PART 2
34. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
(continued)
She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much
describing of other people's passions and feelings set her
to studying and speculating about her own. a morbid amusement
in which healthy young minds do not voluntarily indulge.
Wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, and when Jo
most needed hers, she got it.
I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her
to read character, or the natural instinct of a woman for what
was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary
heroes with every perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering
a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imperfections.
Mr. Bhaer, in one of their conversations, had advised
her to study simple, true, and lovely characters, wherever she
found them, as good training for a writer. Jo took him at his
word, for she coolly turned round and studied him--a proceeding
which would have much surprised him, had he know it, for the
worthy Professor was very humble in his own conceit.
Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He
was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect
what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet
he was as attractive as a genial fire, and people seemed to
gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth. He was
poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a
stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but
as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face
looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven
for his sake. Jo often watched him, trying to discover
the charm, and at last decided that it was benevolence which
worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, `it sat with its
head under its wing', and he turned only his sunny side to the
world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed
to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to
others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials
of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never
cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong grasp
that was more expressive than words.
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