"How
dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? And very handsome ones they are,
too," cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend.
"I
didn't day anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire up when I
admire his riding."
"Oh,
my goodness! That little goose means a centaur, and she called him a
Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter. "You needn't be so
rude, it's only a `lapse of lingy', as Mr. Davis says," retorted Amy,
finishing Jo with her Latin. "I just wish I had a little of the money
Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her
sisters would hear.
"Why?"
asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder.
"I
need it so much. I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to have the
rag money for a month."
"In
debt, Amy? What do you mean?" And Meg looked sober.
"Why,
I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, you know, till I
have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything charged at the shop."
"Tell
me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be pricking bits of
rubber to make balls." And Meg tried to keep her countenance, Amy looked
so grave and important.
"Why,
you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought
mean, you must do it too. It's nothing but limes now, for everyone is sucking
them in their desks in schooltime, and trading them off for pencils, bead
rings, paper dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she
gives her a lime. If she's mad with her, she eats one before her face, and
doesn't offer even a suck. They treat by turns, and I've had ever so many but
haven't returned them, and I ought for they are debts of honor, you know."
"How
much will pay them off and restore your credit?" asked Meg, taking out her
purse."
"A
quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treat for you.
Don't you like limes?"
"Not
much. You may have my share. Here's the money. Make it last as long as you can,
for it isn't very plenty, you know."
"Oh,
thank you! It must be so nice to have pocket money! I'll have a grand feast,
for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I felt delicate about taking any, as I
couldn't return them, and I'm actually suffering for one."
Next
day Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist the temptation of
displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper parcel, before she
consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. During the next few minutes
the rumor that Amy March had got twenty- four delicious limes (she ate one on
the way) and was going to treat circulated through her `set', and the
attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to
her next party on the spot. Mary Kinglsey insisted on lending her her watch
till recess, and Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy
upon her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet and offered to furnish
answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow's cutting
remarks about `some persons whose noses were not too flat to smell other
people's limes, and stuck-up people who were not too proud to ask for them',
and she instantly crushed `that Snow girl's' hopes by the withering telegram,
"You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for you won't get any."
A
distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and Amy's
beautifully drawn maps received praise, which honor to her foe rankled in the
soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assume the airs of a studious young
peacock. But, alas, alas! Pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful Snow
turned the tables with disastrous success. No sooner had the guest paid the
usual stale compliments and bowed himself out, than Jenny, under pretense of asking
an important question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had
pickled limes in her desk.
Now
Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly vowed to
publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking the law. This much-enduring
man had succeeded in banishing chewing gum after a long and stormy war, had
made a bonfire of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a
private post office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and
caricatures, and done all that one man could do to keep half a hundred
rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human patience, goodness
knows, but girls are infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with
tyrannical tempers and no more talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis
knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, algebra, and ologies of all sorts so he was
called a fine teacher, and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not
considered of any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment for
denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had evidently taken his coffee too
strong that morning, there was an east wind, which always affected his
neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the credit which he felt he
deserved. Therefore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, language of a
schoolgirl, "He was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear".
The word `limes' was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, and he
rapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat with
unusual rapidity.
"Young
ladies, attention, if you please!"
At
the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and
brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance.
"Miss
March, come to the desk."
Amy
rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressed her, for the
limes weighed upon her conscience.
"Bring
with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpected command
which arrested her before she got out of her seat.
"Don't
take all." whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence of mind.
Amy
hastily shook out half a dozen and laid the rest down before Mr. Davis, feeling
that any man possessing a human heart would relent when that delicious perfume
met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis particularly detested the odor of the
fashionable pickle, and disgust added to his wrath.
"Is
that all?"
"Not
quite," stammered Amy.
"Bring
the rest immediately."
With
a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed.
"You
are sure there are no more?'
"I
never lie, sir."
"So
I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the
window."
There
was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as the last hope
fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips. Scarlet with shame
and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times, and as each doomed couple,
looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from the
street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them that their feast
was being exulted over by the little Irish children, who were their sworn foes.
This--this was too much. All flashed indignant or appealing glances at the
inexorable Davis, and one passionate lime lover burst into tears.
As
Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous "Hem!"
and said, in his most impressive manner...
"Young
ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has
happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I never break my
word. Miss March, hold out your hand."
Amy
started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring look which
pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter. She was rather a
favorite with `old Davis', as, of course, he was called, and it's my private
belief that he would have broken his word if the indignation of one
irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it
was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
"Your
hand, Miss March!" was the only answer her mute appeal received, and too
proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw bach her head defiantly, and
bore without flinching several tingling blows on her little palm. They were
neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the first time
in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as
if he had knocked her down.
"You
will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis, resolved to
do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun.
That
was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and see the
pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies, but to
face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon her, seemed impossible, and
for a second she felt as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break
her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong and the thought of Jenny Snow
helped her to bear it, and, taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on
the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, so
motionless and white that the girls found it hard to study with that pathetic
figure before them.
During
the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered
a shame and pain which she never forgot. To others it might seem a ludicrous or
trivial affair, but to her it was a hard experience, for during the twelve years
of her life she had been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had
never touched her before. The smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were
forgotten in the sting of the thought, "I shall have to tell at home, and
they will be so disappointed in me!"
The
fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last, and the word
`Recess!' had never seemed so welcome to her before.
"You
can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable.
He
did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, without a
word to anyone, straight into the anteroom, snatched her things, and left the
place "forever," as she passionately declared to herself. She was in
a sad state when she got home, and when the older girls arrived, some time
later, an indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but
looked disturbed, and comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest
manner. Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, Beth felt that
even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, Jo
wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay, and Hannah shook
her fist at the `villain' and pounded potatoes for dinner as if she had him
under her pestle.
No
notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates, but the sharp-eyed
demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant in the afternoon,
also unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo appeared, wearing a grim
expression as she stalked up to the desk, and delivered a letter from her
mother, then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully scraping the mud
from her boots on the door mat, as if she shook that dust of the place off her
feet.
"Yes,
you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a little every day
with Beth," said Mrs. March that evening. "I don't approve of
corporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. Davis's manner of
teaching and don't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good,
so I shall ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else."
"That's
good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school. It's
perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes," sighed Amy, with the
air of a martyr.
"I
am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved some
punishment for disobedience," was the severe reply, which rather
disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy.
"Do
you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole school?" cried Amy.
"I
should not have chosen that way of mending a fault," replied her mother,
"but I'm not sure that it won't do you more good than a molder method. You
are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quite time you set about
correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and virtues, but there is no
need of parading them, for conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much
danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long, even if it is, the
consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great
charm of all power is modesty."
"So
it is!" cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. "I
knew a girl once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she didn't
know it, never guessed what sweet little things she composed when she was
alone, and wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told her."
"I
wish I'd known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I'm so
stupid," said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly.
"You
do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could," answered
Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in his merry black eyes
that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face in the sofa cushion, quite
overcome by such an unexpected discovery.
Jo
let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth, who could not be
prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So Laurie did his best,
and sang delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor, for to the Marches
he seldom showed the moody side of his character. When he was gone, amy, who
had been pensive all evening, said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea,
"Is Laurie an accomplished boy?"
"Yes,
he has had an excellent education, and has much talent. He will make a fine
man, if not spoiled by petting," replied her mother.
"And
he isn't conceited, is he?" asked Amy.
"Not
in the least. That is why he is so charming and we all like him so much."
"I
see. It's nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not to show off or
get perked up," said Amy thoughtfully.
"These
things are always seen and felt in a person's manner and conversations, if
modestly used, but it is not necessary to display them," said Mrs. March.
"Any
more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and ribbons at once,
that folks may know you've got them," added Jo, and the lecture ended in a
laugh.