Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott (best novels to read in english .txt) 📕

could be put, and sent confiding Boo away in a pair of blue trousers, which were absurdly hunchy behind and buttony before. He came home heart-broken and muddy, having been accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by two bad boys who felt that such tailoring was an insult to mankind. That roused Molly's spirit, and she begged her father to take the boy and have him properly fitted out, as he was old enough now to be well-dressed, and she wouldn't have him tormented. His attention being called to the trousers, Mr. Bemis had a good laugh over them, and then got Boo a suit which caused him to be the admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a little peacock.

Cheered by this success, Molly undertook a set of small shirts, and stitched away bravely, though her own summer clothes were in a sad state, and for the first time in her life she cared about what she should wear.

“I must ask Merry, and may be father will let me go with her and her mother when they do their shopping, instead of leaving it to Miss Bat, who dresses me like an old woman. Merry knows what is pretty and becoming: I don't,” thought Molly, meditating in the bushel basket, with her eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the dark purple bow at the end of the long braid Muffet had been playing with.

Molly was beginning to see that even so small a matter as the choice of colors made a difference in one's appearance, and to wonder why Merry always took such pains to have a blue tie for the gray dress, a rosy one for the brown, and gloves that matched her bonnet ribbons. Merry never wore a locket outside her sack, a gay bow in her hair and soiled cuffs, a smart hat and the braid worn off her skirts. She was exquisitely neat and simple, yet always looked well-dressed and pretty; for her love of beauty taught her what all girls should learn as soon as they begin to care for appearances—that neatness and simplicity are their best ornaments, that good habits are better than fine clothes, and the most elegant manners are the kindest.

All these thoughts were dancing through Molly's head, and when she left her cats, after a general romp in which even decorous Granny allowed her family to play leap-frog over her respectable back, she had made up her mind not to have yellow ribbons on her summer hat if she got a pink muslin as she had planned, but to finish off Boo's last shirt before she went shopping with Merry.

It rained that evening, and Mr. Bemis had a headache, so he threw himself down upon the lounge after tea for a nap, with his silk handkerchief spread over his face. He did get a nap, and when he waked he lay for a time drowsily listening to the patter of the rain, and another sound which was even more soothing. Putting back a corner of the handkerchief to learn what it was, he saw Molly sitting by the fire with Boo in her lap, rocking and humming as she warmed his little bare feet, having learned to guard against croup by attending to the damp shoes and socks before going to bed. Boo lay with his round face turned up to hers, stroking her cheek while the sleepy blue eyes blinked lovingly at her as she sang her lullaby with a motherly patience sweet to see. They made a pretty little picture, and Mr. Bemis looked at it with pleasure, having a leisure moment in which to discover, as all parents do sooner or later, that his children were growing up.

“Molly is getting to be quite a woman, and very like her mother,” thought papa, wiping the eye that peeped, for he had been fond of the pretty wife who died when Boo was born. “Sad loss to them, poor things! But Miss Bat seems to have done well by them. Molly is much improved, and the boy looks finely. She's a good soul, after all;” and Mr. Bemis began to think he had been hasty when he half made up his mind to get a new housekeeper, feeling that burnt steak, weak coffee, and ragged wristbands were sure signs that Miss Bat's days of usefulness were over.

Molly was singing the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and her father listened to it silently till Boo was carried away too sleepy for anything but bed. When she came back she sat down to her work, fancying her father still asleep. She had a crimson bow at her throat and one on the newly braided hair, her cuffs were clean, and a white apron hid the shabbiness of the old dress. She looked like a thrifty little housewife as she sat with her basket beside her full of neat white rolls, her spools set forth, and a new pair of scissors shining on the table. There was a sort of charm in watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the anxious pucker of the forehead as she looked to see if the stitches were even, and the expression of intense relief upon her face as she surveyed the finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction. Her father was wide awake and looking at her, thinking, as he did so,—

“Really the old lady has worked well to change my tomboy into that nice little girl: I wonder how she did it.” Then he gave a yawn, pulled off the handkerchief, and said aloud, “What are you making, Molly?” for it struck him that sewing was a new amusement.

“Shirts for Boo, sir. Four, and this is the last,” she answered, with pardonable pride, as she held it up and nodded toward the pile in her basket.

“Isn't that a new notion? I thought Miss Bat did the sewing,” said Mr. Bemis, as he smiled at the funny little garment, it looked so like Boo himself.

“No, sir; only yours. I do mine and Boo's. At least, I'm learning how, and Mrs. Pecq says I get on nicely,” answered Molly, threading her needle and making a knot in her most capable way.

“I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great girl, and all women should know how to make and mend. You must take a stitch for me now and then: Miss Bat's eyes are not what they were, I find;” and Mr. Bemis looked at his frayed wristband, as if he particularly felt the need of a stitch just then.

“I'd love to, and I guess I could. I can mend gloves; Merry taught me, so I'd better begin on them, if you have any,” said Molly, much pleased at being able to do anything for her father, and still more so at being asked.

“There's something to start with;” and he threw her a pair, with nearly every finger ripped.

Molly shook her head over them, but got out her gray silk and fell to work, glad to show how well she could sew.

“What are you smiling about?” asked her father, after a little pause, for his head felt better, and it amused him to question Molly.

“I was thinking about my summer clothes. I must get them before long, and I'd like to go with Mrs. Grant and learn how to shop, if you are willing.”

“I thought Miss Bat did that for you.”

“She always has, but she gets ugly, cheap things that I don't like. I think I am old enough to choose myself, if there is someone to tell me about prices and the goodness of the stuff. Merry does; and she is only a few months older than I am.”

“How old are you, child?” asked her father, feeling as if he had lost his reckoning.

“Fifteen in August;” and Molly looked very proud of the fact.

“So you are! Bless my heart, how the time goes! Well, get what you please; if I'm to have a young lady here, I'd like to have her prettily dressed. It won't offend Miss Bat, will it?”

Molly's eyes sparkled, but she gave a little shrug as she answered, “She won't care. She never troubles herself about me if I let her alone.

“Hey? what? Not trouble herself? If she doesn't, who does?” and Mr. Bemis sat up as if this discovery was more surprising than the other.

“I take care of myself and Boo, and she looks after you. The house goes any way.”

“I should think so! I nearly broke my neck over the parlor sofa in the hall to-night. What is it there for?”

Molly laughed. “That's the joke, sir, Miss Bat is cleaning house, and I'm sure it needs cleaning, for it is years since it was properly done. I thought you might have told her to.”

“I've said nothing. Don't like house-cleaning well enough to suggest it. I did think the hall was rather dirty when I dropped my coat and took it up covered with lint. Is she going to upset the whole place?” asked Mr. Bemis, looking alarmed at the prospect.

“I hope so, for I really am ashamed when people come, to have them see the dust and cobwebs, and old carpets and dirty windows,” said Molly, with a sigh, though she never had cared a bit till lately.

“Why don't you dust round a little, then? No time to spare from the books and play?”

“I tried, father, but Miss Bat didn't like it, and it was too hard for me alone. If things were once in nice order, I think I could keep them so; for I do want to be neat, and I'm learning as fast as I can.”

“It is high time someone took hold, if matters are left as you say. I've just been thinking what a clever woman Miss Bat was, to make such a tidy little girl out of what I used to hear called the greatest tomboy in town, and wondering what I could give the old lady. Now I find you are the one to be thanked, and it is a very pleasant surprise to me.”

“Give her the present, please; I'm satisfied, if you like what I've done. It isn't much, and I didn't know as you would ever observe any difference. But I did try, and now I guess I'm really getting on,” said Molly, sewing away with a bright color in her cheeks, for she, too, found it a pleasant surprise to be praised after many failures and few successes.

“You certainly are, my dear. I'll wait till the house-cleaning is over, and then, if we are all alive, I'll see about Miss Bat's reward. Meantime, you go with Mrs. Grant and get whatever you and the boy need, and send the bills to me;” and Mr. Bemis lighted a cigar, as if that matter was settled.

“Oh, thank you, sir! That will be splendid. Merry always has pretty things, and I know you will like me when I get fixed,” said Molly, smoothing down her apron, with a little air.

“Seems to me you look very well as you are. Isn't that a pretty enough frock?” asked Mr. Bemis, quite unconscious that his own unusual interest in his daughter's affairs made her look so bright and winsome.

“This? Why, father, I've worn it all winter, and it's frightfully ugly, and almost in rags. I asked you for a new one a month ago, and you said you'd 'see about it'; but you didn't, so I patched this up as well as I could;” and Molly showed her elbows, feeling that such masculine blindness as this deserved a mild reproof.

“Too bad! Well, go and get half a dozen pretty muslin and gingham things, and be as gay as a butterfly, to make up for it,” laughed her father, really touched by the patches and Molly's resignation to the unreliable “I'll see about it,” which he recognized as a household word.

Molly clapped her hands, old gloves and