Little Women (Young Reader's Classics) - Softcover

Barbara Greenwood is the author of two young adult novels, A Question of Loyalty and Spy in the Shadows, as well as a book about writing, The Other Side of the Story.

Greg Ruhl is one of Canada's most popular illustrators. His work has appeared on the covers of many books and North American magazines.

"Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, from where she lay on the rug.

"It’s so dreadful to be poor." Meg smoothed the faded skirt of her old dress.

"I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff.

"We’ve got Mother and Father and each other," Beth reminded them contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, "We haven’t got Father, and we won’t have him for a long time." She didn’t say "perhaps never," but each girl silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was.

The fire crackling in the grate was the only sound for a moment, then Meg spoke. "You know why Mother suggested not having any presents this Christmas; it’s going to be a hard winter for everyone. She thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can’t do much, but we can make some little sacrifices. We ought to do it gladly, but I’m afraid I don’t." Meg sighed, thinking of all the pretty things she wanted.

"But what good would our little bit do? We’ve only got a dollar each. The army wouldn’t be helped much by that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother and you, but I do want to buy Undine," said Jo, who was a bookworm.

"I’d like some new music." Beth sounded wistful.

"I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing-pencils; I really need them," Amy said decisively.

"Mother didn’t say anything about our money." Jo pointed out. "Let’s each buy what we want and have a little fun; I’m sure we work hard enough."

"I know I do – teaching those tiresome children all day," began Meg.

"You don’t have nearly as hard a time as I do," Jo broke in. "How would you like to be shut up all day with a nervous, fussy old woman. Never satisfied, always worrying at me ‘til I’m ready to fly out the window."

"It’s naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. My hands get so stiff I can’t practice well at all." And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh.

"I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy. "You don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls who insult you because your nose isn’t nice and laugh at your handed-down dresses."

Meg leaned over to stir the fire. "If only we had the money Papa lost when we were little. How happy and good we’d be if we had no worries."

"You said the other day the King children were always fighting and fretting in spite of all their money. We’re hapier than that."

"So we are, Beth. Even though we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves. We’re a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say."

"Jo uses such slangy words." Amy looked disapprovingly at the long figure stretched out on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hand in ther pockets and began to whistle.

"Don’t, Jo. It’s so boyish!"

"That’s why I do it."

"I detest rude, unladylike girls."

"I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"

"Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth.

"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sister fashion. "You’re old enough to leave off boyish tricks, Josephine. Now that you turn up your hair, you should remember you’re a young lady."

"I’m not!" And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it in two tails ‘til I’m twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net and shaking down her chestnut hair. "I hate to think I"ve got to grow up and be Miss March. I want so much to be a boy and go and fight alongside Papa, and all I can do is stay home and knit." Jo shook the blue army sock until the needles rattled like castanets and her ball of yarn bounded across the room.

"Poor Jo. It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped," said Beth, stroking the glossy head at her knee. "You must try to be contented with making your name boyish and playing brother to us girls."

"As for you Amy," Meg resumed, "you’re altogether too particular and prim."

"If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?" asked Beth, ready to share in the lecture.

"You are a dear and nothing else," answered Meg warmly, and no one contradicted her, for "Mouse" was the pet of the family.

The sisters sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell silently outside and the fire crackled cheerfully within. The clock struch six. Beth swept the hearth and put a pair of slippers down to warm. The sight of the old shoes cheered everyone up.