CHAPTER ONE

Christmas Gifts

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," complained Jo.

"It's so terrible to be poor!" cried Meg, looking down at her old dress.

"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have pretty things, while other girls nothing at all," added little Amy.

"We've got Father and Mother and each other," said Beth, sounding content.

"But we haven't got Father. He's still away fighting in the war, and he won't be home for a long time," said Jo sadly.

Nobody spoke for a minute, each thinking of their father, far away where the fighting was; then Meg spoke with more cheerfulness.

"You know the reason why Mother suggested we not have any presents this Christmas was that it is going to be a difficult winter for everyone, and we shouldn't spend money for pleasure when our men are suffering in the army."

"But Mother gave us each a dollar to spend to ourselves. I don't think the army would be much helped by our giving that. I agreed not to expect any presents from Mother or you, but I do want to buy a few books I've been wishing for. 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.

"I know I do—teaching those tiresome children all day, while I'm thinking of enjoying myself," began Meg.

"You don't have such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you like to be forced to remain with a nervous, angry, old lady, who is never satisfied with anything!"

"I do think that washing dishes and keeping things clean is the worst work in the world. It upsets me, and hurts my hands so I can't play my piano well at all," complained Beth.

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for you don't have to go to school with rude girls, who laugh at your dresses and call you poor because your father isn't rich like theirs."

"Oh, don't you wish we had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? How happy and good we'd be if we had no worries!" exclaimed Meg, who could remember better times.

"You said the other day you thought we were a great deal happier than many of our rich neighbors' children, who are always fighting with one another," responded Beth.

"Yes, I did, Beth. Well, I think we are, though we do have to work, we are cheerful about it."

As young readers like to know "how people look," we will take this moment to give them a little picture of the four sisters who sat together by the fire, while the December snow fell quietly outside. It was a comfortable old room, though the furniture was very plain. A few good pictures hung on the walls and books filled the shelves.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being fair with large eyes and soft, brown hair. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown. She had sharp gray eyes, which appeared to see everything. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually tied back to be out of her way. Jo also had the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly approaching womanhood and didn't like it Elizabeth—or Beth, as everyone called her—was a shy, peaceful girl of thirteen with smooth hair and bright eyes. Sweet Beth seemed to live happily in a world of her own. Amy, though the youngest, was the most important person—in her own opinion. Amy's blonde curly hair fell on her pale shoulders, which were always upright and ladylike, as she desired to have the excellent manners of a young lady.

As the girls sat near the fire, Jo saw her mother's slippers sitting nearby, and picked them up to examine them.

"They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair."

"I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth.

"No, I shall!" cried Amy.

"I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo interrupted with—

"I'm the man of the family now Papa is away, and I shall buy the slippers, for he told me to take special care of Mother while he was gone."

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth, "let's each get her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves."

"That's like you, dear! What will we get?" exclaimed Jo.

Everyone thought quietly for a moment before Meg announced, "I shall give her a nice pair of gloves," as she delighted at the sight of her own pale hands.

"I'll get her a pair of army shoes, the best there are," cried Jo.

"Some handkerchiefs," said Beth.

"I'll get a little bottle of perfume. She likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy pencils for drawing," added Amy.

"How will we give the things?" asked Meg.

"We'll put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open each gift. Don't you remember how we used to do that on our birthdays?" answered Jo.

"I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the big chair, and see you all come around me to give me the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was terrible to have you sit looking at me while I opened the presents," said Beth.

"Marmee will think we are getting things for ourselves, and then we'll surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, walking up and down the stairs, with her hands behind her back.

"I don't plan to act in any more plays after this one. I'm getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who still secretly delighted in dressing up and acting.

"You won't stop, I know, as long as you can walk around in a white dress. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end to everything if you quit," said Jo. "We should practice our roles for the play tonight. There is still much work to be done before the Christmas play."

"I don't understand how you can write and act such wonderful things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed Beth, who strongly believed her sisters were gifted with extraordinary talents.

"Not quite," replied Jo modestly, "though, I do think this play is a rather nice thing."

"Hello, my dear girls," said a cheery voice at the door, and the girls turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a "can-I-help-you" look about her which was truly delightful. She was not elegantly dressed, but she was certainly a noble-looking woman, and the girls believed the unfashionable clothing covered the most splendid mother in the world.

"Well, my dears, how have you been today? Has anyone come today, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired. Come and kiss me, little Amy."

While Mrs March took off her coat and shoes, the girls ran about, trying to make things comfortable for their mother. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood for the fire, and Beth walked around the kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat at the table. As they gathered around the table, Mrs March said, with a particularly happy face, "I've got a treat for you after dinner."

The girls looked delighted, knowing that a letter had arrived from their father.

"A letter! A letter from Father!" cried the girls. "Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall be healthy throughout the winter. He sends loving wishes for Christmas, and a special message to you girls," said Mrs March cheerfully.

"Let's hurry and eat so Mother will read us the letter!" exclaimed Jo.

"I think it was so splendid that Father joined the army as a minister, though he was too old to go as a soldier," said Meg warmly.

"I wish I could go as a drummer or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him," exclaimed Jo.

"It must be very disagreeable to sleep outside and eat bad-tasting things," said Amy.

"When will he come home, Marmee?" asked Beth quietly.

"Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his work as long as he can. Now, come and hear the letter."

They all went to the fire to listen. In most letters fathers sent home to their families, little was said of their suffering, the dangers faced, or the homesick feelings they felt while away in the war. Most were cheerful, hopeful letters, full of descriptions of military life and news. In the end of this father's letter, he wrote of his fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.

"Give them all my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them all day, and dream of them at night. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days are not wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you and I will be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."

Everyone was weeping when Mrs March read that last part. Jo wasn't ashamed to be seen crying and Amy hid her face on her mother's shoulder, crying, "I am a selfish girl, but I'll truly try to be better, so he won't be disappointed in me!"

"We all will!" cried Meg. "I think too much of my looks and hate to work, but I'll certainly try not to anymore."

"I'll try to be 'a little woman', as he loves to call me, and not be wild. I'll do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else," said Jo.

Beth said nothing, but picked up her sewing and began her duty, promising, in her quiet little soul, to be all that Father hoped her to be.

"Now, each of you has explained how you will make your father proud during the coming year, except Beth," said their mother.

"Yes, I have. I will try to enjoy doing dishes and cleaning, not envy girls with nice pianos, and try not to be afraid of people."

Everyone wanted to laugh at what she said, but no one did, as it would hurt her feelings very much.

At nine they stopped their work, and sang as usual before they went to bed. No one but Beth could play the old piano well, and she managed to make pleasant music while the others sang. Meg had a beautiful voice, and she and her mother led the others in the singing. Amy's baby voice could be heard at times, while Jo sang as she pleased, always with the wrong sound that ruined the most beautiful songs.

The first sound in the morning was their mother's voice as she went about the house, and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, as the girls never grew tired of their mother's voice.

(end of section)