ed the half-frozen wanderer who came in
tired, hungry, cold and disappointed, but smiling bravely, and as
serene as ever. We fed and warmed and brooded over him," says Louisa,
"longing to ask if he had made any money, but none did till little May
said, after he had told all the pleasant things: 'Well, did people pay
you?' Then, with a queer look, he opened his pocket-book and showed
one dollar, saying with a smile that made our eyes fill: 'Only that!
My overcoat was stolen, and I had to buy a shawl. Many promises were
not kept, and traveling is costly, but I have opened the way, and
another year shall do better.'

"I shall never forget," adds Louisa, "how beautifully mother answered
him, though the dear hopeful soul had built much on his success; but
with a beaming face she kissed him, saying, 'I call that doing _very_
well. Since you are safely home, dear, we don't ask anything more.'

"Anna and I choked down our tears, and took a lesson in real love
which we never forgot.... It was half tragic and comic, for father was
very dirty and sleepy, and mother in a big night-cap and funny old
jacket."

Surely no one ever had a better opportunity to probe to the heart of
the real emotions that make up the most prosaic as well as the most
heroic daily lives than a member of that generous, happy, loving
Alcott family.

And still Louisa kept on doing other things besides the writing, which
was such a safety valve for her intense nature. For a short time she
worked for a relative in the country, and she also taught and sewed
and did housework, and made herself useful wherever her strong hands
and willing heart could find some way of earning a dollar.

The seven years spent in Boston had developed her into a capable young
woman of twenty-two, who was ready and eager to play her part in the
great drama of life of which she was an interested spectator as she
saw it constantly enacted around her.

Even then, before she had stepped across the threshold of her career,
she unconsciously realized that the home stage is the real background
of the supreme world drama, and she shows this by the intimate, tender
domestic scenes which made all of her stories bits of real life, with
a strong appeal to those whose homes are joyous parts of the present,
or sacred memories.

When she was determined to achieve an end, Louisa Alcott generally
succeeded, even in the face of obstacles; and now having decided to
take on her own broad shoulders