“Go to sleep, dear; I’ll stay with you.”
So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quite herself again; for at eighteen, neither heads nor hearts ache long, and a loving word can medicine most ills.
But Jo had made up her mind, and, after pondering over a project for some days, she confided it to her mother.
“You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I’ll tell you one of them, Marmee,” she began, as they sat alone together. “I want to go away somewhere this winter for a change.”
“Why, Jo?” and her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a double meaning.
With her eyes on her work, Jo answered soberly, “I want something new; I feel restless, and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more than I am. I brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirring up, so, as I can be spared this winter, I’d like to hop a little way, and try my wings.”
“Where will you hop?”
“To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it. You know Mrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach her children and sew. It’s rather hard to find just the thing, but I think I should suit if I tried.”
“My dear, go out to service in that great boardinghouse!” and Mrs. March looked surprised, but not displeased.
“It’s not exactly going out to service; for Mrs. Kirke is your friend—the kindest soul that ever lived—and would make things pleasant for me, I know. Her family is separate from the rest, and no one knows me there. Don’t care if they do; it’s honest work, and I’m not ashamed of it.”