Bertie's Box. Louisa May Alcott

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      BERTIE'S BOX

      By

      LOUISA MAY ALCOTT

      This edition published by Dreamscape Media LLC, 2018

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       About Louisa May Alcott:

      Louisa May Alcott (November 29, 1832 – March 6, 1888) was an American novelist and poet best known as the author of the novel Little Women (1868) and its sequels Little Men (1871) and Jo's Boys (1886). Raised by her transcendentalist parents, Abigail May and Amos Bronson Alcott in New England, she also grew up among many of the well-known intellectuals of the day such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

      Alcott's family suffered from financial difficulties, and while she worked to help support the family from an early age, she also sought an outlet in writing. She began to receive critical success for her writing in the 1860s. Early in her career, she sometimes used the pen name A. M. Barnard, under which she wrote novels for young adults that focused on spies, revenge, and cross dressers.

      Published in 1868, Little Women is set in the Alcott family home, Orchard House, in Concord, Massachusetts and is loosely based on Alcott's childhood experiences with her three sisters. The novel was very well received and is still a popular children's novel today, filmed several times.

      Alcott was an abolitionist and a feminist and remained unmarried throughout her life. She died from a stroke, two days after her father died, in Boston on March 6, 1888.

      Source: Wikipedia

      Bertie's Box

      Adapted by Stephen W. Hines

      "Here's a letter for you, Mamma, and, please, I want the red picture that is on it," said little Bertie, as he came trotting into the room where his mother and aunt sat busily putting the last touches to their generous store of Christmas gifts.

      "Do read it, Jane; my hands are too sticky," said Mrs. Field, who was filling pretty horns and boxes with bonbons.

      "Whom do you know in Iowa?'' asked Aunt Jane, looking at the postmark.

      "No one. It is probably a begging letter. As secretary of our great charitable society, I often get them. Let us see what it is." And Mrs. Field popped a broken barley-sugar dog into Bertie's mouth to cheer him during the long process of picking off the stamp.

      "Well, I never! What will folks ask for next? Just hear this!" exclaimed Aunt Jane, after running her eye over the neatly written page:

      "Mrs. Field:

      "Dear Madame, knowing your kind heart, I venture to hope that you may be willing to help me from your abundant stores. I will state my request as briefly as possible. I am so poor that I have nothing for my two little boys on Christmas. I have seen better days, but my husband is dead, my money is gone. I am sick, alone, and in need of everything. But I only ask for some small presents for the children, that they may not feel forgotten at this season of universal pleasure and plenty. Your mother's heart will feel how hard it will be for me to see their disappointment when, for the first time in their lives, Santa Claus brings nothing.

      "Hopefully yours, Ellen Adams."

      "Isn't that queer?" said Aunt Jane.

      "It is pathetic," answered Mrs. Field, looking from the loaded table before her to the curly head at her knee.

      "It's only a new and sentimental way of begging. She says she needs everything, and, of course, expects you will send money. I hope you won't be foolish, Anna."

      "I shall not send money; but surely out of all this plenty we can spare something for the poor babies and let them keep their faith in charity. It won't take long to make up a little bundle and will be no great loss if this woman has deceived us. My blessed mother used to say it was better to be deceived now and then than to turn away one honest and needy person. I only hope I may not forget all about it in my hurry." And having finished her job, Mrs. Field went away to wash her hands before beginning another.

      As they talked, neither of the ladies observed that a pair of large, blue eyes were fixed upon their faces, while a pair of sharp little ears took in the story, and a busy little mind thought about it after both had put the subject aside.

      Bertie sat thinking for several minutes, while Aunt Jane forgot him in her anxiety over the new cap she was making. At last he got up and walked slowly into the nursery, saying to himself, with a thoughtful face: