Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI.

LETTERS.

IN the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp, and read their chapter with an earnestness never felt before, for now the shadow of a real trouble had come, showing them how rich in sunshine their lives had been. The little books were full of help and comfort; and, as they dressed, they agreed to say good-by cheerfully, hopefully, and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went down; so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within. Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her night cap on. The big trunk stood ready in the hall, mother's cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and worn with sleeplessness and anxiety, that the girls found it very hard to keep their resolution. Meg's eyes kept filling in spite of herself; Jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller more than once, and the little girls' young faces wore a grave, troubled

expression, as if sorrow was a new experience to them.

Nobody talked much, but, as the time drew very

near, and they sat waiting for the carriage, Mrs.

March said to the girls, who were all busied about her,

one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the

strings of her bonnet, a third putting on her

overshoes, and a fourth fastening up her travelling bag,—

"Children, I leave you to Hannah's care, and Mr.

Laurence's protection; Hannah is faithfulness itself,

and our good neighbor will guard you as if you were

his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious

that you should take this trouble rightly. Don't grieve

and fret when I am gone, or think that you can

comfort yourselves by being idle, and trying to forget. Go

on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed

solace. Hope, and keep busy; and, whatever happens,

remember that you never can be fatherless."

"Yes, mother."

"Meg dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters,

consult Hannah, and, in any perplexity, go to Mr.

Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent, or

do rash things; write to me often, and be my brave

girl, ready to help and cheer us all. Beth, comfort

yourself with your music, and be faithful to the little

home duties; and you, Amy, help all you can, be

obedient, and keep happy safe at home."

"We will, mother! we will!"

The rattle of an approaching carriage made them

all start and listen. That was the hard minute, but

the girls stood it well; no one cried, no one ran away,

or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very heavy as they sent loving messages to father,

remembering, as they spoke, that it might be too late

to deliver them. They kissed their mother quietly,

clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands

cheerfully, when she drove away.

Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off,

and Mr. Brooke looked so strong, and sensible, and

kind, that the girls christened him "Mr. Greatheart,"

on the spot.

"Good-by, my darlings! God bless and keep us

all," whispered Mrs. March, as she kissed one dear

little face after the other, and hurried into the carriage.

As she rolled away, the sun came out, and, looking

back, she saw it shining on the group at the gate, like

a good omen. They saw it also, and smiled and

waved their hands; and the last thing she beheld, as

she turned the corner, was the four bright faces, and

behind them, like a body-guard, old Mr. Laurence,

faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie.

"How kind every one is to us," she said, turning to

find fresh proof of it in the respectful sympathy of the

young man's face.

"I don't see how they can help it," returned Mr.

Brooke, laughing so infectiously that Mrs. March could

not help smiling; and so the long journey began with

the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful

words.

"I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said

Jo, as their neighbors went home to breakfast, leaving

them to rest and refresh themselves.

"It seems as if half the house was gone," added

Meg, forlornly.

Beth opened her lips to say something, but could

only point to the pile of nicely-mended hose which

lay on mother's table, showing that even in her last

hurried moments she had thought and worked for

them. It was a little thing, but it went straight to

their hearts; and, in spite of their brave resolutions,

they all broke down, and cried bitterly.

Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their

feelings; and, when the shower showed signs of clearing

up, she came to the rescue, armed with a coffee-pot.

"Now, my dear young ladies, remember what your

ma said, and don't fret; come and have a cup of coffee

all round, and then let's fall to work, and be a credit

to the family."

Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact

in making it that morning. No one could resist her

persuasive nods, or the fragrant invitation issuing

from the nose of the coffee-pot. They drew up to the

table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and,

in ten minutes, were all right again.

"'Hope and keep busy;' that's the motto for us,

so let's see who will remember it best. I shall go to

Aunt March, as usual; oh, won't she lecture, though!"

said Jo, as she sipped, with returning spirit.

"I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather

stay at home and attend to things here," said Meg,

wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red.

"No need of that; Beth and I can keep house

perfectly well," put in Amy, with an important air.

"Hannah will tell us what to do; and we'll have

everything nice when you come home," added Beth,

getting out her mop and dish-tub without delay.

"I think anxiety is very interesting," observed Amy,

eating sugar, pensively.

The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for

it, though Meg shook her head at the young lady who

could find consolation in a sugar-bowl.

The sight of the turn-overs made Jo sober again;

and, when the two went out to their daily tasks,

they looked sorrowfully back at the window where

they were accustomed to see their mother's face. It

was gone; but Beth had remembered the little

household ceremony, and there she was, nodding away at

them like a rosy-faced mandarin.

"That's so like my Beth!" said Jo, waving her hat,

with a grateful face. "Good-by, Meggy; I hope the

Kings won't train to-day. Don't fret about father,

dear," she added, as they parted.

"And I hope Aunt March won't croak. Your

hair is becoming, and it looks very boyish and nice,"

returned Meg, trying not to smile at the curly head,

which looked comically small on her tall sister's

shoulders.

"That's my only comfort;" and, touching her hat

à la Laurie, away went Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep

on a wintry day.

News from their father comforted the girls very

much; for, though dangerously ill, the presence of the

best and tenderest of nurses had already done him

good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and, as

the head of the family, Meg insisted on reading the

despatches, which grew more and more cheering as

the week passed. At first, every one was eager to

write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter-box, by one or other of the sisters, who felt

rather important with their Washington

correspondence. As one of these packets contained characteristic

notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail,

and read them:—

"My Dearest Mother,—

"It is impossible to tell you how happy your

last letter made us, for the news was so good we

couldn't help laughing and crying over it. How very

kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate that Mr.

Laurence's business detains him near you so long, since he

is so useful to you and father. The girls are all as

good as gold. Jo helps me with the sewing, and

insists on doing all sorts of hard jobs. I should be

afraid she might overdo, if I didn't know that her

'moral fit' wouldn't last long. Beth is as regular

about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what you

told her. She grieves about father, and looks sober,

except when she is at her little piano. Amy minds

me nicely, and I take great care of her. She does her

own hair, and I am teaching her to make button-holes,

and mend her stockings. She tries very hard, and I

know you will be pleased with her improvement when

you come. Mr. Laurence watches over us like a

motherly old hen, as Jo says; and Laurie is very kind

and neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we

get pretty blue sometimes, and feel like orphans, with

you so far away. Hannah is a perfect saint; she does

not scold at all, and always calls me 'Miss Margaret,'

which is quite proper, you know, and treats me with

respect. We are all well and busy; but we long, day and night, to have you back. Give my dearest love

to father, and believe me, ever your own Meg."

This note, prettily written on scented paper, was

a great contrast to the next, which was scribbled on a

big sheet of thin, foreign paper, ornamented with

blots, and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed

letters:—

"My precious Marmee,—

"Three cheers for dear old father! Brooke was

a trump to telegraph right off, and let us know the

minute he was better. I rushed up garret when the

letter came, and tried to thank God for being so good

to us; but I could only cry, and say, 'I'm glad! I'm

glad!' Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer?

for I felt a great many in my heart. We have such

funny times; and now I can enjoy 'em, for every one

is so desperately good, it's like living in a nest of

turtle-doves. You'd laugh to see Meg head the table,

and try to be motherish. She gets prettier every day,

and I'm in love with her sometimes. The children

are regular archangels, and I—well, I'm Jo, and

never shall be anything else. Oh, I must tell you that

I came near having a quarrel with Laurie. I freed my

mind about a silly little thing, and he was offended.

I was right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he

marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till I

begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't, and got mad.

It lasted all day; I felt bad, and wanted you very

much. Laurie and I are both so proud, it's hard to

beg pardon; but I thought he'd come to it, for I was in the right. He didn't come; and just at night I remembered what you said when Amy fell into the river. I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun set on my anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I was sorry. I met him at the gate, coming for the same thing. We both laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again.

"I made a 'pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash; and, as father likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse him. Give him the lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times, for your

"Topsy-Turvy Jo.

"A SONG FROM THE SUDS.

"Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,

While the white foam rises high;

And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,

And fasten the clothes to dry;

Then out in the free fresh air they swing,

Under the sunny sky.

"I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls

The stains of the week away,

And let water and air by their magic make

Ourselves as pure as they;

Then on the earth there would be indeed

A glorious washing-day!

"Along the path of a useful life.

Will heart's-ease ever bloom;

The busy mind has no time to think

Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;

And anxious thoughts may be swept away,

As we busily wield a broom.

"I am glad a task to me is given,

To labor at day by day;

For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,

And I cheerfully learn to say,—

'Head you may think, Heart you may feel,

But Hand you shall work alway!'"

"Dear Mother:

"There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed pansies from the root I have been keeping safe in the house, for father to see. I read every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep with father's tune. I can't sing 'Land of the Leal' now; it makes me cry. Everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy wants the rest of the page, so I must stop. I didn't forget to cover the holders, and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day.

"Kiss dear father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon to your loving

"Little Beth."

"Ma Chere Mamma:

"We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate the girls—Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words and you can take the properest. Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me have jelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo says because it keeps me sweet tempered. Laurie is not as respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in my teens, he calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talking French to me very fast when I say Merci or

Bon jour as Hattie King does. The sleeves of my

blue dress were all worn out and Meg put in new

ones but the full front came wrong and they are more

blue than the dress. I felt bad but did not fret I bear

my troubles well but I do wish Hannah would put

more starch in my aprons and have buck wheats every

day. Can't she? Didn't I make that interrigation

point nice. Meg says my punchtuation and spelling

are disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have

so many things to do I can't stop. Adieu, I send

heaps of love to Papa.

"Your affectionate daughter,

"Amy Curtis March."

"Dear Mis March:

"I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate.

The girls is clever and fly round right smart. Miss

Meg is goin to make a proper good housekeeper; she

hes the liking for it, and gits the hang of things

surprisin quick. Jo doos beat all for goin ahead, but

she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you never know

where she's like to bring up. She done out a tub of

clothes on Monday, but she starched em afore they

was wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till I

thought I should a died a laughin. Beth is the best

of little creeters, and a sight of help to me, bein so

forehanded and dependable. She tries to learn

everything, and really goes to market beyond her years;

likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite

wonderful. We have got on very economical so fur; I don't let the girls hev coffee only once a week, accordin

to your wish, and keep em on plain wholesome vittles.

Amy does well about frettin, wearin her best clothes

and eatin sweet stuff. Mr. Laurie is as full of didoes

as usual, and turns the house upside down frequent;

but he heartens up the girls, and so I let em hev full

swing. The old man sends heaps of things, and is

rather wearin, but means wal, and it aint my place to

say nothin. My bread is riz, so no more at this time.

I send my duty to Mr. March, and hope he's seen the

last of his Pewmonia.

"Yours respectful,

"Hannah Mullet"

"Head Nurse of Ward II.:

"All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in

fine condition, commissary department well conducted,

the Home Guard under Colonel Teddy always on

duty. Commander-in-chief General Laurence reviews

the army daily. Quartermaster Mullett keeps order in

camp, and Major Lion does picket duty at night. A

salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt of

good news from Washington, and a dress parade took

place at head-quarters. Commander-in-chief sends best

wishes, in which he is heartily joined by

Colonel Teddy."

"Dear Madam:

"The little girls are all well; Beth and my

boy report daily; Hannah is a model servant, guards

pretty Meg like a dragon. Glad the fine weather holds; pray make Brooke useful, and draw on me for funds if expenses exceed your estimate. Don't let your husband want anything. Thank God he is mending.

"Your sincere friend and servant,

"James Laurence.".