“Christmas won’t be Christmas without
any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.
“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed
Meg, looking down at her old dress.
“I don’t think it’s fair for some
girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls
nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured
sniff.
“We’ve got Father and Mother, and each
other,” said Beth contentedly from her corner.
The four young faces on which the firelight shone
brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again
as Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got Father,
and shall not have him for a long time.”
She didn’t say “perhaps never,” but
each silently added it, thinking of Father far away,
where the fighting was.
Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered
tone, “You know the reason Mother proposed not
having any presents this Christmas was because it
is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she
thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when
our men are suffering so in the army. We can’t
do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and
ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t,”
and Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully
of all the pretty things she wanted.
“But I don’t think the little we should
spend would do any good. We’ve each got
a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped
by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything
from Mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine
and Sintran for myself. I’ve wanted
it so long,” said Jo, who was a bookworm.
“I planned to spend mine in new music,”
said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard
but the hearth brush and kettle-holder.
“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing
pencils; I really need them,” said Amy decidedly.
“Mother didn’t say anything about our
money, and she won’t wish us to give up everything.
Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little
fun; I’m sure we work hard enough to earn it,”
cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly
manner.
“I know I do—teaching those tiresome
children nearly all day, when I’m longing to
enjoy myself at home,” began Meg, in the complaining
tone again.
“You don’t have half such a hard time
as I do,” said Jo. “How would you
like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy
old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied,
and worries you till you’re ready to fly out
the window or cry?”
“It’s naughty to fret, but I do think
washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst
work in the world. It makes me cross, and my
hands get so stiff, I can’t practice well at
all.” And Beth looked at her rough hands
with a sigh that any one could hear that time.
“I don’t believe any of you suffer as
I do,” cried Amy, “for you don’t
have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague
you if you don’t know your lessons, and laugh
at your dresses, and label your father if he isn’t
rich, and insult you when your nose isn’t nice.”
