Jack and Jill. Louisa May Alcott
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coast because he fancied it.
“She wouldn't! she's a dear! You needn't sniff at her because she is poor. She's ever so much brighter than you are, or she wouldn't always be at the head of your class, old Joe,” cried the girls, standing by their friend with a unanimity which proved what a favorite she was.
Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state permitted, and Merry Grant introduced a subject of general interest by asking abruptly,—
“Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?”
“All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tip-top time. We always do at the Minots',” cried Sue, the timid trembler.
“Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there would be enough for all to eat and some to carry away. They know how to do things handsomely;” and the speaker licked his lips, as if already tasting the feast in store for him.
“Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having,” said Molly Loo, coming up with Boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had none, and tried to care for the little brother with maternal love and patience.
“She is just as sweet as she can be!” declared Merry, enthusiastically.
“Especially when she has a candy-scrape,” said Joe, trying to be amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.
Whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell frolic, as the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as noses.
Down they went, one after another, on the various coasts,—solemn Frank, long Gus, gallant Ed, fly-away Molly Loo, pretty Laura and Lotty, grumpy Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking wildly behind her, gay Jack and gypsy Jill, always together,—one and all bubbling over with the innocent jollity born of healthful exercise. People passing in the road below looked up and smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter and cries of triumph as they flew by in every conceivable attitude; for the fun was at its height now, and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of pleasure as they looked, remembering their own young days.
“Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I wouldn't dare to do it, so I must,” commanded Jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge up hill. Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janey Pecq's spirit and fun.
“I guess I wouldn't. It is very bumpy and ends in a big drift; not half so nice as this one. Hop on and we'll have a good spin across the pond;” and Jack brought “Thunderbolt” round with a skilful swing and an engaging air that would have won obedience from anybody but wilful Jill.
“It is very nice, but I won't be told I don't 'dare' by any boy in the world. If you are afraid, I'll go alone.” And, before he could speak, she had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown herself upon the sled, and was off, helter-skelter, down the most dangerous coast on the hill-side.
She did not get far, however; for, starting in a hurry, she did not guide her steed with care, and the red charger landed her in the snow half-way down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to pick her up.
“If you will go, I'll take you down all right. I'm not afraid, for I've done it a dozen times with the other fellows; but we gave it up because it is short and bad,” he said, still good-natured, though a little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for Jack was as brave as a little lion, and with the best sort of bravery,—the courage to do right.
“So it is; but I must do it a few times, or Joe will plague me and spoil my fun to-night,” answered Jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing her blue hands, wet and cold with the snow.
“Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep them if they fit; I only carry them to please mother.” And Jack pulled out a pair of red mittens with the air of a boy used to giving away.
“They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must be too small for your paws, so I'll knit you a new pair for Christmas, and make you wear them, too,” said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of thanks, and ending her speech with a stamp of her rubber boots to enforce her threat.
Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot whence the three coasts diverged.
“Now, which will you have?” he asked, with a warning look in the honest blue eyes which often unconsciously controlled naughty Jill against her will.
“That one!” and the red mitten pointed firmly to the perilous path just tried.
“You will do it?”
“I will!”
“Come on, then, and hold tight.”
Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited without a word while Jill tucked herself up, then took his place in front, and off they went on the brief, breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence below.
“I don't see anything very awful in that. Come up and have another. Joe is watching us, and I'd like to show him that we aren't afraid of anything,” said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant boy, who had paused to watch the descent.
“It is a regular 'go-bang,' if that is what you like,” answered Jack, as they plowed their way up again.
“It is. You boys think girls like little mean coasts without any fun or danger in them, as if we couldn't be brave and strong as well as you. Give me three go-bangs and then we'll stop. My tumble doesn't count, so give me two more and then I'll be good.”
Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up with such a rosy, pleading face that Jack gave in at once, and down they went again, raising a cloud of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine style with their feet on the fence.
“It's just splendid! Now, one more!” cried Jill, excited by the cheers of a sleighing party passing below.
Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved to make the third “go” the crowning achievement of the afternoon, while Jill pranced after him as lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven-leagued ones, and chattering about the candy-scrape and whether there would be nuts or not.
So full were they of this important question, that they piled on hap-hazard, and started off still talking so busily that Jill forgot to hold tight and Jack to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape that never was to be! Alas, for poor “Thunderbolt” blindly setting forth on the last trip he ever made! And oh, alas, for Jack and Jill, who wilfully chose the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter! No one knew how it happened, but instead of landing in the drift, or at the fence, there was a great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy, sled, fence, earth, and snow, all about the road, two cries, and then silence.
“I knew they'd do it!” and, standing on the post where he had perched, Joe waved his arms and shouted: “Smash-up! Smash-up! Run! Run!” like a raven croaking over a battlefield when the fight was done.
Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or cry, as the case might be, for accidents will happen on the best-regulated coasting-grounds. They found Jack sitting up looking about him with a queer, dazed expression, while an ugly cut on the forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered the boys and frightened the girls half out of their wits.
“He's killed! He's killed!” wailed Sue, hiding her face and beginning to cry.
“No, I'm not. I'll be all right when I get my breath. Where's Jill?” asked Jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.
The group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was discovered lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half stunned. But no wounds appeared, and when asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort of way,—
“I guess not. Is Jack hurt?”
“Broken his head,” croaked Joe, stepping aside, that she might behold the fallen hero vainly