“I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever.”
“What did you think of?”
“Handsome faces—eyes particularly,”
answered Meg, smiling to herself in the dark.
“What color do you like best?”
“Brown, that is, sometimes. Blue are lovely.”
Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk,
then amiably promised to make her hair curl, and fell
asleep to dream of living in her castle in the air.
The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were
very still as a figure glided quietly from bed to
bed, smoothing a coverlet here, settling a pillow
there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each
unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely
blessed, and to pray the fervent prayers which only
mothers utter. As she lifted the curtain to
look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly
from behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright,
benignant face, which seemed to whisper in the silence,
“Be comforted, dear soul! There is always
light behind the clouds.”
LETTERS
In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and
read their chapter with an earnestness never felt
before. For now the shadow of a real trouble
had come, the little books were full of help and comfort,
and as they dressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully
and hopefully, and send their mother on her anxious
journey unsaddened by tears or complaints from them.
Everything seemed very strange when they went down,
so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle
within. Breakfast at that early hour seemed
odd, and even Hannah’s familiar face looked unnatural
as she flew about her kitchen with her nightcap on.
The big trunk stood ready in the hall, Mother’s
cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and Mother herself
sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and worn with
sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it very
hard to keep their resolution. Meg’s eyes
kept filling in spite of herself, Jo was obliged to
hide her face in the kitchen roller more than once,
and the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression,
as if sorrow was a new experience to them.
Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near
and they sat waiting for the carriage, Mrs. March
said to the girls, who were all busied about her,
one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings
of her bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and
a fourth fastening up her travelling bag . . .
“Children, I leave you to Hannah’s care
and Mr. Laurence’s protection. Hannah
is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will
guard you as if you were his own. I have no fears
for you, yet I am anxious that you should take this
trouble rightly. Don’t grieve and fret
when I am gone, or think that you can be idle and
comfort yourselves by being idle and trying to forget.
Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed
solace. Hope and keep busy, and whatever happens,
remember that you never can be fatherless.”
