CHAPTER FIVE
BEING NEIGHBORLY
“What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?” asked Meg one snowy
afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old
sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.
“Going out for exercise,” answered Jo with a mischievous twinkle in her
eyes.
“I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough!
It’s cold and dull out, and I advise you to stay warm and dry by the fire, as I
do,” said Meg with a shiver.
“Never take advice! Can’t keep still all day, and not being a pussycat, I
don’t like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I’m going to find
some.”
Meg went back to toast her feet and read Ivanhoe, and Jo began to dig
paths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon
swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun came
out and the invalid dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated the
Marches’ house from that of Mr. Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the
city, which was still country-like, with groves and lawns, large gardens, and
quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old,
brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in
summer covered its walls and the flowers, which then surrounded it. On the
other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of
comfort and luxury, from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the
conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich
curtains.
Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked on
the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people
went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.
To Jo’s lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace,
full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed. She had long wanted
to behold these hidden glories, and to know the Laurence boy, who looked
as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the
party, she had been more eager than ever, and had planned many ways of
making friends with him, but he had not been seen lately, and Jo began to
think he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upper
window, looking wistfully down into their garden, where Beth and Amy
were snow-balling one another.
“That boy is suffering for society and fun,” she said to herself. “His
grandpa does not know what’s good for him, and keeps him shut up all
alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and
lively. I’ve a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!”
The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things and was always
scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of ‘going over’ was
not forgotten. And when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what
could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off, and then sallied out to dig
her way down to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey. All quiet,
curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, and nothing
human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper
window.
“There he is,” thought Jo, “Poor boy! All alone and sick this dismal day.
It’s a shame! I’ll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say a
kind word to him.”
Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a
face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and
the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom
as she called out…
“How do you do? Are you sick?”
Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven…
“Better, thank you. I’ve had a bad cold, and been shut up a week.”
“I’m sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?”
“Nothing. It’s dull as tombs up here.”
“Don’t you read?”
“Not much. They won’t let me.”
“Can’t somebody read to you?”
“Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don’t interest him, and I hate to
ask Brooke all the time.”
“Have someone come and see you then.”
“There isn’t anyone I’d like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head
is weak.”
“Isn’t there some nice girl who’d read and amuse you? Girls are quiet
and like to play nurse.”
“Don’t know any.”
“You know us,” began Jo, then laughed and stopped.
“So I do! Will you come, please?” cried Laurie.
“I’m not quiet and nice, but I’ll come, if Mother will let me. I’ll go ask
her. Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till I come.”
With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house,
wondering what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter of
excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready, for
as Mrs. March said, he was ‘a little gentleman’, and did honor to the
coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh color, and trying
to tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything
but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, then a decided voice, asking for
‘Mr. Laurie’, and a surprised-looking servant came running up to announce
a young lady.
“All right, show her up, it’s Miss Jo,” said Laurie, going to the door of
his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and quite at her ease,
with a covered dish in one hand and Beth’s three kittens in the other.
“Here I am, bag and baggage,” she said briskly. “Mother sent her love,
and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some
of her blanc mange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats
would be comforting. I knew you’d laugh at them, but I couldn’t refuse, she
was so anxious to do something.”
It so happened that Beth’s funny loan was just the thing, for in laughing
over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once.
“That looks too pretty to eat,” he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo
uncovered the dish, and showed the blanc mange, surrounded by a garland
of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium.
“It isn’t anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to show it. Tell the
girl to put it away for your tea. It’s so simple you can eat it, and being soft,
it will slip down without hurting your sore throat. What a cozy room this
is!”
“It might be if it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and I don’t know
how to make them mind. It worries me though.”
“I’ll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearth
brushed, so—and the things made straight on the mantelpiece, so—and the
books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light,
and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now then, you’re fixed.”
And so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked things into
place and given quite a different air to the room. Laurie watched her in
respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat down with
a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully…
“How kind you are! Yes, that’s what it wanted. Now please take the big
chair and let me do something to amuse my company.”
“No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?” and Jo looked
affectionately toward some inviting books near by.
“Thank you! I’ve read all those, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk,”
answered Laurie.
“Not a bit. I’ll talk all day if you’ll only set me going. Beth says I never
know when to stop.”
“Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goes
out with a little basket?” asked Laurie with interest.
“Yes, that’s Beth. She’s my girl, and a regular good one she is, too.”
“The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?”
“How did you find that out?”
Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, “Why, you see I often hear you
calling to one another, and when I’m alone up here, I can’t help looking
over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg
your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the
curtain at the window where the flowers are. And when the lamps are
lighted, it’s like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around the
table with your mother. Her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet
behind the flowers, I can’t help watching it. I haven’t got any mother, you
know.” And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips that he
could not control.
The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo’s warm heart.
She had been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, and
at fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was sick and
lonely, and feeling how rich she was in home and happiness, she gladly
tried to share it with him. Her face was very friendly and her sharp voice
unusually gentle as she said…
“We’ll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as
much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you’d come over
and see us. Mother is so splendid, she’d do you heaps of good, and Beth
would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would dance. Meg and I
would make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we’d have jolly
times. Wouldn’t your grandpa let you?”
“I think he would, if your mother asked him. He’s very kind, though he
does not look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he’s
afraid I might be a bother to strangers,” began Laurie, brightening more and
more.
“We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn’t think you’d be
a bother. We want to know you, and I’ve been trying to do it this ever so
long. We haven’t been here a great while, you know, but we have got
acquainted with all our neighbors but you.”
“You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn’t mind much what
happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn’t stay here, you know, and I
have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as I can.”
“That’s bad. You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere you
are asked, then you’ll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to.
Never mind being bashful. It won’t last long if you keep going.”
Laurie turned red again, but wasn’t offended at being accused of
bashfulness, for there was so much good will in Jo it was impossible not to
take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant.
“Do you like your school?” asked the boy, changing the subject, after a
little pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jo looked about her, well
pleased.
“Don’t go to school, I’m a businessman—girl, I mean. I go to wait on my
great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too,” answered Jo.
Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering just
in time that it wasn’t manners to make too many inquiries into people’s
affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.
Jo liked his good breeding, and didn’t mind having a laugh at Aunt
March, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fat
poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the library where she reveled.
Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim old
gentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and in the middle of a fine
speech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay
back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her
head in to see what was the matter.
“Oh! That does me no end of good. Tell on, please,” he said, taking his
face out of the sofa cushion, red and shining with merriment.
Much elated with her success, Jo did ‘tell on’, all about their plays and
plans, their hopes and fears for Father, and the most interesting events of the
little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to talking about books,
and to Jo’s delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as she did, and
had read even more than herself.
“If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandfather is out,
so you needn’t be afraid,” said Laurie, getting up.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” returned Jo, with a toss of the head.
“I don’t believe you are!” exclaimed the boy, looking at her with much
admiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to be a
trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some of his moods.
The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie led the
way from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck her
fancy. And so, at last they came to the library, where she clapped her hands
and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted. It was lined with
books, and there were pictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full
of coins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queer tables, and
bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quaint tiles all round it.
“What richness!” sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chair and
gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction. “Theodore Laurence,
you ought to be the happiest boy in the world,” she added impressively.
“A fellow can’t live on books,” said Laurie, shaking his head as he
perched on a table opposite.
Before he could say more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaiming with
alarm, “Mercy me! It’s your grandpa!”
“Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you know,” returned
the boy, looking wicked.
“I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don’t know why I should be.
Marmee said I might come, and I don’t think you’re any the worse for it,”
said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door.
“I’m a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I’m only afraid
you are very tired of talking to me. It was so pleasant, I couldn’t bear to
stop,” said Laurie gratefully.
“The doctor to see you, sir,” and the maid beckoned as she spoke.
“Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see him,”
said Laurie.
“Don’t mind me. I’m happy as a cricket here,” answered Jo.
Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She was
standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman when the door opened
again, and without turning, she said decidedly, “I’m sure now that I
shouldn’t be afraid of him, for he’s got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim,
and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own. He isn’t as
handsome as my grandfather, but I like him.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to her
great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.
Poor Jo blushed till she couldn’t blush any redder, and her heart began to
beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said. For a minute a
wild desire to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly, and the girls
would laugh at her, so she resolved to stay and get out of the scrape as she
could. A second look showed her that the living eyes, under the bushy
eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones, and there was a sly
twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was
gruffer than ever, as the old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful
pause, “So you’re not afraid of me, hey?”
“Not much, sir.”
“And you don’t think me as handsome as your grandfather?”
“Not quite, sir.”
“And I’ve got a tremendous will, have I?”
“I only said I thought so.”
“But you like me in spite of it?”
“Yes, I do, sir.”
That answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh, shook
hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her face,
examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod, “You’ve got your
grandfather’s spirit, if you haven’t his face. He was a fine man, my dear, but
what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, and I was proud to be his
friend.”
“Thank you, sir,” And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited
her exactly.
“What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?” was the next
question, sharply put.
“Only trying to be neighborly, sir.” And Jo told how her visit came about.
“You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?”
“Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good
perhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, for we
don’t forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us,” said Jo eagerly.
“Tut, tut, tut! That was the boy’s affair. How is the poor woman?”
“Doing nicely, sir.” And off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all
about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than
they were.
“Just her father’s way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother
some fine day. Tell her so. There’s the tea bell, we have it early on the boy’s
account. Come down and go on being neighborly.”
“If you’d like to have me, sir.”
“Shouldn’t ask you, if I didn’t.” And Mr. Laurence offered her his arm
with old-fashioned courtesy.
“What would Meg say to this?” thought Jo, as she was marched away,
while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story at
home.
“Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?” said the old
gentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with a start
of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with his redoubtable
grandfather.
“I didn’t know you’d come, sir,” he began, as Jo gave him a triumphant
little glance.
“That’s evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to your tea, sir,
and behave like a gentleman.” And having pulled the boy’s hair by way of a
caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a series of
comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosion of
laughter from Jo.
The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but
he watched the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, and
the change in his grandson did not escape him. There was color, light, and
life in the boy’s face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in
his laugh.
“She’s right, the lad is lonely. I’ll see what these little girls can do for
him,” thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened. He liked Jo, for her
odd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understand the boy almost as
well as if she had been one herself.
If the Laurences had been what Jo called ‘prim and poky’, she would not
have got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward. But
finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good
impression. When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he had
something more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory, which
had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, as she went
up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on either side, the soft
light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful vines and trees that hung about
her, while her new friend cut the finest flowers till his hands were full. Then
he tied them up, saying, with the happy look Jo liked to see, “Please give
these to your mother, and tell her I like the medicine she sent me very
much.”
They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great drawing
room, but Jo’s attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, which
stood open.
“Do you play?” she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful expression.
“Sometimes,” he answered modestly.
“Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth.”
“Won’t you first?”
“Don’t know how. Too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly.”
So Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in
heliotrope and tea roses. Her respect and regard for the ‘Laurence’ boy
increased very much, for he played remarkably well and didn’t put on any
airs. She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so, only praised
him till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came to his rescue.
“That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugarplums are not
good for him. His music isn’t bad, but I hope he will do as well in more
important things. Going? well, I’m much obliged to you, and I hope you’ll
come again. My respects to your mother. Good night, Doctor Jo.”
He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him.
When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said something
amiss. He shook his head.
“No, it was me. He doesn’t like to hear me play.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can’t.”
“No need of that. I am not a young lady, and it’s only a step. Take care of
yourself, won’t you?”
“Yes, but you will come again, I hope?”
“If you promise to come and see us after you are well.”
“I will.”
“Good night, Laurie!”
“Good night, Jo, good night!”
When all the afternoon’s adventures had been told, the family felt
inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very attractive in
the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talk of
her father with the old man who had not forgotten him, Meg longed to walk
in the conservatory, Beth sighed for the grand piano, and Amy was eager to
see the fine pictures and statues.
“Mother, why didn’t Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?” asked Jo,
who was of an inquiring disposition.
“I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie’s father, married
an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very
proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not like
her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died when Laurie
was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy,
who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing
him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by his love of
music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say his grandfather fears that he
may want to be a musician. At any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman
he did not like, and so he ‘glowered’ as Jo said.”
“Dear me, how romantic!” exclaimed Meg.
“How silly!” said Jo. “Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not
plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go.”
“That’s why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I
suppose. Italians are always nice,” said Meg, who was a little sentimental.
“What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to
him, hardly,” cried Jo, who was not sentimental.
“I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to
behave. That was a nice little speech about the medicine Mother sent him.”
“He meant the blanc mange, I suppose.”
“How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course.”
“Did he?” And Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to her
before.
“I never saw such a girl! You don’t know a compliment when you get it,”
said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter.
“I think they are great nonsense, and I’ll thank you not to be silly and
spoil my fun. Laurie’s a nice boy and I like him, and I won’t have any
sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish. We’ll all be good to
him because he hasn’t got any mother, and he may come over and see us,
mayn’t he, Marmee?”
“Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg will
remember that children should be children as long as they can.”
“I don’t call myself a child, and I’m not in my teens yet,” observed Amy.
“What do you say, Beth?”
“I was thinking about our ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’,” answered Beth, who had
not heard a word. “How we got out of the Slough and through the Wicket
Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying, and that
maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our
Palace Beautiful.”
“We have got to get by the lions first,” said Jo, as if she rather liked the
prospect.
