Little Women

CHAPTER THIRTEEN CASTLES IN THE AIR

Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warm
September afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but too
lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods, for the day had
been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could
live it over again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had
shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke’s patience to the utmost,
displeased his grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened
the maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that
one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman
about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his
hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the
peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up
into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed
dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the
ocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him
ashore in a flash. Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw
the Marches coming out, as if bound on some expedition.

“What in the world are those girls about now?” thought Laurie, opening
his sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something rather
peculiar in the appearance of his neighbors. Each wore a large,
flapping hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried
a long staff. Meg had a cushion, Jo a book, Beth a basket, and Amy a
portfolio. All walked quietly through the garden, out at the little
back gate, and began to climb the hill that lay between the house and
river.

“Well, that’s cool,” said Laurie to himself, “to have a picnic and
never ask me! They can’t be going in the boat, for they haven’t got the
key. Perhaps they forgot it. I’ll take it to them, and see what’s going
on.”

Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to find
one, then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered in
his pocket, so that the girls were quite out of sight when he leaped
the fence and ran after them. Taking the shortest way to the boathouse,
he waited for them to appear, but no one came, and he went up the hill
to take an observation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, and
from the heart of this green spot came a clearer sound than the soft
sigh of the pines or the drowsy chirp of the crickets.

“Here’s a landscape!” thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, and
looking wide-awake and good-natured already.

It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in
the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic
wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the
little wood people going on with their affairs as if these were no
strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintily
with her white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose in her
pink dress among the green. Beth was sorting the cones that lay thick
under the hemlock near by, for she made pretty things with them. Amy
was sketching a group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud.
A shadow passed over the boy’s face as he watched them, feeling that he
ought to go away because uninvited; yet lingering because home seemed
very lonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his
restless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with its
harvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly and
skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espied the
wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile.

“May I come in, please? Or shall I be a bother?” he asked, advancing
slowly.

Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly and said at
once, “Of course you may. We should have asked you before, only we
thought you wouldn’t care for such a girl’s game as this.”

“I always like your games, but if Meg doesn’t want me, I’ll go away.”

“I’ve no objection, if you do something. It’s against the rules to be
idle here,” replied Meg gravely but graciously.

“Much obliged. I’ll do anything if you’ll let me stop a bit, for it’s
as dull as the Desert of Sahara down there. Shall I sew, read, cone,
draw, or do all at once? Bring on your bears. I’m ready.” And Laurie
sat down with a submissive expression delightful to behold.

“Finish this story while I set my heel,” said Jo, handing him the book.

“Yes’m.” was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove his
gratitude for the favor of admission into the ‘Busy Bee Society’.

The story was not a long one, and when it was finished, he ventured to
ask a few questions as a reward of merit.

“Please, ma’am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charming
institution is a new one?”

“Would you tell him?” asked Meg of her sisters.

“He’ll laugh,” said Amy warningly.

“Who cares?” said Jo.

“I guess he’ll like it,” added Beth.

“Of course I shall! I give you my word I won’t laugh. Tell away, Jo,
and don’t be afraid.”

“The idea of being afraid of you! Well, you see we used to play
Pilgrim’s Progress, and we have been going on with it in earnest, all
winter and summer.”

“Yes, I know,” said Laurie, nodding wisely.

“Who told you?” demanded Jo.

“Spirits.”

“No, I did. I wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and
he was rather dismal. He did like it, so don’t scold, Jo,” said Beth
meekly.

“You can’t keep a secret. Never mind, it saves trouble now.”

“Go on, please,” said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed in her work,
looking a trifle displeased.

“Oh, didn’t she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well, we have
tried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a task and worked at
it with a will. The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done,
and we are ever so glad that we didn’t dawdle.”

“Yes, I should think so,” and Laurie thought regretfully of his own
idle days.

“Mother likes to have us out-of-doors as much as possible, so we bring
our work here and have nice times. For the fun of it we bring our
things in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill,
and play pilgrims, as we used to do years ago. We call this hill the
Delectable Mountain, for we can look far away and see the country where
we hope to live some time.”

Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine, for through an opening in the
wood one could look cross the wide, blue river, the meadows on the
other side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green
hills that rose to meet the sky. The sun was low, and the heavens
glowed with the splendor of an autumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds
lay on the hilltops, and rising high into the ruddy light were silvery
white peaks that shone like the airy spires of some Celestial City.

“How beautiful that is!” said Laurie softly, for he was quick to see
and feel beauty of any kind.

“It’s often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, but
always splendid,” replied Amy, wishing she could paint it.

“Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime—the real
country, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking. It would be
nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could
ever go to it,” said Beth musingly.

“There is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go,
by-and-by, when we are good enough,” answered Meg with her sweetest
voice.

“It seems so long to wait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at once,
as those swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate.”

“You’ll get there, Beth, sooner or later, no fear of that,” said Jo.
“I’m the one that will have to fight and work, and climb and wait, and
maybe never get in after all.”

“You’ll have me for company, if that’s any comfort. I shall have to do
a deal of traveling before I come in sight of your Celestial City. If I
arrive late, you’ll say a good word for me, won’t you, Beth?”

Something in the boy’s face troubled his little friend, but she said
cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds, “If people
really want to go, and really try all their lives, I think they will
get in, for I don’t believe there are any locks on that door or any
guards at the gate. I always imagine it is as it is in the picture,
where the shining ones stretch out their hands to welcome poor
Christian as he comes up from the river.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could
come true, and we could live in them?” said Jo, after a little pause.

“I’ve made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I’d have,”
said Laurie, lying flat and throwing cones at the squirrel who had
betrayed him.

“You’d have to take your favorite one. What is it?” asked Meg.

“If I tell mine, will you tell yours?”

“Yes, if the girls will too.”

“We will. Now, Laurie.”

“After I’d seen as much of the world as I want to, I’d like to settle
in Germany and have just as much music as I choose. I’m to be a famous
musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me. And I’m never
to be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself and live
for what I like. That’s my favorite castle. What’s yours, Meg?”

Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a
brake before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she
said slowly, “I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of
luxurious things—nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture,
pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be mistress of it, and
manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so I never need work a
bit. How I should enjoy it! For I wouldn’t be idle, but do good, and
make everyone love me dearly.”

“Wouldn’t you have a master for your castle in the air?” asked Laurie
slyly.

“I said ‘pleasant people’, you know,” and Meg carefully tied up her
shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face.

“Why don’t you say you’d have a splendid, wise, good husband and some
angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn’t be perfect
without,” said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather
scorned romance, except in books.

“You’d have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels in yours,”
answered Meg petulantly.

“Wouldn’t I though? I’d have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms
piled high with books, and I’d write out of a magic inkstand, so that
my works should be as famous as Laurie’s music. I want to do something
splendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that
won’t be forgotten after I’m dead. I don’t know what, but I’m on the
watch for it, and mean to astonish you all some day. I think I shall
write books, and get rich and famous, that would suit me, so that is my
favorite dream.”

“Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take
care of the family,” said Beth contentedly.

“Don’t you wish for anything else?” asked Laurie.

“Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we
may all keep well and be together, nothing else.”

“I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and go
to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole
world,” was Amy’s modest desire.

“We’re an ambitious set, aren’t we? Every one of us, but Beth, wants to
be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder if any
of us will ever get our wishes,” said Laurie, chewing grass like a
meditative calf.

“I’ve got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the
door remains to be seen,” observed Jo mysteriously.

“I’ve got the key to mine, but I’m not allowed to try it. Hang
college!” muttered Laurie with an impatient sigh.

“Here’s mine!” and Amy waved her pencil.

“I haven’t got any,” said Meg forlornly.

“Yes, you have,” said Laurie at once.

“Where?”

“In your face.”

“Nonsense, that’s of no use.”

“Wait and see if it doesn’t bring you something worth having,” replied
the boy, laughing at the thought of a charming little secret which he
fancied he knew.

Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions and looked across
the river with the same expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had worn
when he told the story of the knight.

“If we are all alive ten years hence, let’s meet, and see how many of
us have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then than now,” said
Jo, always ready with a plan.

“Bless me! How old I shall be, twenty-seven!” exclaimed Meg, who felt
grown up already, having just reached seventeen.

“You and I will be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, and Amy
twenty-two. What a venerable party!” said Jo.

“I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time, but
I’m such a lazy dog, I’m afraid I shall dawdle, Jo.”

“You need a motive, Mother says, and when you get it, she is sure
you’ll work splendidly.”

“Is she? By Jupiter, I will, if I only get the chance!” cried Laurie,
sitting up with sudden energy. “I ought to be satisfied to please
Grandfather, and I do try, but it’s working against the grain, you see,
and comes hard. He wants me to be an India merchant, as he was, and I’d
rather be shot. I hate tea and silk and spices, and every sort of
rubbish his old ships bring, and I don’t care how soon they go to the
bottom when I own them. Going to college ought to satisfy him, for if I
give him four years he ought to let me off from the business. But he’s
set, and I’ve got to do just as he did, unless I break away and please
myself, as my father did. If there was anyone left to stay with the old
gentleman, I’d do it tomorrow.”

Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat into
execution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing up very fast
and, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man’s hatred of
subjection, a young man’s restless longing to try the world for
himself.

“I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and never come home
again till you have tried your own way,” said Jo, whose imagination was
fired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy was
excited by what she called ‘Teddy’s Wrongs’.

“That’s not right, Jo. You mustn’t talk in that way, and Laurie mustn’t
take your bad advice. You should do just what your grandfather wishes,
my dear boy,” said Meg in her most maternal tone. “Do your best at
college, and when he sees that you try to please him, I’m sure he won’t
be hard on you or unjust to you. As you say, there is no one else to
stay with and love him, and you’d never forgive yourself if you left
him without his permission. Don’t be dismal or fret, but do your duty
and you’ll get your reward, as good Mr. Brooke has, by being respected
and loved.”

“What do you know about him?” asked Laurie, grateful for the good
advice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversation
from himself after his unusual outbreak.

“Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care of his
own mother till she died, and wouldn’t go abroad as tutor to some nice
person because he wouldn’t leave her. And how he provides now for an
old woman who nursed his mother, and never tells anyone, but is just as
generous and patient and good as he can be.”

“So he is, dear old fellow!” said Laurie heartily, as Meg paused,
looking flushed and earnest with her story. “It’s like Grandpa to find
out all about him without letting him know, and to tell all his
goodness to others, so that they might like him. Brooke couldn’t
understand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over with me
and treating him in her beautiful friendly way. He thought she was just
perfect, and talked about it for days and days, and went on about you
all in flaming style. If ever I do get my wish, you see what I’ll do
for Brooke.”

“Begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out,” said Meg
sharply.

“How do you know I do, Miss?”

“I can always tell by his face when he goes away. If you have been
good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly. If you have plagued him,
he’s sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his work
better.”

“Well, I like that? So you keep an account of my good and bad marks in
Brooke’s face, do you? I see him bow and smile as he passes your
window, but I didn’t know you’d got up a telegraph.”

“We haven’t. Don’t be angry, and oh, don’t tell him I said anything! It
was only to show that I cared how you get on, and what is said here is
said in confidence, you know,” cried Meg, much alarmed at the thought
of what might follow from her careless speech.

“I don’t tell tales,” replied Laurie, with his ‘high and mighty’ air,
as Jo called a certain expression which he occasionally wore. “Only if
Brooke is going to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair weather
for him to report.”

“Please don’t be offended. I didn’t mean to preach or tell tales or be
silly. I only thought Jo was encouraging you in a feeling which you’d
be sorry for by-and-by. You are so kind to us, we feel as if you were
our brother and say just what we think. Forgive me, I meant it kindly.”
And Meg offered her hand with a gesture both affectionate and timid.

Ashamed of his momentary pique, Laurie squeezed the kind little hand,
and said frankly, “I’m the one to be forgiven. I’m cross and have been
out of sorts all day. I like to have you tell me my faults and be
sisterly, so don’t mind if I am grumpy sometimes. I thank you all the
same.”

Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeable
as possible, wound cotton for Meg, recited poetry to please Jo, shook
down cones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself a
fit person to belong to the ‘Busy Bee Society’. In the midst of an
animated discussion on the domestic habits of turtles (one of those
amiable creatures having strolled up from the river), the faint sound
of a bell warned them that Hannah had put the tea ‘to draw’, and they
would just have time to get home to supper.

“May I come again?” asked Laurie.

“Yes, if you are good, and love your book, as the boys in the primer
are told to do,” said Meg, smiling.

“I’ll try.”

“Then you may come, and I’ll teach you to knit as the Scotchmen do.
There’s a demand for socks just now,” added Jo, waving hers like a big
blue worsted banner as they parted at the gate.

That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight, Laurie,
standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David,
whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old
man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts
of the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of
the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the
sacrifice cheerfully, “I’ll let my castle go, and stay with the dear
old gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has.”