put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot
them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon, as one doll was named. This took
some time, and when Mrs. Giddy-gaddy came to take out her
clothes, deep green stains appeared on every thing, for she had
forgotten the green silk lining of a certain cape, and its color had
soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises,
and even the best ruffled petticoat.
“Oh me! what a mess!” sighed Nan.
“Lay them on the grass to bleach,” said Daisy, with an air of
experience.
“So I will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they don’t
blow away.”
The Queen of Babylon’s wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank,
and, turning up their tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed
into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies are apt to do in the
pauses of domestic labor.
“I’m going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow,” said
Mrs. Giddy-gaddy, as she transferred the thistledown from her
pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in the process.
“I wouldn’t; Aunt Jo says feather-beds aren’t healthy. I never let my
children sleep on any thing but a mattress,” returned Mrs.
Shakespeare Smith, decidedly.
“I don’t care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the
floor, and don’t mind it,” (which was quite true). “I can’t afford
nine mattresses, and I like to make beds myself.”
“Won’t Tommy charge for the feathers?”
“May be he will, but I shan’t pay him, and he won’t care,” returned
Mrs. G., taking a base advantage of the well-known good nature of
T. Bangs.
“I think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green
mark will,” observed Mrs. S., looking down from her perch, and
changing the subject, for she and her gossip differed on many
points, and Mrs. Smith was a discreet lady.
“Never mind; I’m tired of dolls, and I guess I shall put them all
away and attend to my farm; I like it rather better than playing
house,” said Mrs. G., unconsciously expressing the desire of many
older ladies, who cannot dispose of their families so easily
however.
“But you mustn’t leave them; they will die without their mother,”
cried the tender Mrs. Smith.
“Let ’em die then; I’m tired of fussing over babies, and I’m going to
play with the boys; they need me to see to ’em,” returned the
strong-minded lady.
Daisy knew nothing about women’s rights; she quietly took all she
wanted, and no one denied her claim, because she did not
undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously used the
all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any
privilege for which she had proved her fitness. Nan attempted all
sorts of things, undaunted by direful failures, and clamored
fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that the boys did. They
laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against
her meddling with their affairs. But she would not be quenched
and she would be heard, for her will was strong, and she had the
spirit of a rampant reformer. Mrs. Bhaer sympathized with her, but
tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that
she must wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her
freedom before she asked for it. Nan had meek moments when she
agreed to this, and the influences at work upon her were gradually
taking effect. She no longer declared that she would be
engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned her mind to farming, and
found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little body.
It did not quite satisfy her, however; for her sage and sweet
marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care.
She wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and
was never happier than when the little boys brought their cut
fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for her to “mend-up.”
Seeing this, Mrs. Jo proposed that she should learn how to do it