<p class="h2"><SPAN name="XX" id="XX"></SPAN>XX.</p>
<p class="h2a">CONFIDENTIAL.</p>
<p class="indent">I <span class="smcap">don't</span> think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the
mother and daughters; such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard
to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers,
merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that
Meg's tender hope was realized; for when Beth woke from that long,
healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell <i>were</i> the little
rose and mother's face. Too weak to wonder at anything, she only
smiled, and nestled close into the loving arms about her, feeling that
the hungry longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and
the girls waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin
hand which clung to hers even in sleep. Hannah had "dished up"
an astonishing breakfast for the traveller, finding it impossible to vent
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 247]</span>
her excitement in any other way; and Meg and Jo fed their mother
like dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account
of father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise to stay and nurse him, the
delays which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the
unspeakable comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given her when she
arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.</p>
<p class="indent">What a strange, yet pleasant day that was! so brilliant and gay
without, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow;
so quiet and reposeful within, for every one slept, spent with watching,
and a Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding
Hannah mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens
lifted off, Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like
storm-beaten boats, safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March
would not leave Beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often
to look at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some
recovered treasure.</p>
<p class="indent">Laurie, meanwhile, posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story
so well that Aunt March actually "sniffed" herself, and never once
said, "I told you so." Amy came out so strong on this occasion
that I think the good thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear
fruit. She dried her tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see
her mother, and never even thought of the turquoise ring, when the
old lady heartily agreed in Laurie's opinion, that she behaved "like a
capital little woman." Even Polly seemed impressed, for he called
her "good girl," blessed her buttons, and begged her to "come and
take a walk, dear," in his most affable tone. She would very
gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright wintry weather; but, discovering
that Laurie was dropping with sleep in spite of manful efforts to
conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she
wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time about it; and,
when she returned, he was stretched out, with both arms under his
head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the curtains,
and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity.</p>
<p class="indent">After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake till
night, and I'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectually
roused by Amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 248]</span>
were a good many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but
it is my private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she
sat in her mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and
compensation in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses.
They were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not
object when its purpose was explained to her.</p>
<p class="indent">"On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," looking from the
dusty rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with
its garland of evergreen. "It is an excellent plan to have some place
where we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There
are a good many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always
bear them if we ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is
learning this?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes, mother; and when I go home I mean to have a corner in
the big closet to put my books, and the copy of that picture which
I've tried to make. The woman's face is not good,—it's too beautiful
for me to draw,—but the baby is done better, and I love it very
much. I like to think He was a little child once, for then I don't
seem so far away, and that helps me."</p>
<p class="indent">As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ-child on his mother's knee,
Mrs. March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile.
She said nothing, but Amy understood the look, and, after a minute's
pause, she added gravely,—</p>
<p class="indent">"I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave
me the ring to-day; she called me to her and kissed me, and put it
on my finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep
me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as
it's too big. I'd like to wear them, mother; can I?"</p>
<p class="indent">"They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too young for such
ornaments, Amy," said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand,
with the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint
guard, formed of two tiny, golden hands clasped together.</p>
<p class="indent">"I'll try not to be vain," said Amy. "I don't think I like it only
because it's so pretty; but I want to wear it as the girl in the story
wore her bracelet, to remind me of something."</p>
<p class="indent">"Do you mean Aunt March?" asked her mother, laughing.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 249]</span>
"No, to remind me not to be selfish." Amy looked so earnest and
sincere about it, that her mother stopped laughing, and listened
respectfully to the little plan.</p>
<p class="indent">"I've thought a great deal lately about my 'bundle of naughties,'
and being selfish is the largest one in it; so I'm going to try hard to
cure it, if I can. Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason every one
loves her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People
wouldn't feel half so bad about me if I was sick, and I don't deserve
to have them; but I'd like to be loved and missed by a great
many friends, so I'm going to try and be like Beth all I can. I'm
apt to forget my resolutions; but if I had something always about me
to remind me, I guess I should do better. May I try this way?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes; but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear
your ring, dear, and do your best; I think you will prosper, for the
sincere wish to be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to
Beth. Keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you
home again."</p>
<p class="indent">That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, to report the
traveller's safe arrival, Jo slipped up stairs into Beth's room, and,
finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her
fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look.</p>
<p class="indent">"What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with
a face which invited confidence.</p>
<p class="indent">"I want to tell you something, mother."</p>
<p class="indent">"About Meg?"</p>
<p class="indent">"How quickly you guessed! Yes, it's about her, and though it's
a little thing, it fidgets me."</p>
<p class="indent">"Beth is asleep; speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat
hasn't been here, I hope?" asked Mrs. March rather sharply.</p>
<p class="indent">"No, I should have shut the door in his face if he had," said Jo,
settling herself on the floor at her mother's feet. "Last summer Meg
left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences', and only one was returned.
We forgot all about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke had it. He
kept it in his waistcoat pocket, and once it fell out, and Teddy joked
him about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, but didn't
dare say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now, isn't it a
<i>dread</i>ful state of things?"</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 250]</span>
"Do you think Meg cares for him?" asked Mrs. March, with an
anxious look.</p>
<p class="indent">"Mercy me! I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!"
cried Jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt.
"In novels, the girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away,
growing thin, and acting like fools. Now Meg does not do anything
of the sort: she eats and drinks and sleeps, like a sensible creature:
she looks straight in my face when I talk about that man, and only
blushes a little bit when Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to
do it, but he doesn't mind me as he ought."</p>
<p class="indent">"Then you fancy that Meg is <i>not</i> interested in John?"</p>
<p class="indent">"Who?" cried Jo, staring.</p>
<p class="indent">"Mr. Brooke. I call him 'John' now; we fell into the way of
doing so at the hospital, and he likes it."</p>
<p class="indent">"Oh, dear! I know you'll take his part: he's been good to father,
and you won't send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants
to. Mean thing! to go petting papa and helping you, just to wheedle
you into liking him;" and Jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful
tweak.</p>
<p class="indent">"My dear, don't get angry about it, and I will tell you how it happened.
John went with me at Mr. Laurence's request, and was so
devoted to poor father that we couldn't help getting fond of him.
He was perfectly open and honorable about Meg, for he told us he
loved her, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked her
to marry him. He only wanted our leave to love her and work
for her, and the right to make her love him if he could. He is a
truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listen to him;
but I will not consent to Meg's engaging herself so young."</p>
<p class="indent">"Of course not; it would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief
brewing; I felt it; and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish
I could marry Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family."</p>
<p class="indent">This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile; but she said
gravely, "Jo, I confide in you, and don't wish you to say anything to
Meg yet. When John comes back, and I see them together, I can
judge better of her feelings toward him."</p>
<p class="indent">"She'll see his in those handsome eyes that she talks about, and
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 251]</span>
then it will be all up with her. She's got such a soft heart, it will melt
like butter in the sun if any one looks sentimentally at her. She read
the short reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched
me when I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and doesn't think John
an ugly name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of
peace and fun, and cosy times together. I see it all! they'll go
lovering around the house, and we shall have to dodge; Meg will be
absorbed, and no good to me any more; Brooke will scratch up a
fortune somehow, carry her off, and make a hole in the family; and I
shall break my heart, and everything will be abominably uncomfortable.
Oh, dear me! why weren't we all boys, then there wouldn't be
any bother."</p>
<p class="indent">Jo leaned her chin on her knees, in a disconsolate attitude, and
shook her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo
looked up with an air of relief.</p>
<p class="indent">"You don't like it, mother? I'm glad of it. Let's send him about
his business, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be happy together
as we always have been."</p>
<p class="indent">"I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go
to homes of your own, in time; but I do want to keep my girls as
long as I can; and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is
only seventeen, and it will be some years before John can make a
home for her. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind
herself in any way, nor be married, before twenty. If she and John
love one another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so. She
is conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly.
My pretty, tender-hearted girl! I hope things will go happily with
her."</p>
<p class="indent">"Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" asked Jo, as her
mother's voice faltered a little over the last words.</p>
<p class="indent">"Money is a good and useful thing, Jo; and I hope my girls will
never feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much.
I should like to know that John was firmly established in some good
business, which gave him an income large enough to keep free from
debt and make Meg comfortable. I'm not ambitious for a splendid
fortune, a fashionable position, or a great name for my girls. If rank
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 252]</span>
and money come with love and virtue, also, I should accept them
gratefully, and enjoy your good fortune; but I know, by experience,
how much genuine happiness can be had in a plain little house, where
the daily bread is earned, and some privations give sweetness to the
few pleasures. I am content to see Meg begin humbly, for, if I am
not mistaken, she will be rich in the possession of a good man's heart,
and that is better than a fortune."</p>
<p class="indent">"I understand, mother, and quite agree; but I'm disappointed
about Meg, for I'd planned to have her marry Teddy by and by,
and sit in the lap of luxury all her days. Wouldn't it be nice?"
asked Jo, looking up, with a brighter face.</p>
<p class="indent">"He is younger than she, you know," began Mrs. March; but Jo
broke in,—</p>
<p class="indent">"Only a little; he's old for his age, and tall; and can be quite
grown-up in his manners if he likes. Then he's rich and generous
and good, and loves us all; and <i>I</i> say it's a pity my plan is spoilt."</p>
<p class="indent">"I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown up enough for Meg, and
altogether too much of a weathercock, just now, for any one to
depend on. Don't make plans, Jo; but let time and their own hearts
mate your friends. We can't meddle safely in such matters, and had
better not get 'romantic rubbish,' as you call it, into our heads, lest
it spoil our friendship."</p>
<p class="indent">"Well, I won't; but I hate to see things going all criss-cross and
getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten
it out. I wish wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from
growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats,—more's the
pity!"</p>
<p class="indent">"What's that about flat-irons and cats?" asked Meg, as she crept
into the room, with the finished letter in her hand.</p>
<p class="indent">"Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to bed; come,
Peggy," said Jo, unfolding herself, like an animated puzzle.</p>
<p class="indent">"Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my
love to John," said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter, and
gave it back.</p>
<p class="indent">"Do you call him 'John'?" asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent
eyes looking down into her mother's.</p>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 253]</span>
"Yes; he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him,"
replied Mrs. March, returning the look with a keen one.</p>
<p class="indent">"I'm glad of that, he is so lonely. Good-night, mother, dear. It
is so inexpressibly comfortable to have you here," was Meg's quiet
answer.</p>
<p class="indent">The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one; and, as she
went away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret,
"She does not love John yet, but will soon learn to."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b106.png" id="b106.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b106.png" width-obs="239" height-obs="200" alt="Tail-piece" title="Tail-piece" /></div>
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<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 254]</span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="b107.png" id="b107.png"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/b107.png" width-obs="484" height-obs="400" alt="Letters" title="Letters" /></div>
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