Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (dark academia books to read txt) 📕
ll times. A year seems very long to wait before I see 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 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 loves to call me, 'a little woman' and not be rough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to
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- Author: Louisa May Alcott
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“Good! Good!” cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming pan on which she leaned.
“My faithful friend and noble patron,” continued Laurie with a wave of the hand, “who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing.”
“Come now, don’t lay it all on yourself. You know I proposed the cupboard,” broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.
“Never mind what she says. I’m the wretch that did it, sir,” said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. “But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interest of this immortal club.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal.
“Go on, go on!” added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed benignly.
“I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks on the doors and every convenience for the mails, also the females, if I may be allowed the expression. It’s the old martin house, but I’ve stopped up the door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present the club key, and with many thanks for your favor, take my seat.”
Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table and subsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and everyone came out surprising, for everyone did her best. So it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.
No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add ‘spirit’ to the meetings, and ‘a tone’ to the paper, for his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought.
The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real post office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings, and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah’s charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo’s care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come.
“The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I’m free. Three months’ vacation—how I shall enjoy it!” exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.
“Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!” said Jo. “I was mortally afraid she’d ask me to go with her. If she had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I’d rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she’d find it impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped out her head, saying, ‘Josyphine, won’t you—?’ I didn’t hear any more, for I basely turned and fled. I did actually run, and whisked round the corner where I felt safe.”
“Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her,” said Beth, as she cuddled her sister’s feet with a motherly air.
“Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?” observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically.
“She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too warm to be particular about one’s parts of speech,” murmured Jo.
“What shall you do all your vacation?” asked Amy, changing the subject with tact.
“I shall lie abed late, and do nothing,” replied Meg, from the depths of the rocking chair. “I’ve been routed up early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now I’m going to rest and revel to my heart’s content.”
“No,” said Jo, “that dozy way wouldn’t suit me. I’ve laid in a heap of books, and I’m going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the old apple tree, when I’m not having l–-”
“Don’t say ‘larks!’” implored Amy, as a return snub for the ‘samphire’ correction.
“I’ll say ‘nightingales’ then, with Laurie. That’s proper and appropriate, since he’s a warbler.”
“Don’t let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time and rest, as the girls mean to,” proposed Amy.
“Well, I will, if Mother doesn’t mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer. They are dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes.”
“May we, Mother?” asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing in what they called ‘Marmee’s corner’.
“You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play.”
“Oh, dear, no! It will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Meg complacently.
“I now propose a toast, as my ‘friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp’, says. Fun forever, and no grubbing!” cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went round.
They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o’clock. Her solitary breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed lonely and untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy’s books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but ‘Marmee’s corner’, which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to ‘rest and read’, which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river with Laurie and the afternoon reading and crying over The Wide, Wide World, up in the apple tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.
At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the afternoon and got a ‘sweet blue muslin’, had discovered, after she had cut the breadths off, that it wouldn’t wash, which mishap made her slightly cross. Jo had burned the skin off her nose boating, and got a raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of her closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy Brown’s party was to be the next day and now like Flora McFlimsey, she had ‘nothing to wear’. But these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and with Hannah’s help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the ‘resting and reveling’ process. The days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was unusually variable and so were tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily, that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts to furbish them up a la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out and she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even goodnatured Laurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back into her old ways now and then. But something in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna and told her she was ‘a fright’. Amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her to amuse herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self a great burden. She didn’t like dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one couldn’t draw all the time. Tea parties didn’t amount to much, neither did picnics, unless very well conducted. “If one could have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go traveling, the summer would be delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz,” complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui.
No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Friday night each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner, so she gave Hannah a holiday and let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system.
When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.
“Mercy on us! What has happened?” cried Jo, staring about her in dismay.
Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed.
“Mother isn’t sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can. It’s a very queer thing for her to do, she doesn’t act a bit like herself. But she says it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn’t grumble but take care of ourselves.”
“That’s easy
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