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Little Women
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,”
grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.
“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg.
“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of
pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy.
“We’ve got father, mother, and each other,” said Beth
contentedly.
Their faces brightened but darkened again as each girl
thought of the father, far away, where the fighting was. Nobody spoke for a minute;
then Meg said in an altered voice, “Mother proposed not having any presents
this Christmas, because it is going to be hard winter for everyone; and she
thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure when our men are suffering so in the
army. Though we can’t do much, we ought to do it gladly. But I’m afraid I
don’t,” and Meg thought regretfully of the pretty things she wanted.
Margaret was sixteen, very pretty, with large eyes, brown
hair, a sweet mouth. And white hands, of which she was rather proud of.
At fifteen, Jo was very tall, thin, and brown. She had a
decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes. Her long, thick hair was
her one beauty. She had a fly-away look to her clothes and the uncomfortable
appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn’t like
it.
Elizabeth was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of
thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which
was seldom disturbed.
Amy, the youngest, was the most important person – in her own
opinion. A regular snow-maiden. With blue eyes, and long curly, yellow hair,
and always carrying herself like a young lady.
While waiting for Marmee, they rehearsed the play Jo had
written for Christmas. The door opened and the actors turned to welcome a tall,
motherly lady, with a “Can-I-help-you” look which was truly delightful. She was
not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking women, and the girls thought of her
as the most splendid mother in the world.
Mrs. March had a treat for them – a letter from the father –
so they whisked through dinner and gathered about their mother as she settled
herself to read.
“I think father was splendid to go as a chaplain when he was
too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier,” said Meg.
It was a cheerful letter, full of lively descriptions of the
camp. Little was said of hardships and dangers, and only at the end the
writer’s heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing.
“Give them my dear love and a kiss. A year seems very long
to wait before I see them, but these hard days need not be wasted. I know they
will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, and fight their
bosom enemies bravely, so that when I return I may be fonder and prouder than
ever of my little women.”
“We all will!” cried Meg.
At nine O’ clock, they all gathered around the piano for some
songs. Only Beth could get much music out of the piano, but all enjoyed the
tuneful half-hour which had become a household custom.
The girls woke early Christmas morning. There were no
presents, but each sister received from Marmee a book with the familiar story
of the best life ever lived. These were to be their guidebooks for the herd
year ahead. As mother was nowhere to be seen, they waited impatiently, hungry
for the festive Christmas breakfast.
The doors banged and the girls shouted “Merry Christmas,
Marmee! Thanks for our books.”
“Merry Christmas! Before we sit down, I want to say one
word. Not far away lies a poor woman with a newborn baby. Six children huddled
into one bed to keep them from freezing; there is nothing to eat over there. My
girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”
They were all unusually hungry, and for a moment no one
spoke. The Jo exclaimed, “I’m so glad you came before we began!”
A poor, bare, miserable, no fire, a sick mother, wailing
baby, and a group of pale hungry children. How they stared and smiled as the
girls went in!
“Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!” said poor
Mrs. Hummel.
They set to work with a will. Hannah, who had been with the
March family since Meg was born, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes.
Mrs. March fed the mother, and comforted her with promises of help, while she
dressed the baby. The girls spread the table and fed the children who ate like
so many hungry birds.
It was a very happy breakfast, though the sisters didn’t get
any; and when they left, leaving comfort behind, there were not four merrier
people than hungry girls who contented themselves with bread and milk.
They spent the rest of the day preparing for the evening’s
festivities. Being too poor to go often to the theater, the girls put their
wits to work. Jo, the family Shakespeare, wrote the plays, and the girls made
all their own costumes, scenery and props. No gentlemen were admitted, so Jo
played male roles to her heart’s content. She and Meg often took three or four
different parts and managed the stages beside.
On Christmas night a dozen girls piled on the bed to watch
The Witch’s Curse. Needless to say, it was a most satisfying drama, for
Roderigo, the hero (JO) with the help of Hagar, the witch (Meg) vanquished
Hugo, the villain (Jo) and won Zara, the fair maiden (Amy) over the opposition
of Don Pedro, the stern father (Meg).
After the play, refreshments were served. The girls were
surprised by the beautiful supper and the lovely flowers.
“Aunt March had a good fit, and sent it,” cried Jo.
“Wrong. Old Mr. Laurence, our next-door neighbor, sent it,”
replied Mrs. March. “He heard about your breakfast party, and this is the
result. His grandson brought the flowers himself.”
On New Year’s Eve, the two youngest girls played maids to the
two elder girls, who were getting ready for a dance. Meg wanted a few curls and
Jo undertook to pinch the paper locks with a pair of hot tongs.
“Ought they to smoke like that?” asked Beth.
“It’s the dampness drying,” replied Jo.
“Now I will take off the papers and you’ll see a cloud of
little ringlets.” But no ringlets appeared, for the hair came with the papers,
and the horrified hair-dresser laid a row of scorched bundles on the bureau.
They were ready at last and looked very well in their simple
poplin dresses, for they did not own silk. Meg’s high heeled slippers were very
tight, though she wouldn’t admit it; and Jo’s nineteen hairpins stuck straight
into her head.
They both enjoyed the dance, especially Jo, who spent most
of the evening with Laurie, old Mr. Laurence’s grandson. Laurie took the girls
home in his carriage, and as they drove, Jo observed him, “Curly black hair;
brown skin, big black eyes; handsome nose; very tall; about seventeen.”
After the holidays, the girls found it hard to settle down.
Meg was a nursery governess, but hated to work. She was fond of luxury; and her
chief trouble was poverty. Jo went every day to help aunt March, who was rich,
cranky and lame. She rather liked the peppery old lady, but the real attraction
was the well-stocked library. Jo’s ambition was to do something splendid.
Meanwhile, a quick temper and restless spirit were always getting her into
scrapes.
Beth was too bashful to go to school; so she had her lessons
at home. She was a real homemaker and a great help to Hannah. She loved music,
and grieved because she couldn’t take lessons and have a fine piano.
Pretty Amy Yearns For An Aristocratic-Looking Nose
Amy’s greatest trial was her nose, which would not develop
an aristocratic point. She had a talent for art and was always drawing. She was
a favorite with her schoolmates, who admired her little airs; and she was
somewhat spoiled, for everyone petted her.
The two older girls were very close to one another; Meg
mothered Amy, while Jo protected Beth.
Jo was sorry that they had not seen the Laurence boy from
the party. Learning that he was ill, she ran over to visit him. Laurie was glad
for the company, as he was lonely, shut up with his grandfather, who was very
strict.
As he was showing her through the beautiful house, Jo paused
before a portrait of an old gentleman and remarked, “I’m sure I wouldn’t be
afraid of him, for he’s got kind eyes. He looks as if he had a tremendous will
of his own, but I like him.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said a gruff voice behind her, and there
stood old Mr. Laurence. However, he rather liked her remarks and agreed with
Jo that the motherless boy needed the company of young folks and the influence
of someone like Mrs. March.
After that, there was much running back and forth between the
big house and the little. What good times they had together! Laurie became
almost one of the family, and Mr. Brooke, his tutor, often joined the fun.
During the vacation, the girls decided to have “all play and
no work” and left all their chores to mother and Hannah. The girls became
bored, but would not own it. Finally, Mrs. March, in order to demonstrate the
full effects of the play system gave Hannah a holiday and went out herself,
leaving the girls to themselves.
Jo volunteered as the cook and invited Laurie to dinner. She
marketed and worked hard all morning. She boiled the asparagus for an hour, and
was surprised to find the heads cooked off and the stalks hard as ever. The
banc-mange was lumpy. The bread burned black, for she forgot it while trying
unsuccessfully to make salad dressing. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to
keep the asparagus waiting, and were not cooked enough. Miss. Crocker, the town
gossip, dropped in, and had to be invited to dine, which made matters even
worse.
What can have happened to the strawberries and cream?
Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table as each thing
tasted and left. Jo’s one strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared the
strawberries well and covered it with rich cream. Miss. Crocker tasted first,
made a wry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who had refused, thinking
there might not be enough, glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully.
Amy took a spoonful, choked, and left the table.
“What is it?” asked Jo, anxiously.
“Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour,” replied Meg.
Jo was on the verge of despair when the funny side of affair
struck her, and she laughed till the tears came. So did everyone else, and the
uncomfortable dinner ended gayly with bread, butter and olives.
That evening, the girls decided to learn plain cooking
during their vacation.
One bleak November day, Mrs. March received a telegram –
“Your husband is very ill. Come at once.” Mrs. March immediately prepared for
the trip. She dispatched Laurie with a note to Aunt March as money for the
journey had to be borrowed. Old Mr. Laurence offered every assistance, and
found some excuse for sending John Brooke, Laurie’s Tutor, to Washington so
that he might accompany Mrs. March on her long journey South.
A Loving Sacrifice
Jo was gone all afternoon and returned with a queer
expression on her countenance. She handed mother some bills, saying with a
little choke in her voice, “Here’s my contribution towards making father
comfortable and bringing him home.”
“Twenty-five dollars! Jo, der, where did you get it?”
“I got it honestly. I didn’t beg, borrow, or steal it. I
only sold what was my own.” Off came her bonnet and a general outcry arose, for
all Jo’s beautiful hair was cut short.
Cheering news came from Washington soon after Mrs. March’s
arrival. Mr. Brooke sent a daily report, and the girls wrote frequently.
The sisters took over Mrs. March’s duties, but only Beth
remembered the Hemmels. She returned one day much upset, for the baby had died
and two other children had scarlet fever. Amy was sent to Aunt’s March’s, and
in few days Beth developed a fever. Since Hannah thought it unnecessary to notify
Mrs. March, she and Jo nursed Beth.
Beth was a good patient, but there came a time when she did
not know familiar faces around her, but addressed them by wrong names, and
called imploringly for her mother. Dr. Bangs said, “If Mrs. March can leave
her husband, she’d better be sent for.”
But Laurie electrified them with the news that he had
already telegraphed Mrs. Arch, who would arrive during the night. Everyone rejoiced but Beth; she lay in a heavy stupor, alike unconscious of hope and
joy; doubt and danger, rousing now and then to mutter, “Water,” with lips so
parched that they could hardly shape the word. All night they waited and
watched.
It was past two o’clock when Jo saw Meg kneeling before
their mother’s easy chair. A dreadful fear passed coldly over Jo. “Beth is dead, and Meg is afraid to tell me.”
The fever flush and the look of pain were gone, and the beloved little face
looked so pale and peaceful, that Jo felt no desire to weep, but only
whispered, “Good-bye, my Beth.”
The Hannah came in, looked at Beth, felt her hands, and
exclaimed, “The fever’s turned; she’s sleeping nat’ral; and she breathes easy.
Praise be given.”
Never had the world seemed so lovely as it did to Jo and Meg
as they waited for their mother. Suddenly they heard Laurie’s joyful whisper,
“Girls, she’s come!”
Beth recovered slowly, and by Christmas was able to sit up.
Father’s surprise return made their Christmas a happy one. They were grateful
to Mr. Brooke for his devotion to Mr. March, but his presence flustered Meg,
who learned from Marmee that John was in love with her.
Meg, prompted by Jo, had decided to tell Mr. Brookes that
she was too young; but when John asked whether she loved him, Meg could only
reply, “I don’t know.”
At that crucial moment in came Aunt March, and John
hurriedly left the room. Aunt March, realizing the situation, spoke her mind,
“Do you mean to marry this rook? If you do, not one penny of my money ever goes
to you.”
“I shall marry who I please, Aunt March, and you can give
your money to anyone you like,” said Meg.
“This rook knows that you have rich relatives; that’s why he
likes you.”
“My John wouldn’t marry for money. I’m not afraid of being
poor, and I know I shall be happy with him, because he loves me, and-”
Aunt March departed in anger, and John, who had overheard everything,
claimed his Meg. They informed the family that they hoped to get married in
three years and looked so happy that Jo could not be dismal, though she felt as
though she had lost her dearest friend.
Laurie consoled her, “You’ve got me, anyhow. I’ll stand be
you Jo, all the days of my life.”
The three years passed quickly. John Brooke served in the
army a year, was wounded and sent home. Laurie was getting through college in
the earliest possible manner, content with passing marks. Jo never returned to
Aunt March, but devoted herself to writing and to Beth, who remained delicate.
Amy, who was very popular with the “men” of Laurie’s class, spent her mornings
with Aunt March in exchange for drawing lessons. Meg spent the time working
and in preparing herself to undertake the duties of a wife.
Meg, wearing a dress she had sewed herself, was married to
John in a simple home ceremony, performed by her father. Everything was in
apple-pie order in the bride’s cottage, and the only bridal journey Meg had to
take was the quiet walk with John from the old home to the new.
With youthful energy, Amy attempted every branch of art in
turn, and the house was filled with her sketches, figures, and paintings. She also
tried hard to become an attractive and accomplished woman and succeeded, for
she had an instinctive sense of what was right and proper. She always said the
right thing to the right person and did just what suited the time and place.
Her efforts were richly rewarded when aunt Carol, after many conferences with
Aunt March, who supplied the money, invited Amy to accompany her to Europe. Jo
was glad for her sister and sorry for herself, as she ruefully remembered
telling the aunts that she didn’t like flavors and rather be independent and do
everything for herself.
Every few weeks, Jo would shut herself up in her room, put
on her scribbling suit, and fall into a “vortex”. Sleep forsook her eyes, and
meals stood untasted while she worked on her novel. In between, she wrote “trash”
which sent Marmee and Beth to the seashore, and paid the butcher bill. Her
novel was published and she received three hundred dollars for it; and so much
praise and blame that she was completely confused.
Meg and John were very happy in their little nest, although
Meg had her small difficulties – jellies that wouldn’t jell and the budget that
wouldn’t stretch. So the year rolled around and at mid-summer, Meg surprised her
family with twins, a boy, and a girl – John Laurence and Margaret – nicknamed
“Demi” and “Daisy” by Laurie. Marmee and Jo were anxious about Beth, who seemed
to be troubled and sad, but unwilling to confide in anyone. Jo finally
concluded that Beth was in love with Laurie; therefore, Jo decided to go to New
York so that Laurie might forget her and turn to Beth.
In New York, Jo secured a job sewing and teaching children
of a woman who kept a large boarding house. Jo wrote long letters home, mostly
about a certain Professor Bhaer, who lived in the boarding house and gave
German lessons to support his two orphaned nephews. She wrote: “Professor Bhaer is giving me
German lessons in return for doing his mending. He is about forty, German-born,
rather stout, with a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes, and a splendid
big voice. The children adore him. He is a jolly man and so good-hearted that
he is always giving away things.”
Jo spent many evenings writing sensational rubbish, which
increased the money she was hoarding to send Beth to the mountains. But after a
lecture from Professor Bhaer on the evil effects of such literature, she put
her pen away.
In June, Jo returned home to attend Laurie’s commencement.
To please her, he had studied hard and graduated with honors. As they walked
home, Laurie said, “I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Jo; couldn’t help
it, you’ve been so good to me. I’ve tried to show it, but you wouldn’t let me;
now I’m going to make you hear, and give me an answer.”
“Oh Laurie, I’m so sorry, so desperately sorry! I don’t see
why I can’t love you as you want me to, but it’s no use.”
“Really, truly, Jo?”
“Really, truly, dear.”
Two weeks later Laurie left for Europe with his Grandfather.
Beth leaves life as serenely as she lived it
The family gradually realized that Beth’s life was, like the
tide, ebbing away slowly but surely. Beth herself was tranquil and busy as
ever; for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, and even while
preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who remain
behind. Soon pain claimed her for its own. Jo never left her, for Beth had
said, “I feel stronger when you are here.” As Beth had hoped, the “tide went
out easily”; and in the dark hour before the dawn, on the bosom where she had
drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving
look, one little sigh.
Amy and Laurie had met accidentally in Nice and spent
pleasant days together. Laurie found Amy growing into a charming, polished,
young woman, but she was displeased with ‘Lazy Laurence’ and told him so.
Provoked, he left. When the sad news about Beth reached him, he hurried back to
comfort Amy. Friendship developed into love and they became engaged.
These were dark days for Jo; she missed Beth desperately and
found it hard to do her duty at home. The return of Amy and Laurie, who had
been secretly married in Paris, cheered her immensely, but she was still
lonely.
Unexpectedly, Professor Bhaer, who was in the city on
business, came to visit the Marches. They liked him immediately and were so
cordial that he came again and again. Soon everyone knew what was going on, yet
tried to ignore the changes in Jo’s face. They never asked why she sang about
her work and did up her hair three times a day. No one seemed to have the
slightest suspicion that Professor Bhaer, while talking philosophy with the
father, was giving the daughter the lessons of love.
His business finished, the Professor came to say good-bye,
for he had secured a Professorship in a western college. Jo could not hide her
sorrow at his leaving. Seeing it, he said, “Jo, I have nothing but much love to
gift you. Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?”
So it was settled and the Professor went to his college,
hoping to be able to marry Jo soon. For a year they worked, waited, and wrote
letters. The second-year began soberly, for their prospects did not brighten.
The Aunt March died suddenly and they found that the old
lady had left her country estate, Plumfield, to Jo, thus smoothing her niece.
Jo and the Professor were married and opened a boarding
school for boys at Plumfield. In a few years, they had two sons of their own.
Every year the March Family assembled at Plumfeild for the yearly apple
picking. Each year their harvest-not only of apples-grew more beautiful.
Finish
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