Part 1 — Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.
THAT boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy, one day, as Laurie clattered by on horse-back, with a flourish of his whip as he passed.
"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? and very handsome ones they are, too;" cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend.
"I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire up when I admire his riding."
"Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she called him a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter.
"You needn't be so rude, it's only a 'lapse of lingy,' as Mr. Davis says," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin. "I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
"Why?" asked Meg, kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder.
"I need it so much; I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to have the rag-money for a month."
"In debt, Amy; what do you mean?" and Meg looked sober.
"Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I
can't pay them, you know, till I have money, for
Marmee forbid my having anything charged at the shop."
"Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now?
It used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls;"
and Meg tried to keep her countenance, Amy looked
so grave and important.
"Why, you see, the girls are always buying them,
and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do
it, too. It's nothing but limes now, for every one is
sucking them in their desks in school-time, and
trading them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper dolls, or
something else, at recess. If one girl likes another,
she gives her a lime; if she's mad with her, she eats
one before her face, and don't offer even a suck.
They treat by turns; and I've had ever so many, but
haven't returned them, and I ought, for they are debts
of honor, you know."
"How much will pay them off, and restore your
credit?" asked Meg, taking out her purse.
"A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few
cents over for a treat for you. Don't you like limes?"
"Not much; you may have my share. Here's the
money,—make it last as long as you can, for it isn't
very plenty, you know."
"Oh, thank you! it must be so nice to have
pocket-money. I'll have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a
lime this week. I felt delicate about taking any, as I
couldn't return them, and I'm actually suffering for
one."
Next day Amy was rather late at school; but could
not resist the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown paper parcel, before she
consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk.
During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March
had got twenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on
the way), and was going to treat, circulated through
her "set," and the attentions of her friends became
quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her
next party on the spot; Mary Kingsley insisted on
lending her her watch till recess, and Jenny Snow, a
satirical young lady who had basely twitted Amy upon
her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet, and
offered to furnish answers to certain appalling sums.
But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow's cutting
remarks about "some persons whose noses were not too
flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people,
who were not too proud to ask for them;" and she
instantly crushed "that Snow girl's" hopes by the
withering telegram, "You needn't be so polite all of
a sudden, for you won't get any."
A distinguished personage happened to visit the
school that morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn
maps received praise, which honor to her foe rankled
in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to
assume the airs of a studious young peacock. But,
alas, alas! pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful
Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. No
sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments,
and bowed himself out, than Jenny, under pretence of
asking an important question, informed Mr. Davis,
the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in
her desk.
Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly vowed to publicly ferule the first
person who was found breaking the law. This
much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing gum after
a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the
confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a
private post-office, had forbidden distortions of the
face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that
one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious
girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human
patience, goodness knows! but girls are infinitely
more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with
tyrannical tempers, and no more talent for teaching than
"Dr. Blimber." Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek,
Latin, Algebra, and ologies of all sorts, so he was
called a fine teacher; and manners, morals, feelings,
and examples were not considered of any particular
importance. It was a most unfortunate moment for
denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis
had evidently taken his coffee too strong that
morning; there was an east wind, which always affected
his neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the
credit which he felt he deserved; therefore, to use the
expressive, if not elegant, language of a school-girl,
"he was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a
bear." The word "limes" was like fire to powder;
his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his desk
with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat
with unusual rapidity.
"Young ladies, attention, if you please!"
At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of
blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently
fixed upon his awful countenance.
"Miss March, come to the desk."
Amy rose to comply, with outward composure, but
a secret fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed
upon her conscience.
"Bring with you the limes you have in your desk,"
was the unexpected command which arrested her
before she got out of her seat.
"Don't take all," whispered her neighbor, a young
lady of great presence of mind.
Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the
rest down before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man
possessing a human heart would relent when that
delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr.
Davis particularly detested the odor of the fashionable
pickle, and disgust added to his wrath.
"Is that all?"
"Not quite," stammered Amy.
"Bring the rest, immediately."
With a despairing glance at her set she obeyed.
"You are sure there are no more?"
"I never lie, sir."
"So I see. Now take these disgusting things, two
by two, and throw them out of the window."
There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite
a little gust as the last hope fled, and the treat was
ravished from their longing lips. Scarlet with shame
and anger, Amy went to and fro twelve mortal times;
and as each doomed couple, looking, oh, so plump
and juicy! fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from
the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it
told them that their feast was being exulted over
by the little Irish children, who were their sworn foes. This—this was too much; all flashed
indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable Davis,
and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears.
As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis
gave a portentous "hem," and said, in his most
impressive manner,—
"Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a
week ago. I am sorry this has happened; but I never
allow my rules to be infringed, and I never break my
word. Miss March, hold out your hand."
Amy started, and put both hands behind her,
turning on him an imploring look, which pleaded for her
better than the words she could not utter. She was
rather a favorite with "old Davis," as, of course, he
was called, and it's my private belief that he would
have broken his word if the indignation of one
irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss.
That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible
gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
"Your hand, Miss March!" was the only answer
her mute appeal received; and, too proud to cry or
beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw back her head
defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling
blows on her little palm. They were neither many
nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For
the first time in her life she had been struck; and the
disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked
her down.
"You will now stand on the platform till recess,"
said Mr. Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly,
since he had begun.
That was dreadful; it would have been bad enough to go to her seat and see the pitying faces of her
friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies; but
to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon
her, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if
she could only drop down where she stood, and break
her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong, and
the thought of Jenny Snow, helped her to bear it; and,
taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on
the stove-funnel above what now seemed a sea of
faces, and stood there so motionless and white, that
the girls found it very hard to study, with that pathetic
little figure before them.
During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud
and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain
which she never forgot. To others it might seem a
ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard
experience; for during the twelve years of her life she had
been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort
had never touched her before. The smart of her hand,
and the ache of her heart, were forgotten in the sting
of the thought,—
"I shall have to tell at home, and they will be so
disappointed in me!"
The fifteen minutes seemed an hour; but they came
to an end at last, and the word "recess!" had never
seemed so welcome to her before.
"You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking,
as he felt, uncomfortable.
He did not soon forget the reproachful look Amy
gave him, as she went, without a word to any one,
straight into the anteroom, snatched her things, and
left the place "forever," as she passionately declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home;
and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an
indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March
did not say much, but looked disturbed, and comforted
her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner.
Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and
tears; Beth felt that even her beloved kittens would fail
as a balm for griefs like this, and Jo wrathfully
proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay, while
Hannah shook her fist at the "villain," and pounded
potatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle.
No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her
mates; but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that
Mr. Davis was quite benignant in the afternoon, also
unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo
appeared, wearing a grim expression, as she stalked up
to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother;
then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully
scraping the mud from her boots on the door-mat, as
if she shook the dust of the place off her feet.
"Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I
want you to study a little every day, with Beth," said
Mrs. March, that evening. "I don't approve of
corporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr.
Davis' manner of teaching, and don't think the girls
you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall
ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere
else."
"That's good! I wish all the girls would leave,
and spoil his old school. It's perfectly maddening to
think of those lovely limes," sighed Amy, with the air
of a martyr.
"I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the
rules, and deserved some punishment for
disobedience," was the severe reply, which rather
disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but
sympathy.
"Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before
the whole school?" cried Amy.
"I should not have chosen that way of mending a
fault," replied her mother; "but I'm not sure that it
won't do you more good than a milder method. You
are getting to be altogether too conceited and
important, my dear, and it is quite time you set about
correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and
virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for
conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much
danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked
long; even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and
using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm
of all power is modesty."
"So it is," cried Laurie, who was playing chess in
a corner with Jo. "I knew a girl, once, who had a
really remarkable talent for music, and she didn't
know it; never guessed what sweet little things she
composed when she was alone, and wouldn't have
believed it if any one had told her."
"I wish I'd known that nice girl, maybe she would
have helped me, I'm so stupid," said Beth, who stood
beside him, listening eagerly.
"You do know her, and she helps you better than
any one else could," answered Laurie, looking at her
with such mischievous meaning in his merry black
eyes, that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face in the sofa-cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery.
Jo let Laurie win the game, to pay for that praise of her Beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So Laurie did his best, and sung delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his character. When he was gone, Amy, who had been pensive all the evening, said, suddenly, as if busy over some new idea,—
"Is Laurie an accomplished boy?"
"Yes; he has had an excellent education, and has much talent; he will make a fine man, if not spoilt by petting," replied her mother.
"And he isn't conceited, is he?" asked Amy.
"Not in the least; that is why he is so charming, and we all like him so much."
"I see; it's nice to have accomplishments, and be elegant; but not to show off, or get perked up," said Amy, thoughtfully.
"These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner and conversation, if modestly used; but it is not necessary to display them," said Mrs. March.
"Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets, and gowns, and ribbons, at once, that folks may know you've got 'em," added Jo; and the lecture ended in a laugh.