"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo.
"How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy
old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries
you till you're ready to fly out the window or cry?"

"It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and
keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me
cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all."
And Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could
hear that time.

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for
you don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague
you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and
label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose
isn't nice."

"If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as
if Papa was a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.

"I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it.
It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,"
returned Amy, with dignity.

"Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we
had the money Papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How
happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who
could remember better times.

"You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier