At last, one day, a publisher asked
Louisa, who was now a woman, to write
a book for girls. Louisa was not very well,
and she was very tired, but she always
said, "I'll try," when she had a chance to
work; so she said, "I'll try," to the
publisher. When she thought about the book
she remembered the good times she used
to have with her sisters in the big, bare
house in the country. And so she wrote a
story and put all that in it; she put her
dear mother and her wise father in it, and
all the little sisters, and besides the jolly
times and the plays, she put the sad, hard
times in,--the work and worry and going
without things.
When the book was written, she called
it "Little Women," and sent it to the publisher.
And, children, the little book made
Louisa famous. It was so sweet and
funny and sad and real,--like our own
lives,--that everybody wanted to read it.
Everybody bought it, and much money
came from it. After so many years, little
Louisa's wish came true: she bought a
nice house for her family; she sent one
of her sisters to Europe, to study; she
gave her father books; but best of all, she
was able to see to it that the beloved
mother, so tired and so ill, could have rest
and happiness. Never again did the dear
mother have to do any hard work, and
she had pretty things about her all the rest
of her life.
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