Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
JACK AND JILL
By Louisa May Alcott
To the schoolmates of ELLSWORTH DEVENS,
Whose lovely character will not soon be forgotten,
This Village Story is affectionately inscribed by their friend,
L.M.A.
1880
Contents
Chapter I The Catastrophe
Chapter II Two Penitents
Chapter III Ward No. I
Chapter IV Ward No. 2
Chapter V Secrets
Chapter VI Surprises
Chapter VII Jill's Mission
Chapter VIII Merry and Molly
Chapter IX The Debating Club
Chapter X The Dramatic Club
Chapter XI “Down Brakes”
Chapter XII The Twenty-second of February
Chapter XIII Jack Has a Mystery
Chapter XIV And Jill Finds it out
Chapter XV Saint Lucy
Chapter XVI Up at Merry's
Chapter XVII Down at Molly's
Chapter XVIII May Baskets
Chapter XIX Good Templars
Chapter XX A Sweet Memory
Chapter XXI Pebbly Beach
Chapter XXII A Happy Day
Chapter XXIII Cattle Show
Chapter XXIV Down the River
JACK AND JILL
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To coast with fun and laughter;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
Chapter I. The Catastrophe
“Clear the lulla!” was the general cry on a bright December afternoon,
when all the boys and girls of Harmony Village were out enjoying the
first good snow of the season. Up and down three long coasts they went
as fast as legs and sleds could carry them. One smooth path led into the
meadow, and here the little folk congregated; one swept across the pond,
where skaters were darting about like water-bugs; and the third, from
the very top of the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on the
high bank above the road. There was a group of lads and lasses sitting
or leaning on this fence to rest after an exciting race, and, as they
reposed, they amused themselves with criticising their mates, still
absorbed in this most delightful of out-door sports.
“Here comes Frank Minot, looking as solemn as a judge,” cried one, as
a tall fellow of sixteen spun by, with a set look about the mouth and
a keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal with a do-or-die
expression.
“Here's Molly Loo
And little Boo!”
sang out another; and down came a girl with flying hair, carrying a
small boy behind her, so fat that his short legs stuck out from the
sides, and his round face looked over her shoulder like a full moon.
“There's Gus Burton; doesn't he go it?” and such a very long boy whizzed
by, that it looked almost as if his heels were at the top of the hill
when his head was at the bottom!
“Hurrah for Ed Devlin!” and a general shout greeted a sweet-faced lad,
with a laugh on his lips, a fine color on his brown cheek, and a gay
word for every girl he passed.
“Laura and Lotty keep to the safe coast into the meadow, and Molly Loo
is the only girl that dares to try this long one to the pond. I wouldn't
for the world; the ice can't be strong yet, though it is cold enough to
freeze one's nose off,” said a timid damsel, who sat hugging a post and
screaming whenever a mischievous lad shook the fence.
“No, she isn't; here's Jack and Jill going like fury.”
“Clear the track
For jolly Jack!”
sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for nearly every one.
Down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who seemed all smile and
sunshine, so white were his teeth, so golden was his hair, so bright
and happy his whole air. Behind him clung a little gypsy of a girl, with
black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her hood, and a face full of fun
and sparkle, as she waved Jack's blue tippet like a banner with one
hand, and held on with the other.
“Jill goes wherever Jack does, and he lets her. He's such a good-natured
chap, he can't say 'No.'”
“To a girl,” slyly added one of the boys, who had wished to borrow the
red sled, and had been politely refused because Jill wanted it.
“He's the nicest boy in the world, for he never gets mad,” said the
timid young lady, recalling the many times Jack had shielded her from
the terrors which beset her path to school, in the shape of cows, dogs,
and boys who made faces and called her “'Fraid-cat.”
“He doesn't dare to get mad with Jill, for she'd take his head off
in two minutes if he did,” growled Joe Flint, still smarting from the
rebuke Jill had given him for robbing the little ones of their safe
coast because he fancied it.
“She wouldn't! she's a dear! _You_ needn't sniff at her because she is
poor. She's ever so much brighter than you are, or she wouldn't always
be at the head of your class, old Joe,” cried the girls, standing by
their friend with a unanimity which proved what a favorite she was.
Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state
permitted, and Merry Grant introduced a subject of general interest by
asking abruptly,--
“Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?”
“All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tip-top
time. We always do at the Minots',” cried Sue, the timid trembler.
“Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there would
be enough for all to eat and some to carry away. They know how to do
things handsomely;” and the speaker licked his lips, as if already
tasting the feast in store for him.
“Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having,” said Molly Loo, coming up with
Boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had
none, and tried to care for the little brother with maternal love and
patience.
“She is just as sweet as she can be!” declared Merry, enthusiastically.
“Especially when she has a candy-scrape,” said Joe, trying to be
amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.
Whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell frolic, as
the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as
noses.
Down they went, one after another, on the various coasts,--solemn Frank,
long Gus, gallant Ed, fly-away Molly Loo, pretty Laura and Lotty, grumpy
Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking wildly behind her, gay Jack
and gypsy Jill, always together,--one and all bubbling over with the
innocent jollity born of healthful exercise. People passing in the road
below looked up and smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and
lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter and cries of
triumph as they flew by in every conceivable attitude; for the fun was
at its height now, and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of
pleasure as they looked, remembering their own young days.
“Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I wouldn't dare to do it, so I
must,” commanded Jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge
up hill. Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given
because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janey Pecq's spirit
and fun.
“I guess I wouldn't. It is very bumpy and ends in a big drift; not half
so nice as this one. Hop on and we'll have a good spin across the
pond;” and Jack brought “Thunderbolt” round with a skilful swing and an
engaging air that would have won obedience from anybody but wilful Jill.
“It is very nice, but I won't be told I don't 'dare' by any boy in the
world. If you are afraid, I'll go alone.” And, before he could speak,
she had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown herself upon the sled,
and was off, helter-skelter, down the most dangerous coast on the
hill-side.
She did not get far, however; for, starting in a hurry, she did not
guide her steed with care, and the red charger landed her in the snow
half-way down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to pick her up.
“If you _will_ go, I'll take you down all right. I'm not afraid, for
I've done it a dozen times with the other fellows; but we gave it up
because it is short and bad,” he said, still good-natured, though a
little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for Jack was as brave as a
little lion, and with the best sort of bravery,--the courage to do
right.
“So it is; but I _must_ do it a few times, or Joe will plague me and
spoil my fun to-night,” answered Jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing
her blue hands, wet and cold with the snow.
“Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep them if they fit; I only
carry them to please mother.” And Jack pulled out a pair of red mittens
with the air of a boy used to giving away.
“They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must be too small for your paws,
so I'll knit you a new pair for Christmas, and make you wear them, too,”
said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of thanks, and ending her
speech with a stamp of her rubber boots to enforce her threat.
Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot whence the three coasts
diverged.
“Now, which will you have?” he asked, with a warning look in the honest
blue eyes which often unconsciously controlled naughty Jill against her
will.
“That one!” and the red mitten pointed firmly to the perilous path just
tried.
“You will do it?”
“I will!”
“Come on, then, and hold tight.”
Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited without a word while Jill
tucked herself up, then took his place in front, and off they went on
the brief, breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence below.
“I don't see anything very awful in that. Come up and have another.
Joe is watching us, and I'd like to show him that _we_ aren't afraid of
anything,” said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant boy, who had
paused to watch the descent.
“It is a regular 'go-bang,' if that is what you like,” answered Jack, as
they plowed their way up again.
“It is. You boys think girls like little mean coasts without any fun or
danger in them, as if we couldn't be brave and strong as well as you.
Give me three go-bangs and then we'll stop. My tumble doesn't count, so
give me two more and then I'll be good.”
Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up with such a rosy,
pleading face that Jack gave in at once, and down they went again,
raising a cloud of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine style
with their feet on the fence.
“It's just splendid! Now, one more!” cried Jill, excited by the cheers
of a sleighing party passing below.
Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved to make the third “go”
the crowning achievement of the afternoon, while Jill pranced after him
as lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven-leagued ones, and
chattering about the candy-scrape and whether there would be nuts or
not.
So full were they of this important question, that they piled on
hap-hazard, and started off still talking so busily that Jill forgot to
hold tight and Jack to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape that
never was to be! Alas, for poor “Thunderbolt” blindly setting forth
on the last trip he ever made! And oh, alas, for Jack and Jill, who
wilfully chose the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter! No
one knew how it happened, but instead of landing in the drift, or at the
fence, there was a great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off
the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy, sled, fence, earth,
and snow, all about the road, two cries, and then silence.
“I knew they'd do it!” and, standing on the post where he had perched,
Joe waved his arms and shouted: “Smash-up! Smash-up! Run! Run!” like a
raven croaking over a battlefield when the fight was done.
Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or cry, as the case might be,
for accidents will happen on the best-regulated coasting-grounds. They
found Jack sitting up looking about him with a queer, dazed expression,
while an ugly cut on the forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered
the boys and frightened the girls half out of their wits.
“He's killed! He's killed!” wailed Sue, hiding her face and beginning to
cry.
“No, I'm not. I'll be all right when I get my breath. Where's Jill?”
asked Jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.
The group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was discovered
lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her
face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half stunned. But no wounds
appeared, and when asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort
of way,--
“I guess not. Is Jack hurt?”
“Broken his head,” croaked Joe, stepping aside, that she might behold
the fallen hero vainly trying to look calm and cheerful with red drops
running down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.
Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, saying, faintly,--
“Never mind me. Go and see to him.”
“Don't! I'm all right,” and Jack tried to get up in order to prove that
headers off a bank were mere trifles to him; but at the first movement
of the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and would have fallen if
Gus had not caught and gently laid him down.
“What is it, old chap?” asked Frank, kneeling beside him, really alarmed
now, the hurts seeming worse than mere bumps, which were common affairs
among baseball players, and not worth much notice.
“I lit on my head, but I guess I've broken my leg. Don't frighten
mother,” and Jack held fast to Frank's arm as he looked into the anxious
face bent over him; for, though the elder tyrannized over the younger,
the brothers loved one another dearly.
“Lift his head, Frank, while I tie my handkerchief round to stop the
bleeding,” said a quiet voice, as Ed Devlin laid a handful of soft snow
on the wound; and Jack's face brightened as he turned to thank the one
big boy who never was rough with the small ones.
“Better get him right home,” advised Gus, who stood by looking on, with
his little sisters Laura and Lotty clinging to him.
“Take Jill, too, for it's my opinion she has broken her back. She can't
stir one bit,” announced Molly Loo, with a droll air of triumph, as if
rather pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt the worse; for
Jack's wound was very effective, and Molly had a taste for the tragic.
This cheerful statement was greeted with a wail from Susan and howls
from Boo, who had earned that name from the ease with which, on all
occasions, he could burst into a dismal roar without shedding a tear,
and stop as suddenly as he began.
“Oh, I am so sorry! It was my fault; I shouldn't have let her do it,”
said Jack, distressfully.
“It was all _my_ fault; I made him. If I'd broken every bone I've got,
it would serve me right. Don't help me, anybody; I'm a wicked thing, and
I deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die!” cried Jill, piling
up punishments in her remorseful anguish of mind and body.
“But we want to help you, and we can settle about blame by and by,”
whispered Merry with a kiss; for she adored dashing Jill, and never
would own that she did wrong.
“Here come the wood-sleds just in time. I'll cut away and tell one of
them to hurry up.” And, freeing himself from his sisters, Gus went off
at a great pace, proving that the long legs carried a sensible head as
well as a kind heart.
As the first sled approached, an air of relief pervaded the agitated
party, for it was driven by Mr. Grant, a big, benevolent-looking farmer,
who surveyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a man and a
father.
“Had a little accident, have you? Well, that's a pretty likely place for
a spill. Tried it once myself and broke the bridge of my nose,” he said,
tapping that massive feature with a laugh which showed that fifty years
of farming had not taken all the boy out of him. “Now then, let's see
about this little chore, and lively, too, for it's late, and these
parties ought to be housed,” he added, throwing down his whip, pushing
back his cap, and nodding at the wounded with a reassuring smile.
“Jill first, please, sir,” said Ed, the gentle squire of dames,
spreading his overcoat on the sled as eagerly as ever Raleigh laid down
his velvet cloak for a queen to walk upon.
“All right. Just lay easy, my dear, and I won't hurt you a mite if I can
help it.”
Careful as Mr. Grant was, Jill could have screamed with pain as he
lifted her; but she set her lips and bore it with the courage of a
little Indian; for all the lads were looking on, and Jill was proud to
show that a girl could bear as much as a boy. She hid her face in the
coat as soon as she was settled, to hide the tears that would come, and
by the time Jack was placed beside her, she had quite a little cistern
of salt water stored up in Ed's coat-pocket.
Then the mournful procession set forth, Mr. Grant driving the oxen, the
girls clustering about the interesting invalids on the sled, while the
boys came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the hill deserted by
all but Joe, who had returned to hover about the fatal fence, and poor
“Thunderbolt,” split asunder, lying on the bank to mark the spot where
the great catastrophe occurred.