Little Women
“A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and I’ll be
hanged if I don’t make them buy every flower she’s got, and camp down
before her table afterward,” said Laurie, espousing her cause with
warmth.
“The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may not
arrive in time. I don’t wish to be unjust or suspicious, but I
shouldn’t wonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean
thing they are very likely to do another,” observed Jo in a disgusted
tone.
“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 was
poorly, 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 are
just 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 at
all. But we mustn’t stand philandering here. I’ve got to help Amy, so
you go and make yourself splendid, and if you’ll be so very kind as to
let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I’ll bless you
forever.”
“Couldn’t you do it now?” asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut
the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the
bars, “Go away, Teddy, I’m busy.”
Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, for
Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a lovely basket arranged in
his best manner for a centerpiece. Then the March family turned out en
masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only
came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy’s taste, and
apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie and his friends
gallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets,
encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest spot in
the room. Amy was in her element now, and out of gratitude, if nothing
more, was as spritely and gracious as possible, coming to the
conclusion, about that time, that virtue was its own reward, after all.
Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy was happily
surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the Hall, picking
up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of
the Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the
ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible. She also
discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, and
considered 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 forgive
her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered her family.
“Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?” asked May with a
conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be
generous.
“She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is
enjoying 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 to
praising the great vases, which still remained unsold.
“Is Amy’s illumination anywhere about? I took a fancy to buy that for
Father,” 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 people
saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us,” returned
May, 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 looked
both 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 tables
as 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 your
duty like men, and you’ll get your money’s worth of art in every sense
of the word,” said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx
prepared to take the field.
“To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May,” said little
Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and
getting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said...
“Very well, my son, for a small boy!” and walked him off, with a
paternal pat on the head.
“Buy the vases,” whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals
of fire on her enemy’s head.
To May’s great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, but
pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemen
speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and
wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted
fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases.
Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said
something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beam
with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and
anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till
several days later.
The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amy goodnight, she
did not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look
which said ‘forgive and forget’. That satisfied Amy, and when she got
home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with a
great 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 character
than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You’ve behaved sweetly, and I
respect you with all my heart,” said Jo warmly, as they brushed their
hair together late that night.
“Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must
have been dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting your heart
on selling your own pretty things. I don’t believe I could have done it
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 true
gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know
how. I can’t explain exactly, but I want to be above the little
meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women. I’m far
from 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 now
what you mean, and I’ll never laugh at you again. You are getting on
faster 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 get
your 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 be
delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March’s face was
illuminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who
were 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 an
uncontrollable rapture.
“No, dear, not you. It’s Amy.”
“Oh, Mother! She’s too young, it’s my turn first. I’ve wanted it so
long. It would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid. I
must go!”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is
not 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’t
fair, oh, it isn’t fair!” cried Jo passionately.
“I’m afraid it’s partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the
other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit,
and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said—‘I planned at
first to ask Jo, but as ‘favors burden her’, and she ‘hates French’, 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 the trip may
give her.”
“Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can’t I learn to keep it
quiet?” groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing. When
she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said
sorrowfully...
“I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, so
try to bear it cheerfully, and don’t sadden Amy’s pleasure by
reproaches or regrets.”
“I’ll try,” said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up the
basket she had joyfully upset. “I’ll take a leaf out of her book, and
try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute
of happiness. But it won’t be easy, for it is a dreadful
disappointment,” and poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held
with several very bitter tears.
“Jo, dear, I’m very selfish, but I couldn’t spare you, and I’m glad you
are not going quite yet,” whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and
all, with such a clinging touch and loving face that Jo felt comforted
in 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 how
gratefully she would bear it.
By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the family
jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without
repinings at Amy’s good fortune. The young lady herself received the
news 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, leaving
such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in
visions of art than herself.
“It isn’t a mere pleasure trip to me, girls,” she said impressively, as
she scraped her best palette. “It will decide my career, for if I have
any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove
it.”
“Suppose you haven’t?” said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new
collars which were to be handed over to Amy.
“Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,” replied the
aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But she made a wry face
at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on
vigorous 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 one
will. I’m sure I wish it would, for if I can’t be an artist myself, I
should like to be able to help those who are,” said Amy, smiling, as if
the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor
drawing teacher.
“Hum!” said Jo, with a sigh. “If you wish it you’ll have it, for your
wishes are always granted—mine never.”
“Would you like to go?” asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with
her knife.
“Rather!”
“Well, in a year or two I’ll send for you, and we’ll dig in the Forum
for 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 day comes,
if it ever does,” returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent
offer as gratefully as she could.
There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment
till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blue
ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried
till she couldn’t cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the
steamer sailed. Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it
suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her