Like sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The invalids¹ improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk of returning early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats at first, and in time with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behind-hand. Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her for a daily airing about the house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burned her white hands cooking delicate messes for 'the dear', while Amy, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated² her return by giving away as many of her treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept.

 

As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly³ impossible or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had bonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way. After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered effectually quenched⁴ and went about with forlorn faces, which were rather belied⁵ by explosions of laughter when the two got together.

 

Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered⁶ in a splendid Christmas Day. Hannah 'felt in her bones' that it was going to be an unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. To begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them, then Beth felt uncommonly⁷ well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother's gift, a soft crimson⁸ merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to the window to behold⁹ the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had done their best to be worthy¹⁰ of the name, for like elves they had worked by night and conjured¹¹ up a comical surprise. Out in the garden stood a stately snow maiden¹², crowned with holly¹³, bearing a basket of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly¹⁴ shoulders, and a Christmas carol issuing from her lips on a pink paper streamer.

 

THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH

God bless you, dear Queen Bess!

May nothing you dismay,

But health and peace and happiness

Be yours, this Christmas day.

Here's fruit to feed our busy bee,

And flowers for her nose.

Here's music for her pianee,

An afghan for her toes,

A portrait of Joanna, see,

By Raphael No. 2,

Who laboured with great industry

To make it fair and true.

Accept a ribbon red, I beg,

For Madam Purrer's tail,

And ice cream made by lovely Peg¹⁵,

A Mont Blanc in a pail.

Their dearest love my makers¹⁶ laid

Within my breast of snow.

Accept it, and the Alpine¹⁷ maid,

From Laurie and from Jo.

How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presented them.

 

"I'm so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn't hold one drop more," said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the 'Jungfrau' had sent her.

 

"So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed¹⁹ the long-desired Undine and Sintram.

 

"I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the engraved²⁰ copy of the Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame.

 

"Of course I am!" cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first silk dress, for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it. "How can I be otherwise?" said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went from her husband's letter to Beth's smiling face, and her hand carressed the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut²¹ and dark brown hair, which the girls had just fastened on her breast.

 

Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful²² storybook fashion, and what a comfort it is. Half an hour after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor²³ door and popped his head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault and uttered an Indian war whoop²⁴, for his face was so full of suppressed excitement and his voice so treacherously²⁵ joyful²⁶ that everyone jumped up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "Here's another Christmas present for the March family."

 

Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled²⁷ up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something and couldn't. Of course there was a general stampede, and for several minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and no one said a word.

 

Mr. March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms. Jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored by Laurie in the china closet. Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely²⁸ by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained. And Amy, the dignified²⁹, tumbled over a stool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most touching³⁰ manner. Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, "Hush³¹! Remember Beth."

 

But it was too late. The study door flew open, the little red wrapper appeared on the threshold, joy put strength into the feeble limbs, and Beth ran straight into her father's arms. Never mind what happened just after that, for the full hearts overflowed³², washing away the bitterness of the past and leaving only the sweetness of the present.

 

It was not at all romantic, but a hearty³³ laugh set everybody straight again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing³⁴ over the fat turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the kitchen. As the laugh subsided³⁵, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenly remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and seizing Laurie, he precipitately³⁶ retired³⁷. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose¹⁸, which they did, by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard.

 

Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage of it, how devoted³⁸ Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just there, and after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking³⁹ the fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows⁴⁰, I leave you to imagine. Also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head and asked, rather abruptly⁴¹, if he wouldn't like to have something to eat. Jo saw and understood the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, "I hate estimable young men with brown eyes!"

 

There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat turkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned, and decorated. So was the plum pudding, which melted in one's mouth, likewise the jellies, in which Amy reveled like a fly in a honeypot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said, "For my mind was that flustered⁴², Mum, that it's a merrycle I didn't roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins⁴³, let alone bilin' of it in a cloth."

 

Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, at whom Jo glowered⁴⁴ darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy chairs stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank healths, told stories, sang songs, 'reminisced', as the old folks say, and had a thoroughly⁴⁵ good time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but the girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and as twilight⁴⁶ gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.

 

"Just a year ago we were groaning⁴⁷ over the dismal⁴⁸ Christmas we expected to have. Do you remember?" asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had followed a long conversation about many things.

 

"Rather a pleasant year on the whole!" said Meg, smiling at the fire, and congratulating herself on having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity.

 

"I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed Amy, watching the light shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.

 

"I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, who sat on her father's knee.

 

"Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially the latter part of it. But you have got on bravely, and I think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March, looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him.

 

"How do you know? Did Mother tell you?" asked Jo.

 

"Not much. Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several discoveries today."

 

"Oh, tell us what they are!" cried Meg, who sat beside him.

 

"Here is one." And taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, he pointed⁴⁹ to the roughened forefinger⁵⁰, a burn on the back, and two or three little hard spots on the palm. "I remember a time when this hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now, for in this seeming blemishes⁵¹ I read a little history. A burnt offering has been made to vanity, this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters⁵², and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked⁵³ fingers will last a long time, so much good will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments⁵⁴. I'm proud to shake this good, industrious⁵⁵ little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away."

 

If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor⁵⁶, she received it in the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he gave her.

 

"What about Jo? Please say something nice, for she has tried so hard and been so very, very good to me," said Beth in her father's ear.

 

He laughed and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with and unusually mild expression in her face.

 

"In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the 'son Jo' whom I left a year ago," said Mr. March. "I see a young lady who pins her collar straight, laces her boots neatly⁵⁷, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on the rug as she used to do. Her face is rather thin and pale just now, with watching and anxiety, but I like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower. She doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which delights me. I rather miss my wild girl, but if I get a strong, helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don't know whether the shearing⁵⁸ sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in all Washington I couldn't find anything beautiful enough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars my good girl sent me."

 

Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy⁵⁹ in the firelight as she received her father's praise, feeling that she did deserve a portion of it.

 

"Now, Beth," said Amy, longing⁶⁰ for her turn, but ready to wait.

 

"There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be," began their father cheerfully. But recollecting⁶¹ how nearly he had lost her, he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own, "I've got you safe, my Beth, and I'll keep you so, please God."

 

After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said, with a caress⁶² of the shining hair . . .

 

"I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place tonight, and has waited on every one with patience and good humor. I also observe that she does not fret⁶³ much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears, so I conclude that she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided⁶⁴ to try and mold her character as carefully as she molds her little clay figures. I am glad of this, for though I should be very proud of a graceful⁶⁵ statue made by her, I shall be infinitely⁶⁶ prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others."

 

"What are you thinking of, Beth?" asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her father and told about her ring.

 

"I read in Pilgrim's Progress today how, after many troubles, Christian⁶⁷ and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow where lilies bloomed all year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey's end," answered Beth, adding, as she slipped out of her father's arms and went to the instrument, "It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I'll try to sing the song of the shepherd boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for Father, because he likes the verses."

 

So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sang to her own accompaniment the quaint⁶⁸ hymn⁶⁹, which was a singularly fitting song for her.

 

He that is down need fear no fall,

He that is low no pride.

He that is humble⁷⁰ ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much.

And, Lord! Contentment still I crave⁷¹,

Because Thou savest such.

Fulness to them a burden is,

That go on pilgrimage.

Here little, and hereafter bliss⁷²,

Is best from age to age!

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