Kabanata Kabanata 22 · PLEASANT MEADOWS

. PLEASANT MEADOWS

Like sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The

invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk of returning

early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all

day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats at first, and in time

with doll’s sewing, which had fallen sadly behind-hand. Her once active

limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her for a daily airing

about the house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burned

her white hands cooking delicate messes for ‘the dear’, while Amy, a

loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many

of her treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept.

As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house,

and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible

or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry

Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had

bonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way.

After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered

effectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which were

rather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together.

Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid

Christmas Day. Hannah ‘felt in her bones’ that it was going to be an

unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for

everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. To

begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them, then Beth

felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother’s

gift, a soft crimson merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to the

window to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had

done their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they had

worked by night and conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden

stood a stately snow maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket of

fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of music in the other, a

perfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a

Christmas carol issuing from her lips on a pink paper streamer.

THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH

God bless you, dear Queen Bess!

May nothing you dismay,

But health and peace and happiness

Be yours, this Christmas day.

Here’s fruit to feed our busy bee,

And flowers for her nose.

Here’s music for her pianee,

An afghan for her toes,

A portrait of Joanna, see,

By Raphael No. 2,

Who laboured with great industry

To make it fair and true.

Accept a ribbon red, I beg,

For Madam Purrer’s tail,

And ice cream made by lovely Peg,

A Mont Blanc in a pail.

Their dearest love my makers laid

Within my breast of snow.

Accept it, and the Alpine maid,

From Laurie and from Jo.

How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring

in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presented

them.

“I’m so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn’t

hold one drop more,” said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo

carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to

refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the ‘Jungfrau’ had

sent her.

“So am I,” added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the

long-desired _Undine and Sintram_.

“I’m sure I am,” echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the

Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame.

“Of course I am!” cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first

silk dress, for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it. “How can I be

otherwise?” said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went from her

husband’s letter to Beth’s smiling face, and her hand caressed the

brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which the

girls had just fastened on her breast.

Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the

delightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort it is. Half an hour

after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one

drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door and popped his

head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault

and uttered an Indian war whoop, for his face was so full of suppressed

excitement and his voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumped

up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, “Here’s another

Christmas present for the March family.”

Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away

somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes,

leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something and

couldn’t. Of course there was a general stampede, and for several

minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things

were done, and no one said a word.

Mr. March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms.

Jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored by

Laurie in the china closet. Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake,

as he somewhat incoherently explained. And Amy, the dignified, tumbled

over a stool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her

father’s boots in the most touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to

recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, “Hush! Remember

Beth.”

But it was too late. The study door flew open, the little red wrapper

appeared on the threshold, joy put strength into the feeble limbs, and

Beth ran straight into her father’s arms. Never mind what happened just

after that, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness

of the past and leaving only the sweetness of the present.

It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight

again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat

turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the

kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke

for his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenly

remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and seizing Laurie, he

precipitately retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose,

which they did, by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard.

Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the

fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage

of it, how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most

estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just

there, and after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire,

looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you

to imagine. Also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head and asked,

rather abruptly, if he wouldn’t like to have something to eat. Jo saw

and understood the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and

beef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, “I hate

estimable young men with brown eyes!”

There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat

turkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed,

browned, and decorated. So was the plum pudding, which melted in one’s

mouth, likewise the jellies, in which Amy reveled like a fly in a

honeypot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said,

“For my mind was that flustered, Mum, that it’s a merrycle I didn’t

roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin’

of it in a cloth.”

Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, at whom

Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie’s infinite amusement. Two easy chairs

stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her

father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank

healths, told stories, sang songs, ‘reminisced’, as the old folks say,

and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but the

girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and

as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.

“Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected

to have. Do you remember?” asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had

followed a long conversation about many things.

“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!