Under the Lilacs
Authors: Louisa May Alcott
Also available in uniform editions:
L
ITTLE
W
OMEN
L
ITTLE
M
EN
J
O’S
B
OYS
E
IGHT
C
OUSINS
R
OSE IN
B
LOOM
Copyright 1877, 1878 by Louisa M. Alcott
Copyright 1905, 1919 by John S. P. Alcott
Copyright 1928 by Little, Brown and Company
Cover/jacket illustration copyright © 1996 by Jane Dyer
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may
quote brief passages in a review.
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
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www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: October 2009
ISBN: 978-0-316-08710-0
To
E
MMA,
I
DA,
C
ARL, AND
L
INA,
Over the Sea,
this little book is affectionately inscribed
by their new friend and sister,
L.M.A.
Contents
Also available in uniform editions:
Chapter 2: Where They Found His Master
Chapter 6: A Circulating Library
Chapter 7: New Friends Trot In
Chapter 13: Somebody Runs Away
Chapter 16: Detective Thornton
Chapter 21: Cupid’s Last Appearance
Chapter 24: The Great Gate is Opened
C
HAPTER
1
T
he elm-tree avenue was all overgrown, the great gate was never unlocked, and the old house had been shut up for several years.
Yet voices were heard about the place, the lilacs nodded over the high wall as if they said, “We could tell fine secrets if
we chose,” and the mullein outside the gate made haste to reach the keyhole, that it might peep in and see what was going
on.
If it had suddenly grown up like a magic beanstalk, and looked in on a certain June day, it would have seen a droll but pleasant
sight, for somebody evidently was going to have a party.
From the gate to the porch went a wide walk, paved with smooth slabs of dark stone, and bordered with the tall bushes which
met overhead, making a green roof. All sorts of neglected flowers and wild weeds grew between their stems, covering the walls
of this summer parlor with the prettiest tapestry. A board, propped on two blocks of wood, stood in the middle of the walk,
covered with a little plaid shawl much the worse for wear, and on it a miniature tea service was set forth with great elegance.
To be sure, the teapot had lost its spout, the cream jug its handle, the sugar bowl its cover, and the cups and plates were
all more or less cracked or nicked; but polite persons would not take notice of these trifling deficiencies, and none but
polite persons were invited to this party.
On either side of the porch was a seat, and here a somewhat remarkable sight would have been revealed to any inquisitive eye
peering through the aforesaid keyhole. Upon the left-hand seat lay seven dolls, upon the right-hand seat lay six; and so varied
were the expressions of their countenances, owing to fractures, dirt, age, and other afflictions, that one would very naturally
have thought this a doll’s hospital, and these the patients waiting for their tea. This, however, would have been a sad mistake;
for if the wind had lifted the coverings laid over them, it would have disclosed the fact that all were in full dress, and
merely reposing before the feast should begin.
There was another interesting feature of the scene which would have puzzled any but those well acquainted with the manners
and customs of dolls. A fourteenth rag baby, with a china head, hung by her neck from the rusty knocker in the middle of the
door. A sprig of white and one of purple lilac nodded over her, a dress of yellow calico, richly trimmed with red-flannel
scallops, shrouded her slender form, a garland of small flowers crowned her glossy curls, and a pair of blue boots touched
toes in the friendliest, if not the most graceful, manner. An emotion of grief, as well as of surprise, might well have thrilled
any youthful breast at such a spectacle; for why, oh! why, was this resplendent dolly hung up there to be stared at by thirteen
of her kindred? Was she a criminal, the sight of whose execution threw them flat upon their backs in speechless horror? Or
was she an idol, to be adored in that humble posture? Neither, my friends. She was blond Belinda, set, or rather hung, aloft,
in the place of honor, for this was her seventh birthday, and a superb ball was about to celebrate the great event.
All were evidently awaiting a summons to the festive
board; but such was the perfect breeding of these dolls, that not a single eye out of the whole twenty-seven (Dutch Hans had
lost one of the black beads from his worsted countenance) turned for a moment toward the table, or so much as winked, as they
lay in decorous rows, gazing with mute admiration at Belinda. She, unable to repress the joy and pride that swelled her sawdust
bosom till the seams gaped, gave an occasional bounce as the wind waved her yellow skirts, or made the blue boots dance a
sort of jig upon the door. Hanging was evidently not a painful operation, for she smiled contentedly, and looked as if the
red ribbon around her neck was not uncomfortably tight; therefore, if slow suffocation suited
her,
who else had any right to complain? So a pleasing silence reigned, not even broken by a snore from Dinah, the top of whose
turban alone was visible above the coverlet, or a cry from baby Jane, though her bare feet stuck out in a way that would have
produced shrieks from a less well-trained infant.
Presently voices were heard approaching, and through the arch which led to a side path came two little girls, one carrying
a small pitcher, the other proudly bearing a basket covered with a napkin. They looked like twins, but were not, for Bab was
a year older than Betty, though only an inch taller. Both had on brown calico frocks, much the worse for a week’s wear; but
clean pink pinafores, in honor of the occasion, made up for that, as well as the gray stockings and thick boots. Both had
round, rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug noses somewhat freckled, merry blue eyes, and braided tails of hair hanging down their
backs like those of the dear little Kenwigses.
“Don’t they look sweet?” cried Bab, gazing with maternal pride upon the left-hand row of dolls, who might appropriately have
sung in chorus, “We are seven.”
“Very nice; but my Belinda beats them all. I do think she is the splendidest child that ever was!” And Betty set down the
basket to run and embrace the suspended darling, just then kicking up her heels with joyful abandon.
“The cake can be cooling while we fix the children. It does smell perfectly delicious!” said Bab, lifting the napkin to hang
over the basket, fondly regarding the little round loaf that lay inside.
“Leave some smell for me!” commanded Betty, rushing back to get her fair share of the spicy fragrance.
The pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously, and the bright eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake, so brown and shiny,
with a tipsy-looking B in piecrust staggering down one side, instead of sitting properly atop.
“Ma let me put it on the very last minute, and it baked so hard I couldn’t pick it off. We can give Belinda that piece, so
it’s just as well,” observed Betty, taking the lead, as her child was queen of the revel.
“Let’s set them round, so they can see too,” proposed Bab, going, with a hop, skip, and jump, to collect her young family.
Betty agreed, and for several minutes both were absorbed in seating their dolls about the table; for some of the dear things
were so limp they wouldn’t sit up, and others so stiff they wouldn’t sit down, and all sorts of seats had to be contrived
to suit the peculiarities of their spines. This arduous task accomplished, the fond mammas stepped back to enjoy the spectacle,
which, I assure you, was an impressive one. Belinda sat with great dignity at the head, her hands genteelly holding a pink
cambric pocket-handkerchief in her lap. Josephus, her cousin, took the foot, elegantly arrayed in a new suit of purple and
green gingham, with his
speaking countenance much obscured by a straw hat several sizes too large for him; while on either side sat guests of every
size, complexion, and costume, producing a very gay and varied effect, as all were dressed with a noble disregard of fashion.
“They will like to see us get tea. Did you forget the buns?” inquired Betty, anxiously.
“No; got them in my pocket.” And Bab produced from that chaotic cupboard two rather stale and crumbly ones, saved from lunch
for the fête. These were cut up and arranged in plates, forming a graceful circle around the cake, still in its basket.
“Ma couldn’t spare much milk, so we must mix water with it. Strong tea isn’t good for children, she says.” And Bab contentedly
surveyed the gill of skim milk which was to satisfy the thirst of the company.
“While the tea draws and the cake cools, let’s sit down and rest; I’m so tired!” sighed Betty, dropping down on the doorstep
and stretching out the stout little legs which had been on the go all day; for Saturday had its tasks as well as its fun,
and much business had preceded this unusual pleasure.
Bab went and sat beside her, looking idly down the walk toward the gate, where a fine cobweb shone in the afternoon sun.
“Ma says she is going over the house in a day or two, now it is warm and dry after the storm, and we may go with her. You
know she wouldn’t take us in the fall, ’cause we had whooping cough, and it was damp there. Now we shall see all the nice
things; won’t it be fun?” observed Bab, after a pause.
“Yes, indeed! Ma says there’s lots of books in one room,
and I can look at ’em while she goes round. Maybe I’ll have time to read some, and then I can tell you,” answered Betty, who
dearly loved stories, and seldom got any new ones.