“You’ve got me, anyhow. I’m
not good for much, I know, but I’ll stand by
you, Jo, all the days of my life. Upon my word
I will!” and Laurie meant what he said.
“I know you will, and I’m ever so much
obliged. You are always a great comfort to me,
Teddy,” returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands.
“Well, now, don’t be dismal, there’s
a good fellow. It’s all right you see.
Meg is happy, Brooke will fly round and get settled
immediately, Grandpa will attend to him, and it will
be very jolly to see Meg in her own little house.
We’ll have capital times after she is gone,
for I shall be through college before long, and then
we’ll go abroad on some nice trip or other.
Wouldn’t that console you?”
“I rather think it would, but there’s
no knowing what may happen in three years,”
said Jo thoughtfully.
“That’s true. Don’t you wish
you could take a look forward and see where we shall
all be then? I do,” returned Laurie.
“I think not, for I might see something sad,
and everyone looks so happy now, I don’t believe
they could be much improved.” And Jo’s
eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they
looked, for the prospect was a pleasant one.
Father and Mother sat together, quietly reliving the
first chapter of the romance which for them began
some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers,
who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the
light of which touched their faces with a grace the
little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her
sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held
her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the
power to lead him along the peaceful way she walked.
Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave
quiet look which best became her, and Laurie, leaning
on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with
her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect,
and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected
them both.
So the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.
Whether it ever rises again, depends upon the reception
given the first act of the domestic drama called Little
Women.
In order that we may start afresh and go to Meg’s
wedding . . .
GOSSIP
In order that we may start afresh and go to Meg’s
wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin
with a little gossip about the Marches. And
here let me premise that if any of the elders think
there is too much ‘lovering’ in the story,
as I fear they may (I’m not afraid the young
folks will make that objection), I can only say with
Mrs. March, “What can you expect when I have
four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young neighbor
over the way?”
The three years that have passed have brought but
few changes to the quiet family. The war is
over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with his
books and the small parish which found in him a minister
by nature as by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich
in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity
which calls all mankind ‘brother’, the
piety that blossoms into character, making it august
and lovely.
