‘Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon 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, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble 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; and I believe they were never disappointed, or sorry that they took the old woman’s advice.’
‘Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!’ cried Meg.
‘I like that kind of sermon. It’s the sort Father used to tell us,’ said Beth, thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo’s cushion.
‘I don’t complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be more careful than ever now; for I’ve had warning from Susie’s downfall,’ said Amy, morally.
‘We needed that lesson, and we won’t forget it. If we do, you just say to us, as old Chloe did in Uncle Tom, “Tink ob yer marcies, chillen! tink ob yer marcies!”’ added Jo, who could not for the life of her help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took it to heart as much as any of them.
CHAPTER 5 Being Neighbourly
‘What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?’ asked Meg, one snowy afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.
‘Going out for exercise,’ answered Jo, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
‘I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It’s cold and dull out; and I advise you to stay warm and dry, by the fire, as I do,’ said Meg, with a shiver.
‘Never take advice! Can’t keep still all day, and, not being a pussy-cat, I don’t like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I’m going to find some.’
Meg went back to toast her feet and read Ivanhoe; and Jo began to dig paths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun came out; and the invalid dolls needed air. Now the garden separated the Marches’ house from that of Mr Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still country-like, with groves and lawns, large gardens, and quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls, and the flowers which then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach-house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains. Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house; for no children frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.
To Jo’s lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, full of splendours and delights, which no one enjoyed. She had long wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the ‘Laurence boy’, who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the party, she had been more eager than ever, and had planned many ways of making friends with him; but he had not been seen lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down into their garden, where Beth and Amy were snowballing one another.
‘That boy is suffering for society and fun,’ she said to herself. ‘His grandpa does not know what’s good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and lively. I’ve a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!’
The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things, and was always scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of ‘going over’ was not forgotten; and when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr Laurence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey. All quiet – curtains down at the lower windows; servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.
‘There he is,’ thought Jo, ‘poor boy! all alone and sick this dismal day. It’s a shame! I’ll toss up a snowball, and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him.’
Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called out:
‘How do you do? Are you sick?’
Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven,
‘Better, thank you. I’ve had a bad cold, and been shut up a week.’
‘I’m sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?’
‘Nothing; it’s as dull as tombs up here.’
‘Don’t you read?’
‘Not much; they won’t let me.’
‘Can’t somebody read to you?’
‘Grandpa does, sometimes; but my books don’t interest him and I hate to ask Brooke all the time.’
‘Have someone come and see you, then.’
‘There isn’t anyone I’d like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak.’
‘Isn’t there some nice girl who’d read and amuse you? Girls are quiet, and like to play nurse.’
‘Don’t know any.’
‘You know us,’ began Jo, then laughed, and stopped.
‘So I do! Will you come, please?’ cried Laurie.
‘I’m not quiet and nice; but I’ll come, if Mother will let me. I’ll go ask her. Shut that window, like a good boy, and wait till I come.’
With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready; for, as Mrs March said, he was ‘a little gentleman’, and did honour to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh collar, and trying to tidy up the room, which, in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, then a decided voice, asking for ‘Mr Laurie’, and a surprised-looking servant came running up to announce a young lady.
‘All right, show her up, it’s Miss Jo,’ said Laurie, going to the door of his little parlour to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and kind and quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth’s three kittens in the other.
‘Here I am, bag and baggage,’ she said briskly. ‘Mother sent her love, and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some of her blancmange; she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats would be comforting. I knew you’d laugh at them, but I couldn’t refuse, she was so anxious to do something.’
It so happened that Beth’s funny loan was just the thing; for, in laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once.
‘That looks too pretty to eat,’ he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blancmange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium.
‘It isn’t anything, only they all felt kindly, and wanted to show it. Tell the girl to put it away for your tea; it’s so simple, you can eat it; and, being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat. What a cosy room this is!’
