Chapter 13
While these things were happening at home, Amy was having hard times at Aunt March’s. She felt her exile deeply, and, for the first time in her life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. Aunt March never petted anyone; but she meant to be kind, for the well, behaved little girl pleased her very much. She did her best to make Amy happy; but, dear me, what mistakes she made! She worried Amy most to death with her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy talks. Finding the child more docile than her sister, the old lady felt it her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of home and freedom and indulgence. She took Amy in hands, and taught her as she herself had been taught sixty years ago.
She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the old-fashioned spoons, the fat silver teapot, and the glasses till they shone. Then she must dust the room, and what a trying job that was! Not a speck escaped Aunt March’s eyes and all the furniture had clawlegs, and much carving, which was never dusted to suit. Then Polly must be fed, the lap-dog combed, and dozen trips upstairs and down, to get things or deliver orders. After these tiresome labours she must do her lessons. Then she was allowed one hour for exercise or play, and didn’t enjoy it!
Laurie came, every day, and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowed to go out with him, when they walked and rode and had capital times. After dinner she had to read aloud, and sit still while the old lady slept. Then patchwork or towels appeared, and Amy sewed with outward meekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to amuse herself as she liked till tea-time.
If it had not been for Laurie and old Esther, the maid, she felt that she never could have got through that dreadful time. The cook was bed-tempered, the old coachman deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any notice of the young lady.
During one of her play hours Amy wrote out the important document, with some help from Esther, as to certain legal terms; and when the good-natured French woman had signed her name, Amy felt relieved, and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as a second witness.
Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read the following document with praiseworthy gravity:
“My last will and testament
“I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do give and bequeathe all my personal property—viz, to wit:—namely—
“To my father, my best pictures sketches maps, and works of art, including frames. Also my $ 100, to do what he likes with.
“To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets—also my likeness, and my medal, with much love.
“To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turquoise ring (if I get it) also my green box with the doves on it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her ‘little girl.’
“To Jo I leave my breas-pin, the one mended with sealing-wax, also my bronze inkstand—she lost the cover—and my most precious plaster rabbit, beause I am sorry I burnt up her story.
“To Beth I give my dolls and the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers, And herewith also leave here my regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna.
“To my friend and neighbour Theodore Laurence I bequeath my paper marshay portfolio, my clay model of a horse, though he did say it hadn’t any neck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best.
“To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remind him of the departed girls who thanks him for his favours to her family, especially Beth.
“I with my favourite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss.
“To Hannah I gave the band-box she wanted and all the patchwork I leave hoping she will remember me when she wonts.
“To this will and testament I set my hand and seal on this 20th day of Nov.
AMY CURTIS MARCH.”
ESTELLE VALNOR,
“WITNESSES:
THEODORE LAURENCE.:
Amy then asked Laurie anxiously, “What about Beth?”
“She felt so ill one day that she told Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her bird to you, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest to us, and her best love to grandpa. She never thought of a will.”
When Laurie hand gone, she went to her little chapel, and prayed for Beth with streaming tears and an aching hearts, feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console for the loss of her gentle little sister.
