Other editions of book Three Little Women

CONTENTS CHAPTER I—After Three Years. CHAPTER II—The Silent Partner and Others. CHAPTER III—The Bee-hive. CHAPTER IV—The Busy Bees. CHAPTER V—Mammy Makes Investigations. CHAPTER VI—Thanksgiving. CHAPTER VII—Expansion. CHAPTER VIII—Vaulting Ambitions. CHAPTER IX—At Merry Yuletide. CHAPTER X—“Then Came the Wild Weather.” CHAPTER XI—In the Valley. CHAPTER XII—Of the Shadow. CHAPTER XIII—Aftermath. CHAPTER XIV—In the Springtide. CHAPTER XV—Mammy Makes a Discovery. CHAPTER XVI—Mammy a Sherlock Holmes. CHAPTER XVII—Cupid in Spectacles. CHAPTER XVIII—Harvest Time. CHAPTER XIX—Three Little Women’s SuccessCHAPTER I—After Three Years.October had come to Riveredge. This fact meant more than the five words usually imply, for to few spots did October show such a gracious presence as she did to this pretty town. Beautiful at all seasons, even in its wintry dress of gleaming snow, in its autumn gorgeousness, Riveredge was entirely irresistible. In summer the town drowsed, for during July and August many of its inhabitants took a holiday and journeyed thither and yonder; in the autumn it wakened to the busy bustle of active life and its preparations for the drawing together of all who dwelt therein, and spring was the time when it did its renovating, its housecleaning, its decorating, but October’s crisp westerly winds blowing across the broad expanses of the river set blood stirring, made pulses throb many beats quicker, and caused even strangers to smile and nod to one another as they passed along the streets. Friends called gayly: “Isn’t the air delicious? Doesn’t it make you want to prance like a colt?”There was one individual in Riveredge whom it so affected, anyway. The fact that nearly three years have slipped by since we last witnessed any of her prancings has not lessened her propensity to do so, for with nearly fourteen years numbered off upon her life’s calendar Jean Carruth is as much of a romp as ever, full of impulses as she was upon the day she rescued old Baltie; as she was when she so valiantly defended her property and her rights against the hoodlums of McKimm’s Hollow. The three years have brought about many changes, it is true, but Jean Carruth will remain Jean Carruth to the end of the story. She has grown like a weed, to be sure, and seems to be nearly all long arms and legs with a body like a hazel wand—pliable and vigorous, with powers of endurance far beyond its indications. A casual observer might think her less strong than she is, but in reality she is “soun’ as a dollar and de cause ob mo’ trebbilation dan a million ob ’em could be,” insisted old Mammy. And Mammy was pretty well qualified to judge, having had charge of that young person since she drew her first breath in the world. Mammy still lived and flourished as Mammy Blairsdale-Devon. Nothing could induce her to drop the Blairsdale. Hadyn Stuyvesant had quite conclusively, though unwittingly, settled that point when he presented the superb sign, with its gleaming gold letters, to the newly opened lunch counter in the Arcade. Mrs. Carruth tried to persuade Mammy to take the name of her lately restored spouse, and be known thenceforth as Mrs. Charles Devon; but Mammy had scornfully stammered: “D-d-drap de Blairsdale? Never! I was borned a Blairsdale, lived a Blairsdale eighteen year befo’ I hooked on de Devon, an’ den hatter onhook it inside of fo’ months; den I lived fo’ty-seben years wid de Blairsdale name befo’ I foun’ out dat I had claim ter any odder. So what fo’ I drap it now? Dey ain’t no name kin leave it behine as I knows on. Devon’s a good one, I knows, and down yonder where we-all was borned at it do stan’ high for a fac’, but it cyant rare up its head like de Blairsdale name kin.

The afternoon was a wild one. All day driving sheets of rain had swept along the streets of Riveredge, hurled against windowpanes by fierce gusts of wind, or dashed in miniature rivers across piazzas. At noon it seemed as though the wind meant to change to the westward and the clouds break, but the promise of better weather had failed, and although the rain now fell only fitfully in drenching showers, and one could “run between the drops” the wind still blustered and fumed, tossing the wayfarers about, and tearing from the trees what foliage the rain had spared, to hurl it to the ground in sodden masses. It was more like a late November than a late September day, and had a depressing effect upon everybody.

Excerpt: ...pantry. There on a shelf stood a big white box marked "Lord & Taylor, Ladies' Suit Dept." Jean's nose rose a degree higher in the air as she drew near it and carefully raised the lid. "Ah-hah! Didn't I know it! I guess her cousins-in-the-Lord must like candy pretty well, for she has taken that box with her every single time she's gone to South Riveredge," whispered this astute young person. Now it so happened that as Mammy had advanced in years, she had grown somewhat hard of hearing, and had also developed a habit quite common to her race; that of communing aloud with herself when alone. Jean was quite alive to this and more than once had caused the old woman to regard her with considerable awe by casually mentioning facts of which Mammy believed her to be entirely in ignorance, and, indeed, preferred she should be, little guessing that her own monologues had given the child her cue. Clambering softly upon the broad shelf which ran along one side of the pantry, Jean gently pushed back the sliding door made to pass the dishes to and from the kitchen, and watched Mammy's movements. The kitchen was immaculate and Mammy was just preparing to set forth for her Saturday morning's marketing, a task she would not permit any one else to undertake, declaring that "dese hyer Norf butcher-men stood ready fer ter beat folks outen dey eyesight ef dey git er chance." As usual Mammy was indulging in a soliloquy. "Dar now. Dat's all fix an' right, an' de minit I gits back I kin clap it inter de oven," she murmured as she set her panfuls of bread over the range for their second rising. "I gotter git all dis hyer wo'k off my han's befo' free 'clock terday ef I gwine get ter Souf Riveredge in time fer ter sell all dat mes o' candy." Behind the window a small body's head gave a satisfied nod. "'Taint lak week days. De sto'es tu'n out mighty early on Sattidays. Hopes I kin sell eve'y bit and grain dis time....

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