CHAPTER ELEVEN
EXPERIMENTS
“The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I’m
free. Three months’ vacation—how I shall enjoy it!” exclaimed Meg,
coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state
of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made
lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.
“Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!” said Jo. “I was
mortally afraid she’d ask me to go with her. If she had, I should have felt as
if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know,
and I’d rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had
a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through
that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she’d find it
impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and
had a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped out her head, saying,
‘Josyphine, won’t you—?’ I didn’t hear any more, for I basely turned and
fled. I did actually run, and whisked round the corner where I felt safe.”
“Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her,” said Beth,
as she cuddled her sister’s feet with a motherly air.
“Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?” observed Amy, tasting
her mixture critically.
“She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too warm to
be particular about one’s parts of speech,” murmured Jo.
“What shall you do all your vacation?” asked Amy, changing the subject
with tact.
“I shall lie abed late, and do nothing,” replied Meg, from the depths of
the rocking chair. “I’ve been routed up early all winter and had to spend my
days working for other people, so now I’m going to rest and revel to my
heart’s content.”
“No,” said Jo, “that dozy way wouldn’t suit me. I’ve laid in a heap of
books, and I’m going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in
the old apple tree, when I’m not having l——”
“Don’t say ‘larks!’” implored Amy, as a return snub for the ‘samphire’
correction.
“I’ll say ‘nightingales’ then, with Laurie. That’s proper and appropriate,
since he’s a warbler.”
“Don’t let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time and
rest, as the girls mean to,” proposed Amy.
“Well, I will, if Mother doesn’t mind. I want to learn some new songs,
and my children need fitting up for the summer. They are dreadfully out of
order and really suffering for clothes.”
“May we, Mother?” asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing
in what they called ‘Marmee’s corner’.
“You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it. I think
by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all
work and no play.”
“Oh, dear, no! It will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Meg complacently.
“I now propose a toast, as my ‘friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp’, says.
Fun forever, and no grubbing!” cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the
lemonade went round.
They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the
rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o’clock. Her
solitary breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed lonely and
untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy’s
books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but ‘Marmee’s
corner’, which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to ‘rest and read’, which
meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with
her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river with Laurie and the afternoon
reading and crying over The Wide, Wide World, up in the apple tree. Beth
began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family
resided, but getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-
turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy
arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat
down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and
inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive
daddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk,
got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.
At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a
delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the
afternoon and got a ‘sweet blue muslin’, had discovered, after she had cut
the breadths off, that it wouldn’t wash, which mishap made her slightly
cross. Jo had burned the skin off her nose boating, and got a raging
headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of her
closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amy
deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy Brown’s party was to
be the next day and now like Flora McFlimsey, she had ‘nothing to wear’.
But these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the
experiment was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and with
Hannah’s help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the
domestic machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiar
and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the ‘resting and
reveling’ process. The days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was
unusually variable and so were tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed
everyone, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As
the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time
hang so heavily, that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her
attempts to furbish them up a la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out and
she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had a
quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she
had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was constantly
forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back into her old
ways now and then. But something in the air affected her, and more than
once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion
she actually shook poor dear Joanna and told her she was ‘a fright’. Amy
fared worst of all, for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her
to amuse herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self
a great burden. She didn’t like dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one
couldn’t draw all the time. Tea parties didn’t amount to much, neither did
picnics, unless very well conducted. “If one could have a fine house, full of
nice girls, or go traveling, the summer would be delightful, but to stay at
home with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to try the
patience of a Boaz,” complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted
to pleasure, fretting, and ennui.
No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Friday
night each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearly
done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had a
good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner,
so she gave Hannah a holiday and let the girls enjoy the full effect of the
play system.
When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen,
no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.
“Mercy on us! What has happened?” cried Jo, staring about her in
dismay.
Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but rather
bewildered, and a little ashamed.
“Mother isn’t sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay
quietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can. It’s a very queer
thing for her to do, she doesn’t act a bit like herself. But she says it has been
a hard week for her, so we mustn’t grumble but take care of ourselves.”
“That’s easy enough, and I like the idea, I’m aching for something to do,
that is, some new amusement, you know,” added Jo quickly.
In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they
took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah’s saying,
“Housekeeping ain’t no joke.” There was plenty of food in the larder, and
while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast, wondering as
they did why servants ever talked about hard work.
“I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not to think of
her, for she’d take care of herself,” said Meg, who presided and felt quite
matronly behind the teapot.
So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with the
cook’s compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelet scorched,
and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but Mrs. March received her repast
with thanks and laughed heartily over it after Jo was gone.
“Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I’m afraid, but they won’t
suffer, and it will do them good,” she said, producing the more palatable
viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad
breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherly little deception
for which they were grateful.
Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook
at her failures. “Never mind, I’ll get the dinner and be servant, you be
mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders,” said Jo, who
knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs.
This obliging offer was gladly accepted, and Margaret retired to the
parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofa
and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with perfect faith
in her own powers and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel,
immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to dinner.
“You’d better see what you have got before you think of having
company,” said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act.
“Oh, there’s corned beef and plenty of potatoes, and I shall get some
asparagus and a lobster, ‘for a relish’, as Hannah says. We’ll have lettuce
and make a salad. I don’t know how, but the book tells. I’ll have blanc
mange and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too, if you want to be
elegant.”
“Don’t try too many messes, Jo, for you can’t make anything but
gingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat. I wash my hands of the dinner
party, and since you have asked Laurie on your own responsibility, you may
just take care of him.”
“I don’t want you to do anything but be civil to him and help to the
pudding. You’ll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won’t you?” asked
Jo, rather hurt.
“Yes, but I don’t know much, except about bread and a few trifles. You
had better ask Mother’s leave before you order anything,” returned Meg
prudently.
“Of course I shall. I’m not a fool.” And Jo went off in a huff at the doubts
expressed of her powers.
“Get what you like, and don’t disturb me. I’m going out to dinner and
can’t worry about things at home,” said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to her.
“I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I’m going to take a vacation today, and
read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself.”
The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably and
reading early in the morning made Jo feel as if some unnatural phenomenon
had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would
hardly have seemed stranger.
“Everything is out of sorts, somehow,” she said to herself, going
downstairs. “There’s Beth crying, that’s a sure sign that something is wrong
in this family. If Amy is bothering, I’ll shake her.”
Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to find
Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage with his little
claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he
had died.
“It’s all my fault, I forgot him, there isn’t a seed or a drop left. Oh, Pip!
Oh, Pip! How could I be so cruel to you?” cried Beth, taking the poor thing
in her hands and trying to restore him.
Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff
and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino box for a coffin.
“Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive,” said Amy
hopefully.
“He’s been starved, and he shan’t be baked now he’s dead. I’ll make him
a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden, and I’ll never have another
bird, never, my Pip! for I am too bad to own one,” murmured Beth, sitting
on the floor with her pet folded in her hands.
“The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go. Now, don’t cry,
Bethy. It’s a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has had the
worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box, and after
the dinner party, we’ll have a nice little funeral,” said Jo, beginning to feel
as if she had undertaken a good deal.
Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which
was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron, she
fell to work and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when she
discovered that the fire was out.
“Here’s a sweet prospect!” muttered Jo, slamming the stove door open,
and poking vigorously among the cinders.
Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the
water heated. The walk revived her spirits, and flattering herself that she
had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very
young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid strawberries.
By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived and the stove was red-hot.
Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had worked it up early, set it on
the hearth for a second rising, and forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie
Gardiner in the parlor, when the door flew open and a floury, crocky,
flushed, and disheveled figure appeared, demanding tartly…
“I say, isn’t bread ‘riz’ enough when it runs over the pans?”
Sallie began to laugh, but Meg nodded and lifted her eyebrows as high as
they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish and put the sour bread
into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, after peeping here
and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to Beth,
who sat making a winding sheet, while the dear departed lay in state in the
domino box. A strange sense of helplessness fell upon the girls as the gray
bonnet vanished round the corner, and despair seized them when a few
minutes later Miss Crocker appeared, and said she’d come to dinner. Now
this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes,
who saw everything and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but
had been taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor and
had few friends. So Meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her,
while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told stories of the
people whom she knew.
Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which
Jo underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became a standing
joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered
that something more than energy and good will is necessary to make a cook.
She boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads
cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread burned black; for the
salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to eat. The
lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was
unshelled and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves.
The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were
not done at the last. The blanc mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not
as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully ‘deaconed’.
“Well, they can eat beef and bread and butter, if they are hungry, only it’s
mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing,” thought Jo,
as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood, hot, tired, and
dispirited, surveying the feast spread before Laurie, accustomed to all sorts
of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose tattling tongue would report them far
and wide.
Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after
another was tasted and left, while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed,
Miss Crocker pursed her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all his
might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo’s one strong point was
the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat
with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as the
pretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the little
rosy islands floating in a sea of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made a
wry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who refused, thinking there
might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over,
glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was a
slight pucker about his mouth and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy,
who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her
face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately.
“Oh, what is it?” exclaimed Jo, trembling.
“Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour,” replied Meg with a tragic
gesture.
Jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had
given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on
the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator. She
turned scarlet and was on the verge of crying, when she met Laurie’s eyes,
which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts. The comical side of
the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her
cheeks. So did everyone else, even ‘Croaker’ as the girls called the old lady,
and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily, with bread and butter, olives and
fun.
“I haven’t strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober
ourselves with a funeral,” said Jo, as they rose, and Miss Crocker made
ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend’s dinner
table.
They did sober themselves for Beth’s sake. Laurie dug a grave under the
ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears by his tender-
hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and
chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo
while she struggled with the dinner.
Here lies Pip March,
Who died the 7th of June;
Loved and lamented sore,
And not forgotten soon.
At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcome
with emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose, for the beds
were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up the
pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the remains
of the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them so tired that they
agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper.
Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour
cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came
home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the
afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one
part of the experiment.
Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a
scramble to get ready to see them. Then tea must be got, errands done, and
one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute. As
twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch where
the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she
sat down, as if tired or troubled.
“What a dreadful day this has been!” began Jo, usually the first to speak.
“It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable,” said Meg.
“Not a bit like home,” added Amy.
“It can’t seem so without Marmee and little Pip,” sighed Beth, glancing
with full eyes at the empty cage above her head.
“Here’s Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if you
want it.”
As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking
as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs.
“Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another
week of it?” she asked, as Beth nestled up to her and the rest turned toward
her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun.
“I don’t!” cried Jo decidedly.
“Nor I,” echoed the others.
“You think then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little for
others, do you?”
“Lounging and larking doesn’t pay,” observed Jo, shaking her head. “I’m
tired of it and mean to go to work at something right off.”
“Suppose you learn plain cooking. That’s a useful accomplishment,
which no woman should be without,” said Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly
at the recollection of Jo’s dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker and
heard her account of it.
“Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we’d get
on?” cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day.
“Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing
her share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on pretty
well, though I don’t think you were very happy or amiable. So I thought, as
a little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only
of herself. Don’t you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have
daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear and
forbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?”
“We do, Mother, we do!” cried the girls.
“Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though
they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learn to
carry them. Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for everyone. It keeps
us from ennui and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and gives us a
sense of power and independence better than money or fashion.”
“We’ll work like bees, and love it too, see if we don’t,” said Jo. “I’ll learn
plain cooking for my holiday task, and the next dinner party I have shall be
a success.”
“I’ll make the set of shirts for father, instead of letting you do it, Marmee.
I can and I will, though I’m not fond of sewing. That will be better than
fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they are.” said
Meg.
“I’ll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my
music and dolls. I am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, not playing,”
was Beth’s resolution, while Amy followed their example by heroically
declaring, “I shall learn to make buttonholes, and attend to my parts of
speech.”
“Very good! Then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancy that
we shall not have to repeat it, only don’t go to the other extreme and delve
like slaves. Have regular hours for work and play, make each day both
useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by
employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few
regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of poverty.”
“We’ll remember, Mother!” and they did.
