“John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see and bear with them,remembering your own. He is very decided, but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly,not oppose impatiently. He is very accurate, and particular about the truth—a good trait,though you call him ‘fussy’. Never deceive him by look or word, Meg,and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a temper,not like ours—one flash and then all over—but the white, still anger that is seldom stirred,but once kindled is hard to quench. Be careful, be very careful,not to wake his anger against yourself, for peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect.Watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against the little piques,misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way for bitter sorrow and regret.”
These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, especially the last.This was the first serious disagreement, her own hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind,as she recalled them, her own anger looked childish now,and thoughts of poor John coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart.She glanced at him with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them.She put down her work and got up, thinking, “I will be the first to say, ‘Forgive me’”,but he did not seem to hear her. She went very slowly across the room,for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head.For a minute she felt as if she really couldn’t do it, then came the thought,“This is the beginning. I’ll do my part, and have nothing to reproach myself with,” and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that settled it.The penitent kiss was better than a world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, saying tenderly...
“It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me, dear. I never will again!”
But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg,both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made,for family peace was preserved in that little family jar.
After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation,and served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first course,on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made everything go off so charmingly, that Mr.Scott told John he was a lucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all the way home.
In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffat renewed her friendship,was always running out for a dish of gossip at the little house,or inviting ‘that poor dear’ to come in and spend the day at the big house. It was pleasant,for in dull weather Meg often felt lonely. All were busy at home, John absent till night,and nothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about.So it naturally fell out that Meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend.Seeing Sallie’s pretty things made her long for such,and pity herself because she had not got them. Sallie was very kind,and often offered her the coveted trifles, but Meg declined them,knowing that John wouldn’t like it, and then this foolish little woman went and did what John disliked even worse.
She knew her husband’s income, and she loved to feel that he trusted her,not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value more—his money. She knew where it was,was free to take what she liked, and all he asked was that she should keep account of every penny,pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man’s wife. Till now she had done well,been prudent and exact, kept her little account books neatly,and showed them to him monthly without fear. But that autumn the serpent got into Meg’s paradise,and tempted her like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress.Meg didn’t like to be pitied and made to feel poor. It irritated her,but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and then she tried to console herself by buying something pretty,so that Sallie needn’t think she had to economize. She always felt wicked after it,for the pretty things were seldom necessaries, but then they cost so little,it wasn’t worth worrying about, so the trifles increased unconsciously,and in the shopping excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on.
But the trifles cost more than one would imagine,and when she cast up her accounts at the end of the month the sum total rather scared her.John was busy that month and left the bills to her, the next month he was absent,but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Meg never forgot it.A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and it weighed upon her conscience.Sallie had been buying silks, and Meg longed for a new one, just a handsome light one for parties,her black silk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only proper for girls.Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five dollars apiece at New Year’s.That was only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain,and she had the money, if she only dared to take it. John always said what was his was hers,but would he think it right to spend not only the prospective five-and-twenty,but another five-and-twenty out of the household fund?That was the question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to lend the money,and with the best intentions in life had tempted Meg beyond her strength.In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely, shimmering folds, and said, “A bargain, I assure,you, ma’am.” She answered, “I’ll take it,” and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie had exulted,and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven away,feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police were after her.
When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by spreading forth the lovely silk,but it looked less silvery now, didn’t become her, after all,and the words ‘fifty dollars’ seemed stamped like a pattern down each breadth. She put it away,but it haunted her, not delightfully as a new dress should,but dreadfully like the ghost of a folly that was not easily laid.When John got out his books that night, Meg’s heart sank,and for the first time in her married life, she was afraid of her husband. The kind,brown eyes looked as if they could be stern, and though he was unusually merry,she fancied he had found her out, but didn’t mean to let her know it.The house bills were all paid, the books all in order. John had praised her,and was undoing the old pocketbook which they called the ‘bank’, when Meg,knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously...
“You haven’t seen my private expense book yet.”
John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so,and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things women wanted,and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely the meaning of a hug-me-tight,or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings,could possibly be a bonnet, and cost six dollars.That night he looked as if he would like the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance,as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent wife.
The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him.Meg got behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinkles out of his tired forehead,and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing with every word...
“John, dear, I’m ashamed to show you my book, for I’ve really been dreadfully extravagant lately.I go about so much I must have things, you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did,and my New Year’s money will partly pay for it, but I was sorry after I had done it, for I knew you’d think it wrong in me.”
John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly, “Don’t go and hide.I won’t beat you if you have got a pair of killing boots. I’m rather proud of my wife’s feet,and don’t mind if she does pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones.”
That had been one of her last ‘trifles’, and John’s eye had fallen on it as he spoke. “Oh,what will he say when he comes to that awful fifty dollars!” thought Meg, with a shiver.
“It’s worse than boots, it’s a silk dress,” she said, with the calmness of desperation, for she wanted the worst over.
“Well, dear, what is the ‘dem’d total’, as Mr. Mantalini says?”
That didn’t sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her with the straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet and answer with one as frank till now. She turned the page and her head at the same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enough without the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added. For a minute the room was very still, then John said slowly—but she could feel it cost him an effort to express no displeasure—. . .
“Well, I don’t know that fifty is much for a dress,with all the furbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days.”
“It isn’t made or trimmed,” sighed Meg, faintly,for a sudden recollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her.
“Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman,but I’ve no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat’s when she gets it on,” said John dryly.
“I know you are angry, John, but I can’t help it. I don’t mean to waste your money,and I didn’t think those little things would count up so.I can’t resist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me because I don’t.I try to be contented, but it is hard, and I’m tired of being poor.”
The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, but he did,and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself many pleasures for Meg’s sake.She could have bitten her tongue out the minute she had said it,for John pushed the books away and got up, saying with a little quiver in his voice,“I was afraid of this. I do my best, Meg.” If he had scolded her, or even shaken her,it would not have broken her heart like those few words. She ran to him and held him close, crying,with repentant tears, “Oh, John, my dear, kind, hard-working boy. I didn’t mean it!It was so wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could I say it!Oh, how could I say it!”
He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach,but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not be forgotten soon,although he might never allude to it again. She had promised to love him for better or worse,and then she, his wife, had reproached him with his poverty,after spending his earnings recklessly. It was dreadful,and the worst of it was John went on so quietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened,except that he stayed in town later, and worked at night when she had gone to cry herself to sleep.A week of remorse nearly made Meg sick,and the discovery that John had countermanded the order for his new greatcoat reduced her to a state of despair which was pathetic to behold.He had simply said, in answer to her surprised inquiries as to the change, “I can’t afford it, my dear.”
Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall with her face buried in the old greatcoat, crying as if her heart would break.
They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husband better for his poverty,because it seemed to have made a man of him,given him the strength and courage to fight his own way,and taught him a tender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings and failures of those he loved.
Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, told the truth,and asked her to buy the silk as a favor. The good-natured Mrs. Moffat willingly did so,and had the delicacy not to make her a present of it immediately afterward.Then Meg ordered home the greatcoat, and when John arrived, she put it on,and asked him how he liked her new silk gown. One can imagine what answer he made,how he received his present, and what a blissful state of things ensued. John came home early,Meg gadded no more, and that greatcoat was put on in the morning by a very happy husband,and taken off at night by a most devoted little wife. So the year rolled round,and at midsummer there came to Meg a new experience, the deepest and tenderest of a woman’s life.
Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dovecote one Saturday, with an excited face,and was received with the clash of cymbals,for Hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in the other.
“How’s the little mamma?Where is everybody?Why didn’t you tell me before I came home?” began Laurie in a loud whisper.
“Happy as a queen, the dear!Every soul of ’em is upstairs a worshipin’. We didn’t want no hurrycanes round.Now you go into the parlor, and I’ll send ’em down to you,” with which somewhat involved reply Hannah vanished, chuckling ecstatically.
Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upon a large pillow.Jo’s face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled,and there was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort.
“Shut your eyes and hold out your arms,” she said invitingly.
Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind him with an imploring gesture.“No, thank you. I’d rather not. I shall drop it or smash it, as sure as fate.”
“Then you shan’t see your nevvy,” said Jo decidedly, turning as if to go.
“I will, I will!Only you must be responsible for damages.” and obeying orders,Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put into his arms. A peal of laughter from Jo,Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah, and John caused him to open them the next minute,to find himself invested with two babies instead of one.
No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enough to convulse a Quaker,as he stood and stared wildly from the unconscious innocents to the hilarious spectators with such dismay that Jo sat down on the floor and screamed.
“Twins, by Jupiter!” was all he said for a minute, then turning to the women with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added, “Take ’em quick, somebody!I’m going to laugh, and I shall drop ’em.”
Jo rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each arm,as if already initiated into the mysteries of babytending,while Laurie laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
“It’s the best joke of the season, isn’t it?I wouldn’t have told you, for I set my heart on surprising you, and I flatter myself I’ve done it, ” said Jo, when she got her breath.
“I never was more staggered in my life. Isn’t it fun?Are they boys?What are you going to name them?Let’s have another look. Hold me up, Jo, for upon my life it’s one too many for me,” returned Laurie, regarding the infants with the air of a big,benevolent Newfoundland looking at a pair of infantile kittens.
“Boy and girl. Aren’t they beauties?” said the proud papa, beaming upon the little red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels.
“Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which?” and Laurie bent like a well-sweep to examine the prodigies.
“Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, French fashion, so you can always tell.Besides, one has blue eyes and one brown. Kiss them, Uncle Teddy,” said wicked Jo.
“I’m afraid they mightn’t like it,” began Laurie, with unusual timidity in such matters.
“Of course they will, they are used to it now. Do it this minute, sir!” commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy.
Laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peck at each little cheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal.
“There, I knew they didn’t like it!That’s the boy, see him kick, he hits out with his fists like a good one. Now then, young Brooke,pitch into a man of your own size, will you?” cried Laurie, delighted with a poke in the face from a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about.
“He’s to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, after mother and grandmother.We shall call her Daisey, so as not to have two Megs, and I suppose the mannie will be Jack,unless we find a better name,” said Amy, with aunt-like interest.
“Name him Demijohn, and call him Demi for short,” said Laurie.
“Daisy and Demi, just the thing!I knew Teddy would do it,” cried Jo clapping her hands.
Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were ‘Daisy’ and ‘Demi’ to the end of the chapter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CALLS
“Come, Jo, it’s time.”
“For what?”
“You don’t mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half a dozen calls with me today?”
“I’ve done a good many rash and foolish things in my life,but I don’t think I ever was mad enough to say I’d make six calls in one day,when a single one upsets me for a week.”
“Yes, you did, it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you,and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors’ visits.”
“If it was fair, that was in the bond, and I stand to the letter of my bond, Shylock.There is a pile of clouds in the east, it’s not fair, and I don’t go.”
“Now, that’s shirking. It’s a lovely day, no prospect of rain,and you pride yourself on keeping promises, so be honorable, come and do your duty,and then be at peace for another six months.”
At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking,for she was mantua-maker general to the family,and took especial credit to herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen.It was very provoking to be arrested in the act of a first trying-on,and ordered out to make calls in her best array on a warm July day.She hated calls of the formal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain,bribe, or promise. In the present instance there was no escape,and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelled thunder,she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air of resignation, told Amy the victim was ready.
“Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint!You don’t intend to make calls in that state, I hope,” cried Amy, surveying her with amazement.
“Why not?I’m neat and cool and comfortable, quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day.If people care more for my clothes than they do for me, I don’t wish to see them.You can dress for both, and be as elegant as you please. It pays for you to be fine.It doesn’t for me, and furbelows only worry me.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Amy, “now she’s in a contrary fit,and will drive me distracted before I can get her properly ready.I’m sure it’s no pleasure to me to go today, but it’s a debt we owe society,and there’s no one to pay it but you and me. I’ll do anything for you, Jo,if you’ll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can talk so well,look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you try,that I’m proud of you. I’m afraid to go alone, do come and take care of me.”
“You’re an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old sister in that way.The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and your being afraid to go anywhere alone!I don’t know which is the most absurd. Well, I’ll go if I must, and do my best.You shall be commander of the expedition, and I’ll obey blindly, will that satisfy you?” said Jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamblike submission.
“You’re a perfect cherub!Now put on all your best things, and I’ll tell you how to behave at each place,so that you will make a good impression. I want people to like you,and they would if you’d only try to be a little more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way,and put the pink rose in your bonnet. It’s becoming, and you look too sober in your plain suit.Take your light gloves and the embroidered handkerchief. We’ll stop at Meg’s,and borrow her white sunshade, and then you can have my dove-colored one.”
While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them, not without entering her protest,however, for she sighed as she rustled into her new organdie,frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an irreproachable bow,wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar,wrinkled up her features generally as she shook out the handkerchief,whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the present mission was to her feelings,and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel,as the last touch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly...
“I’m perfectly miserable, but if you consider me presentable, I die happy.”
“You’re highly satisfactory. Turn slowly round, and let me get a careful view.” Jo revolved,and Amy gave a touch here and there, then fell back, with her head on one side,observing graciously, “Yes, you’ll do. Your head is all I could ask,for that white bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders,and carry your hands easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch. There’s one thing you can do well,Jo, that is, wear a shawl. I can’t, but it’s very nice to see you,and I’m so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one. It’s simple, but handsome,and those folds over the arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and have I looped my dress evenly?I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my nose isn’t.”
“You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever,” said Jo,looking through her hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against the golden hair.“Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please, ma’am?”
“Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house. The sweeping style suits you best,and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. You haven’t half buttoned one cuff,do it at once. You’ll never look finished if you are not careful about the little details, for they make up the pleasing whole.”
Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up her cuff,but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as ‘pretty as picters’, Hannah said,as she hung out of the upper window to watch them.
“Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people,so I want you to put on your best deportment. Don’t make any of your abrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you?Just be calm, cool, and quiet, that’s safe and ladylike,and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes,” said Amy, as they approached the first place,having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm.
“Let me see. ‘Calm, cool, and quiet’, yes, I think I can promise that.I’ve played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I’ll try it off. My powers are great,as you shall see, so be easy in your mind, my child.”
Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word,for during the first call she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every fold correctly draped,calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and as silent as the sphinx. In vain Mrs.Chester alluded to her ‘charming novel’, and the Misses Chester introduced parties, picnics,the opera, and the fashions. Each and all were answered by a smile, a bow,and a demure “Yes” or “No” with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the word ‘talk’,tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with her foot.Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportment like Maud’s face, ‘icily regular, splendidly null’.
“What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!” was the unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door closed upon their guests.Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall,but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions,and very naturally laid the blame upon Jo.
“How could you mistake me so?I merely meant you to be properly dignified and composed,and you made yourself a perfect stock and stone. Try to be sociable at the Lambs’.Gossip as other girls do, and be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up.They move in the best society, are valuable persons for us to know,and I wouldn’t fail to make a good impression there for anything.”
“I’ll be agreeable. I’ll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and raptures over any trifle you like.I rather enjoy this, and now I’ll imitate what is called ‘a charming girl’. I can do it,for I have May Chester as a model, and I’ll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don’t say,‘What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is!”
Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would stop.Amy’s face was a study when she saw her sister skim into the next drawing room,kiss all the young ladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen,and join in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession of by Mrs.Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long account of Lucretia’s last attack,while three delightful young gentlemen hovered near,waiting for a pause when they might rush in and rescue her. So situated,she was powerless to check Jo, who seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief,and talked away as volubly as the lady. A knot of heads gathered about her,and Amy strained her ears to hear what was going on,for broken sentences filled her with curiosity,and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun.One may imagine her suffering on overhearing fragments of this sort of conversation.
“She rides splendidly. Who taught her?”
“No one. She used to practice mounting, holding the reins,and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything,for she doesn’t know what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheap because she trains them to carry ladies so well.She has such a passion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails,she can be a horsebreaker, and get her living so.”
At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty,for the impression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady,which was her especial aversion. But what could she do?For the old lady was in the middle of her story, and long before it was done, Jo was off again,making more droll revelations and committing still more fearful blunders.
“Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, and of three left,one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start.Nice animal for a pleasure party, wasn’t it?”
“Which did she choose?” asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject.
“None of them. She heard of a young horse at the farm house over the river,and though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, because he was handsome and spirited.Her struggles were really pathetic. There was no one to bring the horse to the saddle,so she took the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over the river,put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the old man!”
“Did she ride the horse?”
“Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her brought home in fragments,but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of the party.”
“Well, I call that plucky!” and young Mr. Lamb turned an approving glance upon Amy,wondering what his mother could be saying to make the girl look so red and uncomfortable.
She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after,when a sudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress.One of the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to the picnic and stupid Jo,instead of mentioning the place where it was bought two years ago,must needs answer with unnecessary frankness, “Oh, Amy painted it. You can’t buy those soft shades,so we paint ours any color we like. It’s a great comfort to have an artistic sister.”
“Isn’t that an original idea?” cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun.
“That’s nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There’s nothing the child can’t do.Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie’s party,so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of sky blue you ever saw,and they looked exactly like satin,” added Jo,with an air of pride in her sister’s accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw her cardcase at her.
“We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much,” observed the elder Miss Lamb,wishing to compliment the literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed.
Any mention of her ‘works’ always had a bad effect upon Jo,who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now.“Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that rubbish because it sells,and ordinary people like it. Are you going to New York this winter?”
As Miss Lamb had ‘enjoyed’ the story, this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary.The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake, but fearing to make the matter worse,suddenly remembered that it was for her to make the first move toward departure,and did so with an abruptness that left three people with half-finished sentences in their mouths.
“Amy, we must go. Good-by, dear, do come and see us. We are pining for a visit.I don’t dare to ask you, Mr. Lamb, but if you should come,I don’t think I shall have the heart to send you away.”
Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester’s gushing style that Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible,feeling a strong desire to laugh and cry at the same time.