The Little Women - Complete Collection: Little Women, Good Wives, Little Men & Jo's Boys (All 4 Books in One Edition). Луиза ÐœÑй Олкотт
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“Tell, then.”
Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo’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 Jo 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 Jo 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, Jo 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, then I could run for miles in this 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 Jo, dropping down under a maple tree, which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves.
Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundled up her braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again. But someone did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking particularly ladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had 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 Jo, sorting the rosy handful she had just swept up.
“And hairpins,” added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo’s lap. “They grow on this road, Meg, so do combs and brown straw hats.”
“You have been running, Jo. 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 you change all of a sudden. Let me be a little girl as long as I can.”
As she spoke, Jo 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 some time 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, all so fine?”
“At the Gardiners’, and Sallie 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?” said Laurie.
“I’m afraid I do.”
“I’m glad of it!” muttered Jo, 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 Jo, frowning at Laurie, who was mutely warning her to mind what she said.
“I shall never ‘go and marry’ anyone,” observed Meg, walking on with great dignity while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skipping stones, and ‘behaving like 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, Jo 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’ till the girls declared they had both lost their wits. On the second Saturday after Jo got out of the window, Meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by the sight of Laurie chasing Jo 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 never will 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 Jo’s having secrets with anyone but her.
“It’s very trying, but we never can make her comme la fo,” 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 Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected to read.
“Have you anything interesting there?” asked Meg, with condescension.
“Nothing but a story, won’t amount to much, I guess,” returned Jo, carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight.
“You’d better read it aloud. 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 Jo kept her face behind the sheet.
“The Rival Painters.”
“That sounds well. Read it,” said Meg.
With a loud “Hem!” and a long breath, Jo 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 Jo 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 Jo’s face.
The reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, displaying 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 Jo, I am so proud!” and Beth ran to hug her sister and exult over this splendid success.
Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure! How Meg wouldn’t