Chapter 4
“I wish it was Christmas or New Year all the time; wouldn’t it be fun?” answered Jo, yawning dismally.
“We shouldn’t enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties. It’s like other people, you know, and I always envy girls who do such things; I’m so fond of luxury,” said Meg.
“Well, we can’t have it; so don’t let’s grumble, but shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does.
This idea tickled Jo’s fancy, and put her in good spirits; but Meg didn’t brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoilt children, seemed heavier than ever. She hadn’t heart enough even to make herself pretty, as usual, by putting on a blue neck ribbon.
“Where’s the use of looking nice when no one me but those cross fidgets,” she muttered.
So Meg went down, wearing an injured look. Everyone seemed rater out of sorts, and inclined to croak. Beth had a headache, and lay on the sofa trying to comfort herself with the cat and three kittens; Amy was bretting because her lesson were not learned and she couldn’t find her rubbers; Jo would whistle, and make a great racket getting ready. Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at once and Hannah had the grumps, for being late didn’t suit her.
“Girls! Girls! Do be quiet one moment. I must get this off by the early mail,” cried Mrs. March.
The four sisters always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was always at the window, to nod, and smile, and wave her hand to them.
When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two eldest girls begged to be allowed to do something towards their own support. Margaret found a place as nursery governess. As she said, she was “fond of luxury,” and her chief trouble was poverty. She found it harder to beat than the others, because she could remember a time when want of any kind was unknown. At the Kings’ she daily saw all she wanted, for the children’s older sisters were just out, and Meg caught glimpses of dainty ball-dresses and bouquets, heard lively gossip about theatres, and merry makings of all kinds.
Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame, and needed an active person to wait upon her. The childless old lady had offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her offer was declined. Other friend told the Marches that they had lost all chance of being remembered in the rich old lady’s will; but the unworldly Marches only said, “We can’t give up our girls for a dozen fortunes.”
Jo’s ambition was to do something very splendid; and meanwhile, she found her greatest affliction in the fact that she couldn’t read, run, and fide as much as she liked. 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; and the thought that she was doing something to support herself made her happy in spite of the perpetual ‘Josephine!’
Beth was too bashful to go to school, and she did her lessons at home, with her father. Even when he went away, and her mother was called to devote her energy to Soldiers’ Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herself. She was a housewifely little creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortable for the workers. Her little world was peopled with imaginary friends. There were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morning; not one whole or handsome one among them; for, when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to her.
Beth had her troubles as well as the others; and often “wept a little weep,” because she couldn’t take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn and practised away so patiently at the jingling old instrument.
If anyone had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was she would have answered, “My nose”. When she was a baby, Jo had accidentally dropped her into the coal-hod, and Amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose for ever. It was not big, nor red; it was only 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. Her teachers complained that, instead of doing her sums, she covered her slate with animals.
Amy was in a fair way to be spoilt; for everyone petted her. One thing, however, rather quenched her vanities; she had to wear her cousin’s clothes. Now Florence’s mamma hadn’t a particle of taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons.
Meg was Amy’s confidante and monitor, and, by some strange attraction of opposites, Jo was gentle Beth’s. To Jo alone did the girl tell her thoughts; and over her big harum-scarum sister exercised more influence than any one in her family. The two older girls were a great deal to each other, but both took one of the younger into their keeping. “Playing mother” they called it, and put their sisters in the place of discarded dolls.
“Has anybody got anything to tell? It’s been such dismal day; I’m really dying for some amusement,” said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening.
“I had a queer time with aunt today,” began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories, “I was reading that everlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for aunt soon drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like fury, till she wakes up. I actually made myself sleepy; and before she began to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by opening my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once.”
“Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and think over them while she just ‘lost’ herself for a moment.
Meg said, “I’ve got something to tell. At the Kings’ today, I found everybody in a flurry, and 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, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they passed me. 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 a great deal tryinger than anything bad boys can do,” said Amy, “Susie Perkins came to school today with a lovely red carnelian ring; I wanted it dreadfully, and wished I was her with all my might. Well, she drew a picture of Mr. Davis, 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 at once his eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was paralysed with fright, but she went: and, oh, what do you think he did? He took her by the ear, the ear! And led her to the recitation platform, and made her stand there half an hour, holding that slate so everyone could see.”
“I saw something that I liked this morning,” said Beth, “When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. Laurence was in the fish shop. A poor woman came in with a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she hadn’t any dinner for her children. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry, and said ‘No’, rather crossly; so she was going away, when Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane, and held it out to her. She was so glad she took it right in her arms, and thanked him over and over. Oh, she did look so funny, hugging the slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence’s bed in heaven would be ‘airy’.”
When they had laughed at Beth’s they asked their mother for one.
Mrs. March smiled, and began at once.
“Once upon a time there were four girls, who had enough to eat, and drink, and wear, kind friends and parents, who loved them dearly, and yet they were contented.
These girls were anxious to be good, and made many resolutions, but somehow they did not keep them very well, and were constantly saying, ‘If we only had this,’ or, ‘If we could only do that,’ forgetting how much they already had; so they asked an old woman what spell they could use to make them happy, and she said, ‘When you feel discontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.’
They decided to try her advice, and were surprised to see how well off they were. 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 and good spirits than a certain fretful old lady, who couldn’t enjoy her comforts; a third, that, disagreeable as it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to have to go begging for it; and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as good behaviour. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of increased.”
“Now mother, that is very cunning of you to turn our stories against us.”
“I like that kind of sermon; it’s the sort father used to tell,” said Beth thoughtfully.
“We needed that lesson, and we won’t forget it.”
