Little Women. Луиза Мэй Олкотт

through the Valley where the hobgoblins were!’ said Jo.

      ‘I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs,’ said Meg.

      ‘My favourite part was when we came out on the flat roof where our flowers and arbours and pretty things were, and all stood and sang for joy up there in the sunshine,’ said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant moment had come back to her.

      ‘I don’t remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the top. If I wasn’t too old for such things, I’d rather like to play it over again,’ said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve.

      ‘We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before Father comes home.’

      ‘Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?’ asked Amy, who was a very literal young lady.

      ‘Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth; I rather think she hasn’t got any,’ said her mother.

      ‘Yes, I have; mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people.’

      Beth’s bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh; but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.

      ‘Let us do it,’ said Meg, thoughtfully. ‘It is only another name for trying to be good, and the story may help us; for though we do want to be good, it’s hard work, and we forget, and don’t do our best.’

      ‘We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that?’ asked Jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty.

      ‘Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, and you will find your guide-book,’ replied Mrs March.

      They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table; then out came the four little work-baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but tonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo’s plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different countries, as they stitched their way through them.

      At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano; but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys, and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoilt the most pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could lisp

      ‘Crinkle, crinkle,’ ittle ‘tar’

      and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice, as she went about the house singing like a lark; and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby.

       CHAPTER 2 A Merry Christmas

      Jo was the first to wake in the grey dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother’s promise, and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any pilgrim going the long journey. She woke Meg with a ‘Merry Christmas’, and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. 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, while the east grew rosy with the coming day.

      In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.

      ‘Girls,’ said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, ‘Mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it; but since Father went away, and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you please; but I shall keep my book on the table here, and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good, and help me through the day.’

      Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her, and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.

      ‘How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let’s do as they do. I’ll help you with the hard words, and they’ll explain things if we don’t understand,’ whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters’ example.

      ‘I’m glad mine is blue,’ said Amy; and then the rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.

      ‘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 creeter come a-beggin’, and your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman for givin’ away vittles and drink, clothes, and firin’,’ 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.

      ‘She will be back soon, I think; so fry your cake, and have everything ready,’ said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. ‘Why, where is Amy’s bottle of cologne?’ she added, as the little flask did not appear.

      ‘She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion,’ replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army-slippers.

      ‘How nice my handkerchiefs look, don’t they! Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself,’ said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labour.

      ‘Bless the child! she’s gone and put “Mother” on them instead of “M. March”. How funny!’ cried Jo, taking up one.

      ‘Isn’t it right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg’s initials are “M. M.”, and I don’t want anyone to use these but Marmee,’ said Beth, looking troubled.

      ‘It’s all right, dear, and a very pretty idea – quite sensible, too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know,’ said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.

      ‘There’s Mother. Hide the basket, quick!’ cried Jo, as a door slammed, and steps sounded in the hall.

      Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.

      ‘Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?’ asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early.

      ‘Don’t