 CHAPTER 10 THE P.C. AND P.O. As Frank came on, a new set of remusements became the fashion, and the lengthening days gave long afternoons the forework and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, I know where each of them gardenings belong to, if I see them in chinny, and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Things had roses, and a hilly old trope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it. Joe's bed was never alike to his, for she was always trying experiments. This year it was to be a plantation of sunflowers, the seeds of which cheerful land and a spray green gab plant were to feed Aunt Cockle, Toth, and her family of chicks. Then had old fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas, and a maca-net, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southern wood, and chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussy. Amy had a burrow in hers, rather small and ear-wiggy, but very pretty to look at, with a honeysuckle, and morning glories hanging at the collared horns, and bells in graceful wood as all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant picturistic plants as would consent to blossom better. Wing walks rose on the river, and flower hunts employed the fine days, for the rainy ones they had to house-tea diversions, some old, some new, all more or less original. One of these was the P.C., for a secret to societies, or the fashion, and it was thought proper to have one, and as all the girls and myrtle dickens they called themselves the Pickwick Club, with a few interruptions that kept this up for a year, and that every Saturday evening in the big garrette, on which occasions and ceremonies, were as follows. Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table on which a lamp, also for white-tip edges, with a big P.C., in the different colors of each, and the weekly newspaper called the Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed something, while Joe, who revealed an ending, was the editor. At seven o'clock the four members ascended in the clubroom, tied their badges around their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg as the eldest was Samuel Pickwick, Joe being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgris. Beth, because she was round in Rosie, Tracy Tubman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn't, was a Nathaniel Weingold. Pickwick, the president, read the new paper, and to which it was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, in which he good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and shortcomings. On one occasion Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles, without any glass, wrapped upon the table, hemmed and having stared hard at Mr. Snodgris, who was tilting back, until he, arranged in sole property, began to read the Pickwick Portfolio, May 20, 1832. Anniversary Ode, again we made to celebrate, with badge of solemn right, our 52nd anniversary in Pickwick Hall tonight. We are here in perpetele, none gone from our small band, again we see each well-known face, and press each a friendly hand. Our Pickwick, always at his post, with reverence we greet, as spectacles unknown, he reads our well-filled weekly sheet. Although he suffers from a cold, we joy to hear him speak, for words of wisdom fall from him fall, in spite of croak or squeak. Our old six-foot Snodgris looms on with eloquent grace, and beans upon the company, on the brown angel-veal face. Poetic fire lights up his eyes, he struggles against his zealot, behold ambition on his brow, and on his nose a blot. Next our peaceful Tubman comes, so rose the plump and sweet, who chokes with laughter at the puns, and crumbles off his seat. Prim, little Winkle, too, is here, with every hair and face. A model of pro-priority, built to watch his face. The year is gone, we still unite, with two joke and laugh and read, and tread in the path of literature, that doth do glory weep. Long way our paper prosper well, our club unbroken be, and coming years their blessings pour, and the useful day he see, Ace Snodgris, the masked marriage, a tale of illness. Gondola after Gondola swept up to the marble, steps, and left its lovely load as well, the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count Edelon. Nights and ladies, elves and peaches, monks and flower girls, all mingled gaily in the dance, sweet voices, and rich melody filled the air, and so with mirth and music the mass-quirity went on. Has your highness seen the lady of Nour tonight past a gallant trouble-bader of the fairy queen who floated down into the hall upon his arm? Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad, and her dress is well-chosen too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates. By my faith I envy him, yonder he comes, arrayed like a brygrim except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards him, the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows her hand, return the robber-doer, to his whisper that she loves, the English artist who haunts her steps, and is burned by the old Count. So the lady, as they joined the dance, reveal, the reveal was at its height, when a priest appeared, and withdrawing the young pair to an alcove, hung with purple velvet he motioned them to kneel, hissed in silence though on the grace long, an oddie sound, but the dash of the mountains, or the rustle of orange groves, sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as Count D. Adelon spoke thus, my lords and ladies pardoned she was by which I have gathered a day you here to witness the marriage of my daughter, father we wait to your services. Her eyes turned toward to the brink of a party, and a murmur of amazement went to a food strong. Before neither bride nor groom removed their masks, curiously and wonder repossessed all hearts for respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gathered round court, demanding an explanation, gladly what I give it, if I could, but I only know that it was with the whim of my chibbending viola, and I yielded it to it. Now my children, let the play end, unmask and receive my blessing. Neither vent of need, the young bride and groom replied in a tone that startled all listeners, as the mask fell. This cloth noble face offered an end, devour it. The artist's lover, and leaning on the breast, were now flashed the star of an English ear, was the lovely viola, radiance with joy and beauty. My lords, you scornfully day-dim you claim you daughter, when I could boast as high as a name and vast a fortune as a count Antonio. I can do more, for even your admired volition says so cannot refuse the earl of the devour, and the devour, when he co-lives his ancient named and boundless wealth, and return for the beloved hand of this fair lady, now with my weight. An account stood like one changed his stone, and turning to the bewildered crowd, for the man dented with a gay smile of triumph, to you, my gallant friends, only wish that your whooping may prosper as mine has done, and that you may all win as very bright as I am by this masked marriage. That's Pickwick. Why is the PC like the Tower of Babel? It is full of untruly members. The history of a squash. Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. A grocer man bought it, and put it in his shop. That same morning a little girl in a brown hat, then blew a dress with a round face and some nose went and bought it for her mother. She loved it home, cut it up, and boiled it in a big pot, but mashed to some of it here with salt and butter for dinner, and to the rest she added a hint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice, and next day it was eaten by a family named Marge. Mr. Pickwick, sir, I address you upon the subject of sin and the sinner. I mean, is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes won't write his piece in this fine paper. I hope you will pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can't write out of his head, as he has someone's view and no brains in future. I will try to make a time by the vet lock and prepare some work which will be all commie la foe that means all right. I am in haste as it is nearly school time, yours respectively, and Winkle. Above is a manly and handsome acknowledgement of past and miscellaneous. If our young friends studied punctuation, it would be well. It's that accident. On Friday last we were startled by a frequent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress. Unrushing in a body to the solar, we discovered a beloved president prostrate upon the floor, being trapped and fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upsetting him of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn his garment's badly. On being removed from this courteous situation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury, but several bruises. And we are happy to add, he is now doing well, said the public agreement. It is our painful duty to record and the sudden and mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Noble, Pat Pah. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large circle, of warm and admiring friends, for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endured to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole community. When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher's cart, and it is feared that some villain tempted by her charms basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but most of her has been discovered, and we will in all hope tie a black ribbon to her basket, sit aside her dish, and weep for her, as one lost to us forever. A sympathizing friend sends the following gem, a lament for a pet paw, mourn the loss of her little pet, and sigh, o'er her hapless fate, for nevermore by the fire she'll set, nor play by the old grain gate. The little grave, where her infant is, is me in a chestnut tree, but, o'er her grave, we may not weep. No, we know that not where it may be, her empty bed, her idle ball, will never see her more. Her gentle tap, her loving purr, is heard at the parlor door. Another cat comes after a mice, a cat with a dirty face, but she does not hunt, as our darling did, nor play with her eerie grace. Her stilfully paws tread the very hall, where his noble used to play, but she only spits at the door, hugs at our pet, so gallantly drove away. He is useful and mild, and does her best, but she is not fair to see, and we cannot give her your fair place here. Nor will we worship her as we worship we, I guess. Advertisements Miss Othamie Ludwig, the accomplished, strong-minded lecture, will deliver her famous lecture on woman and her position at Pickwick Hall. Every Saturday evening, after the usual performances, a weekly meeting will be held at Kitchen Place to teach young ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will preside, and all are invited to attend. The This Pan Society will meet on next, and parade in the upper story of the clubhouse, all members, to appear in uniform, and shoulder, their brooms at nine precisely. Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new assortment of Dalsam millinery next week. The latest Paris fashions have arrived, and orders are respected for your solace. A new play will appear at the Barnesville Theatre, and the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage. The Greek slave are a Constantine the Avenger, is the name of this thrilling drama. The S.P. didn't take much so upon her hands. He wouldn't always be late at breakfast, and yes, he's requested not to whistle in the street. T.T., please don't forget Amy's napkin, and W. must not fret because his dress does not nine tux, weekly report. Meg Good, Joe Bad, Beth Very Good, Amy Middling. As the president to finish reading the paper, which I beg you to assure my readers, is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls, once upon a time. A round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass arose to make a proposition. Mr. President and gentlemen began, unassuming, a parliamentary attitude in tone. I wish to propose the admission of a new member, one who highly deserves the honor, but be deeply grateful for it, and would add it immensely to the spirit of the club. The literary background of the paper, and be no and jolly and nice, I propose Mr. Theodore Lawrence is an honorary member of the P.C., come with me, do have him. Your sudden change of tomato girls laugh, but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass so took his seat. We'll put it to evote, said the president. All in favor of this motion, please, to manifest it by saying aye. Hela response from Snodgrass followed to everybody's surprise by timid while, contrary mind as they know. Megan A.B. were contrary-minded, and Mr. Winkle rose to play with great eloquence. They don't wish any boys, they only joke and bounce about. This is a lady's club, and we wish to be private and proper. I'm afraid she'll laugh at our paper and make fun of us afterward, observe quick, playing the little curl on her forehead, as she always dared when done. Up rose Snodgrass very much in earnest. Sir, I give you my word as a gentleman. Laurie won't do anything of the sort he likes to write, and he'll give a tone to our contribution, and they'll keep us if we bring their sentimental. Don't you see? We can do so little for him, and he does so much for us. I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here to make him welcome if he comes. This artful affolition to benefits conferred a broad tubman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind. Yes, we ought to deal with it, even if we are afraid. I may say, I say he may come, and his grandpa too, if he likes. The spirit had burst from Beth electrified the club, and Joe left her seat to shake hands approvingly. Now then, vote again. Everybody remembers our hard lawyer, and say, I cried Snodgrass excitedly. I, I, I replied three voices at once. Good. Bless you. Now then, as said there's a nothing like taking time at the fed petalock, as Wrinkle Curious quickly observes, allow me to present a new, the new member. And it was may of the rest of the club Joe threw to open the door of the closet in display of the lorry, sitting on a rancid bed, flushed and twinkling with surprised laughter. You, Ro, you traitor Joe, how could you, cried the three girls. The dresser led her friend at home for the first time, and used both a chair and a badge in a jiffy. The coolness of you two was amazing, began Mr. Pickwick trying to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an inible little smile, but the new member was equal to the occasion, and rising with a great affluent solution to the chair, said in the most engaging manner, Mr. President and ladies, I beg pardon gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself as Sam Willard, the very humble servant of the club. Good, good, cried Joe, pounding with the handle of the old warming pan on which you mean. My faithful friend and noble patron continued lorry, with a wave of the hand, was so flat that you presented me, is not to be blamed for the basis regimen of tonight. I climbed it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing. Don't lay it all on yourself. You know, I proposed to the cupboard, broken snot grass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly. Never mind what she says. I'm the red shea vector, said the new member, with a reliquary snot to Mr. Pickwood, but honor I never will do so again, and has worth about myself to the interest of this immortal club. Here, here, cried Joe, clashing the lip of the warming pan like a symbol. Go on, go on, added wrinkle and tubman, while the president bowed beginningly. I merely wish to say that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, as the means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I set up a post on the office and the hedge in the lower corner of the garden, and a fine, spacious building with a pad box on the door, and every conceivments for the males, also the females, if may be allowed the expression. It's the old martin house, but I've stopped up the door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things and save our vulnerable kinds. There's manuscripts, books, and bundles that can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, maybe uncommonly nice, I guess, and allow me to present the club key, and with many thanks, you're your favorite. Take my seat. Great applause, as Mr. Willard is constituted a little key on the table, and subsided the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before our order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and everyone came out to surprising for everyone they did with their best. So it was unusually a lively meeting, and not a joke or a name till a lay hour, when it broke up with three shrill chairs for the new member. No one ever regretted the admittance of Samuel for a more devoted, well-behaved, enjoyable, well-meh number. No club could have, certainly did add a spirit to the meetings and a tone to the paper for his orations consult his hearers, and the contributions were excellent being a patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Joe regarded them as worthy of bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought. The P.O. was a capo little installation, and flourish wonderfully for nearly as many queer things passed through it as, bill, the real post office. Tragedies and caravats, poetry and pickles, gardens, seeds, long letters, music and gender, rubbers, inventions, invitations, goblings, and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and abused himself by sending old bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener, who was smitten with his hand as charms, actually sent a love letter to Joe's care. Laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many loved the letters that a little post office would hold in the years to come. End of Chapter 10, Read by Elijah Fisher. Chapter 11 of Little Women. 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 Rachel. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Chapter 11. Experiments. The first of June, the kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I'm free. Three months vacation, how I shall enjoy it, exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Joe laid upon the sofa, in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party. Aunt March went to the for which, oh, be joyful, said Joe. I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her. If she had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and feared she find it impossible, apart from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage and had a final fright, for as it drove off, she popped out her head, saying, Josephine, won't you? I didn't hear any more, for I basically turned and fled. I did actually run, and whisked round the corner where I felt safe. Poor old Joe. She came in looking as if bears were after her, said Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air. Aunt March is a regular sampfire, is she not? Observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically. She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter. It's too warm to be particular about one's parts of speech, murmured Joe. What shall you all do on your vacation? asked Amy, changing the subject with tact. I shall lie a bed and do nothing, replied Mag from the depths of her rocking chair. I've been routed up early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now I'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content. No, said Joe, that dozy way won't suit me. I have laid in a heap of books, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the old apple tree. When I'm not having, don't say larks, implored Amy, as a return snub for the sampfire correction. I'll say nightingales then, with Lori. That's proper and appropriate, since he's a warbler. Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time and rest, as the girls mean to, proposed Amy. Well, I will if mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer. They're dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes. May we, mother? Asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing in what they called Marmee's Corner. You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play. Oh dear no, it will be delicious, I'm sure, said Meg complacently. I now propose a toast, as my friend and partner, Siri Gamp, says, Fun forever and no grubbing, cried Joe, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went around. They all drank merrily and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear until 10 o'clock. Her solitary breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed lonely and untidy. For Joe had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's book slays scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but Marmee's Corner, which looked as usual, and there Meg sat to rest and read, which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary. Joe spent the morning on the river with Laurie, and the afternoon reading and crying over the wide, wide world up in the apple tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting tired before half-done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Marmee arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive Daddy Long Legs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping. At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long, day. Legs, who went shopping in the afternoon and got a sweet blue muslin, had discovered, after she had cut the breads off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her slightly cross. Joe had burned the skin off her nose boating and got a raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of her closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amy deeply regretted the damage on her frock, for Katie Brown's party was to be the next day, and now, like Flora McFlimsy, had nothing to wear. But these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the experiment was working finally. She smiled, said nothing, and with Hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the resting and revelling process. The days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was unusually variable and so were tempers, an unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that she felt a snipping and spoiling her clothes, in her attempts to furbish them up, a la Moffat. Joe read till her eyes gave out and she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone without march. Life got on pretty well, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back into her old ways now and then. But something in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna, and told her she was a fright. Amy fared worst of all for her resources were small, and when her sisters left to amuse herself, she soon found that she had accomplished an important little self, a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairytales were childish, and one couldn't draw all the time. Tea parties didn't amount to much, navidad picnics almost very well conducted. If one could have a fine house, full of nice girls or go traveling the summer would be delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a boaz, complained Miss Malaprop after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and any why. No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Friday each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had a great deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner, so she gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system. When they got up on Saturday morning there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen. Marcy, on us, what's happened? cried Joe, staring about her in dismay. Mag ran upstairs, and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed. Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can. It's a very queer thing for her to do. She doesn't act a bit like herself. But she says it's been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble but take care of ourselves. That's easy enough, and I like the idea. I'm aching for something to do. That is, some new amusement, you know, added Joe quickly. In fact, it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah's saying. Housekeeping ain't no joke. There was plenty of food in the larder, and while Beth and Amy set the table, Mag and Joe got breakfast, wondering as they did why servants ever talked about hard work. I shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of her for she'd take care of herself, said Mag, who presided and felt quite matrily behind the teapot. So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with the cook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelet scorched, and the biscuits speckled with salaratus, but Mrs. March received her repast with thanks, and laughed heartily over it after Joe was gone. Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid, but they won't suffer, and it will do them good, she said, producing the more palatable vayans with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad breakfast so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherly little deception for which they were grateful. Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook at her failures. For mind I'll get the dinner and be servant, you be mistress, keep your hands nice, seek company, and give orders, said Joe, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs. This obliging offer was gladly accepted, and Margaret retired to the parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofa, and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting. Joe, with perfect faith in her own powers, and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Lori to dinner. You better see what you got before you think of having company, said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act. Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes, and I shall get some asparagus and a lobster, for a relish, as Hannah says. We'll have lettuce and make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells, I'll have black moj and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too if you want to be elegant. Don't try too many messes, Joe, for you can't make anything but gingerbread and molasses, candy fit to each. I wash my hands of the dinner party, and since you have asked Lori on your own responsibility, you may just take care of him. I don't want you to do anything, but be civil to him and help to the pudding. You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you? asked Joe, rather hurt. Yes, but I don't know much, except about bread and a few trifles. You'd better ask Mother's Leaf before you order anything, returned Meg prudently. Of course I shall. I'm not a fool. And Joe went off in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers. Get what you like, and don't disturb me. I'm going out to dinner, and can't worry about things at home, said Mrs. March, when Joe spoke to her. I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation today, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself. The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably and reading early in the morning made Joe feel as if some unnatural phenomenon had occurred. For an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would hardly have seemed stranger. Everything's out of sorts, somehow, she said to herself, going downstairs. There's Beth crying. That's a sure sign that something's wrong in this family. If Amy's bothering, I'll shake her. Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Joe hurried into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who laid dead in the cage, with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he had died. It's all my fault. I forgot him. There isn't a seed or a drop left. Oh Pip, oh Pip, how could I be so cruel to you? cried Beth, taking the poor thing in her hands and trying to restore him. Joe peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head and offered her domino box for a coffin. Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive, said Amy hopefully. He's been starved, and he shan't be baked, and now he's dead. I'll make him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden, and I'll never have another bird, never, my Pip, for I'm too bad to own one, murmured Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands. The funeral should be this afternoon, and we'll all go. Now don't cry, Bethy. It's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has had the worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box, and after the dinner party we'll have a nice little funeral, said Joe, beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal. Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron, she fell to work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when she discovered that the fire was out. Here's a sweet prospect, muttered Joe, slamming the stove door open, and poking vigorously among the cinders. Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the water heated. The wok revived her spirits, and flattering herself that she had made good bargains. She trudged home again, after buying a very young lobster with some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid strawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived, and the stove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Mag had worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and forgotten it. Mag was entertaining Sally Gardner in the parlor, when the door flew open, and a flowery, crocky, flushed and disheveled figure appeared, demanding tartly, I say, isn't bread risen up when it runs over the pans? Sally began to laugh, but Mag nodded and lifted her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish, and put the sour bread into the oven without further delay. This march went out after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding sheet, while the deer departed lay in state in the domino box. A strange sense of helplessness fell upon the girls as the grey bonnet vanished round the corner, and despair seized them when a few minutes later Miss Crocker appeared, and said she'd come to dinner. Now this lady was a thin yellow spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor and had few friends. So Mag gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told stories of the people whom she knew. Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which Joe underwent that morning, and the dinner she served at became a standing joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered that something more than energy and goodwill is necessary to make a cook. She boiled the asparagus for an hour, and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread burned black, for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled, and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at the last. The blank marge was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skillfully deaconed. While they could eat bread and beef and butter if they're hungry, only it's more to find to have to spend your home morning for nothing, thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood hot, tired, and dispirited. Surveying the feast spread before Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose tattling tongue would report them far and wide. Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after another was tasted and left, while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, Miss Crocker pursed her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all his might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo's one strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a picture of rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as the pretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in the sea of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made a rye face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who refused, making there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, and hid her face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately. Oh, what is it? exclaimed Jo trembling. A salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour, replied Meg with a tragic gesture. Jo uttered a groan, and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had given a last hasty pattering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator. She turned scarlet, and was on the verge of crying when she met Laurie's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts. The comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So did everyone else, even Crocker, as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily with bread and butter, olives, and fun. I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral, said Jo, as they rose, and Miss Crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinner table. They did sober themselves for Beth's sake. Laurie dug a grave unto the ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in with many tears by his tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo while she struggled with the dinner. Here lies Pip March, who died the 7th of June. Count and lamented soar, and not forgotten soon. At the conclusion of the ceremonies Beth retired to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assaged by beating up the pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them so tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper. Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came home to find the three older girls at work in the middle of the afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the experiment. Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them. The tea must be got, Erin's done, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute. As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned her side as she sat down as if tired or troubled. What a dreadful day this has been, began Jo, usually the first to speak. It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable, said Meg. Not a bit like home, added Amy. It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip, side Beth, glancing with full eyes at the empty cage above her head. Here is Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow if you want it. As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs. Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another week of it? She asked, as Beth nestled up to her and the rest turned toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turned toward the sun. I don't, cried Jo decidedly, nor I, echoed the others. You think, then, that it is better to have a few duties than to live a little for others, do you? Langing and larking doesn't pay, observed Jo shaking her head. I am tired of it, and I mean to go to work at something right off. Suppose you learn plain cooking. That's a useful accomplishment which no woman should be without, said Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly at the recollection of Jo's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker and heard her account of it. Mother, did you go away and let everything be just to see how we'd get on, cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day? Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing her share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable. So I thought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of herself. Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear and forebear that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all? We do, mother, we do! cried the girls. Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us and lighten as we learn to carry them. Work is wholesome and there is plenty for everyone. It keeps us from any way in mischief, is good for health and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or fashion. We'll work like bees and love it too, see if we don't, said Joe. I'll learn playing cooking for my holiday task, and the next dinner party I have shall be a success. I'll make the set of shirts for Father instead of letting you do it, Marmee. I can and I will, though I'm not fond of sewing. That will be better than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they are, said Meg. I'll do my lessons every day and not spend so much time with my music and dolls. I am a stupid thing and ought to be studying, not playing. Was Beth's resolution, while Amy followed their example by heroically declaring, I shall learn to make buttonholes and attend to my parts of speech. Very good, that I'm quite satisfied with the experiment and fancy that we shall not have to repeat it, only don't go to the other extreme and delve like slaves. Having regular hours for work and play make each day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success in spite of poverty. We'll remember, mother, and I did. 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 Lindsay Anderson. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. CHAPTER XII. CAMP LORANCE. Beth was postmistress. For being most at home, she could attend to it regularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door and distributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands full and went about the house leaving letters and parcels like the penny post. Here's her posy mother. Lori never forgets that. She said putting the fresh nose-gay in the vase that stood in Marmee's corner and was kept supplied by the affectionate boy. Miss Mag March, one letter and a glove, continued Beth, delivering the articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching wristbands. Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one, said Mag, looking at the gray cotton glove. Didn't you drop the other in the garden? No, I'm sure I didn't, for there was only one in the office. I hate to have odd gloves. Never mind, the other may be found. My letter is only a translation of the German song I wanted. I think Mr. Brooke did it, for this isn't Lori's writing. Mrs. March glanced at Mag, who was looking very pretty in her king-of-morning gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very womanly, as she sat sewing at her little work-table, full of tidy white rolls. So unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind she sewed and sang, while her fingers flew and her thoughts were busy with girlish fancies, as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that Mrs. March smiled and was satisfied. Two letters for Dr. Joe, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered the whole post-office and stuck outside, said Beth, laughing as she went into the study where Joe sat writing. What a sly fellow Lori is! I said I wished bigger hats were the fashion because I burned my face every hot day. He said, why mine the fashion? Wear a big hat and be comfortable. I said I would if I had one and he has sent me this to try me. I'll wear it for fun and show him I don't care for the fashion. And hanging the antique broad brim on a bust of Plato, Joe read her letters. One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said to her, my dear, I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watch your efforts to control your temper. You say nothing about your trials, failures, or successes, and think perhaps that no one sees them but the friend whose help you daily ask if I may trust the well-worn cover of your guidebook. I too have seen them all and heartily believe in the sincerity of your resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on, dear, patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one sympathizes more tenderly with you than you are loving mother. That does me good. That's worth millions of money and pecks of praise. Oh, Marmy, I do try. I will keep on trying and not get tired since I have you to help me. Laying her head on her arms, Joe wet her little romance with a few happy tears, for she had thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts to be good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging, because unexpected, and from the person whose commendation she most valued. Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her apollyon, she pinned the note inside her frock as a shield and a reminder, lest she be taken unaware and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready for either good or bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Lori wrote, Dear Joe, what ho? Some English girls and boys are coming up to see me tomorrow, and I want to have a jolly time. If it's fine, I'm going to pitch my tent in long meadow and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet, have a fire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks. They are nice people and like such things. Brooke will go to keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughn will play propriety for the girls. I want you all to come. Can't let Beth off at any price, and nobody shall worry her. Don't bother about rations. I'll see you to that and everything else. Only do come, there's a good fellow. In a tearing hurry, yours ever, Lori. Here's richness, cried Joe, flying in to tell the news to Meg. Of course we can go, mother. It'll be such a help to Lori, for I can row, and Meg, seat of the lunch, and the children be useful in some way. I hope the Vaughns are not to find grown-up people. Do you know anything about them, Joe? Asked Meg. Only that there are four of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and Frank, twins, about my age, and a little girl, Grace, who's nine or ten. Lori knew them abroad, and liked the boys. I fancied from the way he prumed up his mouth and speaking of her, that he didn't admire Kate much. I'm so glad my French print is clean. It's just the thing, and so becoming, observed Meg complacently. Have you anything decent, Joe? Scarlet and gray boating-suit are good enough for me. I shall row and tramp about, so I don't want any starch to think of. You'll come, Betty? If you won't let any boys talk to me. Not a boy. I like to please Lori, and I'm not afraid of Mr. Brook. He is so kind. But I don't want to play or sing or say anything. I'll work hard and not trouble anyone, and you'll take care of me, Joe, so I'll go. That's my good girl. You do try to fight off your shyness, and I love you for it. Fighting faults isn't easy, as I know, and a cheery word kinda gives a lift. Thank you, mother. And Joe gave the thin cheek a grateful kiss, more precious to Mrs. March, than if it had given back the rosy roundness of her youth. I had a box of chocolate drops, and a picture I wanted to copy, said Amy, showing her mail. And I got a note from Mr. Lawrence, asking me to come over and play to him to-night before the lamps are lighted, and I shall go. Added Beth, whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finally. Now let's fly round and do double duty to-day so that we can play tomorrow with free minds, said Joe, preparing to replace her pen with a broom. When the sun peeped into the girl's room early next morning to promise them a fine day, he saw a comical sight. Each had made such preparation for the FET as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of little curl-papers across her forehead. Joe had copiously anointed her afflicted face with cold cream. Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by putting a clothespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature. It was one of the kind artists used to hold the paper on their drawing boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the purpose it was now being put. This funny spectacle had appeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Joe woke up and roused her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy's ornament. Sunshine and laughter were good omens for the pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both houses. Beth, who was ready first, kept reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sister's toilettes by frequent telegrams from the window. There goes the man with the tent. I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch with an hamper and a great basket. Now Mr. Lawrence is looking up at the sky in the weather-cock. I wish he would go too. There's Lori, looking like a sailor nice boy. Oh mercy me, here's a carriage full of people, a tall lady, a little girl and two dreadful boys. One is lame, poor thing, he's got a crutch. Lori didn't tell us that. Be quick, girls, it's getting late. Why, there's Ned Moffat, I do declare. Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one day when we were shopping? So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at the mountains. There, Sally, I'm glad she got back in time. Am I all right, Joe? Cried Meg in a flutter. A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put on your hat straight. Look sentimental, tip that way, and we'll fly off at the first puff. Now then, come on. Oh, Joe, you're not going to wear that awful hat. It's too absurd. You shall not make a guy of yourself, Grumman-straighted Meg, as Joe tied down with a red rib in the broad-brimmed old-fashioned leghorn Lori had sent for a joke. I just will, though, for its capital. So shady, light, and big, it will make fun, and I don't mind being a guy if I'm comfortable. With that, Joe marched straight away, and the rest followed a bright little band of sisters all looking their best in summer suits with happy faces under the jaunty hatbrims. Lori ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordial manner. The lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes a lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate, though twenty, was dressed with the simplicity which American girls would do well to imitate, and who was much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances that he came especially to see her. Joe understood why Lori primmed up his mouth when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a stand-off Don't Touch Me Air, which contrasted strongly with the free and easy demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observation of the new boys, and decided that the lame one was not dreadful, but gentle and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account. Amy found Grace a well-mannered, married little person, and after staring dumbly at one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good friends. Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leaving Mr. Lawrence waving his hat on the shore. Lori and Joe rode one boat. Mr. Brooke and Ned the other, while Fred Vaughn, the riotous twin, did his best to upset both by paddling about in a wary, like a disturbed water-bug. Joe's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of general utility. It broke the ice in the beginning by producing a laugh. It created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro as she rode, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party if a shower came up, she said. Miss Kate decided that she was odd but rather clever, and smiled upon her from afar. Meg in the other boat was delightfully situated, face to face with the rowers, who both admired the prospect, and feathered their oars with uncommon skill and dexterity. Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet manners and considered him a walking encyclopedia of useful knowledge. He never talked to her much, but he looked at her a good deal, and she felt sure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in college, of course put on all the airs which freshmen think it their bounden duty to assume. He was not very wise, but very good-natured, and altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic. Sally Gardner was absorbed in keeping her white-peak dress clean and chattering with ubiquitous spread, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks. It was not far to Long Meadow, but the tent was pitched and the wickets down by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field with three wide-spreading oaks in the middle, and a smooth strip of turf for croquet. Welcome to Camp Lawrence! said the young host as they landed with exclamations of delight. Brooke is Commander-in-Chief, I am Commissary General, the other fellows are staff officers, and you, ladies, are company. The tent is for your special benefit, and that oak is your drawing room. This is the mess room and the third is the camp kitchen. Now, let's have a game before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner. Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by the other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred. Lori took Sally, Joe, and Ned. The English played well, but the Americans played better, and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of seventy-six inspired them. Joe and Fred had several skirmishes, and once narrowly escaped high words. Joe was through the last wicket, and had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind her, and his turn came before hers. He gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was very near, and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which put it just an inch on the right side. I'm through. Now, Miss Joe, I'll settle you and get in first," cried the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow. You pushed it. I saw you. It's my turn now," said Joe sharply. Upon my word, I didn't move it. It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is loud. So stand off, please, and let me have a go at the stake. Oh, we don't cheat in America, but you can if you choose," said Joe angrily. Yankies are a deal the most tricky everybody knows. There you go," returned Fred, croaking her ball far away. Joe opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time, colored up to her forehead, and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket with all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself out with much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time finding it among the bushes. But she came back, looking cool and quiet, and waited her turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the place she had lost, and when she got there the other side had nearly won, for Kate's ball was the last but one and lay near the stake. Bye, George, it's all up with us. Goodbye, Kate. Miss Joe owes me one, so you are finished," cried Fred excitedly as they all drew near to see the finish. Others have a trick of being generous to their enemies, said Joe with a look that made the lad redden, especially when they beat them, she added as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever stroke. Lori threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn't do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheer to whisper to his friend, Good for you, Joe. He did cheat. I saw him. Tell him so, but he won't do it again, take my word for it. Meg drew her aside, under pretence of pinning up a loose braid, and said approvingly, It was dreadfully provoking, but you kept your temper, and I'm so glad, Joe. Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I should certainly have boiled over if I hadn't stayed among the nettles till I got my rage under control enough to hold my tongue. It's simmering now, so I hope he'll keep out of my way. Meg and Joe biting her lips as she glowered at Fred from under her big hat. Time for lunch, said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. Commissary General, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss March, Miss Sally, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee? Joe can, said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Joe, feeling that her late lessons in cookery were to do her honour, went to preside over the coffee-pot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys made a fire and got water from a spring nearby. Miss Kate sketched, and Frank talked to Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes to serve as plates. The Commander-in-Chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with an inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green leaves. Joe announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone settled themselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was, for everything seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peels of laughter startled a venerable horse who fed nearby. There was a pleasing inequality in the table, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates, acorns dropped in the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree to see what was going on. Three white-headed children peeped over the fence, and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river with all his might in Maine. "'There's salt here,' said Lorie as he handed Joe a saucer of berries. "'Thank you. I prefer spiders,' she replied, fishing up two unwary little ones who had gone to a creamy death. "'How dare you remind me of that horrid dinner party when yours is so nice in every way?' added Joe, as they both laughed and ate out of one plate, the china having run short. I had an uncommonly good time that day and haven't got over it yet. That's no credit to me, you know. I don't do anything. It's you and Meg and Brooke who make it all go, and I'm no end obliged to you. What shall we do when we can't eat any more?' asked Lorie, feeling that his trump card had been played when lunch was over. "'Have games till it's cooler. I brought authors, and I dare say Miss Kate knows something new and nice. Go and ask her. She's company, and you ought to stay with her more.' "'Aren't you company, too?' I thought she'd suit Brooke, but he keeps talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous glass of hers. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for you can't do it, Joe.' Miss Kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, and the boys could not eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room to play rigmarole. One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when the next takes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done, and makes a perfect jumble of tragical, comical stuff to laugh over. Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a commanding air, which surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other gentleman. Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke obediently began a story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed upon the sun-shiny river. Once on a time a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, for he had nothing but his sword and his shield. He travelled a long while, nearly eight and twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he came to the palace of a good old king who had offered a reward to anyone who could tame and train a fine but unbroken cult, of which he was very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely, for the cult was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master, though he was freakish and wild. Every day when he gave his lessons to this pet of the kings, the knight rode him through the city, and as he rode he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found. One day as he went prancing down a quiet street he saw at the window of a ruinous castle the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. The knight wished intensely that he could free them, but he was poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face, and longing to see it out in the sunshine. At last he resolved to get into the castle and ask how he could help them. He went and docked. The great door flew open, and he beheld. A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed with a cry of rapture, at last, at last, continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired the style. To she cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an ecstasy of joy. Oh, rise! she said, extending a hand of marble fairness. Never, till you tell me how I may rescue you! Swore the knight, still kneeling. Alas! my cruel fate condemns me to remain here till my tyrant is destroyed! Where is the villain? In the Marve Solan. Go, brave heart, and save me from despair. I obey, and return victorious or dead. With these thrilling words he rushed away, and flinging up in the door of the Marve Solan was about to enter when he received a stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a black gown fired at him. Said Ned. Instantly, sir, what's his name, recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window and turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a big bump on his brow, found the door locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway down when the ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feet below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads together till they cracked like a couple of nuts. Then by a trifling exertion of his prodigious strength he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss March. At the top of these steps he came plump upon a site that took his breath away and chilled his blood. A tall figure, all in white, with a veil over its face and a lamp in its wasted hand, went on Meg. It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him, down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies and armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure ever in a non turned its face toward him, showing the glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtain door, behind which sounded lovely music. He sprang forward to enter, but the specter plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him, a snuff-box, said Joe in a sepulchral tone which convulsed the audience. Thanky, said the night politely, as he took a pinch and sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laughed the ghost, and having peeped through the keyhole that the princess is spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other knights packed together without their heads, like sardines who all rose and began to dance a hornpipe, cut and fret as Joe paused for breath, and as they danced, the rubber-shield castle turned to a man of war in full sail, up with the jib, reefed the tops, the haliods, helm-hardly, and men of guns, roared the captain as a Portuguese pirate-hovensite with a flag black as ink flying from a full mast. Go in and win, me-hotties, says the captain, and a tremendous fight began. Of course, the British beat, they always do. No, they don't, cried Joe aside. Having taken the pirate-captain prisoner, sailed slap over the schooner, whose decks were piled high with dead, and whose leased scuppers ran blood, for the order had been, cut, sirs, and die hard. Boson's mate, take a bite of the flying jib-sheet and start this villain if he doesn't confess his sins double-quick, says the British captain. The Portuguese held his tongue like a brick and walked the plank, while the jolly-tars cheered like mad. But the sly dog dived, and came up under the man of war, scuttled her, and down she went, was all sail set to the bottom of the sea, sea, sea, where— Oh, gracious, what shall I say? cried Sally, as Fred ended his rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together pel-mel, nautical phrases, and facts out of one of his favourite books. Well, they went to the bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, hoping to discover the mystery about them, for, being a woman, she was curious. By and by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, I'll give you a box of pearls if you can take it up, for she wanted to restore the poor things to life and couldn't raise the heavy load herself. So the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed on opening it to find no pearls. He left it in a great lonely field, where it was found by a little goose girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field, said Amy, when Sally's invention gave out. The little girl was sorry for them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. Your geese will tell you they know everything, said the old woman, so she asked what she should use for new heads since the old ones were lost, and the geese opened their hundred mouths, and screamed, Cabbage's! continued Lori promptly. Just the thing, said the girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on, the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other heads like them in the world, that no one thought anything of it. The knight in whom I'm interested went back to find the pretty face, learned that the princess had spun themselves free, and all gone and married but one. He was in a great state of mind at that, and mounting the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his affections picking flowers in her garden. Will you give me a rose? said he. You must come and get it. I can't come to you. It isn't proper, said she, as sweet as honey. He tried to climb over the hedge, but it seemed to grow higher and higher. Then he tried to push through, but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently broke twig after twig till he had made a little hole through which he peeped, saying imploringly, Let me in, let me in! But the pretty princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will tell you. I can't. I'm not playing. I never do. said Frank, dismayed at the sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple. Beth had disappeared behind Joe, and Grace was asleep. So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he? asked Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in his buttonhole. I guess the princess gave him a posey, and opened the gate after a while, said Laurie, smiling to himself as he threw acorns at his tutor. What a piece of nonsense we have made. With practice we might do something quite clever. Do you know truth? I hope so, said Meg soberly. The game, I mean. What is it? said Fred. Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any question put by the rest. It's great fun. Let's try it, said Joe, who liked new experiments. Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg and Ned declined, but Fred, Sally, Joe, and Laurie piled and drew, and the lot fell to Laurie. Who are your heroes? asked Joe. Grandfather and Napoleon. Which lady here do you think prettiest? said Sally. Margaret. Which do you like best? From Fred. Joe, of course. What silly questions you ask, and Joe gave a disdainful shrug as the rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone. Try again. Truth isn't a bad game, said Fred. It's a very good one for you, retorted Joe, in a low voice. Her turn came next. What is your greatest fault? Just Fred, by way of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself. A quick temper. What do you most wish for? said Laurie. A pair of bootlacings. Returned Joe, guessing and defeating his purpose. Not a true answer. You must say what you really do want most. Genius. Don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie? And she slyly smiled in his disappointed face. What virtues do you most admire in a man? asked Sally. Courage and honesty. Now my turn, said Fred, as his hand came last. Let's give it to him, whispered Laurie to Joe, who nodded and asked at once. Didn't you cheat at croquet? Well, yes, a little bit. Good. Didn't you take your story out of the sea lion? said Laurie. Rather. Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect? asked Sally. I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't. He's a true John Ball. Promise Sally, you shall have a chance without waiting to draw, I'll harrow up your feelings first by asking if you don't think you are something of a flirt, said Laurie as Joe nodded to Fred as a sign that peace was declared. You impertinent boy, of course I'm not, exclaimed Sally with an air that proved the contrary. What do you hate most? asked Fred. Spiders and rice pudding. What do you like best? asked Joe. Well, I think truth is a very silly play. Let's have a sensible game of authors to refresh our minds, proposed Joe. Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on the three elders sat apart talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brook lay on the grass with a book, which he did not read. How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice. Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it," replied Miss Kate graciously. I haven't time. Your mama prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine, but I proved to her that I had talent by taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with your governess? I have none. I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, Papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose. I don't go at all. I'm a governess myself. Oh, indeed! said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, dear me, how dreadful! For her tone implied it, and something in her face made Meg colour, and wished that she had not been so frank. Mr. Brook looked up and said quickly. Young ladies in America love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves. Oh, yes, of course, it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same, and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well-bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate, in a patronising tone that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not only mortis-tasteful, but degrading. Did the German song suit, Miss March? inquired Mr. Brook, breaking an awkward pause. Oh, yes, it was very sweet, and I much obliged to whoever translated it for me, and Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke. Don't you read German? asked Miss Kate with a look of surprise. Not very well. My father who taught me is away, and I don't get on very fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation. Try a little now. Here is Schiller's Mary Stewart, and a tutor who loves to teach. And Mr. Brook laid his book in her lap with an inviting smile. It's so hard, I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her. I'll read a bit to encourage you. And Miss Kate read one of the most beautiful passages in a perfectly correct, but perfectly expressionless manner. Mr. Brook made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who said innocently, I thought it was poetry. Some of it is. Try this passage. There was a queer smile about Mr. Brook's mouth as he opened at poor Mary's lament. Meg obediently followed the long grass-blade which her new tutor used to point with. Red slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene. Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short. But she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoiled for her. Very well indeed, said Mr. Brook as she paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes and looking as if he did indeed love to teach. Miss Kate put up her glass, and having taken a survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketchbook, saying with condescension, you've an ice accent and in time would be a clever reader. I advise you to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teach us. I must look after Grace, she is romping. And Miss Kate strolled away, adding to herself with a shrug, I didn't come to sheparone a governess, though she is young and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are. I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoiled among them. I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses and don't treat them as we do, said Meg, looking after the retreating figure with an annoyed expression. Tutors also have a rather hard time of it there, as I know to my sorrow. There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret. And Mr. Brook looked so contented and cheerful, that Meg was ashamed to lament her hard lot. I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain. I only wished I liked teaching as you do. I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry to lose him next year, as the Mr. Brook busily punching holes in the turf. Going to college, I suppose? Meg's lips asked the question, but her eyes added, and what becomes of you? Yes, it's high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, I shall turn soldier. I am needed. I am glad of that, exclaimed Meg. I should think every young man would want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay at home, she added sorrowfully. I have neither, and very few friends, to care whether I live or die, said Mr. Brook, rather bitterly, as he absolutely put the dead rose in the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave. Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any harm happen to you. Thank you, that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brook, looking cheerful again, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day. Don't you love to ride? Asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned. I doubt upon it. My sister Meg used to ride when Papa was rich, but we don't keep any horses now, except Ellentree, added Amy, laughing. Tell me about Ellentree. Is it a donkey? Asked Grace curiously. Why, you see, Joe is crazy about horses, and so am I, but we've only got an old side saddle and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple tree that has a nice low branch, so Joe put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellentree whenever we like. How funny! laughed Grace. I have a pony at home, and ride nearly every day in the park with Fred and Kate. It's very nice, for my friends go too, and the row is full of ladies and gentlemen. Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I'd rather go to Rome than to the row, said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what the row was, and wouldn't have asked for the world. Frank sitting just behind the little girls heard what they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture, as he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered author cards, looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, I'm afraid you are tired. Can I do anything for you? Talk to me, please. It's dull sitting by myself," answered Frank, who had evidently been used to being made much of at home. If he had asked her to give a Latin oration, it would not have seemed a more impossible task to bashful Beth. But there was no place to run to, no Joe to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that she bravely resolved to try. What do you like to talk about? She asked, fumbling over the cards and dropping half as she tried to tie them up. Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength. My heart, what shall I do? I don't know anything about them," thought Beth, and forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry she said, hoping to make him talk. I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know all about it. I did once, but I could never hunt again, for I got hurt, leaping a confounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds for me," said Frank, with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent blunder. Your dear are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one of the boy's books in which Joe delighted. Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her sister's surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking away to one of the dreadful boys against whom she had begged protection. Bless her heart, she pities him so she's good to him," said Joe, beaming at her from the croquet ground. I always said she was a little saint, added Meg, as if there could be no further doubt of it. I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long, said Grace to Amy as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorn cups. My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl when she likes to be," said Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. She meant fascinating, but as Grace didn't know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded well and made a good impression. An impromptu circus, vox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded and the whole party floated down the river, singing at the top by their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain, alone, alone, ah, whoa, alone. And at the lines, we each are young, we each have a heart, oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart? He looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed outright and spoiled his song. How can you be so cruel to me? He whispered under cover of a lively chorus. You've kept close to that starched-up English woman all day, and now you snub me. I didn't mean to, but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it, replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat Party and the talk after it. Ned was offended and turned to Sally for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly. There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there? Not a particle, but she's a deer, returned Sally, defending her friend even while confessing her shortcomings. She's not a stricken deer, anyway, said Ned, trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do. On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good-nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Cain't looked after them, saying, without the patronising tone in her voice. In spite of their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows them. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIII. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practising half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fancy neglect of his horse, he had fallen himself into his hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash. Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the marches coming out as if found on some expedition. What in the world are those girls about now? thought Lori, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something rather peculiar in the appearance of his neighbours. Each wore a large, flapping hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried a long staff. Meg had a cushion, Joe a book, Beth a basket, and Amy a portfolio. All walked quietly through the garden out at the little gate, and began to climb the hill that lay between the house and river. Well, that's cool, said Lori to himself, to have a picnic and never ask me. They can't be going in the boat, for they haven't got the key. Perhaps they forgot it. I'll take it to them and see what's going on. Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to find one. Then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered in his pocket, so that the girls were cut out of sight when he leaped the fence and ran after them. Taking the shortest way to the boat-house, he waited for them to appear, but no one came, and he went up the hill to take an observation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, and from the heart of this green spot came a clearer sand than the soft sigh of the pines, or the drowsy chirp of the crickets. Here's a landscape, thought Lori, peeping through the bushes and looking wide awake and good-natured already. It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little wood-people going on with their affairs as if these were no strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon our cushions, sewing daintily with her white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose in our pink dress among the green. Beth was sorting the cones that lay thick under the hemlock nearby, for she made pretty things with them. Amy was sketching a group of ferns, and Joe was knitting as she read aloud. A shadow passed over the boy's face as he watched them, feeling that he ought to go away because uninvited, yet lingering because home seemed very lonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his restless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with its harvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly and skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, aspired the wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile. May I come in, please, or shall I be a bother? he asked, advancing slowly. Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Joe scowled at her defiantly and said at once, Of course you may. We should have asked you before, only we thought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this. I always like your games, but if Meg doesn't want me, I'll go away. I have no objection. If you do something, it's against the rules to be idle here, replied Meg, gravely but graciously. Much obliged, I'll do anything if you let me stop a bit, for it's as dull as the desert of Sahara down there. Shall I so read, cone, draw, or do all at once? Bring on your bear as I'm ready. And Laurie sat down, with a submissive expression delightful to behold. Finish this story while I set my heel, said Joe handing him the book. Yes, him, was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove his gratitude for the favour of admission into the busy bee's society. The story was not a long one, and when it was finished he ventured to ask a few questions as a reward of merit. Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charming institution is a new one? Would you tell him, asked Meg of her sisters. He'll laugh, said Amy, warningly. Who cares, said Joe. I guess he'll like it, added Beth. Of course I shall. I give you my word, I won't laugh. Tell away, Joe, and don't be afraid. The idea of being afraid of you, well, you see, we used to play pilgrims' progress, and we've been going on with it in earnest, all winter and summer. Yes, I know, said Laurie, nodding wisely. Who told you, demanded Joe. Spirits. No, I did. I wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and he was rather dismal. He did like it, so don't scold Joe, said Beth meekly. You can't keep a secret. Never mind, it saves trouble now. Go on, please, said Laurie, as Joe became absorbed in her work, looking a trifle displeased. Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well we have tried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a task and worked at it with a will. The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, and we are ever so glad that we didn't dawdle. Yes, I should think so, and Laurie thought regretfully of his own idle days. Mother likes to have us out of doors as much as possible, so we bring our work here and have nice times. For the fun of it we bring our things in these bags, where the old hats use poles to climb the hill and play pilgrims as we used to do years ago. We call this hill the Delectable Mountain, for we can look far away and see the country where we hope to live some time. Joe pointed and Laurie sat up to examine. For a through and opening in the wood one could look across the wide blue river, the meadows on the other side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green hills that rose to meet the sky. The sun was low and the heavens glowed with the splendor of an autumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds lay on the hilltops, and rising high into the reddy light were silvery white peaks that shone like the airy spires of some celestial city. How beautiful that is, said Laurie softly, for he was quick to see and feel beauty of any kind. It's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same but always splendid, replied Amy, wishing she could paint it. Joe talks about the country where we hope to live some time. The real country, she means, with pigs and chickens and hay-making. It would be nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could ever go to it, said Beth musingly. There is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go, by and by, when we are good enough, answered Meg with her sweetest voice. It seems so long to wait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at once, as those swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate. You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later, no fear of that, said Joe. I'm the one that will have to fight and work and climb and wait, and maybe never get in after all. You'll have me for company if that's any comfort, I shall have to do a great deal of traveling before I come inside of your celestial city. If I arrive late, you'll say a good word from me, won't you, Beth? Something in the boy's face troubled his little friend, but she said cheerfully, with her quiet eyes and the changing clouds. If people really want to go, and really try all their lives, I think they will get in, for I don't believe there are any locks on that door or any guards at the gate. I always imagine it is as it is in the picture, where the shining ones stretch out their hands to welcome poor Christian as he comes up from the river. I want to be fun of all the castles in the air which we make could come true and we could live in them, said Joe, after a little pause. I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I'd have, said Laurie, lying flat, and throwing cones at the squirrel who had betrayed him. You'd have to take your favorite one. What is it? asked Meg. If I tell mine will you tell yours? Yes, if the girls will too. We will, now Laurie. After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd like to settle in Germany, and have just as much music as I choose. I am to be a famous musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me, and I'm never to be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself, and live for what I like. That's my favorite castle, what's yours, Meg? It seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and wave to break before her face as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she said slowly, I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious things, nice food, pretty clothes, hats and furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be mistress of it and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy it, for I wouldn't be idle but do good, and make everyone love me dearly. Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air? Asked Laurie Slyly. I said, pleasant people, you know, and Meg carefully tied up her shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face. Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband and some angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn't be perfect without, said Blunt Joe, who had no tender fancies yet and rather scorned romance, except in books. You'd have nothing but horses, ink-stands, and novels in yours, answered Meg petulently. Wouldn't I, though? I'd have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piled high with books, and I'd write out of a magic ink-stand, so that my works should be as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and I'm going to astonish you all some day. I think I shall write books and get rich and famous. That would suit me, so that is my favorite dream. Mine is to stay at home with father and mother and help take care of the family, said Beth contentedly. Don't you wish for anything else, asked Laurie. Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we may all keep well and be together, nothing else. I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist and go to Rome and do fine pictures and be the best artist in the world, was Amy's modest desire. We're an ambitious set, aren't we, every one of us, but Beth wants to be rich and famous and gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder if any of us will get our wishes, said Laurie, chewing grass like a meditative calf. I have got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen, observed Joe mysteriously. I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it. Hang college, muttered Laurie with an impatient sigh. Here's mine, and Amy waved her pencil. I haven't got any, said Meg, for lonely. Yes you have, said Laurie at once. Where? In your face. Nonsense, that's of no use. We didn't see if it doesn't bring you something worth having, replied the boy, laughing at the thought of a charming little secret which he fat-seed he knew. Meg colored behind the break but asked no questions and looked across the river with the same expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had worn when he told the story of the night. If we were all alive ten years hence, let's meet and see how many of us have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are than we are now, said Joe, always ready with a plan. Bless me, how old I shall be, twenty-seven, exclaimed Meg, to felt grown up already, having just reached seventeen. You and I will be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, and Amy twenty-two. What a venerable party, said Joe. I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time, but I'm such a lazy dog, I'm a frightful daughter, Joe. You need a motive, mother says, and when you get it she is sure you'll work splendidly. Is she? By Jupiter I will, if I only get the chance, cried Laurie, sitting up with sudden energy. I ought to be satisfied to please grandfather, and I do try, but it's working against the grain you see and comes hard. He wants me to be an Indian merchant, as he was, and I'd rather be shot. I hate tea and silk and spices, and every sort of rubbish his old chips bring, and I don't care how soon they go to the bottom when I own them. Going to college ought to satisfy him, for if I give him four years he ought to let me off from the business. But he's set, and I've got to do just as he did, unless I break away and please myself as my father did. If there was anyone left to stay with the old gentleman I'd do it to-morrow. Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat into execution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing up very fast, and in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of subjection, a young man's restless longing to try the world for himself. I advise you to sail away in one of your ships and never come home again till you have tried your own way, said Joe, whose imagination was fired by the thought of such a daring exploit and his sympathy was excited by what she called Teddy's wrongs. That's not right, Joe. You mustn't talk in that way, and Laurie mustn't take your bad advice. You should do just what your grandfather wishes, my dear boy, said Meg in her most maternal tone. Do your best at college, and when he sees that you try to please him I'm sure he won't be hard on you or unjust to you. As you say there is no one else to stay with and love him, and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him without his permission. Don't be dismal or fret, but do your duty and you'll get your reward as good Mr. Brooke has by being respected and loved. What do you know about him? Asked Laurie, grateful for the good advice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversation from himself after his unusual outbreak. Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care of his own mother till she died, and wouldn't go abroad as a tutor to some nice person because he wouldn't leave her, and how he provides now for an old woman who nursed his mother and never tells anyone, but is just as generous and patient as good as he can be. So he is, dear old fellow, said Laurie hardly, as Meg paused, looking fleshed and earnest with her story. It's like grandpa to find out all about him without letting him know, and to tell his goodness to others, so that they might like him. Brooke couldn't understand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over with me and treating him in her beautiful friendly way. He thought she was just perfect and talked about it for days and days, and went on about you all in flaming style. If ever I do get my wish, you'll see what I'll do for Brooke. Begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out, said Meg sharply. How do you know I do, miss? I can always tell by his face when he goes away. If you have been good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly. If you have plagued him, he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his work better. Well, I like that, so you keep an account of my good and bad marks in Brooke's face, do you? I see him bow and smile as he passes your window, but I didn't know you'd got up at Telegraph. We haven't. Don't be angry, and—oh, don't tell him I said anything! It was only to show that I cared how you get on, and what is said here is said in confidence, you know, cried Meg, much alarmed at the thought of what might follow from her careless speech. I don't tell tales, replied Laurie, with his high and mighty air, as Joe called a certain expression which he occasionally wore. Only if Brooke is going to be a thermometer I must mind and have fair weather for him to report. Please don't be offended. I didn't mean to preach or tell tales or be silly. I only thought Joe was encouraging you in a feeling which you'd be sorry for by and by. You're so kind to us. We feel as if you were our brother and say just what we think. Forgive me, I meant it kindly, and Meg offered her hand with a gesture both affectionate and timid. Ashamed of his momentary peak, Laurie squeezed the kind hand and said frankly, I'm the one to be forgiven. I'm cross and have been out of sorts all day. I like to have you tell me my faults and be sisterly, so don't mind if I'm grumpy sometimes. I thank you all the same. Fenton showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeable as possible, wound, cotton for Meg, recited poetry to please Joe, shook down cones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself a fit person to belong to the Busy Bee Society. In the midst of an animated discussion on the domestic habits of turtles, one of those amiable creatures having strolled up from the river, the faint sign of a bell warned them that Hannah had put the tea to draw, and they would just have time to get home to supper. May I come again? asked Laurie. Yes, if you're a good and love your book, as the boys in the primer are told to do, said Meg, smiling. I'll try. Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the Scotchman do. There's a demand for socks just now, added Joe, waving her as like a big blue worsted banner as they parted at the gate. That night, when Beth played to Mr. Lawrence in the twilight, Laurie, standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David, whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old man, who sat with his gray head in his hand, thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of the afternoon, the boys said to himself, with the resolve to make the sacrifice cheerfully, I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has. End of Chapter 13