Little Women

went on with an odd little nod and smile⁠—
“They needn’t see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time; for I’m shut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out a great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing-room after nine o’clock.”
Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for that last arrangement left nothing to be desired. “Please tell the young ladies what I say; and if they don’t care to come, why, never mind.” Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way⁠—
“O sir, they do care, very, very much!”
“Are you the musical girl?” he asked, without any startling “Hey!” as he looked down at her very kindly.
“I’m Beth. I love it dearly, and I’ll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me⁠—and be disturbed,” she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke.
“Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day; so come, and drum away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you.”
“How kind you are, sir!”
Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore; but she was not frightened now, and gave the big hand a grateful squeeze, because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard⁠—
“I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! Good day, madam;” and away he went, in a great hurry.
Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not at home. How blithely she sung that evening, and how they all laughed at her, because she woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the side-door, and made her way, as noiselessly as any mouse, to the drawing-room, where her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano; and, with trembling fingers, and frequent stops to listen and look about, Beth at last touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend.
She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner; but she had no appetite, and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general state of beatitude.
After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing-room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that came and went unseen. She never knew that  Mr. Laurence often opened his study-door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked; she never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away; she never suspected that the exercise-books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit; and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what isn’t always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing that a greater was given her; at any rate, she deserved both.
“Mother, I’m going to work  Mr. Laurence a pair of slippers. He is so kind to me, I must thank him, and I don’t know any other way. Can I do it?” asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his.
“Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking him. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for the making up,” replied  Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting Beth’s requests, because she so seldom asked anything for herself.
After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet cheerful pansies, on a deeper purple ground, was pronounced very appropriate and pretty; and Beth worked away early and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needlewoman, and they were finished before anyone got tired of them. Then she wrote a very short, simple note, and, with Laurie’s help, got them smuggled on to the study-table one morning before the old gentleman was up.
When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen. All that day passed, and a part of the next, before any acknowledgment arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crotchety friend. On the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four, heads popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed⁠—
“Here’s a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it!”
“O Beth, he’s sent you⁠—” began Amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy; but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming down the window.
Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door, her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all pointing, and all saying at once, “Look there! look there!” Beth did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise; for there stood a little