Excerpts

Chapter One Pouting Pilgrims "Christmas night will have a full moon, so on top of no presents, we can't go out," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. "It's fortunate we thought to have a Christmas play, so we could invite friends to stay overnight, or it would have been completely ruined."  "It's so dreadful to be poor! And it's a horror to have no father or brothers about to do heavy chores and protect us from the werewolves," sighed Meg, rubbing at a spot on her old dress with her thumb.  "Yes, I don't think it's fair for some girls to have lots of pretty things and other girls nothing at all," declared little Amy, with an injured sniff.  "We've got Mother, and each other, anyhow," said Beth contentedly from her corner. "And we can protect ourselves. Besides, Father is as sad as we that he cannot be here with us. And what does it matter that some girls have lovely clothes when they, just like us, must stay inside during a full moon? Remember that many of them don't even have sisters, so they must shiver all alone in their pretty boots as they listen to the werewolves howl."  Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth- haired, bright- eyed girl of thirteen who spoke in a soft voice, had a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression. Her father called her just that, "Little Tranquility," since she kept herself happy and safe, beyond the boundaries where harsh reality could invade, within her own little world.  The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words but darkened again when Jo said sadly: "No matter where he wants to be, the fact is we will have no father here for Christmas, and we shall not have him as long as this terrible war goes on."  "He would want us to be merry," Beth pointed out. "And we each have a dollar to spend for the occasion."  "We can do little with that, and I would hardly want to, with such suffering going on all around us," Meg said, trying to push from her mind all the pretty things she wanted. Meg, or Margaret, was the oldest sister: sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands of which she was rather vain.  "I can do a lot with it. I can buy a new book, maybe two," Jo said. She was fifteen, very tall, thin, and brown, and brought to mind a new colt trying to learn how to use its long limbs. Her features battled with one another: a firm, set mouth, a comical nose, and sharp gray eyes that were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick chestnut hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.  "I planned to spend mine on new music," said Beth with a smile, a lovely tune playing in her head.  "I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils; I really need them," said Amy decidedly. Amy was the youngest. She had icy blue eyes and yellow hair that curled on her shoulders; pale and slender, she always carried herself like a young lady mindful of her manners.  "I have earned a treat, spending my days teaching those dreadful children," began Meg, in the complaining tone again.  "You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you&rsquo Excerpted from Little Women and Werewolves by Louisa May Alcott, Louisa May Alcott All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.