บทที่ บทที่ 43 · SURPRISES

. SURPRISES

Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the

fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of

dusk. No one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth’s little

red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender

thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face looked

tired, grave, and rather sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and she

was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and

how little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twenty-five, and

nothing to show for it. Jo was mistaken in that. There was a good deal

to show, and by-and-by she saw, and was grateful for it.

“An old maid, that’s what I’m to be. A literary spinster, with a pen

for a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence

a morsel of fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I’m old and can’t

enjoy it, solitary, and can’t share it, independent, and don’t need it.

Well, I needn’t be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say,

old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it, but...” and

there Jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting.

It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to

five-and-twenty. But it’s not as bad as it looks, and one can get on

quite happily if one has something in one’s self to fall back upon. At

twenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly

resolve that they never will be. At thirty they say nothing about it,

but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves by

remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which

they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don’t laugh at the

spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are

hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns,

and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself,

make the faded faces beautiful in God’s sight. Even the sad, sour

sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the

sweetest part of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them with

compassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that

they too may miss the blossom time. That rosy cheeks don’t last

forever, that silver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and

that, by-and-by, kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and

admiration now.

Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter

how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that

which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble,

and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect

the good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and

petted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out

of, the tips they have given you from their small store, the stitches

the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing old

feet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little

attentions that women love to receive as long as they live. The

bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all

the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can part

mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a

tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who

has kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for ‘the best nevvy

in the world’.

Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this

little homily), for suddenly Laurie’s ghost seemed to stand before her,

a substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he

used to wear when he felt a good deal and didn’t like to show it. But,

like Jenny in the ballad...

“She could not think it he,”

and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and

kissed her. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully...

“Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!”

“Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?”

“Glad! My blessed boy, words can’t express my gladness. Where’s Amy?”

“Your mother has got her down at Meg’s. We stopped there by the way,

and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches.”

“Your what?” cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with an

unconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him.

“Oh, the dickens! Now I’ve done it,” and he looked so guilty that Jo

was down on him like a flash.

“You’ve gone and got married!”

“Yes, please, but I never will again,” and he went down upon his knees,

with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth,

and triumph.

“Actually married?”

“Very much so, thank you.”

“Mercy on us. What dreadful thing will you do next?” and Jo fell into

her seat with a gasp.

“A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation,”

returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with

satisfaction.

“What can you expect, when you take one’s breath away, creeping in like

a burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, you

ridiculous boy, and tell me all about it.”

“Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to

barricade.”

Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted

the sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, “The old pillow is

up garret, and we don’t need it now. So, come and ’fess, Teddy.”

“How good it sounds to hear you say ‘Teddy’! No one ever calls me that

but you,” and Laurie sat down with an air of great content.

“What does Amy call you?”

“My lord.”

“That’s like her. Well, you look it,” and Jo’s eye plainly betrayed

that she found her boy comelier than ever.

The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a natural

one, raised by time, absence, and change of heart. Both felt it, and

for a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a

little shadow over them. It was gone directly however, for Laurie said,

with a vain attempt at dignity...

“Don’t I look like a married man and the head of a family?”

“Not a bit, and you never will. You’ve grown bigger and bonnier, but

you are the same scapegrace as ever.”

“Now really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect,” began

Laurie, who enjoyed it all immensely.

“How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is so

irresistibly funny that I can’t keep sober!” answered Jo, smiling all

over her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then

settled down for a good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion.

“It’s no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all

coming up presently. I couldn’t wait. I wanted to be the one to tell

you the grand surprise, and have ‘first skim’ as we used to say when we

squabbled about the cream.”

“Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong

end. Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I’m pining to

know.”

“Well, I did it to please Amy,” began Laurie, with a twinkle that made

Jo exclaim...

“Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth,

if you can, sir.”

“Now she’s beginning to marm it. Isn’t it jolly to hear her?” said

Laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite

agreed. “It’s all the same, you know, she and I being one. We planned

to come home with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly

changed their minds, and decided to pass another winter in Paris. But

Grandpa wanted to come home. He went to please me, and I couldn’t let

him go alone, neither could I leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got

English notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and wouldn’t let Amy

come with us. So I just settled the difficulty by saying, ‘Let’s be

married, and then we can do as we like’.”

“Of course you did. You always have things to suit you.”

“Not always,” and something in Laurie’s voice made Jo say hastily...

“How did you ever get Aunt to agree?”

“It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps

of good reasons on our side. There wasn’t time to write and ask leave,

but you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only

‘taking time by the fetlock’, as my wife says.”

“Aren’t we proud of those two words, and don’t we like to say them?”

interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with

delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been

so tragically gloomy when she saw them last.

“A trifle, perhaps, she’s such a captivating little woman I can’t help

being proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to play

propriety. We were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use

apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all

round, so we did it.”

“When, where, how?” asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and

curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle.

“Six weeks ago, at the American consul’s, in Paris, a very quiet

wedding of course, for even in our happiness we didn’t forget dear

little Beth.”

Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed the

little red pillow, which he remembered well.

“Why didn’t you let us know afterward?” asked Jo, in a quieter tone,

when they had sat quite still a minute.

“We wanted to surprise you. We thought we were coming directly home, at

first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found he

couldn’t be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our

honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regular

honeymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are but

once in their lives. My faith! Wasn’t it love among the roses!”

Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it, for the

fact that he told her these things so freely and so naturally assured

her that he had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away

her hand, but as if he guessed the thought that prompted the

half-involuntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with a manly

gravity she had never seen in him before...

“Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we’ll put it by forever.

As I told you in my letter when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to

me, I never shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I have

learned to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed places

in my heart, that’s all. I think it was meant to be so, and would have

come about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me, but I

never could be patient, and so I got a heartache. I was a boy then,

headstrong and violent, and it took a hard lesson to show me my

mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, after

making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in my mind,

at one time, that I didn’t know which I loved best, you or Amy, and

tried to love you both alike. But I couldn’t, and when I saw her in

Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once. You both got

into your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the

old love before it was on with the new, that I could honestly share my

heart between sister Jo and wife Amy, and love them dearly. Will you

believe it, and go back to the happy old times when we first knew one

another?”

“I’ll believe it, with all my heart, but, Teddy, we never can be boy

and girl again. The happy old times can’t come back, and we mustn’t

expect it. We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for

playtime is over, and we must give up frolicking. I’m sure you feel

this. I see the change in you, and you’ll find it in me. I shall miss

my boy, but I shall love the man as much, and admire him more, because

he means to be what I hoped he would. We can’t be little playmates any

longer, but we will be brother and sister, to love and help one another

all our lives, won’t we, Laurie?”

He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his

face down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyish

passion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them

both. Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn’t want the coming home

to be a sad one, “I can’t make it true that you children are really

married and going to set up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday

that I was buttoning Amy’s pinafore, and pulling your hair when you

teased. Mercy me, how time does fly!”

“As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn’t talk so

like a grandma. I flatter myself I’m a ‘gentleman growed’ as Peggotty

said of David, and when you see Amy, you’ll find her rather a

precocious infant,” said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air.

“You may be a little older in years, but I’m ever so much older in

feeling, Teddy. Women always are, and this last year has been such a

hard one that I feel forty.”

“Poor Jo! We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You

are older. Here’s a line, and there’s another. Unless you smile, your

eyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear

on it. You’ve had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone.

What a selfish beast I’ve been!” and Laurie pulled his own hair, with a

remorseful look.

But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone

which she tried to make more cheerful, “No, I had Father and Mother to

help me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you

and Amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear.

I am lonely, sometimes, but I dare say it’s good for me, and...”

“You never shall be again,” broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her,

as if to fence out every human ill. “Amy and I can’t get on without

you, so you must come and teach ‘the children’ to keep house, and go

halves in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and

all be blissfully happy and friendly together.”

“If I shouldn’t be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to

feel quite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to fly

away when you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy,” and Jo leaned

her head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill

and Laurie told her to hold on to him.

He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo was

smiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at his

coming.

“You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and

laughing the next. You look a little wicked now. What is it, Grandma?”

“I was wondering how you and Amy get on together.”

“Like angels!”

“Yes, of course, but which rules?”

“I don’t mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her think

so, it pleases her, you know. By-and-by we shall take turns, for

marriage, they say, halves one’s rights and doubles one’s duties.”

“You’ll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of your

life.”

“Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don’t think I shall mind

much. She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well. In fact, I

rather like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and

prettily as a skein of silk, and makes you feel as if she was doing you

a favor all the while.”

“That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying

it!” cried Jo, with uplifted hands.

It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile with

masculine scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his “high and

mighty” air, “Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort of

man to submit to it. My wife and I respect ourselves and one another

too much ever to tyrannize or quarrel.”

Jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy

seemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with her

pleasure.

“I am sure of that. Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She is

the sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best,

you remember.”

“She can blow him up as well as shine on him,” laughed Laurie. “Such a

lecture as I got at Nice! I give you my word it was a deal worse than

any of your scoldings, a regular rouser. I’ll tell you all about it

sometime, she never will, because after telling me that she despised

and was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the despicable party and

married the good-for-nothing.”

“What baseness! Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I’ll defend

you.”

“I look as if I needed it, don’t I?” said Laurie, getting up and

striking an attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the

rapturous, as Amy’s voice was heard calling, “Where is she? Where’s my

dear old Jo?”

In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed all

over again, and after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were

set down to be looked at and exulted over. Mr. Laurence, hale and

hearty as ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign

tour, for the crustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and the

old-fashioned courtliness had received a polish which made it kindlier

than ever. It was good to see him beam at ‘my children’, as he called

the young pair. It was better still to see Amy pay him the daughterly

duty and affection which completely won his old heart, and best of all,

to watch Laurie revolve about the two, as if never tired of enjoying

the pretty picture they made.

The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that her own

dress hadn’t a Parisian air, that young Mrs. Moffat would be entirely

eclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that ‘her ladyship’ was altogether

a most elegant and graceful woman. Jo thought, as she watched the pair,

“How well they look together! I was right, and Laurie has found the

beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better than

clumsy old Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him.” Mrs. March and

her husband smiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for they

saw that their youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, but

the better wealth of love, confidence, and happiness.

For Amy’s face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a

peaceful heart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool,

prim carriage was changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly and

winning. No little affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of

her manner was more charming than the new beauty or the old grace, for

it stamped her at once with the unmistakable sign of the true

gentlewoman she had hoped to become.

“Love has done much for our little girl,” said her mother softly.

“She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear,” Mr.

March whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head

beside him.

Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her ‘pitty aunty’, but

attached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full of

delightful charms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before

he compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took

the tempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flank

movement produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew

where to have him.

“Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance you

hit me in the face. Now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman,” and

with that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew

in a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted

his boyish soul.

“Blest if she ain’t in silk from head to foot; ain’t it a relishin’

sight to see her settin’ there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks

calling little Amy ‘Mis. Laurence!’” muttered old Hannah, who could not

resist frequent “peeks” through the slide as she set the table in a

most decidedly promiscuous manner.

Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then all

burst out together—trying to tell the history of three years in half an

hour. It was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and

provide refreshment—for they would have been hoarse and faint if they

had gone on much longer. Such a happy procession as filed away into the

little dining room! Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence. Mrs.

March as proudly leaned on the arm of ‘my son’. The old gentleman took

Jo, with a whispered, “You must be my girl now,” and a glance at the

empty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, “I’ll try to fill

her place, sir.”

The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for

everyone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel at

their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the

opportunity. Didn’t they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad

libitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn’t

they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets,

there to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human

nature and a pastry are frail? Burdened with the guilty consciousness

of the sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo’s sharp eyes would

pierce the thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty,

the little sinners attached themselves to ‘Dranpa’, who hadn’t his

spectacles on. Amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returned to

the parlor on Father Laurence’s arm. The others paired off as before,

and this arrangement left Jo companionless. She did not mind it at the

minute, for she lingered to answer Hannah’s eager inquiry.

“Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silver

dishes that’s stored away over yander?”

“Shouldn’t wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate,

and wore diamonds and point lace every day. Teddy thinks nothing too

good for her,” returned Jo with infinite satisfaction.

“No more there is! Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?”

asked Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose.

“I don’t care,” and Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an

uncongenial topic just then. She stood a minute looking at the party

vanishing above, and as Demi’s short plaid legs toiled up the last

stair, a sudden sense of loneliness came over her so strongly that she

looked about her with dim eyes, as if to find something to lean upon,

for even Teddy had deserted her. If she had known what birthday gift

was coming every minute nearer and nearer, she would not have said to

herself, “I’ll weep a little weep when I go to bed. It won’t do to be

dismal now.” Then she drew her hand over her eyes, for one of her

boyish habits was never to know where her handkerchief was, and had

just managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the porch

door.

She opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had

come to surprise her, for there stood a tall bearded gentleman, beaming

on her from the darkness like a midnight sun.

“Oh, Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you!” cried Jo, with a clutch, as

if she feared the night would swallow him up before she could get him

in.

“And I to see Miss Marsch, but no, you haf a party,” and the Professor

paused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down to

them.

“No, we haven’t, only the family. My sister and friends have just come

home, and we are all very happy. Come in, and make one of us.”

Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gone decorously

away, and come again another day, but how could he, when Jo shut the

door behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face had

something to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him,

and showed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitary

man, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes.

“If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop, I will so gladly see them all. You

haf been ill, my friend?”

He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the light

fell on her face, and he saw a change in it.

“Not ill, but tired and sorrowful. We have had trouble since I saw you

last.”

“Ah, yes, I know. My heart was sore for you when I heard that,” and he

shook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that Jo felt as if no

comfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big,

warm hand.

“Father, Mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer,” she said, with a

face and tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she might

as well have blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish.

If the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set at

rest in a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Everyone greeted

him kindly, for Jo’s sake at first, but very soon they liked him for

his own. They could not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens

all hearts, and these simple people warmed to him at once, feeling even

the more friendly because he was poor. For poverty enriches those who

live above it, and is a sure passport to truly hospitable spirits. Mr.

Bhaer sat looking about him with the air of a traveler who knocks at a

strange door, and when it opens, finds himself at home. The children

went to him like bees to a honeypot, and establishing themselves on

each knee, proceeded to captivate him by rifling his pockets, pulling

his beard, and investigating his watch, with juvenile audacity. The

women telegraphed their approval to one another, and Mr. March, feeling

that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choicest stores for his

guest’s benefit, while silent John listened and enjoyed the talk, but

said not a word, and Mr. Laurence found it impossible to go to sleep.

If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie’s behavior would have

amused her, for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something like

suspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe

the newcomer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long.

He got interested in spite of himself, and before he knew it, was drawn

into the circle. For Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere,

and did himself justice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked at

him often, and a shadow would pass across his face, as if regretting

his own lost youth, as he watched the young man in his prime. Then his

eyes would turn to Jo so wistfully that she would have surely answered

the mute inquiry if she had seen it. But Jo had her own eyes to take

care of, and feeling that they could not be trusted, she prudently kept

them on the little sock she was knitting, like a model maiden aunt.

A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water

after a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several

propitious omens. Mr. Bhaer’s face had lost the absent-minded

expression, and looked all alive with interest in the present moment,

actually young and handsome, she thought, forgetting to compare him

with Laurie, as she usually did strange men, to their great detriment.

Then he seemed quite inspired, though the burial customs of the

ancients, to which the conversation had strayed, might not be

considered an exhilarating topic. Jo quite glowed with triumph when

Teddy got quenched in an argument, and thought to herself, as she

watched her father’s absorbed face, “How he would enjoy having such a

man as my Professor to talk with every day!” Lastly, Mr. Bhaer was

dressed in a new suit of black, which made him look more like a

gentleman than ever. His bushy hair had been cut and smoothly brushed,

but didn’t stay in order long, for in exciting moments, he rumpled it

up in the droll way he used to do, and Jo liked it rampantly erect

better than flat, because she thought it gave his fine forehead a

Jove-like aspect. Poor Jo, how she did glorify that plain man, as she

sat knitting away so quietly, yet letting nothing escape her, not even

the fact that Mr. Bhaer actually had gold sleeve-buttons in his

immaculate wristbands.

“Dear old fellow! He couldn’t have got himself up with more care if

he’d been going a-wooing,” said Jo to herself, and then a sudden

thought born of the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to

drop her ball, and go down after it to hide her face.

The maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, for

though just in the act of setting fire to a funeral pyre, the Professor

dropped his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the

little blue ball. Of course they bumped their heads smartly together,

saw stars, and both came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, to

resume their seats, wishing they had not left them.

Nobody knew where the evening went to, for Hannah skillfully abstracted

the babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, and Mr.

Laurence went home to rest. The others sat round the fire, talking

away, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternal

mind was impressed with a firm conviction that Daisy had tumbled out of

bed, and Demi set his nightgown afire studying the structure of

matches, made a move to go.

“We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together

again once more,” said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe

and pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.

They were not all there. But no one found the words thoughtless or

untrue, for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence,

invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the

household league that love made dissoluble. The little chair stood in

its old place. The tidy basket, with the bit of work she left

unfinished when the needle grew ‘so heavy’, was still on its accustomed

shelf. The beloved instrument, seldom touched now had not been moved,

and above it Beth’s face, serene and smiling, as in the early days,

looked down upon them, seeming to say, “Be happy. I am here.”

“Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved,” said

Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.

But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, “Not

tonight, dear. I can’t show off tonight.”

But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she

sang Beth’s songs with a tender music in her voice which the best

master could not have taught, and touched the listener’s hearts with a

sweeter power than any other inspiration could have given her. The room

was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line

of Beth’s favorite hymn. It was hard to say...

Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;

and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that

her welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth’s kiss.

“Now, we must finish with Mignon’s song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that,”

said Jo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his

throat with a gratified “Hem!” as he stepped into the corner where Jo

stood, saying...

“You will sing with me? We go excellently well together.”

A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than a

grasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a

whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune.

It didn’t much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily

and well, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might

listen to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.

Know’st thou the land where the citron blooms,

used to be the Professor’s favorite line, for ‘das land’ meant Germany

to him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody,

upon the words...

There, oh there, might I with thee,

O, my beloved, go

and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she

longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither

whenever he liked.

The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered

with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners

entirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet, for she had been

introduced simply as ‘my sister’, and no one had called her by her new

name since he came. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said,

in his most gracious manner, at parting...

“My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that

there is always a welcome waiting for you over the way.”

Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly

illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most

delightfully demonstrative old fellow he ever met.

“I too shall go, but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif me

leave, dear madame, for a little business in the city will keep me here

some days.”

He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo, and the mother’s voice

gave as cordial an assent as did the daughter’s eyes, for Mrs. March

was not so blind to her children’s interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed.

“I suspect that is a wise man,” remarked Mr. March, with placid

satisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last guest had gone.

“I know he is a good one,” added Mrs. March, with decided approval, as

she wound up the clock.

“I thought you’d like him,” was all Jo said, as she slipped away to her

bed.

She wondered what the business was that brought Mr. Bhaer to the city,

and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor,

somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact. If she had seen

his face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a

severe and rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared to

be gazing darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon

the subject, especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed the

picture in the dark.