Chapter: XVI. LETTERS.




In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp, and read their chapter
with an earnestness never felt before; for now the shadow of a real
trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort; and,
as they dressed, they agreed to say good-by cheerfully and hopefully,
and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or
complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went
down,--so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within.
Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face
looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her night-cap on.
The big trunk stood ready in the hall, mother's cloak and bonnet lay on
the sofa, and mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and
worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it very hard to
keep their resolution. Meg's eyes kept filling in spite of herself; Jo
was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller more than once; and
the little girls' wore a grave, troubled expression, as if sorrow was a
new experience to them.

Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near, and they sat waiting
for the carriage, Mrs. March said to the girls, who were all busied
about her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of
her bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a fourth fastening up
her travelling bag,--

"Children, I leave you to Hannah's care and Mr. Laurence's protection.
Hannah is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will guard you as
if you were his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious that you
should take this trouble rightly. Don't grieve and fret when I am gone,
or think that you can comfort yourselves by being idle and trying to
forget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace.
Hope and keep busy; and whatever happens, remember that you never can be
fatherless."

"Yes, mother."

"Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and, in
any perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent
or do rash things; write to me often, and be my brave girl, ready to
help and cheer us all. Beth, comfort yourself with your music, and be
faithful to the little home duties; and you, Amy, help all you can, be
obedient, and keep happy safe at home."

"We will, mother! we will!"

The rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen.
That was the hard minute, but the girls stood it well: no one cried, no
one ran away or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very
heavy as they sent loving messages to father, remembering, as they
spoke, that it might be too late to deliver them. They kissed their
mother quietly, clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands
cheerfully when she drove away.

Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and Mr. Brooke
looked so strong and sensible and kind that the girls christened him
"Mr. Greatheart" on the spot.

"Good-by, my darlings! God bless and keep us all!" whispered Mrs. March,
as she kissed one dear little face after the other, and hurried into the
carriage.

As she rolled away, the sun came out, and, looking back, she saw it
shining on the group at the gate, like a good omen. They saw it also,
and smiled and waved their hands; and the last thing she beheld, as she
turned the corner, was the four bright faces, and behind them, like a
body-guard, old Mr. Laurence, faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie.

                    [Illustration: She rolled away]

"How kind every one is to us!" she said, turning to find fresh proof of
it in the respectful sympathy of the young man's face.

"I don't see how they can help it," returned Mr. Brooke, laughing so
infectiously that Mrs. March could not help smiling; and so the long
journey began with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful
words.

"I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said Jo, as their neighbors
went home to breakfast, leaving them to rest and refresh themselves.

"It seems as if half the house was gone," added Meg forlornly.

Beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pile
of nicely-mended hose which lay on mother's table, showing that even in
her last hurried moments she had thought and worked for them. It was a
little thing, but it went straight to their hearts; and, in spite of
their brave resolutions, they all broke down, and cried bitterly.

Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and, when the
shower showed signs of clearing up, she came to the rescue, armed with a
coffee-pot.

"Now, my dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and don't fret.
Come and have a cup of coffee all round, and then let's fall to work,
and be a credit to the family."

Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact in making it that
morning. No one could resist her persuasive nods, or the fragrant
invitation issuing from the nose of the coffee-pot. They drew up to the
table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in ten minutes
were all right again.

"'Hope and keep busy;' that's the motto for us, so let's see who will
remember it best. I shall go to Aunt March, as usual. Oh, won't she
lecture though!" said Jo, as she sipped with returning spirit.

"I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather stay at home and attend
to things here," said Meg, wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red.

"No need of that; Beth and I can keep house perfectly well," put in Amy,
with an important air.

"Hannah will tell us what to do; and we'll have everything nice when you
come home," added Beth, getting out her mop and dish-tub without delay.

"I think anxiety is very interesting," observed Amy, eating sugar,
pensively.

The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for it, though Meg
shook her head at the young lady who could find consolation in a
sugar-bowl.

The sight of the turn-overs made Jo sober again; and when the two went
out to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the window
where they were accustomed to see their mother's face. It was gone; but
Beth had remembered the little household ceremony, and there she was,
nodding away at them like a rosy-faced mandarin.

"That's so like my Beth!" said Jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face.
"Good-by, Meggy; I hope the Kings won't train to-day. Don't fret about
father, dear," she added, as they parted.

"And I hope Aunt March won't croak. Your hair _is_ becoming, and it
looks very boyish and nice," returned Meg, trying not to smile at the
curly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders.

"That's my only comfort;" and, touching her hat _à la_ Laurie, away went
Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day.

News from their father comforted the girls very much; for, though
dangerously ill, the presence of the best and tenderest of nurses had
already done him good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and, as the
head of the family, Meg insisted on reading the despatches, which grew
more and more cheering as the week passed. At first, every one was eager
to write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter-box
by one or other of the sisters, who felt rather important with their
Washington correspondence. As one of these packets contained
characteristic notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, and
read them:--

    "MY DEAREST MOTHER,--

    "It is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made
    us, for the news was so good we couldn't help laughing and
    crying over it. How very kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate
    that Mr. Laurence's business detains him near you so long,
    since he is so useful to you and father. The girls are all as
    good as gold. Jo helps me with the sewing, and insists on doing
    all sorts of hard jobs. I should be afraid she might overdo, if
    I didn't know that her 'moral fit' wouldn't last long. Beth is
    as regular about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what
    you told her. She grieves about father, and looks sober except
    when she is at her little piano. Amy minds me nicely, and I
    take great care of her. She does her own hair, and I am
    teaching her to make button-holes and mend her stockings. She
    tries very hard, and I know you will be pleased with her
    improvement when you come. Mr. Laurence watches over us like a
    motherly old hen, as Jo says; and Laurie is very kind and
    neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we get pretty blue
    sometimes, and feel like orphans, with you so far away. Hannah
    is a perfect saint; she does not scold at all, and always calls
    me Miss 'Margaret,' which is quite proper, you know, and treats
    me with respect. We are all well and busy; but we long, day
    and night, to have you back. Give my dearest love to father,
    and believe me, ever your own
                                                              "MEG."

This note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast to
the next, which was scribbled on a big sheet of thin foreign paper,
ornamented with blots and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed
letters:--

    "MY PRECIOUS MARMEE,--

    "Three cheers for dear father! Brooke was a trump to telegraph
    right off, and let us know the minute he was better. I rushed
    up garret when the letter came, and tried to thank God for
    being so good to us; but I could only cry, and say, 'I'm glad!
    I'm glad!' Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer? for I
    felt a great many in my heart. We have such funny times; and
    now I can enjoy them, for every one is so desperately good,
    it's like living in a nest of turtle-doves. You'd laugh to see
    Meg head the table and try to be motherish. She gets prettier
    every day, and I'm in love with her sometimes. The children are
    regular archangels, and I--well, I'm Jo, and never shall be
    anything else. Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a
    quarrel with Laurie. I freed my mind about a silly little
    thing, and he was offended. I was right, but didn't speak as I
    ought, and he marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till
    I begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't, and got mad. It lasted
    all day; I felt bad, and wanted you very much. Laurie and I are
    both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon; but I thought he'd come
    to it, for I _was_ in the right. He didn't come; and just at
    night I remembered what you said when Amy fell into the river.
    I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun
    set on _my_ anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I was sorry. I
    met him at the gate, coming for the same thing. We both
    laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and
    comfortable again.

    "I made a 'pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash; and,
    as father likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse
    him. Give him the lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself
    a dozen times for your
                                                   "TOPSY-TURVY JO."

                         "A SONG FROM THE SUDS.

        "Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
           While the white foam rises high;
         And sturdily wash and rinse and wring,
           And fasten the clothes to dry;
         Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
           Under the sunny sky.

        "I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls
           The stains of the week away,
         And let water and air by their magic make
           Ourselves as pure as they;
         Then on the earth there would be indeed
           A glorious washing-day!

        "Along the path of a useful life,
           Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
         The busy mind has no time to think
           Of sorrow or care or gloom;
         And anxious thoughts may be swept away,
           As we bravely wield a broom.

        "I am glad a task to me is given,
           To labor at day by day;
         For it brings me health and strength and hope,
           And I cheerfully learn to say,--
         'Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel,
           But, Hand, you shall work alway!'"

    "DEAR MOTHER,--

    "There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed
    pansies from the root I have been keeping safe in the house for
    father to see. I read every morning, try to be good all day,
    and sing myself to sleep with father's tune. I can't sing 'Land
    of the Leal' now; it makes me cry. Every one is very kind, and
    we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy wants the rest of
    the page, so I must stop. I didn't forget to cover the holders,
    and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day.

    "Kiss dear father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon
    to your loving
                                                      "LITTLE BETH."

                    [Illustration: I wind the clock]

    "MA CHERE MAMMA,--

    "We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate
    the girls--Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words
    and you can take the properest. Meg is a great comfort to me
    and lets me have jelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo
    says because it keeps me sweet tempered. Laurie is not as
    respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in my teens, he
    calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talking French to me
    very fast when I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie King does. The
    sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and Meg put in new
    ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than
    the dress. I felt bad but did not fret I bear my troubles well
    but I do wish Hannah would put more starch in my aprons and
    have buckwheats every day. Can't she? Didn't I make that
    interrigation point nice? Meg says my punchtuation and spelling
    are disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have so many
    things to do, I can't stop. Adieu, I send heaps of love to
    Papa.
                      "Your affectionate daughter,
                                                 "AMY CURTIS MARCH."

    "DEAR MIS MARCH,--

    "I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate. The girls is
    clever and fly round right smart. Miss Meg is going to make a
    proper good housekeeper; she hes the liking for it, and gits
    the hang of things surprisin quick. Jo doos beat all for goin
    ahead, but she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you never
    know where she's like to bring up. She done out a tub of
    clothes on Monday, but she starched 'em afore they was
    wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till I thought I should
    a died a laughin. Beth is the best of little creeters, and a
    sight of help to me, bein so forehanded and dependable. She
    tries to learn everything, and really goes to market beyond her
    years; likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful.
    We have got on very economical so fur; I don't let the girls
    hev coffee only once a week, accordin to your wish, and keep em
    on plain wholesome vittles. Amy does well about frettin, wearin
    her best clothes and eatin sweet stuff. Mr. Laurie is as full
    of didoes as usual, and turns the house upside down frequent;
    but he heartens up the girls, and so I let em hev full swing.
    The old gentleman sends heaps of things, and is rather wearin,
    but means wal, and it aint my place to say nothin. My bread is
    riz, so no more at this time. I send my duty to Mr. March, and
    hope he's seen the last of his Pewmonia.
                           "Yours Respectful,
                                                "HANNAH MULLET."

            [Illustration: Yours Respectful, Hannah Mullet]

    "HEAD NURSE OF WARD NO. 2,--

    "All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in fine condition,
    commissary department well conducted, the Home Guard under
    Colonel Teddy always on duty, Commander-in-chief General
    Laurence reviews the army daily, Quartermaster Mullett keeps
    order in camp, and Major Lion does picket duty at night. A
    salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt of good news
    from Washington, and a dress parade took place at
    head-quarters. Commander-in-chief sends best wishes, in which
    he is heartily joined by
                                                "COLONEL TEDDY."

    "DEAR MADAM,--

    "The little girls are all well; Beth and my boy report daily;
    Hannah is a model servant, and guards pretty Meg like a dragon.
    Glad the fine weather holds; pray make Brooke useful, and draw
    on me for funds if expenses exceed your estimate. Don't let
    your husband want anything. Thank God he is mending.
                   "Your sincere friend and servant,
                                               "JAMES LAURENCE."

                       [Illustration: Tail-piece]

 Letters The early morning finds the girls diligently reading their guidebooks, seeking comfort in their time of worry. The girls agree to say goodbye to Marmee cheerfully, and not add to her woes. She leaves them in Hannah's care and Mr. Laurence's protection. She encourages them to stay busy with work and not to grieve or fear too heavily, Mr. Brooke takes Mrs. March to the train station in a carriage, and the girls turn to their work. When they see that Marmee had mended their stockings before leaving, they all cry together at her thoughtfulness. Hannah treats them with coffee, and then the girls go off to their days, Meg at the Kings, Jo to Aunt March, and Beth and Amy to help Hannah at home. Mr. Brooke sends a telegraph as soon as they arrive in Washington, reporting that Mr. March is on the mend, and daily reports following. The girls are relieved that Father is mending, and all write of how Meg is acting as head of the house, Jo throwing herself haphazardly into work, Beth helping Hannah most with errands and chores, Amy staying sweet, Mr. Laurence sending over anything he can, and Laurie keeping everyone lively and as merry as possible

