take advice! Can’t keep still all night, and not being a pussycat, I don’t like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I’m going to find some.”
Meg went back to reading Ivanhoe,12 and Jo began to search the paths with great energy. A garden separated the Marches’ house from that of Mr Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still countrylike, with groves and lawns, large gardens and quiet streets, all of which provided excellent cover for a slayer. A low hedge parted the two estates, offering additional concealment. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that could further hide a predator. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains.
Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.
“That boy is suffering for society and fun,” Jo said to herself. “His grandpa does not know what’s good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and lively. I’ve a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!”
The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things and was always scandalising Meg by her queer performances. The plan of “going over” was not forgotten. And when the snowy evening came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr Laurence drive off, and then sallied out to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.
“There he is,” thought Jo, “poor boy! All alone and sick this happy night. It’s a shame! I’ll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him.”
Up went a handful of soft snow, which cracked the window, as Jo frequently forgot how powerful her vampire strength made her, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called out…
“How do you do? Are you sick?”
Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven…
“Better, thank you. I’ve had a bad cold, and been shut up a week.”
“I’m sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?”
“Nothing. It’s dull as tombs up here.”
“Don’t you read?”
“Not much. They won’t let me.”
“Can’t somebody read to you?”
“Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don’t interest him, and I hate to ask Brooke, my tutor, all the time.”
“Have someone come and see you then.”
“There isn’t anyone I’d like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak.”
“Isn’t there some nice girl who’d read and amuse you? Girls are quiet and like to play nurse.”
“Don’t know any.”
“You know us,” began Jo, then laughed and stopped. “But you’re not girls, you’re vampires,” cried Laurie.
“I’m not quiet and nice either, but I’ll come, if Mother will let me. I’ll go and ask her. Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till I come.”
With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her. Marmee did not protest the visit, for she firmly believed that the only way to improve vampire-human relations was to increase vampire-human interaction, and, after fortifying her daughter against any unbecoming urges with a tall glass of pig’s blood, sent her to the neighbour’s house with her blessing.
Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready, for as Mrs March said, he was “a little gentleman”, and did honour to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh collar, and trying to tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, then a decided voice, asking for “Mr Laurie”, and a surprised-looking servant came running up to announce the vampire.
“All right, show her up, it’s Miss Jo,” said Laurie, going to the door of his little parlour to meet Jo, who appeared with a covered dish in one hand and three kittens in the other.
“Here I am, bag and baggage,” she said briskly. “Mother sent her love, and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some of her blancmange,13 and Beth thought cats would be comforting. I knew you’d laugh at them because you don’t suck the blood out of living animals or even dead ones, but I couldn’t refuse, she was so anxious to do something.”
It so happened that Beth’s funny loan was just the thing, for in laughing over the fact that, no, he did not suck the blood out of living animals or even dead ones, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once.
“That looks too pretty to eat,” he said, smiling with pleasure, his manners unfailingly polite, as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blancmange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy’s pet geranium.
“It isn’t anything. Meg has no idea how to cook so she just put something white in a saucer. I don’t know what it is but I’m sure it’s inedible. What a cosy room this is!”
“How kind you are! Yes, please take the big chair and let me do something to amuse my company.”
“No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?” and Jo looked towards some books nearby.
“Thank you! I’ve read all those, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk,” answered Laurie.
“Not a bit. I’ll talk all night if you’ll only set me going. Beth says I never know when to stop.”
“Is Beth the one who stays at home a good deal and sometimes goes out with a little basket?” asked Laurie with interest.
“Yes, that’s Beth. She’s my girl, and a regular good one she is too.”
“The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?”
“How did you find that out?”
Laurie coloured up, but answered frankly, “Why, you see I often hear you calling to one another, and when I’m alone up here, I can’t help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain. And when the lamps are lighted, it’s like looking at a picture to see you all around the table with your mother, taking turns draining every last little drop of blood out of a beaver or other small mammal. I haven’t got any mother, you know.” And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little
