Jo’s Boys. Луиза Мэй Олкотт

which hung behind the door, and afforded her much amusement, it was so dismal, in spite of a curious effect of light upon the end of the nose and cheeks as red as the chair she sat in.

      ‘This was taken for my mother; but it is not very good,’ he said, enjoying the struggles of the girls not to look dismayed at the sad difference between the real and the ideal. The youngest, aged twelve, could not conceal her disappointment, and turned away, feeling as so many of us have felt when we discover that our idols are very ordinary men and women.

      ‘I thought she’d be about sixteen and have her hair braided in two tails down her back. I don’t care about seeing her now,’ said the honest child, walking off to the hall door, leaving her mother to apologize, and her sisters to declare that the bad portrait was ‘perfectly lovely, so speaking and poetic, you know, ’specially about the brow’.

      ‘Come girls, we must be goin’, if we want to get through today. You can leave your albums and have them sent when Mrs Bhaer has written a sentiment in ’em. We are a thousand times obliged. Give our best love to your ma, and tell her we are so sorry not to see her.’

      Just as Mrs. Erastus Kingsbury Parmalee uttered the words her eye fell upon a middle-aged woman in a large checked apron, with a handkerchief tied over her head, busily dusting an end room which looked like a study.

      ‘One peep at her sanctum since she is out,’ cried the enthusiastic lady, and swept across the hall with her flock before Teddy could warn his mother, whose retreat had been cut off by the artist in front, the reporter at the back of the house—for he hadn’t gone and the ladies in the hall.

      ‘They’ve got her!’ thought Teddy, in comical dismay. ‘No use for her to play housemaid since they’ve seen the portrait.’

      Mrs Jo did her best, and being a good actress, would have escaped if the fatal picture had not betrayed her. Mrs Parmalee paused at the desk, and regardless of the meerschaum that lay there, the man’s slippers close by, and a pile of letters directed to ‘Prof. F. Bhaer’, she clasped her hands, exclaiming impressively: ‘Girls, this is the spot where she wrote those sweet, those moral tales which have thrilled us to the soul! Could I—ah, could I take one morsel of paper, an old pen, a postage stamp even, as a memento of this gifted woman?’

      ‘Yes’m, help yourselves,’ replied the maid, moving away with a glance at the boy, whose eyes were now full of merriment he could not suppress.

      The oldest girl saw it, guessed the truth, and a quick look at the woman in the apron confirmed her suspicion. Touching her mother, she whispered: ‘Ma, it’s Mrs Bhaer herself. I know it is.’

      ‘No? yes? it is! Well, I do declare, how nice that is!’ And hastily pursuing the unhappy woman, who was making for the door, Mrs Parmalee cried eagerly: ‘Don’t mind us! I know you’re busy, but just let me take your hand and then we’ll go.’

      Giving herself up for lost, Mrs Jo turned and presented her hand like a tea-tray, submitting to have it heartily shaken, as the matron said, with somewhat alarming hospitality:

      ‘If ever you come to Oshkosh, your feet won’t be allowed to touch the pavement; for you’ll be borne in the arms of the populace, we shall be so dreadful glad to see you.’

      Mentally resolving never to visit that effusive town, Jo responded as cordially as she could; and having written her name in the albums, provided each visitor with a memento, and kissed them all round, they at last departed, to call on ‘Longfeller, Holmes, and the rest’—who were all out, it is devoutly to be hoped.

      ‘You villain, why didn’t you give me a chance to whip away? Oh, my dear, what fibs you told that man! I hope we shall be forgiven our sins in this line, but I don’t know what is to become of us if we don’t dodge. So many against one isn’t fair play.’ And Mrs Jo hung up her apron in the hall closet, with a groan at the trials of her lot.

      ‘More people coming up the avenue! Better dodge while the coast is clear! I’ll head them off!’ cried Teddy, looking back from the steps, as he was departing to school.

      Mrs Jo flew upstairs, and having locked her door, calmly viewed a young ladies’ seminary camp on the lawn, and being denied the house, proceed to enjoy themselves by picking the flowers, doing up their hair, eating lunch, and freely expressing their opinion of the place and its possessors before they went.

      A few hours of quiet followed, and she was just settling down to a long afternoon of hard work, when Rob came home to tell her that the Young Men’s Christian Union would visit the college, and two or three of the fellows whom she knew wanted to pay their respects to her on the way.

      ‘It is going to rain, so they won’t come, I dare say; but father thought you’d like to be ready, in case they do call. You always see the boys, you know, though you harden your heart to the poor girls,’ said Rob, who had heard from his brother about the morning visitations.

      ‘Boys don’t gush, so I can stand it. The last time I let in a party of girls one fell into my arms and said, “Darling, love me!” I wanted to shake her,’ answered Mrs Jo, wiping her pen with energy.

      ‘You may be sure the fellows won’t do it, but they will want autographs, so you’d better be prepared with a few dozen,’ said Rob, laying out a quire of notepaper, being a hospitable youth and sympathizing with those who admired his mother.

      ‘They can’t outdo the girls. At X College I really believe I wrote three hundred during the day I was there, and I left a pile of cards and albums on my table when I came away. It is one of the most absurd and tiresome manias that ever afflicted the world.’

      Nevertheless Mrs Jo wrote her name a dozen times, put on her black silk, and resigned herself to the impending call, praying for rain, however, as she returned to her work.

      The shower came, and feeling quite secure, she rumpled up her hair, took off her cuffs, and hurried to finish her chapter; for thirty pages a day was her task, and she liked to have it well done before evening. Josie had brought some flowers for the vases, and was just putting the last touches when she saw several umbrellas bobbing down the hill.

      ‘They are coming, Aunty! I see uncle hurrying across the field to receive them,’ she called at the stair-foot.

      ‘Keep an eye on them, and let me know when they enter the avenue. It will take but a minute to tidy up and run down,’ answered Mrs Jo, scribbling away for dear life, because serials wait for no man, not even the whole Christian Union en masse.

      ‘There are more than two or three. I see half a dozen at least,’ called sister Ann from the hall door. ‘No! a dozen, I do believe; Aunty, look out; they are all coming! What shall we do?’ And Josie quailed at the idea of facing the black throng rapidly approaching.

      ‘Mercy on us, there are hundreds! Run and put a tub in the back entry for their umbrellas to drip into. Tell them to go down the hall and leave them, and pile their hats on the table; the tree won’t hold them all. No use to get mats; my poor carpets!’ And down went Mrs Jo to prepare for the invasion, while Josie and the maids flew about dismayed at the prospect of so many muddy boots.

      On they came, a long line of umbrellas, with splashed legs and flushed faces underneath; for the gentlemen had been having a good time all over the town, undisturbed by the rain. Professor Bhaer met them at the gate, and was making a little speech of welcome, when Mrs Jo, touched by their bedraggled state, appeared at the door, beckoning them in. Leaving their host to orate bareheaded in the wet, the young men hastened up the steps, merry, warm, and eager, clutching off their hats as they came, and struggling with their umbrellas, as the order was passed to march in and stack arms.

      Tramp, tramp, tramp, down the hall went seventy-five pairs of boots; soon seventy-five umbrellas dripped sociably in the hospitable tub, while their owners swarmed all over the lower part of the house; and seventy-five hearty hands were shaken by the hostess without a murmur, though some were wet, some very warm, and nearly all bore trophies of the day’s ramble. One impetuous party flourished a small turtle as he made his compliments; another had a load of sticks cut from noted spots; and all begged