Chapter 2
Jo was the first to wake in the grey dawn of Christmas. She remembered her mother’s promise and slipping her hand under the pillow, drew out a little crimson covered book. She woke Meg with a “Merry Christmas,” and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green coloured book appeared with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious. Presently Beth and Amy woke, to rummage and find their little books also—one dove-coloured, the other blue; and all sat looking at and talking about them.
“Girls,” said Meg seriously, “mother wants us to read and mind these books, and we must begin at once. I shall keep my book on the table here, and read a little every morning.”
“Where is mother?” asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.
“Goodness only knows. Some poor person came here for alms and your ma went straight off to see what was needed,” replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.
After some time Mr. March returned home. “Merry Christmas, Mother! Thank you for our books; we read some, and mean to every day,” they cried in chorus.
“Merry Christmas, little daughters! I’m glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep them from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”
They were all hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously—
“I’m so glad you came before we began!”
“May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?” asked Beth eagerly.
“I shall take the cream and the muffins,” added Amy, giving up the articles she most liked.
Meg was already covering the buck wheat, and piling the bread into one big plate.
“I thought you’d do it,” said Mrs. March, smiling, “You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinner time.”
They were soon ready, and the procession set out. It was early, and they went through back streets: so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the funny party.
In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own shawl. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds; laughing, talking and trying to understand their funny broken English.
Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched; and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents, and read the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy’s Cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced “a perfect fit.”
The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theatre, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and made whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions; pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter-boats, covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armour covered with the same useful diamond-shaped bits.
No gentlemen were admitted; so Jo played male parts to her heart’s contents and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet-leather boots given her by a friend. These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet, were Jo’s chief treasures, and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece.
On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled on to the bed, which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains, in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp-smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy. The four sisters played their respective parts and had some bitter experiences.
When the curtain came down on the last scene all the audiences were all praise for the four sisters. Hannah inivited everyone at the dining table where dinner had been played. That was a surprise even to the actors; and when they saw the table they looked at one another in amazement. There was ice-cream—and cake, and fruit, and French bonbons, and in the middle of the table four great bouquets of hot-house flowers!
“Did fairies send this dinner?” asked Amy.
“It’s Santa Claus,” said Beth.
“Mother did it,” and Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her grey beard and white eyebrows.
“Aunt March had a good fit, and sent the supper,” cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration.
“You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don’t you?” asked one of the girls.
“I know old Mr. Laurence, but he’s very proud, and doesn’t like to mix with his neighbours. He keeps his grandson the Laurence boy shut up when he isn’t riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study dreadfully hard,” observed Mrs. March.
“Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally, when he saw Meg coming and walked off. I mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, I’m sure,” said Jo decidedly.
