Little Women
older girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held
at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, and
comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg
bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, Beth felt that even
her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, Jo
wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay, and
Hannah shook her fist at the ‘villain’ and pounded potatoes for dinner
as if she had him under her pestle.
No notice was taken of Amy’s flight, except by her mates, but the
sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant in
the afternoon, also unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo
appeared, wearing a grim expression as she stalked up to the desk, and
delivered a letter from her mother, then collected Amy’s property, and
departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door mat, as
if she shook the dust of the place off her feet.
“Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a
little every day with Beth,” said Mrs. March that evening. “I don’t
approve of corporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr.
Davis’s manner of teaching and don’t think the girls you associate with
are doing you any good, so I shall ask your father’s advice before I
send you anywhere else.”
“That’s good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old
school. It’s perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes,”
sighed Amy, with the air of a martyr.
“I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved
some punishment for disobedience,” was the severe reply, which rather
disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy.
“Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole school?”
cried Amy.
“I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault,” replied her
mother, “but I’m not sure that it won’t do you more good than a bolder
method. You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is
quite time you set about correcting it. You have a good many little
gifts and virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit
spoils the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or
goodness will be overlooked long, even if it is, the consciousness of
possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm of
all power is modesty.”
“So it is!” cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. “I
knew a girl once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she
didn’t know it, never guessed what sweet little things she composed
when she was alone, and wouldn’t have believed it if anyone had told
her.”
“I wish I’d known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I’m
so stupid,” said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly.
“You do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could,”
answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in his
merry black eyes that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face
in the sofa cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery.
Jo let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth, who
could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So
Laurie did his best, and sang delightfully, being in a particularly
lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his
character. When he was gone, Amy, who had been pensive all evening,
said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, “Is Laurie an
accomplished boy?”
“Yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent. He will
make a fine man, if not 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 him so
much.”
“I see. It’s nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not to
show off or get perked up,” said Amy thoughtfully.
“These things are always seen and felt in a person’s manner and
conversations, if modestly used, but it is not necessary to display
them,” said Mrs. March.
“Any more than it’s proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and
ribbons at once, that folks may know you’ve got them,” added Jo, and
the lecture ended in a laugh.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JO MEETS APOLLYON
“Girls, where are you going?” asked Amy, coming into their room one
Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with an
air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.
“Never mind. Little girls shouldn’t ask questions,” returned Jo
sharply.
Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings when we are young,
it is to be told that, and to be bidden to “run away, dear” is still
more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to
find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who
never refused her anything very long, she said coaxingly, “Do tell me!
I should think you might let me go, too, for Beth is fussing over her
piano, and I haven’t got anything to do, and am so lonely.”
“I can’t, dear, because you aren’t invited,” began Meg, but Jo broke in
impatiently, “Now, Meg, be quiet or you will spoil it all. You can’t
go, Amy, so don’t be a baby and whine about it.”
“You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You were
whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you
stopped when I came in. Aren’t you going with him?”
“Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering.”
Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her
pocket.
“I know! I know! You’re going to the theater to see the _Seven
Castles!_” she cried, adding resolutely, “and I shall go, for Mother
said I might see it, and I’ve got my rag money, and it was mean not to
tell me in time.”
“Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,” said Meg soothingly.
“Mother doesn’t wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not
well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you
can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.”
“I don’t like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please
let me. I’ve been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I’m dying
for some fun. Do, Meg! I’ll be ever so good,” pleaded Amy, looking as
pathetic as she could.
“Suppose we take her. I don’t believe Mother would mind, if we bundle
her up well,” began Meg.
“If she goes I shan’t, and if I don’t, Laurie won’t like it, and it
will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I
should think she’d hate to poke herself where she isn’t wanted,” said
Jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child
when she wanted to enjoy herself.
Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying,
in her most aggravating way, “I shall go. Meg says I may, and if I pay
for myself, Laurie hasn’t anything to do with it.”
“You can’t sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn’t sit
alone, so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our
pleasure. Or he’ll get another seat for you, and that isn’t proper when
you weren’t asked. You shan’t stir a step, so you may just stay where
you are,” scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger
in her hurry.
Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry and Meg to
reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls
hurried down, leaving their sister wailing. For now and then she forgot
her grown-up ways and acted like a spoiled child. Just as the party was
setting out, Amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone,
“You’ll be sorry for this, Jo March, see if you ain’t.”
“Fiddlesticks!” returned Jo, slamming the door.
They had a charming time, for _The Seven Castles Of The Diamond Lake_
was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. But in spite of the
comical red imps, sparkling elves, and the gorgeous princes and
princesses, Jo’s pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it. The fairy
queen’s yellow curls reminded her of Amy, and between the acts she
amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her
‘sorry for it’. She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the
course of their lives, for both had quick tempers and were apt to be
violent when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and
semioccasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed
afterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had
hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually
getting her into trouble. Her anger never lasted long, and having
humbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to do
better. Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a
fury because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried desperately
to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat
her, and it took years of patient effort to subdue it.
When they got home, they found Amy reading in the parlor. She assumed
an injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes from her book, or
asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered
resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing
description of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo’s
first look was toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy had
soothed her feelings by turning Jo’s top drawer upside down on the
floor. Everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty glance
into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had
forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.
There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produced
a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the
afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demanding
breathlessly, “Has anyone taken my book?”
Meg and Beth said, “No.” at once, and looked surprised. Amy poked the
fire and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise and was down upon her in a
minute.
“Amy, you’ve got it!”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You know where it is, then!”
“No, I don’t.”
“That’s a fib!” cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking
fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.
“It isn’t. I haven’t got it, don’t know where it is now, and don’t
care.”
“You know something about it, and you’d better tell at once, or I’ll
make you.” And Jo gave her a slight shake.
“Scold as much as you like, you’ll never see your silly old book
again,” 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 to
finish before Father got home? Have you really burned it?” said Jo,
turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy
nervously.
“Yes, I did! I told you I’d make you pay for being so cross yesterday,
and I have, so...”
Amy got no farther, for Jo’s hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy
till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief and
anger...
“You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I’ll never
forgive you as long as I live.”
Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside
herself, and with a parting box on her sister’s ear, she rushed out of
the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight
alone.
The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard
the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her
sister. Jo’s book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her
family as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen
little fairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting her
whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to
print. She had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the