“Rather a pleasant year on the whole!” said Meg, smiling at the fire,and congratulating herself on having treated Mr.Brooke with dignity.
“I think it’s been a pretty hard one,” observed Amy,watching the light shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.
“I’m glad it’s over, because we’ve got you back,” whispered Beth, who sat on her father’s knee.
“Rather a rough road for you to travel,my little pilgrims, especially the latter part of it.But you have got on bravely,and I think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon,” said Mr. March, looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him.
“How do you know?Did Mother tell you?” asked Jo.
“Not much. Straws show which way the wind blows,and I’ve made several discoveries today.”
“Oh, tell us what they are!” cried Meg, who sat beside him.
“Here is one.” And taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair,he pointed to the roughened forefinger,a burn on the back,and two or three little hard spots on the palm.“I remember a time when this hand was white and smooth,and your first care was to keep it so.It was very pretty then,but to me it is much prettier now,for in this seeming blemishes I read a little history.A burnt offering has been made to vanity,this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters,and I’m sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long time,so much good will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear,I value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments. I’m proud to shake this good, industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away.”
If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor,she received it in the hearty pressure of her father’s hand and the approving smile he gave her.
“What about Jo?Please say something nice,for she has tried so hard and been so very,very good to me,” said Beth in her father’s ear.
He laughed and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite,with an unusually mild expression in her face.
“In spite of the curly crop,I don’t see the ‘son Jo’ whom I left a year ago,” said Mr. March. “I see a young lady who pins her collar straight,laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles,talks slang, nor lies on the rug as she used to do.Her face is rather thin and pale just now,with watching and anxiety, but I like to look at it,for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower.She doesn’t bounce, but moves quietly,and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which delights me.I rather miss my wild girl, but if I get a strong,helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place,I shall feel quite satisfied.I don’t know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep,but I do know that in all Washington I couldn’t find anything beautiful enough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars my good girl sent me.”
Jo’s keen eyes were rather dim for a minute,and her thin face grew rosy in the firelight as she received her father’s praise, feeling that she did deserve a portion of it.
“Now, Beth,” said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait.
“There’s so little of her, I’m afraid to say much,for fear she will slip away altogether,though she is not so shy as she used to be,” began their father cheerfully.But recollecting how nearly he had lost her,he held her close, saying tenderly,with her cheek against his own, “I’ve got you safe,my Beth, and I’ll keep you so, please God.”
After a minute’s silence, he looked down at Amy,who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said,with a caress of the shining hair...
“I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner,ran errands for her mother all the afternoon,gave Meg her place tonight,and has waited on every one with patience and good humor.I also observe that she does not fret much nor look in the glass,and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears,so I conclude that she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mold her character as carefully as she molds her little clay figures. I am glad of this, for though I should be very proud of a graceful statue made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others.”
“What are you thinking of, Beth?” asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her father and told about her ring.
“I read in _Pilgrim’s Progress_ today how,after many troubles,Christian and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow where lilies bloomed all year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey’s end,” answered Beth, adding, as she slipped out of her father’s arms and went to the instrument, “It’s singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I’ll try to sing the song of the shepherd boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for Father, because he likes the verses.”
So, sitting at the dear little piano,Beth softly touched the keys,and in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again,sang to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn,which was a singularly fitting song for her.
He that is down need fear no fall,He that is low no pride.He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide.
I am content with what I have, Little be it, or much. And, Lord!Contentment still I crave, Because Thou savest such.
Fulness to them a burden is, That go on pilgrimage.Here little, and hereafter bliss,Is best from age to age!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION
Like bees swarming after their queen,mother and daughters hovered about Mr.March the next day, neglecting everything to look at,wait upon, and listen to the new invalid,who was in a fair way to be killed by kindness.As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth’s sofa,with the other three close by,and Hannah popping in her head now and then ‘to peek at the dear man’,nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness.But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it,though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs.March looked at one another with an anxious expression,as their eyes followed Meg.Jo had sudden fits of sobriety,and was seen to shake her fist at Mr.Brooke’s umbrella, which had been left in the hall.Meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent,started when the bell rang,and colored when John’s name was mentioned. Amy said,“Everyone seemed waiting for something,and couldn’t settle down, which was queer,since Father was safe at home,” and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn’t run over as usual.
Laurie went by in the afternoon,and seeing Meg at the window,seemed suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit,for he fell down on one knee in the snow,beat his breast, tore his hair,and clasped his hands imploringly,as if begging some boon.And when Meg told him to behave himself and go away,he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief,and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.
“What does the goose mean?” said Meg, laughing and trying to look unconscious.
“He’s showing you how your John will go on by-and-by. Touching, isn’t it?” answered Jo scornfully.
“Don’t say my John, it isn’t proper or true,” but Meg’s voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her.“Please don’t plague me, Jo,I’ve told you I don’t care much about him,and there isn’t to be anything said,but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before.”
“We can’t, for something has been said,and Laurie’s mischief has spoiled you for me. I see it,and so does Mother.You are not like your old self a bit,and seem ever so far away from me.I don’t mean to plague you and will bear it like a man,but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait,so if you mean ever to do it,make haste and have it over quickly,” said Jo pettishly.