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双语译林·小妇人 第一章 扮演朝圣者 PLAYING PILGRIMS

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2022年04月02日

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第一章 扮演朝圣者

“没有礼物送,不算圣诞节。”乔躺在地毯上嘟囔着。

“贫穷真可怕!”美格低头看看一身旧衣服,叹息道。

“有人漂亮东西应有尽有,有人却样样没有,我看不公平。”小艾美委屈地哼着鼻子,加了一句。

“可我们有爸妈和姐妹相亲啊!”贝丝坐在角落里,倒是心满意足地说。

听了振奋人心的话,四张小脸在炉火的映照下亮堂起来,但听了乔忧伤的话,马上又阴沉下去了:

“可爸不在,长时间当兵在外。”虽然她没有说:“说不定有去无回了呢!”可心里都默默地加了这一句。她们想念着远方战场[1]上的父亲。

大家沉默了片刻,美格换了一种语气说道:

“妈妈提出,今年圣诞不送礼,你们知道理由的,今年冬天对谁来说都难熬。现在男人们在军营里受煎熬,她觉得我们不应该花钱找乐。我们虽然做不了那么多,但可以,也应该乐意做出这么一点小小的牺牲。恐怕我是做不到哇。”美格摇摇头,一想到那些朝思暮想的漂亮礼物,不由懊丧起来。

“我说,我们要花的那点点钱也无济于事。每人只有一元钱,就是捐给了军队也没什么用。没错,我不指望妈妈给什么,你们也不会送,可我真的想替自己买一本《水精灵》[2],老早就想买了。”乔说。要知道,她是个“书虫”。

“我那一元钱本来想买新乐谱的。”贝丝说。她叹了一小口气,声音轻得除了壁炉刷和水壶架谁也没听到。

“我要买一盒上好的费伯牌绘图铅笔,确实需要嘛。”艾美毅然决然地说。

“妈妈并没有规定我们钱该怎么花,她不会希望我们什么都不要。不如大家都买自己想买的,开心一下。我说,挣这笔钱,我们够卖力的了。”乔一边高声说,一边审视着自己的鞋跟,颇有绅士风度。

“可不是嘛——差不多整天都在教那些讨厌的孩子,本来倒希望回家轻松一下的。”美格又抱怨开了。

“你的辛苦比我差得远呢,”乔说,“难道你愿意成天和神经质、大惊小怪的老太婆关在一起吗?她把人使唤得团团转,却里外不称心,把人折腾得恨不得跳窗出去,要么就大哭一场。”

“做一点事情就心烦是不好,不过,我真的觉得洗碗碟、理东西是世上最糟糕的工作。搞得脾气暴躁不算,手也变得这么僵硬,连琴都弹不好了。”贝丝看看粗手,叹了口气,这回大家都听到了。

“就不信你们哪个人有我辛苦,”艾美大声道,“你们反正用不着跟野姑娘们一起上学的。你功课搞不懂,却老是烦你,还嘲笑你身上的衣服。爸爸没钱,却要被她们‘标榜’。连你鼻子不漂亮,也要奚落一下。”

“我想,你是说‘诽谤’吧,不要说成‘标榜’,好像爸爸是个泡菜罐子,要贴标签似的。”乔笑着纠正道。

“我知道我在说什么,也不用疯痴(讽刺)嘛。就是要多用生词,能提高字(词)汇量嘛。”艾美神气活现地回嘴。

“别斗嘴了,妹妹们。乔,谁叫爸爸在我们小时候丢了钱。难道你不希望我们有钱吗?天哪!没有烦恼事,我们会有多么快乐多么乖哟!”美格说,她还记得过去的好日子。

“前几天你说过,我们过得比金家孩子要快活得多。他们虽然有钱,却一天到晚都在明争暗斗,可以说苦恼不断。”

“我是这么说过,贝丝。唔,现在还是这么认为呢。虽然不得不干活,我们却可玩可闹。就像乔说的,我们是一票很快活的人。”

“乔尽说这样的土话!”艾美不无责备地看着手脚伸展躺在地毯上的长条身躯道。乔马上坐起来,双手插入口袋,吹起了口哨。

“不要嘛,乔。男生做的!”

“所以才这么做。”

“最恨粗丫头,一点淑女味儿都没有!”

“也讨厌装腔作势的妮子,就知道扭扭捏捏!”

“巢中鸟儿,和睦相处。”和事佬贝丝唱起了歌,脸上的表情滑稽可笑。两个尖嗓门轻了下来,化作一阵笑声。“窝内斗”暂时熄火了。

“说实在的,姑娘们,你们俩都不对。”美格摆出大姐架势,开始训话,“约瑟芬已经长大,该丢掉小子们的把戏,老实些。小的时候,这没什么。可现在人高马大,头发都网起来了,要记住你是大姑娘了。”

“才不是呢!如果头发网起来就算大姑娘,那二十岁以前,我绝对只梳两根辫子。”乔叫了起来,扯掉了发网,抖落一头栗色长发,“想到自己要长大,要成为马奇小姐,可真是讨厌。就是不高兴穿长礼服,偏不做翠菊式的中国娇小姐!我就是喜欢男孩子的游戏,男孩子的工作,男孩子的风度。可偏偏是个女的,够糟的了!不是男儿身,真没劲。再没有比现在更糟糕的,多想跟爸上战场,却只能待在家里织东西,像个臭老太!”乔晃动蓝军袜,把针抖得叮当作响,线团也滚到了屋子另一边。

“可怜的乔!太糟糕了,可也没办法可想呀。认命吧,只能把名字改得有男子气一些,当我们姐妹的兄弟。”贝丝说着,用那世上所有洗碗碟打扫工作都不能使其粗鲁的手,轻轻地抚摸着靠在她膝上的头发蓬乱的脑袋。

“至于你,艾美。”美格继续数落说,“你就是太讲究,太古板。你的神态现在有点滑稽,一不注意,就会长成装模作样的小憨鹅。要是不刻意追求高雅,你倒举止优雅,言谈文雅,我挺喜欢的。可你说的那些蠢话,和乔的土话没什么两样。”

“如果乔是假小子,艾美是憨鹅,请问,我是什么呢?”贝丝问,她也想挨一下训。

“你是小宝贝,没别的。”美格亲切地回答。没人唱反调,因为这位胆小的“老鼠”是家中的宠儿。

鉴于青少年读者都想知道人物长的模样,我们借此机会,简单描绘一下坐在暮色中麻利地做着针线活的四姐妹。此时,屋外十二月冬雪轻轻地飘落,屋内炉火噼啪蹿动。这是一间旧房子,地毯有点褪色,家具也很朴素,但屋里很舒适。墙上挂着一两幅别致的图画,壁橱内堆满了书,窗台盛开着菊花和圣诞时应景的圣诞蔷薇花。屋里洋溢着一股宁静、温馨的居家气氛。

玛格丽特,小名美格,十六岁,是四姐妹最大的一个。她长得十分秀丽,体态丰满,肌肤白皙;天生一双大眼睛,褐色的头发又密又软,讨人喜欢的小嘴,洁白的双手,这一切都令她颇为自得。乔,大名叫约瑟芬,十五岁,长得又高又瘦,肌肤偏黑,让人不由得想起小公马,修长的双臂很碍事,似乎永远都无所适从。她嘴巴刚毅,鼻子有点滑稽,灰色的眼睛炯炯有神,好像洞察一切,眼神时而凶巴巴的,时而滑稽可笑,时而若有所思。浓密的长发是她的一个亮点,但为了利落,通常用发网束起来。乔肩膀厚实,大手宽脚,穿的衣服显得很松快。她正在快速长个成年,但姑娘不自在的表情透出几分无奈。伊丽莎白——大家都叫小名贝丝,十三岁,皮肤红润,秀发光润,双眸明亮,举止腼腆,声音羞怯,面带安详,不露声色。父亲称她为“小静”,这个称呼完全适宜,因为她似乎活在自己快乐的世界中,只敢与信任热爱的少数人打交道。艾美,年龄最小,却是家中要员——至少在她自己看来是如此。她端庄秀丽,白肌肤,蓝眼睛,黄头发卷曲着披到肩头,脸色泛白,身材苗条。她举止讲究,颇具年轻淑女风度。四姐妹的性格怎样,容后分解。

时钟敲了六下,贝丝扫净了壁炉面,把一双便鞋放在旁边烘暖。看到这双旧鞋,屋里就有了好情绪。姑娘们想起妈妈就要回来了,都兴奋起来准备迎接。美格结束了训话,点亮了灯。艾美自觉让出安乐椅。乔忘记了疲倦,坐起来把鞋子凑近炉火。

“鞋子太破旧了。妈咪得穿新的。”

“我想用我那元钱给她买一双。”贝丝说。

“不,我来买!”艾美大声道。

“我最大。”美格刚开口,乔就语气坚决地打断了她:

“爸爸不在,我就是家中的男人,由我来买鞋。爸爸说过的,他出门时,我要特别照看好妈的。”

“我看还是这样吧,”贝丝说,“每人为妈妈买一样圣诞礼物,自己嘛,就别买了。”

“那才像你,乖乖!买什么好呢?”乔叫道。

每个人都静静地思考了片刻,然后,美格好像受自己漂亮的手的启发,宣布说:“我要送一副精美的手套。”

“军鞋,送最好的。”乔嚷嚷着。

“手帕,修边的。”贝丝说。

“我要买一小瓶古龙香水,妈妈喜欢的,而且不贵,还可以留点钱给自己买铅笔。”接着艾美说。

“那礼物怎么送呢?”美格问。

“放在桌子上,把妈妈叫进来,然后看着她把礼盒打开。难道忘了以前生日是怎么过的吗?”乔回答说。

“以前,轮到我坐大椅子,戴上花冠,看你们一个个走过来,送礼物,吻一下,慌死我啦。我喜欢礼物和亲吻,但你们坐着瞪眼,看我把礼盒打开,太可怕了。”贝丝说,边烤面包准备茶点,边烘脸取暖。

“就让妈咪以为我们给自己买了礼物,然后给她个惊喜。明天下午就去买东西。美格,圣诞节晚上的戏,还要好好排演一下的。”乔说,手靠着背,头仰着,踱来踱去。

“我这可是最后一次演戏了,超龄了嘛。”美格喃喃道。她在“化妆”打闹的时候非常孩子气。

“这我知道,你才不会洗手不干呢。只要披下头发,拖着白礼服,戴上金纸珠宝,就招摇上台了。你是我们这里的最佳演员呢,你要是退出舞台,就一切都完了。”乔说,“今晚就应该排演的。过来,艾美,排练一下昏厥的场面,你演得是硬板硬板的呢。”

“没有办法的。没看见过别人昏厥嘛。我可不喜欢跟你一样,跌跌撞撞倒地,搞得自己鼻青脸肿。如果倒下容易,我就倒下,做不到的话,就跌倒在椅子上,动作优雅一点。才不在乎雨果拿手枪戳着我呢!”艾美回嘴道。她没有戏剧天赋,但个子小巧,剧中反角扛得动,可以把她惊叫着扛出场。

“要这样做动作。双手捏紧,摇摇摆摆地走过来。口中狂叫:‘罗得里戈,救救我!救救我!'”乔情不自禁叫起来,夸张得很刺激。

艾美跟着她做,但僵硬地抬着手,走台一冲一冲的,活像机械开动。她发出的“哎哟!”声,令人想起遭受针扎的情形,而不是惊恐万状,痛苦不堪。乔绝望地哀叹着,美格咯咯大笑。贝丝聚精会神地看戏,连面包烤焦了也浑然不知。

“没救了!到时候好自为之吧,观众笑了可不要怪我哟。来吧,美格。”

情节发展顺利,堂彼得罗目中无人似的,一口气作了两页长的报告。女巫海格煮了一锅癞蛤蟆,哼唱着恐怖符咒,产生了怪诞的效果。罗得里戈英勇地挣开锁链,雨果“哈哈”地狂喊着,悔恨交加,砒霜毒发身亡。

“这是我们的最高水平啦。”美格说。这时死掉的反角坐了起来,揉揉胳膊肘。

“乔姐,真不知道,你是怎么编出这么精彩的东西来上演的。就像莎士比亚再世!”贝丝吆喝着。她坚信,姐姐们都是天才,而且无所不能。

“别这么说,”乔谦虚着,“我确实认为《女巫诅咒》这出悲剧是好戏。不过,我倒是想试试《麦克白》的,就是舞台没有装地板活门,好让班柯从地底下钻出来。我一直想扮演屠夫角色的。‘我眼前看到的,是不是宝剑?'”乔喃喃道,转动着眼珠,在空中瞎抓着,她以前看过悲剧名角的表演。

“住手,烤面包的叉子,怎么不叉面包,却叉着妈妈的鞋子。贝丝成了戏痴!”美格喝道。众人哄堂大笑,排演就此结束了。

“姑娘们这么高兴,别提我多开心了。”门口传来一个愉快的声音,演员、观众们纷纷转身迎接母亲。这位个子高挑的女士露出“有事就找我”的眼神,十分和蔼可亲。她的衣着并不讲究,但神情颇为高贵。姑娘们认为,那灰白的披风和过时的帽子,穿在世界上最棒的妈妈身上。

“宝贝们哪,今天过得怎么样?我有很多事情要做,明天要送的礼盒没准备好,所以没有回来吃正餐。贝丝,有客人来吗?美格,感冒怎么样了?乔,你好像累得要命。来,亲我一下,宝贝。”

马奇太太一边慈爱地问长问短,一边脱下了湿衣服,换上暖和的便鞋,在安乐椅上坐下。然后,她让艾美坐在腿上,准备享受她忙碌的一天中最愉快的时光。姑娘们忙这忙那,各尽所能,努力把一切都安排得舒舒服服。美格摆茶桌。乔搬柴,放椅子,却把柴火撒落了,把椅子打翻了,弄得噼啪直响。贝丝在客厅和厨房间跑来跑去,一声不吭地忙碌着。艾美则袖手旁观,在一边发号施令。

一家子围坐桌边时,马奇太太脸上显得特别高兴,说道:“晚饭后有好东西招待你们。”

姐妹们脸上马上云开日出般露出灿烂的笑容。贝丝拍拍手,也顾不得手上拿着饼干。乔把餐巾往空中一抛,大声嚷嚷:“信!信!爸爸万岁!”

“是的,一封长长的信。他身体健康,说是能安度寒冬,而且过得比我们想象的要好。他祝我们圣诞快乐,万事如意,特别是祝福你们,姑娘们。”马奇太太说着拍拍口袋,仿佛里面装着珍宝。

“快点吃!艾美,不要勾起小指,边吃边傻笑。”乔嚷嚷着,急于享受招待,却被茶噎了一口,面包都掉到了地毯上,涂黄油的一面朝下。

贝丝不再吃了,默默地走到阴暗的角落坐下,等候其他人吃完,憧憬着喜悦的时刻到来。

“爸爸超过参军年龄,身体也不适合当兵,但还要去做随军牧师。我觉得他真伟大!”美格热切地说。

“我真想当摇拨浪鼓的,随军贩[3]——叫什么来着?或者护士,那样就可以守着他,帮助他。”乔激动地说,还唉了一声。

“睡帐篷,吃各种难吃的东西,还用铁皮杯喝水,肯定够受的。”艾美叹息道。

“他什么时候回家呢,妈咪?”贝丝问,声音有点颤抖。

“要好几个月呢,乖乖,除非他生病。只要能在部队留一刻,他就会永远忠于职守。我们也不会要他抛下将士们提前回家一分钟。过来吧,听我读信。”

大家围在炉火前,妈妈坐在大椅子里,贝丝坐在她脚边,美格和艾美坐在椅子的两个扶手上,乔靠在椅背上,即使来信碰巧催人泪下,也没人会注意到她感情的表露。在那艰难岁月里写的信,很少有不感人的,特别是爸爸寄回家的。这封信却很少提到承受艰辛、面对危险和强抑思乡情,而是鼓舞人心的平安家书,写的都是生动的部队生活、行军打仗和军事新闻。只是在最后,字里行间才流露出慈父的爱心和对家中幼女的挂念。

转达给她们我所有的爱和亲吻吧。告诉她们,我白天想念她们,夜里为她们祈祷,她们的爱时时刻刻都给了我莫大的安慰。要再等待一年才能和她们相见,似乎很漫长,但是请提醒她们,我们在等待中都有工作可做,不至于虚度这些艰难的日子。我相信,她们会牢记我的话,会做你的乖孩子,踏实地做力所能及的事,勇敢地进行自我斗争,很好地战胜自己。当我回来时,我会更爱我的小妇人们,并为她们感到无比自豪。

读到这一段,每个人都在抽噎。乔任凭颗颗泪珠淌下鼻尖,并不为此感到羞愧。艾美一点都不在乎鬈发起皱,一头扑在了妈的肩上,呜咽着说:“我真自私!可我真的会努力学好。这样,他就不会对我失望了。”

“我们都会学好的!”美格哭着说,“我太注重打扮,好逸恶劳。以后不会这样了,我尽量改正。”

“爸爸喜欢叫我‘小妇人’,我会努力做到,不再粗野,在家做分内事,不再想到外出。”乔说,可心里知道,在家里不发脾气比对付南方一两个的叛军要困难得多。

贝丝什么都没说,只是用蓝军袜擦去泪水,然后全身心地做编织,争分夺秒地履行手头的义务。她幼小的心灵已经暗下决心,爸爸一年后凯旋、一家团聚时,要实现爸爸的愿望。

马奇太太打破了乔说完话之后的静默,欢快地说:“还记得小时候扮演《天路历程》的情形吗?你们让我把拼缝口袋绑在背脊上做担子,交给你们帽子、拐棍和纸卷,从地下室也就是‘毁灭之城’往上爬,爬呀,爬呀,穿过整个屋子,来到屋顶,你们把收集的美好东西都放在那里,充当‘天城’。那样玩,你们别提多高兴了。”

“多么来劲,特别是偷过狮子身边啦,奋战恶魔啦,穿越小妖精出没的幽谷啦。”乔说。

“我喜欢包袱掉下来,滚下楼梯的情景。”美格说。

“我最喜欢的情景是走出来,上到平屋顶,屋顶满是鲜花、树木和漂亮东西,大家站在那里,在太阳底下纵情歌唱。”贝丝笑着说,好像那快乐时刻又重演了。

“已经不太记得了,只知道当时害怕地下室和黑暗入口,还有总是喜欢藏在屋顶的牛奶蛋糕。假如不是太老了,这种东西倒喜欢再来玩一遍的。”艾美说。她才十二岁,却已经开始谈论抛下孩子气的东西。

“玩这种东西永远不会太老的,乖乖,因为我们始终以这样那样的方式玩着这种游戏的。我们的负担就在眼前,我们的道路躺在脚下。渴望美德,渴望幸福,这是引导我们克服困难,改正错误,走向问心无愧的向导。问心无愧才是真正的天城。好了,小朝圣者,你们是不是再来一次呢?不是玩耍,而是一本正经地做。看看爸爸回家之前,你们能走多远。”

“真的,妈妈?我们的包袱在哪儿?”艾美问道,她喜欢就事论事。

“刚才你们每个人都讲了自己肩负的担子,只有贝丝没说。我想她还没有负担。”母亲说。

“不,我有的。我的是碗碟和掸子,而且还嫉妒有漂亮钢琴的女孩,害怕见生人。”

贝丝的包袱这么滑稽,大家都想笑,但谁都没笑,因为那样会深深地伤害她的感情。

“我们说干就干,”美格若有所思地说,“这其实就跟学好一样,戏里的故事可以帮助我们。虽然我们也想学好,但很难,所以就忘了,就不尽力去做。”

“今晚我们本来在绝望的深渊里,妈妈像书中的‘帮助’一样,把我们拉了出来。我们应该像基督徒一样,有一卷指导书[4]。那个怎么办呢?”乔问,为自己的想象力给烦闷的职责增添了几分浪漫而感到高兴。

“圣诞节的早上,看看枕头底下,会发现指导书的。”马奇太太回答说。

她们趁老汉娜清理饭桌的当口,讨论着新的打算。四个工作篮子拿出来了,姑娘们飞针走线,为马奇姑婆做床单。缝纫工作枯燥得很,但是今晚没有人嘟囔抱怨。她们采纳了乔的计划,把长线缝分成四个部分,分别叫做欧洲、亚洲、非洲、美洲,特别是针线跨国越洲时,讨论各国概况,这样活计就突飞猛进了。

九点钟,她们停下活计,按照惯例,上床前要唱歌。除了贝丝,没人能在那破旧的钢琴上弹出什么曲调来,但她心灵手巧,通过轻触泛黄的琴键,她们唱出的简单歌曲就有了悦耳的伴奏了。美格的嗓音就像长笛,她和母亲领唱。艾美唱歌活像蟋蟀叫,乔随心所欲地拖拉着旋律,总是在不该出来的地方蹦出沙哑声或者颤音,破坏了哀怨的调子。她们从牙牙学语时就这样做了——

天上星星亮晶晶。

这个的小合唱已经成了家庭惯例,谁叫母亲是天生的歌手呢。早上一睁眼,就能听到她的嗓音,走进走出都在婉转歌唱;晚上临睡前也能听到她的欢唱。对于那熟悉的催眠曲,姑娘们不管长得多大,永远不会听厌的。

* * *

[1]指美国南北战争(1861—1865)。

[2]英语国家儿童读物,属神怪故事。

[3]随军女商贩。原文是法语词,乔记不全。

[4]指约翰·班扬的《天路历程》,讲述朝圣者与恶势力作斗争,最终克服困难,来到天国。本书中的“负担”、“包袱”、“狮子”、“恶魔”均出自此书。

CHAPTER 1 PLAYING PILGRIMS

“CHRISTMAS won't be Christmas without any presents, ” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

“It's so dreadful to be poor! ” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.

“I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all, ” added little Amy, with an injured sniff.

“We've got Father and Mother, and each other, ” said Beth contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, “We haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.” She didn't say “perhaps never, ” but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, “You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't.” And Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

“But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself.I've wanted it so long, ”said Jo, who was a bookworm.

“I planned to spend mine in new music, ” said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.

“I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils; I really need them, ”said Amy decidedly.

“Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it, ” cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.

“I know I do—teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home, ” began Meg, in the complaining tone again.

“You don't have half such a hard time as I do, ” said Jo. “How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to fly out the window or cry? ”

“It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all.” And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.

“I don't believe any of you suffer as I do, ” cried Amy, “for you don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice.”

“If you mean libel,I'd say so,and not talk about labels,as if Papa was a pickle bottle, ” advised Jo, laughing.

“I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary, ” returned Amy, with dignity.

“Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries! ” said Meg, who could remember better times.

“You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money.”

“So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are; for, though we do have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.”

“Jo does use such slang words! ” observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle.

“Don't, Jo. It's so boyish! ”

“That's why I do it.”

“I detest rude, unladylike girls! ”

“I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits! ”

“Birds in their little nests agree, ” sang Beth, the peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the “pecking”ended for that time.

“Really, girls, you are both to be blamed, ” said Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were a little girl; but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.”

“I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty, ” cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. “I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China aster! It's bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa, and I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman! ” And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.

“Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls, ”said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its touch.

“As for you, Amy, ” continued Meg, “you are altogether too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang.”

“If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please? ” asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.

“You're a dear, and nothing else, ” answered Meg warmly, and no one contradicted her, for the “Mouse” was the pet of the family.

As young readers like to know “how people look, ” we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable old room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft, brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn't like it. Elizabeth—or Beth, as everyone called her—was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her “Little Tranquility”, and the name suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person—in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.

The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.

“They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair.”

“I thought I'd get her some with my dollar, ” said Beth.

“No, I shall! ” cried Amy.

“I'm the oldest, ” began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided—

“I'm the man of the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special care of Mother while he was gone.”

“I'll tell you what we'll do, ” said Beth, “let's each get her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.”

“That's like you, dear! What will we get? ” exclaimed Jo.

Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, “I shall give her a nice pair of gloves.”

“Army shoes, best to be had, ” cried Jo.

“Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed, ” said Beth.

“I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils, ” added Amy.

“How will we give the things? ” asked Meg.

“Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays? ” answered Jo.

“I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles, ” said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

“Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night, ” said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.

“I don't mean to act any more after this time. I'm getting too old for such things, ” observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about“dressing-up” frolics.

“You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards, ” said Jo. “We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that.”

“I can't help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll drop. If I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful. I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol, ” returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.

“Do it this way: clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying frantically, ‘Roderigo! save me! save me! '” and away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.

Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her “Ow! ” was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun with interest.

“It's no use! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come on, Meg.”

Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect. Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild “Ha! Ha! ”

“It's the best we've had yet, ” said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows.

“I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare! ” exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.

“Not quite, ”replied Jo modestly.“I do think The Witch's Curse,an Operatic Tragedy is rather a nice thing,but I'd like to try Macbeth,if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part.‘Is that a dagger that I see before me? '” muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do.

“No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth's stage-struck! ” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter.

“Glad to find you so merry, my girls, ” said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a “can-I-help-you” look about her which was truly delightful. She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world.

“Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't come home to dinner. Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby.”

While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.

As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, “I've got a treat for you after supper.”

A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, “A letter! A letter! Three cheers for Father! ”

“Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls, ” said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.

“Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger and simper over your plate, Amy, ” cried Jo, choking in her tea and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the treat.

Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.

“I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier, ” said Meg warmly.

“Don't I wish I could go as a drummer,a vivan—what's its name?Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him, ” exclaimed Jo, with a groan.

“It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug, ” sighed Amy.

“When will he come home, Marmee? ” asked Beth, with a little quiver in her voice.

“Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter.”

They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news, and only at the end did the writer's heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.

“Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women.”

Everybody sniffed when they came to that part. Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, “I am a selfish girl! But I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in me by-and-by.”

“We all will! ” cried Meg. “I think too much of my looks and hate to work, but won't any more, if I can help it.”

“I'll try and be what he loves to call me, ‘a little woman, ' and not be rough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else, ” said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down South.

Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that Father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy coming home.

Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in her cheery voice, “Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrim's Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a Celestial City.”

“What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and passing through the Valley where the hobgoblins were! ” said Jo.

“I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs, ”said Meg.

“My favorite part was when we came out on the flat roof where our flowers and arbors and pretty things were, and all stood and sung for joy up there in the sunshine, ” said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant moment had come back to her.

“I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the top. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it over again, ” said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve.

“We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before Father comes home.”

“Really, Mother? Where are our bundles? ” asked Amy, who was a very literal young lady.

“Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather think she hasn't got any, ” said her mother.

“Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people.”

Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.

“Let us do it, ” said Meg thoughtfully. “It is only another name for trying to be good, and the story may help us; for though we do want to be good, it's hard work and we forget, and don't do our best.”

“We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that? ” asked Jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty.

“Look under your pillows Christmas morning, and you will find your guidebook, ” replied Mrs. March.

They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, then out came the four little workbaskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but tonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them.

At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could lisp

Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar,

and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the house singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby.

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