Little Women
your 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. “Not
for a year or two. I won’t go before seventeen, anyway.”
“Aren’t you but fifteen?” asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she
had 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 the
way 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 brows
looked rather threatening as he knit them, so she changed the subject
by saying, as her foot kept time, “That’s a splendid polka! Why don’t
you 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, and
looked 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 my
frocks, and I scorched this one, and though it’s nicely mended, it
shows, and Meg told me to keep still so no one would see it. You may
laugh, if you want to. It is funny, I know.”
But Laurie didn’t laugh. He only looked down a minute, and the
expression of his face puzzled Jo when he said very gently, “Never mind
that. 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 when
she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The hall was
empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well, and taught
her the German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and
spring. When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get
their breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students’
festival at Heidelberg when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She
beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where she
found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale.
“I’ve sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned and gave me a sad
wrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don’t know how I’m ever
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 I
don’t see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all
night,” answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke.
“I can’t have a carriage without its costing ever so much. I dare say I
can’t get one at all, for most people come in their own, and it’s a
long 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’ll rest
till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can.”
“I’ll ask Laurie. He will go,” said Jo, looking relieved as the idea
occurred to her.
“Mercy, no! Don’t ask or tell anyone. Get me my rubbers, and put these
slippers with our things. I can’t dance anymore, but as soon as supper
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’t
stir.”
So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering away
to 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 a
little private refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the
coffee, which she immediately spilled, thereby making the front of her
dress as bad as the back.
“Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!” exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg’s
glove by scrubbing her gown with it.
“Can I help you?” said a friendly voice. And there was Laurie, with a
full 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 someone
shook me, and here I am in a nice state,” answered Jo, glancing
dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove.
“Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I take it to
your sister?”
“Oh, thank you! I’ll show you where she is. I don’t offer to take it
myself, 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 a
little table, brought a second installment of coffee and ice for Jo,
and was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a ‘nice
boy’. They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in
the midst of a quiet game of _Buzz_, with two or three other young
people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot
and rose so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of Jo, with an
exclamation of pain.
“Hush! Don’t say anything,” she whispered, adding aloud, “It’s nothing.
I turned my foot a little, that’s all,” and limped upstairs to put her
things on.
Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits’ end, till she
decided to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down
and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It
happened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neighborhood
and Jo was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard what she
said, came up and offered his grandfather’s carriage, which had just
come for him, he said.
“It’s so early! You can’t mean to go yet?” began Jo, looking relieved
but hesitating to accept the offer.
“I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It’s all
on my way, you know, and it rains, they say.”
That settled it, and telling him of Meg’s mishap, Jo gratefully
accepted and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah
hated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they
rolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and
elegant. Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot up, and the
girls talked over their party in freedom.
“I had a capital time. Did you?” asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, and
making herself comfortable.
“Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie’s friend, Annie Moffat, took a fancy
to 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 be
perfectly splendid, if Mother only lets me go,” answered Meg, cheering
up at the thought.
“I saw you dancing with the red headed man I ran away from. Was he
nice?”
“Oh, very! His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and I
had a delicious redowa with him.”
“He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step. Laurie
and I couldn’t help laughing. Did you hear us?”
“No, but it was very rude. What were you about all that time, hidden
away there?”
Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were at
home. With many thanks, they said good night and crept in, hoping to
disturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two little
nightcaps 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 some
bonbons for the little girls, and they soon subsided, after hearing the
most thrilling events of the evening.
“I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home
from the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown with a maid to
wait on me,” said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica and brushed
her hair.
“I don’t believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we
do, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece and tight
slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them.”
And I think Jo was quite right.
CHAPTER FOUR
BURDENS
“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 the
task she never liked.
“I wish it was Christmas or New Year’s all the time. Wouldn’t it be
fun?” answered Jo, yawning dismally.
“We shouldn’t enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does
seem 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 other
people, you know, and I always envy girls who do such things, I’m so
fond of luxury,” said Meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gowns
was the least shabby.
“Well, we can’t have it, so don’t let us grumble but shoulder our
bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does. I’m sure Aunt
March is a regular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I’ve
learned to carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or get
so light that I shan’t mind her.”
This idea tickled Jo’s fancy and put her in good spirits, but Meg
didn’t brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoiled children,
seemed heavier than ever. She had not heart enough even to make herself
pretty as usual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hair
in the most becoming way.
“Where’s the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross
midgets, 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 my
days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly
and 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 agreeable
at breakfast time. Everyone seemed rather out of sorts and inclined to
croak.
Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself with
the cat and three kittens. Amy was fretting because her lessons were
not learned, and she couldn’t find her rubbers. Jo would whistle and
make a great racket getting ready.
Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at
once, 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 when
she had upset an inkstand, broken both boot lacings, and sat down upon
her hat.
“You’re the crossest person in it!” returned Amy, washing out the sum
that 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 them
drowned,” exclaimed Meg angrily as she tried to get rid of the kitten
which had scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of
reach.
Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed because she
couldn’t remember how much nine times twelve was.
“Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early
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 two
hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again. These turnovers were
an institution, and the girls called them ‘muffs’, for they had no
others and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on cold
mornings.
Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy she
might be, for the walk was long and bleak. The poor things got no other
lunch 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 regular
angels. Now then, Meg!” And Jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims
were not setting out as they ought to do.