“Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral
to it, like this. I like to think about them
afterward, if they are real and not too preachy,”
said Jo, after a minute’s silence.
Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told
stories to this little audience for many years, and
knew how to please them.
“Once upon a time, there were four girls, who
had enough to eat and drink and wear, a good many
comforts and pleasures, kind friends and parents who
loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented.”
(Here the listeners stole sly looks at one another,
and began to sew diligently.) “These girls were
anxious to be good and made many excellent resolutions,
but they did not keep them very well, and were constantly
saying, ‘If only we had this,’ or ’If
we could only do that,’ quite forgetting how
much they already had, and how many things they actually
could do. So they asked an old woman what spell
they could use to make them happy, and she said, ’When
you feel discontented, think over your blessings,
and be grateful.’” (Here Jo looked up
quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind,
seeing that the story was not done yet.)
“Being sensible girls, they decided to try her
advice, and soon were surprised to see how well off
they were. One discovered that money couldn’t
keep shame and sorrow out of rich people’s houses,
another that, though she was poor, she was a great
deal happier, with her youth, health, and good spirits,
than a certain fretful, feeble old lady who couldn’t
enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeable as
it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to go
begging for it and the fourth, that even carnelian
rings were not so valuable as good behavior.
So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the
blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them,
lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of
increased, and I believe they were never disappointed
or sorry that they took the old woman’s advice.”
“Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to
turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon
instead of a romance!” cried Meg.
“I like that kind of sermon. It’s
the sort Father used to tell us,” said Beth
thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo’s
cushion.
“I don’t complain near as much as the
others do, and I shall be more careful than ever now,
for I’ve had warning from Susie’s downfall,”
said Amy morally.
“We needed that lesson, and we won’t forget
it. If we do so, you just say to us, as old
Chloe did in Uncle Tom, ’Tink ob yer
marcies, chillen!’ ‘Tink ob yer marcies!’”
added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, help
getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon,
though she took it to heart as much as any of them.
BEING NEIGHBORLY
“What in the world are you going to do now,
Jo?” asked Meg one snowy afternoon, as her sister
came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old
sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel
in the other.
