“Mother, why didn’t Mr. Laurence like
to have Laurie play?” asked Jo, who was of an
inquiring disposition.
“I am not sure, but I think it was because his
son, Laurie’s father, married an Italian lady,
a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very
proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished,
but he did not like her, and never saw his son after
he married. They both died when Laurie was a
little child, and then his grandfather took him home.
I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very
strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which
makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally
by his love of music, for he is like his mother, and
I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want
to be a musician. At any rate, his skill reminds
him of the woman he did not like, and so he ‘glowered’
as Jo said.”
“Dear me, how romantic!” exclaimed Meg.
“How silly!” said Jo. “Let
him be a musician if he wants to, and not plague his
life out sending him to college, when he hates to
go.”
“That’s why he has such handsome black
eyes and pretty manners, I suppose. Italians
are always nice,” said Meg, who was a little
sentimental.
“What do you know about his eyes and his manners?
You never spoke to him, hardly,” cried Jo,
who was not sentimental.
“I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows
that he knows how to behave. That was a nice
little speech about the medicine Mother sent him.”
“He meant the blanc mange, I suppose.”
“How stupid you are, child! He meant you,
of course.”
“Did he?” And Jo opened her eyes as if
it had never occurred to her before.
“I never saw such a girl! You don’t
know a compliment when you get it,” said Meg,
with the air of a young lady who knew all about the
matter.
“I think they are great nonsense, and I’ll
thank you not to be silly and spoil my fun.
Laurie’s a nice boy and I like him, and I won’t
have any sentimental stuff about compliments and such
rubbish. We’ll all be good to him because
he hasn’t got any mother, and he may come over
and see us, mayn’t he, Marmee?”
“Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome,
and I hope Meg will remember that children should
be children as long as they can.”
“I don’t call myself a child, and I’m
not in my teens yet,” observed Amy. “What
do you say, Beth?”
“I was thinking about our ’Pilgrim’s
Progress’,” answered Beth, who had
not heard a word. “How we got out of the
Slough and through the Wicket Gate by resolving to
be good, and up the steep hill by trying, and that
maybe the house over there, full of splendid things,
is going to be our Palace Beautiful.”
“We have got to get by the lions first,”
said Jo, as if she rather liked the prospect.
BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL
