Little Women
remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which
they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don’t laugh at the
spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are
hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns,
and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself,
make the faded faces beautiful in God’s sight. Even the sad, sour
sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the
sweetest part of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them with
compassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that
they too may miss the blossom time. That rosy cheeks don’t last
forever, that silver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and
that, by-and-by, kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and
admiration now.
Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter
how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that
which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble,
and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect
the good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and
petted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out
of, the tips they have given you from their small store, the stitches
the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing old
feet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little
attentions that women love to receive as long as they live. The
bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all
the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can part
mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a
tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who
has kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for ‘the best nevvy
in the world’.
Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this
little homily), for suddenly Laurie’s ghost seemed to stand before her,
a substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he
used to wear when he felt a good deal and didn’t like to show it. But,
like Jenny in the ballad...
“She could not think it he,”
and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and
kissed her. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully...
“Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!”
“Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?”
“Glad! My blessed boy, words can’t express my gladness. Where’s Amy?”
“Your mother has got her down at Meg’s. We stopped there by the way,
and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches.”
“Your what?” cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with an
unconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him.
“Oh, the dickens! Now I’ve done it,” and he looked so guilty that Jo
was down on him like a flash.
“You’ve gone and got married!”
“Yes, please, but I never will again,” and he went down upon his knees,
with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth,
and triumph.
“Actually married?”
“Very much so, thank you.”
“Mercy on us. What dreadful thing will you do next?” and Jo fell into
her seat with a gasp.
“A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation,”
returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with
satisfaction.
“What can you expect, when you take one’s breath away, creeping in like
a burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, you
ridiculous boy, and tell me all about it.”
“Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to
barricade.”
Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted
the sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, “The old pillow is
up garret, and we don’t need it now. So, come and ’fess, Teddy.”
“How good it sounds to hear you say ‘Teddy’! No one ever calls me that
but you,” and Laurie sat down with an air of great content.
“What does Amy call you?”
“My lord.”
“That’s like her. Well, you look it,” and Jo’s eye plainly betrayed
that she found her boy comelier than ever.
The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a natural
one, raised by time, absence, and change of heart. Both felt it, and
for a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a
little shadow over them. It was gone directly however, for Laurie said,
with a vain attempt at dignity...
“Don’t I look like a married man and the head of a family?”
“Not a bit, and you never will. You’ve grown bigger and bonnier, but
you are the same scapegrace as ever.”
“Now really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect,” began
Laurie, who enjoyed it all immensely.
“How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is so
irresistibly funny that I can’t keep sober!” answered Jo, smiling all
over her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then
settled down for a good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion.
“It’s no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all
coming up presently. I couldn’t wait. I wanted to be the one to tell
you the grand surprise, and have ‘first skim’ as we used to say when we
squabbled about the cream.”
“Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong
end. Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I’m pining to
know.”
“Well, I did it to please Amy,” began Laurie, with a twinkle that made
Jo exclaim...
“Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth,
if you can, sir.”
“Now she’s beginning to marm it. Isn’t it jolly to hear her?” said
Laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite
agreed. “It’s all the same, you know, she and I being one. We planned
to come home with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly
changed their minds, and decided to pass another winter in Paris. But
Grandpa wanted to come home. He went to please me, and I couldn’t let
him go alone, neither could I leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got
English notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and wouldn’t let Amy
come with us. So I just settled the difficulty by saying, ‘Let’s be
married, and then we can do as we like’.”
“Of course you did. You always have things to suit you.”
“Not always,” and something in Laurie’s voice made Jo say hastily...
“How did you ever get Aunt to agree?”
“It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps
of good reasons on our side. There wasn’t time to write and ask leave,
but you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only
‘taking time by the fetlock’, as my wife says.”
“Aren’t we proud of those two words, and don’t we like to say them?”
interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with
delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been
so tragically gloomy when she saw them last.
“A trifle, perhaps, she’s such a captivating little woman I can’t help
being proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to play
propriety. We were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use
apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all
round, so we did it.”
“When, where, how?” asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and
curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle.
“Six weeks ago, at the American consul’s, in Paris, a very quiet
wedding of course, for even in our happiness we didn’t forget dear
little Beth.”
Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed the
little red pillow, which he remembered well.
“Why didn’t you let us know afterward?” asked Jo, in a quieter tone,
when they had sat quite still a minute.
“We wanted to surprise you. We thought we were coming directly home, at
first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found he
couldn’t be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our
honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regular
honeymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are but
once in their lives. My faith! Wasn’t it love among the roses!”
Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it, for the
fact that he told her these things so freely and so naturally assured
her that he had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away
her hand, but as if he guessed the thought that prompted the
half-involuntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with a manly
gravity she had never seen in him before...
“Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we’ll put it by forever.
As I told you in my letter when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to
me, I never shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I have
learned to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed places
in my heart, that’s all. I think it was meant to be so, and would have
come about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me, but I
never could be patient, and so I got a heartache. I was a boy then,
headstrong and violent, and it took a hard lesson to show me my
mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, after
making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in my mind,
at one time, that I didn’t know which I loved best, you or Amy, and
tried to love you both alike. But I couldn’t, and when I saw her in
Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once. You both got
into your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the
old love before it was on with the new, that I could honestly share my
heart between sister Jo and wife Amy, and love them dearly. Will you
believe it, and go back to the happy old times when we first knew one
another?”
“I’ll believe it, with all my heart, but, Teddy, we never can be boy
and girl again. The happy old times can’t come back, and we mustn’t
expect it. We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for
playtime is over, and we must give up frolicking. I’m sure you feel
this. I see the change in you, and you’ll find it in me. I shall miss
my boy, but I shall love the man as much, and admire him more, because
he means to be what I hoped he would. We can’t be little playmates any
longer, but we will be brother and sister, to love and help one another
all our lives, won’t we, Laurie?”
He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his
face down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyish
passion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them
both. Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn’t want the coming home
to be a sad one, “I can’t make it true that you children are really
married and going to set up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday
that I was buttoning Amy’s pinafore, and pulling your hair when you
teased. Mercy me, how time does fly!”
“As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn’t talk so
like a grandma. I flatter myself I’m a ‘gentleman growed’ as Peggotty
said of David, and when you see Amy, you’ll find her rather a
precocious infant,” said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air.
“You may be a little older in years, but I’m ever so much older in
feeling, Teddy. Women always are, and this last year has been such a
hard one that I feel forty.”
“Poor Jo! We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You
are older. Here’s a line, and there’s another. Unless you smile, your
eyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear
on it. You’ve had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone.
What a selfish beast I’ve been!” and Laurie pulled his own hair, with a
remorseful look.
But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone
which she tried to make more cheerful, “No, I had Father and Mother to