Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by
saying in her cheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play
Pilgrims Progress when you were little things?  Nothing delighted
you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, 
give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel
through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, 
up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you
could collect to make a Celestial City."

"What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting
Apollyon, and passing through the valley where the hob-goblins
were," said Jo.

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

"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.  Out 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 guidebook," 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 herr 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 spoiled 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 TWO

Jo was the first to wake in the gray 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 crammed so full of 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 guidebook for
any pilgrim going on a 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-colored, 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'' 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 came 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 cakes, 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 labor.

"Bless the child!  She's gone and put `Mother' on them instead
of `M.  March'.  How funny!" cried Jo, taking one up.

"Isn't that 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 laugh at me, Jo!  I didn't mean anyone should know till
the time came.  I only meant to change the little bottle for a big
one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not
to be selfish any more."

As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced
the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little
effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo
pronounced her `a trump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked
her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.

"You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking
about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed
it the minute I was up, and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest
now."

Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, 
and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.

"Merry Christmas, Marmee!  Many of them!  Thank you for our
books.  We read some, and mean to every day," they all cried in
chorus.
"Merry Christmas, little daughters!  I'm glad you began at
once, and hope you will keep on.  But I want to say one word