Chapter: XI. EXPERIMENTS.




"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore to-morrow, and I'm
free. Three months' vacation,--how I shall enjoy it!" exclaimed Meg,
coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual
state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made
lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.

"Aunt March went to-day, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo. "I was
mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her; if she had, I should have
felt as if I ought to do it; but Plumfield is about as gay as a
churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurry getting
the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I
was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and
sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from me. I quaked
till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for, as it
drove off, she popped out her head, saying, 'Josy-phine, won't you--?'
I didn't hear any more, for I basely turned and fled; I did actually
run, and whisked round the corner, where I felt safe."

"Poor old Jo! she came in looking as if bears were after her," said
Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air.

"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy, tasting
her mixture critically.

"She means _vampire_, not sea-weed; but it doesn't matter; it's too warm
to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured Jo.

"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing the subject,
with tact.

"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from the depths of
the rocking-chair. "I've been routed up early all winter, and had to
spend my days working for other people; so now I'm going to rest and
revel to my heart's content."

"No," said Jo; "that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid in a heap of
books, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in
the old apple-tree, when I'm not having l------"

"Don't say 'larks!'" implored Amy, as a return snub for the "samphire"
correction.

"I'll say 'nightingales,' then, with Laurie; that's proper and
appropriate, since he's a warbler."

"Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time,
and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed Amy.

"Well, I will, if mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs,
and my children need fitting up for the summer; they are dreadfully out
of order, and really suffering for clothes."

"May we, mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing, in
what they called "Marmee's corner."

"You may try your experiment for a week, and see how you like it. I
think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as
bad as all work and no play."

"Oh, dear, no! it will be delicious, I'm sure," said Meg complacently.

"I now propose a toast, as my 'friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp,' says.
Fun forever, and no grubbing!" cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the
lemonade went round.

They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the
rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o'clock; her
solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and
untidy; for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's
books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but "Marmee's
corner," which looked as usual; and there Meg sat, to "rest and read,"
which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get
with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river, with Laurie, and the
afternoon reading and crying over "The Wide, Wide World," up in the
apple-tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet,
where her family resided; but, getting tired before half done, she left
her establishment topsy-turvy, and went to her music, rejoicing that she
had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white
frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw, under the honeysuckles,
hoping some one would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no
one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her work
with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home
dripping.

                  [Illustration: Amy sat down to draw]

At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a
delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the
afternoon, and got a "sweet blue muslin," had discovered, after she had
cut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her
slightly cross. Jo had burnt the skin off her nose boating, and got a
raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion
of her closet, and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at
once; and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy
Brown's party was to be the next day; and now, like Flora McFlimsey, she
had "nothing to wear." But these were mere trifles; and they assured
their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled, said
nothing, and, with Hannah's help, did their neglected work, keeping home
pleasant, and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was
astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was
produced by the "resting and revelling" process. The days kept getting
longer and longer; the weather was unusually variable, and so were
tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed every one, and Satan found
plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury,
Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that
she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes, in her attempts to
furbish them up à la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was
sick of books; got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had a
quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished
she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was
constantly forgetting that it was to be _all play, and no work_, and
fell back into her old ways now and then; but something in the air
affected her, and, more than once, her tranquillity was much disturbed;
so much so, that, on one occasion, she actually shook poor dear Joanna,
and told her she was "a fright." Amy fared worst of all, for her
resources were small; and when her sisters left her to amuse and care
for herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self
a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairy-tales were childish, and
one couldn't draw all the time; tea-parties didn't amount to much,
neither did picnics, unless very well conducted. "If one could have a
fine house, full of nice girls, or go travelling, the summer would be
delightful; but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a
grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz," complained Miss
Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and _ennui_.

No one would own that they were tired of the experiment; but, by Friday
night, each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was
nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who
had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an
appropriate manner; so she gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls
enjoy the full effect of the play system.

When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen,
no breakfast in the dining-room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.

"Mercy on us! what _has_ happened?" cried Jo, staring about her in
dismay.

Meg ran upstairs, and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather
bewildered, and a little ashamed.

"Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay
quietly in her room all day, and let us do the best we can. It's a very
queer thing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself; but she
says it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble, but take
care of ourselves."

"That's easy enough, and I like the idea; I'm aching for something to
do--that is, some new amusement, you know," added Jo quickly.

In fact it _was_ an immense relief to them all to have a little work,
and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah's
saying, "Housekeeping ain't no joke." There was plenty of food in the
larder, and, while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast,
wondering, as they did so, why servants ever talked about hard work.

"I shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of
her, for she'd take care of herself," said Meg, who presided, and felt
quite matronly behind the teapot.

So a tray was fitted out before any one began, and taken up, with the
cook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelette
scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus; but Mrs. March
received her repast with thanks, and laughed heartily over it after Jo
was gone.

"Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid; but they
won't suffer, and it will do them good," she said, producing the more
palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of
the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt,--a motherly
little deception, for which they were grateful.

Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook
at her failures. "Never mind, I'll get the dinner, and be servant; you
be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," said
Jo, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs.

This obliging offer was gladly accepted; and Margaret retired to the
parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the
sofa, and shutting the blinds, to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with
perfect faith in her own powers, and a friendly desire to make up the
quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to
dinner.

"You'd better see what you have got before you think of having company,"
said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act.

"Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes; and I shall get some
asparagus, and a lobster, 'for a relish,' as Hannah says. We'll have
lettuce, and make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells. I'll
have blanc-mange and strawberries for dessert; and coffee, too, if you
want to be elegant."

"Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything but
gingerbread and molasses candy, fit to eat. I wash my hands of the
dinner-party; and, since you have asked Laurie on your own
responsibility, you may just take care of him."

"I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him, and help to the
pudding. You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?"
asked Jo, rather hurt.

"Yes; but I don't know much, except about bread, and a few trifles. You
had better ask mother's leave before you order anything," returned Meg
prudently.

"Of course I shall; I'm not a fool," and Jo went off in a huff at the
doubts expressed of her powers.

"Get what you like, and don't disturb me; I'm going out to dinner, and
can't worry about things at home," said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to
her. "I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation
to-day, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself."

The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably, and
reading, early in the morning, made Jo feel as if some natural
phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic
eruption would hardly have seemed stranger.

"Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, going down
stairs. "There's Beth crying; that's a sure sign that something is wrong
with this family. If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her."

Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to
find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with
his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for
want of which he had died.

"It's all my fault--I forgot him--there isn't a seed or a drop left. O
Pip! O Pip! how could I be so cruel to you?" cried Beth, taking the poor
thing in her hands, and trying to restore him.

                     [Illustration: O Pip! O Pip!]

Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him
stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino-box for a coffin.

"Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive," said Amy
hopefully.

"He's been starved, and he sha'n't be baked, now he's dead. I'll make
him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden; and I'll never have
another bird, never, my Pip! for I am too bad to own one," murmured
Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands.

"The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go. Now, don't
cry, Bethy; it's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has
had the worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box;
and, after the dinner-party, we'll have a nice little funeral," said Jo,
beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal.

Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which
was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron,
she fell to work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when
she discovered that the fire was out.

"Here's a sweet prospect!" muttered Jo, slamming the stove-door open,
and poking vigorously among the cinders.

Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the
water heated. The walk revived her spirits; and, flattering herself that
she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very
young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid
strawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived, and
the stove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had
worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and
forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, when
the door flew open, and a floury, crocky, flushed, and dishevelled
figure appeared, demanding tartly,--

"I say, isn't bread 'riz' enough when it runs over the pans?"

Sallie began to laugh; but Meg nodded, and lifted her eyebrows as high
as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish, and put the
sour bread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out,
after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word
of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding-sheet, while the dear
departed lay in state in the domino-box. A strange sense of helplessness
fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner; and
despair seized them, when, a few minutes later, Miss Crocker appeared,
and said she'd come to dinner. Now, this lady was a thin, yellow
spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything,
and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but had been taught
to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor, and had few
friends. So Meg gave her the easy-chair, and tried to entertain her,
while she asked questions, criticised everything, and told stories of
the people whom she knew.

Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which
Jo underwent that morning; and the dinner she served up became a
standing joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone,
and discovered that something more than energy and good-will is
necessary to make a cook. She boiled the asparagus for an hour, and was
grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever.
The bread burnt black; for the salad-dressing so aggravated her, that
she let everything else go till she had convinced herself that she could
not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but
she hammered and poked, till it was unshelled, and its meagre
proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce-leaves. The potatoes had to
be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at
last. The blanc-mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as
they looked, having been skilfully "deaconed."

"Well, they can eat beef, and bread and butter, if they are hungry; only
it's mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing,"
thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and
stood, hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread for
Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose
curious eyes would mark all failures, and whose tattling tongue would
report them far and wide.

Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after
another was tasted and left; while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed,
Miss Crocker pursed up her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all
his might, to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo's one strong
point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of
rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew
a long breath, as the pretty glass plates went round, and every one
looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream.
Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water
hastily. Jo, who had refused, thinking there might not be enough, for
they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he
was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his
mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of
delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her
napkin, and left the table precipitately.

              [Illustration: Miss Crocker made a wry face]

"Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Jo trembling.

"Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied Meg, with a
tragic gesture.

Jo uttered a groan, and fell back in her chair; remembering that she had
given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes
on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the
refrigerator. She turned scarlet, and was on the verge of crying, when
she met Laurie's eyes, which _would_ look merry in spite of his heroic
efforts; the comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she
laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So did every one else, even
"Croaker," as the girls called the old lady; and the unfortunate dinner
ended gayly, with bread and butter, olives and fun.

"I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober
ourselves with a funeral," said Jo, as they rose; and Miss Crocker made
ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's
dinner-table.

They did sober themselves, for Beth's sake; Laurie dug a grave under the
ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears, by his
tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of
violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph,
composed by Jo, while she struggled with the dinner:--

        "Here lies Pip March,
           Who died the 7th of June;
         Loved and lamented sore,
           And not forgotten soon."

At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcome
with emotion and lobster; but there was no place of repose, for the beds
were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up
pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the
remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon, and left them so
tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper.
Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour
cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came
home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the
afternoon; and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of
one part of the experiment.

Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a
scramble to get ready to see them; then tea must be got, errands done;
and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected till the last minute.
As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered in the porch
where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or
sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled.

"What a dreadful day this has been!" begun Jo, usually the first to
speak.

"It has seemed shorter than usual, but _so_ uncomfortable," said Meg.

"Not a bit like home," added Amy.

"It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," sighed Beth, glancing,
with full eyes, at the empty cage above her head.

"Here's mother, dear, and you shall have another bird to-morrow, if you
want it."

As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as
if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs.

"Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another
week of it?" she asked, as Beth nestled up to her, and the rest turned
toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun.

"I don't!" cried Jo decidedly.

"Nor I," echoed the others.

"You think, then, that it is better to have a few duties, and live a
little for others, do you?"

"Lounging and larking doesn't pay," observed Jo, shaking her head. "I'm
tired of it, and mean to go to work at something right off."

"Suppose you learn plain cooking; that's a useful accomplishment, which
no woman should be without," said Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly at the
recollection of Jo's dinner-party; for she had met Miss Crocker, and
heard her account of it.

"Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd get
on?" cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day.

"Yes; I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing
her share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on
pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable; so I
thought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when every
one thinks only of herself. Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help
one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it
comes, and to bear and forbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely
to us all?"

"We do, mother, we do!" cried the girls.

"Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again; for though
they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learn
to carry them. Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for every one; it
keeps us from _ennui_ and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and
gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or
fashion."

"We'll work like bees, and love it too; see if we don't!" said Jo. "I'll
learn plain cooking for my holiday task; and the next dinner-party I
have shall be a success."

"I'll make the set of shirts for father, instead of letting you do it,
Marmee. I can and I will, though I'm not fond of sewing; that will be
better than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as
they are," said Meg.

"I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my music
and dolls. I am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, not playing,"
was Beth's resolution; while Amy followed their example by heroically
declaring, "I shall learn to make button-holes, and attend to my parts
of speech."

"Very good! then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancy
that we shall not have to repeat it; only don't go to the other extreme,
and delve like slaves. Have regular hours for work and play; make each
day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of
time by employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will
bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of
poverty."

"We'll remember, mother!" and they did.

                  [Illustration: We'll work like bees]

 It is June 1, and all four sisters are ready for some summer vacation. The Kings, the family for whom Meg works as a governess, are going out of town, and so is Aunt March, so Jo and Meg are both free. Meg's plan for her vacation is to laze around and have some down time. Jo has a stack of books she wants to read. Beth and Amy are home-schooled, but they decide to take a break from their studies while Jo and Meg are on vacation. Beth wants to learn some new music and make clothes for her dolls. The girls ask their mother if it's OK for them to take a break from their daily duties and enjoy their summer vacation. Marmee tells them they can try it for a week as an experiment, but she thinks they'll get tired of all play and no work. The next day, the girls all do whatever they want instead of their chores and housework. Meg gets up late, reads and sits around, then goes shopping and wastes money. Beth plays with her doll collection and the clothes she makes for them, makes a big mess, and doesn't clean it up. Jo sits in a tree and reads and gives herself a headache. Amy goes for a walk to go sketching and gets soaked in the rain. In the evening, the girls agree that the day has been great, although it has felt really long. Nobody will admit to being bored or unhappy, and they tell their mother that the "experiment" is working well. Mrs. March smiles to herself and doesn't say anything. She and Hannah do the housework that the girls are neglecting, and she leaves the girls to learn their lesson on their own. The girls quickly get tired of doing "all play and no work." In fact, Beth keeps forgetting to be lazy and does some work, so she actually starts to feel better. But Jo reads until her eyes ache and fights with Laurie; Meg ends up ruining some of her best clothes by making little alterations to them and trying to make them fashionable; and Amy, left to herself, is bored and lonely. On Friday night, the girls are each secretly glad that the experiment is almost over. Mrs. March resolves to really give the girls a taste of their own medicine on the last day. She gives Hannah Saturday off. On Saturday morning, Mrs. March stays in her room and says that she is very tired. She leaves the girls to fend for themselves. The girls, who are used to relying on their mother for everything, are very surprised, but they're also relieved to have something to do. However, they quickly learn that the housekeeping is difficult and requires a lot of skills that they haven't mastered. The sisters make breakfast for their mother, but they're not very good cooks and they ruin almost everything. Mrs. March laughs to herself privately about their failure - she's already put aside a nicer breakfast for herself. Jo takes over the cooking from Meg. She decides to invite Laurie over for dinner to apologize for quarreling with him earlier in the week. Meg isn't sure that they're up to having company, but Jo is pretty confident that she can make the meal. She plans to have corned beef and potatoes, lobster and asparagus, salad, blancmange and strawberries, and coffee. It's not an ambitious menu or anything! Meg reminds Jo that the only things she knows how to make are gingerbread and molasses candy. Jo is hurt by Meg's lack of confidence. Jo asks for her mother's permission and input on the meal. Mrs. March tells her to do whatever she wants; she's planning to have dinner out with friends and to spend the day amusing herself, the way the girls have been doing. When Jo goes back downstairs, she finds Beth crying. Beth has forgotten to feed her pet canary, Pip, for several days, and the bird is dead! Jo tries to comfort Beth and says they'll have a funeral for Pip later. She leaves Meg and Amy to comfort Beth and goes back to the kitchen. Jo rekindles the fire in the oven, which has gone out. While the stove heats, she goes downtown and buys food. She's not very experienced at choosing it, so she gets things that aren't very good. When Jo gets home, she discovers that Meg has forgotten about some loaves of bread that were rising on the hearth. She storms into the parlor to ask Meg if the bread has risen enough, since it's running over the edges of the pans. Meg, who is entertaining her friend Sallie, is embarrassed when Jo comes in covered in flour. While Jo is doing the cooking, Mrs. March comes downstairs and checks on how everything is going. She comforts Beth a little bit, and then she leaves for the evening. The girls feel helpless without her. Just after Mrs. March leaves, Miss Crocker appears and says that she is coming to dinner. Miss Crocker is an old, unmarried friend of the family. They've been taught to be kind to her, but she's gossipy and rude. Meg entertains Miss Crocker while Jo tries to make the meal. Almost everything is ruined or spoiled in some way: the potatoes are underdone, the asparagus is overdone, the bread is burned, the blancmange is lumpy, and she doesn't know how to get the lobster meat out of the shell. Finally Jo serves the meal to her sisters, Laurie, and Miss Crocker. She feels embarrassed and disheartened and is worried about what they're going to think - and say! As each course goes around the table, the guests try it, and then leave it on their plates. Jo keeps blushing and feeling very embarrassed. Laurie tries to be very chatty and friendly to make everyone more comfortable. Finally, they reach the last part of the meal, which is strawberries and cream. Jo feels relieved because she thinks this at least will be OK, but then it turns out the cream is sour and she's sprinkled the fruit with salt instead of sugar! Jo is about to cry, but then she catches Laurie's eye, and they burst out laughing. Soon everyone is laughing, including sour Miss Crocker. The meal ends happily after all as they eat bread, butter, and olives. Miss Crocker goes home. The girls attend the "funeral" for Beth's canary, Pip. In the afternoon, the girls busy themselves by making the house nice. Beth feels calmer after making the beds; Meg and Jo clean up after the disastrous meal; and Laurie takes Amy out for a drive in his carriage to get her out of the way and cheer her up. When Mrs. March comes home, she finds that the girls have abandoned their "experiment" and decided to balance play with work after all. At the end of the day, the girls talk about what a bad day they've had and how much they missed their mother. Marmee comes in and talks to the girls about their day. They agree with her that it's better to have a few chores and tasks in order to contribute to a nice home for everyone, and that staying busy feels better anyway. Each of the girls resolves to focus on a specific task that is in front of her - Jo is going to learn basic cooking, Meg is going to make some new shirts for her father, Beth is going to work harder at her home-schooling lessons, and Amy says that she will learn the parts of speech and how to make buttonholes. Mrs. March says that she is satisfied now that the girls understand the value of work.

