Little Women

by Issam Garrouri

  "There is some thing greater, I assume." And Mrs. March smoothed the tender cheek, which all at once grew rosy as Meg spoke back slowly...

  "Yes. It's very silly, however I need to inform it, due to the fact I hate to have people say and think such things about us and Laurie."

  Then she informed the numerous bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats', and as she spoke, Jo saw her mom fold her lips tightly, as if ill thrilled that such ideas must be positioned into Meg's harmless thoughts.

  "Well, if that isn't always the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried Jo indignantly. "Why failed to you come out and tell them so on the spot?"

  "I could not, it changed into so embarrassing for me. I could not assist listening to in the beginning, and then I become so indignant and ashamed, I did not keep in mind that I need to go away."

  "Just wait until I see Annie Moffat, and I'll display you a way to settle such ridiculous stuff. The concept of having 'plans' and being type to Laurie because he is wealthy and might marry us via-and-by using! Won't he shout when I tell him what the ones silly things say about us bad kids?" And Jo laughed, as if on second mind the thing struck her as an amazing comic story.

  "If you inform Laurie, I'll by no means forgive you! She shouldn't, ought to she, Mother?" said Meg, looking distressed.

  "No, by no means repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you could," stated Mrs. March gravely. "I turned into very unwise to allow you to move among humans of whom I recognize so little, kind, I dare say, however worldly, unwell-bred, and complete of those vulgar ideas about younger humans. I am more sorry than I can explicit for the mischief this visit can also have achieved you, Meg."

  "Don't be sorry, I may not allow it harm me. I'll overlook all of the awful and don't forget most effective the coolest, for I did experience a outstanding deal, and thanks very a good deal for letting me pass. I'll no longer be sentimental or disenchanted, Mother. I recognise I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you until I'm match to attend to myself. But it's miles satisfactory to be praised and famous, and I can't help pronouncing I like it," said Meg, searching 1/2 ashamed of the confession.

  "That is flawlessly natural, and pretty innocent, if the liking does not turn out to be a ardour and lead one to do silly or unmaidenly matters. Learn to know and value the praise that is really worth having, and to excite the admiration of tremendous humans with the aid of being modest in addition to pretty, Meg."

  Margaret sat questioning a second, while Jo stood along with her arms at the back of her, looking both fascinated and a little at a loss for words, for it become a brand new component to look Meg blushing and talking approximately admiration, fans, and matters of that type. And Jo felt as if all through that fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and changed into drifting far from her right into a world wherein she couldn't comply with.

  "Mother, do you've got 'plans', as Mrs. Moffat said?" requested Meg bashfully.

  "Yes, my dear, I have a amazing many, all mothers do, however mine range particularly from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I will let you know some of them, for the time has come while a phrase may additionally set this romantic little head and coronary heart of yours proper, on a totally critical challenge. You are younger, Meg, however not too young to understand me, and mothers' lips are the fittest to speak of such matters to women like you. Jo, your turn will are available time, perhaps, so concentrate to my 'plans' and assist me convey them out, if they may be desirable."

  Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, searching as though she concept they were about to sign up for in a few very solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, and looking the 2 young faces wistfully, Mrs. March stated, in her serious but cheery way...

  "I need my daughters to be stunning, performed, and excellent. To be trendy, loved, and respected. To have a glad children, to be well and accurately married, and to lead useful, nice lives, with as little care and sorrow to strive them as God sees suit to ship. To be cherished and selected by using a great guy is the satisfactory and sweetest factor that can manifest to a girl, and I virtually hope my girls might also understand this stunning revel in. It is natural to consider it, Meg, right to pray and look ahead to it, and smart to put together for it, so that after the happy time comes, you may experience equipped for the responsibilities and worthy of the pleasure. My dear girls, I am bold for you, however no longer to have you make a dash inside the world, marry wealthy men merely due to the fact they are wealthy, or have great homes, which are not houses because love is looking. Money is a requisite and treasured element, and while properly used, a noble aspect, but I in no way want you to assume it's far the first or simplest prize to attempt for. I'd instead see you terrible men's better halves, in case you have been glad, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, with out self-respect and peace."

  "Poor women do not stand any danger, Belle says, unless they put themselves ahead," sighed Meg.

  "Then we're going to be antique maids," stated Jo stoutly.

  "Right, Jo. Better be satisfied vintage maids than sad wives, or unmaidenly women, strolling approximately to discover husbands," stated Mrs. March decidedly. "Don't be troubled, Meg, poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the quality and most commemorated ladies I know were bad ladies, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be vintage maids. Leave these things to time. Make this home satisfied, in order that you'll be match for houses of your own, if they're provided you, and contented here if they're not. One issue recall, my ladies. Mother is continually prepared to be your confidant, Father to be your pal, and both of us wish and consider that our daughters, whether or not married or unmarried, could be the delight and comfort of our lives."

  "We will, Marmee, we are able to!" cried each, with all their hearts, as she bade them right night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE P.C. AND P.O.

  As spring got here on, a new set of amusements have become the fashion, and the lengthening days gave lengthy afternoons for work and play of all kinds. The garden needed to be placed in order, and each sister had 1 / 4 of the little plot to do what she preferred with. Hannah used to say, "I'd realize which every of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny," and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as tons as their characters. Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a touch orange tree in it. Jo's mattress changed into by no means alike two seasons, for she turned into constantly attempting experiments. This yr it was to be a plantation of solar plant life, the seeds of which joyful and aspiring plant were to feed Aunt Cockle-top and her circle of relatives of chicks. Beth had old fashioned aromatic vegetation in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, as an alternative small and earwiggy, but very quite to look at, with honeysuckle and morning-glories striking their colored horns and bells in swish wreaths throughout it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many amazing, picturesque vegetation as would consent to blossom there.

  Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts hired the high-quality days, and for rainy ones, they'd residence diversions, a few old, some new, all extra or much less unique. One of those was the 'P.C.', for as mystery societies were the style, it was notion proper to have one, and as all of the girls widespread Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick Club. With some interruptions, they'd stored this up for a 12 months, and met each Saturday evening in the big garret, on which events the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs had been arranged in a row before a table on which become a lamp, also four white badges, with a large 'P.C.' in extraordinary colours on every, and the weekly newspaper referred to as, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed something, even as Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, became the editor. At seven o'clock, the 4 members ascended to the clubroom, tied their badges spherical their heads, and took their seats with notable solemnity. Meg, because the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick, Jo, being of a
literary flip, Augustus Snodgrass, Beth, because she turned into round and rosy, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, who became continually seeking to do what she could not, changed into Nathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the president, examine the paper, which become full of authentic memories, poetry, local news, humorous classified ads, and pointers, in which they top-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and short comings. On one event, Mr. Pickwick put on a couple of spectacles with none glass, rapped upon the desk, hemmed, and having stared difficult at Mr. Snodgrass, who became tilting back in his chair, till he organized himself nicely, started out to read:

  _________________________________________________

  "THE PICKWICK PORTFOLIO"

  MAY 20, 18—

  POET'S CORNER

  ANNIVERSARY ODE

  Again we meet to have a good time

  With badge and solemn ceremony,

  Our fifty-2d anniversary,

  In Pickwick Hall, this night.

  We all are right here in perfect health,

  None gone from our small band:

  Again we see every famous face,

  And press each friendly hand.

  Our Pickwick, continually at his post,

  With reverence we greet,

  As, spectacles on nose, he reads

  Our well-filled weekly sheet.

  Although he suffers from a chilly,

  We joy to listen him communicate,

  For words of expertise from him fall,

  In spite of croak or squeak.

  Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on excessive,

  With elephantine grace,

  And beams upon the enterprise,

  With brown and jovial face.

  Poetic fireplace lighting up his eye,

  He struggles 'gainst his lot.

  Behold ambition on his brow,

  And on his nostril, a blot.

  Next our non violent Tupman comes,

  So rosy, plump, and sweet,

  Who chokes with laughter at the puns,

  And tumbles off his seat.

  Prim little Winkle too is here,

  With every hair in place,

  A version of propriety,

  Though he hates to clean his face.

  The year is long past, we still unite

  To shaggy dog story and laugh and examine,

  And tread the path of literature

  That doth to glory lead.

  Long may additionally our paper prosper properly,

  Our club unbroken be,

  And coming years their benefits pour

  On the beneficial, gay 'P. C.'.

  A. SNODGRASS

  ________

  THE MASKED MARRIAGE

  (A Tale Of Venice)

  Gondola after gondola swept as much as the marble

  steps, and left its cute load to swell the

  fantastic throng that filled the stately halls of Count

  Adelon. Knights and girls, elves and pages, monks

  and flower ladies, all mingled gaily in the dance.

  Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so

  with mirth and track the masquerade went on.

  "Has your Highness visible the Lady Viola this night?"

  asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who

  floated down the hall upon his arm.

  "Yes, is she no longer lovable, even though so sad! Her

  dress is well chosen, too, for in per week she weds

  Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates."

  "By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes,

  arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask.

  When that is off we shall see how he regards the

  fair maid whose coronary heart he can not win, though her

  stern father bestows her hand," lower back the troubadour.

  "Tis whispered that she loves the young English

  artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by means of the

  antique Count," stated the woman, as they joined the dance.

  The revel turned into at its peak when a priest

  regarded, and withdrawing the younger pair to an alcove,

  hung with crimson velvet, he motioned them to kneel.

  Instant silence fell at the gay throng, and not a

  sound, however the dash of fountains or the rustle of

  orange groves sleeping within the moonlight, broke the

  hush, as Count de Adelon spoke therefore:

  "My lords and women, pardon the ruse by using which

  I even have amassed you right here to witness the marriage of

  my daughter. Father, we wait your services."

  All eyes became in the direction of the bridal birthday party, and a

  murmur of amazement went through the throng, for

  neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity

  and wonder possessed all hearts, however recognize restricted

  all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the

  keen spectators collected spherical the count number, stressful

  an explanation.

  "Gladly could I deliver it if I may want to, however I only

  recognise that it changed into the whim of my timid Viola, and I

  yielded to it. Now, my youngsters, allow the play quit.

  Unmask and obtain my blessing."

  But neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom

  answered in a tone that startled all listeners

  as the masks fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand

  Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the

  breast where now flashed the megastar of an English earl

  changed into the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and splendor.

  "My lord, you scornfully bade me declare your

  daughter when I may want to boast as high a call and extensive a

  fortune because the Count Antonio. I can do more, for even

  your formidable soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux

  and De Vere, when he gives his historical call and boundless

  wealth in go back for the liked hand of this fair girl,

  now my spouse."

  The count number stood like one changed to stone, and

  turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with

  a homosexual smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I

  can handiest want that your wooing can also prosper as mine has

  completed, and that you could all win as fair a bride as I even have

  through this masked marriage."

  S. PICKWICK

  Why is the P. C. Just like the Tower of Babel?

  It is full of unruly individuals.

  ________

  THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH

  Once upon a time a farmer planted a touch seed

  in his garden, and after some time it sprouted and became

  a vine and bore many squashes. One day in October,

  when they were ripe, he picked one and took it

  to market. A grocerman offered and positioned it in his store.

  That identical morning, a touch female in a brown hat

  and blue dress, with a round face and snub nostril, went

  and bought it for her mother. She lugged it domestic, cut

  it up, and boiled it in the massive pot, mashed a number of it

  with salt and butter, for dinner. And to the rest she brought

  a pint of milk, eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg,

  and a few crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it

  until it was brown and fine, and next day it was eaten

  by using a circle of relatives named March.

  T. TUPMAN

  ________

  Mr. Pickwick, Sir:—

  I deal with you upon the problem of sin the sinner

  I imply is a person named Winkle who makes hassle in his

  club through guffawing and on occasion might not write his piece in
/>   this first-rate paper I wish you'll pardon his badness and

  allow him send a French fable because he can't write out

  of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains

  in destiny I will try to take time by means of the fetlock and

  put together a few work for you to be all commy l. A. Fo that

  way all right I am in haste as it's far nearly college

  time.

  Yours respectably,

  N. WINKLE

  [The above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past

  misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it

  would be well.]

  ________

  A SAD ACCIDENT

  On Friday closing, we had been startled by way of a violent surprise

  in our basement, followed with the aid of cries of misery.

  On speeding in a frame to the cellar, we determined our loved

  President prostrate upon the ground, having tripped and

  fallen at the same time as getting wood for home purposes. A perfect

  scene of destroy met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick

  had plunged his head and shoulders into a bathtub of water,

  upset a keg of tender soap upon his manly shape, and torn

  his clothes badly. On being eliminated from this perilous

  situation, it become found that he had suffered

  no injury but several bruises, and we're happy to feature,

  is now doing properly.