Chapter: XXII. PLEASANT MEADOWS.


                           


Like sunshine after storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The
invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk of returning
early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all
day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats, at first, and, in time,
with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. Her once active
limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her a daily airing about the
house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burnt her white
hands cooking delicate messes for "the dear;" while Amy, a loyal slave
of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many of her
treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept.

As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house,
and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible
or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry
Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had
bonfires, sky-rockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way.
After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered
effectually quenched, and went about with forlorn faces, which were
rather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together.

Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid
Christmas Day. Hannah "felt in her bones" that it was going to be an
unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for
everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. To
begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them; then Beth
felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother's
gift,--a soft crimson merino wrapper,--was borne in triumph to the
window to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had
done their best to be worthy of the name, for, like elves, they had
worked by night, and conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden
stood a stately snow-maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket of
fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of new music in the other, a
perfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas
carol issuing from her lips, on a pink paper streamer:--

                         "THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH.

        "God bless you, dear Queen Bess!
          May nothing you dismay,
         But health and peace and happiness
          Be yours, this Christmas Day.

        "Here's fruit to feed our busy bee,
          And flowers for her nose;
         Here's music for her pianee,
          An Afghan for her toes.

        "A portrait of Joanna, see,
          By Raphael No. 2,
         Who labored with great industry
          To make it fair and true.

        "Accept a ribbon red, I beg,
          For Madam Purrer's tail;
         And ice-cream made by lovely Peg,--
          A Mont Blanc in a pail.

        "Their dearest love my makers laid
          Within my breast of snow:
         Accept it, and the Alpine maid,
          From Laurie and from Jo."

                      [Illustration: The Jungfrau]

How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring in
the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presented them!

"I'm so full of happiness, that, if father was only here, I couldn't
hold one drop more," said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo
carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to
refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the "Jungfrau" had
sent her.

"So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the
long-desired Undine and Sintram.

"I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the
Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her, in a pretty frame.

"Of course I am!" cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first
silk dress; for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it.

"How can _I_ be otherwise?" said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went
from her husband's letter to Beth's smiling face, and her hand caressed
the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which
the girls had just fastened on her breast.

Now and then, in this work-a-day world, things do happen in the
delightful story-book fashion, and what a comfort that is. Half an hour
after every one had said they were so happy they could only hold one
drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door, and popped his
head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault and
uttered an Indian war-whoop; for his face was so full of suppressed
excitement and his voice so treacherously joyful, that every one jumped
up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "Here's another
Christmas present for the March family."

Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away
somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes,
leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something and
couldn't. Of course there was a general stampede; and for several
minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things
were done, and no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in the
embrace of four pairs of loving arms; Jo disgraced herself by nearly
fainting away, and had to be doctored by Laurie in the china-closet; Mr.
Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently
explained; and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and, never
stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most
touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held
up her hand with a warning, "Hush! remember Beth!"

But it was too late; the study door flew open, the little red wrapper
appeared on the threshold,--joy put strength into the feeble limbs,--and
Beth ran straight into her father's arms. Never mind what happened just
after that; for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness
of the past, and leaving only the sweetness of the present.

It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight
again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat
turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the
kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for
his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenly
remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and, seizing Laurie, he
precipitately retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose,
which they did, by both sitting in one big chair, and talking hard.

Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the
fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage
of it; how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most
estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just
there, and, after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire,
looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you
to imagine; also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head, and asked,
rather abruptly, if he wouldn't have something to eat. Jo saw and
understood the look; and she stalked grimly away to get wine and
beef-tea, muttering to herself, as she slammed the door, "I hate
estimable young men with brown eyes!"

There never _was_ such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat
turkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned,
and decorated; so was the plum-pudding, which quite melted in one's
mouth; likewise the jellies, in which Amy revelled like a fly in a
honey-pot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said,
"For my mind was that flustered, mum, that it's a merrycle I didn't
roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin'
of it in a cloth."

Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke,--at whom
Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy-chairs
stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her
father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank
healths, told stories, sung songs, "reminisced," as the old folks say,
and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh-ride had been planned, but the
girls would not leave their father; so the guests departed early, and,
as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.

"Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected
to have. Do you remember?" asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had
followed a long conversation about many things.

"Rather a pleasant year on the whole!" said Meg, smiling at the fire,
and congratulating herself on having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity.

"I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed Amy, watching the light
shine on her ring, with thoughtful eyes.

"I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, who
sat on her father's knee.

"Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially
the latter part of it. But you have got on bravely; and I think the
burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March,
looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered
round him.

"How do you know? Did mother tell you?" asked Jo.

"Not much; straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several
discoveries to-day."

"Oh, tell us what they are!" cried Meg, who sat beside him.

"Here is one;" and taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair,
he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or
three little hard spots on the palm. "I remember a time when this hand
was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very
pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now,--for in these seeming
blemishes I read a little history. A burnt-offering has been made of
vanity; this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters;
and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long
time, so much good-will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value
the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or
fashionable accomplishments. I'm proud to shake this good, industrious
little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away."

If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it
in the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he
gave her.

"What about Jo? Please say something nice; for she has tried so hard,
and been so very, very good to me," said Beth, in her father's ear.

He laughed, and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with an
unusually mild expression in her brown face.

"In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the 'son Jo' whom I left a year
ago," said Mr. March. "I see a young lady who pins her collar straight,
laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on
the rug as she used to do. Her face is rather thin and pale, just now,
with watching and anxiety; but I like to look at it, for it has grown
gentler, and her voice is lower; she doesn't bounce, but moves quietly,
and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which
delights me. I rather miss my wild girl; but if I get a strong, helpful,
tender-hearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don't
know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in
all Washington I couldn't find anything beautiful enough to be bought
with the five-and-twenty dollars which my good girl sent me."

Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy
in the firelight, as she received her father's praise, feeling that she
did deserve a portion of it.

"Now Beth," said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait.

"There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will
slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be," began
their father cheerfully; but recollecting how nearly he _had_ lost her,
he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own,
"I've got you safe, my Beth, and I'll keep you so, please God."

After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket
at his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair,--

"I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her
mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place to-night, and has waited
on every one with patience and good-humor. I also observe that she does
not fret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very
pretty ring which she wears; so I conclude that she has learned to think
of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and
mould her character as carefully as she moulds her little clay figures.
I am glad of this; for though I should be very proud of a graceful
statue made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter,
with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others."

"What are you thinking of, Beth?" asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her
father and told about her ring.

"I read in 'Pilgrim's Progress' to-day, how, after many troubles,
Christian and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow, where lilies
bloomed all the year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now,
before they went on to their journey's end," answered Beth; adding, as
she slipped out of her father's arms, and went slowly to the instrument,
"It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I'll try to
sing the song of the shepherd-boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the
music for father, because he likes the verses."

So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and,
in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sung to her own
accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for
her:--

        "He that is down need fear no fall,
          He that is low no pride;
         He that is humble ever shall
          Have God to be his guide.

        "I am content with what I have,
          Little be it or much;
         And, Lord! contentment still I crave,
          Because Thou savest such.

        "Fulness to them a burden is,
          That go on pilgrimage;
         Here little, and hereafter bliss,
          Is best from age to age!"

 Pleasant Meadows As Christmas approaches, both Beth and Mr. March are recovering nicely, and Mr. March talks of coming home soon. All of the girls have been influenced for the better by Beth's illness, with Meg working cheerfully, Amy giving away her possessions, and Jo tenderly caring for her sister. On Christmas morning, Beth declares that she is so happy and that her life is complete except for Father's absence. The other sisters are also happy with their Christmas presents - Undine and Sintram for Jo; a copy of Madonna and Child for Amy; and a silk dress from Mr. Laurence for Meg. Just at that moment, Laurie announces another Christmas present for the March family, and in walks Father. Even Beth finds the strength to run to Father and embrace him, her Christmas wish fulfilled. In the excitement, Mr. Brooke kisses Meg by mistake, and Mr. March mentions later how kind and supportive Mr. Brooke has been, to Jo's great annoyance. After dinner with the Laurences and Mr. Brooke, the March family, reunited, rests and celebrates together. They reflect on the year, a pleasant but difficult one, and Father remarks that the Pilgrims have come a long way, and their bundles will soon tumble off. Father observes that Meg's hands, once pretty and smooth, are now burned and hardened but beautifully so, for Meg has replaced vanity with dedication to loving and industrious housekeeping. Jo has indeed become a little woman, still strong-willed, but not wild, and caring for Beth with maternal tenderness. Beth has overcome much of her bashfulness, and all are grateful to have her safe. Amy is patient, less vain, and as dedicated to shaping her character as her clay figurines. The evening ends with Beth recalling part of Pilgrim's Progress where everyone comes to a beautiful meadow to rest. She sings an excerpt from the book, giving thanks for contentment and bliss

