awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first founded on paper), and was already
deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the
elopement or after the murder. she said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much
to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when `genius took to burning'. Jo had
never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for THE SPREAD EAGLE. Her
experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic
effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as
her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and having located
it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate denouement. The manuscript
was privately dispatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize,
which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered
worth. Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret, but Jo did
both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter
arrived which almost took her breath away, for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her
lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry.
If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was
giving a fellow creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement, for
Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging, and after years of effort it was
so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.
A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composed herself, she electrified
the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that
she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came everyone read
and praised it, though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and
hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way... "You can do
better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money." "I think the money is the best part of
it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential
eye. "Send Beth and Mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo promptly. To the seaside
they went, after much discussion, and though Beth didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be
desired, she was much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger. So Jo was satisfied
with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of
those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house,
for by the magic of a pen, her `rubbish' turned into comforts for them all. The Duke's Daughter paid the
butcher's bill, A Phantom Hand put down a new carpet, and the Curse of the Coventrys proved the blessing
of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns. Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty
has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from
hearty work of head or hand, and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and
useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls,
taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for
a penny. Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, and encouraged by this fact,
she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time,
read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at
last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she
particularly admired. "Now I must either bundle it back in to my tin kitchen to mold, pay for printing it
myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in
the house, but cash is more convenient, so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important
subject," said Jo, calling a family council. "Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you
know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was her father's advice, and he practiced
what he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste
to gather it even now when it was sweet and mellow. "It seems to me that Jo will profit more by taking
the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her
both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial, but the
praise and blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money." "Yes," said Jo, knitting
her brows, "that's just it. I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good,
|