Chapter 16
Half an hour after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlour door, and popped his head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault, and uttered an Indian war-whoop; for his face was so full of suppress, excitement, and his voice so joyful, that everyone jumped up, though he only said, in a queer breathless voice, “Here’s a Christrnas present for the March family.”
Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of another tall man. Of course there was a general stampede; and for several minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms; Jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored by Laurie in the china closet; Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained; and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her fathers boots in the most touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, “Hush’! remember Beth!”
But it was too late; the study door flew open-the little red wrapper appeared on the threshold—joy put strength into the feeble limbs—and Beth ran straight into her father’s arms.
It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenly remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and, seizing Laurie he precipitately, retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, which they did; by both sitting in one big chair, and talking hard.
Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had been allowed by the doctor to take advantage of it; how devoted Brooke had been and how he was altogether a most estimable young man. Why Mr. March paused just there, and, after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you to imagine; also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head. Jo saw and understood the look; and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea, muttering to herself, “I hate estimable young men with brown eyes!”
There never was much a Christmas dinner as they had. Like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid. As he sat propped up in the big chair by Beth’s sofa, with the other three close by, and Hannah popping her head now and then, ‘to peek at the dear man,’ nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness. But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at each there with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke’s umbrella, which had been left in the hall; Meg was absent-minded, started when the bell rang, and coloured when John’s name was mentioned.
The families were al busy in the back part of the house, and aunt March had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.
“Bless me! What all this?” cried the old lady, with a rap of her cane, as she glanced from the pale young gentleman of the scarlet young lady.
“It’s father’s friend. I’m so surprised to see you,” stammered Meg.
That’s evident,” returned Aunt March, sitting down. “But what is father’s friend saying to make you look like a peony? There’s mischief going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is!”
“We were merely talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella,” began Meg.
“Brooke? Laurie’s tutor? Ah! I understand now. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your pa’s letters, and I made her tell me. You haven’t gone and accepted him, child?” cried Aunt March.
“Hush! He’ll hear! Shan’t call mother?” said Meg. Much troubled.
“Not yet. I’ve something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this cook? If you do, not one penny of my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl,” said the old lady.
Now Aunt March possessed, in perfection, the art of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people. If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldn’t think of it; but, as she was ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and, being already March excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.
“I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave you money to anyone you like.”
“Highty tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, miss? You’ll be sorry for it by-and-by when you’ve tried love in a cottage, and found it a failure.”
“It can’t be a worse one than some people find in big houses,” retorted Meg.
Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girls, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent—so glad to defend John, and assert her right to love him if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and, after a little pursue made a fresh start, saying, as mildly as she could, “Now Meg my dear, be reasonable, and take my advice. You ought to marry well and help your family; it’s your duty to make a rich match.”
“Father and Mother don’t think so; they like John, though he is poor.”
“Your pa and ma, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than two babies.”
Fifteen minutes after Aunt March’s departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlour door, and hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, “She has sent him away as we planned and that affair is settled. I’ll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it.”
Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed; and casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them; so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to the rats.
Nobody ever knew what on in the parlour that afternoon; but a great deal of went talking was done, and quiet Mrs. Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told plans and persuaded item to arrange everything just as he wanted it.
Father and mother sat together, quietly re-living the first chapter of the romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their face with a grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her sofa talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peaceful ways she walked. Jo lounged in her favourite low seat with the grave, quiet look which best became her; and Laurie, leaning on the back of her chair his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both.
The entire family was sitting in a group, discussing the good and bad times they had had together.
