Little women

CHAPTER NINETEEN AMY'S WILL

While these things were happening at home, Amy was having hardtimes at Aunt March's. She felt her exile deeply, and for the first time inher life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. AuntMarch never petted any one; she did not approve of it, but she meant to bekind, for the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and AuntMarch had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, thoughshe didn't think it proper to confess it. She really did her best to makeAmy happy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made. Some old people keepyoung at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, can sympathize withchildren's little cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can hide wiselessons under pleasant plays, giving and receiving friendship in thesweetest way. But Aunt March had not this gift, and she worried Amy verymuch with her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy talks.Finding the child more docile and amiable than her sister, the old lady feltit her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of homefreedom and indulgence. So she took Amy by the hand, and taught her asshe herself had been taught sixty years ago, a process which carrieddismay to Amy's soul, and made her feel like a fly in the web of a verystrict spider. 

She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the oldfashioned 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 speckescaped Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs and muchcarving, which was never dusted to suit. Then Polly had to be fed, the lapdog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down to get things or deliverorders, for the old lady was very lame and seldom left her big chair. Afterthese tiresome labors, she must do her lessons, which was a daily trial ofevery virtue she possessed. Then she was allowed one hour for exercise orplay, and didn't she enjoy it?

Laurie came every day, and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowedto 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,which she usually did for an hour, as she dropped off over the first page.Then patchwork or towels appeared, and Amy sewed with outwardmeekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to amuseherself as she liked till teatime. The evenings were the worst of all, forAunt March fell to telling long stories about her youth, which were sounutterably dull that Amy was always ready to go to bed, intending to cryover her hard fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed outmore than a tear or two. 

If it had not been for Laurie, and old Esther, the maid, she felt that shenever could have got through that dreadful time. The parrot alone wasenough to drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did not admirehim, and revenged himself by being as mischievous as possible. He pulledher hair whenever she came near him, upset his bread and milk to plagueher when she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop bark by pecking athim while Madam dozed, called her names before company, and behavedin all respects like an reprehensible old bird. Then she could not endurethe dog, a fat, cross beast who snarled and yelped at her when she made histoilet, and who lay on his back with all his legs in the air and a mostidiotic expression of countenance when he wanted something to eat, whichwas about a dozen times a day. The cook was bad-tempered, the oldcoachman was deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any notice ofthe young lady.

Esther was a Frenchwoman, who had lived with 'Madame', as she calledher mistress, for many years, and who rather tyrannized over the old lady,who could not get along without her. Her real name was Estelle, but AuntMarch ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition that she wasnever asked to change her religion. She took a fancy to Mademoiselle, andamused her very much with odd stories of her life in France, when Amysat with her while she got up Madame's laces. She also allowed her toroam about the great house, and examine the curious and pretty thingsstored away in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests, for Aunt Marchhoarded like a magpie. Amy's chief delight was an Indian cabinet, full ofqueer drawers, little pigeonholes, and secret places, in which were kept allsorts of ornaments, some precious, some merely curious, all more or lessantique. To examine and arrange these things gave Amy great satisfaction,especially the jewel cases, in which on velvet cushions reposed theornaments which had adorned a belle forty years ago. There was the garnetset which Aunt March wore when she came out, the pearls her father gaveher on her wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings andpins, the queer lockets, with portraits of dead friends and weeping willowsmade of hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn,Uncle March's big watch, with the red seal so many childish hands hadplayed with, and in a box all by itself lay Aunt March's wedding ring, toosmall now for her fat finger, but put carefully away like the most preciousjewel of them all.