Chapter: XII. CAMP LAURENCE.


                             


                 [Illustration: Beth was post-mistress]

Beth was post-mistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it
regularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door
and distributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands full,
and went about the house leaving letters and parcels, like the penny
post.

"Here's your posy, mother! Laurie never forgets that," she said, putting
the fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in "Marmee's corner," and was
kept supplied by the affectionate boy.

"Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove," continued Beth, delivering the
articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching wristbands.

"Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one," said Meg, looking
at the gray cotton glove.

"Didn't you drop the other in the garden?"

"No, I'm sure I didn't; for there was only one in the office."

"I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. My
letter is only a translation of the German song I wanted; I think Mr.
Brooke did it, for this isn't Laurie's writing."

Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham
morning-gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very
womanly, as she sat sewing at her little work-table, full of tidy white
rolls; so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as she sewed
and sung, while her fingers flew, and her thoughts were busied with
girlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that
Mrs. March smiled, and was satisfied.

"Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered
the whole post-office, stuck outside," said Beth, laughing, as she went
into the study, where Jo sat writing.

"What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished bigger hats were the
fashion, because I burn my face every hot day. He said, 'Why mind the
fashion? Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!' I said I would if I had
one, and he has sent me this, to try me. I'll wear it, for fun, and show
him I _don't_ care for the fashion;" and, hanging the antique broad-brim
on a bust of Plato, Jo read her letters.

One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said
to her,--

    "MY DEAR:

    "I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I
    watch your efforts to control your temper. You say nothing about
    your trials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no
    one sees them but the Friend whose help you daily ask, if I may
    trust the well-worn cover of your guide-book. _I_, too, have
    seen them all, and heartily believe in the sincerity of your
    resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on, dear,
    patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one
    sympathizes more tenderly with you than your loving

                                                           "MOTHER."

"That does me good! that's worth millions of money and pecks of praise.
O Marmee, I do try! I will keep on trying, and not get tired, since I
have you to help me."

Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happy
tears, for she _had_ thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts
to be good; and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging,
because unexpected, and from the person whose commendation she most
valued. Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon, she
pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she
be taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready
for either good or bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Laurie wrote,--

                "DEAR JO,
                 What ho!

    Some English girls and boys are coming to see me to-morrow and
    I want to have a jolly time. If it's fine, I'm going to pitch
    my tent in Longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and
    croquet,--have a fire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all
    sorts of larks. They are nice people, and like such things.
    Brooke will go, to keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughn will
    play propriety for the girls. I want you all to come; can't let
    Beth off, at any price, and nobody shall worry her. Don't
    bother about rations,--I'll see to that, and everything
    else,--only do come, there's a good fellow!

                "In a tearing hurry,
                 Yours ever, LAURIE."

"Here's richness!" cried Jo, flying in to tell the news to Meg.

"Of course we can go, mother? it will be such a help to Laurie, for I
can row, and Meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in some
way."

"I hope the Vaughns are not fine, grown-up people. Do you know anything
about them, Jo?" asked Meg.

"Only that there are four of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and
Frank (twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine or
ten. Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys; I fancied, from the
way he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, that he didn't admire
Kate much."

"I'm so glad my French print is clean; it's just the thing, and so
becoming!" observed Meg complacently. "Have you anything decent, Jo?"

"Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me. I shall row and
tramp about, so I don't want any starch to think of. You'll come,
Bethy?"

"If you won't let any of the boys talk to me."

"Not a boy!"

"I like to please Laurie; and I'm not afraid of Mr. Brooke, he is so
kind; but I don't want to play, or sing, or say anything. I'll work
hard, and not trouble any one; and you'll take care of me, Jo, so I'll
go."

"That's my good girl; you do try to fight off your shyness, and I love
you for it. Fighting faults isn't easy, as I know; and a cheery word
kind of gives a lift. Thank you, mother," and Jo gave the thin cheek a
grateful kiss, more precious to Mrs. March than if it had given back the
rosy roundness of her youth.

"I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I wanted to copy," said
Amy, showing her mail.

"And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me to come over and play to
him to-night, before the lamps are lighted, and I shall go," added Beth,
whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely.

"Now let's fly round, and do double duty to-day, so that we can play
to-morrow with free minds," said Jo, preparing to replace her pen with a
broom.

When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next morning, to promise
them a fine day, he saw a comical sight. Each had made such preparation
for the fête as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of
little curl-papers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her
afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to
atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by
putting a clothes-pin on her nose, to uplift the offending feature. It
was one of the kind artists use to hold the paper on their
drawing-boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the
purpose to which it was now put. This funny spectacle appeared to amuse
the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Jo woke up, and
roused all her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy's ornament.

  [Illustration: Amy capped the climax by putting a clothes-pin on her
                                 nose]

Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a
lively bustle began in both houses. Beth, who was ready first, kept
reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' toilets by
frequent telegrams from the window.

"There goes the man with the tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch
in a hamper and a great basket. Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the
sky, and the weathercock; I wish he would go, too. There's Laurie,
looking like a sailor,--nice boy! Oh, mercy me! here's a carriage full
of people--a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys. One is
lame; poor thing, he's got a crutch. Laurie didn't tell us that. Be
quick, girls! it's getting late. Why, there is Ned Moffat, I do declare.
Look, Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one day, when we were
shopping?"

"So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at the
Mountains. There is Sallie; I'm glad she got back in time. Am I all
right, Jo?" cried Meg, in a flutter.

"A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put your hat straight; it looks
sentimental tipped that way, and will fly off at the first puff. Now,
then, come on!"

"O Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat? It's too absurd! You
shall _not_ make a guy of yourself," remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down,
with a red ribbon, the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned Leghorn Laurie had
sent for a joke.

"I just will, though, for it's capital,--so shady, light, and big. It
will make fun; and I don't mind being a guy if I'm comfortable." With
that Jo marched straight away, and the rest followed,--a bright little
band of sisters, all looking their best, in summer suits, with happy
faces under the jaunty hat-brims.

Laurie ran to meet, and present them to his friends, in the most cordial
manner. The lawn was the reception-room, and for several minutes a
lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate,
though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would
do well to imitate; and she was much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances
that he came especially to see her. Jo understood why Laurie "primmed up
his mouth" when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a
stand-off-don't-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free
and easy demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observation of the
new boys, and decided that the lame one was not "dreadful," but gentle
and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account. Amy found
Grace a well-mannered, merry little person; and after staring dumbly at
one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good friends.

Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the
party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leaving
Mr. Laurence waving his hat on the shore. Laurie and Jo rowed one boat;
Mr. Brooke and Ned the other; while Fred Vaughn, the riotous twin, did
his best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like a disturbed
water-bug. Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of
general utility; it broke the ice in the beginning, by producing a
laugh; it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro, as she
rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, if a
shower came up, she said. Kate looked rather amazed at Jo's proceedings,
especially as she exclaimed "Christopher Columbus!" when she lost her
oar; and Laurie said, "My dear fellow, did I hurt you?" when he tripped
over her feet in taking his place. But after putting up her glass to
examine the queer girl several times, Miss Kate decided that she was
"odd, but rather clever," and smiled upon her from afar.

              [Illustration: Mr. Laurence waving his hat]

Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with the
rowers, who both admired the prospect, and feathered their oars with
uncommon "skill and dexterity." Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young
man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet
manners, and considered him a walking encyclopædia of useful knowledge.
He never talked to her much; but he looked at her a good deal, and she
felt sure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in
college, of course put on all the airs which Freshmen think it their
bounden duty to assume; he was not very wise, but very good-natured, and
altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic. Sallie Gardiner was
absorbed in keeping her white piqué dress clean, and chattering with the
ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks.

It was not far to Longmeadow; but the tent was pitched and the wickets
down by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field, with three
wide-spreading oaks in the middle, and a smooth strip of turf for
croquet.

"Welcome to Camp Laurence!" said the young host, as they landed, with
exclamations of delight.

"Brooke is commander-in-chief; I am commissary-general; the other
fellows are staff-officers; and you, ladies, are company. The tent is
for your especial benefit, and that oak is your drawing-room; this is
the mess-room, and the third is the camp-kitchen. Now, let's have a game
before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner."

Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by the
other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred; Laurie took Sallie,
Jo, and Ned. The Englishers played well; but the Americans played
better, and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the
spirit of '76 inspired them. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes, and
once narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket, and
had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was
close behind her, and his turn came before hers; he gave a stroke, his
ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was
very near; and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his
toe, which put it just an inch on the right side.

"I'm through! Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first," cried
the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow.

             [Illustration: Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you]

"You pushed it; I saw you; it's my turn now," said Jo sharply.

"Upon my word, I didn't move it; it rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is
allowed; so stand off, please, and let me have a go at the stake."

"We don't cheat in America, but you can, if you choose," said Jo
angrily.

"Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!"
returned Fred, croqueting her ball far away.

Jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time,
colored up to her forehead, and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket
with all her might, while Fred hit the stake, and declared himself out
with much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time
finding it, among the bushes; but she came back, looking cool and quiet,
and waited her turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the
place she had lost; and, when she got there, the other side had nearly
won, for Kate's ball was the last but one, and lay near the stake.

"By George, it's all up with us! Good-by, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, so
you are finished," cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see
the finish.

"Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies," said Jo, with
a look that made the lad redden, "especially when they beat them," she
added, as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever
stroke.

Laurie threw up his hat; then remembered that it wouldn't do to exult
over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of a cheer to
whisper to his friend,--

"Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him; we can't tell him so, but he
won't do it again, take my word for it."

Meg drew her aside, under pretence of pinning up a loose braid, and said
approvingly,--

"It was dreadfully provoking; but you kept your temper, and I'm so glad,
Jo."

"Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I should
certainly have boiled over if I hadn't stayed among the nettles till I
got my rage under enough to hold my tongue. It's simmering now, so I
hope he'll keep out of my way," returned Jo, biting her lips, as she
glowered at Fred from under her big hat.

"Time for lunch," said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch.
"Commissary-general, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss
March, Miss Sallie, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee?"

"Jo can," said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Jo, feeling that
her late lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside over
the coffee-pot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys
made a fire, and got water from a spring near by. Miss Kate sketched,
and Frank talked to Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes
to serve as plates.

The commander-in-chief and his aids soon spread the table-cloth with an
inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green
leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and every one settled
themselves to a hearty meal; for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise
develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was; for everything
seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled a
venerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing inequality in the
table, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates; acorns dropped
into the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without
being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree, to see
what was going on. Three white-headed children peeped over the fence,
and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river
with all his might and main.

        [Illustration: "A very merry lunch it was."--Page 156.]

"There's salt here, if you prefer it," said Laurie, as he handed Jo a
saucer of berries.

"Thank you, I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwary little
ones who had gone to a creamy death. "How dare you remind me of that
horrid dinner-party, when yours is so nice in every way?" added Jo,
as they both laughed, and ate out of one plate, the china having run
short.

"I had an uncommonly good time that day, and haven't got over it yet.
This is no credit to me, you know; I don't do anything; it's you and Meg
and Brooke who make it go, and I'm no end obliged to you. What shall we
do when we can't eat any more?" asked Laurie, feeling that his trump
card had been played when lunch was over.

"Have games, till it's cooler. I brought 'Authors,' and I dare say Miss
Kate knows something new and nice. Go and ask her; she's company, and
you ought to stay with her more."

"Aren't you company too? I thought she'd suit Brooke; but he keeps
talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous
glass of hers. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for
you can't do it, Jo."

Miss Kate did know several new games; and as the girls would not, and
the boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room
to play "Rigmarole."

"One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as
he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when
the next takes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done,
and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over.
Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a commanding air, which
surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other
gentleman.

Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke
obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed
upon the sunshiny river.

"Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune,
for he had nothing but his sword and his shield. He travelled a long
while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he
came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to any
one who would tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was
very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely; for
the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master,
though he was freakish and wild. Every day, when he gave his lessons to
this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through the city; and, as
he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had
seen many times in his dreams, but never found. One day, as he went
prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle
the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old
castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by
a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. The
knight wished intensely that he could free them; but he was poor, and
could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face, and longing to
see it out in the sunshine. At last, he resolved to get into the castle
and ask how he could help them. He went and knocked; the great door flew
open, and he beheld--"

          [Illustration: He went prancing down a quiet street]

"A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, 'At
last! at last!'" continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired
the style. "''Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an
ecstasy of joy. 'Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand of marble
fairness. 'Never! till you tell me how I may rescue you,' swore the
knight, still kneeling. 'Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here
till my tyrant is destroyed.' 'Where is the villain?' 'In the mauve
salon. Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.' 'I obey, and return
victorious or dead!' With these thrilling words he rushed away, and
flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he
received--"

                  [Illustration: "Oh, rise," she said]

"A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a
black gown fired at him," said Ned. "Instantly Sir What's-his-name
recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to
join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow; found the door
locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got half-way down when
the ladder broke, and he went head first into the moat, sixty feet
below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to
a little door guarded by two stout fellows; knocked their heads together
till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion of
his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone
steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and
spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss March. At the top
of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and
chilled his blood--"

       [Illustration: A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon]

"A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in its
wasted hand," went on Meg. "It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him
down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in armor
stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and
the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him, showing the
glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtained
door, behind which sounded lovely music; he sprang forward to enter, but
the spectre plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him a--"

"Snuff-box," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the
audience. "'Thankee,' said the knight politely, as he took a pinch, and
sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. 'Ha! ha!'
laughed the ghost; and having peeped through the key-hole at the
princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her
victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other
knights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who all rose
and began to--"

                       [Illustration: He sneezed]

"Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath; "and, as they
danced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail. 'Up
with the jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard a lee, and man the
guns!' roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a
flag black as ink flying from her foremast. 'Go in and win, my
hearties!' says the captain; and a tremendous fight begun. Of course the
British beat; they always do."

"No, they don't!" cried Jo, aside.

"Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the
schooner, whose decks were piled with dead, and whose lee-scuppers ran
blood, for the order had been 'Cutlasses, and die hard!' 'Bosen's mate,
take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if he don't
confess his sins double quick,' said the British captain. The Portuguese
held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars
cheered like mad. But the sly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war,
scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail set, 'To the bottom of
the sea, sea, sea,' where--"

            [Illustration: The Portuguese walked the plank]

"Oh, gracious! what _shall_ I say?" cried Sallie, as Fred ended his
rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together, pell-mell, nautical phrases
and facts, out of one of his favorite books. "Well they went to the
bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on
finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine,
hoping to discover the mystery about them; for, being a woman, she was
curious. By and by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, 'I'll give
you this box of pearls if you can take it up;' for she wanted to restore
the poor things to life, and couldn't raise the heavy load herself. So
the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed, on opening it, to
find no pearls. He left it in a great lonely field, where it was found
by a--"

"Little goose-girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field," said
Amy, when Sallie's invention gave out. "The little girl was sorry for
them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. 'Your
geese will tell you, they know everything,' said the old woman. So she
asked what she should use for new heads, since the old ones were lost,
and all the geese opened their hundred mouths and screamed--"

"'Cabbages!'" continued Laurie promptly. "'Just the thing,' said the
girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on,
the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way
rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other
heads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it. The
knight in whom I'm interested went back to find the pretty face, and
learned that the princesses had spun themselves free, and all gone to be
married, but one. He was in a great state of mind at that; and mounting
the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle
to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his
affections picking flowers in her garden. 'Will you give me a rose?'
said he. 'You must come and get it. I can't come to you; it isn't
proper,' said she, as sweet as honey. He tried to climb over the hedge,
but it seemed to grow higher and higher; then he tried to push through,
but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently
broke twig after twig, till he had made a little hole, through which he
peeped, saying imploringly, 'Let me in! let me in!' But the pretty
princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly,
and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will tell
you."

                [Illustration: Will you give me a rose?]

"I can't; I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at the
sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple.
Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep.

"So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?" asked
Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in
his button-hole.

"I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate, after a
while," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his
tutor.

"What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do
something quite clever. Do you know 'Truth'?" asked Sallie, after they
had laughed over their story.

"I hope so," said Meg soberly.

"The game, I mean?"

"What is it?" said Fred.

"Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and
the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any questions put
by the rest. It's great fun."

"Let's try it," said Jo, who liked new experiments.

Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo,
and Laurie piled and drew; and the lot fell to Laurie.

"Who are your heroes?" asked Jo.

"Grandfather and Napoleon."

"Which lady here do you think prettiest?" said Sallie.

"Margaret."

"Which do you like best?" from Fred.

"Jo, of course."

"What silly questions you ask!" and Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the
rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone.

"Try again; Truth isn't a bad game," said Fred.

"It's a very good one for you," retorted Jo, in a low voice.

Her turn came next.

"What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her the
virtue he lacked himself.

"A quick temper."

"What do you most wish for?" said Laurie.

"A pair of boot-lacings," returned Jo, guessing and defeating his
purpose.

"Not a true answer; you must say what you really do want most."

"Genius; don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?" and she slyly
smiled in his disappointed face.

"What virtues do you most admire in a man?" asked Sallie.

"Courage and honesty."

"Now my turn," said Fred, as his hand came last.

"Let's give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded, and asked at
once,--

"Didn't you cheat at croquet?"

"Well, yes, a little bit."

"Good! Didn't you take your story out of 'The Sea-Lion?'" said Laurie.

"Rather."

"Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?" asked
Sallie.

"I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't."

"He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance
without waiting to draw. I'll harrow up your feelings first, by asking
if you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo
nodded to Fred, as a sign that peace was declared.

"You impertinent boy! of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with an air
that proved the contrary.

"What do you hate most?" asked Fred.

"Spiders and rice-pudding."

"What do you like best?" asked Jo.

"Dancing and French gloves."

"Well, _I_ think Truth is a very silly play; let's have a sensible game
of Authors, to refresh our minds," proposed Jo.

Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, while it went on,
the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch
again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with
a book, which he did not read.

"How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled
admiration and regret in her voice.

"Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it,"
replied Miss Kate graciously.

"I haven't time."

"Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine; but I
proved to her that I had talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and
then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with
your governess?"

"I have none."

"I forgot; young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very
fine schools they are, too, papa says. You go to a private one, I
suppose?"

"I don't go at all; I am a governess myself."

"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Kate; but she might as well have said, "Dear me,
how dreadful!" for her tone implied it, and something in her face made
Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.

Mr. Brooke looked up, and said quickly, "Young ladies in America love
independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and
respected for supporting themselves."

"Oh, yes; of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have
many most respectable and worthy young women, who do the same and are
employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen,
they are both well-bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate, in
a patronizing tone, that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not
only more distasteful, but degrading.

"Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an
awkward pause.

"Oh, yes! it was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translated
it for me;" and Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke.

"Don't you read German?" asked Miss Kate, with a look of surprise.

"Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get on
very fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation."

"Try a little now; here is Schiller's 'Mary Stuart,' and a tutor who
loves to teach," and Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap, with an
inviting smile.

"It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the
presence of the accomplished young lady beside her.

"I'll read a bit to encourage you;" and Miss Kate read one of the most
beautiful passages, in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless
manner.

Mr. Brooke made no comment, as she returned the book to Meg, who said
innocently,--

"I thought it was poetry."

"Some of it is. Try this passage."

There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poor
Mary's lament.

Meg, obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used
to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of
the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the
page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the
beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of
tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown
eyes then, she would have stopped short; but she never looked up, and
the lesson was not spoiled for her.

"Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her
many mistakes, and looking as if he did, indeed, "love to teach."

Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little
tableau before her, shut her sketch-book, saying, with condescension,--

               [Illustration: Miss Kate put up her glass]

"You've a nice accent, and, in time, will be a clever reader. I advise
you to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I
must look after Grace, she is romping;" and Miss Kate strolled away,
adding to herself, with a shrug, "I didn't come to chaperone a
governess, though she _is_ young and pretty. What odd people these
Yankees are; I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoilt among them."

"I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses,
and don't treat them as we do," said Meg, looking after the retreating
figure with an annoyed expression.

"Tutors, also, have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my
sorrow. There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret;"
and Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful, that Meg was ashamed to
lament her hard lot.

"I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal
of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain; I only wish I
liked teaching as you do."

"I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry
to lose him next year," said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the
turf.

"Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked that question, but her
eyes added, "And what becomes of you?"

"Yes; it's high time he went, for he is ready; and as soon as he is off,
I shall turn soldier. I am needed."

"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Meg. "I should think every young man
would want to go; though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay
at home," she added sorrowfully.

"I have neither, and very few friends, to care whether I live or die,"
said Mr. Brooke, rather bitterly, as he absently put the dead rose in
the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave.

"Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all
be very sorry to have any harm happen to you," said Meg heartily.

"Thank you; that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful
again; but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old
horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the
young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day.

"Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting,
after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned.

"I dote upon it; my sister Meg used to ride when papa was rich, but we
don't keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree," added Amy, laughing.

"Tell me about Ellen Tree; is it a donkey?" asked Grace curiously.

                       [Illustration: Ellen Tree]

"Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses, and so am I, but we've only got
an old side-saddle, and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple-tree,
that has a nice low branch; so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins
on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we
like."

"How funny!" laughed Grace. "I have a pony at home, and ride nearly
every day in the park, with Fred and Kate; it's very nice, for my
friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen."

"Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day; but I'd rather
go to Rome than the Row," said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what
the Row was, and wouldn't have asked for the world.

Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were
saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as
he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical
gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author-cards, looked
up, and said, in her shy yet friendly way,--

"I'm afraid you are tired; can I do anything for you?"

"Talk to me, please; it's dull, sitting by myself," answered Frank, who
had evidently been used to being made much of at home.

If he had asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed
a more impossible task to bashful Beth; but there was no place to run
to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at
her, that she bravely resolved to try.

"What do you like to talk about?" she asked, fumbling over the cards,
and dropping half as she tried to tie them up.

"Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said
Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.

"My heart! what shall I do? I don't know anything about them," thought
Beth; and, forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said,
hoping to make him talk, "I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you
know all about it."

"I did once; but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a
confounded five-barred gate; so there are no more horses and hounds for
me," said Frank, with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her
innocent blunder.

"Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning
to the prairies for help, and feeling glad that she had read one of the
boys' books in which Jo delighted.

Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory; and, in her eagerness to
amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her
sisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking
away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged
protection.

"Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him," said Jo,
beaming at her from the croquet-ground.

"I always said she was a little saint," added Meg, as if there could be
no further doubt of it.

"I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long," said Grace to
Amy, as they sat discussing dolls, and making tea-sets out of the
acorn-cups.

"My sister Beth is a very _fastidious_ girl, when she likes to be," said
Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. She meant "fascinating," but as
Grace didn't know the exact meaning of either word, "fastidious" sounded
well, and made a good impression.

An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet,
finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed,
wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the
river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental,
warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain,--

        "Alone, alone, ah! woe, alone,"

and at the lines--

       "We each are young, we each have a heart,
        Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?"

he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed
outright and spoilt his song.

"How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a lively
chorus. "You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, and
now you snub me."

"I didn't mean to; but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it,"
replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach; for it was
quite true that she _had_ shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and
the talk after it.

Ned was offended, and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her
rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?"

"Not a particle; but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending her
friend even while confessing her short-comings.

"She's not a stricken deer, any way," said Ned, trying to be witty, and
succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do.

On the lawn, where it had gathered, the little party separated with
cordial good-nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada.
As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after
them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "In spite of
their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows
them."

"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke.

                       [Illustration: Tail-piece]




           [Illustration: Swinging to and fro in his hammock]

 Camp Laurence Beth's delivery of the post one summer day brings several things. Meg receives one glove and a poem translated from German by Mr. Brooke, which makes Mrs. March wonder about Mr. Brooke's intentions for Meg. Jo receives a note from her Mother admiring how she is working to master her temper, for which she is grateful. Finally, Laurie has sent an invitation for all the girls to spend the day boating and camping with some visiting friends from England, along with a large-brimmed hat. Beth promises to come, despite her shyness, and the girls prepare for the day, Jo wearing her floppy hat against Meg's wishes. The Vaughns, Kate, Fred, Frank, and Grace, are friendly though distinctly British. Kate is standoffish, Fred is a prankster, Frank is lame, and Grace gets on with Amy quite well. Ned Moffat also comes, wanting to see Meg, as does Mr. Brooke, Laurie's tutor, and Sallie Gardiner. Laurie's servants and housemen set up a great tent with food and games, and the party boats up the river and plays croquet. Both teams play well, teasing each other about Yankees and 1776, and Jo wins, despite Fred Vaughn cheating. Jo sees him and works very hard to control her temper, for which Meg and Laurie commend her. They help prepare lunch, then sit and play games. They begin with Rig-marole, a storytelling game, with Mr. Brooke starting a story about a young knight hoping for the hand of a poor princess, then the next person in line taking the story in a different direction, and so on. The next game is Truth, whereby Laurie and Jo make Fred confess that he cheated at croquet and that he thinks the English nation is perfect. While the others play Authors, Kate, Meg, and Mr. Brooke speak. Kate looks down on Meg for being a governess, but Mr. Brooke defends the independence of working men and women in America, and helps Meg read a German poem. It appears that Mr. Brooke is quite fond of Meg, but she has no idea. Ned Moffat makes his intentions more clear, but Meg avoids flirting, having learned from the gossip at the Moffats' party

