Well, it didn’t take but a minute for Meg to say, “Would you like me to help you make your house more pleasing, Sallie?”

And that’s when I became de trop, for they both spent the next hour and more walking from room to room through the whole house, with Meg “marming” it most splendidly, ordering this piano to be moved to that wall, and that curtain to be draped in the other becoming fashion, as if she were accustomed to pass her days as chatelaine of a splendid castle, instead of mistress of the little Dovecote, while Sallie scurried after, taking notes upon a tablet, with her tongue protruding from her mouth, and looking for all the world like poor Bob Cratchit being ordered about by Mr. Scrooge. I didn’t care—made friends with the cat and had a splendid time playing “mouse” with my second-best gloves. And now Sallie is happy as a clam with her “spandy-new” house—which does indeed look immeasurably improved, for Meg does have “heaps of taste,” which Sallie will always want and even Ned can’t buy for her, and, oh, what good it does our sister to have at last discovered something of value that she can give to a friend who has given so much to her.

And so it seems that both you and she are putting into effective action that most stirring of all of Marmee’s pet speeches, delivered (you will recall) with that toss of the head and her very highest and mightiest Empress Maria Theresa of Austria air: “Although our circumstances might not permit grand gestures, that is no reason for us not to return kindness to those who have been kind to us. There are many gifts to be given, girls, that are more valuable by far than those that have been purchased with mere money.”

Ever your loving sister,

Jo.

4

Concord, november 1865.

Dearest Meg,

Marmee has told me that you “sold” the violet silk back to Sallie Moffat, and, oh, Meg, I am so sorry that you had to make that sacrifice, for I know how you delighted in it. It was a particularly lovely shade of silk, and it would have looked so elegant on you, especially for your first winter as a married woman. I know Marmee says that fine feathers don’t make fine birds, and that is well enough for me, plain-faced and awkward as I am, but you are so pretty, Meg, and it don’t seem right that you can’t rig up to show yourself off from time to time.

Well, as Pa says, “What can’t be cured must be endured,” and when my cold is better I’ll come over to the Dovecote to see what we can do with the clothes you already have for the season. The blue housedress will look almost as good as new when it is turned, we’ll take the ruffles off the green skirt and add a frill to the maroon, and once the jacket is altered, the brown street suit will be mostly à la mode, or as near as we can hope for, and we must comfort ourselves with the thought that there’s not a faded hue or a worn fabric in the world that can make your face less pretty than it is or your skin less fair.