“I’m not,” put in Jo decidedly. “I hate to be patronized, and the Chesters think it’s a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy: they only want you to work.”
“I am willing to work: it’s for the freedmen as well as the Chesters, and I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant.”
“Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear; it’s a pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts: some do not, and that is trying,” observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression.
If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would have turned dovelike in a minute; but, unfortunately, we don’t have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what goes on in the minds of our friends; better for us that we cannot as a general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue.
“I don’t like favors; they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I’d rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent.”
“Ahem!” coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March.
“I told you so,” said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol.
Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting.
“Do you speak French, dear?” asked Mrs. Carrol, laying her hand on Amy’s.