“Little Raphael,” as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art.  Her teachers complained that instead of doing her sums she covered her slate with animals, the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy maps on, and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all her books at unlucky moments.  She got through her lessons as well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being a model of deportment.  She was a great favorite with her mates, being good-tempered and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort.  Her little airs and graces were much admired, so were her accomplishments, for besides her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, crochet, and read French without mispronouncing more than two-thirds of the words.  She had a plaintive way of saying, “When Papa was rich we did so-and-so,” which was very touching, and her long words were considered ’perfectly elegant’ by the girls.

Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely.  One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities.  She had to wear her cousin’s clothes.  Now Florence’s mama hadn’t a particle of taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit.  Everything was good, well made, and little worn, but Amy’s artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull purple with yellow dots and no trimming.

“My only comfort,” she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, “is that Mother doesn’t take tucks in my dresses whenever I’m naughty, as Maria Parks’s mother does.  My dear, it’s really dreadful, for sometimes she is so bad her frock is up to her knees, and she can’t come to school.  When I think of this deggerredation, I feegorcer I can bear even my flat nose and purple gown with yellow skyrockets on it.”

Meg was Amy’s confidant and monitor, and by some strange attraction of opposites Jo was gentle Beth’s.  To Jo alone did the shy child tell her thoughts, and over her big harum-scarum sister Beth unconsciously exercised more influence than anyone in the family.  The two older girls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger sisters into her keeping and watched over her in her own way, ‘playing mother’ they called it, and put their sisters in the places of discarded dolls with the maternal instinct of little women.

“Has anybody got anything to tell?  It’s been such a dismal day I’m really dying for some amusement,” said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening.

“I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I’ll tell you about it,” began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories.  “I was reading that everlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for Aunt soon drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up.  I actually made myself sleepy, and before she began to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by opening my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once.”