Bab Bab 30 · CONSEQUENCES

. CONSEQUENCES

Mrs. Chester’s fair was so very elegant and select that it was

considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to be

invited to take a table, and everyone was much interested in the

matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all

parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her

life, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on

easily. The ‘haughty, uninteresting creature’ was let severely alone,

but Amy’s talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of the

art table, and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate

and valuable contributions to it.

Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened, then

there occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almost

impossible to avoid, when some five-and-twenty women, old and young,

with all their private piques and prejudices, try to work together.

May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greater

favorite than herself, and just at this time several trifling

circumstances occurred to increase the feeling. Amy’s dainty

pen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed May’s painted vases—that was one

thorn. Then the all conquering Tudor had danced four times with Amy at

a late party and only once with May—that was thorn number two. But the

chief grievance that rankled in her soul, and gave an excuse for her

unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip had

whispered to her, that the March girls had made fun of her at the

Lambs’. All the blame of this should have fallen upon Jo, for her

naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection, and the

frolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke to escape. No hint of this had

reached the culprits, however, and Amy’s dismay can be imagined, when,

the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touches

to her pretty table, Mrs. Chester, who, of course, resented the

supposed ridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but with a

cold look...

“I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about

my giving this table to anyone but my girls. As this is the most

prominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they are

the chief getters-up of the fair, it is thought best for them to take

this place. I’m sorry, but I know you are too sincerely interested in

the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have

another table if you like.”

Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver this

little speech, but when the time came, she found it rather difficult to

utter it naturally, with Amy’s unsuspicious eyes looking straight at

her full of surprise and trouble.

Amy felt that there was something behind this, but could not guess

what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did,

“Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?”

“Now, my dear, don’t have any ill feeling, I beg. It’s merely a matter

of expediency, you see, my girls will naturally take the lead, and this

table is considered their proper place. I think it very appropriate to

you, and feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty, but

we must give up our private wishes, of course, and I will see that you

have a good place elsewhere. Wouldn’t you like the flower table? The

little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a

charming thing of it, and the flower table is always attractive you

know.”

“Especially to gentlemen,” added May, with a look which enlightened Amy

as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She colored angrily, but

took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered with

unexpected amiability...

“It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I’ll give up my place here at

once, and attend to the flowers, if you like.”

“You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer,” began

May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty

racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had so

carefully made and so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but Amy

mistook her meaning, and said quickly...

“Oh, certainly, if they are in your way,” and sweeping her

contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that

herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness.

“Now she’s mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn’t asked you to speak, Mama,”

said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table.

“Girls’ quarrels are soon over,” returned her mother, feeling a trifle

ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.

The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which

cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell

to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically.

But everything seemed against her. It was late, and she was tired.

Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to help her, and the

little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered

like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artless

efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch wouldn’t

stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to tumble

down on her head when the hanging baskets were filled. Her best tile

got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid’s cheek.

She bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in a draft,

which last affliction filled her with apprehensions for the morrow. Any

girl reader who has suffered like afflictions will sympathize with poor

Amy and wish her well through her task.

There was great indignation at home when she told her story that

evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done

right. Beth declared she wouldn’t go to the fair at all, and Jo

demanded why she didn’t take all her pretty things and leave those mean

people to get on without her.

“Because they are mean is no reason why I should be. I hate such

things, and though I think I’ve a right to be hurt, I don’t intend to

show it. They will feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions,

won’t they, Marmee?”

“That’s the right spirit, my dear. A kiss for a blow is always best,

though it’s not very easy to give it sometimes,” said her mother, with

the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and

practicing.

In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate,

Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering her

enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to a silent reminder that

came to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged her

table that morning, while the little girls were in the anteroom filling

the baskets, she took up her pet production, a little book, the antique

cover of which her father had found among his treasures, and in which

on leaves of vellum she had beautifully illuminated different texts. As

she turned the pages rich in dainty devices with very pardonable pride,

her eye fell upon one verse that made her stop and think. Framed in a

brilliant scrollwork of scarlet, blue and gold, with little spirits of

good will helping one another up and down among the thorns and flowers,

were the words, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

“I ought, but I don’t,” thought Amy, as her eye went from the bright

page to May’s discontented face behind the big vases, that could not

hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy stood a minute,

turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for

all heartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit. Many wise and true

sermons are preached us every day by unconscious ministers in street,

school, office, or home. Even a fair table may become a pulpit, if it

can offer the good and helpful words which are never out of season.

Amy’s conscience preached her a little sermon from that text, then and

there, and she did what many of us do not always do, took the sermon to

heart, and straightway put it in practice.

A group of girls were standing about May’s table, admiring the pretty

things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. They dropped their

voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of the

story and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirit

had come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it. She

heard May say sorrowfully...

“It’s too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don’t

want to fill up with odds and ends. The table was just complete then.

Now it’s spoiled.”

“I dare say she’d put them back if you asked her,” suggested someone.

“How could I after all the fuss?” began May, but she did not finish,

for Amy’s voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly...

“You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them. I

was just thinking I’d offer to put them back, for they belong to your

table rather than mine. Here they are, please take them, and forgive me

if I was hasty in carrying them away last night.”

As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile,

and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendly

thing than it was to stay and be thanked for it.

“Now, I call that lovely of her, don’t you?” cried one girl.

May’s answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose temper was

evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with a

disagreeable laugh, “Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn’t sell them

at her own table.”

Now, that was hard. When we make little sacrifices we like to have them

appreciated, at least, and for a minute Amy was sorry she had done it,

feeling that virtue was not always its own reward. But it is, as she

presently discovered, for her spirits began to rise, and her table to

blossom under her skillful hands, the girls were very kind, and that

one little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly.

It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat behind her

table, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon. Few

cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long

before night.

The art table was the most attractive in the room. There was a crowd

about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to and

fro with important faces and rattling money boxes. Amy often looked

wistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt at home and

happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do. It might seem no

hardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not

only tedious, but very trying, and the thought of Laurie and his

friends made it a real martyrdom.

She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quiet

that they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made no

complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her mother gave her

an extra cordial cup of tea. Beth helped her dress, and made a charming

little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished her family by getting

herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were

about to be turned.

“Don’t do anything rude, pray Jo; I won’t have any fuss made, so let it

all pass and behave yourself,” begged Amy, as she departed early,

hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little

table.

“I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to every one I

know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible. Teddy and

his boys will lend a hand, and we’ll have a good time yet.” returned

Jo, leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie. Presently the familiar

tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him.

“Is that my boy?”

“As sure as this is my girl!” and Laurie tucked her hand under his arm

with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified.

“Oh, Teddy, such doings!” and Jo told Amy’s wrongs with sisterly zeal.

“A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and I’ll be

hanged if I don’t make them buy every flower she’s got, and camp down

before her table afterward,” said Laurie, espousing her cause with

warmth.

“The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may not

arrive in time. I don’t wish to be unjust or suspicious, but I

shouldn’t wonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean

thing they are very likely to do another,” observed Jo in a disgusted

tone.

“Didn’t Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to.”

“I didn’t know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grandpa was

poorly, I didn’t like to worry him by asking, though I did want some.”

“Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking? They are

just as much yours as mine. Don’t we always go halves in everything?”

began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn thorny.

“Gracious, I hope not! Half of some of your things wouldn’t suit me at

all. But we mustn’t stand philandering here. I’ve got to help Amy, so

you go and make yourself splendid, and if you’ll be so very kind as to

let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I’ll bless you

forever.”

“Couldn’t you do it now?” asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut

the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the

bars, “Go away, Teddy, I’m busy.”

Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, for

Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a lovely basket arranged in

his best manner for a centerpiece. Then the March family turned out en

masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only

came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy’s taste, and

apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie and his friends

gallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets,

encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest spot in

the room. Amy was in her element now, and out of gratitude, if nothing

more, was as spritely and gracious as possible, coming to the

conclusion, about that time, that virtue was its own reward, after all.

Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy was happily

surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the Hall, picking

up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of

the Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the

ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible. She also

discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, and

considered her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art table, she

glanced over it for her sister’s things, but saw no sign of them.

“Tucked away out of sight, I dare say,” thought Jo, who could forgive

her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered her family.

“Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?” asked May with a

conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be

generous.

“She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is

enjoying herself. The flower table is always attractive, you know,

‘especially to gentlemen’.” Jo couldn’t resist giving that little slap,

but May took it so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell to

praising the great vases, which still remained unsold.

“Is Amy’s illumination anywhere about? I took a fancy to buy that for

Father,” said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister’s work.

“Everything of Amy’s sold long ago. I took care that the right people

saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us,” returned

May, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy had,

that day.

Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, and Amy looked

both touched and surprised by the report of May’s word and manner.

“Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tables

as generously as you have by mine, especially the art table,” she said,

ordering out ‘Teddy’s own’, as the girls called the college friends.

“‘Charge, Chester, charge!’ is the motto for that table, but do your

duty like men, and you’ll get your money’s worth of art in every sense

of the word,” said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx

prepared to take the field.

“To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May,” said little

Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and

getting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said...

“Very well, my son, for a small boy!” and walked him off, with a

paternal pat on the head.

“Buy the vases,” whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals

of fire on her enemy’s head.

To May’s great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, but

pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemen

speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and

wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted

fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases.

Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said

something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beam

with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and

anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till

several days later.

The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amy goodnight, she

did not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look

which said ‘forgive and forget’. That satisfied Amy, and when she got

home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with a

great bouquet in each. “The reward of merit for a magnanimous March,”

as Laurie announced with a flourish.

“You’ve a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of character

than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You’ve behaved sweetly, and I

respect you with all my heart,” said Jo warmly, as they brushed their

hair together late that night.

“Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must

have been dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting your heart

on selling your own pretty things. I don’t believe I could have done it

as kindly as you did,” added Beth from her pillow.

“Why, girls, you needn’t praise me so. I only did as I’d be done by.

You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true

gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know

how. I can’t explain exactly, but I want to be above the little

meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women. I’m far

from it now, but I do my best, and hope in time to be what Mother is.”

Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, “I understand now

what you mean, and I’ll never laugh at you again. You are getting on

faster than you think, and I’ll take lessons of you in true politeness,

for you’ve learned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary, you’ll get

your reward some day, and no one will be more delighted than I shall.”

A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to be

delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March’s face was

illuminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who

were with her, demanded what the glad tidings were.

“Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants...”

“Me to go with her!” burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an

uncontrollable rapture.

“No, dear, not you. It’s Amy.”

“Oh, Mother! She’s too young, it’s my turn first. I’ve wanted it so

long. It would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid. I

must go!”

“I’m afraid it’s impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is

not for us to dictate when she offers such a favor.”

“It’s always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work. It isn’t

fair, oh, it isn’t fair!” cried Jo passionately.

“I’m afraid it’s partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the

other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit,

and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said—‘I planned at

first to ask Jo, but as ‘favors burden her’, and she ‘hates French’, I

think I won’t venture to invite her. Amy is more docile, will make a

good companion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may

give her.”

“Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can’t I learn to keep it

quiet?” groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing. When

she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said

sorrowfully...

“I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, so

try to bear it cheerfully, and don’t sadden Amy’s pleasure by

reproaches or regrets.”

“I’ll try,” said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up the

basket she had joyfully upset. “I’ll take a leaf out of her book, and

try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute

of happiness. But it won’t be easy, for it is a dreadful

disappointment,” and poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held

with several very bitter tears.

“Jo, dear, I’m very selfish, but I couldn’t spare you, and I’m glad you

are not going quite yet,” whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and

all, with such a clinging touch and loving face that Jo felt comforted

in spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears,

and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden her with this favor, and see how

gratefully she would bear it.

By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the family

jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without

repinings at Amy’s good fortune. The young lady herself received the

news as tidings of great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture,

and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that evening, leaving

such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in

visions of art than herself.

“It isn’t a mere pleasure trip to me, girls,” she said impressively, as

she scraped her best palette. “It will decide my career, for if I have

any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove

it.”

“Suppose you haven’t?” said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new

collars which were to be handed over to Amy.

“Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,” replied the

aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But she made a wry face

at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on

vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes.

“No, you won’t. You hate hard work, and you’ll marry some rich man, and

come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days,” said Jo.

“Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don’t believe that one

will. I’m sure I wish it would, for if I can’t be an artist myself, I

should like to be able to help those who are,” said Amy, smiling, as if

the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor

drawing teacher.

“Hum!” said Jo, with a sigh. “If you wish it you’ll have it, for your

wishes are always granted—mine never.”

“Would you like to go?” asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with

her knife.

“Rather!”

“Well, in a year or two I’ll send for you, and we’ll dig in the Forum

for relics, and carry out all the plans we’ve made so many times.”

“Thank you. I’ll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes,

if it ever does,” returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent

offer as gratefully as she could.

There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment

till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blue

ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried

till she couldn’t cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the

steamer sailed. Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it

suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her

and those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the last

lingerer, saying with a sob...

“Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything should happen...”

“I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I’ll come and comfort

you,” whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to

keep his word.

So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always new and

beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her from

the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall

the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could see

nothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea.