 Shoes and Stockings. A collection of short stories by Louisa May Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Carolyn Francis. A Country Christmas. Part 2 by Louisa May Alcott. As if drawn by the merry sound, Aunt Plummy appeared, and being established in the rocking chair fell to talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years. Laugh away, young folks. That's better for digestion than any of the messes people use. Are you troubled with dyspepsy, dear? You didn't seem to take your vitals very hardy, so I mistrusted you was delicate. I said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks and weary eyes told the story of late hours and a gay life. I haven't eaten so much for years, I assure you, Mrs. Bassett, but it was impossible to taste all your good things. I'm not dysphastic, thank you, but a little seedy and tired, for I've been working rather hard lately. Are you a teacher, or have you a professon, as they call a trade nowadays? Asked the old lady in a tone of kindly interest, which prevented a laugh at the idea of Emily's being anything but a beauty and a bell. The others kept their countenances with difficulty, and she answered demurely, I have no trade as yet, but I dare say I should be happier if I had. Not a doubt on it, my dear. What would you recommend, ma'am? I should say dress-making was rather in your line, ain't it? Your clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you credit if you made them yourself? And Aunt Plummy surveyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of the travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a French modiste. No, ma'am, I don't make my own things, I'm too lazy. It takes so much time and trouble to select them that I have only strength left to wear them. Housekeeping used to be the favourite professon in my day. It ain't fashionable now, but it needs a sight of training to be perfect in all that's required, and I have an idea it would be a sight healthier and usefuler than the painting and music and fancy work young women do nowadays. But everyone wants some beauty in their lives, and each one has a different sphere to fill, if one can only find it. Piers to me there's no call for so much art when natter is full of beauty for them that can see and love it. As for spears and so on, I have a notion if each of us did up our own little chores smart and thorough we needn't go wandering round to set the world to rights. That's the Lord's job, and I presume to say he can do it without any advice of arne. Something in the homely but true words seemed to rebuke the three listeners for wasted lives, and for a moment there was no sound but the crackle of the fire. The brisk click of the old lady's knitting needles, and Ruth's voice singing overhead as she made ready to join the party below. To judge by that sweet sound you have done at one of your chores very beautifully, Mrs. Bassett, and in spite of the follies of our day, succeeded in keeping one girl healthy, happy, and unspoiled, said Emily, looking up into the peaceful old face with her own lovely one full of respect and envy. I do hope so, for she's my you-lam, the last of four dear little girls. All the rest are in the burying-ground side of father. I don't expect to keep her long, and don't ought to regret when I lose her, for Saul is the best of sons, but daughters is more to mothers somehow, and I always yearn over girls that is left without a brood and wing to keep them safe and warm in this world of tribulation. Aunt Plummy laid her hand on Sophie's head as she spoke with such a motherly look that both girls drew nearer and Randall resolved to put her in a book without delay. Presently, Saul returned with little Ruth hanging on his arm and shyly nestling near him as he took the three-cornered leathered chair in the chimney nook while she sat on a stool close by. Now the circle is complete and the picture perfect. Don't like the lamps yet, please, but talk away and let me make a mental study of you. I seldom find so charming a scene to paint," said Randall, beginning to enjoy himself immensely with a true artist's taste for novelty and effect. Tell us about your book, for we have been reading it as it comes out in the magazine and are much exercised about how it's going to end," began Saul, gallantly throwing himself into the breach, for a momentary embarrassment fell upon the women at the idea of sitting for their portraits before they were ready. Do you really read my poor cereal up here? And do me the honour to like it, asked the novelist, both flattered and amused, for his work was of the aesthetic sort, microscopic studies of character and careful pictures of modern life. Sakes alive! Why shouldn't we? cried Aunt Plummy. We have some education, though we ain't very genteel. We've got a town library, kept up by the women mostly, with fairs and tea parties and so on. We have all the magazines regular, and Saul reads out the pieces while Ruth sews and I knit, my eyes being poor. Our winter is long, and evenings would be kinder lonesome if we didn't have novels and newspapers to cheer him up. I'm very glad I can help to beguile them for you. Now tell me what you honestly think of my work. Criticism is always valuable, and I should really like yours, Mrs. Bassett," said Randall, wondering what the good woman would make of the delicate analysis and worldly wisdom on which he prided himself. Short work, as Aunt Plummy soon showed him, for she rather enjoyed freeing her mind at all times, and decidedly resented the insinuation that countryfolk could not appreciate light literature as well as city people. I ain't no great of a judge about anything but naturalness of books, and it really does seem as if some of your men and women was dreadful and comfortable critters. Piers to me it ain't wise to be always picking ourselves to pieces and prying into things that ought to come gradual by way of experience and the visitations of Providence. Flowers won't blow worth a cent if you pull them open. Better wait and see what they can do alone. I do relish the smart sayings, the odd ways of fur and parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folks' weak spots. But, messy nose, we can't live on Spice Cake and Charlotte Roosh, and I do feel as if books was more sustained enough they was full of everyday people and things, like good bread and butter. Them that goes to the heart and ain't soon forgotten is the kind of hanker for. Miss Terry's books now, and Miss Stowe's, and Dickens' Christmas pieces. Them is real sweet and jeering to my mind. As the blunt old lady paused, it was evident she had produced a sensation. For Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth looked dismayed at this assault upon one of her idols, and the young ladies were both astonished and amused at the keenness of the new critic who dared express what they had often felt. Randall, however, was quite composed and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly feeling as if a pail of cold water had been poured over him. Many thanks, madam. You have discovered my weak point with surprising accuracy, but you see I cannot help picking folks to pieces as you have expressed it. That is my gift, and it has its attractions, as the sale of my books will testify. People like the Spice Bread, and as that is the only sort my oven will bake, I must keep on in order to make my living. So rum-sellers say, but it ain't a good trade to follow, and I'd chop wood for I'd earn my live and harm in my fellow man. Peers to me, I'd let my oven cool a spell and hunt up some homely happy folks to write about. Folks that don't borrow trouble and go looking for holes in their neighbor's coats, but take their lives brave and cheerful. And rememberin' we are all human, have pity on the weak, and try to be as full of mercy, patience, and lovin' kindness as him who made us. That sort of a book would do a heap of good, be real warmin' and strengthening, and make them that read it love the man that wrote it, and remember him when he was dead and gone. I wish I could, and Randall meant what he said, for he was as tired of his own style as a watchmaker might be of the magnifying glass through which he strains his eyes all day. He knew that the heart was left out of his work, and that both mind and soul were growing morbid with dwelling on the faulty, absurd, and metaphysical phases of life and character. He often threw down his pen, vowed he would write no more, but he loved ease, and the books brought money readily. He was accustomed to the stimulant of praise and missed it as a topper misses his wine, so that which had once been a pleasure to himself and others was fast becoming a burden and a disappointment. The brief pause which followed his involuntary betrayal of discontent was broken by Ruth, who exclaimed, with a girlish enthusiasm, that overpowered girlish bashfulness, I think all the novels are splendid. I hope you will write hundreds more, and I shall live to read them. Bravo, my gentle champion! I promise that I will write one more at least, and have a heroine in it whom your mother will both admire and love. Answered Randall, surprised to find how grateful he was for the girl's approval, and how rapidly his trained fancy began to paint the background on which he hoped to copy this fresh, human daisy. Abashed by her involuntary outburst, Ruth tried to face herself behind Saul's broad shoulder, and he brought the conversation back to its starting point by saying in a tone of the most sincere interest, Speaking of the serial, I am very anxious to know how your hero comes out. He's a fine fellow, and I can't decide whether he is going to spoil his life marrying that silly woman, or do something grand and generous, and not be made a fool of. Upon my Saul, I don't know myself. It is very hard to find new finales. Can't you suggest something major? And then I shall not be obliged to leave my story without an end, as people complained I am rather fond of doing. Well, no, I don't think I have anything to offer. Seems to me it isn't the sensational exploits that show the hero best, but some great sacrifice quietly made by a common sort of man who is noble without knowing it. I saw a good many such during the war, and often wish I could write them down, for it is surprising how much courage, goodness, and real piety is stowed away in common folks, ready to show when the right time comes. Tell us of them, and I'll bless you for a hint. No one knows the anguish of an author's spirit when he can't ring down the curtain on an effective tableau, said Randall, with a glance at his friends to ask their aid in eliciting an anecdote or reminiscence. Tell about the splendid fellow who had the bridge, like Coratius, till help came. That was a thrilling story, I assure you, answered Sophie with an inviting smile. But Saul would not be his own hero, and said briefly, Any man can be brave when the battle fever is on him, and it only takes a little physical courage to dash ahead. He paused a moment, with his eyes on the snowy landscape without, where twilight was deepening. Then, as if constrained by the memory that winter scene evoked, he slowly continued. One of the bravest things I ever knew was done by a poor fellow who had been a hero to me ever since, though I only met him that night. It was after one of the big battles of that last winter, and I was knocked over with a broken leg and two or three bullets here and there. Night was coming on, snow falling, and a sharp wind blew over the field where a lot of us lay, dead and alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and pick us up. There was a skirmishing going on not far off, and our prospects were rather poor between frost and fire. I was calculating how I'd manage when I found two poor chaps close by who were worse off, so I braced up and did what I could for them. One had an arm blown away, and kept up a dreadful groaning. The other was shot bad, and bleeding to death for want of help, but never complained. He was nearest, and I liked his pluck, for he spoke cheerful and made me ashamed to growl. Sometimes make dreadful brutes of men, if they haven't something to hold on to. And all three of us were most wild with pain and cold and hunger, for we'd fought all day fasting, when we heard a rumble in the road below, and saw lanterns bobbing round. That meant life to us, and we all tried to holler. Two of us were pretty faint, but I managed a good yell and they heard it. Room for one more, hard luck, old boys, but we are full and must save the worst wounded first. Take a drink and hold on till we come back, says one of them, with the stretcher. Here's the one to go, I says, pointing out my man, for I saw by the light that he was hard hit. Know that one, he's got more chances than I, or this one, he's young and got a mother. I'll wait, said the good feller, touching my arm, for he'd heard me muttering to myself about this dear old lady. We always want mother when we are down, you know. Saul's eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance of tenderest affection, and Aunt Plummy answered with a dismal groan at the recollection of his need that night and her absence. Well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken and my man left. I was mad, but there was no time for talk, and the selfish one went off and left that poor feller to run his one chance. I had my rifle, and guessed I could hobble up to use it if need be. So we settled back to wait without much hope of help, everything being in a muddle, and wait we did till morning, for that ambulance did not come back till next day when most of us were past needing it. I'll never forget that night. I'd dream it all over again as plain as if it was real. Snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all round us cries and cursing, growing less and less till, and last only the wind went moaning over that meadow. It was awful, so lonesome, helpless, and seemingly God forsaken. Hour after hour we lay there side by side under one coat, waiting to be saved or die, for the wind grew strong and we grew weak. Saul drew a long breath and held his hands to the fire as if he felt again the sharp suffering of that night. And the man asked Emily, softly, as if reluctant to break the silence. He was a man. In times like that men talk like brothers and show what they are, lying there, slowly freezing. Joe Cummings told me about his wife and babies, his old folks waiting for him, all depending on him, yet all ready to give him up when he was needed. A plain man, but honest and true, and loving as a woman. I soon saw that he went on talking, half to me and half to himself, for sometimes he wandered a little toward the end. I've read books, heard sermons, and seen good folks. But nothing ever came so close or did me so much good as seeing this man die. He had one chance and gave it cheerfully. He longed for those he loved and let him go with a goodbye they couldn't hear. He suffered all the pains we most shrink from without a murmur, and kept my heart warm while his own was growing cold. It's no use trying to tell that part of it. But I heard prayers that night that meant something, and I saw how faith could hold a soul up when everything was gone but God. Saul stopped there with a sudden huskiness in his deep voice, and when he went on it was in the tone of one who speaks of a dear friend. Joe grew still by and by, and I thought he was asleep, for I felt his breath when I tucked him up and his hand held on to mine. The cold sort of numbed me, and I dropped off, too weak and stupid to think or feel. I never should have waked up if it hadn't been for Joe. When I came to it was morning, and I thought I was dead, for all I could see was that great field of white mountains like graves and a splendid sky above. Then I looked for Joe, remembering, but he had put my coat back over me, and lay stiff and still under the snow that covered him like a shroud, all except his face. A bit of my cape had blown over it, and when I took it off and the sun shone on his dead face, I declared to you it was so full of heavenly peace. I felt as if that common man had been glorified by God's light and rewarded by God's well-done. That's all. No one spoke for a moment, while the women wiped their eyes and Saul dropped his as if to hide something softer than tears. It was very noble, very touching. And you? How did you get off at last? asked Randall, with real admiration and respect in his usually languid face. Crawled off, answered Saul, relapsing into his former brevity of speech. Why not before and save yourself all that misery? Couldn't leave Joe. Ah, I see. There were two heroes that night. Dozens, I've no doubt. Those were times that made heroes of men and women, too. Tell us more! begged Emily. Looking up with an expression none of her admirers ever brought to her face by their softest compliments or wileest gossip. I've done my part. It's Mr. Randall's turn now. And Saul drew himself out of the ruddy circle of firelight as if ashamed of the prominent part he was playing. Sophie and her friend had often heard Randall talk, for he was an accomplished reconteur. But that night he exerted himself and was unusually brilliant in entertaining, as if upon his metal. The bastards were charmed. They sat late and were very merry. For Aunt Plummy got up a little supper for them, and her cider was as exhilarating as champagne. When they parted for the night and Sophie kissed her aunt, Emily did the same, saying heartily, It seems as if I'd known you all my life, and this is certainly the most enchanting old place that ever was. Glad you like it, dear, but it ain't all fun, as you'll find out tomorrow when you go to work, for Sophie says you must. Answered Mrs. Bassett, as her guests trooped away, rashly promising to like everything. End of Part 2 Shoes and Stockings A collection of short stories by Louisa May Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Carolyn Francis. A Country Christmas Part 3 by Louisa May Alcott. They found it difficult to keep their word when they were called at half past six next morning. Their rooms were warm, however, and they managed to scramble down in time for breakfast, guided by the fragrance of coffee, and Aunt Plummy's shrill voice singing the good old hymn, Lord in the morning thou shalt hear my voice ascending high. An open fire blazed on the hearth, for the cooking was done in the lean-to, and the spacious sunny kitchen was kept in all its old-fashioned perfection, with the wooden settle in a warm nook, the tall clock behind the door, copper and pewter utensils shining on the dresser, old china in the corner closet, and a little spinning wheel rescued from the garret by Sophie to adorn the deep window full of scarlet geraniums, Christmas roses, and white chrysanthemums. The young lady, in a checkered apron and mop cap, greeted her friends with a dish of buckwheats in one hand and a pair of cheeks that proved she had been learning to fry these delicate cakes. You do keep it up in earnest upon my word, and very becoming it is, dear, but won't you ruin your complexion and roughen your hands if you do so much of this new fancy work?" asked Emily, much amazed at this novel freak. I like it, and really believe I've found my proper sphere at last. Domestic life seems so pleasant to me that I feel as if I'd better keep it up for the rest of my life, answered Sophie, making a pretty picture of herself as she cut great slices of brown bread with the early sunshine touching her happy face. The charming Miss Vaughn, in the role of a farmer's wife, I find it difficult to imagine and shrink from the thought of the widespread dismay such a fate will produce among her adorers, added Randall, as he bathed in the glow of the hospitable fire. She might do worse, but come to breakfast and do honour to my handiwork, said Sophie, thinking of her worn-out millionaire and rather netdled by the satiric smile on Randall's lips. What an appetite early rising gives one! I feel equal to almost anything, so let me help wash cups, said Emily, with unusual energy when the hearty meal was over and Sophie began to pick up the dishes as if it was her usual work. Ruth went to the window to water the flowers and Randall followed to make himself agreeable, remembering her defence of him last night. He was used to admiration from feminine eyes and flattery from soft lips, but found something new and charming in the innocent delight which showed itself at his approach in blushes more eloquent than words and shy glances from eyes full of hero worship. I hope you are going to spare me a posy for tomorrow night since I can be fine in no other way to do honour to the dance Miss Sophie proposes for us, he said, leaning in the bay window to look down on the little girl with the devoted air he usually wore for pretty women. Anything you like! I should be so glad to have you wear my flowers. There will be enough for all and I have nothing else to give to people who have made me as happy as cousin Sophie and you, answered Ruth, half drowning her great cala as she spoke with grateful warmth. You must make her happy by accepting the invitation to go home with her, which I heard given last night. A peep at the world would do you good and be a pleasant change, I think. Oh, very pleasant, but would it do me good? And Ruth looked up with sudden seriousness in her blue eyes as a child questions an elder, eager, get wistful. Why not? asked Randall, wondering at the hesitation. I might grow discontented with things here if I saw splendid houses and find people. I am very happy now, and it would break my heart to lose that happiness or ever learn to be ashamed of home. But don't you long for more pleasure, new scenes and other friends than these? asked the man, touched by the little creature's loyalty to the things she knew and loved. Often, but mother says when I'm ready they will come, so I wait and try not to be impatient. But Ruth's eyes looked out over the green leaves as if the longing was very strong within her to see more of the unknown world lying beyond the mountains that hemmed her in. It is natural for birds to hop out of the nest, so I shall expect to see you over there before long and ask you how you enjoy your first flight," said Randall, in a paternal tone that had a curious effect on Ruth. To his surprise she laughed, then blushed like one of her own roses and answered with a demure dignity that was very pretty to see. I intend to hop soon, but it won't be a very long flight or very far from mother. She can't spare me, and nobody in the world can fill her place to me. Bless the child, does she think I'm going to make love to her, thought Randall, much amused but quite mistaken. Wiser women had thought so when he assumed the caressing air with which he beguiled them into the little revelations of character he liked to use, as the south wind makes flowers open their hearts to give up their odor, and leaves them to carry it elsewhere, the more welcome for the stolen sweetness. Perhaps you are right. The maternal wing is a safe shelter for confiding little souls like you, Miss Ruth. You will be as comfortable here as your flowers in this sunny window," he said, carelessly pinching geranium leaves and ruffling the roses till the pink petals of the largest flutter to the floor. As if she instinctively felt and resented something in the man which his act symbolized, the girl answered quietly as she went on with her work. Yes, if the frost does not touch me, or careless people spoil me too soon. Before Randall could reply, Aunt Plummy approached like a maternal hen who sees her chicken in danger. Saul is going to haul wood after he's done his chores. Maybe you'd like to go along? The view is good, the roads well broke, and the day uncommon fine. Thanks! It will be delightful, I daresay," politely responded the lion with a secret shutter at the idea of a rural promenade at 8 a.m. in the winter. Come on, then! We'll feed the stalk, and then I'll show you how to yoke oxen," said Saul, with a twinkle in his eye as he led the way when his new aide had muffled himself up as if for a polar voyage. Now that's too bad of Saul. He did it on purpose, just to please you, Sophie, cried Ruth presently, and the girls ran to the window to behold Randall bravely following his host with a pail of pigs' food in each hand and an expression of resigned disgust upon his aristocratic face. To what base use may we come? quoted Emily, as they all nodded and smiled upon the victim as he looked back from the barnyard where he was clamorously welcomed by his new charges. He is rather a shock at first, but it will do him good, and Saul won't be too hard upon him, I'm sure," said Sophie, going back to her work while Ruth turned her best buds to the sun that they might be ready for a peace offering to-morrow. There was a merry clatter in the big kitchen for an hour. Then Aunt Plummy and her daughter shut themselves up in the pantry to some culinary rites, and the young ladies went to inspect certain antique costumes laid forth in Sophie's room. You see, Aunt, I thought it would be appropriate to the house and season to have an old-fashioned dance. Aunt has quantities of ancient finery stowed away, for great-grandfather Basset was a fine old gentleman, and his family lived in state. Take your choice of the crimson, blue or silver-gray damask. Ruth is to wear the worked muslin and quilted white satin skirt, with that coquettish hat. Being dark, I'll take the red and trim it up with this fine lace. You must wear the blue and primrose with the distracting high-heeled shoes. Have you any suits for the men?" asked Emily, throwing herself at once into the all-absorbing matter of costume. A claret velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, cocked hat, and snuffbox for Randall. Nothing large enough for Saul, so he must wear his uniform. Won't Aunt Plummy be superb in this plum-colored satin and immense cap? A delightful morning was spent in adapting the faded finery of the past to the blooming beauty of the present, and time and tongues flew till the toot of a horn called them down to dinner. The girls were amazed to see Randall come whistling up the road with his trousers tucked into his boots, blue mittens on his hands, and an unusual amount of energy in his whole figure as he drove the oxen, while Saul laughed at his vain attempts to guide the wildered beasts. It's immense! The view from the hill is well worth seeing, for the snow glorifies the landscape and reminds one of Switzerland. I'm going to make a sketch of it this afternoon. Better come and enjoy the delicious freshness, young ladies. Randall was eating with such an appetite that he did not see the glances the girls exchanged as they promised to go. Bring home some more winter-green. I want things to be real nice, and we haven't enough for the kitchen," said Ruth, dimpling with girlish delight as she imagined herself dancing under the green garlands in her grandmother's wedding gown. It was very lovely on the hill. For far as the eye could reach lay the wintry landscape sparkling with the brief beauty of sunshine on virgin snow. Pine side overhead, hardy birds flitted to and fro, and in all the trodden spots rose the little spires of evergreen ready for its Christmas duty. Deeper in the wood sounded the measured ring of axes, the crash of falling trees, while the red shirts of the men added color to the scene, and a fresh wind brought the aromatic breath of newly cloven hemlock and pine. How beautiful it is! I never knew before what winter woods were like. Did you, Sophie? asked Emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy the novel pleasure at her ease. I found out lately, Saul lets me come as often as I like, and this fine air seems to make a new creature of me. Answered Sophie, looking about her with sparkling eyes as if this was a kingdom where she reigned supreme. Something is making a new creature of you. That is very evident. I haven't yet discovered whether it is the air or some magic herb among that green stuff you are gathering so diligently. And Emily laughed to see the color deepen beautifully in her friend's half averted face. Scarlet is the only wear just now, I find. If we are lost like babes in the woods, there are plenty of red breasts to cover us with leaves. And Randall joined Emily's laugh with a glance at Saul who had just pulled his coat off. You wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from under and I'll show you how it's done, said the farmer, taking up his axe, not unwilling to gratify his guests and display his manly accomplishments at the same time. It was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his axe with magnificent strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the stately tree till its heart was reached and it tottered to its fall. Now pausing for breath Saul shook his yellow mane out of his eyes and hewed away while the drop stood on his forehead and his arm ached as bent on distinguishing himself as if he had been a knight tilting against his rival for his lady's favor. I don't know which to admire most, the man or his muscle. One doesn't often see such vigor, size and comeliness in these degenerate days, said Randall, mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt. I think we have discovered a rough diamond. I only wonder if Sophie is going to try and polish it? Answered Emily, glancing at her friend who stood a little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as intently as if her fate depended on it. Down rushed the tree at last and, leaving them to examine a crow's nest in its branches, Saul went off to his men as if he found the praises of his prowess rather too much for him. Randall fell to sketching, the girls to their garland making and for a little while the sunny woodland nook was full of lively chat and pleasant laughter for the air exhilarated them all like wine. Suddenly a man came running from the wood, pale and anxious saying as he hastened by for help. Blasted tree fell on him, bleed to death before the doctor comes. Who, who? cried the startled trio. But the man ran on with some breathless reply in which only a name was audible. Basset. The deuce it is! And Randall dropped his pencil while the girls sprang up in dismay. Then with one impulse they hastened to the distant group, half visible behind the fallen trees in corded wood. Sophie was there first and forcing her way through the little crowd of men, saw a red-shirted figure on the ground, crushed and bleeding, and threw herself down beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of those who heard it. In the act she saw it was not Saul and covered her bewildered face as if to hide its joy. A strong arm lifted her and the familiar voice said cheeringly. I'm all right, dear. Poor Bruce is hurt. But we've sent for help. Better go right home and forget all about it. Yes, I will if I can do nothing. And Sophie meekly returned to her friends who stood outside the circle over which Saul's head towered, assuring them of his safety. Hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led Emily away, leaving Randall to give what aid he could and bring them news of the poor woodchopper's state. Aunt Plummy produced the camphor the moment she saw Sophie's pale face and made her lie down, while the brave old lady trudged briskly off with bandages and brandy to the scene of action. On her return she brought comfortable news of the man, so the little flurry blew over and was forgotten by all but Sophie, who remained pale and quiet all the evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it. A good night's sleep will set her up. She ain't used to such things, dear child, and needs Cussadin,' said Aunt Plummy, purring over her until she was in her bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herb tea to quiet her nerves. An hour later, when Emily went up, she peeped in to see if Sophie was sleeping nicely and was surprised to find the infallid wrapped in a dressing-gown, riding busily. Last will and testament was sudden inspiration, dear. How are you? Faint or feverish, delirious or in the dumps? Saul looked so anxious and Mrs. Bassett hushed us all up so. I came to bed, leaving Randall to entertain Ruth. As she spoke, Emily saw the papers disappear in a portfolio, and Sophie rose with a yawn. I was writing letters, but I'm sleepy now. Quite over my foolish fright, thank you. Go and get your beauty sleep that you may dazzle the natives tomorrow. So glad. Good night. And Emily went away, saying to herself, Something is going on, and I must find out what it is before I leave. Sophie can't blind me. But Sophie did all the next day, being delightfully gay at the dinner, devoting herself to the young minister who was invited to meet the distinguished novelist, and evidently, being afraid of him, gladly bathed in the smiles of his charming neighbor. A dashing sleigh-ride occupied the afternoon, and then great was the fun and excitement over the costumes. Aunt Plummy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks as the girls compressed her into the plum-colored gown with its short waist, leg of mutton sleeves, and narrow skirt. But a worked scarf hid all the deficiencies, and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the most frivolous observer. Keep an eye on me, girls, for I shall certainly split somewhere or lose my headpiece off when I'm trotting round. What would my blessed mother say if she could see me rigged out in her best things? And with a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look after the boys and see that the supper was all right. LibriVox.org Recording by Carolyn Francis A Country Christmas Part 4 by Louisa May Alcott Three prettier damsels never trip down the wide staircase than the brilliant brunette in Crimson Brookade, the pensive blonde in blue, or the rosy little bride in old muslin and white satin. A gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with a superb bow and escorted them to the parlor, where Grandma Bassett's ghost was discovered dancing with a modern major in full uniform. Mutual admiration and many compliments followed till other ancient ladies and gentlemen arrived in all manner of queer costumes, and the old house seemed to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music and merriment, as if a past generation had returned to keep its Christmas there. The village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, and then the strangers saw dancing that filled them with mingled mirth and envy. It was so droll, yet so hearty. The young men, unusually awkward in their grandfather's knee-bridges, flapping vests and swallow-tailed coats, footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were the prettier for their quaintness, and danced with such vigor that their high combs stood awry, their furblows waved wildly, and their cheeks were as red as their breast knots or hose. It was impossible to stand still, and one after the other the city folk yielded to the spell, Randall leading off with Ruth, Sophie swept away by Saul, and Emily being taken possession of by a young giant of eighteen, who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that took her breath away. Even Aunt Plummy was discovered jigging it alone in the pantry, as if the music was too much for her, and the plates and glasses jingled gaily on the shelves in time to monkey musk and Fisher's hornpipe. A pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, heated brows were wiped, jokes were made, lovers exchanged confidences, and every nook and corner held a man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is never out of fashion. There was a glitter of gold lace in the back entry and a train of blue and primrose shown in the dim light. There was a richer crimson than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and a dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as the brilliant black eyes looked everywhere for the court gentlemen, while their owner listened to the gruff prattle of an enamored boy. But in the upper hall walked a little white ghost as if waiting for some shadowy companion, and when a dark form appeared ran to take its arm saying in a tone of soft satisfaction, I was so afraid you wouldn't come. Why did you leave me, Ruth? answered a manly voice in a tone of surprise, though the small hand slipping from the velvet coat sleeve was placed as if it was pleasant to feel it there. A pause, and then the other voice answered demurely, because I was afraid my head would be turned by the fine things you were saying. It is impossible to help saying what one feels to such an artless little creature as you are. It does me good to admire anything so fresh and sweet and won't harm you. It might, if—if what, my Daisy? I believed it, and a laugh seemed to finish the broken sentence better than the words. You may, Ruth, for I do sincerely admire the most genuine girl I have seen for a long time, and walking here with you in your bridal white, I was just asking myself if I should not be a happier man with a home of my own and a little wipe hanging on my arm than drifting about the world as I do now with only myself to care for. I know you would, and Ruth spoke so earnestly that Randall was both touched and startled, fearing he had ventured too far in a mood of unwanted sentiment, born of the romance of the hour and the sweet frankness of his companion. Then you don't think it would be rash for some sweet woman to take me in hand and make me happy since fame is a failure? Oh, no! It would be easy work if she loved you. I know someone if I only dared to tell her name. Upon my soul this is cool, and Randall looked down, wondering if the audacious lady on his arm could be shy Ruth. If he had seen the malicious merriment in her eyes, he would have been more humiliated still, but they were modestly averted, and the face under the little hat was full of a soft agitation, rather dangerous even to a man of the world. She is a captivating little creature, but it is too soon for anything but a mild flirtation. I must delay further innocent revelations, or I shall do something rash. While making this excellent resolution, Randall had been pressing the hand upon his arm and gently pacing down the dimly lighted hall with the sound of music in his ears, Ruth's sweetest roses in his buttonhole, and a loving little girl beside him as he thought. You shall tell me by and by when we are in town. I'm sure you will come, and meanwhile don't forget me. I'm going in the spring, but I shall not be with Sophie, answered Ruth in a whisper. With whom, then? I shall long to see you. With my husband. I am to be married in May. The deuce you are, escaped Randall, as he stopped short to stare at his companion. Sure, she was not in earnest. But she was, for as he looked, the sound of steps coming up the back stairs made her whole face flush and brighten with the unmistakable glow of happy love. And she completed Randall's astonishment by running into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irrepressible laugh, Oh, John, why didn't you come before? The court, gentlemen, was all right in a moment, and the coolest of the three, as he offered his congratulations and gracefully retired, leaving the lovers to enjoy the trist he had delayed. But as he went downstairs, his brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing smartly with his cocked hat, as if some irritation must find vent in a more energetic way than merely saying, Confound the little baggage under his breath. Such an amazing supper came from Aunt Plummy's big pantry that the city guests could not eat for laughing at the queer dishes circulating through the rooms and copiously partaken of by the hearty young folks. Donuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and French bonbons, Sophie's contribution. May I offer you the native delicacies and share your plate? Both are very good, but the china has run short, and after such vigorous exercise as you have had, you must need refreshment. I'm sure I do, said Randall, bowing before Emily, with a great blue platter laden with two donuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie, and two spoons. The smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity with which she made room beside her, and seemed to enjoy the supper he brought, was so soothing to his ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is no friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to name a sweet woman who would take him in hand and would make him happy if he cared to ask her, and he began to think he would buy and buy. It was so pleasant to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson brocade flowing over his feet and a fine face softening beautifully under his eyes. The supper was not romantic, but the situation was, and Emily found that pie-embrosial food eaten with the man she loved, whose eyes talked more eloquently than the tongue, just then busy with a donut. Ruth kept away, but glanced at them as she served her company, and her own happy experience helped her to see that all was going well in that quarter. Saul and Sophie emerged from the back entry with shining countenances, but carefully avoided each other for the rest of the evening. No one observed this but Aunt Plummy from the recesses of her pantry, and she folded her hands as if well content, as she murmured fervently over a pan full of crawlers, bless the deers, now I can die happy. Everyone thought Sophie's old-fashioned dress immensely becoming, and several of his former men said to Saul with blunt admiration, major, you look tonight as you used to after we'd gained a big battle. I feel as if I had, answered the splendid major, with eyes much brighter than his buttons, and a heart under them infinitely prouder than when he was promoted on the field of honour, for his waterloo was one. There was more dancing, followed by games, in which Aunt Plummy shone preeminent, for the supper was off her mind, and she could enjoy herself. There were shouts of merriment, as the blith old lady twirled the platter, hunted the squirrel, and went to Jerusalem like a girl of sixteen, her cap in a ruinous condition, and every seam of the purple dress straining like sails in a gale. It was great fun, but at midnight it came to an end, and the young folks still bubbling over with innocent jollity went jingling away along the snowy hills, unanimously pronouncing Mrs. Bassett's party the best of the season. Never had such a good time in my life, exclaimed Sophie, as the family stood together in the kitchen where the candles among the wreaths were going out, and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past joy. I'm proper glad, dear. Now you all go to bed, and lay as late as you like tomorrow. I'm so kinder worked up I couldn't sleep, so Saul and me will put things to rights without a might of noise to disturb you, and Aunt Plummy sent them off with a smile that was a benediction, Sophie thought. That dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an unheard of hour for Christians to be up. What would she say if she knew how we seldom go to bed till dawn in the ball-season? I'm so wide awake I've half a mind to pack a little. Randall must go at two, he says, and we shall want his escort," said Emily, as the girls laid away their brocades in the press in Sophie's room. I'm not going. Aunt can't spare me, and there is nothing to go for yet," answered Sophie, beginning to take the white chrysanthemums out of her pretty hair. My dear child, you will dive on we up here. Very nice for a week or so, but frightful for a winter. We are going to be very gay, and cannot get on without you," cried Emily, dismayed at the suggestion. You will have to, for I'm not coming. I am very happy here, and so tired of the frivolous life I lead in town, that I have decided to try a better one. And Sophie's mirror reflected a face full of the sweetest content. Have you lost your mind, experienced religion, or any other dreadful thing? You always were odd, but this last freak is the strangest of all. What will your guardians say, and the world? added Emily in the awe-stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent Mrs. Grundy. Guardie will be glad to be rid of me, and I don't care that for the world, cried Sophie, snapping her fingers with a joyful sort of recklessness, which completed Emily's bewilderment. But, Mr. Hammond, are you going to throw away millions, lose your chance of making the best match in the city, and driving the girls of our set out of their wits with envy? Sophie laughed at her friend's despairing cry, and turning round said quietly, I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this evening received my reward for being an honest girl. Saul and I are to be married in the spring when Ruth is. Emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement was too much for her, but was up again in an instant to declare with prophetic solemnity. I knew something was going on, but hoped to get you away before you were lost. Sophie, you will repent, be warned, and forget this sad delusion. Too late for that, the pang I suffered yesterday when I thought Saul was dead showed me how well I loved him. Tonight he asked me to stay, and no power in the world can part us. Oh, Emily, it is all so sweet, so beautiful that everything is possible, and I know I shall be happy in this dear old home full of love and peace and honest hearts. I only hope you may find as true and tender a man to live for as my Saul. Sophie's face was more eloquent than her fervent words, and Emily beautifully illustrated the inconsistency of her sex by suddenly embracing her friend with the incoherent exclamation, I think I have, dear. Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old homons, and I do believe you are right. It is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn by the irresistible magic of sympathy, Ruth and her mother crept in one by one to join the midnight conference and add their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud delight to the joys of that memorable hour. Nor how Saul, unable to sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting Randall prowling down to soothe his nerves with a surreptitious cigar, found it impossible to help confiding to his attentive ear the happiness that would break bounds and overflow in unusual eloquence. Peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as if some magic herb had touched their eyelids, bringing blissful dreams and a glad awakening. Can't we persuade you to come with us, Miss Sophie? asked Randall next day, as they made their adieu. I'm under orders now, and dare not disobey my superior officer, answered Sophie, handing her major his driving-gloves with a look which plainly showed that she had joined the great army of devoted women who enlist for life and ask no pay but love. I shall depend on being invited to your wedding, then. And yours, too, Miss Ruth, added Randall, shaking hands with the little baggage, as if he had quite forgiven her mockery and forgotten his own brief laughs into sentiment. Before she could reply, Aunt Plummy said, in a tone of calm conviction that made them all laugh, and some of them looked conscience. Spring is a good time for weddings, and I shouldn't wonder if there was quite a number. Nor I, and Saul and Sophie, smiled at one another as they saw how carefully Randall arranged Emily's raps. Then, with kisses, thanks, and all the good wishes that happy hearts could imagine, the guests drove away to remember long and gratefully that pleasant country Christmas. End of Part Four. End of A Country Christmas by Louisa May Alcott. Shoes and Stockings, a collection of short stories by Louisa May Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Carolyn Francis. My Red Cap, Part One, by Louisa May Alcott. He who serves well need not fear to ask his wages. It was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe Collins. In the third year of the late war, a main regiment was passing through Boston on its way to Washington. The common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to say Godspeed as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for our sakes. Everyone was eager to do something and as the men stood at ease, the people mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand and hopeful prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, my boy Tom and I drew near and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit stands in our neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations, peanuts and prayers, apples and applesauce in one enthusiastic jumble. While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away. All the men were fine stalwart fellows as main men usually are, but this one overtopped his comrades, standing straight and tall as a Norway pine with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked the look of him and seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple with a word of interest. The keen blue eyes met mine gratefully and the apple began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked, for no one thought of ceremony at such a time. Where are you from? Woolage, ma'am. Are you glad to go? While there's two sides to that question, I calculate to do my duty and do it hardy, but it is rough on a feller leaving his folks for good, maybe. There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not appleskins, though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would comfort him, so I went on with my questions. Is it very hard? Do you leave a family? My old mother, a sick brother, and Lucindi. The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret and his brown cheek reddened as he added hastily to hide some embarrassment. You see, Jim went last year and got pretty well used up, so I felt as if I'd ought to take my turn now. Mother was regular old hero about it, and I dropped everything and come off. Lucindi didn't think it was my duty, and that made it awful hard, I tell you. Wives are less patriotic than mothers. I began, but he would not hear Lucindi blamed and said quickly, She ain't my wife yet, but we calculated to be married in a month or so, and it was worse for her than me, women lot so on not being disappointed. I couldn't shrink, and here I be. When I get to work, I shall be all right. The first wrench is the try-in part. Here he straightened his broad shoulders and turned his face toward the flags fluttering far in front as if no backward look should betray the longing of his heart for mother, home, and wife. I liked that little glimpse of character, and when Tom returned with empty hands, reporting that every stall was exhausted, I told him to find out what the man would like best, then run across the street and get it. I know without asking. Give us your purse, and I'll make him as happy as a king," said the boy, laughing, as he looked up admiringly at our tall friend, who looked down on him with an elder brotherly air pleasant to see. While Tom was gone, I found out Joe's name and business, promised to write and tell his mother how finally the regiment went off, and was just expressing a hope that we might meet again, for I, too, was going to the war as a nurse, when the order to fall in came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was over. Fearing Tom would miss our man in the confusion, I kept my eye on him till the boy came rushing up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good supply of cigars in the other. Not a romantic offering, certainly, but a very acceptable one, as Joe's face proved, as we scrambled these treasures into his pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less fortunate comrades helped us, with an eye to a share of these fragrant luxuries by and by. There was just time for this, a hearty shake of the big hand and a grateful, goodbye, man. Then the word was given and they were off. Bent on seeing the last of them, Tom and I took a short cut and came out on the wide street down which so many troops marched that year, and mounting some high steps, we watched for our man, as we already called him. As the inspiring music, the grand tramp, drew near, the old shrill went through the crowd, the old cheer broke out. But it was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful days. Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully unconscious of all that lay before them. Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute, husbands and fathers, with the memories of wives and children tugging at their heartstrings, homes left desolate behind them, and before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps the lifelong helplessness worse than death. Little of the glamour of romance about the war now, they saw it as it was, a long, hard task, and here were the men to do it well. Even the lookers on were different now. Once, all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar, now men's lips were set, and women's smileless as they cheered. Fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air for wet eyes needed them, and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the acclamations of the crowd, all watched with quickened breath, and brave souls that living wave blew below and bright with a steely glitter above, as it flowed down the street and away to distant battlefields already stained with precious blood. There he is, the outside man and tallest of the lot. Give him a cheer, Auntie. He sees us and remembers," cried Tom, nearly tumbling off his perch, as he waved his hat and pointed out Joe Collins. Yes, there he was, looking up with a smile on his brave brown face, my little nose gay in his buttonhole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket close by, and doubtless a comfortable quid in his mouth to cheer the weary march. How like an old friend he looked, though we had only met fifteen minutes ago. How glad we were to be there to smile back at him and send him on his way feeling that, even in a strange city, there was someone to say, God bless you, Joe. We watched the tallest blue cap till it banished, and then went home in a glow of patriotism. Tom, too long for his turn to come, eyed to sew vigorously on the gray gown the new nurse burned to wear as soon as possible, and both of us, to think and speak often of poor Joe Collins and his Lucindy. All this happened long ago, but it is well to recall those stirring times, to keep fresh the memory of sacrifices made for us by men like these, to see to it that the debt we owe them is honestly, gladly paid, and while we decorate the graves of those who died, to remember also those who still live and deserve our grateful care. End of Part One Shoes and Stockings, A Collection of Short Stories by Louisa Mae Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Carolyn Francis. My Red Cap, Part Two by Louisa Mae Alcott. I never expected to see Joe again, but six months later, we did meet in a Washington hospital one winter's night. A train of ambulances had left their sad fray at our door, and we were hurrying to get the poor fellows into much needed beds after a week of hunger, cold, and unavoidable neglect. All forms of pain were in my ward that night, and all bore with the pathetic patience which was a daily marvel to those who saw it. Trying to bring order out of chaos, I was rushing up and down the narrow aisle between the rows of rapidly filling beds, and after brushing several times against a pair of the largest and muddiest boots I ever saw, I paused at last to inquire why they were impeding the passageway. I found they belonged to a very tall man who seemed to be already asleep or dead, so white and still and utterly worn out he looked as he lay there without a coat, a great patch on his forehead, and the right arm rudely bundled up. Stooping to cover him, I saw that he was unconscious, and whipping out my brandy bottle and salts I soon brought him round for it was only exhaustion. Can you eat, I asked, as he said, Thank you, ma'am, after a long draught of water and a dizzy stare. Eat, I'm starving, he answered, with such a ravenous glance at a fat nurse who happened to be passing that I trembled for her and hastened to take a bowl of soup from her tray. As I fed him, his gaunt, weather-beaten face had a familiar look, but so many faces had passed before me that winter, I did not recall this one till the wardmaster came to put up the cards with the newcomer's names above their beds. My man seemed absorbed in his food, but I naturally glanced the card, and there was the name Joseph Collins to give me an additional interest in my new patient. Why, Joe, is it really you? I exclaimed, pouring the last spoonful of soup down his throat so hastily that I choked him. All that's left of me, while ain't this luck now, gasped Joe as gratefully as if that hospital cot was a bed of roses. What is the matter? A wound in the head and arm, I asked, feeling sure that no slight affliction had brought Joe there. Right arm gone. Shut off as slick as a whistle. I tell you, it's a singular kind of a feeling to see a piece of your own body go flying away with no prospect of ever coming back again. Said Joe, trying to make light of one of the greatest misfortunes a man can suffer. That is bad, but it might have been worse. Keep up your spirits, Joe. We will soon have you fitted out with a new arm, almost as good as new. I guess it won't do much lumbering. So that trade is done for. I suppose there's things left-handed fellers can do, and I must learn them as soon as possible, since my fighting days are over. And Joe looked at his one arm with a sigh that was almost aggrown. Helplessness is such a trial to a manly man, and he was eminently so. What can I do to comfort you most, Joe? I'll send my good Ben to help you to bed and will be here myself when the surgeon goes his rounds. Is there anything else that would make you more easy? If you could just drop a line to mother to let her know I'm alive, it would be a sight of comfort to both of us. I guess I'm in for a long spell of hospital, and I'd lay easier if I knew mother and Lucindy weren't fretting about me. He must have been suffering terribly, but he thought of the women who loved him before himself, and, busy as I was, I snatched a moment to send a few words of hope to the old mother. Then I left him layin' easy, though the prospect of some months of wearing pain would have daunted most men. If I had needed anything to increase my regard for Joe, it would have been the courage with which he bore a very bad quarter of an hour with the surgeons. For his arm was in a dangerous state, the wound in the head feverish for want of care, and a heavy cold on the lungs suggested pneumonia as an added trial to his list of ills. He will have a hard time of it, but I think he will pull through as he is a temperate fellow with a splendid constitution, was the doctor's verdict as he left us for the next man who has passed help with a bullet through his lungs. I don't know as I hanker to live and be a burden. If Jim was able to do for mother, I feel as if I wouldn't mind steppin' out now I'm so fur along. As he ain't, I suppose I must brace up and do the best I can, said Joe, as I wipe the drops from his forehead and try to look as if his prospect was a bright one. You will have Lucindy to help you, you know, and that will make things easier for all. Think so? Piers to me I couldn't ask her to take care of three invalids for my sake. She ain't no folks of her own, nor much means an ought to marry a man who can make things easy for her. Guess I'll have to wait a spell longer before I say anything to Lucindy about Marin now. And a look of resolute resignation settled on Joe's haggard face as he gave up his dearest hope. I think Lucindy will have something to say if she is like most women, and you will find the burdens much lighter for sharing them between you. Don't worry about that, but get well and go home as soon as you can. All right, ma'am, and Joe proved himself a good soldier by obeying orders and falling asleep like a tired child as the first step toward recovery. For two months I saw Joe daily and learned to like him very much. He was so honest, genuine, and kind-hearted. So did his mates, for he made friends with them all by sharing such small luxuries as came to him, for he was a favorite. And better still, he made sunshine in that sad place by the brave patience with which he bore his own troubles, the cheerful consolation he always gave to others. A droll fellow was Joe at times, for under his sobriety lay much humor. And I soon discovered that a visit from him was more efficacious than other cordials in cases of despondency and discontent. Roars of laughter sometimes greeted me as I went into his ward, and Joe's jokes were passed round as eagerly as the water pitcher. Yes, he had much to try him, not only in the ills that vexed his flesh, but the cares that tried his spirit and the future that lay before him, full of anxieties and responsibilities which seemed so heavy now when the strong right arm that had cleared all obstacles away before was gone. The letters I wrote for him and those he received told the little story very plainly, for he read them to me and found much comfort in talking over his affairs, as most men do when illness makes them dependent on a woman. Jim was evidently sick and selfish. Lucindy, to judge from the photograph cherished so tenderly under Joe's pillow, was a pretty weak sort of a girl with little character or courage to help poor Joe with his burdens. The old mother was very like her son and stood by him like a hero, as he said, but was evidently failing and begged him to come home as soon as he was able that she might see him comfortably settled before she must leave him. Her courage sustained his and the longing to see her hastened his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go. For Lucindy's letters were always of a dismal sort and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel. She always set considerable by me, mother did, be in the oldest, and I wouldn't miss making her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and legs I've got, said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an hour after leave to go home was given him. It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hardy adoes that his one hand must have tingled to hear the good wishes and the thanks called after him by pale creatures in their beds and to find tears in many eyes besides my own when he was gone and nothing was left of him but the empty cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall. I kept that card among my other relics and hoped to meet Joe again somewhere in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went home. The war ended soon after, time passed and the little story of my main lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my life a very memorable one. End of Part 2 Shoes and Stockings, a collection of short stories by Louisa May Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Carolyn Francis. My Red Cap, Part 3 by Louisa May Alcott. Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day, the only cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man with grey hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army coat. I always salute, figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve of the coat is empty. So I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of boots. He was an unusually large, well-made man and reminded me of a fine building going to ruin before its time. For the broad shoulders were bent, there was a stiffness about the long legs suggestive of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it too soon. Sitting at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching my red cap, as I called him, with more interest than I did the fat doves on the roof opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way in which he plotted on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well the one small service he had found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen who daily passed him to their comfortable homes with a steady, patient sort of face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot. I often planned to give him a job that I might see him nearer, but I had few errands and little Bob, the haul-boy, depended on doing those. So the winter was nearly over before I found out that my red cap was an old friend. A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, I sat down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a sentinel on duty. When I looked up to give my note and directions, I found the man staring at me with a seeming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying heartily, I mistrusted it was you, ma'am. Soon I see the name on the bundle, and I guess I ain't wrong. It's a number of years since we met, and you don't remember Joe Collins as well as he does you, I reckon. Why, how you have changed? I've been seeing you every day all winter, you, I said, shaking hands with my old patient, and very glad to see him. Nine on twenty years makes considerable of a change in folks, especially if they have a pretty hard row to hoe. Sit down and warm yourself while you tell me all about it. There is no hurry for this answer, and I'll pay for your time. Joe laughed as if that was a good joke, and sat down as if the fire was quite as welcome as the friend. How are they all at home, I asked, as he sat turning his cap round, not quite knowing where to begin. I haven't got any home nor any folks neither, and the melancholy words banished the brightness from his rough face like a cloud. Mother died soon after I got back. Sudden, but she was ready, and I was there so she was happy. Jim lived a number of years and was a sight of care, poor feller, but we managed to rub along, though we had to sell the farm, for I couldn't do much with one arm, and doctors' bills right along steady take a heap of money. He was as comfortable as he could be, and when he was gone it wasn't no great matter, for there was only me, and I don't mind ruffin' it. But Lucindy, where was she, I asked very naturally. Oh, she married another man long ago. Couldn't expect her to take me and my misfortunes. She's doing well, I hear, and that's a comfort anyway. There was a look on Joe's face, a tone in Joe's voice as he spoke, that plainly showed how much he had needed comfort when left to bear his misfortunes all alone. But he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, and loyally excused Lucindy's desertion with a simple sort of dignity that made it impossible to express pity or condemnation. How came you here, Joe? I asked, making a sudden leap from past to present. I had to scratch for a livin', and can't do much, so after trying a number of things I found this. My old wounds pester me a good deal, and rheumatism is bad winters, but while my legs hold out, I can get on. A man can't set down and starve, so I keep waggin' as long as I can. When I can't do no more, I suppose there's alms-house and hospital ready for me. That is a dismal prospect, Joe. There ought to be a comfortable place for such as you to spend your last days in. I'm sure you have earned it. While it does seem rather hard on us than we've given all we had and gave it free and hearty to be left to knock about in our old age, but there's so many poor folks to be took care of. We don't get much of a chance for we ain't the beggin' sort, said Joe with a wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would be better to lie quiet under the snow than to drag out his last painful years, friendless and forgotten in some refuge of the poor. Some kind people have been talking of a home for soldiers, and I hope the plan will be carried out. It will take time, but if it comes to pass, you shall be one of the first men to enter that home, Joe, if I can get you there. That sounds mighty-chirin' and comfortable. Thank you, ma'am. Idleness is dreadful trying to me, and I'd rather wear out than rust out, so I guess I can weather it a spell longer. But it will be pleasant to look forward to a snug harbor by me by. I feel a sight better just here and tell about it. He certainly looks so, faint as the hope was, for the melancholy eyes brightened and I already saw a happier refuge in the future than Alm's house, hospital, or grave, and when he trudged away upon my errand, he went as briskly as if every step took him nearer to the promised home. After that day, it was all up with Bob, for I told my neighbor's Joe's story, and we kept him trotting busily, adding little gifts to the sort of interest in him that comforted the lonely fellow, and made him feel that he had not outlived his usefulness. I never looked out when he was at his post that he did not smile back at me. I never passed him in the street that the red cap was not touched with a military flourish, and, when any of us beckoned to him, no twinge of ruitism was too sharp to keep him from hurrying to do our errands, as if he had Mercury's winged feet. Now and then he came in for a chat and always asked how the soldier's home was prospering, expressing his opinion that Boston was the charitableist city under the sun, and he was sure he and his mates would be took care of somehow. When we parted in the spring, I told him things looked hopeful, made him be ready for a good long rest as soon as the hospitable doors were open, and left him nodding cheerfully. End of Part 3 Shoes and Stockings A collection of short stories by Louisa May Alcott. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Carolyn Francis. My Red Cap, Part 4 by Louisa May Alcott. But in the autumn I looked in vain for Joe. The slate was in its old place and the messenger came and went on his beat, but a strange face was under the red cap and this man had two arms and one eye. I asked for Collins, but the newcomer had only a vague idea that he was dead and the same answer was given me at headquarters, though none of the busy people seemed to know when or where he died. So I mourned for Joe and felt that it was very hard he could not have lived to enjoy the promised refuge. For relying upon the charity that never fails, the home was an actual fact now, just beginning its beneficent career. People were waking up to this duty, money was coming in, meetings were being held, and already a few poor fellows were in the refuge, filling themselves no longer poppers, but invalid soldiers honorably supported by the state they had served. Talking it over one day with a friend who spent her life working for the associated charities, she said, By the way, there is a man boarding with one of my poor women who ought to be gone into the home if he will go. I don't know much about him, except that he was in the army, has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and is friendless. I asked Mrs. Flanagan how she managed to keep him and she said she had help while he was sick and now he is able to hobble about he takes care of the children so she is able to go out to work. He won't go to his own town because there is nothing for him there but the alms house and he dreads a hospital so struggles along trying to earn his bread tending babies with his one arm. A sad case and in your line I wish you'd look into it. That sounds like my Joe, one arm in all. I'll go and see him. I have a weakness for soldiers, sick or well. I went and never shall forget the pathetic little tableau I saw as I opened Mrs. Flanagan's dingy door for she was out and no one heard my tap. The room was redolent of suds and in a grove of damp clothes hung on lines sat a man with a crying baby laid across his lap while he fed three small children standing at his knee with bread and molasses. How he managed with one arm to keep the baby from squirming onto the floor the plate from upsetting and to feed the hungry urchins who stood in a row with open mouths like young birds was past my comprehension but he did trotting baby gently sweet morsels patiently and whistling to himself as if to beguile his labors cheerfully. The broad back, the long legs, the faded coat the low whistle were all familiar and dodging a wet sheet I faced the man to find it was indeed my Joe a mere shadow of his former self after months of suffering that had crippled him for life but brave and patient still trying to help himself and not ask aid though brought so low for an instant I could not speak to him and encumbered with baby, dish, spoon and children he could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the altered face that made it full of welcome before a word was uttered they told me you were dead and I only heard of you by accident not knowing I should find my old friend alive but not well I'm afraid there ain't much left of me but bones and pain ma'am I'm powerful glad to see you all the same dust off a chair Patsy and let the lady set down you go in the corner and take turns licking the dish while I see company said Joe disbanding his small troop and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms in honor of his guest why didn't you let me know how sick you were and how came they to think you dead I asked as he festooned the wet linen out of the way and prepared to enjoy himself as best he could I did send once when things was at the worst but you hadn't got back and then somehow I thought I was going to be mustered out for good and so wouldn't trouble nobody but my orders ain't come yet and I'm doing the first thing that come along it ain't much but the good soul stood by me and I ain't ashamed to pay my debts this way since I can't do it in no other and Joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as tenderly as if it had been his own though little bitty was not an inviting infant that is very beautiful and right Joe and I honor you for it but you are not meant to ten babies so sing your last lullabies and be ready to go to the home as soon as I can get you there really ma'am I used to lay and kind of dream about it when I couldn't stir without yelling out but I never thought it would ever come to happen I see a piece in the paper describing it and it sounded dreadful nice shouldn't wonder if I found some of my mates there they were a good lot and deserving of all that could be done for them said Joe trotting the baby briskly as if the prospect excited him as well it might for the change from that damp nursery to the comfortable quarters prepared for him would be like going from purgatory to paradise I don't wonder you don't get well living in such a place Joe you should have gone home to Woolwich and let your friends help you I said feeling provoked with him for hiding himself no ma'am he answered with a look I never shall forget it was so full of mingled patience pride and pain I have in a relation in the world but a couple of poor old aunts and they couldn't do anything for me as for asking help of folks I used to know I couldn't do it and if you think I'd go to Lucindy though she is wall off you don't know Joe Collins I'd die first if she was poor and I rich I do for her like a brother but I couldn't ask no favors of her not if I begged my vitals in the street or starved I forgive but I don't forget in a hurry and the woman that stood by me when I was down is the woman I believe in and can take my bread from without shame hooray for Bitty Flanagan God bless her and as if to find a vent for the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears Joe led off the cheer which the children shrilly echoed and I joined heartily I shall come for you in a few days so cuddle the baby and make much of the children before you part it won't take you long to pack up will it I asked as we subsided with a general laugh I reckon not as I don't own any clothes but what I set in except a couple of old shirts and them socks my hat's stopping up the winter and my old coat is my bed cover I'm awful shabby ma'am and that's one reason I don't go out more I can hobble some but I ain't got used to being a scarecrow yet and Joe glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the line to the ragged suit he wore with a resigned expression that made me long to rush out and buy up half the contents of Oak Hall on the spot curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with promises of speedy transportation for Joe and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of parting for the young Flanagans who escorted me to the door while Joe waved the baby like a triumphal banner till I got round the corner there was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new institution that it only needed a word in the right ear to set things going and then with a long pull, a strong pull and a pull all together Joe Collins was taken up and safely landed in the home he's so much needed and so well deserved a happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find and if a visitor wants an enthusiastic guide about the place Joe is the one to take for all is comfort, sunshine and goodwill to him and he unconsciously shows how great the need of this refuge is as he hobbles about on his lame feet pointing out its beauties, conveniences and delights with his one arm while his face shines and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully the state don't forget us, you see and this is a home worth having long life to it End of Part 4 End of My Red Cap by Louisa Mae Alcott