Little Men by Louisa May Alcott (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📕

The old tree saw and heard a good many little scenes and confidences that summer, because it became the favorite retreat of all the children, and the willow seemed to enjoy it, for a pleasant welcome always met them, and the quiet hours spent in its arms did them all good. It had a great deal of company one Saturday afternoon, and some little bird reported what went on there.

First came Nan and Daisy with their small tubs and bits of soap, for now and then they were seized with a tidy fit, and washed up all their dolls' clothes in the brook. Asia would not have them “slopping round” in her kitchen, and the bath-room was forbidden since Nan forgot to turn off the water till it overflowed and came gently dripping down through the ceiling. Daisy went systematically to work, washing first the white and then the colored things, rinsing them nicely, and hanging them to dry on a cord fastened from one barberry-bush to another, and pinning them up with a set of tiny clothes-pins Ned had turned for her. But Nan put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, as one doll was named. This took some time, and when Mrs. Giddy-gaddy came to take out her clothes, deep green stains appeared on every thing, for she had forgotten the green silk lining of a certain cape, and its color had soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises, and even the best ruffled petticoat.

“Oh me! what a mess!” sighed Nan.

“Lay them on the grass to bleach,” said Daisy, with an air of experience.

“So I will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they don't blow away.”

The Queen of Babylon's wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank, and, turning up their tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies are apt to do in the pauses of domestic labor.

“I'm going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow,” said Mrs. Giddy-gaddy, as she transferred the thistledown from her pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in the process.

“I wouldn't; Aunt Jo says feather-beds aren't healthy. I never let my children sleep on any thing but a mattress,” returned Mrs. Shakespeare Smith, decidedly.

“I don't care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the floor, and don't mind it,” (which was quite true). “I can't afford nine mattresses, and I like to make beds myself.”

“Won't Tommy charge for the feathers?”

“May be he will, but I shan't pay him, and he won't care,” returned Mrs. G., taking a base advantage of the well-known good nature of T. Bangs.

“I think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green mark will,” observed Mrs. S., looking down from her perch, and changing the subject, for she and her gossip differed on many points, and Mrs. Smith was a discreet lady.

“Never mind; I'm tired of dolls, and I guess I shall put them all away and attend to my farm; I like it rather better than playing house,” said Mrs. G., unconsciously expressing the desire of many older ladies, who cannot dispose of their families so easily however.

“But you mustn't leave them; they will die without their mother,” cried the tender Mrs. Smith.

“Let 'em die then; I'm tired of fussing over babies, and I'm going to play with the boys; they need me to see to 'em,” returned the strong-minded lady.

Daisy knew nothing about women's rights; she quietly took all she wanted, and no one denied her claim, because she did not undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously used the all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any privilege for which she had proved her fitness. Nan attempted all sorts of things, undaunted by direful failures, and clamored fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that the boys did. They laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against her meddling with their affairs. But she would not be quenched and she would be heard, for her will was strong, and she had the spirit of a rampant reformer. Mrs. Bhaer sympathized with her, but tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that she must wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her freedom before she asked for it. Nan had meek moments when she agreed to this, and the influences at work upon her were gradually taking effect. She no longer declared that she would be engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned her mind to farming, and found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little body. It did not quite satisfy her, however; for her sage and sweet marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care. She wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and was never happier than when the little boys brought their cut fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for her to “mend-up.” Seeing this, Mrs. Jo proposed that she should learn how to do it nicely, and Nursey had an apt pupil in bandaging, plastering, and fomenting. The boys began to call her “Dr. Giddy-gaddy,” and she liked it so well that Mrs. Jo one day said to the Professor,

“Fritz, I see what we can do for that child. She wants something to live for even now, and will be one of the sharp, strong, discontented women if she does not have it. Don't let us snub her restless little nature, but do our best to give her the work she likes, and by and by persuade her father to let her study medicine. She will make a capital doctor, for she has courage, strong nerves, a tender heart, and an intense love and pity for