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

“By Jove, she’s forgotten her dinner!” cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.

“Please don’t⁠—it’s⁠—it’s mine,” murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.

“Oh, really, I beg pardon; it’s an uncommonly fine one, isn’t it?” said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.

Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing⁠—

“Don’t you wish you were to have some of the salad he’s to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?”

Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about “the charming young ladies” diverted his mind from the comical mishap.

“I suppose he’ll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I shan’t see them; that’s a comfort,” thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.

She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve o’clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday’s failure by a grand success today; so she ordered the “cherry-bounce,” and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.

“There’s the rumble, they’re coming! I’ll go into the porch to meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble,” said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady.

“Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl,” cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.

In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!) and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when “the party went out.”

As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate fête had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo’s mouth.

“You’ve had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear,” said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.

“Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought,” observed Beth, with unusual warmth.

“Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can’t make such delicious stuff as yours,” asked Meg soberly.

“Take it all; I’m the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mould before I can dispose of it,” answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.

“It’s a pity Laurie isn’t here to help us,” began Jo, as they sat down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days.

A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, “Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn”⁠—here a general explosion of laughter cut short the “history of sallets,” to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

“Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels: Germans like messes. I’m sick of the sight of this; and there’s no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I’ve been a fool,” cried Amy, wiping her eyes.

“I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng,” sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter.

“I’m very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you,” said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.

“I am satisfied; I’ve done what I undertook, and it’s not my fault that it failed; I comfort myself with that,” said Amy, with a little quiver in her voice. “I thank you all very much for helping me, and I’ll thank you still more if you won’t allude to it for a month, at least.”

No one did for several months; but the word “fête” always produced a general smile, and Laurie’s birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard.

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise.

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and “fall into a vortex,” as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her “scribbling suit” consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a