Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (e books free to read TXT) 📕

which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well as love.”

“That’s just the feeling I had, though I couldn’t express it. I’m glad you think he is only beginning to care for me. It would trouble me sadly to make him unhappy; for I couldn’t fall in love with the dear old fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?”

“You are sure of his feeling for you?”

The color deepened in Jo’s cheeks, as she answered, with the look of mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speaking of first lovers⁠—

“I’m afraid it is so, mother; he hasn’t said anything, but he looks a great deal. I think I had better go away before it comes to anything.”

“I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go.”

Jo looked relieved, and, after a pause, said, smiling, “How Mrs. Moffat would wonder at your want of management, if she knew; and how she will rejoice that Annie still may hope.”

“Ah, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the same in all⁠—the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and I am content with her success. You I leave to enjoy your liberty till you tire of it; for only then will you find that there is something sweeter. Amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her. For Beth, I indulge no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems brighter this last day or two. Have you spoken to her?”

“Yes; she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by and by. I said no more, for I think I know it;” and Jo told her little story.

Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that, for Laurie’s sake, Jo should go away for a time.

“Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled; then I’ll run away before he can collect his wits and be tragical. Beth must think I’m going to please myself, as I am, for I can’t talk about Laurie to her; but she can pet and comfort him after I’m gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion. He’s been through so many little trials of the sort, he’s used to it, and will soon get over his love-lornity.”

Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear that this “little trial” would be harder than the others, and that Laurie would not get over his “love-lornity” as easily as heretofore.

The plan was talked over in a family council, and agreed upon; for Mrs. Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her. The teaching would render her independent; and such leisure as she got might be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society would be both useful and agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was eager to be gone, for the home-nest was growing too narrow for her restless nature and adventurous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and trembling she told Laurie; but to her surprise he took it very quietly. He had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant; and, when jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, “So I am; and I mean this one shall stay turned.”

Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come on just then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart⁠—for Beth seemed more cheerful⁠—and hoped she was doing the best for all.

“One thing I leave to your especial care,” she said, the night before she left.

“You mean your papers?” asked Beth.

“No, my boy. Be very good to him, won’t you?”

“Of course I will; but I can’t fill your place, and he’ll miss you sadly.”

“It won’t hurt him; so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague, pet, and keep in order.”

“I’ll do my best, for your sake,” promised Beth, wondering why Jo looked at her so queerly.

When Laurie said “Goodbye,” he whispered significantly, “It won’t do a bit of good, Jo. My eye is on you; so mind what you do, or I’ll come and bring you home.”

XXXIII Jo’s Journal

“New York, November.

“Dear Marmee and Beth⁠—

“I’m going to write you a regular volume, for I’ve got heaps to tell, though I’m not a fine young lady travelling on the continent. When I lost sight of father’s dear old face, I felt a trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less, hadn’t diverted my mind; for I amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths to roar.

“Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared up likewise, and enjoyed my journey with all my heart.

“Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even in that big house full of strangers. She gave me a funny little sky-parlor⁠—all she had; but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so I can sit here and write whenever I like. A fine view and a church-tower opposite atone for the many stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The nursery, where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next Mrs. Kirke’s private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty children⁠—rather spoilt, I fancy, but they took to me after telling them ‘The Seven Bad Pigs;’ and I’ve no doubt I shall make a model governess.

“I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to the great table, and for the present I do, for I am bashful, though no one will believe it.

“ ‘Now, my dear, make yourself at home,’ said Mrs. K. in her motherly way;