บทที่ บทที่ 12 · CAMP LAURENCE

. CAMP LAURENCE

Beth was postmistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it

regularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door

and distributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands

full, and went about the house leaving letters and parcels like the

penny post.

“Here’s your posy, Mother! Laurie never forgets that,” she said,

putting the fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in ‘Marmee’s corner’,

and was kept supplied by the affectionate boy.

“Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove,” continued Beth, delivering

the articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching

wristbands.

“Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one,” said Meg,

looking at the gray cotton glove. “Didn’t you drop the other in the

garden?”

“No, I’m sure I didn’t, for there was only one in the office.”

“I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. My

letter is only a translation of the German song I wanted. I think Mr.

Brooke did it, for this isn’t Laurie’s writing.”

Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham

morning gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and

very womanly, as she sat sewing at her little worktable, full of tidy

white rolls, so unconscious of the thought in her mother’s mind as she

sewed and sang, while her fingers flew and her thoughts were busied

with girlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt,

that Mrs. March smiled and was satisfied.

“Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered

the whole post office and stuck outside,” said Beth, laughing as she

went into the study where Jo sat writing.

“What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished bigger hats were the

fashion, because I burn my face every hot day. He said, ‘Why mind the

fashion? Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!’ I said I would if I had

one, and he has sent me this, to try me. I’ll wear it for fun, and show

him I don’t care for the fashion.” And hanging the antique broad-brim

on a bust of Plato, Jo read her letters.

One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said

to her...

My Dear:

I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watch

your efforts to control your temper. You say nothing about your trials,

failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no one sees them but

the Friend whose help you daily ask, if I may trust the well-worn cover

of your guidebook. I, too, have seen them all, and heartily believe in

the sincerity of your resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on,

dear, patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one sympathizes

more tenderly with you than your loving...

Mother

“That does me good! That’s worth millions of money and pecks of praise.

Oh, Marmee, I do try! I will keep on trying, and not get tired, since I

have you to help me.”

Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happy

tears, for she had thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts

to be good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging,

because unexpected and from the person whose commendation she most

valued. Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon, she

pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she

be taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready

for either good or bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Laurie wrote...

Dear Jo, What ho!

Some English girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow and I want to

have a jolly time. If it’s fine, I’m going to pitch my tent in

Longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet—have a fire,

make messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks. They are nice

people, and like such things. Brooke will go to keep us boys steady,

and Kate Vaughn will play propriety for the girls. I want you all to

come, can’t let Beth off at any price, and nobody shall worry her.

Don’t bother about rations, I’ll see to that and everything else, only

do come, there’s a good fellow!

In a tearing hurry, Yours ever, Laurie.

“Here’s richness!” cried Jo, flying in to tell the news to Meg.

“Of course we can go, Mother? It will be such a help to Laurie, for I

can row, and Meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in some

way.”

“I hope the Vaughns are not fine grown-up people. Do you know anything

about them, Jo?” asked Meg.

“Only that there are four of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and

Frank (twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine or

ten. Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys. I fancied, from the

way he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, that he didn’t admire

Kate much.”

“I’m so glad my French print is clean, it’s just the thing and so

becoming!” observed Meg complacently. “Have you anything decent, Jo?”

“Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me. I shall row and

tramp about, so I don’t want any starch to think of. You’ll come,

Betty?”

“If you won’t let any boys talk to me.”

“Not a boy!”

“I like to please Laurie, and I’m not afraid of Mr. Brooke, he is so

kind. But I don’t want to play, or sing, or say anything. I’ll work

hard and not trouble anyone, and you’ll take care of me, Jo, so I’ll

go.”

“That’s my good girl. You do try to fight off your shyness, and I love

you for it. Fighting faults isn’t easy, as I know, and a cheery word

kind of gives a lift. Thank you, Mother,” And Jo gave the thin cheek a

grateful kiss, more precious to Mrs. March than if it had given back

the rosy roundness of her youth.

“I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I wanted to copy,”

said Amy, showing her mail.

“And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me to come over and play to

him tonight, before the lamps are lighted, and I shall go,” added Beth,

whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely.

“Now let’s fly round, and do double duty today, so that we can play

tomorrow with free minds,” said Jo, preparing to replace her pen with a

broom.

When the sun peeped into the girls’ room early next morning to promise

them a fine day, he saw a comical sight. Each had made such preparation

for the fete as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of

little curlpapers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her

afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her

to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax

by putting a clothespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature. It

was one of the kind artists use to hold the paper on their drawing

boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the purpose it

was now being put. This funny spectacle appeared to amuse the sun, for

he burst out with such radiance that Jo woke up and roused her sisters

by a hearty laugh at Amy’s ornament.

Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a

lively bustle began in both houses. Beth, who was ready first, kept

reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters’ toilets by

frequent telegrams from the window.

“There goes the man with the tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch

in a hamper and a great basket. Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the

sky and the weathercock. I wish he would go too. There’s Laurie,

looking like a sailor, nice boy! Oh, mercy me! Here’s a carriage full

of people, a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys. One is

lame, poor thing, he’s got a crutch. Laurie didn’t tell us that. Be

quick, girls! It’s getting late. Why, there is Ned Moffat, I do

declare. Meg, isn’t that the man who bowed to you one day when we were

shopping?”

“So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at the

mountains. There is Sallie. I’m glad she got back in time. Am I all

right, Jo?” cried Meg in a flutter.

“A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, it

looks sentimental tipped that way and will fly off at the first puff.

Now then, come on!”

“Oh, Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat? It’s too absurd! You

shall not make a guy of yourself,” remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down

with a red ribbon the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned leghorn Laurie had

sent for a joke.

“I just will, though, for it’s capital, so shady, light, and big. It

will make fun, and I don’t mind being a guy if I’m comfortable.” With

that Jo marched straight away and the rest followed, a bright little

band of sisters, all looking their best in summer suits, with happy

faces under the jaunty hatbrims.

Laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordial

manner. The lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes a

lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate,

though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would

do well to imitate, and who was much flattered by Mr. Ned’s assurances

that he came especially to see her. Jo understood why Laurie ‘primmed

up his mouth’ when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a

standoff-don’t-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free

and easy demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observation of the

new boys and decided that the lame one was not ‘dreadful’, but gentle

and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account. Amy found

Grace a well-mannered, merry, little person, and after staring dumbly

at one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good

friends.

Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the

party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leaving

Mr. Laurence waving his hat on the shore. Laurie and Jo rowed one boat,

Mr. Brooke and Ned the other, while Fred Vaughn, the riotous twin, did

his best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like a disturbed

water bug. Jo’s funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of

general utility. It broke the ice in the beginning by producing a

laugh, it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro as she

rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, if a

shower came up, she said. Miss Kate decided that she was ‘odd’, but

rather clever, and smiled upon her from afar.

Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with

the rowers, who both admired the prospect and feathered their oars with

uncommon ‘skill and dexterity’. Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young

man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet

manners and considered him a walking encyclopedia of useful knowledge.

He never talked to her much, but he looked at her a good deal, and she

felt sure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in

college, of course put on all the airs which freshmen think it their

bounden duty to assume. He was not very wise, but very good-natured,

and altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic. Sallie

Gardiner was absorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean and

chattering with the ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in constant terror

by his pranks.

It was not far to Longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wickets

down by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field, with three

wide-spreading oaks in the middle and a smooth strip of turf for

croquet.

“Welcome to Camp Laurence!” said the young host, as they landed with

exclamations of delight.

“Brooke is commander in chief, I am commissary general, the other

fellows are staff officers, and you, ladies, are company. The tent is

for your especial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this is

the messroom and the third is the camp kitchen. Now, let’s have a game

before it gets hot, and then we’ll see about dinner.”

Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by the

other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred. Laurie took Sallie,

Jo, and Ned. The English played well, but the Americans played better,

and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of

’76 inspired them. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes and once narrowly

escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket and had missed the

stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind

her and his turn came before hers. He gave a stroke, his ball hit the

wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was very near,

and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which

put it just an inch on the right side.

“I’m through! Now, Miss Jo, I’ll settle you, and get in first,” cried

the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow.

“You pushed it. I saw you. It’s my turn now,” said Jo sharply.

“Upon my word, I didn’t move it. It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is

allowed. So, stand off please, and let me have a go at the stake.”

“We don’t cheat in America, but you can, if you choose,” said Jo

angrily.

“Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!”

returned Fred, croqueting her ball far away.

Jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time,

colored up to her forehead and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket

with all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself out

with much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time

finding it among the bushes, but she came back, looking cool and quiet,

and waited her turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the

place she had lost, and when she got there, the other side had nearly

won, for Kate’s ball was the last but one and lay near the stake.

“By George, it’s all up with us! Goodbye, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, so

you are finished,” cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see

the finish.

“Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies,” said Jo,

with a look that made the lad redden, “especially when they beat them,”

she added, as, leaving Kate’s ball untouched, she won the game by a

clever stroke.

Laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn’t do to exult

over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheer

to whisper to his friend, “Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him.

We can’t tell him so, but he won’t do it again, take my word for it.”

Meg drew her aside, under pretense of pinning up a loose braid, and

said approvingly, “It was dreadfully provoking, but you kept your

temper, and I’m so glad, Jo.”

“Don’t praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I should

certainly have boiled over if I hadn’t stayed among the nettles till I

got my rage under control enough to hold my tongue. It’s simmering now,

so I hope he’ll keep out of my way,” returned Jo, biting her lips as

she glowered at Fred from under her big hat.

“Time for lunch,” said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. “Commissary

general, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss March, Miss

Sallie, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee?”

“Jo can,” said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Jo, feeling that

her late lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside over

the coffeepot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys

made a fire and got water from a spring near by. Miss Kate sketched and

Frank talked to Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes to

serve as plates.

The commander in chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with an

inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with

green leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone

settled themselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and

exercise develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was, for

everything seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter

startled a venerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing

inequality in the table, which produced many mishaps to cups and

plates, acorns dropped in the milk, little black ants partook of the

refreshments without being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down

from the tree to see what was going on. Three white-headed children

peeped over the fence, and an objectionable dog barked at them from the

other side of the river with all his might and main.

“There’s salt here,” said Laurie, as he handed Jo a saucer of berries.

“Thank you, I prefer spiders,” she replied, fishing up two unwary

little ones who had gone to a creamy death. “How dare you remind me of

that horrid dinner party, when yours is so nice in every way?” added

Jo, as they both laughed and ate out of one plate, the china having run

short.

“I had an uncommonly good time that day, and haven’t got over it yet.

This is no credit to me, you know, I don’t do anything. It’s you and

Meg and Brooke who make it all go, and I’m no end obliged to you. What

shall we do when we can’t eat anymore?” asked Laurie, feeling that his

trump card had been played when lunch was over.

“Have games till it’s cooler. I brought Authors, and I dare say Miss

Kate knows something new and nice. Go and ask her. She’s company, and

you ought to stay with her more.”

“Aren’t you company too? I thought she’d suit Brooke, but he keeps

talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous

glass of hers. I’m going, so you needn’t try to preach propriety, for

you can’t do it, Jo.”

Miss Kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, and

the boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing

room to play Rig-marole.

“One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as

he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when

the next takes it up and does the same. It’s very funny when well done,

and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over.

Please start it, Mr. Brooke,” said Kate, with a commanding air, which

surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other

gentleman.

Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke

obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed

upon the sunshiny river.

“Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune,

for he had nothing but his sword and his shield. He traveled a long

while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till

he came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to

anyone who could tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he

was very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely,

for the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new

master, though he was freakish and wild. Every day, when he gave his

lessons to this pet of the king’s, the knight rode him through the

city, and as he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful

face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found. One

day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a

ruinous castle the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired who lived in

this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept

there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their

liberty. The knight wished intensely that he could free them, but he

was poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face and

longing to see it out in the sunshine. At last he resolved to get into

the castle and ask how he could help them. He went and knocked. The

great door flew open, and he beheld...”

“A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, ‘At

last! At last!’” continued Kate, who had read French novels, and

admired the style. “’Tis she!’ cried Count Gustave, and fell at her

feet in an ecstasy of joy. ‘Oh, rise!’ she said, extending a hand of

marble fairness. ‘Never! Till you tell me how I may rescue you,’ swore

the knight, still kneeling. ‘Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain

here till my tyrant is destroyed.’ ‘Where is the villain?’ ‘In the

mauve salon. Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.’ ‘I obey, and

return victorious or dead!’ With these thrilling words he rushed away,

and flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when

he received...”

“A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a

black gown fired at him,” said Ned. “Instantly, Sir What’s-his-name

recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to

join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow, found the door

locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway down when

the ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feet

below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to

a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads

together till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling

exertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a

pair of stone steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as

your fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss

March. At the top of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took

his breath away and chilled his blood...”

“A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in

its wasted hand,” went on Meg. “It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before

him down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in

armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned

blue, and the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him,

showing the glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached

a curtained door, behind which sounded lovely music. He sprang forward

to enter, but the specter plucked him back, and waved threateningly

before him a...”

“Snuffbox,” said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the

audience. “‘Thankee,’ said the knight politely, as he took a pinch and

sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. ‘Ha! Ha!’

laughed the ghost, and having peeped through the keyhole at the

princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her

victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other

knights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who all

rose and began to...”

“Dance a hornpipe,” cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath, “and, as they

danced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail.

‘Up with the jib, reef the tops’l halliards, helm hard alee, and man

the guns!’ roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight,

with a flag black as ink flying from her foremast. ‘Go in and win, my

hearties!’ says the captain, and a tremendous fight began. Of course

the British beat—they always do.”

“No, they don’t!” cried Jo, aside.

“Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the

schooner, whose decks were piled high with dead and whose lee scuppers

ran blood, for the order had been ‘Cutlasses, and die hard!’ ‘Bosun’s

mate, take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if

he doesn’t confess his sins double quick,’ said the British captain.

The Portuguese held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank,

while the jolly tars cheered like mad. But the sly dog dived, came up

under the man-of-war, scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail

set, ‘To the bottom of the sea, sea, sea’ where...”

“Oh, gracious! What shall I say?” cried Sallie, as Fred ended his

rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together pell-mell nautical phrases

and facts out of one of his favorite books. “Well, they went to the

bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on

finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine,

hoping to discover the mystery about them, for being a woman, she was

curious. By-and-by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, ‘I’ll give

you a box of pearls if you can take it up,’ for she wanted to restore

the poor things to life, and couldn’t raise the heavy load herself. So

the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed on opening it to

find no pearls. He left it in a great lonely field, where it was found

by a...”

“Little goose girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field,” said

Amy, when Sallie’s invention gave out. “The little girl was sorry for

them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. ‘Your

geese will tell you, they know everything.’ said the old woman. So she

asked what she should use for new heads, since the old ones were lost,

and all the geese opened their hundred mouths and screamed...”

“‘Cabbages!’” continued Laurie promptly. “‘Just the thing,’ said the

girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on,

the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way

rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other

heads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it. The

knight in whom I’m interested went back to find the pretty face, and

learned that the princesses had spun themselves free and all gone and

married, but one. He was in a great state of mind at that, and mounting

the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle

to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his

affections picking flowers in her garden. ‘Will you give me a rose?’

said he. ‘You must come and get it. I can’t come to you, it isn’t

proper,’ said she, as sweet as honey. He tried to climb over the hedge,

but it seemed to grow higher and higher. Then he tried to push through,

but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently

broke twig after twig till he had made a little hole through which he

peeped, saying imploringly, ‘Let me in! Let me in!’ But the pretty

princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly,

and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will

tell you.”

“I can’t. I’m not playing, I never do,” said Frank, dismayed at the

sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd

couple. Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep.

“So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?” asked

Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in

his buttonhole.

“I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate after a

while,” said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his

tutor.

“What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do

something quite clever. Do you know Truth?”

“I hope so,” said Meg soberly.

“The game, I mean?”

“What is it?” said Fred.

“Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn,

and the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any question

put by the rest. It’s great fun.”

“Let’s try it,” said Jo, who liked new experiments.

Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo,

and Laurie piled and drew, and the lot fell to Laurie.

“Who are your heroes?” asked Jo.

“Grandfather and Napoleon.”

“Which lady here do you think prettiest?” said Sallie.

“Margaret.”

“Which do you like best?” from Fred.

“Jo, of course.”

“What silly questions you ask!” And Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the

rest laughed at Laurie’s matter-of-fact tone.

“Try again. Truth isn’t a bad game,” said Fred.

“It’s a very good one for you,” retorted Jo in a low voice. Her turn

came next.

“What is your greatest fault?” asked Fred, by way of testing in her the

virtue he lacked himself.

“A quick temper.”

“What do you most wish for?” said Laurie.

“A pair of boot lacings,” returned Jo, guessing and defeating his

purpose.

“Not a true answer. You must say what you really do want most.”

“Genius. Don’t you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?” And she slyly

smiled in his disappointed face.

“What virtues do you most admire in a man?” asked Sallie.

“Courage and honesty.”

“Now my turn,” said Fred, as his hand came last.

“Let’s give it to him,” whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded and asked at

once...

“Didn’t you cheat at croquet?”

“Well, yes, a little bit.”

“Good! Didn’t you take your story out of _The Sea Lion?_” said Laurie.

“Rather.”

“Don’t you think the English nation perfect in every respect?” asked

Sallie.

“I should be ashamed of myself if I didn’t.”

“He’s a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance

without waiting to draw. I’ll harrrow up your feelings first by asking

if you don’t think you are something of a flirt,” said Laurie, as Jo

nodded to Fred as a sign that peace was declared.

“You impertinent boy! Of course I’m not,” exclaimed Sallie, with an air

that proved the contrary.

“What do you hate most?” asked Fred.

“Spiders and rice pudding.”

“What do you like best?” asked Jo.

“Dancing and French gloves.”

“Well, I think Truth is a very silly play. Let’s have a sensible game

of Authors to refresh our minds,” proposed Jo.

Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on,

the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch

again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass with

a book, which he did not read.

“How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw,” said Meg, with

mingled admiration and regret in her voice.

“Why don’t you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it,”

replied Miss Kate graciously.

“I haven’t time.”

“Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine, but I

proved to her that I had talent by taking a few lessons privately, and

then she was quite willing I should go on. Can’t you do the same with

your governess?”

“I have none.”

“I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very

fine schools they are, too, Papa says. You go to a private one, I

suppose?”

“I don’t go at all. I am a governess myself.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, “Dear

me, how dreadful!” for her tone implied it, and something in her face

made Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.

Mr. Brooke looked up and said quickly, “Young ladies in America love

independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and

respected for supporting themselves.”

“Oh, yes, of course it’s very nice and proper in them to do so. We have

many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same and are

employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen,

they are both well bred and accomplished, you know,” said Miss Kate in

a patronizing tone that hurt Meg’s pride, and made her work seem not

only more distasteful, but degrading.

“Did the German song suit, Miss March?” inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking

an awkward pause.

“Oh, yes! It was very sweet, and I’m much obliged to whoever translated

it for me.” And Meg’s downcast face brightened as she spoke.

“Don’t you read German?” asked Miss Kate with a look of surprise.

“Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don’t get on

very fast alone, for I’ve no one to correct my pronunciation.”

“Try a little now. Here is Schiller’s Mary Stuart and a tutor who loves

to teach.” And Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap with an inviting

smile.

“It’s so hard I’m afraid to try,” said Meg, grateful, but bashful in

the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her.

“I’ll read a bit to encourage you.” And Miss Kate read one of the most

beautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless

manner.

Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who said

innocently, “I thought it was poetry.”

“Some of it is. Try this passage.”

There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke’s mouth as he opened at poor

Mary’s lament.

Meg obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used

to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of

the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the

page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in

the beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little

touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the

brown eyes then, she would have stopped short, but she never looked up,

and the lesson was not spoiled for her.

“Very well indeed!” said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her

many mistakes, and looking as if he did indeed love to teach.

Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little

tableau before her, shut her sketch book, saying with condescension,

“You’ve a nice accent and in time will be a clever reader. I advise you

to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I must

look after Grace, she is romping.” And Miss Kate strolled away, adding

to herself with a shrug, “I didn’t come to chaperone a governess,

though she is young and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are. I’m

afraid Laurie will be quite spoiled among them.”

“I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses

and don’t treat them as we do,” said Meg, looking after the retreating

figure with an annoyed expression.

“Tutors also have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my

sorrow. There’s no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret.”

And Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful that Meg was ashamed to

lament her hard lot.

“I’m glad I live in it then. I don’t like my work, but I get a good

deal of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won’t complain. I only

wished I liked teaching as you do.”

“I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry

to lose him next year,” said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the

turf.

“Going to college, I suppose?” Meg’s lips asked the question, but her

eyes added, “And what becomes of you?”

“Yes, it’s high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is

off, I shall turn soldier. I am needed.”

“I am glad of that!” exclaimed Meg. “I should think every young man

would want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who

stay at home,” she added sorrowfully.

“I have neither, and very few friends to care whether I live or die,”

said Mr. Brooke rather bitterly as he absently put the dead rose in the

hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave.

“Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all

be very sorry to have any harm happen to you,” said Meg heartily.

“Thank you, that sounds pleasant,” began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful

again, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old

horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the

young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day.

“Don’t you love to ride?” asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting

after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned.

“I dote upon it. My sister, Meg, used to ride when Papa was rich, but

we don’t keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree,” added Amy, laughing.

“Tell me about Ellen Tree. Is it a donkey?” asked Grace curiously.

“Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses and so am I, but we’ve only got

an old sidesaddle and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple tree that

has a nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on

the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we

like.”

“How funny!” laughed Grace. “I have a pony at home, and ride nearly

every day in the park with Fred and Kate. It’s very nice, for my

friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen.”

“Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I’d rather

go to Rome than the Row,” said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what

the Row was and wouldn’t have asked for the world.

Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were

saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture

as he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical

gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author cards, looked

up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, “I’m afraid you are tired.

Can I do anything for you?”

“Talk to me, please. It’s dull, sitting by myself,” answered Frank, who

had evidently been used to being made much of at home.

If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed a

more impossible task to bashful Beth, but there was no place to run to,

no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her

that she bravely resolved to try.

“What do you like to talk about?” she asked, fumbling over the cards

and dropping half as she tried to tie them up.

“Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting,” said

Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.

My heart! What shall I do? I don’t know anything about them, thought

Beth, and forgetting the boy’s misfortune in her flurry, she said,

hoping to make him talk, “I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you

know all about it.”

“I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a

confounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds for

me,” said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her

innocent blunder.

“Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes,” she said,

turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one

of the boys’ books in which Jo delighted.

Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to

amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her

sisters’ surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking

away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged

protection.

“Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him,” said Jo,

beaming at her from the croquet ground.

“I always said she was a little saint,” added Meg, as if there could be

no further doubt of it.

“I haven’t heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long,” said Grace to

Amy, as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorn

cups.

“My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl, when she likes to be,” said

Amy, well pleased at Beth’s success. She meant ‘facinating’, but as

Grace didn’t know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded

well and made a good impression.

An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet

finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed,

wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the

river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental,

warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain...

Alone, alone, ah! Woe, alone,

and at the lines...

We each are young, we each have a heart,

Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?

he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed

outright and spoiled his song.

“How can you be so cruel to me?” he whispered, under cover of a lively

chorus. “You’ve kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day,

and now you snub me.”

“I didn’t mean to, but you looked so funny I really couldn’t help it,”

replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was

quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and

the talk after it.

Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her

rather pettishly, “There isn’t a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?”

“Not a particle, but she’s a dear,” returned Sallie, defending her

friend even while confessing her shortcomings.

“She’s not a stricken deer anyway,” said Ned, trying to be witty, and

succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do.

On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with

cordial good nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to

Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate

looked after them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice,

“In spite of their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice

when one knows them.”

“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brooke.