Louisa May Alcott eBooks
eBooks di Louisa May Alcott editi da Shadowpoet di Formato Mobipocket
nacque a Germantown (Pennsylvania) nel 1832. Nutrita degli ideali educativi del padre, filosofo e pedagogista, iniziò a scrivere giovanissima. Pubblicò diversi volumi di novelle e romanzi non solo per ragazzi (tra cui, nel 1866, Un lungo, fatale inseguimento d’amore, firmato con lo pseudonimo A. M. Barnard) e divenne scrittrice affermata con Piccole donne (1868), al quale poi seguirono Piccole donne crescono (1869), Piccoli uomini (1871) e I ragazzi di Jo (1886). Morì a Boston nel 1888.
Louisa May Alcott - Selected StoriesA Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True. E-book. Formato Mobipocket Louisa May Alcott - Shadowpoet, 2023 -
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT SELECTED STORIESA Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True Table of contentsA Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be TrueA Modern CinderellaAn Old-Fashioned ThanksgivingAunt KippCousin Tribulation's StoryHow They Ran AwayMy Red CapRosy's Journey The BrothersThe Candy CountryA Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True "I'm so tired of Christmas I wish there never would be another one!" exclaimed a discontented-looking little girl, as she sat idly watching her mother arrange a pile of gifts two days before they were to be given. "Why, Effie, what a dreadful thing to say! You are as bad as old Scrooge; and I'm afraid something will happen to you, as it did to him, if you don't care for dear Christmas," answered mamma, almost dropping the silver horn she was filling with delicious candies. "Who was Scrooge? What happened to him?" asked Effie, with a glimmer of interest in her listless face, as she picked out the sourest lemon-drop she could find; for nothing sweet suited her just then. "He was one of Dickens's best people, and you can read the charming story some day. He hated Christmas until a strange dream showed him how dear and beautiful it was, and made a better man of him." "I shall read it; for I like dreams, and have a great many curious ones myself. But they don't keep me from being tired of Christmas," said Effie, poking discontentedly among the sweeties for something worth eating. "Why are you tired of what should be the happiest time of all the year?" asked mamma, anxiously. "Perhaps I shouldn't be if I had something new. But it is always the same, and there isn't any more surprise about it. I always find heaps of goodies in my stocking. Don't like some of them, and soon get tired of those I do like. We always have a great dinner, and I eat too much, and feel ill next day. Then there is a Christmas tree somewhere, with a doll on top, or a stupid old Santa Claus, and children dancing and screaming over bonbons and toys that break, and shiny things that are of no use. Really, mamma, I've had so many Christmases all alike that I don't think I can bear another one." And Effie laid herself flat on the sofa, as if the mere idea was too much for her.