Little women

The more you love and trust Him, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother."


The illustrations for this series were created by Scott McKowen, who,
with his wife Christina Poddubiuk, operates Punch & Judy Inc., a
company specializing in design and illustration for theater and
performing arts. Their projects often involve research into the visual
aspects of historical settings and characters. Christina is a theater set
and costume designer and contributed advice on the period clothing for
the illustrations.
Scott created these drawings in scratchboard an engraving medium
which evokes the look of popular art from the period of these stories.
Scratchboard is an illustration board with a specifically prepared
surface of hard white chalk. A thin layer of black ink is rolled over the
surface, and lines are drawn by hand with a sharp knife by scraping
through the ink layer to expose the white surface underneath. The
finished drawings are then scanned and the color is added digitally.
The beautiful Meg, artistic tomboy Jo, doomed Beth, and selfish Amy:
since the publication of Little Women in 1869, these four sisters have
become America’s most beloved literary siblings. Louisa May Alcott’s
rich and realistic portrait has inspired three movies and stirred the
emotions of countless young girls. Set in New England during the Civil
War, the novel follows the adventures of the March sisters as they
struggle to pursue their dreams.



CHAPTER THIRTY
-FOUR
FRIEND
Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work that earned her
bread and made it sweeter for the effort, Jo still found time for literary labors. The purpose which now took
possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl, but the means she took to gain her end were
not the best. She saw that money conferred power, money and power, therefore, she resolved to have, not to
be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than life. The dream of filling home with
comforts, giving Beth everything she wanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in her bedroom, going
abroad herself, and always having more than enough, so that she might indulge in the luxury of charity, had
been for years Jo's most cherished castle in the air.
The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, after long traveling and much uphill work,
lead to this delightful chateau en Espagne. But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for public
opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks on bigger beanstalks than hers. Like that
immortal hero, she reposed awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the
giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the 'up again and take another' spirit was as strong in Jo as in Jack,
so she scrambled up on the shady side this time and got more booty, but nearly left behind her what was far
more precious than the moneybags.
She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even all-perfect America read rubbish. She told
no one, but concocted a 'thrilling tale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the Weekly
Volcano. She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence
more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she dressed herself in her
best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of
dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of three
gentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them took the
trouble to remove on her appearance. Somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hesitated on the threshold,
murmuring in much embarrassment...
"Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished to see Mr. Dashwood."
Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar
between his fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep. Feeling that
she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her manuscript and, blushing redder and redder with
each sentence, blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.
"A friend of mine desired..