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 so me 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 sa y ?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
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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 do llar, 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 ever ything. 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 har d 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
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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 ge t 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.?
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?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 fac e 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 ma tter 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
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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 wit h 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 nothi ng else,? answered Meg
warmly, and no one contradicted her, for the ?Mouse? was
the pet of the family.
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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.
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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.
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?No, I shall!? cried Amy.
?I?m the oldest,? began Me g, but Jo cut in with a
decided, ?I?m the man of the family now Papa is away, and
I shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special
care of Mother while he was gone.?
?I?ll tell you what we?ll do,? sa id Beth, ?let?s each get her
something for Christmas, land not get anything for
ourselves.?
?That?s like you, dear! What will we get?? exclaimed Jo.
Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg
announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her
own pretty hands, ?I shall give her a nice pair of gloves.?
?Army shoes, best to be had,? cried Jo.
?Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,? said Beth.
?I?ll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it
won?t cost much, so I?ll have some left to buy my pencils,?
added Amy.
?How will we give the things?? asked Meg.
?Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her
open the bundles. Don?t you remember how we used to
do on our birthdays?? answered Jo.
?I used to be so frightened wh en it was my turn to sit in
the chair with the crown on, and see you all come
marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked
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the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you
sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,? said Beth,
who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same
time.
?Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves,
and then surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow
afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for
Christmas night,? said Jo, marching up and down, with her
hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.
?I don?t mean to act any more after this time. I?m
getting too old for such thin gs,? observed Meg, who was
as much a child as ever about ?dressing-up? frolics.
?You won?t stop, I know, as long as you can trail round
in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-
paper jewelry. You are the be st actress we?ve got, and
there?ll be an end of everything if you quit the boards,?
said Jo. ?We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy,
and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in
that.?
?I can?t help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don?t
choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as
you do. If I can go down easily, I?ll drop. If I can?t, I shall
fall into a chair and be graceful. I don?t care if Hugo does
come at me with a pistol,? returned Amy, who was not
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gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she
was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain
of the piece.
?Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across
the room, crying frantically , ?Roderigo Save me! Save
me!? and away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream
which was truly thrilling.
Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly
before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by
machinery, and her ?Ow!? was more suggestive of pins
being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a
despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth
let her bread burn as she wa tched the fun with interest.
?It?s no use! Do the best you can when the time comes,
and if the audience laughs, don?t blame me. Come on,
Meg.?
?Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the
world in a speech of two pages without a single break.
Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her
kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect. Roderigo
rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in
agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild, ?Ha! Ha!?
?It?s the best we?ve had yet,? said Meg, as the dead
villain sat up and rubbed his elbows.
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?I don?t see how you can wr ite and act such splendid
things, Jo. You?re a regular Shakespeare!? exclaimed Beth,
who firmly believed that h er sisters were gifted with
wonderful genius in all things.
?Not quite,? replied Jo modestly. ?I do think THE
WITCHES CURSE, an Operatic Tragedy is rather a nice
thing, but I?d like to try McBETH, if we only had a
trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing
part. ?Is that a dagger that I see before me?? muttered Jo,
rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a
famous tragedian do.
?No, it?s the toasting fork, with Mother?s shoe on it
instead of the bread. Beth?s stage-struck!? cried Meg, and
the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter.
?Glad to find you so merry, my girls,? said a cheery
voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to
welcome a tall, motherly lady with a ?can I help you? look
about her which was truly delightful. She was not
elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the
girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet
covered the most splendid mother in the world.
?Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was
so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow,
that I didn?t come home to dinner. Has anyone called,
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Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo , you look tired to death.
Come and kiss me, baby.?
While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got
her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down
in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy
the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about,
trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way.
Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set
chairs, dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything
she touched. Beth trotted to and fro between parlor
kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to
everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.
As they gathered about the ta ble, Mrs. March said, with
a particularly happy face, ?I?ve got a treat for you after
supper.?
A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of
sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit
she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, ?A letter! A
letter! Three cheers for Father!?
?Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall
get through the cold season better than we feared. He
sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an
especial message to you girls,? said Mrs. March, patting her
pocket as if she had got a treasure there.
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?Hurry and get done! Don?t stop to quirk your little
finger and simper over your plate, Amy,? cried Jo, choking
on her tea and dropping her bread, butter side down, on
the carpet in her haste to get at the treat.
Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy
corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others
were ready.
?I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain
when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough
for a soldier,? said Meg warmly.
?Don?t I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan?what?s
its name? Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help
him,? exclaimed Jo, with a groan.
?It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat
all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,?
sighed Amy.
?When will he come home, Marmee? asked Beth, with
a little quiver in her voice.
?Not for many months, dear , unless he is sick. He will
stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we
won?t ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be
spared. Now come and hear the letter.?
They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with
Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of
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the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one
would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen
to be touching. Very few letters were written in those
hard times that were not touching, especially those which
fathers sent home. In this one little was said of the
hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness
conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively
descriptions of camp life, marc hes, and military news, and
only at the end did the writer?s heart over-flow with
fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.
?Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I
think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my
best comfort in their affection at all times. A year seems
very long to wait before I s ee them, but remind them that
while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days
need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said
to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do
their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely,
and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come
back to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of
my little women.? Everybody sniffed when they came to
that part. Jo wasn?t ashamed of the great tear that dropped
off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the
rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother?s
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shoulder and sobbed out, ?I am a selfish girl! But I?ll truly
try to be better, so he mayn ?t be disappointed in me by-
and-by.?
We all will,? cried Meg. ?I think too much of my looks
and hate to work, but won?t any more, if I can help it.?
?I?ll try and be what he lo ves to call me, ?a little
woman? and not be rough and wild, but do my duty here
instead of wanting to be somewhere else,? said Jo, thinking
that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task
than facing a rebel or two down South.
Beth said nothing, but wipe d away her tears with the
blue army sock and began to knit with all her might,
losing no time in doing the du ty that lay nearest her, while
she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that Father
hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy
coming home.
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,
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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 happines s is the guide that leads
us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which
is a true Celestial City. No w, 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.
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?Each of you told what y our burden was just now,
except Beth. I rather think she hasn?t got any,? said her
mother.
?Yes, I have. Mine is dish es 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 romanc e 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
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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 th is 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.
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