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, looking down at her

old dress.

'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, with an

injured sniff.

'We've got Father and Mother, and each other,' said Beth

contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at

the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, 'We

haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.' She

didn't say 'perhaps never,' but each silently added it, thinking of

Father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone,

'You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents

this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for

everyone; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for

pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can't

do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do

it gladly. But I

4

am afraid I don't.' And Meg shook her head, as she thought

regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

'But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good.

We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped

by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother

or you, but I do want to buy UNDINE AND SINTRAM for myself.

I've wanted it so long,' said Jo, who was a bookworm.

'I planned to spend mine in new music,' said Beth, with a little

sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.

'I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I really need

them,' said Amy decidedly.

'Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't

wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and

have a little fun. I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it,' cried

Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.

'I know I do-teaching those tiresome children nearly all day,

when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home,' began Meg, in the

complaining tone again.

'You don't have half such a hard time as I do,' said Jo. 'How

would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old

lady, who keeps you trotting, is never

satisfied, and worries you till you you're ready to fly out the

window or cry?'

'It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping

things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross,

and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all.' And Beth

looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear

that time.

'I don't believe any of you suffer as I do,' cried Amy, 'for you

don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague

you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses,

and label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your

nose isn't nice.'

'If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if

Papa was a pickle bottle,' advised Jo, laughing.

'I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's

proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,'

returned Amy, with dignity.

'Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the

money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy

and good we'd be, if we had no worries!' said Meg, who could

remember better times.

'You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier

than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the

time, in spite of their money.'

6

'So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to

work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo

would say.'

'Jo does use such slang words!' observed Amy, with a reproving

look at the long figure stretched on the rug.

Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began

to whistle.

'Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!' 'That's why I do it.'

'I detest rude, unladylike girls!'

'I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!'

'Birds in their little nests agree,' sang Beth, the peacemaker,

with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a

laugh, and the 'pecking' ended for that time.

'Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,' said Meg, beginning to

lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion.'You are old enough to leave

off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't

matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are so

tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a

young lady.'

'I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in

two tails till I'm twenty,' cried Jo, pulling off her net, and

7

shaking down a chestnut mane. 'I hate to think I've got to grow

up, and be Miss March, and wear

long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough

to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and

manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a

boy. And it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight

with Papa. And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old

woman!'

And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like

castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.

'Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you must try to

be contented with making your name boyish, and playing

brother to us girls,' said Beth, stroking the rough head with a

hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the world could

not make ungentle in its touch. 'As for you, Amy,' continued

Meg, 'you are altogether

to particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow

up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I I like your

nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don't try

to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang.'

'If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?' asked

Beth, ready to share the lecture.

8

'You're a dear, and nothing else,' answered Meg warmly, and no

one contradicted her, for the 'Mouse' was the pet of the family.

As young readers like to know 'how people look', we will take

this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who

sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell

quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a

comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the

furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls,

books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses

bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home

peace pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty,

being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair,

a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain.

Fifteen- year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and

reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to

do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She

had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes,

which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce,

funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty,

but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.

Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway 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, or Beth, as everyone called her, 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.

Her father called her 'Little Miss Tranquility', and the name

suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of

her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted

and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important

person, in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with

blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and

slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of

her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we

will leave to be found out.

The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a

pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old

shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming,

and everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped

lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair

without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she

sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.

'They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair.'

'I thought I'd get her some with my dollar,' said Beth.

10

'No, I shall!' cried Amy.

'I'm the oldest,' began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, 'I'm

the man of the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the

slippers, for he told me to take special care of Mother while he

was gone.'

'I'll tell you what we'll do,' said Beth, 'let's each get her

something for Christmas, land not get anything for ourselves.'

'That's like you, dear! What will we get?' exclaimed Jo. Everyone

thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the

idea was suggested by the sight of her

own pretty hands, 'I shall give her a nice pair of gloves.' 'Army

shoes, best to be had,' cried Jo.

'Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,' said Beth.

'I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won't cost

much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils,' added Amy.

'How will we give the things?' asked Meg.

'Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the

bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our

birthdays?' answered Jo.

'I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the

chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round

to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked

the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit

looking at me while I opened the bundles,' said Beth, who was

toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

'Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then

surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg.

There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night,' said

Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and

her nose in the air.

'I don't mean to act any more after this time. I'm getting too

old for such things,' observed Meg, who was as much a child as

ever about 'dressing-up' frolics.

'You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white

gown with your hair down, and wear gold- paper jewelry. You

are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of

everything if you quit the boards,' said Jo. 'We ought to

rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene,

for you are as stiff as a poker in that.'

'I can't help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to

make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can

12

go down easily, I'll drop. If I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be

graceful. I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol,'

returned Amy, who was not

gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was

small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the

piece.

'Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the

room, crying frantically, 'Roderigo Save me! Save me!' and

away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly

thrilling.

Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her,

and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her

'Ow!' was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of

fear and anguish. Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg

laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched

the fun with interest. 'It's no use! Do the best you can when the

time comes, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come

on, Meg.'

'Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a

speech of two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch,

chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering

toads, with weird effect. Roderigo rent his chains asunder

manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic,

with a wild, 'Ha! Ha!'

'It's the best we've had yet,' said Meg, as the dead villain sat up

and rubbed his elbows.

'I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo.

You're a regular Shakespeare!' exclaimed Beth, who firmly

believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all

things.

'Not quite,' replied Jo modestly. 'I do think THE WITCHES

CURSE, an Operatic Tragedy is rather a nice thing, but I'd like to

try McBETH, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always

wanted to do the killing part. 'Is that a dagger that I see before

me?' muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as

she had seen a famous tragedian do.

'No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead of the

bread. Beth's stage-struck!' cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended

in a general burst of laughter.

'Glad to find you so merry, my girls,' said a cheery voice at the

door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall,

motherly lady with a 'can I help you' look about her which was

truly delightful. She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-

looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and

14

unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the

world.

'Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much

to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't

come home to dinner. Has anyone called,

Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come

and kiss me, baby.'

While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet

things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy

chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour

of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things

comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table,

Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning, and

clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro

between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave

directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.

As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a

particularly happy face, 'I've got a treat for you after supper.'

A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth

clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo

tossed up her napkin, crying, 'A letter! A letter! Three cheers for

Father!'

'Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through

the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of

loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you

girls,' said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a

treasure there.

'Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger and

simper over your plate, Amy,' cried Jo, choking on her tea and

dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste

to get at the treat.

Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner

and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.

'I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he

was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier,'

said Meg warmly.

'Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan-what's its

name? Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him,'

exclaimed Jo, with a groan.

'It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts

of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,' sighed Amy.

'When will he come home, Marmee? asked Beth, with a little

quiver in her voice.

16

'Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and

do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for

him back a minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come

and hear the letter.'

They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her

feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of

the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see

any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching.

Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not

touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In this one

little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or

the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter,

full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military

news, and only at the end did the writer's heart over-flow with

fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.

'Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of

them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort

in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait

before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may

all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know

they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving

children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom

enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that

when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder than

ever of my little women.' Everybody sniffed when they came to

that part. Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off

the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her

curls as she hid her face on her mother's

shoulder and sobbed out, 'I am a selfish girl! But I'll truly try to

be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in me by- and-by.'

We all will,' cried Meg. 'I think too much of my looks and hate to

work, but won't any more, if I can help it.'

'I'll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman' and not

be rough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to

be somewhere else,' said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper

at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two

down South.

Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army

sock and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in

doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her

quiet little soul to be all that Father hoped to find her when the

year brought round the happy coming home.

Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying

in her cheery voice, 'Do you remember how you used to play

Pilgrims Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted

18

you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for

burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you

travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of

Destruction,

up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you

could collect to make a Celestial City.'

'What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon,

and passing through the valley where the hob- goblins were,'

said Jo.