THANKSGIVING
This yearly festival was always kept at Plumfield in the good
old-fashioned way, and nothing was allowed to interfere with it. For
days beforehand, the little girls helped Asia and Mrs. Jo in store-room
and kitchen, making pies and puddings, sorting fruit, dusting dishes,
and being very busy and immensely important. The boys hovered on the
outskirts of the forbidden ground, sniffing the savory odors, peeping
in at the mysterious performances, and occasionally being permitted to
taste some delicacy in the process of preparation.
Something more than usual seemed to be on foot this year, for the girls
were as busy up-stairs as down, so were the boys in school-room and
barn, and a general air of bustle pervaded the house. There was a great
hunting up of old ribbons and finery, much cutting and pasting of gold
paper, and the most remarkable quantity of straw, gray cotton, flannel,
and big black beads, used by Franz and Mrs. Jo. Ned hammered at
strange machines in the workshop, Demi and Tommy went about murmuring
to themselves as if learning something. A fearful racket was heard in
Emil’s room at intervals, and peals of laughter from the nursery when
Rob and Teddy were sent for and hidden from sight whole hours at a
time. But the thing that puzzled Mr. Bhaer the most was what became
of Rob’s big pumpkin. It had been borne in triumph to the kitchen,
where a dozen golden-tinted pies soon after appeared. It would not
have taken more than a quarter of the mammoth vegetable to make them,
yet where was the rest? It disappeared, and Rob never seemed to care,
only chuckled, when it was mentioned, and told his father, “To wait and
see,” for the fun of the whole thing was to surprise Father Bhaer at
the end, and not let him know a bit about what was to happen.
He obediently shut eyes, ears, and mouth, and went about trying not
to see what was in plain sight, not to hear the tell-tale sounds that
filled the air, not to understand any of the perfectly transparent
mysteries going on all about him. Being a German, he loved these simple
domestic festivals, and encouraged them with all his heart, for they
made home so pleasant that the boys did not care to go elsewhere for
fun.
When at last the day came, the boys went off for a long walk, that they
might have good appetites for dinner; as if they ever needed them! The
girls remained at home to help set the table, and give last touches to
various affairs which filled their busy little souls with anxiety. The
school-room had been shut up since the night before, and Mr. Bhaer was
forbidden to enter it on pain of a beating from Teddy, who guarded the
door like a small dragon, though he was dying to tell about it, and
nothing but his father’s heroic self-denial in not listening, kept him
from betraying the grand secret.
“It’s all done, and it’s perfectly splendid,” cried Nan, coming out at
last with an air of triumph.
“The----you know--goes beautifully, and Silas knows just what to do
now,” added Daisy, skipping with delight at some unspeakable success.
“I’m blest if it ain’t the ’cutest thing I ever see, them critters in
particular,” and Silas, who had been let into the secret, went off
laughing like a great boy.
“They are coming; I hear Emil roaring ‘Land lubbers lying down below,’
so we must run and dress,” cried Nan, and up-stairs they scampered in a
great hurry.
The boys came trooping home with appetites that would have made the big
turkey tremble, if it had not been past all fear. They also retired to
dress; and for half-an-hour there was a washing, brushing, and prinking
that would have done any tidy woman’s heart good to see. When the bell
rang, a troop of fresh-faced lads with shiny hair, clean collars, and
Sunday jackets on, filed into the dining-room, where Mrs. Jo, in her
one black silk, with a knot of her favorite white chrysanthemums in her
bosom, sat at the head of the table, “looking splendid,” as the boys
said, whenever she got herself up. Daisy and Nan were as gay as a posy
bed in their new winter dresses, with bright sashes and hair ribbons.
Teddy was gorgeous to behold in a crimson merino blouse, and his best
button boots, which absorbed and distracted him as much as Mr. Toot’s
wristbands did on one occasion.
As Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer glanced at each other down the long table,
with those rows of happy faces on either side, they had a little
thanksgiving, all to themselves, and without a word, for one heart said
to the other,--“Our work has prospered, let us be grateful and go on.”
The clatter of knives and forks prevented much conversation for a
few minutes, and Mary Ann with an amazing pink bow in her hair “flew
around” briskly, handing plates and ladling out gravy. Nearly every
one had contributed to the feast, so the dinner was a peculiarly
interesting one to the eaters of it, who beguiled the pauses by remarks
on their own productions.
“If these are not good potatoes I never saw any,” observed Jack, as he
received his fourth big mealy one.
“Some of my herbs are in the stuffing of the turkey, that’s why it’s so
nice,” said Nan, taking a mouthful with intense satisfaction.
“My ducks are prime any way; Asia said she never cooked such fat ones,”
added Tommy.
“Well, our carrots are beautiful, ain’t they, and our parsnips will be
ever so good when we dig them,” put in Dick, and Dolly murmured his
assent from behind the bone he was picking.
“I helped make the pies with my pumpkin,” called out Robby, with a
laugh which he stopped by retiring into his mug.
“I picked some of the apples that the cider is made of,” said Demi.
“I raked the cranberries for the sauce,” cried Nat.
“I got the nuts,” added Dan, and so it went on all round the table.
“Who made up Thanksgiving?” asked Rob, for being lately promoted
to jacket and trousers he felt a new and manly interest in the
institutions of his country.
“See who can answer that question,” and Mr. Bhaer nodded to one or two
of his best history boys.
“I know,” said Demi, “the Pilgrims made it.”
“What for?” asked Rob, without waiting to learn who the Pilgrims were.
“I forget,” and Demi subsided.
“I believe it was because they were not starved once, and so when they
had a good harvest, they said, ‘We will thank God for it,’ and they had
a day and called it Thanksgiving,” said Dan, who liked the story of the
brave men who suffered so nobly for their faith.
“Good! I didn’t think you would remember any thing but natural
history,” and Mr. Bhaer tapped gently on the table as applause for his
pupil.
Dan looked pleased; and Mrs. Jo said to her son, “Now do you understand
about it, Robby?”
“No, I don’t. I thought pil-grins were a sort of big bird that lived on
rocks, and I saw pictures of them in Demi’s book.”
“He means penguins. Oh, isn’t he a little goosey!” and Demi laid back
in his chair and laughed aloud.
“Don’t laugh at him, but tell him all about it if you can,” said Mrs.
Bhaer, consoling Rob with more cranberry sauce for the general smile
that went round the table at his mistake.
“Well, I will;” and, after a pause to collect his ideas, Demi delivered
the following sketch of the Pilgrim Fathers, which would have made even
those grave gentlemen smile if they could have heard it.
“You see, Rob, some of the people in England didn’t like the king, or
something, so they got into ships and sailed away to this country. It
was all full of Indians, and bears, and wild creatures, and they lived
in forts, and had a dreadful time.”
“The bears?” asked Robby, with interest.
“No; the Pilgrims, because the Indians troubled them. They hadn’t
enough to eat, and they went to church with guns, and ever so many
died, and they got out of the ships on a rock, and it’s called Plymouth
Rock, and Aunt Jo saw it and touched it. The Pilgrims killed all the
Indians, and got rich; and hung the witches, and were very good; and
some of my greatest great-grandpas came in the ships. One was the
Mayflower; and they made Thanksgiving, and we have it always, and I
like it. Some more turkey, please.”
“I think Demi will be an historian, there is such order and clearness
in his account of events;” and Uncle Fritz’s eyes laughed at Aunt Jo,
as he helped the descendant of the Pilgrims to his third bit of turkey.
“I thought you must eat as much as ever you could on Thanksgiving.
But Franz says you mustn’t even then;” and Stuffy looked as if he had
received bad news.
“Franz is right, so mind your knife and fork, and be moderate, or else
you won’t be able to help in the surprise by and by,” said Mrs. Jo.
“I’ll be careful; but everybody does eat lots, and I like it better
than being moderate,” said Stuffy, who leaned to the popular belief
that Thanksgiving must be kept by coming as near apoplexy as possible,
and escaping with merely a fit of indigestion or a headache.
“Now, my ‘pilgrims’, amuse yourselves quietly till tea-time, for you
will have enough excitement this evening,” said Mrs. Jo, as they rose
from the table after a protracted sitting, finished by drinking every
one’s health in cider.
“I think I will take the whole flock for a drive, it is so pleasant;
then you can rest, my dear, or you will be worn out this evening,”
added Mr. Bhaer; and as soon as coats and hats could be put on, the
great omnibus was packed full, and away they went for a long gay drive,
leaving Mrs. Jo to rest and finish sundry small affairs in peace.
An early and light tea was followed by more brushing of hair and
washing of hands; then the flock waited impatiently for the company
to come. Only the family was expected; for these small revels were
strictly domestic, and such being the case, sorrow was not allowed to
sadden the present festival. All came; Mr. and Mrs. March, with Aunt
Meg, so sweet and lovely, in spite of her black dress and the little
widow’s cap that encircled her tranquil face. Uncle Teddy and Aunt Amy,
with the Princess looking more fairy-like than ever, in a sky-blue
gown, and a great bouquet of hot-house flowers, which she divided among
the boys, sticking one in each buttonhole, making them feel peculiarly
elegant and festive. One strange face appeared, and Uncle Teddy led the
unknown gentleman up to the Bhaers, saying--
“This is Mr. Hyde; he has been inquiring about Dan, and I ventured to
bring him to-night, that he might see how much the boy has improved.”
The Bhaers received him cordially, for Dan’s sake, pleased that the lad
had been remembered. But, after a few minutes’ chat, they were glad
to know Mr. Hyde for his own sake, so genial, simple, and interesting
was he. It was pleasant to see the boy’s face light up when he caught
sight of his friend; pleasanter still to see Mr. Hyde’s surprise and
satisfaction in Dan’s improved manners and appearance, and pleasantest
of all to watch the two sit talking in a corner, forgetting the
differences of age, culture, and position, in the one subject which
interested both, as man and boy compared notes, and told the story of
their summer life.
“The performances must begin soon, or the actors will go to sleep,”
said Mrs. Jo, when the first greetings were over.
So every one went into the school-room, and took seats before a curtain
made of two big bed-covers. The children had already vanished; but
stifled laughter, and funny little exclamations from behind the
curtain, betrayed their whereabouts. The entertainment began with a
spirited exhibition of gymnastics, led by Franz. The six elder lads,
in blue trousers and red shirts, made a fine display of muscle with
dumb-bells, clubs, and weights, keeping time to the music of the
piano, played by Mrs. Jo behind the scenes. Dan was so energetic in
this exercise, that there was some danger of his knocking down his
neighbors, like so many nine-pins, or sending his bean-bags whizzing
among the audience; for he was excited by Mr. Hyde’s presence, and a
burning desire to do honor to his teachers.
“A fine, strong lad. If I go on my trip to South America, in a year or
two, I shall be tempted to ask you to lend him to me, Mr. Bhaer,” said
Mr. Hyde, whose interest in Dan was much increased by the report he had
just heard of him.
“You shall have him, and welcome, though we shall miss our young
Hercules very much. It would do him a world of good, and I am sure he
would serve his friend faithfully.”
Dan heard both question and answer, and his heart leaped with joy at
the thought of travelling in a new country with Mr. Hyde, and swelled
with gratitude for the kindly commendation which rewarded his efforts
to be all these friends desired to see him.
After the gymnastics, Demi and Tommy spoke the old school dialogue,
“Money makes the mare go.” Demi did very well, but Tommy was capital
as the old farmer; for he imitated Silas in a way that convulsed the
audience, and caused Silas himself to laugh so hard that Asia had
to slap him on the back, as they stood in the hall enjoying the fun
immensely.
Then Emil, who had got his breath by this time, gave them a sea-song
in costume, with a great deal about “stormy winds,” “lee shores,” and a
rousing chorus of “Luff, boys, luff,” which made the room ring; after
which Ned performed a funny Chinese dance, and hopped about like a
large frog in a pagoda hat. As this was the only public exhibition ever
had at Plumfield, a few exercises in lightning-arithmetic, spelling,
and reading were given. Jack quite amazed the public by his rapid
calculations on the blackboard. Tommy won in the spelling match, and
Demi read a little French fable so well that Uncle Teddy was charmed.
“Where are the other children?” asked every one as the curtain fell,
and none of the little ones appeared.
“Oh, that is the surprise. It’s so lovely, I pity you because you don’t
know it,” said Demi, who had gone to get his mother’s kiss, and stayed
by her to explain the mystery when it should be revealed.
Goldilocks had been carried off by Aunt Jo, to the great amazement of
her papa, who quite outdid Mr. Bhaer in acting wonder, suspense, and
wild impatience to know “what was going to happen.”
At last, after much rustling, hammering, and very audible directions
from the stage manager, the curtain rose to soft music, and Bess was
discovered sitting on a stool beside a brown paper fire-place. A dearer
little Cinderella was never seen; for the gray gown was very ragged,
the tiny shoes all worn, the face so pretty under the bright hair,
and the attitude so dejected, it brought tears, as well as smiles, to
the fond eyes looking at the baby actress. She sat quite still, till
a voice whispered, “Now!”--then she sighed a funny little sigh, and
said, “Oh, I wish I tood go to the ball!” so naturally, that her father
clapped frantically, and her mother called out, “Little darling!”
These highly improper expressions of feeling caused Cinderella to
forget herself, and shake her head at them, saying, reprovingly, “You
mustn’t ’peak to me.”
Silence instantly prevailed, and three taps were heard on the wall.
Cinderella looked alarmed, but before she could remember to say, “What
is dat?” the back of the brown paper fire-place opened like a door,
and, with some difficulty, the fairy godmother got herself and her
pointed hat through. It was Nan, in a red cloak, a cap, and a wand,
which she waved as she said decidedly,--
“You _shall_ go to the ball, my dear.”
“Now you must pull and show my pretty dress,” returned Cinderella,
tugging at her brown gown.
“No, no; you must say, ‘How can I go in my rags?’” said the godmother
in her own voice.
“Oh yes, so I mus;” and the Princess said it, quite undisturbed at her
forgetfulness.
“I change your rags into a splendid dress, because you are good,” said
the godmother in her stage tones; and deliberately unbuttoning the
brown pinafore, she displayed a gorgeous sight.
The little Princess really was pretty enough to turn the heads of any
number of small princes, for her mamma had dressed her like a tiny
court lady, in a rosy silk train with satin under-skirt, and bits of
bouquets here and there, quite lovely to behold. The godmother put a
crown, with pink and white feathers drooping from it, on her head, and
gave her a pair of silver paper slippers, which she put on, and then
stood up, lifting her skirts to show them to the audience, saying, with
pride, “My dlass ones, ain’t they pitty?”
She was so charmed with them, that she was with difficulty recalled to
her part, and made to say--
“But I have no toach, Dodmother.”
“Behold it!” and Nan waved her wand with such a flourish, that she
nearly knocked off the crown of the Princess.
Then appeared the grand triumph of the piece. First, a rope was seen
to flap on the floor, to tighten with a twitch as Emil’s voice was
heard to say, “Heave, ahoy!” and Silas’s gruff one to reply, “Stiddy,
now, stiddy!” A shout of laughter followed, for four large gray rats
appeared, rather shaky as to their legs and queer as to their tails,
but quite fine about the head, where black beads shone in the most
lifelike manner. They drew, or were intended to appear as if they did,
a magnificent coach made of half the mammoth pumpkin, mounted on the
wheels of Teddy’s wagon, painted yellow to match the gay carriage.
Perched on a seat in front sat a jolly little coachman in a white
cotton-wool wig, cocked hat, scarlet breeches, and laced coat, who
cracked a long whip and jerked the red reins so energetically, that
the gray steeds reared finely. It was Teddy, and he beamed upon the
company so affably that they gave him a round all to himself; and Uncle
Laurie said, “If I could find as sober a coachman as that one, I would
engage him on the spot.” The coach stopped, the godmother lifted in the
Princess, and she was trundled away in state, kissing her hand to the
public, with her glass shoes sticking up in front, and her pink train
sweeping the ground behind, for, elegant as the coach was, I regret to
say that her Highness was rather a tight fit.
The next scene was the ball, and here Nan and Daisy appeared as gay as
peacocks in all sorts of finery. Nan was especially good as the proud
sister, and crushed many imaginary ladies as she swept about the
palace-hall. The Prince, in solitary state upon a somewhat unsteady
throne, sat gazing about him from under an imposing crown, as he played
with his sword and admired the rosettes in his shoes. When Cinderella
came in he jumped up, and exclaimed, with more warmth than elegance,--
“My gracious! who is that?” and immediately led the lady out to dance,
while the sisters scowled and turned up their noses in the corner.
The stately jig executed by the little couple was very pretty, for the
childish faces were so earnest, the costumes so gay, and the steps
so peculiar, that they looked like the dainty quaint figures painted
on a Watteau fan. The Princess’s train was very much in her way, and
the sword of Prince Rob nearly tripped him up several times. But they
overcame these obstacles remarkably well, and finished the dance with
much grace and spirit, considering that neither knew what the other was
about.
“Drop your shoe,” whispered Mrs. Jo’s voice as the lady was about to
sit down.
“Oh, I fordot!” and, taking off one of the silvery slippers, Cinderella
planted it carefully in the middle of the stage, said to Rob, “Now you
must try and tatch me,” and ran away, while the Prince, picking up the
shoe, obediently trotted after her.
The third scene, as everybody knows, is where the herald comes to try
on the shoe. Teddy, still in coachman’s dress, came in blowing a tin
fish-horn melodiously, and the proud sisters each tried to put on the
slipper. Nan insisted on playing cut off her toe with a carving-knife,
and performed that operation so well that the herald was alarmed, and
begged to be “welly keerful.” Cinderella then was called, and came in
with the pinafore half on, slipped her foot into the slipper, and
announced, with satisfaction,--
“I am the Pinsiss.”
Daisy wept, and begged pardon; but Nan, who liked tragedy, improved
upon the story, and fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor, where she
remained comfortably enjoying the rest of the play. It was not long,
for the Prince ran in, dropped upon his knees, and kissed the hand
of Goldilocks with great ardor, while the herald blew a blast that
nearly deafened the audience. The curtain had no chance to fall, for
the Princess ran off the stage to her father, crying, “Didn’t I do it
well?” while the Prince and herald had a fencing-match with the tin
horn and wooden sword.
“It was beautiful!” said every one; and, when the raptures had a little
subsided, Nat came out with his violin in his hand.
“Hush! hush!” cried all the children, and silence followed, for
something in the boy’s bashful manner and appealing eyes made every one
listen kindly.
The Bhaers thought he would play some of the old airs he knew so well,
but, to their surprise, they heard a new and lovely melody, so softly,
sweetly played, that they could hardly believe it could be Nat. It was
one of those songs without words that touch the heart, and sing of all
tender home-like hopes and joys, soothing and cheering those who listen
to its simple music. Aunt Meg leaned her head on Demi’s shoulder,
Grandmother wiped her eyes, and Mrs. Jo looked up at Mr. Laurie,
saying, in a choky whisper,--
“You composed that.”
“I wanted your boy to do you honor, and thank you in his own way,”
answered Laurie, leaning down to answer her.
When Nat made his bow and was about to go, he was called back by many
hands, and had to play again. He did so with such a happy face, that
it was good to see him, for he did his best, and gave them the gay old
tunes that set the feet to dancing, and made quietude impossible.
“Clear the floor!” cried Emil; and in a minute the chairs were pushed
back, the older people put safely in corners, and the children gathered
on the stage.
“Show your manners!” called Emil; and the boys pranced up to the
ladies, old and young, with polite invitations to “tread the mazy,” as
dear Dick Swiveller has it. The small lads nearly came to blows for
the Princess, but she chose Dick, like a kind, little gentlewoman as
she was, and let him lead her proudly to her place. Mrs. Jo was not
allowed to decline; and Aunt Amy filled Dan with unspeakable delight by
refusing Franz and taking him. Of course Nan and Tommy, Nat and Daisy,
paired off, while Uncle Teddy went and got Asia, who was longing to
“jig it,” and felt much elated by the honor done her. Silas and Mary
Ann had a private dance in the hall; and for half-an-hour Plumfield was
at its merriest.
The party wound up with a grand promenade of all the young folks,
headed by the pumpkin-coach with the Princess and driver inside, and
the rats in a wildly frisky state.
While the children enjoyed this final frolic, the elders sat in the
parlor looking on as they talked together of the little people with the
interest of parents and friends.
“What are you thinking of, all by yourself, with such a happy face,
sister Jo?” asked Laurie, sitting down beside her on the sofa.
“My summer’s work, Teddy, and amusing myself by imagining the future
of my boys,” she answered, smiling, as she made room for him.
“They are all to be poets, painters, and statesmen, famous soldiers, or
at least merchant princes, I suppose.”
“No, I am not as aspiring as I once was, and I shall be satisfied if
they are honest men. But I will confess that I do expect a little glory
and a career for some of them. Demi is not a common child, and I think
he will blossom into something good and great in the best sense of the
word. The others will do well, I hope, especially my last two boys,
for, after hearing Nat play to-night, I really think he has genius.”
“Too soon to say; talent he certainly has, and there is no doubt that
the boy can soon earn his bread by the work he loves. Build him up for
another year or so, and then I will take him off your hands, and launch
him properly.”
“That is such a pleasant prospect for poor Nat, who came to me six
months ago so friendless and forlorn. Dan’s future is already plain to
me. Mr. Hyde will want him soon, and I mean to give him a brave and
faithful little servant. Dan is one who can serve well if the wages
are love and confidence, and he has the energy to carve out his own
future in his own way. Yes, I am very happy over our success with these
boys--one so weak, and one so wild; both so much better now, and so
full of promise.”
“What magic did you use, Jo?”
“I only loved them, and let them see it. Fritz did the rest.”
“Dear soul! you look as if ‘only loving’ had been rather hard work
sometimes,” said Laurie, stroking her thin cheek with a look of more
tender admiration than he had ever given her as a girl.
“I’m a faded old woman, but I’m a very happy one; so don’t pity me,
Teddy;” and she glanced about the room with eyes full of a sincere
content.
“Yes, your plan seems to work better and better every year,” he said,
with an emphatic nod of approval toward the cheery scene before him.
“How can it fail to work well when I have so much help from you all?”
answered Mrs. Jo, looking gratefully at her most generous patron.
“It is the best joke of the family, this school of yours and its
success. So unlike the future we planned for you, and yet so suited to
you after all. It was a regular inspiration, Jo,” said Laurie, dodging
her thanks as usual.
“Ah! but you laughed at it in the beginning, and still make all manner
of fun of me and my inspirations. Didn’t you predict that having
girls with the boys would prove a dead failure? Now see how well it
works;” and she pointed to the happy group of lads and lassies dancing,
singing, and chattering together with every sign of kindly good
fellowship.
“I give in, and when my Goldilocks is old enough I’ll send her to you.
Can I say more than that?”
“I shall be so proud to have your little treasure trusted to me. But
really, Teddy, the effect of these girls has been excellent. I know
you will laugh at me, but I don’t mind, I’m used to it; so I’ll tell
you that one of my favorite fancies is to look at my family as a small
world, to watch the progress of my little men, and, lately, to see how
well the influence of my little women works upon them. Daisy is the
domestic element, and they all feel the charm of her quiet, womanly
ways. Nan is the restless, energetic, strong-minded one; they admire
her courage, and give her a fair chance to work out her will, seeing
that she has sympathy as well as strength, and the power to do much in
their small world. Your Bess is the lady, full of natural refinement,
grace, and beauty. She polishes them unconsciously, and fills her place
as any lovely woman may, using her gentle influence to lift and hold
them above the coarse, rough things of life, and keep them gentlemen in
the best sense of the fine old word.”
“It is not always the ladies who do that best, Jo. It is sometimes the
strong brave woman who stirs up the boy and makes a man of him;” and
Laurie bowed to her with a significant laugh.
“No; I think the graceful woman, whom the boy you allude to married,
has done more for him than the wild Nan of his youth; or, better
still, the wise, motherly woman who watched over him, as Daisy watches
over Demi, did most to make him what he is;” and Jo turned toward her
mother, who sat a little apart with Meg, looking so full of the sweet
dignity and beauty of old age, that Laurie gave her a glance of filial
respect and love as he replied, in serious earnest,--
“All three did much for him, and I can understand how well these little
girls will help your lads.”
“Not more than the lads help them; it is mutual, I assure you. Nat
does much for Daisy with his music; Dan can manage Nan better than any
of us; and Demi teaches your Goldilocks so easily and well that Fritz
calls them Roger Ascham and Lady Jane Grey. Dear me! if men and women
would only trust, understand, and help one another as my children do,
what a capital place the world would be!” and Mrs. Jo’s eyes grew
absent, as if she was looking at a new and charming state of society in
which people lived as happily and innocently as her flock at Plumfield.
“You are doing your best to help on the good time, my dear. Continue
to believe in it, to work for it, and to prove its possibility by the
success of your small experiment,” said Mr. March, pausing as he passed
to say an encouraging word, for the good man never lost his faith in
humanity, and still hoped to see peace, good-will, and happiness reign
upon the earth.
“I am not so ambitious as that, father. I only want to give these
children a home in which they can be taught the few simple things which
will help to make life less hard to them when they go out to fight
their battles in the world. Honesty, courage, industry, faith in God,
their fellow-creatures, and themselves; that is all I try for.”
“That is every thing. Give them these helps, then let them go to work
out their life as men and women; and whatever their success or failure
is, I think they will remember and bless your efforts, my good son and
daughter.”
The Professor had joined them, and as Mr. March spoke he gave a hand
to each, and left them with a look that was a blessing. As Jo and her
husband stood together for a moment talking quietly, and feeling that
their summer work had been well done if father approved, Mr. Laurie
slipped into the hall, said a word to the children, and all of a sudden
the whole flock pranced into the room, joined hands and danced about
Father and Mother Bhaer, singing blithely--
“Summer days are over,
Summer work is done;
Harvests have been gathered
Gayly one by one.
Now the feast is eaten,
Finished is the play;
But one rite remains for
Our Thanksgiving-day.
“Best of all the harvest
In the dear God’s sight,
Are the happy children
In the home to-night;
And we come to offer
Thanks where thanks are due,
With grateful hearts and voices,
Father, mother, unto you.”
With the last words the circle narrowed till the good Professor and his
wife were taken prisoner by many arms, and half hidden by the bouquet
of laughing young faces which surrounded them, proving that one plant
had taken root and blossomed beautifully in all the little gardens.
For love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles
undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant
all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.
THE END
[Illustration: This is the ORCHARD HOUSE in Concord, Massachusetts, now
a museum visited every year by hundreds of people. Here lived the real
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott and her sisters, whose complete story
is told in the three books--LITTLE WOMEN, LITTLE MEN, and JO’S BOYS.]