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That deep religious note in Louisa Alcott’s nature is very marked and is evident in all of her work, but, on the other hand, she had a sparkling wit and such a keen sense of humor that in her blackest moods she could always see something funny to amuse her, and frequently laughed at her own expense.

That her conscience was as active as her mind and her body is shown by one of her “private plays,” which she makes Demi describe in Little Men. He says:

“I play that my mind is a round room, and my soul is a little sort of creature with wings that lives in it. The walls are full of shelves and drawers, and in them I keep my thoughts, and my goodness and badness and all sorts of things. The goods I keep where I can see them, and the bads I lock up tight, but they get out, and I have to keep putting them in and squeezing them down, they are so strong. The thoughts I play with when I am alone or in bed, and I make up and do what I like with them. Every Sunday I put my room in order, and talk with the little spirit that lives there, and tell him what to do. He is very bad sometimes and won’t mind me, and I have to scold him.”

Truly a strange game for a child to play, but the Alcotts were brought up to a reverent knowledge of their souls as well as their bodies, and many a sober talk at twilight did mother or father have with the daughters to whom the experience of the older generation was helpful and inspiring. A very happy family they were, despite frequent lack of luxuries and even necessities, but loyalty and generosity as their marked characteristics. No matter how little money or food an Alcott had, it was always shared with any one who had less, and the largest share was usually given away.

On Louisa’s fourth birthday, she tells of a feast given in her honor in her father’s school-room in Masonic Temple. All the children were there, and Louisa wore a crown of flowers and stood upon a table to give a cake to each child as they all marched around the table. “By some oversight,” says Louisa, “the cakes fell short, and I saw that if I gave away the last one, I should have none. As I was queen of the revel, I felt that I ought to have it, and held on to it tightly, until my mother said: ‘It is always better to give away than to keep the nice things; so I know my Louy will not let the little friend go without.'” She adds: “The little friend received the dear plummy cake, and I … my first lesson in the sweetness of self-denial–a lesson which my dear mother illustrated all her long and noble life.”

At another time a starving family was discovered, when the Alcotts, forming in a procession, carried their own breakfast to the hungry ones. On one occasion, when a friend had unexpected guests arrive for dinner, too late to secure any extra provisions, the Alcotts with great glee lent their dinner to the thankful hostess, and thought it a good joke. Again, on a snowy Saturday night, when their wood-pile was extra low, and there was no way of getting any more that week, a poor child came to beg a little, as their baby was sick and the father on a spree with all his wages. At first Mrs. Alcott hesitated, as it was bitterly cold and Abba May, the little baby sister, was very young, but Mr. Alcott decided the matter with his usual kindly optimism.

“Give half our stock and trust in Providence; the weather will moderate or wood will come,” he declared. And the wood was lent, Mrs. Alcott cheerily agreeing: “Well, their need is greater than ours. If our half gives out we can go to bed and tell stories!”