Classic Literature | Little Women, chapter 24 | Calm Reading

Hello friends and welcome, to the beginning of part  two in this calm reading of "Little Women". Tonight I shall be reading for  you chapter twenty-four, "Gossip". It would be great if you could click that "like"  button, it will help with the video algorithm; and if you are new to the channel, don't forget to subscribe, so you  will be notified of new narrations. And now, let's find a tranquil  place where you can safely relax. Your bed, your sofa... and  let us begin this chapter. PART 2 In or

der that we may start  afresh and go to Meg’s wedding... CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR GOSSIP In order that we may start afresh and  go to Meg’s wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin with a  little gossip about the Marches. And here let me premise that if any of the elders  think there is too much ‘lovering’ in the story, as I fear they may (I’m not afraid the  young folks will make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March,  “What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house,

and a  dashing young neighbor over the way?” The three years that have passed have  brought but few changes to the quiet family. The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with his books and the small parish which  found in him a minister by nature as by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that  is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind ‘brother’, the piety that blossoms  into character, making it august and lovely. These attributes, in spite of poverty a

nd the  strict integrity which shut him out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him many admirable  persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as naturally he gave them the honey into  which fifty years of hard experience had distilled no bitter drop. Earnest young men found  the gray-headed scholar as young at heart as they; thoughtful or troubled women  instinctively brought their doubts to him, sure of finding the gentlest  sympathy, the wisest counsel. Sinners told their s

ins to the pure-hearted old  man and were both rebuked and saved. Gifted men found a companion in him. Ambitious men caught  glimpses of nobler ambitions than their own, and even worldlings confessed that his beliefs were  beautiful and true, although ‘they wouldn’t pay’. To outsiders the five energetic women seemed to  rule the house, and so they did in many things, but the quiet scholar, sitting among his  books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and comforter

,  for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troublous times, finding him, in the truest  sense of those sacred words, husband and father. The girls gave their hearts into their mother’s  keeping, their souls into their father’s, and to both parents, who lived and  labored so faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth and bound them tenderly together by the sweetest  tie which blesses life and outlives death. Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though  rather gray

er, than when we saw her last, and just now so absorbed in Meg’s affairs that  the hospitals and homes still full of wounded ‘boys’ and soldiers’ widows, decidedly  miss the motherly missionary’s visits. John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got  wounded, was sent home, and not allowed to return. He received no stars or bars, but he deserved  them, for he cheerfully risked all he had, and life and love are very precious  when both are in full bloom. Perfectly resigned to his discharge, h

e devoted  himself to getting well, preparing for business, and earning a home for Meg. With the good sense  and sturdy independence that characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence’s more generous offers, and  accepted the place of bookkeeper, feeling better satisfied to begin with an honestly earned salary  than by running any risks with borrowed money. Meg had spent the time in  working as well as waiting, growing womanly in character, wise in  housewifely arts, and prettier than ever, for lov

e is a great beautifier. She  had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and felt some disappointment at the humble  way in which the new life must begin. Ned Moffat had just married Sallie Gardiner, and  Meg couldn’t help contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid outfit with her  own, and secretly wishing she could have the same. But somehow envy and discontent soon vanished  when she thought of all the patient love and labor John had put into the little home awaiting  her,

and when they sat together in the twilight, talking over their small plans, the  future always grew so beautiful and bright that she forgot Sallie’s splendor and felt  herself the richest, happiest girl in Christendom. Jo never went back to Aunt March, for  the old lady took such a fancy to Amy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing  lessons from one of the best teachers going, and for the sake of this advantage, Amy would  have served a far harder mistress. So she gave her mornings to du

ty, her afternoons to pleasure,  and prospered finely. Jo meantime devoted herself to literature and Beth, who remained delicate  long after the fever was a thing of the past. Not an invalid exactly, but never again  the rosy, healthy creature she had been, yet always hopeful, happy, and serene, and busy  with the quiet duties she loved, everyone’s friend, and an angel in the house, long before  those who loved her most had learned to know it. As long as The Spread Eagle paid her a dollar a  col

umn for her ‘rubbish’, as she called it, Jo felt herself a woman of means, and spun her little  romances diligently. But great plans fermented in her busy brain and ambitious mind, and the old  tin kitchen in the garret held a slowly increasing pile of blotted manuscript, which was one day to  place the name of March upon the roll of fame. Laurie, having dutifully gone to  college to please his grandfather, was now getting through it in the easiest possible  manner to please himself. A universal

favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, and  the kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to get other people out of  them, he stood in great danger of being spoiled, and probably would have been, like many another  promising boy, if he had not possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man who  was bound up in his success, the motherly friend who watched over him as if he were her son, and  last, but not least by any means, the knowledge that f

our innocent girls loved, admired,  and believed in him with all their hearts. Being only ‘a glorious human boy’,  of course he frolicked and flirted, grew dandified, aquatic, sentimental, or  gymnastic, as college fashions ordained, hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once  came perilously near suspension and expulsion. But as high spirits and the love of fun were  the causes of these pranks, he always managed to save himself by frank confession, honorable  atonement, or the irresi

stible power of persuasion which he possessed in perfection. In fact, he  rather prided himself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill the girls with graphic  accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified professors, and vanquished enemies.  The ‘men of my class’, were heroes in the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of the exploits of  ‘our fellows’, and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these great creatures,  when Laurie brought them home with him. Amy especial

ly enjoyed this high honor, and  became quite a belle among them, for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift  of fascination with which she was endowed. Meg was too much absorbed in her private and particular  John to care for any other lords of creation, and Beth too shy to do more than peep at them  and wonder how Amy dared to order them about so, but Jo felt quite in her own element, and found  it very difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, and fe

ats, which  seemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies. They all liked  Jo immensely, but never fell in love with her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute  of a sentimental sigh or two at Amy’s shrine. And speaking of sentiment brings us  very naturally to the ‘Dovecote’. That was the name of the little brown house  Mr. Brooke had prepared for Meg’s first home. Laurie had christened it, saying it was highly  appropriate to the gentle lovers who ‘went

on together like a pair of turtledoves, with first  a bill and then a coo’. It was a tiny house, with a little garden behind and a lawn about  as big as a pocket handkerchief in the front. Here Meg meant to have a fountain, shrubbery,  and a profusion of lovely flowers, though just at present the fountain was represented by a  weather-beaten urn, very like a dilapidated slopbowl, the shrubbery consisted of several  young larches, undecided whether to live or die, and the profusion of flowers was

merely hinted  by regiments of sticks to show where seeds were planted. But inside, it was altogether charming,  and the happy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar. To be sure, the hall was so narrow  it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got in whole, the dining room was so small that six people were  a tight fit, and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose of precipitating both  servants and china pell-mell into the coalbin. But once get us

ed to these slight blemishes and  nothing could be more complete, for good sense and good taste had presided over the furnishing,  and the result was highly satisfactory. There were no marble-topped tables, long mirrors,  or lace curtains in the little parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture  or two, a stand of flowers in the bay window, and, scattered all about, the pretty  gifts which came from friendly hands and were the fairer for the  loving messages they brought. I do

n’t think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost  any of its beauty because John put up the bracket it stood upon, that any upholsterer could have  draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy’s artistic hand, or that any store-room  was ever better provided with good wishes, merry words, and happy hopes than that in which  Jo and her mother put away Meg’s few boxes, barrels, and bundles, and I am morally certain  that the spandy new kitchen never could have looked so cozy and neat if H

annah had not  arranged every pot and pan a dozen times over, and laid the fire all ready for lighting  the minute ‘Mis. Brooke came home’. I also doubt if any young matron ever began  life with so rich a supply of dusters, holders, and piece bags, for Beth made enough to  last till the silver wedding came round, and invented three different kinds of dishcloths  for the express service of the bridal china. People who hire all these things done  for them never know what they lose, for the homelie

st tasks get beautified  if loving hands do them, and Meg found so many proofs of this that everything in  her small nest, from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was  eloquent of home love and tender forethought. What happy times they had planning together, what  solemn shopping excursions, what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughter arose  over Laurie’s ridiculous bargains. In his love of jokes, this young gentleman, though nearly  through college, was a

much of a boy as ever. His last whim had been to bring with him on his  weekly visits some new, useful, and ingenious article for the young housekeeper. Now a bag of  remarkable clothespins, next, a wonderful nutmeg grater which fell to pieces at the first trial,  a knife cleaner that spoiled all the knives, or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the  carpet and left the dirt, labor-saving soap that took the skin off one’s hands, infallible cements  which stuck firmly to nothing but the fin

gers of the deluded buyer, and every kind of tinware, from  a toy savings bank for odd pennies, to a wonderful boiler which would wash articles in its own steam  with every prospect of exploding in the process. In vain Meg begged him to stop. John laughed  at him, and Jo called him ‘Mr. Toodles’. He was possessed with a mania  for patronizing Yankee ingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth.  So each week beheld some fresh absurdity. Everything was done at last, even to Amy’s  arra

nging different colored soaps to match the different colored rooms, and Beth’s  setting the table for the first meal. “Are you satisfied? Does it seem like home, and  do you feel as if you should be happy here?” asked Mrs. March, as she and her daughter  went through the new kingdom arm in arm, for just then they seemed to cling  together more tenderly than ever. “Yes, Mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you  all, and so happy that I can’t talk about it,” with a look that was far better than

words. “If she only had a servant or two it would be  all right,” said Amy, coming out of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whether the bronze Mercury looked best on  the whatnot or the mantlepiece. “Mother and I have talked that over, and I  have made up my mind to try her way first. There will be so little to do that with Lotty to  run my errands and help me here and there, I shall only have enough work to keep me from getting  lazy or homesick,” answered Meg tranquilly. “Sallie

Moffat has four,” began Amy. “If Meg had four, the house wouldn’t hold them, and master and  missis would have to camp in the garden,” broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a big blue pinafore,  was giving the last polish to the door handles. “Sallie isn’t a poor man’s wife, and many maids are in keeping with her fine  establishment. Meg and John begin humbly, but I have a feeling that there will be quite as much  happiness in the little house as in the big one. It’s a great mistake for young girls lik

e Meg  to leave themselves nothing to do but dress, give orders, and gossip. When I was  first married, I used to long for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so that  I might have the pleasure of mending them, for I got heartily sick of doing fancywork  and tending my pocket handkerchief.” “Why didn’t you go into the kitchen and make  messes, as Sallie says she does to amuse herself, though they never turn out well and  the servants laugh at her,” said Meg. “I did after a while, not to ‘mes

s’ but to  learn of Hannah how things should be done, that my servants need not laugh at me. It was play then, but there came a time when I was  truly grateful that I not only possessed the will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little  girls, and help myself when I could no longer afford to hire help. You begin at the other end,  Meg, dear, but the lessons you learn now will be of use to you by-and-by when John is a richer man,  for the mistress of a house, however splendid, should kn

ow how work ought to be done, if  she wishes to be well and honestly served.” “Yes, Mother, I’m sure of that,” said Meg,  listening respectfully to the little lecture, for the best of women will hold forth upon  the all absorbing subject of house keeping. “Do you know I like this room most of all in  my baby house,” added Meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs and she looked  into her well-stored linen closet. Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly  on the shelves and exulting over

the goodly array. All three laughed as Meg spoke,  for that linen closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married ‘that  Brooke’ she shouldn’t have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather in a quandary when time had  appeased her wrath and made her repent her vow. She never broke her word, and was much  exercised in her mind how to get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could  satisfy herself. Mrs. Carrol, Florence’s mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, and marked 

a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as her present, all of which was  faithfully done, but the secret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family, for Aunt March  tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the old-fashioned  pearls long promised to the first bride. “That’s a housewifely taste which I am glad to  see. I had a young friend who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls for  company and that satisfied

her,” said Mrs. March, patting the damask tablecloths, with a truly  feminine appreciation of their fineness. “I haven’t a single finger bowl, but this  is a setout that will last me all my days, Hannah says.” And Meg looked quite  contented, as well she might. A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow,  with a cropped head, a felt basin of a hat, and a flyaway coat, came tramping down the  road at a great pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, straight up to  Mrs. March

, with both hands out and a hearty... “Here I am, Mother! Yes, it’s all right.” The last words were in answer to  the look the elder lady gave him, a kindly questioning look which  the handsome eyes met so frankly that the little ceremony closed,  as usual, with a motherly kiss. “For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker’s  congratulations and compliments. Bless you, Beth! What a refreshing spectacle you are, Jo. Amy, you are getting altogether  too handsome for a single lady.” As Laurie spoke, he de

livered a brown paper  parcel to Meg, pulled Beth’s hair ribbon, stared at Jo’s big pinafore, and fell into  an attitude of mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round,  and everyone began to talk. “Where is John?” asked Meg anxiously. “Stopped to get the license for tomorrow, ma’am.” “Which side won the last  match, Teddy?” inquired Jo, who persisted in feeling an interest in  manly sports despite her nineteen years. “Ours, of course. Wish you’d been there to see.” “How is the lovely Mi

ss Randal?”  asked Amy with a significant smile. “More cruel than ever. Don’t  you see how I’m pining away?” and Laurie gave his broad chest a sounding  slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh. “What’s the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg,” said Beth, eying the  knobby parcel with curiosity. “It’s a useful thing to have in the house in  case of fire or thieves,” observed Laurie, as a watchman’s rattle appeared,  amid the laughter of the girls. “Any time when John is away and you get  frighten

ed, Mrs. Meg, just swing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the  neighborhood in a jiffy. Nice thing, isn’t it?” and Laurie gave them a sample of its  powers that made them cover up their ears. “There’s gratitude for you! And  speaking of gratitude reminds me to mention that you may thank Hannah for  saving your wedding cake from destruction. I saw it going into your house as I  came by, and if she hadn’t defended it manfully I’d have had a pick at it, for  it looked like a remarkab

ly plummy one.” “I wonder if you will ever grow up,  Laurie,” said Meg in a matronly tone. “I’m doing my best, ma’am, but  can’t get much higher, I’m afraid, as six feet is about all men can  do in these degenerate days,” responded the young gentleman, whose head  was about level with the little chandelier. “I suppose it would be profanation to eat  anything in this spick-and-span bower, so as I’m tremendously hungry, I propose  an adjournment,” he added presently. “Mother and I are going to wai

t for John.  There are some last things to settle,” said Meg, bustling away. “Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant’s  to get more flowers for tomorrow,” added Amy, tying a picturesque hat over her picturesque  curls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody. “Come, Jo, don’t desert a fellow. I’m in such a  state of exhaustion I can’t get home without help. Don’t take off your apron, whatever you do, it’s  peculiarly becoming,” said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especial aversion in her capac

ious pocket  and offered her arm to support his feeble steps. “Now, Teddy, I want to talk seriously to you  about tomorrow,” began Jo, as they strolled away together. “You must promise to behave well,  and not cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans.” “Not a prank.” “And don’t say funny things  when we ought to be sober.” “I never do. You are the one for that.” “And I implore you not to look at me during the  ceremony. I shall certainly laugh if you do.” “You won’t see me, you’ll  be crying so ha

rd that the thick fog round you will obscure the prospect.” “I never cry unless for some great affliction.” “Such as fellows going to college, hey?”  cut in Laurie, with suggestive laugh. “Don’t be a peacock. I only moaned  a trifle to keep the girls company.” “Exactly. I say, Jo, how is  Grandpa this week? Pretty amiable?” “Very. Why, have you got into a scrape and want to  know how he’ll take it?” asked Jo rather sharply. “Now, Jo, do you think I’d look your  mother in the face and say ‘All ri

ght’, if it wasn’t?” and Laurie stopped  short, with an injured air. “No, I don’t.” “Then don’t go and be suspicious. I  only want some money,” said Laurie, walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone. “You spend a great deal, Teddy.” “Bless you, I don’t spend it, it spends  itself somehow, and is gone before I know it.” “You are so generous and kind-hearted that you  let people borrow, and can’t say ‘No’ to anyone. We heard about Henshaw and all you did for him. If you always spent money in t

hat way,  no one would blame you,” said Jo warmly. “Oh, he made a mountain out of a molehill. You  wouldn’t have me let that fine fellow work himself to death just for want of a little help, when he  is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?” “Of course not, but I don’t see the use of your  having seventeen waistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat every time you come home. I  thought you’d got over the dandy period, but every now and then it  breaks out in a new spot. Just now it’s the fa

shion to be hideous, to  make your head look like a scrubbing brush, wear a strait jacket, orange gloves, and clumping  square-toed boots. If it was cheap ugliness, I’d say nothing, but it costs as much as the other,  and I don’t get any satisfaction out of it.” Laurie threw back his head, and  laughed so heartily at this attack, that the felt hat fell off, and Jo walked on it, which insult only afforded him an opportunity for  expatiating on the advantages of a rough-and-ready costume, as he fo

lded up the maltreated  hat, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Don’t lecture any more, there’s a good soul! I have enough all through the week,  and like to enjoy myself when I come home. I’ll get myself up regardless of expense  tomorrow and be a satisfaction to my friends.” “I’ll leave you in peace if you’ll only let your  hair grow. I’m not aristocratic, but I do object to being seen with a person who looks like a  young prize fighter,” observed Jo severely. “This unassuming style promotes stu

dy,  that’s why we adopt it,” returned Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, having voluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly  crop to the demand for quarter-inch-long stubble. “By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker  is really getting desperate about Amy. He talks of her constantly, writes poetry,  and moons about in a most suspicious manner. He’d better nip his little  passion in the bud, hadn’t he?” added Laurie, in a confidential, elder  brotherly tone, after a minute’s sil

ence. “Of course he had. We don’t want any more  marrying in this family for years to come. Mercy on us, what are the children thinking of?” and Jo looked as much scandalized as if Amy  and little Parker were not yet in their teens. “It’s a fast age, and I don’t know what we  are coming to, ma’am. You are a mere infant, but you’ll go next, Jo, and we’ll  be left lamenting,” said Laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m not one of the agreeable  sort. Nobo

dy will want me, and it’s a mercy, for there should always be  one old maid in a family.” “You won’t give anyone a chance,” said Laurie, with a sidelong glance and a little more  color than before in his sunburned face. “You won’t show the soft side of your character,  and if a fellow gets a peep at it by accident and can’t help showing that he likes it, you  treat him as Mrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart, throw cold water over him, and get so  thorny no one dares touch or look at you.” “I don’t

like that sort of thing. I’m  too busy to be worried with nonsense, and I think it’s dreadful to break up families  so. Now don’t say any more about it. Meg’s wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk  of nothing but lovers and such absurdities. I don’t wish to get cross,  so let’s change the subject;” and Jo looked quite ready to fling cold  water on the slightest provocation. Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie  found a vent for them in a long low whistle and the fearful predicti

on as they parted at  the gate, “Mark my words, Jo, you’ll go next.”