“Yes, Mother, I’m sure of that,” said Meg, listening respectfully to the little lecture, for the best of women will hold forth upon the all absorbing subject of house keeping. “Do you know I like this room most of all in my baby house,” added Meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs and she looked into her well-stored linen closet.
Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves and exulting over the goodly array. All three laughed as Meg spoke, for that linen closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married `that Brooke’ she shouldn’t have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather in a quandary when time had appeased her wrath and made her repent her vow. She never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind how to get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could satisfy herself. Mrs. Carrol, Florence’s mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, and marked a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as her present, all of which was faithfully done, but the secret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family, for Aunt March tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the old-fashioned pearls long promised to the first bride.
“That’s a housewifely taste which I am glad to see. I had a young friend who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls for company and that satisfied her,” said Mrs. March, patting the damask tablecloths, with a truly feminine appreciation of their fineness.
“I haven’t a single finger bowl, but this is a setout that will last me all my days, Hannah says.” And Meg looked quite contented, as well she might.
A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt basin of a hat, and a flyaway coat, came tramping down the road at a great pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, straight up to Mrs. March, with both hands out and a hearty . ..
“Here I am, Mother! Yes, it’s all right.”
The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him, a kindly questioning look which the handsome eyes met so frankly that the little ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss.
“For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker’s congratulations and compliments. Bless you, Beth! What a refreshing spectacle you are, Jo. Amy, you are getting altogether too handsome for a single lady.”
As Laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to Meg, pilled Beth’s hair ribbon, stared at Jo’s bib pinafore, and fell into an attitude of mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, and everyone began to talk.
“Where is John?” asked Meg anxiously.
“Stopped to get the license for tomorrow, ma’am.”
“Which side won the last match, Teddy?” inquired Jo, who persisted in feeling an interest in manly sports despite her nineteen years.
“Ours, of course. Wish you’d been there to see.”
“How is the lovely Miss Randal?” asked Amy with a significant smile.
“More cruel than ever. Don’t you see how I’m pining away?” And Laurie gave his broad chest a sounding slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh.
“What’s the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg,” said Beth, eyeing the knobby parcel with curiosity.
“It’s a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves,” observed Laurie, as a watchman’s rattle appeared, amid the laughter of the girls.
“Any time when John is away and you get frightened, Mrs. Meg, just swing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhood in a jiffy. Nice thing, isn’t it?” And Laurie gave them a sample of its powers that made them cover up their ears.
“There’s gratitude for you! And speaking of gratitude reminds me to mention that you may thank Hannah for saving your wedding cake from destruction. I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if she hadn’t defended it manfully I’d have had a pick at it, for it looked like a remarkably plummy one.”