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Updated: June 3, 2025
Why, Mother, Beth's eighteen, but we don't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman." "So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her mother with a sigh and a smile. "Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts of worries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one. I promise never to hop very far, if that is any comfort to you."
We'll all be good to him because he hasn't got any mother, and he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?" "Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg will remember that children should be children as long as they can." "I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet," observed Amy. "What do you say, Beth?"
We never did anything so well, not even the Witch's Curse, said Mrs Jo, casting a bouquet of many-coloured socks at the feet of her flushed and panting niece, when she fell gracefully upon the door-mat. 'It is a sort of judgement upon me for my passion for the stage when a girl. Now I know how dear Marmee felt when I begged to be an actress.
My eye is on you, so mind what you do, or I'll come and bring you home." New York, November Dear Marmee and Beth, I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps to tell, though I'm not a fine young lady traveling on the continent.
She sang like a little lark about her work, never was too tired for Marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, "I know I'll get my music some time, if I'm good."
Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table. "She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother to the seat of honor.
There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean to peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost forty, so it's no harm, Marmee. After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I attacked the big workbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend. I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, and more tomorrow. Tuesday Eve
"I never ought to, while I have you to cheer me up, Marmee, and Laurie to take more than half of every burden," replied Amy warmly. "He never lets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, so devoted to Beth, and such a stay and comfort to me always that I can't love him enough. So, in spite of my one cross, I can say with Meg, 'Thank God, I'm a happy woman."
"Do you ever think, dear," said Lydia to her youngest child, some years later, "that you are writing the poetry that always lived in an unexpressed state here in my breast?" "No, Marmee," answered the girl, who was beginning to mount the ladder of literature, "I never knew you wanted to write poetry, although I knew you loved it."
I'm sure he knows all that I have written," answered the girl, with the sublime faith that youth has in its own convictions. "And if you like my verses, Marmee, I am sure he does, for he knows." "Perhaps," murmured the older woman. "I often feel that he is very near to us. I never have felt that he is really gone very far away from me." "Poor little Marmee!" the girl would say to herself.
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