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

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 off, she popped out her head, saying, ‘Josy-phine, 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 nice, 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 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 honeysuckles, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, 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 burnt 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 revelling” 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 à la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was sick of books; got so fidgety that even good-natured 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 tranquillity was much disturbed; so much so, that, on one occasion,