I. PLAYING PILGRIMS. "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. "It's so dreadful be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff. "We've got father and mother and each other," said Beth contentedly, from her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly,— "We haven't got father, and shall not have ...Read More

II. A MERRY CHRISTMAS. Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother's promise, and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any pilgrim going ...Read More

III. THE LAURENCE BOY. "Jo! Jo! where are you?" cried Meg, at the foot of the garret stairs. "Here!" a husky voice from above; and, running up, Meg found her sister eating apples and crying over the "Heir of Redclyffe," wrapped up in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny window. This was Jo's favorite refuge; and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by, and didn't mind her a particle. As Meg appeared, Scrabble ...Read More

IV. BURDENS. "Oh dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on," sighed Meg, morning after the party; for, now the holidays were over, the week of merry-making did not fit her for going on easily with the task she never liked. "I wish it was Christmas or New-Year all the time; wouldn't it be fun?" answered Jo, yawning dismally. "We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home, and read and rest, ...Read More

V. BEING NEIGHBORLY. Being Neighborly "What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?" asked Meg, one afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other. "Going out for exercise," answered Jo, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It's cold and dull out; and I advise you to stay, warm and dry, by the fire, as I do," said Meg, with a shiver. "Never take ...Read More

VI. BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL. The big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some time all to get in, and Beth found it very hard to pass the lions. Old Mr. Laurence was the biggest one; but after he had called, said something funny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid Beth. The other lion was the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich; for this made them shy of accepting favors which they could not return. ...Read More

VII. AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. The Cyclops "That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy, one day, Laurie clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as he passed. "How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? and very handsome ones they are, too," cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend. "I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire up when I admire his riding." "Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she called him a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, ...Read More

VIII. JO MEETS APOLLYON. "Girls, where are you going?" asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and them getting ready to go out, with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity. "Never mind; little girls shouldn't ask questions," returned Jo sharply. Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings, when we are young, it is to be told that; and to be bidden to "run away, dear," is still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, ...Read More

IX. MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR. "I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that children should have the measles just now," said Meg, one April day, as she stood packing the "go abroady" trunk in her room, surrounded by her sisters. "And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied Jo, looking like a windmill, as she folded skirts with her long arms. "And such lovely weather; I'm so glad of that," added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her ...Read More

X. THE P. C. AND P. O. As spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, the lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, "I'd know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny;" and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree ...Read More

XI. EXPERIMENTS. "The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore to-morrow, and I'm free. Three months' 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 ...Read More

XII. CAMP LAURENCE. Beth was post-mistress Beth was post-mistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it 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 ...Read More

XIII. CASTLES IN THE AIR. Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock, one warm September afternoon, what his neighbors were about, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods; for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practising half the afternoon, frightened the maid-servants half out of their wits, by mischievously hinting that one of ...Read More

XIV. SECRETS. Jo was very busy in the garret, for the October days began to grow chilly, and the were short. For two or three hours the sun lay warmly in the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa, writing busily, with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her, while Scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of his whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, when she signed her name with ...Read More

XV. A TELEGRAM. November is the most disagreeable month in the year "November is the most disagreeable month in whole year," said Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the frost-bitten garden. "That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose. "If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month," said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even November. "I dare say; but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family," said Meg, who was out of sorts. ...Read More

XVI. LETTERS. In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp, and read their chapter with an earnestness felt before; for now the shadow of a real trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort; and, as they dressed, they agreed to say good-by cheerfully and hopefully, and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went down,—so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within. Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face looked ...Read More

XVII. LITTLE FAITHFUL. For a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have supplied the neighborhood. was really amazing, for every one seemed in a heavenly frame of mind, and self-denial was all the fashion. Relieved of their first anxiety about their father, the girls insensibly relaxed their praiseworthy efforts a little, and began to fall back into the old ways. They did not forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busy seemed to grow easier; and after such tremendous exertions, they felt that Endeavor deserved a holiday, and gave it a good many. Jo caught ...Read More

XVIII. DARK DAYS. Beth did have the fever Beth did have the fever, and was much sicker than any but Hannah and the doctor suspected. The girls knew nothing about illness, and Mr. Laurence was not allowed to see her, so Hannah had everything all her own way, and busy Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the excellent nurse. Meg stayed at home, lest she should infect the Kings, and kept house, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wrote letters in which no mention was made of Beth's illness. She could ...Read More

XIX. AMY'S WILL. While these things were happening at home, Amy was having hard times at Aunt March's. She her exile deeply, and, for the first time in her life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. Aunt March never petted any one; she did not approve of it; but she meant to be kind, for the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and Aunt March had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, though she didn't think proper to confess it. She really did her best to make Amy happy, ...Read More

XX. CONFIDENTIAL. I don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the mother and such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that Meg's tender hope was realized; for when Beth woke from that long, healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the little rose and mother's face. Too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled, and nestled close into the loving arms about ...Read More

XXI. LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE. Jo's face was a study next day, for the secret rather upon her, and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important. Meg observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask. She was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo assumed a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in her turn assumed an ...Read More

XXII. PLEASANT MEADOWS. Like sunshine after storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. began to talk of returning early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats, at first, and, in time, with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her a daily airing about the house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burnt her white hands cooking delicate messes for "the dear;" while Amy, ...Read More

XXIII. AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION. Popping in her head now and then Like bees swarming after their queen, 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 ...Read More

XXIV. GOSSIP. In order that we may start afresh, and go to Meg's wedding with free minds, it will well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches. And here let me premise, that if any of the elders think there is too much "lovering" in the story, as I fear they may (I'm not afraid the young folks will make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March, "What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young neighbor over the way?" The three years that have passed ...Read More

XXV. THE FIRST WEDDING. The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another what they had seen; for some peeped in at the dining-room windows, where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch, ...Read More

XXVI. ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS. It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious men and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at ...Read More

XXVII. LITERARY LESSONS. Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise. Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woollen ...Read More

XXVIII. DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES. Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with the determination to be a housekeeper. John should find home a paradise; he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one; for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a true Martha, cumbered with many cares. She was too tired, ...Read More

XXIX. CALLS. Calls "Come, Jo, it's time." "For what?" "You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you to make half a dozen calls with me to-day?" "I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don't think I ever was mad enough to say I'd make six calls in one day, when a single one upsets me for a week." "Yes, you did; it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors' visits." ...Read More

XXX. CONSEQUENCES. Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was considered a great honor by young ladies of the neighborhood to be invited to take a table, and every one was much interested in the matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her life, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on easily. The "haughty, uninteresting creature" was let severely alone; but Amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by the ...Read More

XXXI. OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT. "London. "Dearest People,— "Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, It's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here years ago, and won't go anywhere else; however, we don't mean to stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits out of my note-book, for I've done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started. "I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I got ...Read More

XXXII. TENDER TROUBLES. "Jo, I'm anxious about Beth." "Why, mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came." not her health that troubles me now; it's her spirits. I'm sure there is something on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is." "What makes you think so, mother?" "She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as she used. I found her crying over the babies the other day. When she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in her face ...Read More

XXXIII. JO'S JOURNAL. "New York, November. "Dear Marmee and Beth,— "I'm going to write you a regular volume, for got heaps to tell, though I'm not a fine young lady travelling on the continent. When I lost sight of father's dear old face, I felt a trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less, hadn't diverted my mind; for I amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths to roar. "Soon the sun came out, and ...Read More

XXXIV. A FRIEND. Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work earned her bread, and made it sweeter for the effort, Jo still found time for literary labors. The purpose which now took possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl; but the means she took to gain her end were not the best. She saw that money conferred power: money and power, therefore, she resolved to have; not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than self. The dream ...Read More

XXXV. HEARTACHE. Whatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purpose that year, for he graduated with and gave the Latin oration with the grace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes, so his friends said. They were all there, his grandfather,—oh, so proud!—Mr. and Mrs. March, John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over him with the sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, but fail to win from the world by any after-triumphs. "I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home early to-morrow; ...Read More

XXXVI. BETH'S SECRET. When Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change in Beth. No spoke of it or seemed aware of it, for it had come too gradually to startle those who saw her daily; but to eyes sharpened by absence, it was very plain; and a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she saw her sister's face. It was no paler and but little thinner than in the autumn; yet there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if the mortal was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining through ...Read More

XXXVII. NEW IMPRESSIONS. At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may be seen on Promenade des Anglais,—a charming place; for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange-orchards and the hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn; and, on a sunny day, the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, ...Read More

XXXVIII. ON THE SHELF. In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, "Vive la liberté" becomes their motto. In America, as every one knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their freedom with republican zest; but the young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir to the throne, and go into a seclusion almost as close as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet. Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is over, and most ...Read More

XXXIX. LAZY LAURENCE. Laurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month. He was tired wandering about alone, and Amy's familiar presence seemed to give a home-like charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore a part. He rather missed the "petting" he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again; for no attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amy never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him now, and quite clung to ...Read More

XL. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, and tried bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one. The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was gathered everything that she most loved,—flowers, pictures, her piano, the little work-table, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books found their way there, mother's ...Read More

XLI. LEARNING TO FORGET. Amy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till long men seldom do, for when women are the advisers, the lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded themselves that it is just what they intended to do; then they act upon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it; if it fails, they generously give her the whole. Laurie went back to his grandfather, and was so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the old gentleman declared the climate ...Read More

XLII. ALL ALONE. It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in another, and heart and were purified by a sweet example; but when the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then Jo found her promise very hard to keep. How could she "comfort father and mother," when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister; how could she "make the house cheerful," when all its light and warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the ...Read More

XLIII. SURPRISES. Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and thinking. was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk; no one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face looked tired, grave, and rather sad; for to-morrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twenty-five, and ...Read More

XLIV. MY LORD AND LADY. "Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour? The has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery, trying to find some things I want," said Laurie, coming in the next day to find Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made "the baby" again. "Certainly. Go, dear; I forget that you have any home but this," and Mrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding-ring, as if asking pardon for her maternal covetousness. "I shouldn't have come over if I could ...Read More

XLV. DAISY AND DEMI. I cannot feel that I have done my duty as humble historian of the March without devoting at least one chapter to the two most precious and important members of it. Daisy and Demi had now arrived at years of discretion; for in this fast age babies of three or four assert their rights, and get them, too, which is more than many of their elders do. If there ever were a pair of twins in danger of being utterly spoilt by adoration, it was these prattling Brookes. Of course they were the most remarkable ...Read More

XLVI. UNDER THE UMBRELLA. While Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, as they set their in order, and planned a blissful future, Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy roads and sodden fields. "I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I should give it up, just because I often happen to meet the Professor on his way out," said Jo to herself, after two or three encounters; for, though there were two paths to Meg's, whichever one she took she was sure to ...Read More

XLVII. HARVEST TIME. For a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, met occasionally, and such voluminous letters that the rise in the price of paper was accounted for, Laurie said. The second year began rather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and Aunt March died suddenly. But when their first sorrow was over,—for they loved the old lady in spite of her sharp tongue,—they found they had cause for rejoicing, for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of joyful things possible. "It's a fine old place, and will bring ...Read More