Chapter 8
All the four girls called themselves the Pickwick Club. They met every Saturday evening in the big garret. Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table, on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big ‘P.C.’ in different colours on each, and the weekly newspaper, called the Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed something; while Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o’clock the four members ascended to the club-room, tied their dadges sound heads, and took their seats with great solemnity.
Meg, as the eldest was Samuel Pickwick; Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass; Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman; and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn’t, was Nathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they good naturedly reminded one another of their faults and shortcomings.
One Saturday morning, it was decided to let Laurie become a member of the club. All the four girls agreed to this proposal.
“As a token of my gratitude for the honour done to me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden; a fine, specious building, with padlocks on the doors, and every convenience for the mails—also the females. It’s the old martin-house; but I’ve stopped up the door, and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters,
manuscripts, books and bundles can be passed in there; and as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present club key,” said Laurie.
No one ever regretted the admittance of Laurie; for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. His orations convulsed his hearers, and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic.
Beth was post-mistress, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door and distributing the mail. One July day, she came in with her hands full, and went about the house leaving letters and parcels like the penny post.
“Here’s your posy, mother! Laurie never forgets that,” she said, putting the fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in ‘Marmee’s corner’.
“Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove,” continued Beth.
“Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one,” said Meg, looking at the grey cotton glove.
“I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. My letter is only a translation of the German song I wanted; I guess Mr. Brooke did it, for this is not Laurie’s writing.”
Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham morning-gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very womanly as she sat sewing at her little work-table.
“Two letter for Doctor Jo, a book and a funny old hat,” said Beth, laughing, as she went into the study, where Jo sat writing.
“What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished bigger hats were the fashion, because I burn my face every hot day. He said, ‘Why mind the fashion? Wear a big, hat and be comfortable! I said I would, if I had one, and he has sent me this to wear to try me; I’ll wear it for fun, and show him I don’t care for the fashion,” and, hanging the antique broad-brim on a bust of Plato, Jo read her letters.
One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said to her—
“MY DEAR—I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watch your efforts to control your temper. Go on, dear, patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one sympathises more tenderly with you.
That does me good! That’s worth millions of money, and pecks of praise. Oh, mother, I do try! I will keep on trying and not get tired, since I have you to help me.”
Laying her head on her arms, Jo showed her romance a few happy tears, for she had thought no one saw and appreciated her efforts to be good. Feeling stronger than ever to meet Laurie, she proceeded to open her other letter. In a big, bashing hand, Laurie wrote—
Dear Jo,
Some English girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow. If it’s fine, I’m going to pitch my tent in Longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet—have a fire, make messes, gipsy fashion, and all sorts of larks. Brooke will go, to keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughan will play propriety for the girls. I want you all to come; can’t let Beth off at any price, and nobody shall worry her. Don’t bother about rations—I’ll see to that everything else—only do come, there’s a good fellow!
In a tearing hurry.
Yours ever, LAURIE.”
“I hope the Vaughans are not fine, grown-up people. Do you know anything about then, Jo?” asked Meg.
“Only that there are four of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and Frank (twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine or ten. Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys; I fancied that he did not admire Kate much.”
When the sun peeped into the girls’ room early next morning, Laurie saw a comical sight, Each had made preparations for the party. Meg had an extra row of little curl-papers across her forehead. Jo had anointed her afflicted face with cold cream. Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had put a clothes pin on her nose, to uplift the offending feature.
Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both houses, Beth reporting what went on next door.
“There goes the man with tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch in a hamper. Now Mrs. Laurence is looking up to the sky and the weathercock; I wish he would go, too! There’s Laurie, looking like a sailor—nice boy! Oh, mercy me! Here’s a carriage full of people—a tall lady, a little girl and two dreadful boys. One is lame. Poor thing, he’s got a crutch! Be quick, girls; it’s getting late. Why, there is Ned Moffat, I do declare. Look, Meg; isn’t that the man who bowed to you one day when we were shopping?”
“So it is; how queer that he should come! I thought he was at the Mountains. There is Sallie; I’m glad she got back in time. Am I all right, Jo?” cried Meg in a flutter.
Laurie ran to meet, and present them to his friends. The lawn was the reception-room and for several minutes a lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see Miss Kate, though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would do well to imitate; and she was much flattered by Mr. Ned’s assurance that came especially to see her. Kate had a stand-off-don’t-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free-and-easy demeanour of the other girls. Beth took an oberservation of the new boys, and decided that the lame one was not ‘dreadful,’ but gentle and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account. Amy found Grace a well-mannered, merry little person.
Tents, lunch and croquet utensils having been sent on before-hand, the party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together. Laurie and Jo rowed one boat; Mr. Brooke and Ned the other. Jo’s funny that deserved a vote of thanks, for it broke the ice in the beginning by producing a laugh; it created refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro as she rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party if a shower came up, she said. Kate looked rather amazed at Jo’s proceedings, especially as she exclaimed, “Christopher Columbus!” When she lost her oar; and Laurie said, “My dear fellow did I hurt you?” When he tripped over her feet in taking his place. But, after putting up her glass to examine the queer girls several times, Miss Kate decided that she was ‘odd, but rather clever’.
Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated—face to face with the rowers, who both admired the prospect. Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet manners, and considered him a walking encyclopedia. He never talked to her much, but he looked at her a good deal. Ned being in college, put on all the airs which freshmen think it their bounden duty to assume; he was not very wise, but very good-natured and merry. Sallie Gardiner was absorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean, and chattering with Fred, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks.
It was not far to Longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wickets down by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field, with three wide-spreading oaks in the middle, and a smooth strip of turf for croquet.
“Welcome to Camp Laurence!” said the young host as they landed. “Brooke is commander-in-chief; I am commissary general; the other fellows are staff-officers; and you ladies are company. The tent is for your special benefit, and that oak is your drawing-room; this is the mess-room and the third is the camp kitchen. Now let’s have a game before it gets hot.”
Frank, Beth, Amy and Grace sat down to watch the game. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred; Laurie took Sallie, Jo, and Ned. The Englishmen played well, but the Americans played better. Jo and Fred and several skirmishes, and once narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket and had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good idea. Fred was close behind her, and his turn came before hers; he gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was near and running up to examine, he gave it a nudge with his toe, which put it just an inch on the right side.
“I’m through! Now, Miss Jo, I’ll settle you and get in first,” cried the young gentleman.
“You pushed it! It’s my turn now,” said Jo sharply.
“Upon my word I didn’t move it. It rolled a big, perhaps but that is allowed; so stand off, please, and let me have a go at the stake.”
Laurie threw up his hat; then remembered that it wouldn’t do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of a cheer to whisper to his friend—“Good for you, Jo. He did cheat; I saw him. We can’t tell him so; but he won’t do it again, take my word for it.”
The commander-in-chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with an inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone settled themselves to a hearty meal. A very merry lunch it was, for everything seemed fresh and funny, and frequently peals of laughter startled a venerable horse, who fed near by.
“There’s salt here, if you prefer it,” said Laurie, as he handed Jo a saucer of berried.
Miss Kate did know several new games; and as the girls would not and the boys could not eat my more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room to play ‘Rigmorole’.
Mr. Brooke looked up, and said quickly, “Young ladies in America love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves.”
“Oh yes; of course! It’s very nice and proper in them to do so.”
“Did the German song suit, Miss March?” inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an awkward pause.
“Oh yes! It was very sweet, and I’m much obliged to who ever translated it for me;” and Meg’s downcast face brightened as she spoke.
“Don’t you read German?” aksed Miss Kate.
“Not very well, My father, who taught me, is away, and I don’t get on very fast alone.”
“Try a little now; here is Schiller’s Mary Stuart, and a tutor who loves to teach;” and Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap with an inviting smile.
“It’s so hard, I’m afraid to try.” said Meg.
“I’ll read a bit to encourage you,” said Miss Kate and she read one of the most beautiful passages, in a correct, but expressionless manner.
Mr. Brooke made no comment, as she returned the book to Meg who said innocently, “I thought it was poetry.”
“Some of it is; try this passage.”
There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke’s mouth as he opened it at poor Mary’s lament.
Meg, obediently following the long grass blade which her new tutor used to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short; but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoilt for her.
Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketch-book, saying with condescension—
“You’ve a nice accent, and, in time, will be a clever reader. I must look after Grace; she is romping;” and Miss Kate strolled away, adding to herself, with a shrug, “I didn’t come to chaperone a governess, though she is young and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are!”
“I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses,” said Meg, looking after the retreating figure with an annoyed expression.
“Tutors, also, have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my sorrow. There’s no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret;” and Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful that Meg was ashamed to lament her hard lot.
An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the river, singing at the top of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain—
“Alone, alone, ah! Woe, alone,”
And at the lines—
“We each are young, we each have a heart,
Oh, why should we stand thus coldly alone?” he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed outright and spoilt his song.
“How can you be so cruel to me?” he whispered, under cover of a lively chorus; “you’ve kept close to that starched-up Englishman all day, and now you snub me.”
“I didn’t mean to; but you looked so funny, I really couldn’t help it,” replied Meg passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and the talk after it.
Ned was offended, and turned to Sallie, for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly, “There isn’t a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?”
“Not a particle; but she’s a dear,” returned Sallie, defending her friend.
On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good-nights and good-byes, for the Vaughans were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after them, saying, without the unpleasant tone in her voice. “In spite of their unpleasant manner, American girls are very nice when one knows them.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brooke.
