PREVIOUSLY: The girls complained about having no presents for Christmas this year, and dreamt of the things they would spend their imaginary dollars on.
“I planned to spend mine on new music,” said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth-brush and kettle-holder.
“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils; I really need them,” said Amy, decidedly, extending a trembling hand towards her nub-worn set.
“Mother didn’t say anything about our money, and she won’t wish us to give up everything. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little fun; I’m sure we grub hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels of her boots in a gentlemanly manner.
“I know I do, - teaching those dreadful children nearly all day, carrying all manner of illnesses, poxes, and sniffles, when I’m longing to enjoy myself at home,” began Meg, in the complaining tone again.
“You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. “How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you’re ready to fly out of the window or box her ears?”
“It’s naughty to fret,-- but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross; and my hands get so stiff, I can’t practise good a bit.” And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear at that time. Beth’s displeasure was infrequent, but when aroused, was miasmic. Her sisters cast sidelong glances at each other.
“If you mean libel I’d say so, and not talk about labels, as if pa was a pickle-bottle…”
“I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” hacked Amy; “for you don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don’t know your lessons, and dare you to such dangerous challenges and stunts, and laugh at your dresses, and say ‘climb into the maw, Amy, into the maw,” and label your father if he isn’t rich, and insult you when your nose isn’t nice.”
“If you mean libel I’d say so, and not talk about labels, as if pa was a pickle-bottle,” advised Jo, laughing.
“I know what I mean, and you needn’t be ‘statirical’ about it. It’s proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,” returned Amy, with dignity as she cradled her maw bites.
“Don’t peck at one another, children. Don’t you wish we had the money papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me, how happy and good we’d be, if we had no worries,” said Meg, who - in the infrequent moments when her mind was clear- could remember better times.
“You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the King1 children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money.”
“So I did, Beth. Well, I guess we are; for though we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say,” Meg sighed, her eyesight briefly closing to a pinpoint. She pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger, and returned to herself with a jolt.
1 You’re welcome to forget about these anecdotal children.
Happy day-after-Christmas, everyone! May your weekend be as wonderful as you wish it to be ❤ ❤ ❤
MOTHER and FATHER have now been added to the Official Death Poll!
Your Weekly Death Poll Standings
MEG. GET UP, MEG! GET UP!!