He rose. “Please, tell the young ladies what I say, and if they don't care to come, why, never mind.”
Beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, “Oh sir, they do care, very very much!”
“Are you the musical girl?” he asked.
“I'm Beth. I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me, and be disturbed,” she added, fearing to be rude.
“Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so come and play as much as you like.”
“How kind you are, sir!”
Beth blushed like a rose and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead.
“I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! Good day, madam.”
And away he went, in a great hurry.
Next day, Beth made her way to the drawing room where the piano stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano. With trembling fingers, Beth at last touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the music.
After that, she went to play nearly every day. She never knew that Mr. Laurence opened his study door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked. She never saw Laurie guard the hall to warn the servants away. She never suspected that the exercise books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her. So she enjoyed herself heartily.
One day, the girls called to Beth.
“Here's a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it!”
Beth hurried to them. Her sisters took her to the parlor, all pointing and all saying at once, “Look there! Look there!” Beth did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise. There stood a little cabinet piano. A letter was lying on the lid.
“For me?” gasped Beth.
“Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't you think he's the dearest old man in the world? We didn't open the letter, but we are dying to know what he says,” cried Jo.
“You read it! I can't! Oh, it is too lovely!” and Beth hid her face in Jo's apron, quite upset by her present.
Jo opened the paper and began to laugh, for the first words she saw were…
“Miss March: “Dear Madam – “
“How nice it sounds! I wish someone would write to me so!” said Amy, who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant.
“‘I thank you for the slippers you gave me,'” continues Jo. “I like to pay my debts, so I know you will allow ‘the old gentleman' to send you something which once belonged to the little grand daughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, your grateful friend and humble servant, ‘JAMES LAURENCE'.”
“Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of it,” said Hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows.
So Beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable piano ever heard.
Chapter seven
Amy's valley of humiliation
Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist the temptation of displaying a brown-paper parcel. During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty-four delicious limes and was going to treat circulated through her friends and became quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her next party on the spot. Mary Kingsley insisted on lending her watch till recess, and Jenny Snow promptly buried the hatchet[17] and offered to furnish answers to some sums. But Amy instantly crushed ‘that Snow girl's’ hopes by the withering telegram, “You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for you won't get any.”
Alas, alas! The revengeful Snow turned the tables[18] with disastrous success. During the lesson, under pretense of asking an important question, she informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk. Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article.
Soon as he heard the word ‘limes', his face flushed.
“Young ladies, attention, if you please!”
Fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were fixed upon him.
“Miss March, come to the desk.”
Amy rose, but the limes weighed upon her conscience.
“Bring with you the limes you have in your desk.”
Amy laid themt down before Mr. Davis.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window.”
Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times. As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous “Hem!” and said, in his most impressive manner…
“Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has happened, but I never allow my rules to be broken, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand.”
Amy started, and put both hands behind her.
“Your hand, Miss March!”
Amy threw back her head defiantly, stretched out her hand and bore without flinching several blows on her little palm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the first time in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.
“You will now stand on the platform till recess,” said Mr. Davis.
That was dreadful. Taking her place, she fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, motionless. During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.
The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last.
“You can go, Miss March,” said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable.
He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, without a word to anyone, snatched her things, and left the place “forever,” as she passionately declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home, and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, and comforted her daughter.
“Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a little every day with Beth,” said Mrs. March that evening. “I dislike Mr. Davis's manner of teaching and don't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else.”
Chapter eight
Jo meets Apollyon
“Girls, where are you going?” asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.
“Never mind. Little girls shouldn't ask questions,” returned Jo sharply.
“You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you stopped when I came in. Aren't you going with him?”
“Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering.”
Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket.
“I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see the Seven Castles!” she cried, adding resolutely, “and I shall go, for Mother said I might see it, and I've got my rag money, and it was mean not to tell me in time.”
“Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,” said Meg soothingly. “Mother doesn't wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.”
“I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me. I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I'm dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I'll be ever so good,” pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could.
“Suppose we take her. I don't believe Mother would mind, if we bundle her up well,” began Meg.
“If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it, and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted,” said Jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoy herself.