Louisa May Alcott

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Luisa May Alcott

As much as 70 years ago in the city of Boston, there lived a small girl who had the naughty

habit of running away.

On a certain April morning, almost as soon as her mother finished buttoning her dress,

Luisa May Alcott slipped out of the house and up the street as fast as her feet could

carry her.

Luisa crept through a narrow alley and crossed several streets.

It was a beautiful day, and she did not care so very much, just where she went, so long

as she was having an adventure, all by herself.

Suddenly she came upon some children who said they were going to a nice, tall, ashyped

a play.

They asked her to join them.

Luisa thought they were fine playmates.

For when she grew hungry, they shared some cold potatoes and bread crusts with her.

She would not have thought this much of a lunch in her mother's dining room, but for

an outdoor picnic, it did very well.

When she tired of the ashyped, she bade the children goodbye, thanked them for their

kindness and hop-skipped to the common, where she must have wandered about for hours, because

all of a sudden it began to grow dark.

Then she wanted to get home.

She wanted her doll, her kitty, and her mother.

It frightened her when she could not find any street that looked natural.

She was hungry and tired too.

She threw herself down on some doorsteps to rest, and to watch the lamplighter.

For you must remember this was long before there was any gas or electricity in Boston.

At this moment a big dog came along.

He kissed her face and hands, and then sat down beside her with a sober look in his eyes,

as if he were thinking, I guess little girl, you need someone to take care of you.

More tired Louisa leaned against his neck and was fast asleep in no time.

The dog kept very still.

He did not want to wake her.

Pretty soon the town-cryer went by.

He was ringing a bell and reading in a loud voice from a paper in his hand, the description

of a lost child.

You see, Louisa's father and mother had missed her early in the forenoon, and had looked

for her in every place they could think of.

Each hour they grew more worried, and at dusk they decided to hire this man to search

the city.

When the runaway woke up and heard what the man was shouting, lost, lost, a little girl,

six years old, in a pink frock, white hat, and new green shoes.

She called out in the darkness, why, that's me!

The town-cryer took Louisa by the hand and let her home, where you may be sure she was

welcomed with joy.

Mr. Mrs. Alcott, from first to last, had had a good many frights about this flyaway

Louisa.

Once when she was only two years old, they were traveling with her on a steamboat, and

she darted away.

In some moment when no one was noticing her, and crawled into the engine room to watch

the machinery.

Of course her clothes were all grease and dirt, and she might have been caught in the

machinery and hurt.

You won't be surprised to know that the next day, after this last affair, Louisa's parents

made sure that she did not leave the house.

Indeed, to be entirely certain of her whereabouts, they tied her to the leg of a big sofa for

a whole day.

Except for this one fault, Louisa was a good child, so she felt much ashamed that she had

caused her mother whom she loved dearly so much worry.

As she sat there tied to the sofa, she made up her mind that she would never frighten

her so again.

No, she would cure herself of the running away habit.

After that day, whenever she felt the least desire to slip out of the house, without

asking permission, she would hurry to her own little room and shut the door tight.

To keep her mind from bad plans, she would shut her eyes and make up stories.

Think them all out herself, you know?

Then, when some of them seemed pretty good, she would write them down so that she would

not forget them.

By and by, she found she liked making stories better than anything she had ever done in

her life.

Her mother sometimes wondered why Louisa grew so fond of staying in her little chamber

at the head of the stairs.

All of a sudden, but was pleased that the runaway child had changed into such a quiet,

like to stay at home girl.

It was a long time before Louisa dared to mention the stories and rhymes she had hidden

in her desk, but finally, she told her mother about them.

And when Mrs. Alcott had read them, she advised her to keep on writing.

Louisa did so and became one of the best American storytellers.

She wrote a number of books, and if you begin with Lulu's library, you will want to read

little men and little women and all the books that dear Louisa Alcott ever wrote.

At first Louisa was paid, but small sums for her writings, and as the Alcott family were

poor, she taught school, did sewing, took care of children, or worked at anything, always

with a merry smile, so long as it provided comforts for those she loved.

When the Civil War broke out, she was anxious to do something to help, so she went into one

of the Union hospitals as a nurse.

She worked so hard that she grew very ill, and her father had to go after her and bring

her home.

One of her books tells about her life in the hospital.

It was soon after her return home that her books began to sell so well that she found herself

for the first time in her life with a great deal of money.

There was enough to buy luxuries for the Alcott family.

There was enough for her to travel.

No doubt she got more happiness in traveling than some people.

For she found boys and girls in England, France, and Germany reading the very books she

found herself, Louisa May Alcott, had written.

Then too, at the age of 50, she enjoyed venturing into new places, just as well as she did

the morning she sallied forth to Boston Common, in her new green shoes.

And of Louisa May Alcott.