glad to hear and help you, if they can."
"I know it. I'll tell you by and by."
"Is the pain better now?"
"Oh, yes, much better; you are so comfortable, Jo!"
"Go to sleep, dear; I'll stay with you."
So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quite
herself again; for at eighteen, neither heads nor hearts ache long, and
a loving word can medicine most ills.
But Jo had made up her mind, and, after pondering over a project for
some days, she confided it to her mother.
"You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll tell you one of
them, Marmee," she began, as they sat alone together. "I want to go away
somewhere this winter for a change."
"Why, Jo?" and her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a
double meaning.
With her eyes on her work, Jo answered soberly, "I want something new; I
feel restless, and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more than I
am. I brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirring up,
so, as I can be spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way, and
try my wings."
"Where will you hop?"
"To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it. You know
Mrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach her
children and sew. It's rather hard to find just the thing, but I think I
should suit if I tried."
"My dear, go out to service in that great boarding-house!" and Mrs.
March looked surprised, but not displeased.
"It's not exactly going out to service; for Mrs. Kirke is your
friend,--the kindest soul that ever lived,--and would make things
pleasant for me, I know. Her family is separate from the rest, and no
one knows me there. Don't care if they do; it's honest work, and I'm not
ashamed of it."
"Nor I; but your writing?"
"All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new things, get new
ideas, and, even if I haven't much time there, I shall bring home
quantities of material for my rubbish."
"I have no doubt of it; but are these your only reasons for this sudden
fancy?"
"No, mother."
"May I know the others?"
Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color in
her cheeks, "It may be vain and wrong to say it, but--I'm afraid--Laurie
is getting too fond of me."
"Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care
for you?" and Mrs. March looked anxious as she put the question.
"Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immensely
proud of him; but as for anything more, it's out of the question."
"I'm glad of that, Jo."
"Why, please?"
"Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another. As friends you
are very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow over; but I fear
you would both rebel if you were mated for life. You are too much alike
and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to
get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and
forbearance, as well as love."
"That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it. I'm glad
you think he is only beginning to care for me. It would trouble me sadly
to make him unhappy; for I couldn't fall in love with the dear old
fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?"
"You are sure of his feeling for you?"
The color deepened in Jo's cheeks, as she answered, with the look of
mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speaking
of first lovers,--
"I'm afraid it is so, mother; he hasn't said anything, but he looks a
great deal. I think I had better go away before it comes to anything."
"I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go."
Jo looked relieved, and, after a pause, said, smiling, "How Mrs. Moffat
would wonder at your want of management, if she knew; and how she will
rejoice that Annie still may hope."
"Ah, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the
same in all,--the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and I
am content with her success. You I leave to enjoy your liberty till you
tire of it; for only then will you find that there is something sweeter.
Amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her. For Beth, I
indulge no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems
brighter this last day or two. Have you spoken to her?"
"Yes; she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by and by. I
said no more, for I think I know it;" and Jo told her little story.
Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the
case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that, for Laurie's
sake, Jo should go away for a time.
"Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled; then I'll
run away before he can collect his wits and be tragical. Beth must think
I'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie to
her; but she can pet and comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure him of
this romantic notion. He's been through so many little trials of the
sort, he's used to it, and will soon get over his love-lornity."
Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear
that this "little trial" would be harder than the others, and that
Laurie would not get over his "love-lornity" as easily as heretofore.
The plan was talked over in a family council, and agreed upon; for Mrs.
Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her.
The teaching would render her independent; and such leisure as she got
might be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society
would be both useful and agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was eager
to be gone, for the home-nest was growing too narrow for her restless
nature and adventurous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and
trembling she told Laurie; but to her surprise he took it very quietly.
He had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant; and, when
jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, "So I
am; and I mean this one shall stay turned."
Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come on
just then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart,--for Beth
seemed more cheerful,--and hoped she was doing the best for all.
"One thing I leave to your especial care," she said, the night before
she left.
"You mean your papers?" asked Beth.
"No, my boy. Be very good to him, won't you?"
"Of course I will; but I can't fill your place, and he'll miss you
sadly."
"It won't hurt him; so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague,
pet, and keep in order."
"I'll do my best, for your sake," promised Beth, wondering why Jo looked
at her so queerly.
When Laurie said "Good-by," he whispered significantly, "It won't do a
bit of good, Jo. My eye is on you; so mind what you do, or I'll come and
bring you home."
[Illustration: I amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the
seat]
XXXIII.
JO'S JOURNAL.
"NEW YORK, November.
"DEAR MARMEE AND BETH,--
"I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps to
tell, though I'm not a fine young lady travelling on the
continent. When I lost sight of father's dear old face, I felt a
trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an
Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less,
hadn't diverted my mind; for I amused myself by dropping
gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their
mouths to roar.
"Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared
up likewise, and enjoyed my journey with all my heart.
"Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even
in that big house full of strangers. She gave me a funny little
sky-parlor--all she had; but there is a stove in it, and a nice
table in a sunny window, so I can sit here and write whenever I
like. A fine view and a church-tower opposite atone for the many
stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The nursery,
where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next Mrs.
Kirke's private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty
children,--rather spoilt, I fancy, but they took to me after
telling them 'The Seven Bad Pigs;' and I've no doubt I shall
make a model governess.
"I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to the
great table, and for the present I do, for I _am_ bashful,
though no one will believe it.
"'Now, my dear, make yourself at home,' said Mrs. K. in her
motherly way; 'I'm on the drive from morning to night, as you
may suppose with such a family; but a great anxiety will be off
my mind if I know the children are safe with you. My rooms are
always open to you, and your own shall be as comfortable as I
can make it. There are some pleasant people in the house if you
feel sociable, and your evenings are always free. Come to me if
anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can. There's the
tea-bell; I must run and change my cap;' and off she bustled,
leaving me to settle myself in my new nest.
"As I went downstairs, soon after, I saw something I liked. The
flights are very long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting
at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber
up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod
of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at
a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a
foreign accent,--
"'It goes better so. The little back is too young to haf such
heaviness.'
"Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for, as father says,
trifles show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that
evening, she laughed, and said,--
"'That must have been Professor Bhaer; he's always doing things
of that sort.'
"Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin; very learned and good, but
poor as a church-mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and
two little orphan nephews whom he is educating here, according
to the wishes of his sister, who married an American. Not a very
romantic story, but it interested me; and I was glad to hear
that Mrs. K. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars.
There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean to
peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost
forty, so it's no harm, Marmee.
"After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I
attacked the big work-basket, and had a quiet evening chatting
with my new friend. I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it
once a week; so good-night, and more to-morrow."
"_Tuesday Eve._
"Had a lively time in my seminary, this morning, for the
children acted like Sancho; and at one time I really thought I
should shake them all round. Some good angel inspired me to try
gymnastics, and I kept it up till they were glad to sit down and
keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them out for a walk,
and I went to my needle-work, like little Mabel, 'with a willing
mind.' I was thanking my stars that I'd learned to make nice
button-holes, when the parlor-door opened and shut, and some one
began to hum,--
'Kennst du das land,'
like a big bumble-bee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I
couldn't resist the temptation; and lifting one end of the
curtain before the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was
there; and while he arranged his books, I took a good look at
him. A regular German,--rather stout, with brown hair tumbled
all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I
ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good,
after our sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes were
rusty, his hands were large, and he hadn't a really handsome
feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth; yet I liked
him, for he had a fine head; his linen was very nice, and he
looked like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat,
and there was a patch on one shoe. He looked sober in spite of
his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth
bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like
an old friend. Then he smiled; and when a tap came at the door,
called out in a loud, brisk tone,--
"'Herein!'
"I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of a
child carrying a big book, and stopped to see what was going on.
"'Me wants my Bhaer,' said the mite, slamming down her book, and
running to meet him.
"'Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer; come, then, and take a goot hug from
him, my Tina,' said the Professor, catching her up, with a
laugh, and holding her so high over his head that she had to
stoop her little face to kiss him.
[Illustration: Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer]
"'Now me mus tuddy my lessin,' went on the funny little thing;
so he put her up at the table, opened the great dictionary she
had brought, and gave her a paper and pencil, and she scribbled
away, turning a leaf now and then, and passing her little fat
finger down the page, as if finding a word, so soberly that I
nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while Mr. Bhaer stood
stroking her pretty hair, with a fatherly look, that made me
think she must be his own, though she looked more French than
German.
"Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me
back to my work, and there I virtuously remained through all the
noise and gabbling that went on next door. One of the girls kept
laughing affectedly, and saying 'Now Professor,' in a
coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her German with an
accent that must have made it hard for him to keep sober.
"Both seemed to try his patience sorely; for more than once I
heard him say emphatically, 'No, no, it is _not_ so; you haf not
attend to what I say;' and once there was a loud rap, as if he
struck the table with his book, followed by the despairing
exclamation, 'Prut! it all goes bad this day.'
"Poor man, I pitied him; and when the girls were gone, took just
one more peep, to see if he survived it. He seemed to have
thrown himself back in his chair, tired out, and sat there with
his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put
his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and,
taking little Tina, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, in his
arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life of
it.
"Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the five o'clock
dinner; and, feeling a little bit homesick, I thought I would,
just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me.
So I made myself respectable, and tried to slip in behind Mrs.
Kirke; but as she is short, and I'm tall, my efforts at
concealment were rather a failure. She gave me a seat by her,
and after my face cooled off, I plucked up courage, and looked
about me. The long table was full, and every one intent on
getting their dinner,--the gentlemen especially, who seemed to
be eating on time, for they _bolted_ in every sense of the word,
vanishing as soon as they were done. There was the usual
assortment of young men absorbed in themselves; young couples
absorbed in each other; married ladies in their babies, and old
gentlemen in politics. I don't think I shall care to have much
to do with any of them, except one sweet-faced maiden lady, who
looks as if she had something in her.
"Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Professor,
shouting answers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf
old gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with a
Frenchman on the other. If Amy had been here, she'd have turned
her back on him forever, because, sad to relate, he had a great
appetite, and shovelled in his dinner in a manner which would
have horrified 'her ladyship.' I didn't mind, for I like 'to see
folks eat with a relish,' as Hannah says, and the poor man must
have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all day.
"As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were
settling their hats before the hall-mirror, and I heard one say
low to the other, 'Who's the new party?'
"'Governess, or something of that sort.'
"'What the deuce is she at our table for?'
"'Friend of the old lady's.'
"'Handsome head, but no style.'
"'Not a bit of it. Give us a light and come on.'
"I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a governess
is as good as a clerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't style,
which is more than some people have, judging from the remarks of
the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like bad
chimneys. I hate ordinary people!"
"_Thursday._
"Yesterday was a quiet day, spent in teaching, sewing, and
writing in my little room, which is very cosey, with a light and
fire. I picked up a few bits of news, and was introduced to the
Professor. It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman
who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing
has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the house
like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is
very fond of children, though a 'bacheldore.' Kitty and Minnie
Kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of
stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and
the splendid tales he tells. The young men quiz him, it seems,
call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner
of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. K. says,
and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him, in spite
of his foreign ways.
"The maiden lady is a Miss Norton,--rich, cultivated, and kind.
She spoke to me at dinner to-day (for I went to table again,
it's such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her
at her room. She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting
persons, and seems friendly; so I shall make myself agreeable,
for I _do_ want to get into good society, only it isn't the same
sort that Amy likes.
"I was in our parlor last evening, when Mr. Bhaer came in with
some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn't there, but Minnie,
who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily: 'This is
mamma's friend, Miss March.'
"'Yes; and she's jolly and we like her lots,' added Kitty, who
is an _enfant terrible_.
"We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction
and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast.
"'Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch.
If so again, call at me and I come,' he said, with a threatening
frown that delighted the little wretches.
"I promised I would, and he departed; but it seems as if I was
doomed to see a good deal of him, for to-day, as I passed his
door on my way out, by accident I knocked against it with my
umbrella. It flew open, and there he stood in his dressing gown,
with a big blue sock on one hand, and a darning-needle in the
other; he didn't seem at all ashamed of it, for when I explained
and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in his
loud, cheerful way,--
[Illustration: He waved his hand, sock and all]
"'You haf a fine day to make your walk. _Bon voyage,
mademoiselle._'
"I laughed all the way downstairs; but it was a little pathetic,
also, to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes.
The German gentlemen embroider, I know; but darning hose is
another thing, and not so pretty."
"_Saturday._
"Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss
Norton, who has a room full of lovely things, and who was very
charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I
would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her
escort,--if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I'm sure
Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of
kindness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from
such people don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully.
"When I got back to the nursery there was such an uproar in the
parlor that I looked in; and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his
hands and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leading him with a
jump-rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with seed-cakes, as
they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs.
"'We are playing _nargerie_,' explained Kitty.
"'Dis is mine effalunt!' added Tina, holding on by the
Professor's hair.
[Illustration: Dis is mine effalunt]
"'Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon,
when Franz and Emil come, doesn't she, Mr. Bhaer?' said
Minnie.
"The 'effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of
them, and said soberly to me,--
"'I gif you my wort it is so. If we make too large a noise you
shall say "Hush!" to us, and we go more softly.'
"I promised to do so, but left the door open, and enjoyed the
fun as much as they did,--for a more glorious frolic I never
witnessed. They played tag and soldiers, danced and sung, and
when it began to grow dark they all piled on to the sofa about
the Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the
storks on the chimney-tops, and the little 'kobolds,' who ride
the snow-flakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple
and natural as Germans, don't you?
"I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if
motives of economy didn't stop me, for though I've used thin
paper and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this
long letter will need. Pray forward Amy's as soon as you can
spare them. My small news will sound very flat after her
splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying so
hard that he can't find time to write to his friends? Take good
care of him for me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies, and
give heaps of love to every one.
"From your faithful JO.
"P. S. On reading over my letter it strikes me as rather Bhaery;
but I am always interested in odd people, and I really had
nothing else to write about. Bless you!"
"DECEMBER.
"MY PRECIOUS BETSEY,--
"As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to
you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings
on; for, though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh,
be joyful! After what Amy would call Herculaneum efforts, in the
way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin to
shoot and my little twigs to bend as I could wish. They are not
so interesting to me as Tina and the boys, but I do my duty by
them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little
lads, quite after my own heart; for the mixture of German and
American spirit in them produces a constant state of
effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether
spent in the house or out; for on pleasant days they all go to
walk, like a seminary, with the Professor and myself to keep
order; and then such fun!
"We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take lessons. I
really couldn't help it, and it all came about in such a droll
way that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke
called to me, one day, as I passed Mr. Bhaer's room, where she
was rummaging.
"'Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me
put these books to rights, for I've turned everything upside
down, trying to discover what he has done with the six new
handkerchiefs I gave him not long ago.'
"I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was 'a
den,' to be sure. Books and papers everywhere; a broken
meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantel-piece as if done
with; a ragged bird, without any tail, chirped on one
window-seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other;
half-finished boats and bits of string lay among the
manuscripts; dirty little boots stood drying before the fire;
and traces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave
of himself, were to be seen all over the room. After a grand
rummage three of the missing articles were found,--one over the
bird-cage, one covered with ink, and a third burnt brown, having
been used as a holder.
"'Such a man!' laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the
relics in the rag-bag. 'I suppose the others are torn up to rig
ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite-tails. It's dreadful,
but I can't scold him: he's so absent-minded and good-natured,
he lets those boys ride over him rough-shod. I agreed to do his
washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his things and I
forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass sometimes.'
"'Let me mend them,' said I. 'I don't mind it, and he needn't
know. I'd like to,--he's so kind to me about bringing my letters
and lending books.'