Little Women
“How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I’m sure, and it will be
such a relief to know that she has someone to take care of her. Thank
you very, very much!”
Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in the
brown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, and
lead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother.
Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note from
Aunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating what
she had often said before, that she had always told them it was absurd
for March to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come
of 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 on
with her preparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which Jo
would have understood if she had been there.
The short afternoon wore away. All other errands were done, and Meg and
her mother busy at some necessary needlework, while Beth and Amy got
tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a ‘slap and a
bang’, but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious, and Laurie
went off to find her, for no one knew what freak Jo might take into her
head. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with a very queer
expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear,
satisfaction and regret in it, which puzzled the family as much as did
the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little
choke in her voice, “That’s my contribution toward making Father
comfortable and bringing him home!”
“My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars! Jo, I hope you
haven’t done anything rash?”
“No, it’s mine honestly. I didn’t beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned
it, and I don’t think you’ll blame me, for I only sold what was my
own.”
As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for
all her abundant hair was cut short.
“Your hair! Your beautiful hair!” “Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one
beauty.” “My dear girl, there was no need of this.” “She doesn’t look
like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!”
As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Jo
assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle,
and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked
it, “It doesn’t affect the fate of the nation, so don’t wail, Beth. It
will be good for my vanity, I was getting too proud of my wig. It will
do my brains good to have that mop taken off. My head feels deliciously
light and cool, and the barber said I could soon have a curly crop,
which will be boyish, 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 blame
you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call
it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I’m afraid
you will regret it one of these days,” said Mrs. March.
“No, I won’t!” returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her
prank was not entirely condemned.
“What made you do it?” asked Amy, who would as soon have thought of
cutting off her head as her pretty hair.
“Well, I was wild to do something for Father,” replied Jo, as they
gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even in the
midst of trouble. “I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knew
Aunt March would croak, she always does, if you ask for a ninepence.
Meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, and I only got some
clothes with mine, so I felt wicked, and was bound to have some money,
if I sold the nose off my face to get it.”
“You needn’t feel wicked, my child! You had no winter things and got
the simplest with your own hard earnings,” said Mrs. March with a look
that warmed Jo’s heart.
“I hadn’t the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I went
along I kept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I’d like to
dive into some of the rich stores and help myself. In a barber’s window
I saw tails of hair with the prices marked, and one black tail, not so
thick as mine, was forty dollars. It came to me all of a sudden that I
had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping to think, I
walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would give for
mine.”
“I don’t see how you dared to do it,” said Beth in a tone of awe.
“Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oil his
hair. He rather stared at first, as if he wasn’t used to having girls
bounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn’t
care about mine, it wasn’t the fashionable color, and he never paid
much for it in the first place. The work put into it made it dear, and
so on. It was getting late, and I was afraid if it wasn’t done right
away that I shouldn’t have it done at all, and you know when I start to
do a thing, I hate to give it up. So I begged him to take it, and told
him why I was in such a hurry. It was silly, I dare say, but it changed
his mind, for I got rather excited, and told the story in my
topsy-turvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly, ‘Take it,
Thomas, and oblige the young lady. I’d do as much for our Jimmy any day
if I had a spire of hair worth selling.”
“Who was Jimmy?” asked Amy, who liked to have things explained as they
went along.
“Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly such things make
strangers feel, don’t they? She talked away all the time the man
clipped, and diverted my mind nicely.”
“Didn’t you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?” asked Meg, with a
shiver.
“I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that
was the end of it. I never snivel over trifles like that. I will
confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on
the table, and felt only the short rough ends of my head. It almost
seemed as if I’d an arm or leg off. The woman saw me look at it, and
picked out a long lock for me to keep. I’ll give it to you, Marmee,
just to remember past glories by, for a crop is so comfortable I don’t
think I shall ever have a mane again.”
Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a short
gray one in her desk. She only said, “Thank you, deary,” but something
in her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully
as they could about Mr. Brooke’s kindness, the prospect of a fine day
tomorrow, and the happy times they would have when Father came home to
be nursed.
No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o’clock Mrs. March put by the
last finished job, and said, “Come girls.” Beth went to the piano and
played the father’s favorite hymn. All began bravely, but broke down
one by one till Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to
her music was always a sweet consoler.
“Go to bed and don’t talk, for we must be up early and shall need all
the sleep we can get. Good night, my darlings,” said Mrs. March, as the
hymn ended, for no one cared to try another.
They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear
invalid lay in the next room. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep in spite of
the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious
thoughts she had ever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, and
her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob made her
exclaim, as she touched a wet cheek...
“Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about father?”
“No, not now.”
“What then?”
“My... My hair!” burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smother her
emotion in the pillow.
It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed the
afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner.
“I’m not sorry,” protested Jo, with a choke. “I’d do it again tomorrow,
if I could. It’s only the vain part of me that goes and cries in this
silly way. Don’t tell anyone, it’s all over now. I thought you were
asleep, so I just made a little private moan for my one beauty. How
came you to be awake?”
“I can’t sleep, I’m so anxious,” said Meg.
“Think about something pleasant, and you’ll soon drop off.”
“I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever.”
“What did you think of?”
“Handsome faces—eyes particularly,” answered Meg, smiling to herself in
the dark.
“What color do you like best?”
“Brown, that is, sometimes. Blue are lovely.”
Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiably
promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living in
her castle in the air.
The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as a
figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here,
settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each
unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to
pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted the
curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from
behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face,
which seemed to whisper in the silence, “Be comforted, dear soul! There
is always light behind the clouds.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LETTERS
In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and read their chapter
with an earnestness never felt before. For now the shadow of a real
trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort, and
as they dressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully and hopefully,
and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or
complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went
down, so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within.
Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah’s familiar
face looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her nightcap
on. The big trunk stood ready in the hall, Mother’s cloak and bonnet
lay on the sofa, and Mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking so
pale and worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it
very hard to keep their resolution. Meg’s eyes kept filling in spite of
herself, Jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller more
than once, and the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression, as
if sorrow was a new experience to them.
Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near and they sat waiting
for the carriage, Mrs. March said to the girls, who were all busied
about her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of
her bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a fourth fastening up
her travelling bag...
“Children, I leave you to Hannah’s care and Mr. Laurence’s protection.
Hannah is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will guard you as
if you were his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious that you
should take this trouble rightly. Don’t grieve and fret when I am gone,
or think that you can be idle and comfort yourselves by being idle and
trying to forget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed
solace. Hope and keep busy, and whatever happens, remember that you
never can be fatherless.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and in
any perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don’t get
despondent or do rash things, write to me often, and be my brave girl,
ready to help and cheer all. Beth, comfort yourself with your music,
and be faithful to the little home duties, and you, Amy, help all you
can, be obedient, and keep happy safe at home.”
“We will, Mother! We will!”
The rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen.
That was the hard minute, but the girls stood it well. No one cried, no
one ran away or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very