Little women

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE SURPRISES

Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire,and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk. No onedisturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little red pillow, planningstories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister whonever seemed far away. Her face looked tired, grave, and rather sad, fortomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years wentby, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to haveaccomplished. Almost twenty-five, and nothing to show for it. Jo wasmistaken in that. There was a good deal to show, and by-and-by she saw,and was grateful for it. 

"An old maid, that's what I'm to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for aspouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a morselof fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I'm old and can't enjoy it,solitary, and can't share it, independent, and don't need it. Well, I needn'tbe a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say, old maids are verycomfortable when they get used to it, but..." and there Jo sighed, as if theprospect was not inviting. 

It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to five-andtwenty. But it's not as bad as it looks, and one can get on quite happily ifone has something in one's self to fall back upon. At twenty-five, girlsbegin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they neverwill be. At thirty they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact, andif sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have twentymore useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow oldgracefully. Don't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender,tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly underthe sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition,love itself, make the faded faces beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad,sour sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed thesweetest part of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them withcompassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that theytoo may miss the blossom time. That rosy cheeks don't last forever, thatsilver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by-and-by,kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and admiration now.

Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matterhow poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is thatwhich is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, andserve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect the goodaunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and petted, toooften without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips theyhave given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingershave set for you, the steps the willing old feet have taken, and gratefullypay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to receive aslong as they live. The bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, andwill like you all the better for them, and if death, almost the only powerthat can part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure tofind a tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla,who has kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for 'the best nevvyin the world'. 

Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this littlehomily), for suddenly Laurie's ghost seemed to stand before her, asubstantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he used towear when he felt a good deal and didn't like to show it. But, like Jenny inthe ballad... 

"She could not think it he,"

and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and kissedher. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully... 

"Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!" 

"Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?" 

"Glad! My blessed boy, words can't express my gladness. Where'sAmy?"