LITMIR.BIZ

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girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you distract me,” cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter.

      There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who walked in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and walked out again.

      “Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy. Goodbye, Marmee. Let's go, Meg!” And Jo walked out of the room.

      Once outside, Jo turned to Meg.

      “More ungrateful wretches than we are were never seen.”

      “Don't use such dreadful expressions,” replied Meg

      “I like good strong words that mean something,” replied Jo.

      “Call yourself any names you like, but I am not a wretch and I don't choose to be called so.”

      “You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you can't sit in the lap of luxury[11] all the time. Poor dear, just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with.”

      “How ridiculous you are, Jo!” But Meg laughed at the nonsense and felt better in spite of herself[12].

      Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for the day, each going a different way.

      When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something toward their own support, at least. Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with her small salary. She found poverty harder to bear. She seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes.

      Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed an active person to wait upon her. Jo accepted the place since nothing better appeared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well with her relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo marched home, declaring she couldn't bear it longer, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery old lady.

      Part of the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died. The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm.

      Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. What it was, she had no idea as yet. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and downs. But the training she received at Aunt March's was just what she needed.

      Beth was too bashful to go to school. It had been tried, but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home with her father. Even when he went away, Beth went faithfully on by herself. She had six dolls she dressed every morning, for Beth was a child still and loved her pets as well as ever.

      Beth often ‘wept a little weep' as Jo said, because she couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, but the keys wouldn't keep in tune.

      If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, “My nose.” When she was a baby, Jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod, and Amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose forever. It was rather flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it an aristocratic point.

      “Little Raphael,” as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories.

      Meg was Amy's confidant, and by some strange attraction of opposites Jo was Beth's. The two older girls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger sisters into her keeping and watched over her in her own way.

      “Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a terrible day,” said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening.

      “I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'll tell you about it,” began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories. “When she started to nod off, I whipped the Vicar of Wakefield out of my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him and one on Aunt. I'd just got to where they all tumbled into the water when I forgot and laughed out loud. Aunt woke up and, told me to read a bit and show what frivolous work I preferred to Belsham. I did my very best and she told me to finish the chapter.”

      “Did she like it?” asked Meg.

      “Oh, bless you, no! But she let old Belsham rest,” added Jo.

      “That reminds me,” said Meg, “that I've got something to tell. It isn't funny, like Jo's story. At the Kings' today one of the children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and Papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. King talking very loud. I felt so sorry for them and was rather glad I hadn't any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family.”

      “I think being disgraced in school is worse than anything bad boys can do,” said Amy, shaking her head. “Susie Perkins drew a picture of Mr. Davis today, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, ‘Young ladies, my eye is upon you!' coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it when all of a sudden he saw us, and ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was parrylized with fright, but she went, and oh, what do you think he did? He took her by the ear – the ear!”

      “Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it. I like to think about them afterward,” said Jo, after a minute's silence.

      Mrs. March smiled and began at once.

      “Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat and drink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends and parents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented. These girls were anxious to be good and made many excellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and were constantly saying, ‘If only we had this,' or ‘If we could only do that,' forgetting how much they already had. So they asked an old woman what they could do to make them happy, and she said, ‘When you feel discontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.'” Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice. One discovered that money couldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses, another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with her youth, health, than a certain feeble old lady, a third that nothing was as valuable as good behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings they already had.”

      “Now, Marmee, that is very good of you to turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!” cried Meg.

      “I like that kind of sermon. It's the sort Father used to tell us,” said Beth thoughtfully.

      “We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it!'” added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon.

      Chapter five

      Being neighborly

      “What are you going to do now, Jo?” asked Meg one snowy afternoon, as her sister came through the house, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.

      “Going out for exercise,” answered Jo. “I like adventures, and I'm going to find some.”

      Jo went outside and began to dig paths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden. Now, the garden separated the Marches' house from that of Mr. Laurence. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls and the flowers, which then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion. It seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house. Few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.

      To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house

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