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      Publishing Director: Jennifer Newens

      Project Manager: Gabrielle Maudiere

      Design & Production: Rachel Lopez Metzger

      PUBLISHER’S NOTE

      Readers will notice some spelling and grammatical irregularities in this edition. This is because we’ve taken our text from the original edition published in two volumes in 1868 and 1869. Alcott strived to reproduce the actual speech of children, who often mispronounce words and don’t always speak in grammatical sentences. Little Amy is the worst offender, and her mistakes are usually italicized, but all the children take liberties with the language. However, when the novel was reprinted in 1880, as Elaine Showalter tells us in her introduction to the Penguin Classics edition (which likewise follows the first edition), “Alcott made a number of changes in the text, correcting grammatical errors and modifying her diction and some of her frank descriptions to suit her publisher’s expectations of polite ladylike prose.” It is this “ladylike” edition that is usually reprinted, but we believe in honoring an author’s original intentions, and prefer the unladylike daring of the first edition.

      Go then, my little Book, and show to all

      That entertain, and bid thee welcome shall,

      What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast;

      And wish that thou dost show them may be blest

      To them for good, may make them choose to be

      Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me.

      Tell them of Mercy; she is one

      Who early hath her pilgrimage begun.

      Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize

      The world which is to come, and so be wise;

      For little tripping maids may follow God

      Along the ways which saintly feet have trod.

      —Adapted from John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress

       Chapter 1

      PLAYING PILGRIMS

      “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

      “It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.

      “I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an injured sniff. “We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said Beth contentedly from her corner.

      The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.” She didn’t say “perhaps never,” but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was.

      Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, “You know the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can’t do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t.” And Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

      “But I don’t think the little we should spend would do any good. We’ve each got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself. I’ve wanted it so long,” said Jo, who was a bookworm.

      “I planned to spend mine in 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.

      “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 work hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.

      “I know I do—teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, 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 the window or cry?”

      “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 practice well at all.” And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.

      “I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” cried Amy, “for you don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don’t know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, 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.

      “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 could remember better times.

      “You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money.”

      “So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.”

      “Jo does use such slang words!” observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.

      Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle.

      “Don’t, Jo. It’s so boyish!”

      “That’s why I do it.”

      “I detest rude, unlady-like girls!”

      “I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!”

      “Birds in their little nests agree,” sang Beth, the peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the “pecking” ended for that time.

      “Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,” said Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn’t matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.”

      “I ain’t! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it in two tails till I’m twenty,” cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. “I hate to think I’ve got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long