Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a lovely basket, arranged in
his best manner, for a centre-piece; 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 sprightly and gracious as possible,--coming to the
conclusion, about that time, that virtue _was_ its own reward, after
all.
[Illustration: Bought up the bouquets]
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 signs of them.
"Tucked away out of sight, I dare say," thought Jo, who could forgive
her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered to 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, 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 words 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 good night, 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."
"O 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 is 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.
[Illustration: Tail-piece]
[Illustration: Flo and I ordered a hansom-cab]
XXXI.
OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT.
"LONDON.
"DEAREST PEOPLE,--
"Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel,
Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here
years ago, and won't go anywhere else; however, we don't mean to
stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell
you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits
out of my note-book, for I've done nothing but sketch and
scribble since I started.
"I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but
after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day,
with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one was very
kind to me, especially the officers. Don't laugh, Jo; gentlemen
really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait
upon one; and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make
them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, I'm
afraid.
[Illustration: "Every one was very kind, especially the
officers."--Page 378.]
"Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let
alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and
enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid
air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast
horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could
have come, it would have done her so much good; as for Jo, she
would have gone up and sat on the main-top jib, or whatever the
high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and
tooted on the captain's speaking-trumpet, she'd have been in
such a state of rapture.
"It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and
found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here
and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's
country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It
was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to see
it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore _so_
picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.
"At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us,--Mr.
Lennox,--and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney,
he sighed and sung, with a look at me,--
'Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney;
From the glance of her eye,
Shun danger and fly,
For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.'
Wasn't that nonsensical?
"We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy
place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a
pair of dog-skin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an
umbrella, and got shaved _à la_ mutton-chop, the first thing.
Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton; but
the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little
bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a
grin, 'There yer har, sir. I've give 'em the latest Yankee
shine.' It amused uncle immensely. Oh, I _must_ tell you what
that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with
us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my
room was a lovely one, with 'Robert Lennox's compliments,' on
the card. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like travelling.
"I never _shall_ get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was
like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely
landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs,
ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy
children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than
ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a
contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee
biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,--the grass so green,
sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,--I was in a rapture
all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to
the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along
at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to
sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldn't be astonished
at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,--'Oh,
that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo,
darting to my window,--'How sweet! We must go there some time,
won't we, papa?' Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,--'No, my
dear, not unless you want beer; that's a brewery.'
"A pause,--then Flo cried out, 'Bless me, there's a gallows and
a man going up.' 'Where, where?' shrieks Amy, staring out at two
tall posts with a cross-beam and some dangling chains. 'A
colliery,' remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. 'Here's a
lovely flock of lambs all lying down,' says Amy. 'See, papa,
aren't they pretty!' added Flo sentimentally. 'Geese, young
ladies,' returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo
settles down to enjoy 'The Flirtations of Capt. Cavendish,' and
I have the scenery all to myself.
"Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was
nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked,
and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some
new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready.
A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the
loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is
perfectly splendid; things seem so cheap--nice ribbons only
sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in
Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich?
"Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt
and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned
afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in
them alone. It was so droll! for when we were shut in by the
wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and
told me to stop him. But he was up outside behind somewhere, and
I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me flap
my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling
away, and whirling around corners at a break-neck pace. At last,
in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it
open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,--
"'Now then, mum?'
"I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the
door, with an 'Aye, aye, mum,' the man made his horse walk, as
if going to a funeral. I poked again, and said, 'A little
faster;' then off he went, helter-skelter, as before, and we
resigned ourselves to our fate.
"To-day was fair and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are
more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives
near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate; and the
Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I saw,
my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers
rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous
Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and
powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest
children I ever saw; handsome girls, looking half asleep;
dandies, in queer English hats and lavender kids, lounging
about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps
stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them.
"Rotten Row means '_Route de Roi_,' or the king's way; but now
it's more like a riding-school than anything else. The horses
are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well; but
the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our
rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they
trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high
hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark. Every one
rides,--old men, stout ladies, little children,--and the young
folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange
rosebuds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and
I thought it rather a nice little idea.
"In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey; but don't expect me to
describe it, that's impossible--so I'll only say it was sublime!
This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an
appropriate end to the happiest day of my life.
"MIDNIGHT.
"It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning
without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think
came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and
Frank Vaughn! I was _so_ surprised, for I shouldn't have known
them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers;
Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for
he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard
from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their
house; but uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see
them as we can. They went to the theatre with us, and we did
have _such_ a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and
Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we
had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for
her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when
I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big
hat.' Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we
had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?
"Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I _must_
stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing
here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a
jumble of parks, theatres, new gowns, and gallant creatures who
say 'Ah!' and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English
lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense
am, as ever, your loving
AMY."
"DEAR GIRLS,-- "PARIS.
"In my last I told you about our London visit,--how kind the
Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I
enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum
more than anything else,--for at Hampton I saw Raphael's
cartoons, and, at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner,
Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The
day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English
picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I
could copy; also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We
'did' London to our hearts' content, thanks to Fred and Frank,
and were sorry to go away; for, though English people are slow
to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they
cannot be outdone in hospitality, _I_ think. The Vaughns hope to
meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully
disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends,
and the boys very nice fellows,--especially Fred.
"Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again,
saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland.
Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she
couldn't say a word; and now we get on nicely, and are very glad
he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know
what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten words, and
insists on talking English very loud, as if that would make
people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned,
and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good
deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the
'_parley vooing_,' as uncle calls it.
"Such delightful times as we are having! sight-seeing from
morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay
_cafés_, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy
days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn
up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no
soul for art; but _I_ have, and I'm cultivating eye and taste as
fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better,
for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat and gray coat, his
baby's cradle and his old toothbrush; also Marie Antoinette's
little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword, and
many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours about them
when I come, but haven't time to write.
"The Palais Royale is a heavenly place,--so full of _bijouterie_
and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy
them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow
it. Then the Bois and the Champs Elysées are _très magnifique_.
I've seen the imperial family several times,--the emperor an
ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed
in bad taste, _I_ thought,--purple dress, green hat, and yellow
gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his
tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his
four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets, and a
mounted guard before and behind.
[Illustration: I've seen the imperial family several times]
"We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely,
though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Père la
Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small
rooms, and, looking in, one sees a table, with images or
pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in
when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.
"Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and, sitting in the
balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is
so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there, when too
tired with our day's work to go out. Fred is very entertaining,
and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever
knew,--except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish
Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men; however, the Vaughns
are very rich, and come of an excellent family, so I won't find
fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.