTER FORTY-THREESURPRISESJo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at thefire, and thinking.  It was her favorite way of spending the hour ofdusk.  No one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's littlered pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tenderthoughts of the sister who never seemed far away.  Her face lookedtired, grave, and rather sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and shewas thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, andhow little she seemed to have accomplished.  Almost twenty-five, andnothing to show for it.  Jo was mistaken in that.  There was a gooddeal to show, and by-and-by she saw, and was grateful for it."An old maid, that's what I'm to be.  A literary spinster, with a penfor a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hencea morsel of fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I'm old and can'tenjoy it, solitary, and can't share it, independent, and don't need it.Well, I needn't be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say,old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it, but..." andthere Jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting.It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things tofive-and-twenty.  But it's not as bad as it looks, and one can get onquite happily if one has something in one's self to fall back upon.  Attwenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretlyresolve that they never will be.  At thirty they say nothing about it,but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves byremembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in whichthey may be learning to grow old gracefully.  Don't laugh at thespinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances arehidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns,and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself,make the faded faces beautiful in God's sight.  Even the sad, soursisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed thesweetest part of life, if for no other reason.  And looking at themwith compassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should rememberthat they too may miss the blossom time.  That rosy cheeks don't lastforever, that silver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, andthat, by-and-by, kindness and respect will be as sweet as love andadmiration now.Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matterhow poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is thatwhich is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble,and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color.  Just recollectthe good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed andpetted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you outof, the tips they have given you from their small store, the stitchesthe patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing oldfeet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the littleattentions that women love to receive as long as they live.  Thebright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you allthe better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can partmother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find atender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, whohas kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for 'the best nevvyin the world'.Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during thislittle homily), for suddenly Laurie's ghost seemed to stand before her,a substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look heused to wear when he felt a good deal and didn't like to show it.  But,like Jenny in the ballad...  "She could not think it he,"and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped andkissed her.  Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully..."Oh my Teddy!  Oh my Teddy!""Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?""Glad!  My blessed boy, words can't express my gladness. Where's Amy?""Your mother has got her down at Meg's.  We stopped there by the way,and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches.""Your what?" cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with anunconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him."Oh, the dickens!  Now I've done it," and he looked so guilty that Jowas down on him like a flash."You've gone and got married!""Yes, please, but I never will again," and he went down upon his knees,with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth,and triumph."Actually married?""Very much so, thank you.""Mercy on us.  What dreadful thing will you do next?" and Jo fell intoher seat with a gasp."A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation,"returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming withsatisfaction."What can you expect, when you take one's breath away, creeping in likea burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, youridiculous boy, and tell me all about it.""Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not tobarricade."Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and pattedthe sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, "The old pillow isup garret, and we don't need it now.  So, come and 'fess, Teddy.""How good it sounds to hear you say 'Teddy'! No one ever calls me thatbut you," and Laurie sat down with an air of great content."What does Amy call you?""My lord.""That's like her.  Well, you look it," and Jo's eye plainly betrayedthat she found her boy comelier than ever.The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a naturalone, raised by time, absence, and change of heart.  Both felt it, andfor a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast alittle shadow over them.  It was gone directly however, for Lauriesaid, with a vain attempt at dignity..."Don't I look like a married man and the head of a family?""Not a bit, and you never will.  You've grown bigger and bonnier, butyou are the same scapegrace as ever.""Now really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect," beganLaurie, who enjoyed it all immensely."How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is soirresistibly funny that I can't keep sober!" answered Jo, smiling allover her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and thensettled down for a good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion."It's no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are allcoming up presently.  I couldn't wait.  I wanted to be the one to tellyou the grand surprise, and have 'first skim' as we used to say when wesquabbled about the cream.""Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrongend.  Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I'm pining toknow.""Well, I did it to please Amy," began Laurie, with a twinkle that madeJo exclaim..."Fib number one.  Amy did it to please you.  Go on, and tell the truth,if you can, sir.""Now she's beginning to marm it.  Isn't it jolly to hear her?" saidLaurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quiteagreed.  "It's all the same, you know, she and I being one. We plannedto come home with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenlychanged their minds, and decided to pass another winter in Paris.  ButGrandpa wanted to come home.  He went to please me, and I couldn't lethim go alone, neither could I leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had gotEnglish notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and wouldn't let Amycome with us.  So I just settled the difficulty by saying, 'Let's bemarried, and then we can do as we like'.""Of course you did.  You always have things to suit you.""Not always," and something in Laurie's voice made Jo say hastily..."How did you ever get Aunt to agree?""It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heapsof good reasons on our side.  There wasn't time to write and ask leave,but you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only'taking time by the fetlock', as my wife says.""Aren't we proud of those two words, and don't we like to say them?"interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching withdelight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had beenso tragically gloomy when she saw them last."A trifle, perhaps, she's such a captivating little woman I can't helpbeing proud of her.  Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to playpropriety.  We were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal useapart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy allround, so we did it.""When, where, how?" asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest andcuriosity, for she could not realize it a particle."Six weeks ago, at the American consul's, in Paris, a very quietwedding of course, for even in our happiness we didn't forget dearlittle Beth."Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed thelittle red pillow, which he remembered well."Why didn't you let us know afterward?" asked Jo, in a quieter tone,when they had sat quite still a minute."We wanted to surprise you.  We thought we were coming directly home,at first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, foundhe couldn't be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spendour honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regularhoneymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are butonce in their lives. My faith!  Wasn't it love among the roses!"Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it, for thefact that he told her these things so freely and so naturally assuredher that he had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw awayher hand, but as if he guessed the thought that prompted thehalf-involuntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with a manlygravity she had never seen in him before..."Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we'll put it by forever.As I told you in my letter when I wrote that Amy had been so kind tome, I never shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I havelearned to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed placesin my heart, that's all.  I think it was meant to be so, and would havecome about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me, but Inever could be patient, and so I got a heartache.  I was a boy then,headstrong and violent, and it took a hard lesson to show me mymistake.  For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, aftermaking a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in my mind,at one time, that I didn't know which I loved best, you or Amy, andtried to love you both alike.  But I couldn't, and when I saw her inSwitzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once.  You both gotinto your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with theold love before it was on with the new, that I could honestly share myheart between sister Jo and wife Amy, and love them dearly. Will youbelieve it, and go back to the happy old times when we first knew oneanother?""I'll believe it, with all my heart, but, Teddy, we never can be boyand girl again.  The happy old times can't come back, and we mustn'texpect it.  We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, forplaytime is over, and we must give up frolicking.  I'm sure you feelthis.  I see the change in you, and you'll find it in me.  I shall missmy boy, but I shall love the man as much, and admire him more, becausehe means to be what I hoped he would.  We can't be little playmates anylonger, but we will be brother and sister, to love and help one anotherall our lives, won't we, Laurie?"He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid hisface down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyishpassion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless themboth.  Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn't want the cominghome to be a sad one, "I can't make it true that you children arereally married and going to set up housekeeping. Why, it seems onlyyesterday that I was buttoning Amy's pinafore, and pulling your hairwhen you teased.  Mercy me, how time does fly!""As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn't talk solike a grandma.  I flatter myself I'm a 'gentleman growed' as Peggottysaid of David, and when you see Amy, you'll find her rather aprecocious infant," said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air."You may be a little older in years, but I'm ever so much older infeeling, Teddy.  Women always are, and this last year has been such ahard one that I feel forty.""Poor Jo!  We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. Youare older.  Here's a line, and there's another.  Unless you smile, youreyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tearon it.  You've had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone.What a selfish beast I've been!" and Laurie pulled his own hair, with aremorseful look.But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tonewhich she tried to make more cheerful, "No, I had Father and Mother tohelp me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that youand Amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear.I am lonely, sometimes, but I dare say it's good for me, and...""You never shall be again," broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her,as if to fence out every human ill.  "Amy and I can't get on withoutyou, so you must come and teach 'the children' to keep house, and gohalves in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, andall be blissfully happy and friendly together.""If I shouldn't be in the way, it would be very pleasant.  I begin tofeel quite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to flyaway when you came.  You always were a comfort, Teddy," and Jo leanedher head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay illand Laurie told her to hold on to him.He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo wassmiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at hiscoming."You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, andlaughing the next.  You look a little wicked now.  What is it, Grandma?""I was wondering how you and Amy get on together.""Like angels!""Yes, of course, but which rules?""I don't mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her thinkso, it pleases her, you know.  By-and-by we shall take turns, formarriage, they say, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties.""You'll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of yourlife.""Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don't think I shall mindmuch.  She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well.  In fact, Irather like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly andprettily as a skein of silk, and makes you feel as if she was doing youa favor all the while.""That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoyingit!" cried Jo, with uplifted hands.It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile withmasculine scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his "high andmighty" air, "Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort ofman to submit to it.  My wife and I respect ourselves and one anothertoo much ever to tyrannize or quarrel."Jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boyseemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with herpleasure."I am sure of that.  Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. Sheis the sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the manbest, you remember.""She can blow him up as well as shine on him," laughed Laurie. "Such alecture as I got at Nice!  I give you my word it was a deal worse thanany of your scoldings, a regular rouser.  I'll tell you all about itsometime, she never will, because after telling me that she despisedand was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the despicable party andmarried the good-for-nothing.""What baseness!  Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I'll defendyou.""I look as if I needed it, don't I?" said Laurie, getting up andstriking an attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to therapturous, as Amy's voice was heard calling, "Where is she? Where's mydear old Jo?"In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed allover again, and after several vain attempts, the three wanderers wereset down to be looked at and exulted over.  Mr. Laurence, hale andhearty as ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreigntour, for the crustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and theold-fashioned courtliness had received a polish which made it kindlierthan ever.  It was good to see him beam at 'my children', as he calledthe young pair.  It was better still to see Amy pay him the daughterlyduty and affection which completely won his old heart, and best of all,to watch Laurie revolve about the two, as if never tired of enjoyingthe pretty picture they made.The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that her owndress hadn't a Parisian air, that young Mrs. Moffat would be entirelyeclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that 'her ladyship' was altogethera most elegant and graceful woman.  Jo thought, as she watched thepair, "How well they look together!  I was right, and Laurie has foundthe beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better thanclumsy old Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him."  Mrs. March andher husband smiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for theysaw that their youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, butthe better wealth of love, confidence, and happiness.For Amy's face was full of the soft brightness which betokens apeaceful heart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool,prim carriage was changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly andwinning. No little affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness ofher manner was more charming than the new beauty or the old grace, forit stamped her at once with the unmistakable sign of the truegentlewoman she had hoped to become."Love has done much for our little girl," said her mother softly."She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear," Mr.March whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray headbeside him.Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her 'pitty aunty', butattached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full ofdelightful charms.  Demi paused to consider the new relationship beforehe compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which tookthe tempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flankmovement produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knewwhere to have him."Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance youhit me in the face.  Now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman," andwith that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephewin a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delightedhis boyish soul."Blest if she ain't in silk from head to foot; ain't it a relishin'sight to see her settin' there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folkscalling little Amy 'Mis.  Laurence!'" muttered old Hannah, who couldnot resist frequent "peeks" through the slide as she set the table in amost decidedly promiscuous manner.Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then allburst out together--trying to tell the history of three years in halfan hour.  It was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull andprovide refreshment--for they would have been hoarse and faint if theyhad gone on much longer.  Such a happy procession as filed away intothe little dining room! Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence.  Mrs.March as proudly leaned on the arm of 'my son'. The old gentleman tookJo, with a whispered, "You must be my girl now," and a glance at theempty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, "I'll try to fillher place, sir."The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, foreveryone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel attheir own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of theopportunity.  Didn't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread adlibitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn'tthey each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets,there to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both humannature and a pastry are frail? Burdened with the guilty consciousnessof the sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo's sharp eyes wouldpierce the thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty,the little sinners attached themselves to 'Dranpa', who hadn't hisspectacles on.  Amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returnedto the parlor on Father Laurence's arm.  The others paired off asbefore, and this arrangement left Jo companionless.  She did not mindit at the minute, for she lingered to answer Hannah's eager inquiry."Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silverdishes that's stored away over yander?""Shouldn't wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate,and wore diamonds and point lace every day.  Teddy thinks nothing toogood for her," returned Jo with infinite satisfaction."No more there is!  Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?"asked Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose."I don't care," and Jo shut the door, feeling that food was anuncongenial topic just then.  She stood a minute looking at the partyvanishing above, and as Demi's short plaid legs toiled up the laststair, a sudden sense of loneliness came over her so strongly that shelooked about her with dim eyes, as if to find something to lean upon,for even Teddy had deserted her.  If she had known what birthday giftwas coming every minute nearer and nearer, she would not have said toherself, "I'll weep a little weep when I go to bed. It won't do to bedismal now."  Then she drew her hand over her eyes, for one of herboyish habits was never to know where her handkerchief was, and hadjust managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the porchdoor.She opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost hadcome to surprise her, for there stood a tall bearded gentleman, beamingon her from the darkness like a midnight sun."Oh, Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you!" cried Jo, with a clutch, asif she feared the night would swallow him up before she could get himin."And I to see Miss Marsch, but no, you haf a party," and the Professorpaused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down tothem."No, we haven't, only the family.  My sister and friends have just comehome, and we are all very happy.  Come in, and make one of us."Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gone decorouslyaway, and come again another day, but how could he, when Jo shut thedoor behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face hadsomething to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him,and showed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitaryman, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes."If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop, I will so gladly see them all.You haf been ill, my friend?"He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the lightfell on her face, and he saw a change in it."Not ill, but tired and sorrowful.  We have had trouble since I saw youlast.""Ah, yes, I know.  My heart was sore for you when I heard that," and heshook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that Jo felt as if nocomfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big,warm hand."Father, Mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer," she said, with aface and tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she mightas well have blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish.If the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set atrest in a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Everyone greetedhim kindly, for Jo's sake at first, but very soon they liked him forhis own.  They could not help it, for he carried the talisman thatopens all hearts, and these simple people warmed to him at once,feeling even the more friendly because he was poor.  For povertyenriches those who live above it, and is a sure passport to trulyhospitable spirits.  Mr. Bhaer sat looking about him with the air of atraveler who knocks at a strange door, and when it opens, finds himselfat home.  The children went to him like bees to a honeypot, andestablishing themselves on each knee, proceeded to captivate him byrifling his pockets, pulling his beard, and investigating his watch,with juvenile audacity.  The women telegraphed their approval to oneanother, and Mr. March, feeling that he had got a kindred spirit,opened his choicest stores for his guest's benefit, while silent Johnlistened and enjoyed the talk, but said not a word, and Mr. Laurencefound it impossible to go to sleep.If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie's behavior would haveamused her, for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something likesuspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observethe newcomer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long.He got interested in spite of himself, and before he knew it, was drawninto the circle.  For Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere,and did himself justice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked athim often, and a shadow would pass across his face, as if regrettinghis own lost youth, as he watched the young man in his prime.  Then hiseyes would turn to Jo so wistfully that she would have surely answeredthe mute inquiry if she had seen it.  But Jo had her own eyes to takecare of, and feeling that they could not be trusted, she prudently keptthem on the little sock she was knitting, like a model maiden aunt.A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh waterafter a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her severalpropitious omens.  Mr. Bhaer's face had lost the absent-mindedexpression, and looked all alive with interest in the present moment,actually young and handsome, she thought, forgetting to compare himwith Laurie, as she usually did strange men, to their great detriment.Then he seemed quite inspired, though the burial customs of theancients, to which the conversation had strayed, might not beconsidered an exhilarating topic. Jo quite glowed with triumph whenTeddy got quenched in an argument, and thought to herself, as shewatched her father's absorbed face, "How he would enjoy having such aman as my Professor to talk with every day!"  Lastly, Mr. Bhaer wasdressed in a new suit of black, which made him look more like agentleman than ever.  His bushy hair had been cut and smoothly brushed,but didn't stay in order long, for in exciting moments, he rumpled itup in the droll way he used to do, and Jo liked it rampantly erectbetter than flat, because she thought it gave his fine forehead aJove-like aspect.  Poor Jo, how she did glorify that plain man, as shesat knitting away so quietly, yet letting nothing escape her, not eventhe fact that Mr. Bhaer actually had gold sleeve-buttons in hisimmaculate wristbands."Dear old fellow!  He couldn't have got himself up with more care ifhe'd been going a-wooing," said Jo to herself, and then a suddenthought born of the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had todrop her ball, and go down after it to hide her face.The maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, forthough just in the act of setting fire to a funeral pyre, the Professordropped his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after thelittle blue ball.  Of course they bumped their heads smartly together,saw stars, and both came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, toresume their seats, wishing they had not left them.Nobody knew where the evening went to, for Hannah skillfully abstractedthe babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, and Mr.Laurence went home to rest.  The others sat round the fire, talkingaway, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternalmind was impressed with a firm conviction that Daisy had tumbled out ofbed, and Demi set his nightgown afire studying the structure ofmatches, made a move to go."We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all togetheragain once more," said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safeand pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.They were not all there.  But no one found the words thoughtless oruntrue, for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence,invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break thehousehold league that love made dissoluble.  The little chair stood inits old place.  The tidy basket, with the bit of work she leftunfinished when the needle grew 'so heavy', was still on its accustomedshelf.  The beloved instrument, seldom touched now had not been moved,and above it Beth's face, serene and smiling, as in the early days,looked down upon them, seeming to say, "Be happy.  I am here.""Play something, Amy.  Let them hear how much you have improved," saidLaurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, "Nottonight, dear.  I can't show off tonight."But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for shesang Beth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the bestmaster could not have taught, and touched the listener's hearts with asweeter power than any other inspiration could have given her.  Theroom was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the lastline of Beth's favorite hymn.  It was hard to say...    Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling thather welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth's kiss."Now, we must finish with Mignon's song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that,"said Jo, before the pause grew painful.  And Mr. Bhaer cleared histhroat with a gratified "Hem!" as he stepped into the corner where Jostood, saying..."You will sing with me?  We go excellently well together."A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than agrasshopper.  But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing awhole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune.It didn't much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartilyand well, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she mightlisten to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.    Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms,used to be the Professor's favorite line, for 'das land' meant Germanyto him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody,upon the words...    There, oh there, might I with thee,    O, my beloved, goand one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that shelonged to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thitherwhenever he liked.The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired coveredwith laurels.  But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his mannersentirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet, for she had beenintroduced simply as 'my sister', and no one had called her by her newname since he came.  He forgot himself still further when Laurie said,in his most gracious manner, at parting..."My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir.  Please remember thatthere is always a welcome waiting for you over the way."Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenlyilluminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the mostdelightfully demonstrative old fellow he ever met."I too shall go, but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif meleave, dear madame, for a little business in the city will keep me heresome days."He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo, and the mother's voicegave as cordial an assent as did the daughter's eyes, for Mrs. Marchwas not so blind to her children's interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed."I suspect that is a wise man," remarked Mr. March, with placidsatisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last guest had gone."I know he is a good one," added Mrs. March, with decided approval, asshe wound up the clock."I thought you'd like him," was all Jo said, as she slipped away to herbed.She wondered what the business was that brought Mr. Bhaer to the city,and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor,somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact.  If she hadseen his face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of asevere and rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared tobe gazing darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light uponthe subject, especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed thepicture in the dark.CHAPTER FORTY-FOURMY LORD AND LADY"Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour?  Theluggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery,trying to find some things I want," said Laurie, coming in the next dayto find Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made'the baby' again."Certainly.  Go, dear, I forgot that you have any home but this," andMrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding ring, as ifasking pardon for her maternal covetousness."I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it, but I can't geton without my little woman any more than a...""Weathercock can without the wind," suggested Jo, as he paused for asimile.  Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy camehome."Exactly, for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, withonly an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had aneasterly spell since I was married.  Don't know anything about thenorth, but am altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?""Lovely weather so far.  I don't know how long it will last, but I'mnot afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship.  Come home,dear, and I'll find your bootjack.  I suppose that's what you arerummaging after among my things.  Men are so helpless, Mother," saidAmy, with a matronly air, which delighted her husband."What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?" askedJo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores."We have our plans.  We don't mean to say much about them yet, becausewe are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle.  I'm goinginto business with a devotion that shall delight Grandfather, and proveto him that I'm not spoiled.  I need something of the sort to keep mesteady.  I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man.""And Amy, what is she going to do?" asked Mrs. March, well pleased atLaurie's decision and the energy with which he spoke."After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shallastonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliantsociety we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shallexert over the world at large.  That's about it, isn't it, MadameRecamier?" asked Laurie with a quizzical look at Amy."Time will show.  Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family bycalling me names before their faces," answered Amy, resolving thatthere should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salonas a queen of society."How happy those children seem together!" observed Mr. March, findingit difficult to become absorbed in his Aristotle after the young couplehad gone."Yes, and I think it will last," added Mrs. March, with the restfulexpression of a pilot who has brought a ship safely into port."I know it will.  Happy Amy!" and Jo sighed, then smiled brightly asProfessor Bhaer opened the gate with an impatient push.Later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about thebootjack, Laurie said suddenly to his wife, "Mrs. Laurence.""My Lord!""That man intends to marry our Jo!""I hope so, don't you, dear?""Well, my love, I consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of thatexpressive word, but I do wish he was a little younger and a good dealricher.""Now, Laurie, don't be too fastidious and worldly-minded. If they loveone another it doesn't matter a particle how old they are nor how poor.Women never should marry for money..." Amy caught herself up short asthe words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, withmalicious gravity..."Certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intendto do it sometimes.  If my memory serves me, you once thought it yourduty to make a rich match.  That accounts, perhaps, for your marrying agood-for-nothing like me.""Oh, my dearest boy, don't, don't say that!  I forgot you were richwhen I said 'Yes'.  I'd have married you if you hadn't a penny, and Isometimes wish you were poor that I might show how much I love you."And Amy, who was very dignified in public and very fond in private,gave convincing proofs of the truth of her words."You don't really think I am such a mercenary creature as I tried to beonce, do you?  It would break my heart if you didn't believe that I'dgladly pull in the same boat with you, even if you had to get yourliving by rowing on the lake.""Am I an idiot and a brute?  How could I think so, when you refused aricher man for me, and won't let me give you half I want to now, when Ihave the right?  Girls do it every day, poor things, and are taught tothink it is their only salvation, but you had better lessons, andthough I trembled for you at one time, I was not disappointed, for thedaughter was true to the mother's teaching.  I told Mamma so yesterday,and she looked as glad and grateful as if I'd given her a check for amillion, to be spent in charity.  You are not listening to my moralremarks, Mrs. Laurence," and Laurie paused, for Amy's eyes had anabsent look, though fixed upon his face."Yes, I am, and admiring the mole in your chin at the same time.  Idon't wish to make you vain, but I must confess that I'm prouder of myhandsome husband than of all his money. Don't laugh, but your nose issuch a comfort to me," and Amy softly caressed the well-cut featurewith artistic satisfaction.Laurie had received many compliments in his life, but never one thatsuited him better, as he plainly showed though he did laugh at hiswife's peculiar taste, while she said slowly, "May I ask you aquestion, dear?""Of course, you may.""Shall you care if Jo does marry Mr. Bhaer?""Oh, that's the trouble is it?  I thought there was something in thedimple that didn't quite suit you.  Not being a dog in the manger, butthe happiest fellow alive, I assure you I can dance at Jo's weddingwith a heart as light as my heels.  Do you doubt it, my darling?"Amy looked up at him, and was satisfied.  Her little jealous fearvanished forever, and she thanked him, with a face full of love andconfidence."I wish we could do something for that capital old Professor. Couldn'twe invent a rich relation, who shall obligingly die out there inGermany, and leave him a tidy little fortune?" said Laurie, when theybegan to pace up and down the long drawing room, arm in arm, as theywere fond of doing, in memory of the chateau garden."Jo would find us out, and spoil it all.  She is very proud of him,just as he is, and said yesterday that she thought poverty was abeautiful thing.""Bless her dear heart!  She won't think so when she has a literaryhusband, and a dozen little professors and professorins to support.  Wewon't interfere now, but watch our chance, and do them a good turn inspite of themselves.  I owe Jo for a part of my education, and shebelieves in people's paying their honest debts, so I'll get round herin that way.""How delightful it is to be able to help others, isn't it? That wasalways one of my dreams, to have the power of giving freely, and thanksto you, the dream has come true.""Ah, we'll do quantities of good, won't we?  There's one sort ofpoverty that I particularly like to help.  Out-and-out beggars gettaken care of, but poor gentle folks fare badly, because they won'task, and people don't dare to offer charity. Yet there are a thousandways of helping them, if one only knows how to do it so delicately thatit does not offend.  I must say, I like to serve a decayed gentlemanbetter than a blarnerying beggar.  I suppose it's wrong, but I do,though it is harder.""Because it takes a gentleman to do it," added the other member of thedomestic admiration society."Thank you, I'm afraid I don't deserve that pretty compliment. But Iwas going to say that while I was dawdling about abroad, I saw a goodmany talented young fellows making all sorts of sacrifices, andenduring real hardships, that they might realize their dreams. Splendidfellows, some of them, working like heros,  poor and friendless, but sofull of courage, patience, and ambition that I was ashamed of myself,and longed to give them a right good lift.  Those are people whom it'sa satisfaction to help, for if they've got genius, it's an honor to beallowed to serve them, and not let it be lost or delayed for want offuel to keep the pot boiling.  If they haven't, it's a pleasure tocomfort the poor souls, and keep them from despair when they find itout.""Yes, indeed, and there's another class who can't ask, and who sufferin silence.  I know something of it, for I belonged to it before youmade a princess of me, as the king does the beggarmaid in the oldstory.  Ambitious girls have a hard time, Laurie, and often have to seeyouth, health, and precious opportunities go by, just for want of alittle help at the right minute.  People have been very kind to me, andwhenever I see girls struggling along, as we used to do, I want to putout my hand and help them, as I was helped.""And so you shall, like an angel as you are!" cried Laurie, resolving,with a glow of philanthropic zeal, to found and endow an institutionfor the express benefit of young women with artistic tendencies.  "Richpeople have no right to sit down and enjoy themselves, or let theirmoney accumulate for others to waste.  It's not half so sensible toleave legacies when one dies as it is to use the money wisely whilealive, and enjoy making one's fellow creatures happy with it.  We'llhave a good time ourselves, and add an extra relish to our own pleasureby giving other people a generous taste.  Will you be a little Dorcas,going about emptying a big basket of comforts, and filling it up withgood deeds?""With all my heart, if you will be a brave St.  Martin, stopping as youride gallantly through the world to share your cloak with the beggar.""It's a bargain, and we shall get the best of it!"So the young pair shook hands upon it, and then paced happily on again,feeling that their pleasant home was more homelike because they hopedto brighten other homes, believing that their own feet would walk moreuprightly along the flowery path before them, if they smoothed roughways for other feet, and feeling that their hearts were more closelyknit together by a love which could tenderly remember those less blestthan they.CHAPTER FORTY-FIVEDAISY AND DEMII cannot feel that I have done my duty as humble historian of the Marchfamily, without devoting at least one chapter to the two most preciousand important members of it.  Daisy and Demi had now arrived at yearsof discretion, for in this fast age babies of three or four asserttheir rights, and get them, too, which is more than many of theirelders do.  If there ever were a pair of twins in danger of beingutterly spoiled by adoration, it was these prattling Brookes.  Ofcourse they were the most remarkable children ever born, as will beshown when I mention that they walked at eight months, talked fluentlyat twelve months, and at two years they took their places at table, andbehaved with a propriety which charmed all beholders. At three, Daisydemanded a 'needler', and actually made a bag with four stitches in it.She likewise set up housekeeping in the sideboard, and managed amicroscopic cooking stove with a skill that brought tears of pride toHannah's eyes, while Demi learned his letters with his grandfather, whoinvented a new mode of teaching the alphabet by forming letters withhis arms and legs, thus uniting gymnastics for head and heels.  The boyearly developed a mechanical genius which delighted his father anddistracted his mother, for he tried to imitate every machine he saw,and kept the nursery in a chaotic condition, with his 'sewinsheen', amysterious structure of string, chairs, clothespins, and spools, forwheels to go 'wound and wound'.  Also a basket hung over the back of achair, in which he vainly tried to hoist his too confiding sister, who,with feminine devotion, allowed her little head to be bumped tillrescued, when the young inventor indignantly remarked, "Why, Marmar,dat's my lellywaiter, and me's trying to pull her up."Though utterly unlike in character, the twins got on remarkably welltogether, and seldom quarreled more than thrice a day.  Of course, Demityrannized over Daisy, and gallantly defended her from every otheraggressor, while Daisy made a galley slave of herself, and adored herbrother as the one perfect being in the world.  A rosy, chubby,sunshiny little soul was Daisy, who found her way to everybody's heart,and nestled there.  One of the captivating children, who seem made tobe kissed and cuddled, adorned and adored like little goddesses, andproduced for general approval on all festive occasions. Her smallvirtues were so sweet that she would have been quite angelic if a fewsmall naughtinesses had not kept her delightfully human.  It was allfair weather in her world, and every morning she scrambled up to thewindow in her little nightgown to look out, and say, no matter whetherit rained or shone, "Oh, pitty day, oh, pitty day!" Everyone was afriend, and she offered kisses to a stranger so confidingly that themost inveterate bachelor relented, and baby-lovers became faithfulworshipers."Me loves evvybody," she once said, opening her arms, with her spoon inone hand, and her mug in the other, as if eager to embrace and nourishthe whole world.As she grew, her mother began to feel that the Dovecote would beblessed by the presence of an inmate as serene and loving as that whichhad helped to make the old house home, and to pray that she might bespared a loss like that which had lately taught them how long they hadentertained an angel unawares.  Her grandfather often called her'Beth', and her grandmother watched over her with untiring devotion, asif trying to atone for some past mistake, which no eye but her owncould see.Demi, like a true Yankee, was of an inquiring turn, wanting to knoweverything, and often getting much disturbed because he could not getsatisfactory answers to his perpetual "What for?"He also possessed a philosophic bent, to the great delight of hisgrandfather, who used to hold Socratic conversations with him, in whichthe precocious pupil occasionally posed his teacher, to the undisguisedsatisfaction of the womenfolk."What makes my legs go, Dranpa?" asked the young philosopher, surveyingthose active portions of his frame with a meditative air, while restingafter a go-to-bed frolic one night."It's your little mind, Demi," replied the sage, stroking the yellowhead respectfully."What is a little mine?""It is something which makes your body move, as the spring made thewheels go in my watch when I showed it to you.""Open me.  I want to see it go wound.""I can't do that any more than you could open the watch.  God winds youup, and you go till He stops you.""Does I?" and Demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in thenew thought.  "Is I wounded up like the watch?""Yes, but I can't show you how, for it is done when we don't see."Demi felt his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the watch,and then gravely remarked, "I dess Dod does it when I's asleep."A careful explanation followed, to which he listened so attentivelythat his anxious grandmother said, "My dear, do you think it wise totalk about such things to that baby?  He's getting great bumps over hiseyes, and learning to ask the most unanswerable questions.""If he is old enough to ask the question he is old enough to receivetrue answers.  I am not putting the thoughts into his head, but helpinghim unfold those already there.  These children are wiser than we are,and I have no doubt the boy understands every word I have said to him.Now, Demi, tell me where you keep your mind."If the boy had replied like Alcibiades, "By the gods, Socrates, Icannot tell," his grandfather would not have been surprised, but when,after standing a moment on one leg, like a meditative young stork, heanswered, in a tone of calm conviction, "In my little belly," the oldgentleman could only join in Grandma's laugh, and dismiss the class inmetaphysics.There might have been cause for maternal anxiety, if Demi had not givenconvincing proofs that he was a true boy, as well as a buddingphilosopher, for often, after a discussion which caused Hannah toprophesy, with ominous nods, "That child ain't long for this world," hewould turn about and set her fears at rest by some of the pranks withwhich dear, dirty, naughty little rascals distract and delight theirparent's souls.Meg made many moral rules, and tried to keep them, but what mother wasever proof against the winning wiles, the ingenious evasions, or thetranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early showthemselves accomplished Artful Dodgers?"No more raisins, Demi.  They'll make you sick," says Mamma to theyoung person who offers his services in the kitchen with unfailingregularity on plum-pudding day."Me likes to be sick.""I don't want to have you, so run away and help Daisy make patty cakes."He reluctantly departs, but his wrongs weigh upon his spirit, andby-and-by when an opportunity comes to redress them, he outwits Mammaby a shrewd bargain."Now you have been good children, and I'll play anything you like,"says Meg, as she leads her assistant cooks upstairs, when the puddingis safely bouncing in the pot."Truly, Marmar?" asks Demi, with a brilliant idea in his well-powderedhead."Yes, truly.  Anything you say," replies the shortsighted parent,preparing herself to sing, "The Three Little Kittens" half a dozentimes over, or to take her family to "Buy a penny bun," regardless ofwind or limb.  But Demi corners her by the cool reply..."Then we'll go and eat up all the raisins."Aunt Dodo was chief playmate and confidante of both children, and thetrio turned the little house topsy-turvy.  Aunt Amy was as yet only aname to them, Aunt Beth soon faded into a pleasantly vague memory, butAunt Dodo was a living reality, and they made the most of her, forwhich compliment she was deeply grateful.  But when Mr. Bhaer came, Joneglected her playfellows, and dismay and desolation fell upon theirlittle souls.  Daisy, who was fond of going about peddling kisses, losther best customer and became bankrupt.  Demi, with infantilepenetration, soon discovered that Dodo like to play with 'the bear-man'better than she did him, but though hurt, he concealed his anguish, forhe hadn't the heart to insult a rival who kept a mine of chocolatedrops in his waistcoat pocket, and a watch that could be taken out ofits case and freely shaken by ardent admirers.Some persons might have considered these pleasing liberties as bribes,but Demi didn't see it in that light, and continued to patronize the'the bear-man' with pensive affability, while Daisy bestowed her smallaffections upon him at the third call, and considered his shoulder herthrone, his arm her refuge, his gifts treasures surpassing worth.Gentlemen are sometimes seized with sudden fits of admiration for theyoung relatives of ladies whom they honor with their regard, but thiscounterfeit philoprogenitiveness sits uneasily upon them, and does notdeceive anybody a particle.  Mr. Bhaer's devotion was sincere, howeverlikewise effective--for honesty is the best policy in love as in law.He was one of the men who are at home with children, and lookedparticularly well when little faces made a pleasant contrast with hismanly one.  His business, whatever it was, detained him from day today, but evening seldom failed to bring him out to see--well, he alwaysasked for Mr. March, so I suppose he was the attraction.  The excellentpapa labored under the delusion that he was, and reveled in longdiscussions with the kindred spirit, till a chance remark of his moreobserving grandson suddenly enlightened him.Mr. Bhaer came in one evening to pause on the threshold of the study,astonished by the spectacle that met his eye.  Prone upon the floor layMr. March, with his respectable legs in the air, and beside him,likewise prone, was Demi, trying to imitate the attitude with his ownshort, scarlet-stockinged legs, both grovelers so seriously absorbedthat they were unconscious of spectators, till Mr. Bhaer laughed hissonorous laugh, and Jo cried out, with a scandalized face..."Father, Father, here's the Professor!"Down went the black legs and up came the gray head, as the preceptorsaid, with undisturbed dignity, "Good evening, Mr. Bhaer. Excuse me fora moment.  We are just finishing our lesson.  Now, Demi, make theletter and tell its name.""I knows him!" and, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs tookthe shape of a pair of compasses, and the intelligent pupiltriumphantly shouted, "It's a We, Dranpa, it's a We!""He's a born Weller," laughed Jo, as her parent gathered himself up,and her nephew tried to stand on his head, as the only mode ofexpressing his satisfaction that school was over."What have you been at today, bubchen?" asked Mr. Bhaer, picking up thegymnast."Me went to see little Mary.""And what did you there?""I kissed her," began Demi, with artless frankness."Prut!  Thou beginnest early.  What did the little Mary say to that?"asked Mr. Bhaer, continuing to confess the young sinner, who stood uponthe knee, exploring the waistcoat pocket."Oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and I liked it.  Don't littleboys like little girls?" asked Demi, with his mouth full, and an air ofbland satisfaction."You precocious chick!  Who put that into your head?" said Jo, enjoyingthe innocent revelation as much as the Professor."'Tisn't in mine head, it's in mine mouf," answered literal Demi,putting out his tongue, with a chocolate drop on it, thinking shealluded to confectionery, not ideas."Thou shouldst save some for the little friend.  Sweets to the sweet,mannling," and Mr. Bhaer offered Jo some, with a look that made herwonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods.  Demi alsosaw the smile, was impressed by it, and artlessy inquired.  .."Do great boys like great girls, to, 'Fessor?"Like young Washington, Mr. Bhaer 'couldn't tell a lie', so he gave thesomewhat vague reply that he believed they did sometimes, in a tonethat made Mr. March put down his clothesbrush, glance at Jo's retiringface, and then sink into his chair, looking as if the 'precociouschick' had put an idea into his head that was both sweet and sour.Why Dodo, when she caught him in the china closet half an hourafterward, nearly squeezed the breath out of his little body with atender embrace, instead of shaking him for being there, and why shefollowed up this novel performance by the unexpected gift of a bigslice of bread and jelly, remained one of the problems over which Demipuzzled his small wits, and was forced to leave unsolved forever.CHAPTER FORTY-SIXUNDER THE UMBRELLAWhile Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets,as they set their house in order, and planned a blissful future, Mr.Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddyroads and sodden fields."I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I shouldgive it up, just because I happen to meet the Professor on his wayout," said Jo to herself, after two or three encounters, for thoughthere were two paths to Meg's whichever one she took she was sure tomeet him, either going or returning. He was always walking rapidly, andnever seemed to see her until quite close, when he would look as if hisshort-sighted eyes had failed to recognize the approaching lady tillthat moment.  Then, if she was going to Meg's he always had somethingfor the babies.  If her face was turned homeward, he had merelystrolled down to see the river, and was just returning, unless theywere tired of his frequent calls.Under the circumstances, what could Jo do but greet him civilly, andinvite him in?  If she was tired of his visits, she concealed herweariness with perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffeefor supper, "as Friedrich--I mean Mr. Bhaer--doesn't like tea."By the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on, yeteveryone tried to look as if they were stone-blind to the changes inJo's face.  They never asked why she sang about her work, did up herhair three times a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise.And no one seemed to have the slightest suspicion that Professor Bhaer,while talking philosophy with the father, was giving the daughterlessons in love.Jo couldn't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly triedto quench her feelings, and failing to do so, led a somewhat agitatedlife.  She was mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering,after her many and vehement declarations of independence.  Laurie washer especial dread, but thanks to the new manager, he behaved withpraiseworthy propriety, never called Mr. Bhaer 'a capital old fellow'in public, never alluded, in the remotest manner, to Jo's improvedappearance, or expressed the least surprise at seeing the Professor'shat on the Marches' table nearly every evening.  But he exulted inprivate and longed for the time to come when he could give Jo a pieceof plate, with a bear and a ragged staff on it as an appropriate coatof arms.For a fortnight, the Professor came and went with lover-likeregularity.  Then he stayed away for three whole days, and made nosign, a proceeding which caused everybody to look sober, and Jo tobecome pensive, at first, and then--alas for romance--very cross."Disgusted, I dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came. It'snothing to me, of course, but I should think he would have come and bidus goodbye like a gentleman," she said to herself, with a despairinglook at the gate, as she put on her things for the customary walk onedull afternoon."You'd better take the little umbrella, dear.  It looks like rain,"said her mother, observing that she had on her new bonnet, but notalluding to the fact."Yes, Marmee, do you want anything in town?  I've got to run in and getsome paper," returned Jo, pulling out the bow under her chin before theglass as an excuse for not looking at her mother."Yes, I want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles, andtwo yards of narrow lavender ribbon.  Have you got your thick boots on,and something warm under your cloak?""I believe so," answered Jo absently."If you happen to meet Mr. Bhaer, bring him home to tea. I quite longto see the dear man," added Mrs. March.Jo heard that, but made no answer, except to kiss her mother, and walkrapidly away, thinking with a glow of gratitude, in spite of herheartache, "How good she is to me! What do girls do who haven't anymothers to help them through their troubles?"The dry-goods stores were not down among the counting-houses, banks,and wholesale warerooms, where gentlemen most do congregate, but Jofound herself in that part of the city before she did a single errand,loitering along as if waiting for someone, examining engineeringinstruments in one window and samples of wool in another, with mostunfeminine interest, tumbling over barrels, being half-smothered bydescending bales, and hustled unceremoniously by busy men who looked asif they wondered 'how the deuce she got there'.  A drop of rain on hercheek recalled her thoughts from baffled hopes to ruined ribbons.  Forthe drops continued to fall, and being a woman as well as a lover, shefelt that, though it was too late to save her heart, she might herbonnet.  Now she remembered the little umbrella, which she hadforgotten to take in her hurry to be off, but regret was unavailing,and nothing could be done but borrow one or submit to a drenching.  Shelooked up at the lowering sky, down at the crimson bow already fleckedwith black, forward along the muddy street, then one long, lingeringlook behind, at a certain grimy warehouse, with 'Hoffmann, Swartz, &Co.' over the door, and said to herself, with a sternly reproachfulair..."It serves me right! what business had I to put on all my best thingsand come philandering down here, hoping to see the Professor?  Jo, I'mashamed of you!  No, you shall not go there to borrow an umbrella, orfind out where he is, from his friends. You shall trudge away, and doyour errands in the rain, and if you catch your death and ruin yourbonnet, it's no more than you deserve.  Now then!"With that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowlyescaped annihilation from a passing truck, and precipitated herselfinto the arms of a stately old gentleman, who said, "I beg pardon,ma'am," and looked mortally offended.  Somewhat daunted, Jo rightedherself, spread her handkerchief over the devoted ribbons, and puttingtemptation behind her, hurried on, with increasing dampness about theankles, and much clashing of umbrellas overhead.  The fact that asomewhat dilapidated blue one remained stationary above the unprotectedbonnet attracted her attention, and looking up, she saw Mr. Bhaerlooking down."I feel to know the strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under manyhorse noses, and so fast through much mud.  What do you down here, myfriend?""I'm shopping."Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side tothe wholesale hide and leather concern on the other, but he only saidpolitely, "You haf no umbrella.  May I go also, and take for you thebundles?""Yes, thank you."Jo's cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what he thoughtof her, but she didn't care, for in a minute she found herself walkingaway arm in arm with her Professor, feeling as if the sun had suddenlyburst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all right again,and that one thoroughly happy woman was paddling through the wet thatday."We thought you had gone," said Jo hastily, for she knew he was lookingat her.  Her bonnet wasn't big enough to hide her face, and she fearedhe might think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly."Did you believe that I should go with no farewell to those who hafbeen so heavenly kind to me?" he asked so reproachfully that she feltas if she had insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily..."No, I didn't.  I knew you were busy about your own affairs, but werather missed you, Father and Mother especially.""And you?""I'm always glad to see you, sir."In her anxiety to keep her voice quite calm, Jo made it rather cool,and the frosty little monosyllable at the end seemed to chill theProfessor, for his smile vanished, as he said gravely..."I thank you, and come one more time before I go.""You are going, then?""I haf no longer any business here, it is done.""Successfully, I hope?" said Jo, for the bitterness of disappointmentwas in that short reply of his."I ought to think so, for I haf a way opened to me by which I can makemy bread and gif my Junglings much help.""Tell me, please!  I like to know all about the--the boys," said Joeagerly."That is so kind, I gladly tell you.  My friends find for me a place ina college, where I teach as at home, and earn enough to make the waysmooth for Franz and Emil.  For this I should be grateful, should Inot?""Indeed you should.  How splendid it will be to have you doing what youlike, and be able to see you often, and the boys!" cried Jo, clingingto the lads as an excuse for the satisfaction she could not helpbetraying."Ah!  But we shall not meet often, I fear, this place is at the West.""So far away!" and Jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it didn'tmatter now what became of her clothes or herself.Mr. Bhaer could read several languages, but he had not learned to readwomen yet.  He flattered himself that he knew Jo pretty well, and was,therefore, much amazed by the contradictions of voice, face, andmanner, which she showed him in rapid succession that day, for she wasin half a dozen different moods in the course of half an hour.  Whenshe met him she looked surprised, though it was impossible to helpsuspecting that she had come for that express purpose.  When he offeredher his arm, she took it with a look that filled him with delight, butwhen he asked if she missed him, she gave such a chilly, formal replythat despair fell upon him.  On learning his good fortune she almostclapped her hands.  Was the joy all for the boys? Then on hearing hisdestination, she said, "So far away!" in a tone of despair that liftedhim on to a pinnacle of hope, but the next minute she tumbled him downagain by observing, like one entirely absorbed in the matter..."Here's the place for my errands.  Will you come in? It won't takelong."Jo rather prided herself upon her shopping capabilities, andparticularly wished to impress her escort with the neatness anddispatch with which she would accomplish the business. But owing to theflutter she was in, everything went amiss. She upset the tray ofneedles, forgot the silesia was to be 'twilled' till it was cut off,gave the wrong change, and covered herself with confusion by asking forlavender ribbon at the calico counter.  Mr. Bhaer stood by, watchingher blush and blunder, and as he watched, his own bewilderment seemedto subside, for he was beginning to see that on some occasions, women,like dreams, go by contraries.When they came out, he put the parcel under his arm with a morecheerful aspect, and splashed through the puddles as if he ratherenjoyed it on the whole."Should we no do a little what you call shopping for the babies, andhaf a farewell feast tonight if I go for my last call at your sopleasant home?" he asked, stopping before a window full of fruit andflowers."What will we buy?" asked Jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech,and sniffing the mingled odors with an affectation of delight as theywent in."May they haf oranges and figs?" asked Mr. Bhaer, with a paternal air."They eat them when they can get them.""Do you care for nuts?""Like a squirrel.""Hamburg grapes.  Yes, we shall drink to the Fatherland in those?"Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he didn't buya frail of dates, a cask of raisins, and a bag of almonds, and be donewith it?  Whereat Mr. Bhaer confiscated her purse, produced his own,and finished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot ofrosy daisies, and a pretty jar of honey, to be regarded in the light ofa demijohn.  Then distorting his pockets with knobby bundles, andgiving her the flowers to hold, he put up the old umbrella, and theytraveled on again."Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you," began the Professor,after a moist promenade of half a block."Yes, sir?" and Jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid hewould hear it."I am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a timeremains to me.""Yes, sir," and Jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the suddensqueeze she gave it."I wish to get a little dress for my Tina, and I am too stupid to goalone.  Will you kindly gif me a word of taste and help?""Yes, sir," and Jo felt as calm and cool all of a sudden as if she hadstepped into a refrigerator."Perhaps also a shawl for Tina's mother, she is so poor and sick, andthe husband is such a care.  Yes, yes, a thick, warm shawl would be afriendly thing to take the little mother.""I'll do it with pleasure, Mr. Bhaer."  "I'm going very fast, and he'sgetting dearer every minute," added Jo to herself, then with a mentalshake she entered into the business with an energy that was pleasant tobehold.Mr. Bhaer left it all to her, so she chose a pretty gown for Tina, andthen ordered out the shawls.  The clerk, being a married man,condescended to take an interest in the couple, who appeared to beshopping for their family."Your lady may prefer this.  It's a superior article, a most desirablecolor, quite chaste and genteel," he said, shaking out a comfortablegray shawl, and throwing it over Jo's shoulders."Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?" she asked, turning her back to him,and feeling deeply grateful for the chance of hiding her face."Excellently well, we will haf it," answered the Professor, smiling tohimself as he paid for it, while Jo continued to rummage the counterslike a confirmed bargain-hunter."Now shall we go home?" he asked, as if the words were very pleasant tohim."Yes, it's late, and I'm _so_ tired." Jo's voice was more pathetic thanshe knew.  For now the sun seemed to have gone in as suddenly as itcame out, and the world grew muddy and miserable again, and for thefirst time she discovered that her feet were cold, her head ached, andthat her heart was colder than the former, fuller of pain than thelatter.  Mr. Bhaer was going away, he only cared for her as a friend,it was all a mistake, and the sooner it was over the better.  With thisidea in her head, she hailed an approaching omnibus with such a hastygesture that the daisies flew out of the pot and were badly damaged."This is not our omniboos," said the Professor, waving the loadedvehicle away, and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers."I beg your pardon.  I didn't see the name distinctly.  Never mind, Ican walk.  I'm used to plodding in the mud," returned Jo, winking hard,because she would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes.Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, though she turned her head away.The sight seemed to touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, heasked in a tone that meant a great deal, "Heart's dearest, why do youcry?"Now, if Jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have saidshe wasn't crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other femininefib proper to the occasion.  Instead of which, that undignifiedcreature answered, with an irrepressible sob, "Because you are goingaway.""Ach, mein Gott, that is so good!" cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasphis hands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles, "Jo, I haf nothingbut much love to gif you.  I came to see if you could care for it, andI waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend.  Am I?Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?" he added, allin one breath."Oh, yes!" said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded bothhands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression thatplainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him,even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if hecarried it.It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he haddesired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, onaccount of the mud.  Neither could he offer Jo his hand, exceptfiguratively, for both were full.  Much less could he indulge in tenderremonstrations in the open street, though he was near it.  So the onlyway in which he could express his rapture was to look at her, with anexpression which glorified his face to such a degree that thereactually seemed to be little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on hisbeard.  If he had not loved Jo very much, I don't think he could havedone it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her skirts in adeplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and herbonnet a ruin.  Fortunately, Mr. Bhaer considered her the mostbeautiful woman living, and she found him more "Jove-like" than ever,though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills tricklingthence upon his shoulders (for he held the umbrella all over Jo), andevery finger of his gloves needed mending.Passers-by probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics, for theyentirely forgot to hail a bus, and strolled leisurely along, obliviousof deepening dusk and fog.  Little they cared what anybody thought, forthey were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in anylife, the magical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on theplain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste ofheaven. The Professor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom, and theworld had nothing more to offer him in the way of bliss.  While Jotrudged beside him, feeling as if her place had always been there, andwondering how she ever could have chosen any other lot.  Of course, shewas the first to speak--intelligibly, I mean, for the emotional remarkswhich followed her impetuous "Oh, yes!" were not of a coherent orreportable character."Friedrich, why didn't you...""Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!"cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with gratefuldelight."I always call you so to myself--I forgot, but I won't unless you likeit.""Like it?  It is more sweet to me than I can tell.  Say 'thou', also,and I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine.""Isn't 'thou' a little sentimental?" asked Jo, privately thinking it alovely monosyllable."Sentimental? Yes.  Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, andkeep ourselves young mit it.  Your English 'you' is so cold, say'thou', heart's dearest, it means so much to me," pleaded Mr. Bhaer,more like a romantic student than a grave professor."Well, then, why didn't thou tell me all this sooner?" asked Jobashfully."Now I shall haf to show thee all my heart, and I so gladly will,because thou must take care of it hereafter.  See, then, my Jo--ah, thedear, funny little name--I had a wish to tell something the day I saidgoodbye in New York, but I thought the handsome friend was betrothed tothee, and so I spoke not.  Wouldst thou have said 'Yes', then, if I hadspoken?""I don't know.  I'm afraid not, for I didn't have any heart just then.""Prut!  That I do not believe.  It was asleep till the fairy princecame through the wood, and waked it up.  Ah, well, 'Die erste Liebe istdie beste', but that I should not expect.""Yes, the first love is the best, but be so contented, for I never hadanother.  Teddy was only a boy, and soon got over his little fancy,"said Jo, anxious to correct the Professor's mistake."Good!  Then I shall rest happy, and be sure that thou givest me all.I haf waited so long, I am grown selfish, as thou wilt find,Professorin.""I like that," cried Jo, delighted with her new name.  "Now tell mewhat brought you, at last, just when I wanted you?""This," and Mr. Bhaer took a little worn paper out of his waistcoatpocket.Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her owncontributions to a paper that paid for poetry, which accounted for hersending it an occasional attempt."How could that bring you?" she asked, wondering what he meant."I found it by chance.  I knew it by the names and the initials, and init there was one little verse that seemed to call me.  Read and findhim.  I will see that you go not in the wet."    IN THE GARRET    Four little chests all in a row,    Dim with dust, and worn by time,    All fashioned and filled, long ago,    By children now in their prime.    Four little keys hung side by side,    With faded ribbons, brave and gay    When fastened there, with childish pride,    Long ago, on a rainy day.    Four little names, one on each lid,    Carved out by a boyish hand,    And underneath there lieth hid    Histories of the happy band    Once playing here, and pausing oft    To hear the sweet refrain,    That came and went on the roof aloft,    In the falling summer rain.    "Meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair.    I look in with loving eyes,    For folded here, with well-known care,    A goodly gathering lies,    The record of a peaceful life--    Gifts to gentle child and girl,    A bridal gown, lines to a wife,    A tiny shoe, a baby curl.    No toys in this first chest remain,    For all are carried away,    In their old age, to join again    In another small Meg's play.    Ah, happy mother!  Well I know    You hear, like a sweet refrain,    Lullabies ever soft and low    In the falling summer rain.    "Jo" on the next lid, scratched and worn,    And within a motley store    Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,    Birds and beasts that speak no more,    Spoils brought home from the fairy ground    Only trod by youthful feet,    Dreams of a future never found,    Memories of a past still sweet,    Half-writ poems, stories wild,    April letters, warm and cold,    Diaries of a wilful child,    Hints of a woman early old,    A woman in a lonely home,    Hearing, like a sad refrain--    "Be worthy, love, and love will come,"    In the falling summer rain.    My Beth!  the dust is always swept    From the lid that bears your name,    As if by loving eyes that wept,    By careful hands that often came.    Death canonized for us one saint,    Ever less human than divine,    And still we lay, with tender plaint,    Relics in this household shrine--    The silver bell, so seldom rung,    The little cap which last she wore,    The fair, dead Catherine that hung    By angels borne above her door.    The songs she sang, without lament,    In her prison-house of pain,    Forever are they sweetly blent    With the falling summer rain.    Upon the last lid's polished field--    Legend now both fair and true    A gallant knight bears on his shield,    "Amy" in letters gold and blue.    Within lie snoods that bound her hair,    Slippers that have danced their last,    Faded flowers laid by with care,    Fans whose airy toils are past,    Gay valentines, all ardent flames,    Trifles that have borne their part    In girlish hopes and fears and shames,    The record of a maiden heart    Now learning fairer, truer spells,    Hearing, like a blithe refrain,    The silver sound of bridal bells    In the falling summer rain.    Four little chests all in a row,    Dim with dust, and worn by time,    Four women, taught by weal and woe    To love and labor in their prime.    Four sisters, parted for an hour,    None lost, one only gone before,    Made by love's immortal power,    Nearest and dearest evermore.    Oh, when these hidden stores of ours    Lie open to the Father's sight,    May they be rich in golden hours,    Deeds that show fairer for the light,    Lives whose brave music long shall ring,    Like a spirit-stirring strain,    Souls that shall gladly soar and sing    In the long sunshine after rain."It's very bad poetry, but I felt it when I wrote it, one day when Iwas very lonely, and had a good cry on a rag bag.  I never thought itwould go where it could tell tales," said Jo, tearing up the verses theProfessor had treasured so long."Let it go, it has done its duty, and I will haf a fresh one when Iread all the brown book in which she keeps her little secrets," saidMr. Bhaer with a smile as he watched the fragments fly away on thewind.  "Yes," he added earnestly, "I read that, and I think to myself,She has a sorrow, she is lonely, she would find comfort in true love.I haf a heart full, full for her.  Shall I not go and say, 'If this isnot too poor a thing to gif for what I shall hope to receive, take itin Gott's name?'""And so you came to find that it was not too poor, but the one preciousthing I needed," whispered Jo."I had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was yourwelcome to me.  But soon I began to hope, and then I said, 'I will hafher if I die for it,' and so I will!" cried Mr. Bhaer, with a defiantnod, as if the walls of mist closing round them were barriers which hewas to surmount or valiantly knock down.Jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight,though he did not come prancing on a charger in gorgeous array."What made you stay away so long?" she asked presently, finding it sopleasant to ask confidential questions and get delightful answers thatshe could not keep silent."It was not easy, but I could not find the heart to take you from thatso happy home until I could haf a prospect of one to gif you, aftermuch time, perhaps, and hard work.  How could I ask you to gif up somuch for a poor old fellow, who has no fortune but a little learning?""I'm glad you are poor.  I couldn't bear a rich husband," said Jodecidedly, adding in a softer tone, "Don't fear poverty. I've known itlong enough to lose my dread and be happy working for those I love, anddon't call yourself old--forty is the prime of life.  I couldn't helploving you if you were seventy!"The Professor found that so touching that he would have been glad ofhis handkerchief, if he could have got at it.  As he couldn't, Jo wipedhis eyes for him, and said, laughing, as she took away a bundle ortwo..."I may be strong-minded, but no one can say I'm out of my sphere now,for woman's special mission is supposed to be drying tears and bearingburdens.  I'm to carry my share, Friedrich, and help to earn the home.Make up your mind to that, or I'll never go," she added resolutely, ashe tried to reclaim his load."We shall see.  Haf you patience to wait a long time, Jo? I must goaway and do my work alone.  I must help my boys first, because, evenfor you, I may not break my word to Minna.  Can you forgif that, and behappy while we hope and wait?""Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all therest easy to bear.  I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoymyself if I neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry orimpatience.  You can do your part out West, I can do mine here, andboth be happy hoping for the best, and leaving the future to be as Godwills.""Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gifback but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor,quite overcome.Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as theystood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whisperingtenderly, "Not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her Friedrichunder the umbrella.  It was dreadful, but she would have done it if theflock of draggle-tailed sparrows on the hedge had been human beings,for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everythingbut her own happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, thatwas the crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from thenight and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth andpeace waiting to receive them, with a glad "Welcome home!"  Jo led herlover in, and shut the door.CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENHARVEST TIMEFor a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, metoccasionally, and wrote such voluminous letters that the rise in theprice of paper was accounted for, Laurie said.  The second year beganrather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and Aunt Marchdied suddenly.  But when their first sorrow was over--for they lovedthe old lady in spite of her sharp tongue--they found they had causefor rejoicing, for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sortsof joyful things possible."It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, for of courseyou intend to sell it," said Laurie, as they were all talking thematter over some weeks later."No, I don't," was Jo's decided answer, as she petted the fat poodle,whom she had adopted, out of respect to his former mistress."You don't mean to live there?""Yes, I do.""But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a power ofmoney to keep it in order.  The garden and orchard alone need two orthree men, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I take it.""He'll try his hand at it there, if I propose it.""And you expect to live on the produce of the place?  Well, that soundsparadisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work.""The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one," and Jo laughed."Of what is this fine crop to consist, ma'am?""Boys.  I want to open a school for little lads--a good, happy,homelike school, with me to take care of them and Fritz to teach them.""That's a truly Joian plan for you!  Isn't that just like her?" criedLaurie, appealing to the family, who looked as much surprised as he."I like it," said Mrs. March decidedly."So do I," added her husband, who welcomed the thought of a chance fortrying the Socratic method of education on modern youth."It will be an immense care for Jo," said Meg, stroking the head of herone all-absorbing son."Jo can do it, and be happy in it.  It's a splendid idea. Tell us allabout it," cried Mr. Laurence, who had been longing to lend the loversa hand, but knew that they would refuse his help."I knew you'd stand by me, sir.  Amy does too--I see it in her eyes,though she prudently waits to turn it over in her mind before shespeaks.  Now, my dear people," continued Jo earnestly, "just understandthat this isn't a new idea of mine, but a long cherished plan.  Beforemy Fritz came, I used to think how, when I'd made my fortune, and noone needed me at home, I'd hire a big house, and pick up some poor,forlorn little lads who hadn't any mothers, and take care of them, andmake life jolly for them before it was too late.  I see so many goingto ruin for want of help at the right minute, I love so to do anythingfor them, I seem to feel their wants, and sympathize with theirtroubles, and oh, I should so like to be a mother to them!"Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it, smiling, with tears inher eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way, which they had notseen for a long while."I told my plan to Fritz once, and he said it was just what he wouldlike, and agreed to try it when we got rich.  Bless his dear heart,he's been doing it all his life--helping poor boys, I mean, not gettingrich, that he'll never be.  Money doesn't stay in his pocket longenough to lay up any.  But now, thanks to my good old aunt, who lovedme better than I ever deserved, I'm rich, at least I feel so, and wecan live at Plumfield perfectly well, if we have a flourishing school.It's just the place for boys, the house is big, and the furniturestrong and plain.  There's plenty of room for dozens inside, andsplendid grounds outside. They could help in the garden and orchard.Such work is healthy, isn't it, sir?  Then Fritz could train and teachin his own way, and Father will help him.  I can feed and nurse and petand scold them, and Mother will be my stand-by.  I've always longed forlots of boys, and never had enough, now I can fill the house full andrevel in the little dears to my heart's content.  Think what luxury--Plumfield my own, and a wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me."As Jo waved her hands and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went offinto a gale of merriment, and Mr. Laurence laughed till they thoughthe'd have an apoplectic fit."I don't see anything funny," she said gravely, when she could beheard.  "Nothing could be more natural and proper than for my Professorto open a school, and for me to prefer to reside in my own estate.""She is putting on airs already," said Laurie, who regarded the idea inthe light of a capital joke.  "But may I inquire how you intend tosupport the establishment? If all the pupils are little ragamuffins,I'm afraid your crop won't be profitable in a worldly sense, Mrs.Bhaer.""Now don't be a wet-blanket, Teddy.  Of course I shall have richpupils, also--perhaps begin with such altogether.  Then, when I've gota start, I can take in a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish. Richpeople's children often need care and comfort, as well as poor. I'veseen unfortunate little creatures left to servants, or backward onespushed forward, when it's real cruelty.  Some are naughty throughmismanagment or neglect, and some lose their mothers. Besides, the besthave to get through the hobbledehoy age, and that's the very time theyneed most patience and kindness.  People laugh at them, and hustle themabout, try to keep them out of sight, and expect them to turn all atonce from pretty children into fine young men.  They don't complainmuch--plucky little souls--but they feel it.  I've been throughsomething of it, and I know all about it. I've a special interest insuch young bears, and like to show them that I see the warm, honest,well-meaning boys' hearts, in spite of the clumsy arms and legs and thetopsy-turvy heads.  I've had experience, too, for haven't I brought upone boy to be a pride and honor to his family?""I'll testify that you tried to do it," said Laurie with a gratefullook."And I've succeeded beyond my hopes, for here you are, a steady,sensible businessman, doing heaps of good with your money, and layingup the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars. But you are notmerely a businessman, you love good and beautiful things, enjoy themyourself, and let others go halves, as you always did in the old times.I am proud of you, Teddy, for you get better every year, and everyonefeels it, though you won't let them say so.  Yes, and when I have myflock, I'll just point to you, and say 'There's your model, my lads'."Poor Laurie didn't know where to look, for, man though he was,something of the old bashfulness came over him as this burst of praisemade all faces turn approvingly upon him."I say, Jo, that's rather too much," he began, just in his old boyishway.  "You have all done more for me than I can ever thank you for,except by doing my best not to disappoint you.  You have rather cast meoff lately, Jo, but I've had the best of help, nevertheless.  So, ifI've got on at all, you may thank these two for it," and he laid onehand gently on his grandfather's head, and the other on Amy's goldenone, for the three were never far apart."I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all theworld!" burst out Jo, who was in an unusually up-lifted frame of mindjust then.  "When I have one of my own, I hope it will be as happy asthe three I know and love the best.  If John and my Fritz were onlyhere, it would be quite a little heaven on earth," she added morequietly.  And that night when she went to her room after a blissfulevening of family counsels, hopes, and plans, her heart was so full ofhappiness that she could only calm it by kneeling beside the empty bedalways near her own, and thinking tender thoughts of Beth.It was a very astonishing year altogether, for things seemed to happenin an unusually rapid and delightful manner.  Almost before she knewwhere she was, Jo found herself married and settled at Plumfield.  Thena family of six or seven boys sprung up like mushrooms, and flourishedsurprisingly, poor boys as well as rich, for Mr. Laurence wascontinually finding some touching case of destitution, and begging theBhaers to take pity on the child, and he would gladly pay a trifle forits support.  In this way, the sly old gentleman got round proud Jo,and furnished her with the style of boy in which she most delighted.Of course it was uphill work at first, and Jo made queer mistakes, butthe wise Professor steered her safely into calmer waters, and the mostrampant ragamuffin was conquered in the end. How Jo did enjoy her'wilderness of boys', and how poor, dear Aunt March would have lamentedhad she been there to see the sacred precincts of prim, well-orderedPlumfield overrun with Toms, Dicks, and Harrys!  There was a sort ofpoetic justice about it, after all, for the old lady had been theterror of the boys for miles around, and now the exiles feasted freelyon forbidden plums, kicked up the gravel with profane boots unreproved,and played cricket in the big field where the irritable 'cow with acrumpled horn' used to invite rash youths to come and be tossed.  Itbecame a sort of boys' paradise, and Laurie suggested that it should becalled the 'Bhaer-garten', as a compliment to its master andappropriate to its inhabitants.It never was a fashionable school, and the Professor did not lay up afortune, but it was just what Jo intended it to be--'a happy, homelikeplace for boys, who needed teaching, care, and kindness'.  Every roomin the big house was soon full.  Every little plot in the garden soonhad its owner.  A regular menagerie appeared in barn and shed, for petanimals were allowed. And three times a day, Jo smiled at her Fritzfrom the head of a long table lined on either side with rows of happyyoung faces, which all turned to her with affectionate eyes, confidingwords, and grateful hearts, full of love for 'Mother Bhaer'.  She hadboys enough now, and did not tire of them, though they were not angels,by any means, and some of them caused both Professor and Professorinmuch trouble and anxiety.  But her faith in the good spot which existsin the heart of the naughtiest, sauciest, most tantalizing littleragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and in time success, for no mortalboy could hold out long with Father Bhaer shining on him asbenevolently as the sun, and Mother Bhaer forgiving him seventy timesseven.  Very precious to Jo was the friendship of the lads, theirpenitent sniffs and whispers after wrongdoing, their droll or touchinglittle confidences, their pleasant enthusiasms, hopes, and plans, eventheir misfortunes, for they only endeared them to her all the more.There were slow boys and bashful boys, feeble boys and riotous boys,boys that lisped and boys that stuttered, one or two lame ones, and amerry little quadroon, who could not be taken in elsewhere, but who waswelcome to the 'Bhaer-garten', though some people predicted that hisadmission would ruin the school.Yes, Jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work, muchanxiety, and a perpetual racket.  She enjoyed it heartily and found theapplause of her boys more satisfying than any praise of the world, fornow she told no stories except to her flock of enthusiastic believersand admirers.  As the years went on, two little lads of her own came toincrease her happiness--Rob, named for Grandpa, and Teddy, ahappy-go-lucky baby, who seemed to have inherited his papa's sunshinytemper as well as his mother's lively spirit.  How they ever grew upalive in that whirlpool of boys was a mystery to their grandma andaunts, but they flourished like dandelions in spring, and their roughnurses loved and served them well.There were a great many holidays at Plumfield, and one of the mostdelightful was the yearly apple-picking.  For then the Marches,Laurences, Brookes and Bhaers turned out in full force and made a dayof it.  Five years after Jo's wedding, one of these fruitful festivalsoccurred, a mellow October day, when the air was full of anexhilarating freshness which made the spirits rise and the blood dancehealthily in the veins.  The old orchard wore its holiday attire.Goldenrod and asters fringed the mossy walls. Grasshoppers skippedbriskly in the sere grass, and crickets chirped like fairy pipers at afeast.  Squirrels were busy with their small harvesting.  Birdstwittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every treestood ready to send down its shower of red or yellow apples at thefirst shake.  Everybody was there. Everybody laughed and sang, climbedup and tumbled down.  Everybody declared that there never had been sucha perfect day or such a jolly set to enjoy it, and everyone gavethemselves up to the simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if therewere no such things as care or sorrow in the world.Mr. March strolled placidly about, quoting Tusser, Cowley, andColumella to Mr. Laurence, while enjoying...The gentle apple's winey juice.The Professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stoutTeutonic knight, with a pole for a lance, leading on the boys, who madea hook and ladder company of themselves, and performed wonders in theway of ground and lofty tumbling.  Laurie devoted himself to the littleones, rode his small daughter in a bushel-basket, took Daisy up amongthe bird's nests, and kept adventurous Rob from breaking his neck.Mrs. March and Meg sat among the apple piles like a pair of Pomonas,sorting the contributions that kept pouring in, while Amy with abeautiful motherly expression in her face sketched the various groups,and watched over one pale lad, who sat adoring her with his littlecrutch beside him.Jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with her gown pinnedup, and her hat anywhere but on her head, and her baby tucked under herarm, ready for any lively adventure which might turn up.  Little Teddybore a charmed life, for nothing ever happened to him, and Jo neverfelt any anxiety when he was whisked up into a tree by one lad,galloped off on the back of another, or supplied with sour russets byhis indulgent papa, who labored under the Germanic delusion that babiescould digest anything, from pickled cabbage to buttons, nails, andtheir own small shoes.  She knew that little Ted would turn up again intime, safe and rosy, dirty and serene, and she always received him backwith a hearty welcome, for Jo loved her babies tenderly.At four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remained empty, whilethe apple pickers rested and compared rents and bruises.  Then Jo andMeg, with a detachment of the bigger boys, set forth the supper on thegrass, for an out-of-door tea was always the crowning joy of the day.The land literally flowed with milk and honey on such occasions, forthe lads were not required to sit at table, but allowed to partake ofrefreshment as they liked--freedom being the sauce best beloved by theboyish soul.  They availed themselves of the rare privilege to thefullest extent, for some tried the pleasing experiment of drinking milkwhile standing on their heads, others lent a charm to leapfrog byeating pie in the pauses of the game, cookies were sown broadcast overthe field, and apple turnovers roosted in the trees like a new style ofbird.  The little girls had a private tea party, and Ted roved amongthe edibles at his own sweet will.When no one could eat any more, the Professor proposed the firstregular toast, which was always drunk at such times--"Aunt March, Godbless her!"  A toast heartily given by the good man, who never forgothow much he owed her, and quietly drunk by the boys, who had beentaught to keep her memory green."Now, Grandma's sixtieth birthday!  Long life to her, with three timesthree!"That was given with a will, as you may well believe, and the cheeringonce begun, it was hard to stop it.  Everybody's health was proposed,from Mr. Laurence, who was considered their special patron, to theastonished guinea pig, who had strayed from its proper sphere in searchof its young master.  Demi, as the oldest grandchild, then presentedthe queen of the day with various gifts, so numerous that they weretransported to the festive scene in a wheelbarrow.  Funny presents,some of them, but what would have been defects to other eyes wereornaments to Grandma's--for the children's gifts were all their own.Every stitch Daisy's patient little fingers had put into thehandkerchiefs she hemmed was better than embroidery to Mrs. March.Demi's miracle of mechanical skill, though the cover wouldn't shut,Rob's footstool had a wiggle in its uneven legs that she declared wassoothing, and no page of the costly book Amy's child gave her was sofair as that on which appeared in tipsy capitals, the words--"To dearGrandma, from her little Beth."During the ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared, and whenMrs. March had tried to thank her children, and broken down, whileTeddy wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the Professor suddenly began tosing.  Then, from above him, voice after voice took up the words, andfrom tree to tree echoed the music of the unseen choir, as the boyssang with all their hearts the little song that Jo had written, Laurieset to music, and the Professor trained his lads to give with the besteffect.  This was something altogether new, and it proved a grandsuccess, for Mrs. March couldn't get over her surprise, and insisted onshaking hands with every one of the featherless birds, from tall Franzand Emil to the little quadroon, who had the sweetest voice of all.After this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving Mrs. March andher daughters under the festival tree."I don't think I ever ought to call myself 'unlucky Jo' again, when mygreatest wish has been so beautifully gratified," said Mrs. Bhaer,taking Teddy's little fist out of the milk pitcher, in which he wasrapturously churning."And yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so longago.  Do you remember our castles in the air?" asked Amy, smiling asshe watched Laurie and John playing cricket with the boys."Dear fellows!  It does my heart good to see them forget business andfrolic for a day," answered Jo, who now spoke in a maternal way of allmankind.  "Yes, I remember, but the life I wanted then seems selfish,lonely, and cold to me now.  I haven't given up the hope that I maywrite a good book yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure it will be all thebetter for such experiences and illustrations as these," and Jo pointedfrom the lively lads in the distance to her father, leaning on theProfessor's arm, as they walked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in oneof the conversations which both enjoyed so much, and then to hermother, sitting enthroned among her daughters, with their children inher lap and at her feet, as if all found help and happiness in the facewhich never could grow old to them."My castle was the most nearly realized of all.  I asked for splendidthings, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I should be satisfied, if Ihad a little home, and John, and some dear children like these.  I'vegot them all, thank God, and am the happiest woman in the world," andMeg laid her hand on her tall boy's head, with a face full of tenderand devout content."My castle is very different from what I planned, but I would not alterit, though, like Jo, I don't relinquish all my artistic hopes, orconfine myself to helping others fulfill their dreams of beauty.  I'vebegun to model a figure of baby, and Laurie says it is the best thingI've ever done.  I think so, myself, and mean to do it in marble, sothat, whatever happens, I may at least keep the image of my littleangel."As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleepingchild in her arms, for her one well-beloved daughter was a frail littlecreature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over Amy'ssunshine.  This cross was doing much for both father and mother, forone love and sorrow bound them closely together. Amy's nature wasgrowing sweeter, deeper, and more tender.  Laurie was growing moreserious, strong, and firm, and both were learning that beauty, youth,good fortune, even love itself, cannot keep care and pain, loss andsorrow, from the most blessed for ...    Into each life some rain must fall,    Some days must be dark and sad and dreary."She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear.  Don't despond, buthope and keep happy," said Mrs. March, as tenderhearted Daisy stoopedfrom her knee to lay her rosy cheek against her little cousin's paleone."I never ought to, while I have you to cheer me up, Marmee, and Laurieto take more than half of every burden," replied Amy warmly.  "He neverlets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, sodevoted to Beth, and such a stay and comfort to me always that I can'tlove him enough.  So, in spite of my one cross, I can say with Meg,'Thank God, I'm a happy woman.'""There's no need for me to say it, for everyone can see that I'm farhappier than I deserve," added Jo, glancing from her good husband toher chubby children, tumbling on the grass beside her.  "Fritz isgetting gray and stout.  I'm growing as thin as a shadow, and amthirty.  We never shall be rich, and Plumfield may burn up any night,for that incorrigible Tommy Bangs will smoke sweet-fern cigars underthe bed-clothes, though he's set himself afire three times already.But in spite of these unromantic facts, I have nothing to complain of,and never was so jolly in my life.  Excuse the remark, but living amongboys, I can't help using their expressions now and then.""Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one," began Mrs. March,frightening away a big black cricket that was staring Teddy out ofcountenance."Not half so good as yours, Mother.  Here it is, and we never can thankyou enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done," cried Jo,with the loving impetuosity which she never would outgrow."I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year," said Amysoftly."A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmeedear," added Meg's tender voice.Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as ifto gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face andvoice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility..."Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you agreater happiness than this!"End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE WOMEN ******** This file should be named 514-8.txt or 514-8.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/514/Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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