“I never had such a fine bouquet before!
How pretty it is!” And Meg examined her flowers
with great interest.
“They are lovely. But Beth’s roses
are sweeter to me,” said Mrs. March, smelling
the half-dead posy in her belt.
Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, “I
wish I could send my bunch to Father. I’m
afraid he isn’t having such a merry Christmas
as we are.”
THE LAURENCE BOY
“Jo! Jo! Where are you?” cried
Meg at the foot of the garret stairs.
“Here!” answered a husky voice from above,
and, running up, Meg found her sister eating apples
and crying over the Heir of Redclyffe, wrapped up
in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the
sunny window. This was Jo’s favorite refuge,
and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets
and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society
of a pet rat who lived near by and didn’t mind
her a particle. As Meg appeared, Scrabble whisked
into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks
and waited to hear the news.
“Such fun! Only see! A regular note
of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner for tomorrow night!”
cried Meg, waving the precious paper and then proceeding
to read it with girlish delight.
“’Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see
Miss March and Miss Josephine at a little dance on
New Year’s Eve.’ Marmee is willing
we should go, now what shall we wear?”
“What’s the use of asking that, when you
know we shall wear our poplins, because we haven’t
got anything else?” answered Jo with her mouth
full.
“If I only had a silk!” sighed Meg.
“Mother says I may when I’m eighteen
perhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait.”
“I’m sure our pops look like silk, and
they are nice enough for us. Yours is as good
as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine.
Whatever shall I do? The burn shows badly, and
I can’t take any out.”
“You must sit still all you can and keep your
back out of sight. The front is all right.
I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee
will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers
are lovely, and my gloves will do, though they aren’t
as nice as I’d like.”
“Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can’t
get any new ones, so I shall have to go without,”
said Jo, who never troubled herself much about dress.
“You must have gloves, or I won’t go,”
cried Meg decidedly. “Gloves are more important
than anything else. You can’t dance without
them, and if you don’t I should be so mortified.”
“Then I’ll stay still. I don’t
care much for company dancing. It’s no
fun to go sailing round. I like to fly about
and cut capers.”
“You can’t ask Mother for new ones, they
are so expensive, and you are so careless. She
said when you spoiled the others that she shouldn’t
get you any more this winter. Can’t you
make them do?”
