Sleep Story: Little Women Ch 14

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott Chapter 14 Secrets Joe was very busy in the garret,

For the October days began to grow chilly,

And the afternoons were short.

For two or three hours the sun lay warmly in the high window,

Showing Joe seated on the old sofa,

Writing busily,

With her papers spread out upon a trunk before her,

While scramble,

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,

Joe scribbled away till the last page was filled,

When she signed her name with a flourish,

And threw down her pen,

Exclaiming,

There!

I've done my best.

If this won't suit,

I shall have to wait till I can do better.

Lying back on the sofa,

She read the manuscript carefully through,

Making dashes here and there,

And putting in many exclamation points,

Which looked like little balloons.

Then she tied it up with a smart red ribbon,

And sat a minute looking at it with a sober,

Wistful expression,

Which plainly showed how earnest her work had been.

Joe's desk up here was an old tin kitchen,

Which hung against the wall.

In it she kept her papers,

And a few books,

Safely shut away from scrabble,

Who,

Being likewise of a literary turn,

Was fond of making a circulating library of such books as were left in his way by eating the leaves.

From this tin receptacle,

Joe produced another manuscript,

And putting both in her pocket,

Crept quietly downstairs,

Leaving her friends to nibble on her pens and taste her ink.

She put on her hat and jacket,

As noiselessly as possible,

And going to the back entry window,

Got out upon the roof of a low porch,

Swung herself down to the grassy bank,

And took a roundabout way to the road.

Once there she composed herself,

Hailed the passing omnibus,

And rolled away to town,

Looking very merry and mysterious.

If anyone had been watching her,

He would have thought her movements decidedly peculiar,

For on a lighting she went off at a great pace till she reached a certain number in a certain busy street.

Having found the place with some difficulty,

She went into the doorway,

Looked up the dirty stairs,

And after standing stuck still a minute,

Suddenly dived into the street,

And walked away as rapidly as she came.

This maneuver she repeated several times,

To the great amusement of a black-eyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a building opposite.

On returning for the third time,

Joe gave herself a shake,

Pulled her hat over her eyes,

And walked up the stairs,

Looking as if she were going to have all her teeth out.

There was a dentist sign,

Among others,

Which adorned the entrance,

And after staring a moment at the pair of artificial jaws,

Which slowly opened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth,

The young gentleman put on his coat,

Took his hat,

And went down to post himself in the opposite doorway,

Saying with a smile and a shiver,

It's like her to come alone,

But if she has a bad time she'll need someone to help her home.

In ten minutes,

Joe came running downstairs with a very red face,

And the general appearance of a person who had just passed through a trying ordeal of some sort.

When she saw the young gentleman she looked anything but pleased,

And passed him with a nod.

But he followed,

Asking with an air of sympathy,

Did you have a bad time?

Not very.

You got through quickly.

Yes,

Thank goodness.

Why did you go alone?

Didn't want anyone to know?

You're the oddest fellow I ever saw.

How many did you have out?

Joe looked at her friend as if she did not understand him,

Then began to laugh as if mightily amused at something.

There are two which I want to have come out,

But I must wait a week.

What are you laughing at?

You are up to some mischief,

Joe,

Said Lori,

Looking mystified.

So are you.

What were you doing,

Sir,

Up in that billiard saloon?

Begging your pardon,

Ma'am,

It wasn't a billiard saloon,

But a gymnasium,

And I was taking a lesson in fencing.

I'm glad of that.

Why?

You can teach me,

And then we can play Hamlet.

We'll make a fine thing of the fencing scene.

Lori burst out with a hearty boy's laugh,

Which made several passerbys smile in spite of themselves.

I'll teach you whether we play Hamlet or not.

It's grand fun,

And we'll straighten you up capitally.

But I don't believe that was your only reason for saying I'm glad in that decided way,

Was it now?

No,

I was glad that you are not in the saloon,

Because I hope you never go to such places,

Do you?

Not often.

I wish you wouldn't.

It's no harm,

Joe.

I have billiards at home,

But it's no fun unless you have good players.

So I'm fond of it.

I come sometimes and have a game with Ned Moffat or some of the other fellows.

Oh dear,

I'm so sorry,

For you'll get to liking it better and better,

And we'll waste time and money and grow like those dreadful boys.

I did hope you'd stay respectable and be a satisfaction to your friends,

Said Joe,

Shaking her head.

Can't a fellow take a little innocent amusement now and then without losing his respectability?

Asked Laurie,

Looking nettle.

That depends upon how and where he takes it.

I don't like Ned and his set,

And wish you'd keep out of it.

Mother won't let us have him at our house,

Though he wants to come over.

And if you grow like him,

She won't be willing to have us frolic together as we do now.

Won't she?

Asked Laurie anxiously.

No,

She can't bear fashionable young men,

And she'd shut us all up in ban boxes rather than us associate with them.

Well,

She needn't get out her ban boxes yet.

I'm not a fashionable party and don't mean to be,

But I do like harmless larks now and then,

Don't you?

Yes,

Nobody minds them,

So lark away,

But don't get wild,

Will you?

Or there will be an end of all of our good times.

I'll be a double distilled saint.

I can't bear saints,

Just be a simple,

Honest,

Respectable boy,

And we'll never desert you.

I don't know what I should do if you acted like Mr.

King's son.

He had plenty of money,

But didn't know how to spend it,

And got tipsy and gambled and ran away,

And forged his father's name,

I believe,

And it was altogether horrid.

You think I'm likely to do the same?

Much obliged.

No,

I don't.

Oh,

Dear no.

But I hear people talking about money being such a temptation,

And sometimes wish you were poor.

I shouldn't worry then.

Do you worry about me,

Joe?

A little,

When you look moody and discontented,

As you sometimes do,

For you've got such a strong will,

And if once you get started wrong,

I'm afraid it would be hard to stop you.

Laurie walked in silence a few minutes,

And Joe watched him,

Wishing she had held her tongue,

For his eyes looked angry,

Though his lips smiled as if at her warnings.

Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?

He asked presently.

Of course not,

Why?

Because if you are,

I'll take a bus,

And if you're not,

I'd like to walk with you and tell you something very interesting.

I won't preach any more,

And I'd like to hear the news immensely.

Very well then,

Come on.

It's a secret,

And if I tell you,

You must tell me yours.

I haven't got any,

Began Joe,

But suddenly stopped,

Remembering that she had.

You know you have,

You can't hide anything,

So up and fess or I won't tell,

Cried Laurie.

Is your secret a nice one?

Oh isn't it,

All about people you know and such fun.

You ought to hear it,

And I've been aching to tell it this long.

Come,

You begin.

You'll not say anything about it at home,

Will you?

Not a word.

And you won't tease me in private?

I never tease.

Yes you do,

You get everything you want out of people.

I don't know how you do it,

But you are a born weedler.

Thank you,

Fire away.

Well,

I've left two stories with a newspaper man,

And he's to give his answer next week,

Whispered Joe,

In her confidant's ear.

Hooray for Miss March the celebrated American authoress,

Cried Laurie,

Throwing up his hat and catching it again,

To the delight of two ducks,

Four cats,

Five hens,

And half a dozen Irish children,

For they were all out in the city now.

Hush,

It won't come to anything,

I dare say,

But I couldn't rest till I had tried,

And I said nothing about it because I didn't want anyone else to be disappointed.

It won't fail.

Why,

Joe,

Your stories are works of Shakespeare compared to half the rubbish that is published every day.

Won't it be fun to see them in print,

And shan't we feel proud of our authoress?

Joe's eyes sparkled,

For it always pleased her to be believed in,

And a friend's praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs.

Where's your secret?

Play fair,

Teddy,

Or I'll never believe you again,

She said,

Trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at the word of encouragement.

I may get the scrape for telling,

But I didn't promise not to,

So I will,

For I never feel easy in my mind till I've told you plummy bit of news I get.

I know where Meg's glove is.

Is that all?

Said Joe,

Looking disappointed,

As Laurie nodded and twinkled with a face full of mysterious intelligence.

It's quite enough for the present,

As you'll agree when I tell you where it is.

Tell then.

Laurie bent and whispered three words in Joe's ear,

Which produced a comical change.

She stood and stared at him for a minute,

Looking both surprised and displeased,

Then walked on saying sharply,

How do you know?

Saw it.

Where?

Pocket.

All this time?

Yes.

Isn't that romantic?

No,

It's horrid.

Don't you like it?

Of course I don't.

It's ridiculous.

It won't be allowed.

My patience.

What would Meg say?

You are not to tell anyone,

Mind that.

I didn't promise.

That was understood,

And I trusted you.

Well,

I won't for the present anyway,

But I'm disgusted and wish you hadn't told me.

I thought you'd be pleased.

At the idea of anybody coming to take Meg away?

No,

Thank you.

You'll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away.

I'd like to see anyone try it,

Cried Joe fiercely.

So should I.

And Laurie chuckled at the idea.

I don't think secrets agree with me.

I feel rumpled up in my mind since you told me that,

Said Joe rather ungratefully.

Race down this hill with me and you'll be all right,

Suggested Laurie.

No one was in sight.

The smooth road sloped invitingly before her,

And finding the temptation irresistible,

Joe darted away,

Soon leaving hat and comb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran.

Laurie reached the goal first and was quite satisfied with the success of his treatment,

For his Atlanta came panting up with flying hair,

Bright eyes,

Ruddy cheeks,

And no signs of dissatisfaction in her face.

I wish I was a horse that I could run for miles in the splendid air and not lose my breath.

It was capital,

But see what a guy it's made me.

Go pick up my things like a cherub,

As you are,

Said Joe,

Dropping down under a maple tree which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves.

Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property,

And Joe bundled up her braids,

Hoping no one would pass until she was tidy again.

But someone did pass by,

And who should it be but Meg,

Looking particularly ladylike in her state and festival suit,

For she'd been making calls.

What in the world are you doing here?

She asked,

Regarding her disheveled sister with well-bred surprise.

Getting leaves,

Meekly answered Joe,

Sorting the rosy handfuls she had just swept up.

And hairpins,

Added Laurie,

Throwing half a dozen into Joe's lap.

They grow on this road,

Meg,

So do combs and brown straw hats.

You have been running,

Joe.

How could you?

When will you stop such romping ways?

Said Meg reprovingly,

As she settled her cuffs and smoothed her hair,

With which the wind had taken liberties.

Never,

Till I'm stiff and old and have to use a crutch.

Don't try to make me grow up before my time,

Meg.

It's hard enough to have me charge all the sudden.

Let me be a little girl as long as I can.

As she spoke,

Joe bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of her lips,

For lately she had felt that Margaret was fast getting to be a woman.

And Laurie's secret made her dread the separation,

Which must surely come,

Sometime,

And now seemed very near.

He saw the trouble in her face and drew Meg's attention from it by asking quickly,

Where have you been calling?

Also fine.

At the gardener's,

And Sally has been telling me all about Belle Moffat's wedding.

It was very splendid,

And they have gone to spend the winter in Paris.

Just think how delightful that must be.

Do you envy her,

Meg?

Asked Laurie.

I'm afraid I do.

I'm glad of it,

Muttered Joe,

Tying on her hat with a jerk.

Why?

Asked Meg,

Looking surprised.

Because if you care much about riches,

You will never go and marry a poor man,

Said Joe,

Frowning at Laurie,

Who was mutely warning her to mind where she was.

I shall never go and marry anyone,

Observed Meg,

Walking with great dignity while the others followed,

Laughed,

Whispered,

Skipped stones,

And behaved like little children,

As Meg said to herself,

Though she might have been tempted to join them if she had not had her best dress on.

For a week or two,

Joe behaved so queerly that her sisters were quite bewildered.

She rushed to the door when the postman rang,

Was rude to Mr.

Brooke whenever they met,

Would sit looking at Meg with a woe-begone face,

Occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her in a very mysterious manner.

Laurie and she were always making signs to one another and talking about spread eagles,

To the girls to clear that they had both lost their wits.

On the second Saturday,

After Joe got out of the window,

Meg,

As she sat sewing at her window,

Was scandalized by the sight of Laurie chasing Joe all over the garden and finally capturing her in Amy's bower.

What went on there,

Meg could not see,

But shrieks of laughter were heard,

Followed by the murmur of voices and a great flapping of newspapers.

What shall we do with that girl?

She will never behave like a young lady,

Sighed Meg,

As she watched the race with a disapproving face.

I hope she won't.

She is so funny and dear as she is,

Said Beth,

Who had never betrayed that she was a little hurt at Joe's having secrets with anyone but her.

It's very trying,

But we never can make her comey le faux,

Added Amy,

Who sat making some new frills for herself,

With her curls tied up in a very becoming way,

Two agreeable things that made her feel unusually elegant and ladylike.

In a few minutes,

Joe bounced in,

Laid herself on the sofa,

And affected to read.

Have you anything interesting there?

Asked Meg,

With condensation.

Nothing but a story won't amount to much,

I guess,

Returned Joe,

Carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight.

You'd better read it out loud.

That will amuse us and keep you out of mischief,

Said Amy,

In her most grown-up tone.

What's the name?

Asked Beth,

Wondering why Joe kept her face behind the sheet.

The rival painters.

That sounds well.

Read it,

Said Meg.

With a loud ahem and a long breath,

Joe began to read very fast.

The girls listened with interest,

For the tale was romantic and somewhat pathetic,

As most of the characters died in the end.

I like that about the splendid picture,

Was Amy's approving remark,

As Joe paused.

I prefer the lovering part.

Viola and Angelo are two of our favorite names.

Isn't that queer?

Said Meg,

Wiping her eyes.

For the lovering part was tragical.

Who wrote it?

Asked Beth,

Who had caught a glimpse of Joe's face.

The readers suddenly sat up,

Cast away the paper,

Displayed a flushed countenance,

And with a funny mixture of solemnity and excitement,

Replied in a loud voice.

Your sister.

You?

Cried Meg,

Dropping her work.

It's very good,

Said Amy critically.

I knew it,

I knew it.

Oh my Joe,

I am so proud.

And Beth ran to hug her sister and exult over the splendid success.

Dear me,

How delighted they all were,

To be sure.

How Meg wouldn't believe it till she saw the words,

Miss Josephine March,

Actually printed in the paper.

How graciously Amy criticized the artistic parts of the story and offered hints for a sequel,

Which unfortunately couldn't be carried out,

As the hero and heroine were dead.

How Beth got excited and skipped in saying with joy.

How Hannah came in to exclaim,

Sakes alive,

Well I've never,

In a great astonishment,

At that Joe's doings.

How proud Miss March was when she knew it.

How Joe laughed with tears in her eyes,

As she declared she might as well be a peacock and done with it.

And how the spread eagle might be said to flap his wings triumphantly over the house of March,

As the paper passed from hand to hand.

Tell us about it,

When did it come?

How much did you get for it?

What will Father say?

Won't Lori laugh,

Cried the family,

All in one breath as they clustered about Joe,

For the foolish affectionate people made a jubilee of every little household joy.

Stop jabbering,

Girls,

And I'll tell you everything,

Said Joe,

Wondering if Miss Bernie felt any grander over her Evelina than she did over her rival painters.

Having told how she disposed of her tales,

Joe added,

And when I went to get my answer,

The man said he'd like them both,

But he didn't pay beginners,

Only let them print in his paper,

And get noticed with the stories.

It was good practice,

He said,

And when the beginners improved,

Anyone would pay.

So I let him have the two stories,

And today this was sent to me,

And Lori caught me with it and insisted on seeing it,

So I let him.

And he said it was good,

And I shall write more,

And he's going to get the next paid for,

And I'm so happy,

For in time I may be able to support myself and help the girls.

Joe's breath gave out here,

And wrapping her head in the paper,

She bedoed her little story with a few natural tears,

For to be independent and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearest wishes of her heart,

And this seemed to be the first step toward that happy ending.

And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.