"Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packsand go on," sighed Meg the morning after the party, for nowthe holidays were over, the week of merrymaking did not fither for going on easily with the task she never liked.

"I wish it was Christmas or New Year's 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, and notwork. It's like other people, you know, and I always envygirls who do such things, I'm so fond of luxury," said Meg,trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the leastshabby.

"Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble butshoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully asMarmee does. I'm sure Aunt March is a regular Old Man ofthe Sea to me, but I suppose when I've learned to carry herwithout complaining, she will tumble off, or get so lightthat I shan't mind her."

This idea tickled Jo's fancy and put her in good spirits,but Meg didn't brighten, for her burden, consistingof four spoiled children, seemed heavier than ever.She had not heart enough even to make herself prettyas usual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressingher hair in the most becoming way.

"Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees mebut those cross midgets, and no one cares whether I'm prettyor not?" she muttered, shutting her drawer with a jerk. "Ishall have to toil and moil all my days, with only littlebits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and sour,because I'm poor and can't enjoy my life as other girls do.It's a shame!"

So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and wasn't atall agreeable at breakfast time. Everyone seemed rather outof sorts and inclined to croak.

Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfortherself with the cat and three kittens. Amy was frettingbecause her lessons were not learned, and she couldn'tfind her rubbers. Jo would whistle and make a great racketgetting ready.

Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter,which must go at once, and Hannah had the grumps, for beingup late didn't suit her.

"There never was such a cross family!" cried Jo, losingher temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken both bootlacings, and sat down upon her hat.

"You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, washingout the sum that was all wrong with the tears that hadfallen on her slate.

"Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellarI'll have them drowned," exclaimed Meg angrily as she triedto get rid of the kitten which had scrambled up her back andstuck like a burr just out of reach.

Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailedbecause she couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was.

"Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get thisoff by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with yourworry," cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoiled sentencein her letter.

There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in,laid two hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again.These turnovers were an institution, and the girls calledthem 'muffs', for they had no others and found the hotpies very comforting to their hands on cold mornings.

Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy orgrumpy she might be, for the walk was long and bleak.The poor things got no other lunch and were seldom homebefore two.

"Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy.Goodbye, Marmee. We are a set of rascals this morning, butwe'll come home regular angels. Now then, Meg!" And Jotramped away, feeling that the pilgrims were not setting outas they ought to do.

They always looked back before turning the corner, fortheir mother was always at the window to nod and smile, andwave her hand to them. Somehow it seemed as if they couldn'thave got through the day without that, for whatever theirmood might be, the last glimpse of that motherly face wassure to affect them like sunshine.

"If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her handto us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful wretchesthan we are were never seen," cried Jo, taking a remorsefulsatisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter wind.

"Don't use such dreadful expressions," replied Meg fromthe depths of the veil in which she had shrouded herselflike a nun sick of the world.

"I like good strong words that mean something," repliedJo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her headpreparatory to flying away altogether.

"Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither arascal nor a wretch and I don't choose to be called so."

"You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today becauseyou can't sit in the lap of luxury all the time. Poor dear,just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revelin carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers,and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with."

"How ridiculous you are, Jo!" But Meg laughed at thenonsense and felt better in spite of herself.

"Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs andtried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state.Thank goodness, I can always find something funny to keep meup. Don't croak any more, but come home jolly, there's a dear."

Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulderas they parted for the day, each going a different way, eachhugging her little warm turnover, and each trying to becheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, and theunsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth.

When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help anunfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowedto do something toward their own support, at least. Believingthat they could not begin too early to cultivate energy,industry, and independence, their parents consented, andboth fell to work with the hearty good will which in spiteof all obstacles is sure to succeed at last.

Margaret found a place as nursery governess and feltrich with her small salary. As she said, she was 'fond ofluxury', and her chief trouble was poverty. She found itharder to bear than the others because she could remember atime when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure,and want of any kind unknown. She tried not to be enviousor discontented, but it was very natural that the young girlshould long for pretty things, gay friends, accomplishments,and a happy life. At the Kings' she daily saw all she wanted,for the children's older sisters were just out, and Megcaught frequent glimpses of dainty ball dresses and bouquets,heard lively gossip about theaters, concerts, sleighing parties,and merrymakings of all kinds, and saw money lavishedon trifles which would have been so precious to her. PoorMeg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feelbitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learnedto know how rich she was in the blessings which alone canmake life happy.

Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and neededan active person to wait upon her. The childless old ladyhad offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came,and was much offended because her offer was declined. Otherfriends told the Marches that they had lost all chance ofbeing remembered in the rich old lady's will, but theunworldly Marches only said . . .

"We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Richor poor, we will keep together and be happy in one another."

The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but happeningto meet Jo at a friend's, something in her comical faceand blunt manners struck the old lady's fancy, and sheproposed to take her for a companion. This did not suit Joat all, but she accepted the place since nothing betterappeared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably wellwith her irascible relative. There was an occasional tempest,and once Jo marched home, declaring she couldn't bearit longer, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, andsent for her to come back again with such urgency that shecould not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked thepeppery old lady.

I suspect that the real attraction was a large libraryof fine books, which was left to dust and spiders sinceUncle March died. Jo remembered the kind old gentleman, whoused to let her build railroads and bridges with his bigdictionaries, tell her stories about queer pictures in hisLatin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever hemet her in the street. The dim, dusty room, with the bustsstaring down from the tall bookcases, the cozy chairs, theglobes, and best of all, the wilderness of books in whichshe could wander where she liked, made the library a regionof bliss to her.

The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy withcompany, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and curling herselfup in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history,travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm. But, likeall happiness, it did not last long, for as sure as she hadjust reached the heart of the story, the sweetest verse ofa song, or the most perilous adventure of her traveler, ashrill voice called, "Josy-phine! Josy-phine!" and she hadto leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the poodle, orread Belsham's Essays by the hour together.

Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. Whatit was, she had no idea as yet, but left it for time to tellher, and meanwhile, found her greatest affliction in thefact that she couldn't read, run, and ride as much as sheliked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spiritwere always getting her into scrapes, and her life was aseries of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic.But the training she received at Aunt March's was just whatshe needed, and the thought that she was doing something tosupport herself made her happy in spite of the perpetual"Josy-phine!"

Beth was too bashful to go to school. It had been tried,but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she didher lessons at home with her father. Even when he went away,and her mother was called to devote her skill and energy toSoldiers' Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herselfand did the best she could. She was a housewifely littlecreature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortablefor the workers, never thinking of any reward but to beloved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, forher little world was peopled with imaginary friends, and shewas by nature a busy bee. There were six dolls to be takenup and dressed every morning, for Beth was a child stilland loved her pets as well as ever. Not one whole orhandsome one among them, all were outcasts till Beth tookthem in, for when her sisters outgrew these idols, theypassed to her because Amy would have nothing old or ugly.Beth cherished them all the more tenderly for that veryreason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls. No pinswere ever stuck into their cotton vitals, no harsh words orblows were ever given them, no neglect ever saddened theheart of the most repulsive, but all were fed and clothed,nursed and caressed with an affection which never failed.One forlorn fragment of dollanity had belonged to Jo and,having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in the ragbag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Bethand taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, shetied on a neat little cap, and as both arms and legs weregone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in a blanketand devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid. If anyonehad known the care lavished on that dolly, I think itwould have touched their hearts, even while they laughed.She brought it bits of bouquets, she read to it, took itout to breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sangit lullabies and never went to bed without kissing its dirtyface and whispering tenderly, "I hope you'll have a goodnight, my poor dear."

Beth had her troubles as well as the others, and notbeing an angel but a very human little girl, she often 'wepta little weep' as Jo said, because she couldn't take musiclessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly,tried so hard to learn, and practiced away so patiently atthe jingling old instrument, that it did seem as if someone(not to hint Aunt March) ought to help her. Nobody did,however, and nobody saw Beth wipe the tears off the yellowkeys, that wouldn't keep in tune, when she was all alone.She sang like a little lark about her work, never was tootired for Marmee and the girls, and day after day saidhopefully to herself, "I know I'll get my music some time,if I'm good."

There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sittingin corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfullythat no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket onthe hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presencevanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.

If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of herlife was, she would have answered at once, "My nose." Whenshe was a baby, Jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod,and Amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose forever. Itwas not big nor red, like poor 'Petrea's', it was only ratherflat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it anaristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, and it wasdoing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of aGrecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to consoleherself.

"Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decidedtalent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copyingflowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queerspecimens of art. Her teachers complained that instead ofdoing her sums she covered her slate with animals, the blankpages of her atlas were used to copy maps on, and caricaturesof the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of allher books at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons aswell as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by beinga model of deportment. She was a great favorite with her mates,being good-tempered and possessing the happy art of pleasingwithout effort. Her little airs and graces were much admired,so were her accomplishments, for besides her drawing, she couldplay twelve tunes, crochet, and read French without mispronouncingmore than two-thirds of the words. She had a plaintiveway of saying, "When Papa was rich we did so-and-so," whichwas very touching, and her long words were considered 'perfectlyelegant' by the girls.

Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone pettedher, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely.One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities. She had to wearher cousin's clothes. Now Florence's mama hadn't a particle oftaste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead ofa blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did notfit. Everything was good, well made, and little worn, but Amy'sartistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, whenher school dress was a dull purple with yellow dots and notrimming.

"My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes,"is that Mother doesn't take tucks in my dresses whenever I'mnaughty, as Maria Parks's mother does. My dear, it's reallydreadful, for sometimes she is so bad her frock is up to herknees, and she can't come to school. When I think of thisdeggerredation, I fell that I can bear even my flat nose andpurple gown with yellow skyrockets on it."

Meg was Amy's confidant and monitor, and by some strangeattraction of opposites Jo was gentle Beth's. To Jo alone didthe shy child tell her thoughts, and over her big harum-scarumsister Beth unconsciously exercised more influence than anyonein the family. The two older girls were a great deal to oneanother, but each took one of the younger sisters into herkeeping and watched over her in her own way, 'playing mother'they called it, and put their sisters in the places ofdiscarded dolls with the maternal instinct of little women.

"Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a dismalday I'm really dying for some amusement," said Meg, as they satsewing together that evening.

"I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the bestof it, I'll tell you about it," began Jo, who dearly loved to tellstories. "I was reading that everlasting Belsham, and droningaway as I always do, for Aunt soon drops off, and then I take outsome nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up. I actuallymade myself sleepy, and before she began to nod, I gave such agape that she asked me what I meant by opening my mouth wideenough to take the whole book in at once."

"I wish I could, and be done with it," said I, trying not tobe saucy.

"'I don't understand what it's all about. Go back and beginit, child.'"

"Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever Icould. Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, andsay meekly, 'I'm afraid it tires you, ma'am. Shan't I stop now?'"

"She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of herhands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, and said, in hershort way, 'Finish the chapter, and don't be impertinent, miss'."

"Did she own she liked it?" asked Meg.

"Oh, bless you, no! But she let old Belsham rest, and when Iran back after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard atthe Vicar that she didn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hallbecause of the good time coming. What a pleasant life she might haveif only she chose! I don't envy her much, in spite of her money, forafter all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, Ithink," added Jo.

"That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got something to tell.It isn't funny, like Jo's story, but I thought about it a good dealas I came home. At the Kings' today I found everybody in a flurry,and one of the children said that her oldest brother had donesomething dreadful, and Papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. Kingcrying and Mr. King talking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turnedaway their faces when they passed me, so I shouldn't see how red andswollen their eyes were. I didn't ask any questions, of course, butI felt so sorry for them and was rather glad I hadn't any wildbrothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family."

"I think being disgraced in school is a great deal tryingerthan anything bad boys can do," said Amy, shaking her head, as ifher experience of life had been a deep one. "Susie Perkins cameto school today with a lovely red carnelian ring. I wanted itdreadfully, and wished I was her with all my might. Well, shedrew a picture of Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump,and the words, 'Young ladies, my eye is upon you!' coming out ofhis mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it when allof a sudden his eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring upher slate. She was parrylized with fright, but she went, and oh,what do you think he did? He took her by the ear - the ear! Justfancy how horrid! - and led her to the recitation platform, andmade her stand there half an hour, holding the slate so everyonecould see."

"Didn't the girls laugh at the picture?" asked Jo, whorelished the scrape.

"Laugh? Not one! They sat still as mice, and Susie criedquarts, I know she did. I didn't envy her then, for I felt thatmillions of carnelian rings wouldn't have made me happy after that.I never, never should have got over such a agonizing mortification."And Amy went on with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtueand the successful utterance of two long words in a breath.

"I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell itat dinner, but I forgot," said Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basketin order as she talked. "When I went to get some oysters for Hannah,Mr. Laurence was in the fish shop, but he didn't see me, for I keptbehind the fish barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter the fishman.A poor woman came in with a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if hewould let her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because shehadn't any dinner for her children, and had been disappointed of aday's work. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry and said 'No', rathercrossly, so she was going away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr.Laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane andheld it out to her. She was so glad and surprised she took itright into her arms, and thanked him over and over. He told her to'go along and cook it', and she hurried off, so happy! Wasn't itgood of him? Oh, she did look so funny, hugging the big, slipperyfish, and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed in heaven would be 'aisy'."

When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked their motherfor one, and after a moments thought, she said soberly, "As I satcutting out blue flannel jackets today at the rooms, I felt veryanxious about Father, and thought how lonely and helpless we shouldbe, if anything happened to him. It was not a wise thing to do,but I kept on worrying till an old man came in with an order for someclothes. He sat down near me, and I began to talk to him, for helooked poor and tired and anxious.

"'Have you sons in the army?' I asked, for the note he broughtwas not to me."

"Yes, ma'am. I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner,and I'm going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital.'he answered quietly."

"'You have done a great deal for your country, sir,' I said,feeling respect now, instead of pity."

"'Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am. I'd go myself, if I wasany use. As I ain't, I give my boys, and give 'em free.'"

"He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so gladto give his all, that I was ashamed of myself. I'd given one man andthought it too much, while he gave four without grudging them. I hadall my girls to comfort me at home, and his last son was waiting,miles away, to say good-by to him, perhaps! I felt so rich, so happythinking of my blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave himsome money, and thanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me."

"Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it, like this.I like to think about them afterward, if they are real and not toopreachy," said Jo, after a minute's silence.

Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories tothis little audience for many years, and knew how to please them.

"Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eatand drink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friendsand parents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented."(Here the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began tosew diligently.) "These girls were anxious to be good and made manyexcellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and wereconstantly saying, 'If only we had this,' or 'If we could only dothat,' quite forgetting how much they already had, and how manythings they actually could do. So they asked an old woman what spellthey could use to make them happy, and she said, 'When you feeldiscontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.'" (Here Jolooked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeingthat the story was not done yet.)

"Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soonwere surprised to see how well off they were. One discovered thatmoney couldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses,another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, withher youth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feebleold lady who couldn't enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeableas it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to go begging forit and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable asgood behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy theblessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest theyshould be taken away entirely, instead of increased, and I believethey were never disappointed or sorry that they took the old woman'sadvice."

"Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our ownstories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!"cried Meg.

"I like that kind of sermon. It's the sort Father used to tellus," said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo'scushion.

"I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall bemore careful than ever now, for I've had warning from Susie's downfall," said Amy morally.