Chapter: XX. CONFIDENTIAL




I don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the
mother and daughters; such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to
describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely
saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that Meg's
tender hope was realized; for when Beth woke from that long, healing
sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell _were_ the little rose
and mother's face. Too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled, and
nestled close into the loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry
longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the girls
waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin hand which
clung to hers even in sleep. Hannah had "dished up" an astonishing
breakfast for the traveller, finding it impossible to vent her
excitement in any other way; and Meg and Jo fed their mother like
dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account of
father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise to stay and nurse him, the delays
which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable
comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given her when she arrived, worn out
with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.

What a strange, yet pleasant day that was! so brilliant and gay without,
for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow; so quiet and
reposeful within, for every one slept, spent with watching, and a
Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah
mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off,
Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten
boats, safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave
Beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at,
touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered
treasure.

Laurie, meanwhile, posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well
that Aunt March actually "sniffed" herself, and never once said, "I told
you so." Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good
thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her
tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never
even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in
Laurie's opinion, that she behaved "like a capital little woman." Even
Polly seemed impressed, for he called her "good girl," blessed her
buttons, and begged her to "come and take a walk, dear," in his most
affable tone. She would very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright
wintry weather; but, discovering that Laurie was dropping with sleep in
spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest
on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time
about it; and, when she returned, he was stretched out, with both arms
under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the
curtains, and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity.

After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake till night,
and I'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectually roused by
Amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were a good
many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my
private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in her
mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and compensation
in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses. They were alone
together in the chapel, to which her mother did not object when its
purpose was explained to her.

"On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," looking from the dusty
rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its
garland of evergreen. "It is an excellent plan to have some place where
we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good
many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear them if we
ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is learning this?"

"Yes, mother; and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the big
closet to put my books, and the copy of that picture which I've tried to
make. The woman's face is not good,--it's too beautiful for me to
draw,--but the baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to
think He was a little child once, for then I don't seem so far away, and
that helps me."

As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ-child on his mother's knee, Mrs.
March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She said
nothing, but Amy understood the look, and, after a minute's pause, she
added gravely,--

"I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave me the
ring to-day; she called me to her and kissed me, and put it on my
finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep me
always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it's too
big. I'd like to wear them, mother; can I?"

"They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too young for such
ornaments, Amy," said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand, with
the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard,
formed of two tiny, golden hands clasped together.

"I'll try not to be vain," said Amy. "I don't think I like it only
because it's so pretty; but I want to wear it as the girl in the story
wore her bracelet, to remind me of something."

"Do you mean Aunt March?" asked her mother, laughing.

"No, to remind me not to be selfish." Amy looked so earnest and sincere
about it, that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to
the little plan.

"I've thought a great deal lately about my 'bundle of naughties,' and
being selfish is the largest one in it; so I'm going to try hard to cure
it, if I can. Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason every one loves
her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People wouldn't feel
half so bad about me if I was sick, and I don't deserve to have them;
but I'd like to be loved and missed by a great many friends, so I'm
going to try and be like Beth all I can. I'm apt to forget my
resolutions; but if I had something always about me to remind me, I
guess I should do better. May I try this way?"

"Yes; but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear your
ring, dear, and do your best; I think you will prosper, for the sincere
wish to be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up
your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again."

That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, to report the
traveller's safe arrival, Jo slipped up stairs into Beth's room, and,
finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her
fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look.

"What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a face
which invited confidence.

"I want to tell you something, mother."

"About Meg?"

"How quickly you guessed! Yes, it's about her, and though it's a little
thing, it fidgets me."

"Beth is asleep; speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn't
been here, I hope?" asked Mrs. March rather sharply.

"No, I should have shut the door in his face if he had," said Jo,
settling herself on the floor at her mother's feet. "Last summer Meg
left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences', and only one was returned.
We forgot all about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke had it. He
kept it in his waistcoat pocket, and once it fell out, and Teddy joked
him about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, but didn't dare
say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now, isn't it a _dread_ful
state of things?"

"Do you think Meg cares for him?" asked Mrs. March, with an anxious
look.

"Mercy me! I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!" cried
Jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. "In novels, the girls
show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and
acting like fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort: she eats
and drinks and sleeps, like a sensible creature: she looks straight in
my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when
Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to do it, but he doesn't mind me
as he ought."

"Then you fancy that Meg is _not_ interested in John?"

"Who?" cried Jo, staring.

"Mr. Brooke. I call him 'John' now; we fell into the way of doing so at
the hospital, and he likes it."

"Oh, dear! I know you'll take his part: he's been good to father, and
you won't send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean
thing! to go petting papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into
liking him;" and Jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful tweak.

"My dear, don't get angry about it, and I will tell you how it happened.
John went with me at Mr. Laurence's request, and was so devoted to poor
father that we couldn't help getting fond of him. He was perfectly open
and honorable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a
comfortable home before he asked her to marry him. He only wanted our
leave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love him
if he could. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse
to listen to him; but I will not consent to Meg's engaging herself so
young."

"Of course not; it would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief brewing;
I felt it; and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry
Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family."

This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile; but she said gravely, "Jo, I
confide in you, and don't wish you to say anything to Meg yet. When John
comes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of her feelings
toward him."

"She'll see his in those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then
it will be all up with her. She's got such a soft heart, it will melt
like butter in the sun if any one looks sentimentally at her. She read
the short reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched me
when I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and doesn't think John an ugly
name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and
fun, and cosy times together. I see it all! they'll go lovering around
the house, and we shall have to dodge; Meg will be absorbed, and no good
to me any more; Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carry her off,
and make a hole in the family; and I shall break my heart, and
everything will be abominably uncomfortable. Oh, dear me! why weren't we
all boys, then there wouldn't be any bother."

Jo leaned her chin on her knees, in a disconsolate attitude, and shook
her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up
with an air of relief.

"You don't like it, mother? I'm glad of it. Let's send him about his
business, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be happy together as we
always have been."

"I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to
homes of your own, in time; but I do want to keep my girls as long as I
can; and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only
seventeen, and it will be some years before John can make a home for
her. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind herself in
any way, nor be married, before twenty. If she and John love one
another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so. She is
conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly. My
pretty, tender-hearted girl! I hope things will go happily with her."

"Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" asked Jo, as her mother's
voice faltered a little over the last words.

"Money is a good and useful thing, Jo; and I hope my girls will never
feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much. I should
like to know that John was firmly established in some good business,
which gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and make
Meg comfortable. I'm not ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionable
position, or a great name for my girls. If rank and money come with
love and virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your
good fortune; but I know, by experience, how much genuine happiness can
be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and
some privations give sweetness to the few pleasures. I am content to see
Meg begin humbly, for, if I am not mistaken, she will be rich in the
possession of a good man's heart, and that is better than a fortune."

"I understand, mother, and quite agree; but I'm disappointed about Meg,
for I'd planned to have her marry Teddy by and by, and sit in the lap of
luxury all her days. Wouldn't it be nice?" asked Jo, looking up, with a
brighter face.

"He is younger than she, you know," began Mrs. March; but Jo broke in,--

"Only a little; he's old for his age, and tall; and can be quite
grown-up in his manners if he likes. Then he's rich and generous and
good, and loves us all; and _I_ say it's a pity my plan is spoilt."

"I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown up enough for Meg, and altogether too
much of a weathercock, just now, for any one to depend on. Don't make
plans, Jo; but let time and their own hearts mate your friends. We can't
meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get 'romantic
rubbish,' as you call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship."

"Well, I won't; but I hate to see things going all criss-cross and
getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten
it out. I wish wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from
growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats,--more's the
pity!"

"What's that about flat-irons and cats?" asked Meg, as she crept into
the room, with the finished letter in her hand.

"Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to bed; come, Peggy," said
Jo, unfolding herself, like an animated puzzle.

"Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love to
John," said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter, and gave it
back.

"Do you call him 'John'?" asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes
looking down into her mother's.

"Yes; he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him,"
replied Mrs. March, returning the look with a keen one.

"I'm glad of that, he is so lonely. Good-night, mother, dear. It is so
inexpressibly comfortable to have you here," was Meg's quiet answer.

The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one; and, as she went
away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, "She
does not love John yet, but will soon learn to."

                       [Illustration: Tail-piece]




                        [Illustration: Letters]

 Meg, Jo, and Beth have an emotional reunion with their mother. Mrs. March stays with Beth, holding her hand, overnight. In the morning, Hannah serves a fancy breakfast to celebrate Mrs. March's return. As they eat, Mrs. March tells Jo and Meg about their father's improving health and Mr. Brooke's kindness. The day progresses. Jo and Meg feel much better now that their mother is in charge. Mrs. March stays at Beth's bedside throughout the day. Laurie goes to Aunt March's to tell Amy that her mother has returned. As he is describing Beth's illness and the other events of the last day, he falls asleep on Aunt March's couch. Laurie is woken by the arrival of Mrs. March, who comes to see Amy. Amy is overjoyed to be reunited with her mother. Amy shows her mother the chapel that Esther helped her make. Her mother approves of it. Amy also shows her mother the turquoise ring, which she is now wearing - Aunt March gave it to her just recently. Her mother objects and says that she is too young for such fancy jewelry, and Amy explains that she also values the ring because it reminds her not to be selfish. Mrs. March returns home to look after Beth. While she is at Beth's bedside, Jo comes and tell her that John Brooke has kept one of Beth's gloves as a memento. Jo is outraged by this and wants her mother to stop him. Mrs. March asks Jo if she thinks Meg cares for John Brooke. Jo says that she doesn't know and isn't any good with romantic issues. Mrs. March tells Jo that, while she was in Washington, John Brooke confessed to her and Mr. March that he loved Meg, and asked for their permission to court her. They agreed, because they were impressed with his hard-working demeanor and his good morals. Jo says that she wishes she could marry Meg herself and keep the family together. Mrs. March makes Jo promise that she won't talk about this to Meg. Jo thinks back on some of the things Meg has said and realizes that Meg does seem to be falling in love with John Brooke. Jo feels frustrated by this. Mrs. March sighs and admits that she will miss Meg after she gets married and leaves the family. She says that she and Mr. March have agreed that Meg shouldn't get married before she's 20. Jo asks her mother if Meg should try to marry a rich man instead of John Brooke. Her mother says that wealth is valuable, but not as valuable as good character and happiness. Jo suggests that Meg should marry Laurie. Her mother doesn't think they are suited for each other. Meg comes in and interrupts the discussion. Jo goes to bed. Meg shows her mother a letter that she has written to her father. Mrs. March asks her to add a p.s. sending her love to John. Meg is innocently surprised and pleased to discover that her mother and John Brooke are on first-name terms! Meg kisses her mother and goes to bed. Mrs. March thinks to herself that Meg will soon be in love with John Brooke.

