LITTLE WOMEN
by Louisa May Alcott
CHAPTER ONE
"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled
Jo, lying on the rug.
"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at
her old dress.
"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of
pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy,
with an injured sniff.
"We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth
contentedly from her corner.
The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened
at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly,
"We haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time."
She didn't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking
of Father far away, where the fighting was.
Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone,
"You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this
Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone;
and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when
our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but we can
make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am
afraid I don't." And Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully
of all the pretty things she wanted.
"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any
good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped
by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or
you, but I do want to buy UNDINE AND SINTRAM for myself. I've
wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a bookworm.
"I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a
little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle
holder.
"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I
really need them," said Amy decidedly.
"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't
wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and
have a little fun. I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried
Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.
"I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all
day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the
complaining tone again.
"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo.
"How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy
old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries
you till you you're ready to fly out the window or cry?"
"It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and
keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me
cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all."
And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could
hear that time.
"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for
you don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague
you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and
label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose
isn't nice."
"If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as
if Papa was a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.
"I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it.
It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,"
returned Amy, with dignity.
"Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we
had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How
happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who
could remember better times.
"You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier
than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all
the time, in spite of their money."
"So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do
have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly
set, as Jo would say."
"Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a
reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.
Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and
began to whistle.
"Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!"
"That's why I do it."
"I detest rude, unladylike girls!"
"I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"
"Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the
peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices
softened to a laugh, and the "pecking" ended for that time.
"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg,
beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion."You are old
enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better,
Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were a little
girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should
remember that you are a young lady."
"I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll
wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off
her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. "I hate to think
I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns,
and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough to be a
girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners! I
can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's
worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa.
And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!"
And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled
like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.
"Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you
must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and
playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough
head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the
world could not make ungentle in its touch.
"As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether
to particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll
grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I
I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when
you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad
as Jo's slang."
"If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?"
asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.
"You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly,
and no one contradicted her, for the `Mouse' was the pet of the
family.
As young readers like to know `how people look', we will
take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four
sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the
December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled
cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though the carpet
was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or
two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums
and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant
atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.
Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty,
being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a
sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-
year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a
colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs,
which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical
nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and
were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair
was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be
out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet,
a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of
a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it.
Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-
haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid
voice, and a ;peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her
father called her `Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suited
her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her
own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.
Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own
opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and
yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always
carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What
the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.
The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth
put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old
shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and
everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and
lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being asked,
and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers
nearer to the blaze.
"They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair."
"I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth.
"No, I shall!" cried Amy.
"I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided,
"I'm the man of the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide