"Going
out for exercise," answered Jo with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"I
should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It's cold and
dull out, and I advise you to stay warm and dry by the fire, as I do,"
said Meg with a shiver.
"Never
take advice! Can't keep still all day, and not being a pussycat, I don't like
to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I'm going to find some."
Meg
went back to toast her feet and read IVANHOE, and Jo began to dig paths with
great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all
round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun came out and the invalid
dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated the Marches' house from that of Mr.
Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still countrylike, with
groves and lawns, large gardens, and quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two
estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby,
robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls and the flowers, which
then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly
betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach house and
well-kept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one
caught between the rich curtains.
Yet
it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked on the
lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and
out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.
To
Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, full of
splendors and delights which no one enjoyed. She had long wanted to behold
these hidden glories, and to know the Laurence boy, who looked as if he would
like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the party, she had been
more eager than ever, and had planned many ways of making friends with him, but
he had not been seen lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she
one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down into
their garden, where Beth and Amy were snow-balling one another.
"That
boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself. "His
grandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He
needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and lively. I've a
great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!"
The
idea amused Jo. who liked to do daring things and was always scandalizing Meg
by her queer performances. The plan of `going over' was not forgotten. And when
the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr.
Lawrence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge,
where she paused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower
windows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black
head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.
"There
he is," thought Jo, "Poor boy! All alone and sick this dismal day.
It's a shame! I'll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say a
kind word to him."
Up
went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which
lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth
began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called
out...
"How
do you do? Are you sick?"
Laurie
opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven...
"Better,
thank you. I've had a bad cold, and been shut up a week."
"I'm
sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?"
"Nothing.
It's dull as tombs up here."
"Don't
you read?"
"Not
much. They won't let me."
"Can't
somebody read to you?"
"Grandpa
does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and I hate to ask Brooke all
the time."
"Have
someone come and see you then."
"There
isn't anyone I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak."
"Isn't
there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls are quiet and like to play
nurse."
"Don't
know any."
"You
know us," began Jo, then laughed and stopped.
"So
I do! Will you come, please?" cried Laurie.
"I'm
not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me. I'll go ask her. Shut
the window, like a good boy, and wait till I come."
With
that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they
would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of
having company, and flew about to get ready, for as Mrs. March said, he was `a
little gentleman'. and did honor to the coming guest by brushing his curly
pate, putting on a fresh color, and trying tidy up the room, which in spite of
half a dozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring,
than a decided voice, asking for `Mr. laurie', and a surprised- looking servant
came running up to announce a young lady.
"All
right, show her up, it's Miss Jo, "said Laurie, going to the door of his
little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and quite at her ease,
with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's three kittens in the other.
"Here
I am, bag and baggage," she said briskly. "Mother sent her love, and
was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some of her
blancmange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats would be
comforting. I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn't refuse, she was so
anxious to do something."
It
so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing, for in laughing over the
kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once.
"That
looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo uncovered
the dish, and showed the blancmange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves,
and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium.
"It
isn't anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to show it. Tell the girl
to put it away for your tea. It's so simple you can eat it, and being soft, it
will slip down without hurting your sore throat. What a cozy room this
is!"
"It
might be it it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and I don't know how to
make them mind. It worries me though."
"I'll
right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearth brushed,
so--and the things made straight on the mantelpiece, so--and the books put
here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light, and the
pillows plumped up a bit. Now then, you're fixed."
And
so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked things into place and
given quite a different air to the room. Laurie watched her in respectful
silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat down with a sigh of
satisfaction, saying gratefully...
"How
kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please take the big chair and let
me do something to amuse my company."
"No,
I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" and Jo looked affectionately
toward some inviting books near by.
"Thank
you! I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'd rather talk,"
answered Laurie.
"Not
a bit. I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going. Beth says I never know
when to stop."
"Is
Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goes out with a
little basket?" asked Laurie with interest.
"Yes,
that's Beth. She's my girl, and a regular good one she is, too."
"The
pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?"
Laurie
colored up, but answered frankly, "Why, you see I often hear you calling
to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't help looking over at your
house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg your pardon for being
so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where
the flowers are. And when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture
to see the fire, and you all around the table with your mother. Her face is
right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can't help watching
it. I haven't got any mother, you know." And Laurie poked the fire to hide
a little twitching of the lips that he could not control.
The
solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo's warm heart. she had
been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, and at fifteen
she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was sick and lonely, and
feeling how rich she was in home and happiness, she gladly tried to share it
with him. Her face was very friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle as
she said...
"We'll
never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as much as you
like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come over and see us.
Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps of good, and Beth would sing to you
if I begged her to, and Amy would dance. Meg and I would make you laugh over
our funny stage properties, and we'd have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa
let you?"
"I
think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind, though he does not
look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he's afraid I might
be a bother to strangers," began Laurie, brightening more and more.
"We
are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think you'd be a bother.
We want to know you, and I've been trying to do it this ever so long. We
haven't been here a great while, you know, but we have got acquainted with all
our neighbors but you."
"You
see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much what happens outside.
Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you know, and I have no one to go
about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as I can."
"That's
bad. You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere you are asked, then
you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to. Never mind being
bashful. It won't last long if you keep going."
Laurie
turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accused of bashfulness, for
there was so much good will in Jo it was impossible not to take her blunt
speeches as kindly as they were meant.
"Do
you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject, after a little
pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jo looked about her, well
pleased.
"Don't
go to school, I'm a businessman--girl, I mean. I go to wait on my great-aunt,
and a dear, cross old soul she is, too," answered Jo.
Laurie
opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering just in time that it
wasn't manners to make too many inquiries into people's affairs, he shut it
again, and looked uncomfortable.
Jo
liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at Aunt March, so she
gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the
parrot that talked Spanish, and the library where she reveled.
Laurie
enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim old gentleman who came
once to woo Aunt March, and in the middle of a fine speech, how Poll had
tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay back and laughed till the
tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what was the
matter.
"Oh!
That does me no end of good. Tell on, please," he said, taking his face
out of the sofa cushion, red and shining with merriment.
Much
elated with her success, Jo did `tell on', all about their plays and plans,
their hopes and fears for Father, and the most interesting events of the little
world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to talking about books, and to
Jo's delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as she did, and had read
even more than herself.
"If
you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandfather is out, so you
needn't be afraid," said Laurie, getting up.
"I'm
not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a toss of the head.
"I
don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at her with much
admiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to be a
trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met hem in some of his moods.
The
atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie led the way from room to
room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy. And so, at last
they came to the library, where she clapped her hands and pranced, as she
always did when especially delighted. It was lined with books, and there were
pictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full of coins and
curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queer tables, and bronzes, and best
of all, a great open fireplace with quaint tiles all round it.
"What
richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chair and gazing
about her with an air of intense satisfaction. "Theodore Laurence, you
ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she added impressively.
"A
fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his head as he perched
on a table opposite.
Before
he could more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaiming with alarm, "Mercy
me! It's your grandpa!"
"Well,
what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you know," returned the
boy, looking wicked.
"I
think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know why I should be. Marmee
said I might come, and I don't think you're any the worse for it," said
Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door.
"I'm
a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I'm only afraid you are
very tired of talking to me. It was so pleasant, I couldn't bear to stop,"
said Laurie gratefully.
"The
doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as she spoke.
"Would
you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see him," said
Laurie.
"Don't
mind me. I'm happy as a cricket here," answered Jo.
Laurie
went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She was standing before
a fine portrait of the old gentleman when the door opened again, and without turning,
she said decidedly, "I'm sure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for
he's got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a
tremendous will of his own. He isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like
him."
"Thank
you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to her great
dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.
Poor
Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart began to beat
uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said. For a minute a wild desire
to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly, and the girls would laugh at
her, so she resolved to stay and get out of the scrape as she could. A second
look showed her that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder
even than the painted ones, and there was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened
her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the old
gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful pause, "So you're not afraid
of me, hey?"
"Not
much, sir."
"And
you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?"
"Not
quite, sir."
"And
I've got a tremendous will, have I?"
"I
only said I thought so."
"But
you like me in spite of it?"
"Yes,
I do, sir."
That
answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh, shook hands with her,
and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her face, examined it
gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod, "You've got your grandfather's
spirit, if you haven't his face. He was a fine man, my dear, but what is better,
he was a brave and an honest one, and I was proud to be his friend."
"Thank
you, sir," And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited her
exactly.
"What
have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was the next question,
sharply put.
"Only
trying to be neighborly, sir." And Jo to how her visit came about.
"You
think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?"
"Yes,
sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good perhaps. We
are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, for we don't forget
the splendid Christmas present you sent us," said Jo eagerly.
"Tut,
tut, tut! That was the boy's affair. How is the poor woman?"
"Doing
nicely, sir." And off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all about
the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than they were.
"Just
her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother some fine day.
Tell her so. There's the tea bell, we have it early on the boy's account. Come
down and go on being neighborly."
"If
you'd like to have me, sir."
"Shouldn't
ask you, if I didn't." And Mr. Laurence offered her his arm with
old-fashioned courtesy.
"What
would Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marched away, while her
eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story at home.
"Hey!
Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the old gentleman, as
Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with a start of surprise at the
astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with his redoubtable grandfather.
"I
didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a triumphant little
glance.
"That's
evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to your tea, sir, and behave
like a gentleman." And having pulled the boy's hair by way of a caress,
Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a series of comic evolutions
behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo.
The
old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but he watched
the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, and the change in his
grandson did not escape him. There was color, light, and life in the boy's face
now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.
"She's
right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these little girls can do for
him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened. He liked Jo, for
her odd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understand the boy almost as
well as if she had been one herself.
If
the Laurences had been what Jo called `prim and poky', she would not have got
on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward. But finding them
free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good impression. When they rose
she proposed to go, but Laurie said he had something more to show her, and took
her away to the conservatory, which had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed
quite fairylike to Jo, as she went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming
walls on either side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful
vines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut the finest
flowers till his hands were full. Then he tied them up, saying, with the happy
look Jo liked to see, "Please give these to your mother, and tell her I
like the medicine she sent me very much."
They
found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great drawing room, by Jo's
attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, which stood open.
"Do
you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful expression.
"Sometimes,"
he answered modestly.
"Please
do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth."
"Won't
you first?"
"Don't
know how. Too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly."
So
Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in heliotrope
and tea roses. Her respect and regard for the `Laurence' boy increased very
much, for he played remarkably well and didn't put on any airs. She wished Beth
could hear him, but she did not say so, only praised him till he was quite
abashed, and his grandfather came to his rescue.
"That
will do, that will do, young lady. too many sugarplums are not good for him.
His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do as well in more important things.
Going? well, I'm much obliged to you, and I hope you'll come again. My respects
to your mother. Good night, Doctor Jo."
He
shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. When they
got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said something amiss. He shook
his head.
"No,
it was me. He doesn't like to hear me play."
"Why
not?"
"I'll
tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can't."
"No
need of that. I am not a young lady, and it's only a step. Take care of yourself,
won't you?"
"Yes,
but you will come again, I hope?"
"If
you promise to come and see us after you are well."
"I
will."
"Good
night, Laurie!"
"Good
night, Jo, good night!"
When
all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family felt inclined to go
visiting in a body, for each found something very attractive in the big house
on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talk of her father with
the old man who had not forgotten him, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory,
Beth sighed for the grand piano. and Amy was eager to see the fine pictures and
statues.
"Mother,
why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?" asked Jo, who was of an
inquiring disposition.
"I
am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's father, married an
Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very proud. The
lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not like her, and never
saw his son after he married. They both died when Laurie was a little child,
and then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy,
is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so
careful. Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his
mother, and I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician.
At any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he
`glowered' as Jo said."
"Dear
me, how romantic!" exclaimed Meg.
"How
silly!" said Jo. "Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not
plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go."
"That's
why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I suppose. Italians are
always nice," said Meg, who was a little sentimental.
"What
do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to him,
hardly," cried Jo, who was not sentimental.
"I
saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to behave. That
was a nice little speech about the medicine Mother sent him."
"He
meant the blanc mange, I suppose." "How stupid you are, child! He
meant you, of course."
"Did
he?" And Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to her before.
"I
never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment when you get it," said
Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter.
"I
think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to be silly and spoil my
fun. Laurie's a nice boy and I like him, and I won't have any sentimental stuff
about compliments and such rubbish. We'll all be good to him because he hasn't
got any mother, and he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?"
"Yes,
Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg will remember that
children should be children as long as they can."
"I
don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet," observed Amy.
"What do you say, Beth?"
"I
was thinking about our `PILGRIM'S PROGRESS'," answered Beth, who had not
heard a word. "How we got out of the Slough and through the Wicket Gate by
resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying, and that maybe the house
over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our Palace Beautiful."
"We
have got to get by the lions first," said Jo, as if she rather liked the
prospect.