Louisa Alcott: LITTLE WOMEN: The Complete Series (All 4 Books in One Edition)

He that is low no pride.

He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much.

And, Lord! Contentment still I crave,

Because Thou savest such.

Fulness to them a burden is,

That go on pilgrimage.

Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best from age to age!”

Like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killed by kindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth’s sofa, with the other three close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then ‘to peek at the dear man’, nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness. But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke’s umbrella, which had been left in the hall. Meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when John’s name was mentioned. Amy said, “Everyone seemed waiting for something, and couldn’t settle down, which was queer, since Father was safe at home,” and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn’t run over as usual.

Laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down on one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon. And when Meg told him to behave himself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.

“What does the goose mean?” said Meg, laughing and trying to look unconscious.

“He’s showing you how your John will go on by-and-by. Touching, isn’t it?” answered Jo scornfully.

“Don’t say my John, it isn’t proper or true,” but Meg’s voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her. “Please don’t plague me, Jo, I’ve told you I don’t care much about him, and there isn’t to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before.”

“We can’t, for something has been said, and Laurie’s mischief has spoiled you for me. I see it, and so does Mother. You are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I don’t mean to plague you and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly,” said Jo pettishly.

“I can’t say anything till he speaks, and he won’t, because Father said I was too young,” began Meg, bending over her work with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point.

“If he did speak, you wouldn’t know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided no.”

“I’m not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, for I’ve planned it all, so I needn’t be taken unawares. There’s no knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared.”

Jo couldn’t help smiling at the important air which Meg had unconsciously assumed and which was as becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks.

“Would you mind telling me what you’d say?” asked Jo more respectfully.

“Not at all. You are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confident, and my experience will be useful to you by-and-by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this sort.”

“Don’t mean to have any. It’s fun to watch other people philander, but I should feel like a fool doing it myself,” said Jo, looking alarmed at the thought.

“I think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you.” Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight.

“I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man,” said Jo, rudely shortening her sister’s little reverie.

“Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, ‘Thank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with Father that I am too young to enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us be friends as we were.’”

“Hum, that’s stiff and cool enough! I don’t believe you’ll ever say it, and I know he won’t be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, you’ll give in, rather than hurt his feelings.”

“No, I won’t. I shall tell him I’ve made up my mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity.”

Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin to sew as fast as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time. Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which was anything but hospitable.

“Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella-that is, to see how your father finds himself today,” said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eyes went from one telltale face to the other.

“It’s very well, he’s in the rack. I’ll get him, and tell it you are here.” And having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle toward the door, murmuring:

“Mother will like to see you. Pray sit down, I’ll call her.”

“Don’t go. Are you afraid of me, Margaret?” and Mr. Brooke looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said gratefully:

“How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to Father? I only wish I could thank you for it.”

“Shall I tell you how?” asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the brown eyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen.

“Oh no, please don’t-I’d rather not,” she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial.

“I won’t trouble you. I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. I love you so much, dear,” added Mr. Brooke tenderly.

This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn’t make it. She forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, “I don’t know,” so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.

He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said in his most persuasive tone, “Will you try and find out? I want to know so much, for I can’t go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the end or not.”

“I’m too young,” faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it.

“I’ll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?”

“Not if I chose to learn it, but-“

“Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German,” broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it.