“This unassuming style promotes study, that’s why we adopt it,” returned Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, having voluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand for quarter-inch-long stubble.
“By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperate about Amy. He talks of her constantly, writes poetry, and moons about in a most suspicious manner. He’d better nip his little passion in the bud, hadn’t he?” added Laurie, in a confidential, elder brotherly tone, after a minute’s silence.
“Of course he had. We don’t want any more marrying in this family for years to come. Mercy on us, what are the children thinking of?” And Jo looked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet in their teens.
“It’s a fast age, and I don’t know what we are coming to, ma’am. You are a mere infant, but you’ll go next, Jo, and we’ll be left lamenting,” said Laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times.
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m not one of the agreeable sort. Nobody will want me, and it’s a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in a family.”
“You won’t give anyone a chance,” said Laurie, with a sidelong glance and a little more color than before in his sunburned face. “You won’t show the soft side of your character, and if a fellow gets a peep at it by accident and can’t help showing that he likes it, you treat him as Mrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart, throw cold water over him, and get so thorny no one dares touch or look at you.”
“I don’t like that sort of thing. I’m too busy to be worried with nonsense, and I think it’s dreadful to break up families so. Now don’t say any more about it. Meg’s wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk of nothing but lovers and such absurdities. I don’t wish to get cross, so let’s change the subject.” And Jo looked quite ready to fling cold water on the slightest provocation.
Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them in a long low whistle and the fearful prediction as they parted at the gate, “Mark my words, Jo, you’ll go next.”
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“Chapter” II.25
The First Wedding
The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another what they had seen, for some peeped in at the dining room windows where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-blown flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and fragrance to the gentle mistress who had loved and tended them so long.
Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetest in heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, nor orange flowers would she have. “I don’t want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be my familiar self.”
So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes and innocent romances of a girlish heart. her sisters braided up her pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley, which `her John’ liked best of all the flowers that grew.
“You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely that I should hug you if it wouldn’t crumple your dress,” cried Amy, surveying her with delight when all was done.
“Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don’t mind my dress. I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it today.” And Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her with April faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed the old.