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The shower came, and feeling quite secure, she rumpled up her hair, took off her cuffs, and hurried to finish her chapter; for thirty pages a day was her task, and she liked to have it well done before evening. Josie had brought some flowers for the vases, and was just putting the last touches when she saw several umbrellas bobbing down the hill.
“They are coming, Aunty! I see uncle hurrying across the field to receive them,” she called at the stair-foot.
“Keep an eye on them, and let me know when they enter the avenue. It will take but a minute to tidy up and run down,” answered Mrs Jo, scribbling away for dear life, because serials wait for no man, not even the whole Christian Union en masse.
“There are more than two or three. I see half a dozen at least,” called sister Ann from the hall door. “No! a dozen, I do believe; Aunty, look out; they are all coming! What shall we do?” And Josie quailed at the idea of facing the black throng rapidly approaching.
“Mercy on us, there are hundreds! Run and put a tub in the back entry for their umbrellas to drip into. Tell them to go down the hall and leave them, and pile their hats on the table; the tree won’t hold them all. No use to get mats; my poor carpets!” And down went Mrs Jo to prepare for the invasion, while Josie and the maids flew about dismayed at the prospect of so many muddy boots.
On they came, a long line of umbrellas, with splashed legs and flushed faces underneath; for the gentlemen had been having a good time all over the town, undisturbed by the rain. Professor Bhaer met them at the gate, and was making a little speech of welcome, when Mrs Jo, touched by their bedraggled state, appeared at the door, beckoning them in. Leaving their host to orate bareheaded in the wet, the young men hastened up the steps, merry, warm, and eager, clutching off their hats as they came, and struggling with their umbrellas, as the order was passed to march in and stack arms.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, down the hall went seventy-five pairs of boots; soon seventy-five umbrellas dripped sociably in the hospitable tub, while their owners swarmed all over the lower part of the house; and seventy-five hearty hands were shaken by the hostess without a murmur, though some were wet, some very warm, and nearly all bore trophies of the day’s ramble. One impetuous party flourished a small turtle as he made his compliments; another had a load of sticks cut from noted spots; and all begged for some memento of Plumfield. A pile of cards mysteriously appeared on the table, with a written request for autographs; and despite her morning vow, Mrs Jo wrote everyone, while her husband and boys did the honours of the house.
Josie fled to the back parlour, but was discovered by exploring youths, and mortally insulted by one of them, who innocently inquired if she was Mrs Bhaer. The reception did not last long, and the end was better than the beginning; for the rain ceased, and a rainbow shone beautifully over them as the good fellows stood upon the lawn singing sweetly for a farewell. A happy omen, that bow of promise arched over the young heads, as if Heaven smiled upon their union, and showed them that above the muddy earth and rainy skies the blessed sun still shone for all.
Three cheers, and then away they went, leaving a pleasant recollection of their visit to amuse the family as they scraped the mud off the carpets with shovels and emptied the tub half-full of water.
“Nice, honest, hard-working fellows, and I don’t begrudge my half-hour at all; but I must finish, so don’t let anyone disturb me till tea-time,” said Mrs Jo, leaving Mary to shut up the house; for papa and the boys had gone off with the guests, and Josie had run home to tell her mother about the fun at Aunt Jo’s.
Peace reigned for an hour, then the bell rang and Mary came giggling up to say: “A queer kind of a lady wants to know if she can catch a grasshopper in the garden.”
“A what?” cried Mrs Jo, dropping her pen with a blot; for of all the odd requests ever made, this was the oddest.
“A grasshopper, ma’am. I said you was busy, and asked what she wanted, and says she: ‘I’ve got grasshoppers from the grounds of several famous folks, and I want one from Plumfield to add to my collection.’ Did you ever?” And Mary giggled again at the idea.
“Tell her to take all there are and welcome. I shall be glad to get rid of them; always bouncing in my face and getting in my dress,” laughed Mrs Jo.
Mary retired, to return in a moment nearly speechless with merriment.
“She’s much obliged, ma’am, and she’d like an old gown or a pair of stockings of yours to put in a rug she’s making. Got a vest of Emerson’s, she says, and a pair of Mr Holmes’s trousers, and a dress of Mrs Stowe’s. She must be crazy!”
“Give her that old red shawl, then I shall make a gay show among the great ones in that astonishing rug. Yes, they are all lunatics, these lion-hunters; but this seems to be a harmless maniac, for she doesn’t take my time, and gives me a good laugh,” said Mrs Jo, returning to her work after a glance from the window, which showed her a tall, thin lady in rusty black, skipping wildly to and fro on the lawn in pursuit of the lively insect she wanted.
No more interruptions till the light began to fade, then Mary popped her head in to say a gentleman wished to see Mrs Bhaer, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“He must. I shall not go down. This has been an awful day, and I won’t be disturbed again,” replied the harassed authoress, pausing in the midst of the grand finale of her chapter.
“I told him so, ma’am; but he walked right in as bold as brass. I guess he’s another crazy one, and I declare I’m ’most afraid of him, he’s so big and black, and cool as cucumbers, though I will say he’s good-looking,” added Mary, with a simper; for the stranger had evidently found favour in her sight despite his boldness.
“My day has been ruined, and I will have this last half-hour to finish. Tell him to go away; I won’t go down,” cried Mrs Jo, fiercely.
Mary went; and listening, in spite of herself, her mistress heard first a murmur of voices, then a cry from Mary, and remembering the ways of reporters, also that her maid was both pretty and timid, Mrs Bhaer flung down her pen and went to the rescue. Descending with her most majestic air she demanded in an awe-inspiring voice, as she paused to survey the somewhat brigandish intruder, who seemed to be storming the staircase which Mary was gallantly defending:
“Who is this person who insists on remaining when I have declined to see him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. He won’t give no name, and says you’ll be sorry if you don’t see him,” answered Mary, retiring flushed and indignant from her post.
“Won’t you be sorry?” asked the stranger, looking up with a pair of black eyes full of laughter, the flash of white teeth through a long beard, and both hands out as he boldly approached the irate lady.
Mrs Jo gave one keen look, for the voice was familiar; then completed Mary’s bewilderment by throwing both arms round the brigand’s neck, exclaiming joyfully: “My dearest boy, where did you come from?”
“California, on purpose to see you, Mother Bhaer. Now won’t you be sorry if I go away?” answered Dan, with a hearty kiss.
“To think of my ordering you out of the house when I’ve been longing to see you for a year,” laughed Mrs Jo, and she went down to have a good talk with her returned wanderer, who enjoyed the joke immensely.
CHAPTER 4
DAN
MRS JO often thought that Dan had Indian blood in him, not only because of his love of a wild, wandering life, but his appearance; for as he grew up, this became more striking. At twenty-five he was very tall, with sinewy limbs, a keen, dark face, and the alert look of one whose senses were all alive; rough in manner, full of energy,
quick with word and blow, eyes full of the old fire, always watchful as if used to keep guard, and a general air of vigour and freshness very charming to those who knew the dangers and delights of his adventurous life. He was looking his best as he sat talking with “Mother Bhaer”, one strong brown hand in hers, and a world of affection in his voice as he said:
“Forget old friends! How could I forget the only home I ever knew? Why, I was in such a hurry to come and tell my good luck that I didn’t stop to fix up, you see; though I knew you’d think I looked more like a wild buffalo than ever,” with a shake of his shaggy black head, a tug at his beard, and a laugh that made the room ring.
“I like it; I always had a fancy for banditti—and you look just like one. Mary, being a newcomer, was frightened at your looks and manners. Josie won’t know you, but Ted will recognize his Danny in spite of the big beard and flowing mane. They will all be here soon to welcome you; so before they come tell me more about yourself. Why, Dan, dear! it’s nearly two years since you were here! Has it gone well with you?” asked Mrs Jo, who had been listening with maternal interest to his account of life in California, and the unexpected success of a small investment he had made.
“First-rate! I don’t care for the money, you know. I only want a trifle to pay my way—rather earn as I go, and not be bothered with the care of a lot. It’s the fun of the thing coming to me, and my being able to give away, that I like. No use to lay up; I shan’t live to be old and need it—my sort never do,” said Dan, looking as if his little fortune rather oppressed him.
“But if you marry and settle somewhere, as I hope you will, you must have something to begin with, my son. So be prudent and invest your money; don’t give it away, for rainy days come to all of us, and dependence would be very hard for you to bear,” answered Mrs Jo with a sage air, though she liked to see that the money-making fever had not seized her lucky boy yet.
