Маленькие женщины

All Alone

           

           "Whydon’tyouwrite?Thatalwaysusedtomakeyouhappy,"saidhermotheronce,whenthedespondingfitover-shadowedJo.

           "I’venohearttowrite,andifIhad,nobodycaresformythings."

           "Wedo.Writesomethingforus,andnevermindtherestoftheworld.Tryit,dear.I’msureitwoulddoyougood,andpleaseusverymuch."

           "Don’tbelieveIcan."ButJogotoutherdeskandbegantooverhaulherhalf-finishedmanuscripts.

           Anhourafterwardhermotherpeepedinandthereshewas,scratchingaway,withherblackpinaforeon,andanabsorbedexpression,whichcausedMrs.Marchtosmileandslipaway,wellpleasedwiththesuccessofhersuggestion.Joneverknewhowithappened,butsomethinggotintothatstorythatwentstraighttotheheartsofthosewhoreadit,forwhenherfamilyhadlaughedandcriedoverit,herfathersentit,muchagainstherwill,tooneofthepopularmagazines,andtoheruttersurprise,itwasnotonlypaidfor,butothersrequested.Lettersfromseveralpersons,whosepraisewashonor,followedtheappearanceofthelittlestory,newspaperscopiedit,andstrangersaswellasfriendsadmiredit.Forasmallthingitwasagreatsuccess,andJowasmoreastonishedthanwhenhernovelwascommendedandcondemnedallatonce.

           "Idon’tunderstandit.Whatcantherebeinasimplelittlestorylikethattomakepeoplepraiseitso?"shesaid,quitebewildered.

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