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- Луиза Мэй Олкотт
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"
Then
I
’
ll
go
without
.
I
don
’
t
care
what
people
say
!
"
cried
Jo
,
taking
up
her
book
.
"
You
may
have
it
,
you
may
!
Only
don
’
t
stain
it
,
and
do
behave
nicely
.
Don
’
t
put
your
hands
behind
you
,
or
stare
,
or
say
‘
Christopher
Columbus
!
’
will
you
?
"
"
Don
’
t
worry
about
me
.
I
’
ll
be
as
prim
as
I
can
and
not
get
into
any
scrapes
,
if
I
can
help
it
.
Now
go
and
answer
your
note
,
and
let
me
finish
this
splendid
story
.
"
So
Meg
went
away
to
‘
accept
with
thanks
’
,
look
over
her
dress
,
and
sing
blithely
as
she
did
up
her
one
real
lace
frill
,
while
Jo
finished
her
story
,
her
four
apples
,
and
had
a
game
of
romps
with
Scrabble
.
On
New
Year
’
s
Eve
the
parlor
was
deserted
,
for
the
two
younger
girls
played
dressing
maids
and
the
two
elder
were
absorbed
in
the
all
-
important
business
of
‘
getting
ready
for
the
party
’
.
Simple
as
the
toilets
were
,
there
was
a
great
deal
of
running
up
and
down
,
laughing
and
talking
,
and
at
one
time
a
strong
smell
of
burned
hair
pervaded
the
house
.
Meg
wanted
a
few
curls
about
her
face
,
and
Jo
undertook
to
pinch
the
papered
locks
with
a
pair
of
hot
tongs
.
"
Ought
they
to
smoke
like
that
?
"
asked
Beth
from
her
perch
on
the
bed
.
"
It
’
s
the
dampness
drying
,
"
replied
Jo
.
"
What
a
queer
smell
!
It
’
s
like
burned
feathers
,
"
observed
Amy
,
smoothing
her
own
pretty
curls
with
a
superior
air
.
"
There
,
now
I
’
ll
take
off
the
papers
and
you
’
ll
see
a
cloud
of
little
ringlets
,
"
said
Jo
,
putting
down
the
tongs
.
