My precious Marmee:
Three cheers for dear Father!
Brooke was a trump to telegraph right off, and let us know the minute he was better.
I rushed up garret when the letter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but I could only cry, and say,
"I'm glad!
I'm glad!"
Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer?
For I felt a great many in my heart.
We have such funny times, and now I can enjoy them, for everyone is so desperately good, it's like living in a nest of turtledoves.
You'd laugh to see Meg head the table and try to be motherish.
She gets prettier every day, and I'm in love with her sometimes.
The children are regular archangels, and I—well, I'm Jo, and never shall be anything else.
Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a quarrel with Laurie.
I freed my mind about a silly little thing, and he was offended.
I was right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till I begged pardon.
I declared I wouldn't and got mad.
It lasted all day. I felt bad and wanted you very much.
Laurie and I are both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon. But I thought he'd come to it, for I was in the right.
He didn't come, and just at night I remembered what you said when Amy fell into the river.
I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun set on my anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I was sorry.
I met him at the gate, coming for the same thing.
We both laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again.
I made a 'pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash, and as Father likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse him.
Give him my lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times for your...
TOPSY-TURVY JO
A SONG FROM THE SUDS Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam rises high,
And sturdily wash and rinse and wring, And fasten the clothes to dry. Then out in the free fresh air they swing, Under the sunny sky. I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls The stains of the week away, And let water and air by their magic make Ourselves as pure as they. Then on the earth there would be indeed, A glorious washing day! Along the path of a useful life, Will heart's-ease ever bloom. The busy mind has no time to think Of sorrow or care or gloom. And anxious thoughts may be swept away, As we bravely wield a broom. I am glad a task to me is given, To labor at day by day, For it brings me health and strength and hope, And I cheerfully learn to say, "Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel, But, Hand, you shall work alway!"
Dear Mother,
There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed pansies from the root I have been keeping safe in the house for Father to see.
I read every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep with Father's tune.
I can't sing 'LAND OF THE LEAL' now, it makes me cry.
Everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be without you.
Amy wants the rest of the page, so I must stop.
I didn't forget to cover the holders, and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day.
Kiss dear Father on the cheek he calls mine.
Oh, do come soon to your loving...
LITTLE BETH
Ma Chere Mamma,
We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate the girls—Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words and you can take the properest.
Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me have jelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo says because it keeps me sweet tempered.
Laurie is not as respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in my teens, he calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talking French to me very fast when I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie King does.
The sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and Meg put in new ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than the dress.
I felt bad but did not fret I bear my troubles well but I do wish Hannah would put more starch in my aprons and have buckwheats every day.
Can't she?
Didn't I make that interrigation point nice?
Meg says my punchtuation and spelling are disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have so many things to do, I can't stop.
Adieu, I send heaps of love to Papa.
Your affectionate daughter...
AMY CURTIS MARCH
Dear Mis March,