11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow,
and I'm free. Three months' vacation--how I shall enjoy it!"
exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid
upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took
off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment
of the whole party.
"Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo.
"I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her. If she
had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is
about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused.
We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every
time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that
I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she'd find it
impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the
carriage, and had a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped
out her head, saying, `Josyphine, won't you--?' I didn't hear any
more, for I basely turned and fled. I did actually run, and
whisked round the corner whee I felt safe."
"Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her,"
said Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air.
"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy,
tasting her mixture critically.
"She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter. It's
too warm to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured
"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing
the subject with tact.
"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from
the depths of the rocking chair. "I've been routed up early all
winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now
I'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content."