Little women

Louisa May Alcott

• Editore: Mondadori
• Anno: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9788804750284
• eBook ISBN: 9788835717010

«I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy.»

XII

Camp Laurence

Beth was postmistress, 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 tiny white rolls; so unconscious of the thought in her mother’s mind as she sewed and sang, 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. Oh, 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 arm, Jo wet her little romance with a few happy tears, for she had thought 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 unawares, 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 tomorrow, 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, gipsy 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 anyone; 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 tonight 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 today, so that we can play tomorrow 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 clothespin on her nose, to uplift the offending feature. It was one of the kind artists used 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.

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. 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’s 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!”

“Oh, 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 standoff-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 before-hand, 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.

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 encyclopedia 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 the 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 messroom, 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 English pl...

Indice dei contenuti

• Copertina
• Frontespizio
• Little Women
• Preface
• I. Playing Pilgrims
• II. A Merry Christmas
• III. The Laurence Boy
• IV. Burdens
• V. Being Neighborly
• VI. Beth Finds the Palace Beautiful
• VII. Amy’s Valley of Humiliation
• VIII. Jo Meets Apollyon
• IX. Meg Goes to Vanity Fair
• X. The P.C. and P.O.
• XI. Experiments
• XII. Camp Laurence
• XIII. Castles in the Air
• XIV. Secrets
• XV. A Telegram
• XVI. Letters
• XVII. Little Faithful
• XVIII. Dark Days
• XIX. Amy’s Will
• XX. Confidential
• XXI. Laurie Makes Mischief, and Jo Makes Peace
• XXII. Pleasant Meadows
• XXIII. Aunt March Settles the Question
• Copyright