Hello everyone, I welcome you to the continuation
of this calm reading of "Little Women". Tonight I shall be reading for you chapter
29, "Calls". If you are new to the channel, I would encourage
you to click "subscribe" and the bell icon, so you will be notified of upcoming stories. Now, let us unwind in a comfortable and safe
place, and let us begin this story. LITTLE WOMEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CALLS
“Come, Jo, it’s time.” “For what?” “You don’t mean to say you have forgotten
that you promised t
o make half a dozen calls with me today?” “I’ve done a good many rash and foolish
things in my life, but I don’t think I ever was mad enough to say I’d make six calls
in one day, when a single one upsets me for a week.” “Yes, you did, it was a bargain between
us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you,
and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors’ visits.” “If it was fair, that was in the bond, and
I stand to the letter of my bond, Shylock. There is a pile of clouds in the e
ast, it’s
not fair, and I don’t go.” “Now, that’s shirking. It’s a lovely day, no prospect of rain,
and you pride yourself on keeping promises, so be honorable, come and do your duty, and
then be at peace for another six months.” At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed
in dressmaking, for she was mantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to
herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provoking to be arrested in the
act of a first trying-on, and ord
ered out to make calls in her best array on a warm
July day. She hated calls of the formal sort, and never
made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or promise. In the present instance there was no escape,
and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelled thunder,
she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air of resignation,
told Amy the victim was ready. “Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke
a saint! You don’t int
end to make calls in that state,
I hope,” cried Amy, surveying her with amazement. “Why not? I’m neat and cool and comfortable, quite
proper for a dusty walk on a warm day. If people care more for my clothes than they
do for me, I don’t wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant
as you please. It pays for you to be fine. It doesn’t for me, and furbelows only worry
me.” “Oh, dear!” sighed Amy, “now she’s in a contrary fit,
and will drive me distracted before I can get her properl
y ready. I’m sure it’s no pleasure to me to go
today, but it’s a debt we owe society, and there’s no one to pay it but you and me. I’ll do anything for you, Jo, if you’ll
only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can talk so well, look so aristocratic
in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you try, that I’m proud of you. I’m afraid to go alone, do come and take
care of me.” “You’re an artful little puss to flatter
and wheedle your cross old sister in that way
. The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred,
and your being afraid to go anywhere alone! I don’t know which is the most absurd. Well, I’ll go if I must, and do my best. You shall be commander of the expedition,
and I’ll obey blindly, will that satisfy you?” said Jo, with a sudden change from
perversity to lamblike submission. “You’re a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I’ll
tell you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a good impression. I want people to li
ke you, and they would
if you’d only try to be a little more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink
rose in your bonnet. It’s becoming, and you look too sober in
your plain suit. Take your light gloves and the embroidered
handkerchief. We’ll stop at Meg’s, and borrow her white
sunshade, and then you can have my dove-colored one.” While Amy dressed, she issued her orders,
and Jo obeyed them, not without entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustled
into her new or
gandie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an irreproachable
bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally
as she shook out the handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the present
mission was to her feelings, and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with
three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile
expression of countenance, saying meekly
... “I’m perfectly miserable, but if you consider
me presentable, I die happy.” “You’re highly satisfactory. Turn slowly round, and let me get a careful
view.” Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and
there, then fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, “Yes, you’ll
do. Your head is all I could ask, for that white
bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands
easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch. There’s one thing you can do wel
l, Jo, that
is, wear a shawl. I can’t, but it’s very nice to see you,
and I’m so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one. It’s simple, but handsome, and those folds
over the arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and
have I looped my dress evenly? I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty,
though my nose isn’t.” “You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever,”
said Jo, looking through her hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against
the golden ha
ir. “Am I to drag my best dress through the
dust, or loop it up, please, ma’am?” “Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in
the house. The sweeping style suits you best, and you
must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. You haven’t half buttoned one cuff, do it
at once. You’ll never look finished if you are not
careful about the little details, for they make up the pleasing whole.” Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons
off her glove, in doing up her cuff, but at last both were ready, an
d sailed away, looking
as ‘pretty as picters’, Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch
them. “Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves
very elegant people, so I want you to put on your best deportment. Don’t make any of your abrupt remarks, or
do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and quiet, that’s safe
and ladylike, and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes,” said Amy, as they approached
the first place, having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by
Meg, with a
baby on each arm. “Let me see. ‘Calm, cool, and quiet’, yes, I think
I can promise that. I’ve played the part of a prim young lady
on the stage, and I’ll try it off. My powers are great, as you shall see, so
be easy in your mind, my child.” Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her
at her word, for during the first call she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every
fold correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and as silent as the sphinx. In vain Mrs. Ches
ter alluded to her ‘charming
novel’, and the Misses Chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera, and the fashions. Each and all were answered by a smile, a bow,
and a demure “Yes” or “No” with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the word ‘talk’,
tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with her foot. Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all,
with deportment like Maud’s face, ‘icily regular, splendidly null’. “What a haughty, uninteresting creature
that oldest Miss March is!” w
as the unfortunately audible remark of one
of the ladies, as the door closed upon their guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall,
but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laid
the blame upon Jo. “How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properly dignified
and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock and stone. Try to be sociable at the Lambs’. Gossip as other girls do, and be interested
in dress and flirtations and whatever no
nsense comes up. They move in the best society, are valuable
persons for us to know, and I wouldn’t fail to make a good impression there for anything.” “I’ll be agreeable. I’ll gossip and giggle, and have horrors
and raptures over any trifle you like. I rather enjoy this, and now I’ll imitate
what is called ‘a charming girl’. I can do it, for I have May Chester as a model,
and I’ll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don’t say, ‘What a lively,
nice creature that Jo March is!” Amy felt anxious, as
well she might, for when
Jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would stop. Amy’s face was a study when she saw her
sister skim into the next drawing room, kiss all the young ladies with effusion, beam graciously
upon the young gentlemen, and join in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession of by Mrs. Lamb,
with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long account of Lucretia’s last attack,
while three delightful young gentlemen hovered near, w
aiting for a pause when they might
rush in and rescue her. So situated, she was powerless to check Jo,
who seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the lady. A knot of heads gathered about her, and Amy
strained her ears to hear what was going on, for broken sentences filled her with curiosity,
and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her suffering on overhearing
fragments of this sort of conversation. “She rides splendidly. Who
taught her?” “No one. She used to practice mounting, holding the
reins, and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything, for she doesn’t
know what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheap because she trains them
to carry ladies so well. She has such a passion for it, I often tell
her if everything else fails, she can be a horsebreaker, and get her living so.” At this awful speech Amy contained herself
with difficulty, for the impression was being given that
she was rather a fast young lady,
which was her especial aversion. But what could she do? For the old lady was in the middle of her
story, and long before it was done, Jo was off again, making more droll revelations and
committing still more fearful blunders. “Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all
the good beasts were gone, and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so
balky that you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for a pleasure party, wasn’t
i
t?” “Which did she choose?” asked one of the
laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject. “None of them. She heard of a young horse at the farm house
over the river, and though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, because he
was handsome and spirited. Her struggles were really pathetic. There was no one to bring the horse to the
saddle, so she took the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over
the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the u
tter amazement of the
old man!” “Did she ride the horse?” “Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her brought home in fragments,
but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of the party.” “Well, I call that plucky!” and young
Mr. Lamb turned an approving glance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying
to make the girl look so red and uncomfortable. She was still redder and more uncomfortable
a moment after, when a sudden turn in the conversation introduced th
e subject of dress. One of the young ladies asked Jo where she
got the pretty drab hat she wore to the picnic and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place
where it was bought two years ago, must needs answer with unnecessary frankness, “Oh,
Amy painted it. You can’t buy those soft shades, so we paint
ours any color we like. It’s a great comfort to have an artistic
sister.” “Isn’t that an original idea?” cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun. “That’s nothing compared to some of her
brilliant
performances. There’s nothing the child can’t do. Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie’s
party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of sky blue you ever
saw, and they looked exactly like satin,” added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister’s
accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw
her cardcase at her. “We read a story of yours the other day,
and enjoyed it very much,” observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compl
iment the
literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed. Any mention of her ‘works’ always had
a bad effect upon Jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject
with a brusque remark, as now. “Sorry you could find nothing better to
read. I write that rubbish because it sells, and
ordinary people like it. Are you going to New York this winter?” As Miss Lamb had ‘enjoyed’ the story,
this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary. The min
ute it was made Jo saw her mistake,
but fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for her to make the
first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptness that left three people with
half-finished sentences in their mouths. “Amy, we must go. Good-by, dear, do come and see us. We are pining for a visit. I don’t dare to ask you, Mr. Lamb, but if
you should come, I don’t think I shall have the heart to send you away.” Jo said this with such a droll imitation of
May Che
ster’s gushing style that Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling
a strong desire to laugh and cry at the same time. “Didn’t I do well?” asked Jo, with a
satisfied air as they walked away. “Nothing could have been worse,” was Amy’s
crushing reply. “What possessed you to tell those stories
about my saddle, and the hats and boots, and all the rest of it?” “Why, it’s funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it’s no use pretending
that we have grooms, buy three or four hat
s a season, and have things as easy and fine
as they do.” “You needn’t go and tell them all our
little shifts, and expose our poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way. You haven’t a bit of proper pride, and never
will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak,” said Amy despairingly. Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed
the end of her nose with the stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors. “How shall I behave here?” she asked, as they approached the thir
d mansion. “Just as you please. I wash my hands of you,” was Amy’s short
answer. “Then I’ll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we’ll have a comfortable
time. Goodness knows I need a little change, for
elegance has a bad effect upon my constitution,” returned Jo gruffly, being disturbed by her
failure to suit. An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys
and several pretty children speedily soothed her ruffled feelings, and leaving Amy to entertain
the hostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to b
e calling likewise, Jo devoted herself to
the young folks and found the change refreshing. She listened to college stories with deep
interest, caressed pointers and poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that “Tom Brown
was a brick,” regardless of the improper form of praise, and when one lad proposed
a visit to his turtle tank, she went with an alacrity which caused Mamma to smile upon
her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a ruinous condition by filial
hugs, bearlike b
ut affectionate, and dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from
the hands of an inspired Frenchwoman. Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy
proceeded to enjoy herself to her heart’s content. Mr. Tudor’s uncle had married an English
lady who was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family with great
respect, for in spite of her American birth and breeding, she possessed that reverence
for titles which haunts the best of us—that unacknowledged loyalty to the earl
y faith
in kings which set the most democratic nation under the sun in ferment at the coming of
a royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has something to do with the
love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for an imperious little
mother, who held him while she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he
rebelled. But even the satisfaction of talking with
a distant connection of the British nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time, and
whe
n the proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from this aristocratic
society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hoping that her incorrigible sister would
not be found in any position which should bring disgrace upon the name of March. It might have been worse, but Amy considered
it bad. For Jo sat on the grass, with an encampment
of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog reposing on the skirt of her state and festival
dress, as she related one of Laurie’s pranks to her
admiring audience. One small child was poking turtles with Amy’s
cherished parasol, a second was eating gingerbread over Jo’s best bonnet, and a third playing
ball with her gloves, but all were enjoying themselves, and when Jo collected her damaged
property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come again, “It was such
fun to hear about Laurie’s larks.” “Capital boys, aren’t they? I feel quite young and brisk again after that.”
said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, par
tly from habit, partly to conceal
the bespattered parasol. “Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?” asked
Amy, wisely refraining from any comment upon Jo’s dilapidated appearance. “Don’t like him, he puts on airs, snubs
his sisters, worries his father, and doesn’t speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is fast, and I don’t consider
him a desirable acquaintance, so I let him alone.” “You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod, and just now you
bowed and smiled in the pol
itest way to Tommy Chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery
store. If you had just reversed the nod and the bow,
it would have been right,” said Amy reprovingly. “No, it wouldn’t,” returned Jo, “I
neither like, respect, nor admire Tudor, though his grandfather’s uncle’s nephew’s niece
was a third cousin to a lord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very
clever. I think well of him, and like to show that
I do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brown paper parcels.” “It’s no use trying to
argue with you,”
began Amy. “Not the least, my dear,” interrupted
Jo, “so let us look amiable, and drop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out,
for which I’m deeply grateful.” The family cardcase having done its duty the
girls walked on, and Jo uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being told
that the young ladies were engaged. “Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt
March today. We can run down there any time, and it’s
really a pity to trail through the dust in ou
r best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired
and cross.” “Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt March likes to have us pay her the compliment
of coming in style, and making a formal call. It’s a little thing to do, but it gives
her pleasure, and I don’t believe it will hurt your things half so much as letting dirty
dogs and clumping boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off
of your bonnet.” “What a good girl you are, Amy!” said
Jo, with a repentant glance from her own damaged c
ostume to that of her sister, which was fresh
and spotless still. “I wish it was as easy for me to do little
things to please people as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much time
to do them, so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let the small ones slip,
but they tell best in the end, I fancy.” Amy smiled and was mollified at once, saying
with a maternal air, “Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones, for
they have no other way of repaying the kindn
esses they receive. If you’d remember that, and practice it,
you’d be better liked than I am, because there is more of you.” “I’m a crotchety old thing, and always
shall be, but I’m willing to own that you are right, only it’s easier for me to risk
my life for a person than to be pleasant to him when I don’t feel like it. It’s a great misfortune to have such strong
likes and dislikes, isn’t it?” “It’s a greater not to be able to hide
them. I don’t mind saying that I don’t approve
of Tudor any mo
re than you do, but I’m not called upon to tell him so. Neither are you, and there is no use in making
yourself disagreeable because he is.” “But I think girls ought to show when they
disapprove of young men, and how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do any good, as I know
to my sorrow, since I’ve had Teddie to manage. But there are many little ways in which I
can influence him without a word, and I say we ought to do it to others if we can.” “Teddy is a remarkable boy,
and can’t
be taken as a sample of other boys,” said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which
would have convulsed the ‘remarkable boy’ if he had heard it. “If we were belles, or women of wealth and
position, we might do something, perhaps, but for us to frown at one set of young gentlemen
because we don’t approve of them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn’t
have a particle of effect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical.” “So we are to countenance things and peop
le
which we detest, merely because we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That’s a nice sort of morality.” “I can’t argue about it, I only know that
it’s the way of the world, and people who set themselves against it only get laughed
at for their pains. I don’t like reformers, and I hope you never
try to be one.” “I do like them, and I shall be one if I
can, for in spite of the laughing the world would never get on without them. We can’t agree about that, for you belong
to the old set, and
I to the new. You will get on the best, but I shall have
the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting,
I think.” “Well, compose yourself now, and don’t
worry Aunt with your new ideas.” “I’ll try not to, but I’m always possessed
to burst out with some particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her. It’s my doom, and I can’t help it.” They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady,
both absorbed in some very interesting subject, but they dropped it as the gi
rls came in,
with a conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their nieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse
fit returned, but Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper and pleased
everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was felt at once, and
both aunts ‘my deared’ her affectionately, looking what they afterward said emphatically,
“That child improves every day.” “Are you going to help about the fair, dear?”
asked Mrs. Car
rol, as Amy sat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people
like so well in the young. “Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered
to tend a table, as I have nothing but my time to give.” “I’m not,” put in Jo decidedly. “I hate to be patronized, and the Chesters
think it’s a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy, they only want
you to work.” “I am willing to work. It’s for the freedmen as well as the Chesters,
and
I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. Patronage does not trouble me when it is well
meant.” “Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear. It’s a pleasure to help people who appreciate
our efforts. Some do not, and that is trying,” observed
Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a
somewhat morose expression. If Jo had only known what a great happiness
was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would
have turned dove-like in a minute,
but unfortunately, we don’t have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what goes on
in the minds of our friends. Better for us that we cannot as a general
thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of
several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue. “I don’t like favors, they oppress and
make me feel like a slave. I’d rather do everything
for myself, and
be perfectly independent.” “Ahem!” coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at
Aunt March. “I told you so,” said Aunt March, with
a decided nod to Aunt Carrol. Mercifully unconscious of what she had done,
Jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting. “Do you speak French, dear?” asked Mrs.
Carrol, laying a hand on Amy’s. “Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who
lets Esther talk to me as often as I like,” replied Amy, with a grateful l
ook, which caused
the old lady to smile affably. “How are you about languages?” asked Mrs.
Carrol of Jo. “Don’t know a word. I’m very stupid about studying anything,
can’t bear French, it’s such a slippery, silly sort of language,” was the brusque
reply. Another look passed between the ladies, and
Aunt March said to Amy, “You are quite strong and well now, dear, I believe? Eyes don’t trouble you any more, do they?” “Not at all, thank you, ma’am. I’m very well, and mean to do great things
next wi
nter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that joyful time arrives.” “Good girl! You deserve to go, and I’m sure you will
some day,” said Aunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up her ball
for her. Crosspatch, draw the latch,
Sit by the fire and spin, squalled Polly, bending down from his perch
on the back of her chair to peep into Jo’s face, with such a comical air of impertinent
inquiry that it was impossible to help laughing. “Most observing bird,” said the old lad
y. “Come and take a walk, my dear?” cried Polly, hopping toward the china closet,
with a look suggestive of a lump of sugar. “Thank you, I will. Come Amy.” and Jo brought the visit to an
end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but
Amy kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow
and sunshine, which impression caused Aunt March to say, as they vanished... “Y
ou’d better do it, Mary. I’ll supply the money.” and Aunt Carrol to reply decidedly, “I certainly
will, if her father and mother consent.”
Comments
Hello friends! Here is the continuation of "Little Women". The video backdrop today is the bloom of a small fuchsia plant. I hope you will be able to unwind with this reading. Till soon, Marcus
Thank you Marcus, I look forward to every chapter 🙏
Oh boy Jo was on a tear! A good listen once again Marcus. The fuchsia bloom was so pretty.
Now bed time seems closer yay thank you so much Marcus. Today I’ve started watching the playlist for Little Women from the beginning again. It’s very interesting to follow the intricacies of the relationships, especially in terms of how this story articulates such clarity with archetypes as well as fringe social issues. Oscar Wilde move on over!