Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott

she had earned a very sweet reward.

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt

than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls,

each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons

all are the better for knowing–that cheerfulness can change

misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one’s self aright

one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding

beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.

Chapter 18 May Baskets

Spring was late that year, but to Jill it seemed the loveliest she had

ever known, for hope was growing green and strong in her own

little heart, and all the world looked beautiful. With the help of the

brace she could sit up for a short time every day, and when the air

was mild enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out

at the open window into the garden, where the gold and purple

crocuses were coming bravely up, and the snowdrops nodded their

delicate heads as if calling to her,

“Good day, little sister, come out and play with us, for winter is

over and spring is here.”

“I wish I could!” thought Jill, as the soft wind kissed a tinge of

color into her pale cheeks. “Never mind, they have been shut up in

a darker place than I for months, and had no fun at all; I won’t fret,

but think about July and the seashore while I work.”

The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was the custom of the

children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before

May-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys

would hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two. Jill had

more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she

amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all

shapes, sizes, and colors, quite confident that they would be filled,

though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy

dandelions, and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.

The violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was

warmer, the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east

wind, the ferns kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel

jackets, and little Hepatica, with many another spring beauty, hid

away in the woods, afraid to venture out, in spite of the eager

welcome awaiting them. But the birds had come, punctual as ever,

and the bluejays were screaming in the orchard, robins were

perking up their heads and tails as they went house-hunting, purple

finches in their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce buds,

and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the grapevine trellis

where they had lived all winter, warming their little gray breasts

against the southern side of the house when the sun shone, and

hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell.

“That tree is a sort of bird’s hotel,” said Jill, looking out at the tall

spruce before her window, every spray now tipped with a soft

green. “They all go there to sleep and eat, and it has room for

everyone, It is green when other trees die, the wind can’t break it,

and the snow only makes it look prettier. It sings to me, and nods

as if it knew I loved it.”

“We might call it ‘The Holly Tree Inn,’ as some of the cheap

eating-houses for poor people are called in the city, as my holly

bush grows at its foot for a sign. You can be the landlady, and feed

your feathery customers every day, till the hard times are over,”

said Mrs. Minot, glad to see the child’s enjoyment of the outer

world from which she had been shut so long.

Jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs on the window

ledge for the chippies, who came confidingly to eat almost from

her hand. She threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty

robins, and the neighbors’ doves, who came with soft flight to trip