Jo's Boys (Little Women 3)

“Yet that is high art, child, and what we need for a time till we are ready for the masters. Cultivate that talent of yours. It is a special gift, this power to bring tears and smiles, and a sweeter task to touch the heart than to freeze the blood or fire the imagination. Tell your uncle he is right, and ask your aunt to try a play for you. I’ll come and see it when you are ready.”

“Will you? Oh! will you? We are going to have some at Christmas, with a nice part for me. A simple little thing, but I can do it, and should be so proud, so happy to have you there.”

Josie rose as she spoke, for a glance at the clock showed her that her call was a long one; and hard as it was to end this momentous interview, she felt that she must go. Catching up her hat she went to Miss Cameron, who stood looking at her so keenly that she felt as transparent as a pane of glass, and coloured prettily as she looked up, saying, with a grateful little tremor in her voice:

“I can never thank you for this hour and all you have told me. I shall do just what you advise, and mamma will be very glad to see me settled at my books again. I can study now with all my heart, because it is to help me on; and I won’t hope too much, but work and wait, and try to please you, as the only way to pay my debt.”

“That reminds me that I have not paid mine. Little friend, wear this for my sake. It is fit for a mermaid, and will remind you of your first dive. May the next bring up a better jewel, and leave no bitter water on your lips!”

As she spoke, Miss Cameron took from the lace at her throat a pretty pin of aquamarine, and fastened it like an order on Josie’s proud bosom; then lifting the happy little face, she kissed it very tenderly, and watched it go smiling away with eyes that seemed to see into a future full of the trials and the triumphs which she knew so well.

Bess expected to see Josie come flying in, all raptures and excitement, or drowned in tears of disappointment, but was surprised at the expression of calm content and resolution which she wore. Pride and satisfaction, and a new feeling of responsibility both sobered and sustained her, and she felt that any amount of dry study and long waiting would be bearable, if in the glorious future she could be an honour to her profession and a comrade to the new friend whom she already adored with girlish ardour.

She told her little story to a deeply interested audience, and all felt that Miss Cameron’s advice was good. Mrs Amy was relieved at the prospect of delay; for she did not want her niece to be an actress and hoped the fancy would die out.

Uncle Laurie was full of charming plans and prophecies and wrote one of his most delightful notes to thank their neighbour for her kindness; while Bess, who loved art of all kinds, fully sympathized with her cousin’s ambitious hopes, only wondering why she preferred to act out her visions rather than embody them in marble.

That first interview was not the last; for Miss Cameron was really interested, and had several memorable conversations with the Laurences, while the girls sat by, drinking in every word with the delight all artists feel in their own beautiful world, and learning to see how sacred good gifts are, how powerful, and how faithfully they should be used for high ends, each in its own place helping to educate, refine, and refresh.

Josie wrote reams to her mother; and when the visit ended rejoiced her heart by bringing her a somewhat changed little daughter, who fell to work at the once-detested books with a patient energy which surprised and pleased everyone. The right string had been touched, and even French exercises and piano practice became endurable, since accomplishments would be useful by and by; dress, manners, and habits were all interesting now, because “mind and body, heart and soul, must be cultivated”, and while training to become an “intelligent, graceful, healthy girl”, little Josie was unconsciously fitting herself to play her part well on whatever stage the great Manager might prepare for her.

CHAPTER 9

THE WORM TURNS

TWO VERY superior bicycles went twinkling up the road to Plumfield one September afternoon, bearing two brown and dusty riders evidently returning from a successful run, for though their legs might be a trifle weary, their faces beamed as they surveyed the world from their lofty perches with the air of calm content all wheelmen wear after they have learned to ride; before that happy period anguish of mind and body is the chief expression of the manly countenance.

“Go ahead and report, Tom; I’m due here. See you later,” said Demi, swinging himself down at the door of the Dovecote.

“Don’t peach, there’s a good fellow. Let me have it out with Mother Bhaer first,” returned Tom, wheeling in at the gate with a heavy sigh.

Demi laughed, and his comrade went slowly up the avenue, devoutly hoping that the coast was clear; for he was the bearer of tidings which would, he thought, convulse the entire family with astonishment and dismay.

To his great joy Mrs Jo was discovered alone in a grove of proof-sheets, which she dropped, to greet the returning wanderer cordially. But after the first glance she saw that something was the matter, recent events having made her unusually sharp-eyed and suspicious.

“What is it now, Tom?” she asked, as he subsided into an easy-chair with a curious expression of mingled fear, shame, amusement, and distress in his brick-red countenance.

“I’m in an awful scrape, ma’am.”

“Of course; I’m always prepared for scrapes when you appear. What is it? Run over some old lady who is going to law about it?” asked Mrs Jo cheerfully.

“Worse than that,” groaned Tom.

“Not poisoned some trusting soul who asked you to prescribe, I hope?”

“Worse than that.”

“You haven’t let Demi catch any horrid thing and left him behind, have you?”

“Worse even than that.”

“I give it up. Tell me quick; I hate to wait for bad news.”

Having got his listener sufficiently excited, Tom launched his thunderbolt in one brief sentence, and fell back to watch the effect.

“I’m engaged!”

Mrs Jo’s proof-sheets flew wildly about as she clasped her hands, exclaiming in dismay:

“If Nan has yielded, I’ll never forgive her!”

“She hasn’t; it’s another girl.”

Tom’s face was so funny as he said the words, that it was impossible to help laughing; for he looked both sheepish and pleased, besides very much perplexed and worried.

“I’m glad, very glad indeed! Don’t care who it is; and I hope you’ll be married soon. Now tell me all about it,” commanded Mrs Jo, so much relieved that she felt ready for anything.

“What will Nan say?” demanded Tom, rather taken aback at this view of his predicament.

“She will be rejoiced to get rid of the mosquito who has plagued her so long. Don’t worry about Nan. Who is this ‘other girl’?”

“Demi hasn’t written about her?”

“Only something about your upsetting a Miss West down at Quitno; I thought that was scrape enough.”