Little Women
listened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and
poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that “Tom Brown was a brick,”
regardless of the improper form of praise, and when one lad proposed a
visit to his turtle tank, she went with an alacrity which caused Mamma
to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left
in a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, and
dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from the hands of an
inspired Frenchwoman.
Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself
to her heart’s content. Mr. Tudor’s uncle had married an English lady
who was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole
family with great respect, for in spite of her American birth and
breeding, she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best
of us—that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set
the most democratic nation under the sun in ferment at the coming of a
royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has
something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like
that of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him while
she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled.
But even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the
British nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time, and when the
proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from
this aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hoping
that her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position which
should bring disgrace upon the name of March.
It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad. For Jo sat on the
grass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog
reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related
one of Laurie’s pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was
poking turtles with Amy’s cherished parasol, a second was eating
gingerbread over Jo’s best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her
gloves, but all were enjoying themselves, and when Jo collected her
damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come
again, “It was such fun to hear about Laurie’s larks.”
“Capital boys, aren’t they? I feel quite young and brisk again after
that.” said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from
habit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol.
“Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?” asked Amy, wisely refraining from
any comment upon Jo’s dilapidated appearance.
“Don’t like him, he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his
father, and doesn’t speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is
fast, and I don’t consider him a desirable acquaintance, so I let him
alone.”
“You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod, and
just now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain,
whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod
and the bow, it would have been right,” said Amy reprovingly.
“No, it wouldn’t,” returned Jo, “I neither like, respect, nor admire
Tudor, though his grandfather’s uncle’s nephew’s niece was a third
cousin 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 gentleman in
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, and
drop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I’m deeply
grateful.”
The family cardcase having done its duty the girls walked on, and Jo
uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being
told that the young ladies were engaged.
“Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March today. We can run down
there any time, and it’s really a pity to trail through the dust in our
best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross.”
“Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt March likes to have us pay her
the compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call. It’s a
little thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don’t believe it
will hurt your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping
boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your
bonnet.”
“What a good girl you are, Amy!” said Jo, with a repentant glance from
her own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh and
spotless still. “I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to
please people as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much
time to do them, so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and
let 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 they
have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you’d
remember 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 own
that you are right, only it’s easier for me to risk my life for a
person than to be pleasant to him when I don’t feel like it. It’s a
great 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 that I
don’t approve of Tudor any more than you do, but I’m not called upon to
tell him so. Neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself
disagreeable because he is.”
“But I think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men, and
how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do any
good, as I know to my sorrow, since I’ve had Teddie to manage. But
there are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word,
and I say we ought to do it to others if we can.”
“Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can’t be taken as a sample of other
boys,” said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would have
convulsed the ‘remarkable boy’ if he had heard it. “If we were belles,
or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps, but
for us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don’t approve
of them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn’t have a
particle of effect, and we should only be considered odd and
puritanical.”
“So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely
because we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That’s a nice sort
of morality.”
“I can’t argue about it, I only know that it’s the way of the world,
and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their
pains. I don’t like reformers, and I hope you never try to be one.”
“I do like them, and I shall be one if I can, for in spite of the
laughing the world would never get on without them. We can’t agree
about that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new. You will
get on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I should
rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think.”
“Well, compose yourself now, and don’t worry Aunt with your new ideas.”
“I’ll try not to, but I’m always possessed to burst out with some
particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her. It’s
my doom, and I can’t help it.”
They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very
interesting subject, but they dropped it as the girls came in, with a
conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their
nieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned, but
Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper and pleased
everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was
felt at once, and both aunts ‘my deared’ her affectionately, looking
what they afterward said emphatically, “That child improves every day.”
“Are you going to help about the fair, dear?” asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amy
sat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so well
in the young.
“Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend a
table, as I have nothing but my time to give.”
“I’m not,” put in Jo decidedly. “I hate to be patronized, and the
Chesters think it’s a great favor to allow us to help with their highly
connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy, they only want you to
work.”
“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 a
pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts. Some do not, and
that is trying,” observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at
Jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression.
If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance
for one of them, she would have turned dove-like in a minute, but
unfortunately, we don’t have windows in our breasts, and cannot see
what goes on in the minds of our friends. Better for us that we cannot
as a general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a
saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of
several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of
holding her tongue.
“I don’t like favors, they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I’d
rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent.”
“Ahem!” coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March.
“I told you so,” said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol.
Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in
the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting.
“Do you speak French, dear?” asked Mrs. Carrol, laying a hand on Amy’s.
“Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often
as I like,” replied Amy, with a grateful look, which caused the old
lady 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’t bear
French, it’s such a slippery, silly sort of language,” was the brusque
reply.
Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy,
“You are quite strong and well now, dear, I believe? Eyes don’t trouble
you any more, do they?”
“Not at all, thank you, ma’am. I’m very well, and mean to do great
things next winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that
joyful time arrives.”
“Good girl! You deserve to go, and I’m sure you will some day,” said
Aunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up her
ball for her.
Crosspatch, draw the latch,
Sit by the fire and spin,
squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to
peep into Jo’s face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry
that it was impossible to help laughing.
“Most observing bird,” said the old lady.
“Come and take a walk, my dear?” cried Polly, hopping toward the china
closet, with a look suggestive of 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 upon
her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy
kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the
impression of shadow and sunshine, which impression caused Aunt March
to say, as they vanished...
“You’d better do it, Mary. I’ll supply the money.” and Aunt Carrol to
reply decidedly, “I certainly will, if her father and mother consent.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CONSEQUENCES
Mrs. Chester’s fair was so very elegant and select that it was