Knjigice
Fairy tale · Classic fairy tales
Little Women
The story of four sisters in a little brown house
Also in: Male ženske (Slovenian) · Malé ženy (Slovak)
"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, stretched out on the old rug in front of the fire. Four sisters sat in the little brown house that evening: proper Meg, wild Jo, quiet Beth and small Amy. Father was far away with the army, and money was scarce. Then Marmee came in, shook the snow from her shoulders and said: "Tonight we have each other. That is no small thing."
1
On Christmas morning the table smelled of pancakes, white bread and hot milk. "Not far from here," said Marmee, "a poor mother lies in a cold room with six children. They have nothing." The sisters looked at one another for a moment. Then they packed it all into a basket, carried their breakfast across the snowy street and watched them eat. They came home hungry and happy.
2
Meg was the eldest, and she could be as dignified as a queen. She minded other people's children and brought a few coins home every evening. When a fine carriage rolled past with a young lady in silk inside it, Meg drew herself up, smoothed her mended gloves and walked on. "Pretty things are pretty," she told herself, "but I will not give up my pride for them."
3
Jo had a kingdom of her own up in the attic. There she sat with a quill in her fingers, inky to the elbows, writing plays about robbers and counts. A plate of apples always stood beside her, and the grey cat purred on her knees. When a story ran well she forgot the whole world. "One day," she told the cat, "I shall write a book that everybody reads."
4
Beth was so shy that among strangers she could hardly breathe. But her piano spoke for her — old, out of tune, with yellowed keys. She would sit down, close her eyes, and the whole house grew calm. Meg stopped sewing, Jo put down her pen, Amy forgot about her curls. "Beth," said Marmee, "you are the one who holds us together with music."
5
Amy was the youngest and the prettiest — at least she thought so herself. Every morning she pinned a little wooden clothes peg on her nose to make it grow more elegant, and studied herself gravely in a round mirror. She drew angels along the edges of her copybooks and used long words she did not quite understand. Her sisters laughed; Amy stayed proudly upright.
6
Saturdays in the attic were the best of all. Jo wrote the plays and acted every terrible part: robbers, knights and witches. Meg was always the grand lady, Beth held the lantern, and Amy wore a gilded wooden crown. A red blanket on a rope was the curtain. When it dropped, the four actresses clapped for themselves and laughed until they cried.
7
Beyond the hedge stood a big stone house, and in it a boy with black curls who was alone all day long. One snowy evening Jo saw him at the window and waved. The next day she handed a bowl of hot food to him over the fence. "I'm Jo." — "Laurie." From that day they were friends, and his old grandfather watched from the doorway and smiled into his whiskers.
8
Meg and Jo were invited to a ball. Jo had scorched a great brown patch on the back of her dress, so she stood by the wall all evening and would not turn round. That is where Laurie found her. "I know a better place," he said, and led her out to a long empty hallway. There they danced a polka all alone, until they leaned on the wall, out of breath and laughing.
9
One day, in a temper, Amy threw Jo's book of stories into the fire. Jo could not forgive her. When they went skating on the river, the ice gave way under Amy. Jo and Laurie pulled her out at once, and Jo wrapped her in her own coat. "I nearly lost you," she wept. "You are forgiven, all of it." After that the two sisters held together.
10
One cold day a telegram came: Father was gravely ill. Marmee set off within the hour. The sisters helped her into her cloak, Beth held on to her sleeve, and Amy clutched the little yellow slip. "Take care of one another," said Marmee in the doorway. "I shall come back as soon as I can." The house went quiet behind her, quiet as a church.
11
Then Beth fell ill. She lay hot and still, and the whole house walked on tiptoe. Night after night Jo sat by her bed and never closed her eyes. One morning, with the snow shining in through the window, Beth opened her eyes and smiled. "I'm hungry," she said, very softly. Meg cried for joy, and Jo laughed and wept at the very same time.
12
At Christmas Marmee came home — and Father with her, thin and smiling, in his blue army coat. The four sisters flew at him, and Beth sat laughing by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. "My little women," said Father, hugging all of them at once. "I went away from four girls, and I have come back to four women." That evening nothing at all was missing in the little brown house.
13The End
