Alas, alas! The revengeful Snow turned the tables[18] with disastrous success. During the lesson, under pretense of asking an important question, she informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk. Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article.
Soon as he heard the word ‘limes', his face flushed.
“Young ladies, attention, if you please!”
Fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were fixed upon him.
“Miss March, come to the desk.”
Amy rose, but the limes weighed upon her conscience.
“Bring with you the limes you have in your desk.”
Amy laid themt down before Mr. Davis.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window.”
Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times. As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous “Hem!” and said, in his most impressive manner…
“Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has happened, but I never allow my rules to be broken, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand.”
Amy started, and put both hands behind her.
“Your hand, Miss March!”
Amy threw back her head defiantly, stretched out her hand and bore without flinching several blows on her little palm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the first time in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.
“You will now stand on the platform till recess,” said Mr. Davis.
That was dreadful. Taking her place, she fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, motionless. During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.
The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last.
“You can go, Miss March,” said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable.
He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, without a word to anyone, snatched her things, and left the place “forever,” as she passionately declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home, and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, and comforted her daughter.
“Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a little every day with Beth,” said Mrs. March that evening. “I dislike Mr. Davis's manner of teaching and don't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else.”
Chapter eight
Jo meets Apollyon
“Girls, where are you going?” asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.
“Never mind. Little girls shouldn't ask questions,” returned Jo sharply.
“You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you stopped when I came in. Aren't you going with him?”
“Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering.”
Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket.
“I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see the Seven Castles!” she cried, adding resolutely, “and I shall go, for Mother said I might see it, and I've got my rag money, and it was mean not to tell me in time.”
“Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,” said Meg soothingly. “Mother doesn't wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.”
“I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me. I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I'm dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I'll be ever so good,” pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could.
“Suppose we take her. I don't believe Mother would mind, if we bundle her up well,” began Meg.
“If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it, and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted,” said Jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoy herself.
Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, “I shall go. Meg says I may, and if I pay for myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it.”
“You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn't sit alone, so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our pleasure. Or he'll get another seat for you, and that isn't proper when you weren't asked. You shan't stir a step, so you may just stay where you are,” scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry.
Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone, “You'll be sorry for this, Jo March, see if you ain't.”
When they got home, they found Amy reading in the parlor. She assumed an injured air[19] as they came in, never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing description of the play. Going up to put away her best hat, Jo's first look was toward the bureau. Everything was in its place and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.
There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demanding breathlessly, “Has anyone taken my book?”
Meg and Beth said, “No.” at once, and looked surprised. Amy poked the fire and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise and was down upon her in a minute.
“Amy, you've got it!”
“No, I haven't.”
“That's a fib!” cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.
“Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book again,” cried Amy, getting excited in her turn.
“Why not?”
“I burned it up.”
“What! My little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before Father got home? Have you really burned it?” said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously.
“Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so…”
Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief and anger…
“You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I'll never forgive you as long as I live.”
Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself[20], and with a parting box