style="font-size:15px;"> Jo thanked him and gladly went. The hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well. When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath. That's when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale.
“I've sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned. I can hardly stand, and I don't know how I'm ever going to get home,” she said, rocking to and fro[7] in pain.
“I'm sorry. But I don't see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night,” answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke.
“I can't have a carriage without its costing ever so much. I dare say I can't get one at all, for most people come in their own, and it's a long way to the stable, and no one to send.”
“I'll ask Laurie. He will go,” said Jo.
“Mercy, no! Don't ask or tell anyone. I can't dance anymore, but as soon as supper is over, watch for Hannah and tell me the minute she comes. “
Jo was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard what she said, came up and offered his grandfather's carriage, which had just come for him, he said.
“It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?” began Jo, looking relieved but hesitating to accept the offer.
“I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It's all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say.”
They settled in the carriage. Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their party. By the time Jo had finished telling Meg about her adventures, they were at home.
Chapter four
Burdens
“Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to go on,” sighed Meg the morning after the party. The holidays were over.
“I wish it was Christmas or New Year's all the time. Wouldn't it be fun?” answered Jo, yawning.
“We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much[8] as we do now. But it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties.” said Meg. “Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me, and no one cares whether I'm pretty or not? I will grow old and ugly and sour, because I'm poor and can't enjoy my life as other girls do. It's a shame!”
She went down, wearing an injured look.
During breakfast everyone seemed rather out of sorts[9]. Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy cried because she couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was. Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at once[10].
“Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you distract me,” cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter.
There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who walked in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and walked out again.
“Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy. Goodbye, Marmee. Let's go, Meg!” And Jo walked out of the room.
Once outside, Jo turned to Meg.
“More ungrateful wretches than we are were never seen.”
“Don't use such dreadful expressions,” replied Meg
“I like good strong words that mean something,” replied Jo.
“Call yourself any names you like, but I am not a wretch and I don't choose to be called so.”
“You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you can't sit in the lap of luxury[11] all the time. Poor dear, just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with.”
“How ridiculous you are, Jo!” But Meg laughed at the nonsense and felt better in spite of herself[12].
Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for the day, each going a different way.
When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something toward their own support, at least. Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with her small salary. She found poverty harder to bear. She seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes.
Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed an active person to wait upon her. Jo accepted the place since nothing better appeared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well with her relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo marched home, declaring she couldn't bear it longer, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery old lady.
Part of the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died. The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm.
Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. What it was, she had no idea as yet. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and downs. But the training she received at Aunt March's was just what she needed.
Beth was too bashful to go to school. It had been tried, but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home with her father. Even when he went away, Beth went faithfully on by herself. She had six dolls she dressed every morning, for Beth was a child still and loved her pets as well as ever.
Beth often ‘wept a little weep' as Jo said, because she couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, but the keys wouldn't keep in tune.
If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, “My nose.” When she was a baby, Jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod, and Amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose forever. It was rather flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it an aristocratic point.
“Little Raphael,” as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories.
Meg was Amy's confidant, and by some strange attraction of opposites Jo was Beth's. The two older girls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger sisters into her keeping and watched over her in her own way.
“Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a terrible day,” said Meg, as they sat sewing together that evening.
“I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'll tell you about it,” began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories. “When she started to nod off, I whipped the Vicar of Wakefield
to and fro – туда и обратно
half so much – хотя бы в половину
out of sorts – не в порядке
must go at once – должно быть отправлено как можно быстрее
in the lap of luxury – в роскоши
in spite of herself – наперекор себе
