“Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Hannah, when she had examined and questioned Beth, “we will have Dr. Bangs, just to take a look at you, dear, and see that we start right. Then we’ll send Amy off to Aunt March’s for a spell, to keep her out of harm’s way, and one of you girls can stay at home and amuse Beth for a day or two.”
“I shall stay, of course, I’m oldest,” began Meg, looking anxious and self-reproachful.
“I shall, because it’s my fault she is sick. I told Mother I’d do the errands, and I haven’t,” said Jo decidedly.
“Which will you have, Beth? There ain’t no need of but one,” said Hannah.
“Jo, please.” And Beth leaned her head against her sister with a contented look, which effectually settled that point.
“I’ll go and tell Amy,” said Meg, feeling a little hurt, yet rather relieved on the whole, for she did not like nursing, and Jo did.
Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had rather have the fever than go to Aunt March. Meg reasoned, pleaded, and commanded, all in vain. Amy protested that she would not go, and Meg left her in despair to ask Hannah what should be done. Before she came back, Laurie walked into the parlor to find Amy sobbing, with her head in the sofa cushions. She told her story, expecting to be consoled, but Laurie only put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room, whistling softly, as he knit his brows in deep thought. Presently he sat down beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, “Now be a sensible little woman, and do as they say. No, don’t cry, but hear what a jolly plan I’ve got. You go to Aunt March’s, and I’ll come and take you out every day, driving or walking, and we’ll have capital times. Won’t that be better than moping here?”
“I don’t wish to be sent off as if I was in the way,” began Amy, in an injured voice.
“Bless your heart, child, it’s to keep you well. You don’t want to be sick, do you?”
“No, I’m sure I don’t, but I dare say I shall be, for I’ve been with Beth all the time.”
“That’s the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you may escape it. Change of air and care will keep you well, I dare say, or if it does not entirely, you will have the fever more lightly. I advise you to be off as soon as you can, for scarlet fever is no joke, miss.”
“But it’s dull at Aunt March’s, and she is so cross,” said Amy, looking rather frightened.
“It won’t be dull with me popping; in every day to tell you how Beth is, and take you out gallivanting. The old lady likes me, and I’ll be as sweet as possible to her, so she won’t peck at us, whatever we do.”
“Will you take me out in the trotting wagon with Puck?”
“On my honor as a gentleman.”
“And come every single day?”
“See if I don’t/”
“And bring me back the minute Beth is well?”
“The identical minute.”
“And go to the theater, truly?”
“A dozen theaters, if we may.”
“Well — mdash; I guess I will,” said Amy slowly.
“Good girl! Call Meg, and tell her you’ll give in,” said Laurie, with an approving pat, which annoyed Amy more than the `giving in’.
Meg and Jo came running down to behold the miracle which had been wrought, and Amy, feeling very precious and self-sacrificing, promised to go, if the doctor said Beth was going to be ill.
“How is the little dear?” asked Laurie, for Beth was his especial pet, and he felt more anxious about her than he liked to show.
“She is lying down on Mother’s bed, and feels better. The baby’s death troubled her, but I dare say she has only got cold. Hannah says she thinks so, but she looks worried, and that makes me fidgety,” answered Meg.
“What a trying world it is!” said Jo, rumpling up her hair in a fretful way. “No sooner do we get out of one trouble than down comes another. There doesn’t seem to be anything to hold on to when Mother’s gone, so I’m all at sea.”