PART 2
40. CHAPTER FORTY
When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted
the inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one
another by the increased affection which comes to bind households
tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief,
and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.
The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth,
and in it was gathered everything that she most loved, flowers,
pictures, her piano, the little worktable, and the beloved
pussies. Father's best books found their way there, Mother's
easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest sketches, and every day
Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshine
for Aunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, that he
might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with
the fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never wearied
of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite,
dropping tears as she worked, and from across the sea came
little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths
of warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.
Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat
Beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the
sweet, unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave
life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain
behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one of her
pleasures was to make little things for the school children
daily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her
window for a pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some small
mother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling through
forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and
all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers of
the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as
it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy
godmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts miraculously
suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted any
reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up
to her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters
which came to her, full of blots and gratitude.
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