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, at first; 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 every one 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 châtelaine 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.
[Illustration: The tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small
nephew]
"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, with trembling
lips, "I'll try to fill her place, sir."
The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for
every one was so busy with the new-comers 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 _ab
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 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 (_coupé_), 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 fish-balls 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 it 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.
"O 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.
[Illustration: O Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you]
"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 had any doubts about his reception, they were set at
rest in a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Every one 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 traveller who knocks at a
strange door, and, when it opens, finds himself at home. The children
went to him like bees to a honey-pot; 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 new-comer 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 eye 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 manœuvre did not succeed as well as she expected, however; for,
though just in the act of setting fire to a funeral-pile, 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 skilfully 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 night-gown 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 indissoluble. 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 to-night, dear. I can't show off to-night."
But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill; for she sung
Beth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master
could not have taught, and touched the listeners' 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.
[Illustration: Mr. Bhaer sang heartily]
"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 hearth-rug, 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.
[Illustration: Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap]
XLIV.
MY LORD AND LADY.
"Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour? The
luggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery, trying
to find some things I want," said Laurie, coming in the next day to find
Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made "the baby"
again.
"Certainly. Go, dear; I forget that you have any home but this," and
Mrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding-ring, as if
asking pardon for her maternal covetousness.
"I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it; but I can't get
on without my little woman any more than a--"
"Weathercock can without wind," suggested Jo, as he paused for a simile;
Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy came home.
"Exactly; for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with only
an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had an easterly
spell since I was married; don't know anything about the north, but am
altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?"
"Lovely weather so far; I don't know how long it will last, but I'm not
afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship. Come home, dear,
and I'll find your bootjack; I suppose that's what you are rummaging
after among my things. Men are _so_ helpless, mother," said Amy, with a
matronly air, which delighted her husband.
"What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?" asked
Jo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores.
"We have our plans; we don't mean to say much about them yet, because we
are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle. I'm going into
business with a devotion that shall delight grandfather, and prove to
him that I'm not spoilt. I need something of the sort to keep me steady.
I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man."
"And Amy, what is she going to do?" asked Mrs. March, well pleased at
Laurie's decision, and the energy with which he spoke.
"After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall
astonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliant
society we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall
exert over the world at large. That's about it, isn't it, Madame
Récamier?" asked Laurie, with a quizzical look at Amy.
"Time will show. Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family by
calling me names before their faces," answered Amy, resolving that there
should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a _salon_ as a
queen of society.
"How happy those children seem together!" observed Mr. March, finding it
difficult to become absorbed in his Aristotle after the young couple had
gone.
"Yes, and I think it will last," added Mrs. March, with the restful
expression of a pilot who has brought a ship safely into port.
"I know it will. Happy Amy!" and Jo sighed, then smiled brightly as
Professor Bhaer opened the gate with an impatient push.
Later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about the
bootjack, Laurie said suddenly to his wife, who was flitting about,
arranging her new art treasures,--
"Mrs. Laurence."
"My lord!"
"That man intends to marry our Jo!"
"I hope so; don't you, dear?"
"Well, my love, I consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of that
expressive word, but I do wish he was a little younger and a good deal
richer."
"Now, Laurie, don't be too fastidious and worldly-minded. If they love
one another it doesn't matter a particle how old they are nor how poor.
Women _never_ should marry for money--" Amy caught herself up short as
the words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, with
malicious gravity,--
"Certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intend
to do it sometimes. If my memory serves me, you once thought it your
duty to make a rich match; that accounts, perhaps, for your marrying a
good-for-nothing like me."
"O my dearest boy, don't, don't say that! I forgot you were rich when I
said 'Yes.' I'd have married you if you hadn't a penny, and I sometimes
wish you _were_ poor that I might show how much I love you;" and Amy,
who was very dignified in public and very fond in private, gave
convincing proofs of the truth of her words.