Little Women 193 pages

Little Womenby Louisa May Alcott
CHAPTER ONE`Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents, ' grumbled Jo, lyingon the rug. `It's so dreadful to be poor!' sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. `I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, andother girls nothing at all, ' added little Amy, with an injured sniff. `We've got Father and Mother, and each other, ' said Beth contentedlyfrom her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at thecheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, `We haven't gotFather, and shall not have him for a long time. ' She didn't say `perhapsnever, ' but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where thefighting was. Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, `You knowthe reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas wasbecause it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks weought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so inthe army. We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, andought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't. ' And Meg shook her head, asshe thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted. `But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We'veeach got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our givingthat. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want tobuy UNDINE AND SINTRAM for myself. I've wanted it so long, ' said Jo, who was a bookworm. `I planned to spend mine in new music, ' said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder. `I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I really need them, ' saidAmy decidedly. `Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us togive up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun. I'msure we work hard enough to earn it, ' cried Jo, examining the heels of hershoes in a gentlemanly manner. `I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'mlonging to enjoy myself at home, ' began Meg, in the complaining toneagain. `You don't have half such a hard time as I do, ' said Jo. `How would youlike to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps youtrotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you you're ready to fly outthe window or cry?'`It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping thingstidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands getso stiff, I can't practice well at all. ' And Beth looked at her rough handswith 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 haveto go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't knowyour lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he isn'trich, 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 apickle bottle, ' advised Jo, laughing. `I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper touse good words, and improve your vocabilary, ' returned Amy, withdignity. `Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the moneyPapa 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 than theKing children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite oftheir money. '`So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work, wemake fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say. '`Jo does use such slang words!' observed Amy, with a reproving look atthe long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began towhistle. `Don't, Jo. It's so boyish!'`That's why I do it. '`I detest rude, unladylike girls!'`I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!'`Birds in their little nests agree, ' sang Beth, the peacemaker, with such afunny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the `pecking'ended for that time. `Really, girls, you are both to be blamed, ' said Meg, beginning to lecturein her elder-sisterly fashion. 'You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were alittle girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you shouldremember that you are a young lady. '`I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tailstill I'm twenty, ' cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnutmane. `I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wearlong gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners! I can't get overmy disappointment in not being a boy. And it's worse than ever now, forI'm dying to go and fight with Papa. And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!'And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room. `Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you must try to becontented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls, 'said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the dish washingand dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its touch. `As for you, Amy, ' continued Meg, `you are altogether to particular andprim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I I like your nice manners and refined ways ofspeaking, when you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are asbad as Jo's slang. '`If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?' asked Beth, ready to share the lecture. `You're a dear, and nothing else, ' answered Meg warmly, and no onecontradicted her, for the `Mouse' was the pet of the family. As young readers like to know `how people look', we will take thismoment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knittingaway in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, andthe fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though thecarpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or twohung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums andChristmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere ofhome peace pervaded it. Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, beingplump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen- year-old Jo wasvery tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she neverseemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much inher way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, orthoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usuallybundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, bighands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortableappearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and didn'tlike it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a;peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her`Little Miss Tranquility', and the name suited her excellently, for sheseemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet thefew whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a mostimportant person, in her own opinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out. The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair ofslippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a goodeffect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened towelcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out ofthe easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as shesat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze. `They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair. '`I thought I'd get her some with my dollar, ' said Beth. `No, I shall!' cried Amy. `I'm the oldest, ' began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, `I'm the man ofthe family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, for he toldme to take special care of Mother while he was gone. '`I'll tell you what we'll do, ' said Beth, `let's each get her something forChristmas, land not get anything for ourselves. '`That's like you, dear! What will we get?' exclaimed Jo. Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if theidea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, `I shall give her anice pair of gloves. '`Army shoes, best to be had, ' cried Jo. `Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed, ' said Beth. `I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won't cost much, soI'll have some left to buy my pencils, ' added Amy. `How will we give the things?' asked Meg. `Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?' answered Jo. `I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair withthe crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to haveyou sit looking at me while I opened the bundles, ' said Beth, who wastoasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time. `Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surpriseher. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so much todo about the play for Christmas night, ' said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air. `I don't mean to act any more after this time. I'm getting too old for suchthings, ' observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about `dressing-up' frolics. `You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gownwith your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actresswe've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards, ' saidJo. `We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do the faintingscene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that. '`I can't help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to makemyself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll drop. If I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful. I don't care ifHugo does come at me with a pistol, ' returned Amy, who was not giftedwith dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to beborne out shrieking by the villain of the piece. `Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, cryingfrantically, `Roderigo Save me! Save me!' and away went Jo, with amelodramatic scream which was truly thrilling. Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerkedherself along as if she went by machinery, and her `Ow!' was moresuggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave adespairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burnas she watched the fun with interest. `It's no use! Do the best you can whenthe time comes, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me. Come on, Meg. '`Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speechof two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch, chanted an awfulincantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect. Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies ofremorse and arsenic, with a wild, `Ha! Ha!'`It's the best we've had yet, ' said Meg, as the dead villain sat up andrubbed his elbows. `I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're aregular Shakespeare!' exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her sisterswere gifted with wonderful genius in all things. `Not quite, ' replied Jo modestly. `I do think THE WITCHES CURSE, anOperatic Tragedy is rather a nice thing, but I'd like to try McBETH, if weonly had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part. `Isthat a dagger that I see before me?' muttered Jo, rolling her eyes andclutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. `No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth's stage-struck!' cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burstof laughter. `Glad to find you so merry, my girls, ' said a cheery voice at the door, andactors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a `can Ihelp you' look about her which was truly delightful. She was not elegantlydressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloakand unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world. `Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn't come home to dinner. Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired todeath. Come and kiss me, baby. 'While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet thingsoff, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy toher lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girlsflew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Megarranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and frobetween parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions toeveryone, as she sat with her hands folded. As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularlyhappy face, `I've got a treat for you after supper. 'A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clappedher hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, `A letter! A letter! Three cheers for Father!'`Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through thecold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes forChristmas, and an especial message to you girls, ' said Mrs. March, pattingher pocket as if she had got a treasure there. `Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger and simperover your plate, Amy, ' cried Jo, choking on her tea and dropping herbread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the treat. Beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and broodover the delight to come, till the others were ready. `I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was tooold to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier, ' said Meg warmly. `Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan--what's its name? Or anurse, so I could be near him and help him, ' exclaimed Jo, with a groan. `It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug, ' sighed Amy. `When will he come home, Marmee? asked Beth, with a little quiver inher voice. `Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do hiswork faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a minutesooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter. 'They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on theback, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter shouldhappen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those hard timesthat were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In thisone little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or thehomesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of livelydescriptions of camp life, marches, and military news, and only at the enddid the writer's heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing for the littlegirls at home. `Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them byday, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection atall times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remindthem that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need notbe wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will beloving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosomenemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I comeback to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women. 'Everybody sniffed when they came to that part. Jo wasn't ashamed of thegreat tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded therumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder andsobbed out, `I am a selfish girl! But I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't bedisappointed in me by-and-by. 'We all will, ' cried Meg. `I think too much of my looks and hate to work, but won't any more, if I can help it. '`I'll try and be what he loves to call me, `a little woman' and not be roughand wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else, 'said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder taskthan facing a rebel or two down South. Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sockand began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty thatlay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all thatFather hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy cominghome. Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in hercheery voice, `Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims Progresswhen you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have metie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks androlls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, whichwas the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where you had all thelovely things you could collect to make a Celestial City. '`What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, andpassing through the valley where the hob-goblins were, ' said Jo. `I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs, 'said Meg. `I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellarand the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at thetop. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it over again, 'said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the matureage of twelve. `We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we areplaying all the time in one way or another. Out burdens are here, our roadis before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide thatleads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a trueCelestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not inplay, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before Father comeshome. '`Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?' asked Amy, who was a veryliteral young lady. `Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I ratherthink she hasn't got any, ' said her mother. `Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nicepianos, and being afraid of people. 'Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, butnobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much. `Let us do it, ' said Meg thoughtfully. `It is only another name for tryingto be good, and the story may help us, for though we do want to be good, it's hard work and we forget, and don't do our best. '`We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came andpulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll ofdirections, like Christian. What shall we do about that?' asked Jo, delightedwith the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing herduty. `Look under your pillows christmas morning, and you will find yourguidebook, ' replied Mrs. March. They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, thenout came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as the girlsmade sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but tonight noone grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into fourparts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and inthat way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the differentcountries as they stitched their way through them. At nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had away of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasantaccompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and herr mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, andJo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out atthe wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensivetune. They had always done this from the time they could lisp... Crinkle, crinkle, `ittle `tar, and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a bornsinger. The first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about thehouse singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same cheerysound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby. CHAPTER TWOJo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. Nostockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as muchdisappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because itwas crammed so full of goodies. Then she remembered her mother'spromise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story ofthe best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for anypilgrim going on a long journey. She woke Meg with a `Merry Christmas, 'and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green- covered bookappeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by theirmother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. PresentlyBeth and Amy woke to rummage and find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, whilethe east grew rosy with the coming day. In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved hervery tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given. `Girls, ' said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her tothe two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, `Mother wants us toread and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We usedto be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this war troubleunsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a little every morningas soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through theday. 'Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm roundher and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression soseldom seen on her restless face. `How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with thehard words, and they'' explain things if we don't understand, ' whisperedBeth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters, example. `I'm glad mine is blue, ' said Amy. And then the rooms were very stillwhile the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in totouch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting. `Where is Mother?' asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her fortheir gifts, half an hour later. `Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter came a-beggin', and your mawent straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a womanfor givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin', ' replied Hannah, whohad lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by themall more as a friend than a servant. `She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everythingready, ' said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in abasket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. `why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?' she added, as the little flask didnot appear. `She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion, ' replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the firststiffness off the new army slippers. `How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed andironed them for me, and I marked them all myself, ' said Beth, lookingproudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor. `Bless the child! She's gone and put `Mother' on them instead of `M. March'. How funny!' cried Jo, taking one up. `Isn't that right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's initialsare M. M. , and I don't want anyone to use these but Marmee, ' said Beth;, looking troubled. `It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for no onecan ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know, ' said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth. `There's Mother. Hide the basket, quick!' cried Jo, as a door slammedand steps sounded in the hall. Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw hersisters all waiting for her. `Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?' askedMeg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been outso early. `Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean anyone should know till the timecame. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave allmy money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any more. 'As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced thecheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forgetherself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her `a trump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament thestately bottle. `You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking aboutbeing good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it theminute I was up, and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest now. 'Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and thegirls to the table, eager for breakfast. `Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books. Weread some, and mean to every day, ' they all cried in chorus. `MerryChristmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you willkeep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away fromhere lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby. Six children arehuddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There isnothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they weresuffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as aChristmas present?'They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for aminute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, `I'm soglad you came before we began!'`May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?' askedBeth eagerly. `I shall take the cream and the muffings, ' added Amy, heroically givingup the article she most liked. Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into onebig plate. `I thought you'd do it, ' said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. `You shallall go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milkfor breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime. 'They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it wasearly, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and noone laughed at the queer party. A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm. How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in. `Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!' said the poor woman, crying for joy. `Funny angels in hoods and mittens, ' said Jo, and set them to laughing. In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at workthere. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up thebroken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave themother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while shedressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girlsmeantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed themlike so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand thefunny broken English. `Das ist gut!' `Die Engel-kinder!' cried the poor things as they ate andwarmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had neverbeen called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especiallyJo, who had been considered a `Sancho' ever since she was born. That wasa very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it. And when theywent away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the cityfour merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away theirbreakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmasmorning. `That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it, ' said Meg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs collectingclothes for the poor Hummels. Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up inthe few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, whitechrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quitean elegant air to the table. `She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers forMarmee!' cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother tothe seat of honor. Beth played her gayest march, amy threw open the door, and Megenacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised andtouched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents andread the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on atonce, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented withAmy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloveswere pronounced a perfect fit. There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in thesimple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at thetime, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work. The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest ofthe day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being stilltoo young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to afford anygreat outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, andnecessity being the mother of invention, made whatever they needed. Veryclever were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars, antique lampsmade of old-fashioned butter boats covered with silver paper, gorgeousrobes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, andarmor covered with the same useful diamond shaped bits left inn sheetswhen the lids of preserve pots were cut out. The big chamber was the sceneof many innocent revels. No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart'scontent and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather bootsgiven her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, anold foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, wereJo's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of thecompany made it necessary for the two principal actors to take severalparts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard workthey did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out ofvarious costumes, and managing the stage besides. It was excellent drill fortheir memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours whichotherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society. On christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dresscircle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a mostflattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling andwhispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasionalgiggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of themoment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and theOPERATIC TRAGEDY began. `A gloomy wood, ' according to the one playbill, was represented by afew shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. Thiscave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in itwas a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witchbending over it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fineeffect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch tookoff the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, thenHugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouchinghat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro inmuch agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasingresolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo'svoice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were veryimpressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to thecavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding, `What ho, minion! I need thee!'Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red andblack robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded apotion to make Zara adore him, and one destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a finedramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit whowould bring the love philter. Hither, hither, from thy home, Airy sprite, I bid thee come! Born of roses, fed on dew, Charms and potions canst thou brew? Bring me here, withelfin speed, The fragrant philter which I need. Make it sweet and swift andstrong, Spirit, answer now my song!A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the caveappeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang... Hither I come, From my airy home, Afar in the silver moon. Take themagic spell, And use it well, Or its power will vanish soon!And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spiritvanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not alovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, havingcroaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with amocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in hisboots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he hadkilled a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends tothwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain fell, and theaudience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play. A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, butwhen it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had beengot up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower rose tothe ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, andbehind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, redcloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at thefoot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of theplay. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up oneend, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, puther hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracfully downwhen `Alas! Alas for Zara!' she forgot her train. It caught in the window, the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried theunhappy lovers in the ruins. A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from thewreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, `I told you so! I told youso!' With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside... `Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!' and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him form the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedlyshaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the oldgentleman and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara. She alsodefied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of thecastle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he oughtto have made. Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come tofree the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and hides, sees himput the potions into two cups of wine and bid the the timid little servant, `Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall come anon. 'The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changesthe cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the `minion', carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poisonmeant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flatand dies, while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song ofexquisite power and melody. This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might havethought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hairrather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before thecurtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singingwas considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance puttogether. Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbinghimself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as thedagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informinghim that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will. A key isthrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears offhis chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love. Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. Hewishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and after atouching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demandsher hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout andgesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bearaway the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and abag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs theparty that she bequeths untold wealth to the young pair and an awfuldoom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quiteglorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the stern sire. He consentswithout a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon thelovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the mostromantic grace. Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, forthe cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up andextinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew tothe rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechlesswith laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannahappeared, with `Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walkdown to supper. 'This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table, theylooked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee to getup a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of sincethe departed days of plenty. There was ice cream, actually two

dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and distracting french bonbons and, inthe middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers. It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and thenat their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely. `Is it fairies?' asked Amy. `Santa Claus, ' said Beth. `Mother did it. ' And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beardand white eyebrows. `Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper, ' cried Jo, with a suddeninspiration. `All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it, ' replied Mrs. March. `The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thinginto his head? We don't know him!' exclaimed Meg. `Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is anodd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father years ago, and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allowhim to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them afew trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse, and so you have a littlefeast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk breakfast. '`That boy; put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, and Iwish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us but he'sbashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass, 'said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction. `You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you?'asked one of the girls. `My mother knows old Mr. Laurence, but says he'svery proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps hisgrandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, andmakes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn'tcome. Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls. '`Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over thefence, and were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on, when hesaw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day, for heneeds fun, I'm sure he does, ' said Jo decidedly. `I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so I've noobjection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He broughtthe flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I had been surewhat was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went away, hearingthe frolic and evidently having none of his own. '`It's a mercy you didn't, Mother!' laughed Jo, looking at her boots. `Butwe'll have another play sometime that he can see. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly?'`I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!' And Megexamined her flowers with great interest. `They are lovely. But Beth's roses are sweeter to me, ' said Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt. Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, `I wish I could send mybunch to Father. I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas as weare. 'CHAPTER THREE`Jo! Jo! Where are you?' cried Meg at the foot of the garret stairs. `Here!' answered a husky voice from above, and, running up, Meg foundher sister eating apples and crying over the Heir of Redclyffe, wrapped upin a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny window. This wasJo's favorite refuge, and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russetsand a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat who livednear by and didn't mind her a particle. As Meg appeared, Scrabblewhisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hearthe news. `Such fun! Only see! A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner fortomorrow night!' cried Meg, waving the precious paper and thenproceeding to read it with girlish delight. ``Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephineat a little dance on New Year's Eve. ' Marmee is willing we should go, nowwhat shall we wear?'`What's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear ourpoplins, because we haven't got anything else?' answered Jo with hermouth full. `If I only had a silk!' sighed Meg. `Mother says I may when I'm eighteenperhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait. '`I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us. Yoursis as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine. Whatevershall I do? The burn shows badly, and I can't take any out. '`You must sit still all you can and keep your back out of sight. The frontis all right. I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee will lend meher little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd like. '`Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones, so I shallhave to go without, ' said Jo, who never troubled herself much about dress. `You must have gloves, or I won't go, ' cried Meg decidedly. `Gloves aremore important than anything else. You can't dance without them, and ifyou don't I should be so mortified. ' `Then I'll stay still. I don't care muchfor company dancing. It's no fun to go sailing round. I like to fly about andcut capers. '`You can't ask Mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and you areso careless. She said when you spoiled the others that she shouldn't get youany more this winter. Can't you make them do?'`I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know howstained they are. That's all I can do. No! I'll tell you how we can manage, each wear one good one and carry a bad one. Don't you see?'`Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glovedreadfully, ' began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her. `Then I'll go without. I don't care what people say!' cried Jo, taking upher book. `You may have it, you may! Only don't stain it, and do behave nicely. Don't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say `Christopher Columbus!'will you?'`Don't worry about me. I'll be as prim ad I can and not get into anyscrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note, and let me finishthis splendid story. 'So Meg went away to `accept with thanks', look over her dress, and singblithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo finished her story, herfour apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble. On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girlsplayed dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the all-important business of `getting ready for the party'. Simple as the toiletswere, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing andtalking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded the house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch thepapered locks with a pair of hot tongs. `Ought they to smoke like that?' asked Beth from her perch on the bed. `It's the dampness drying, ' replied Jo. `What a queer smell! It's like burned feathers, ' observed Amy, smoothingher own pretty curls with a superior air. `There, now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of littleringlets, ' said Jo, putting down the tongs. She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for thehair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser laid a row of littlescorched bundles on the bureau before her victim. `Oh, oh, oh! What have you done? I'm spoiled! I can't go! My hair, oh, my hair!' wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on herforehead. `Just my luck! You shouldn't have asked me to do it. I always spoileverything. I'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I've made amess, ' groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black pancakes with tears ofregret. `It isn't spoiled. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come onyour forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion. I've seen manygirls do it so, ' said Amy consolingly. `Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I'd let my hair alone, ' criedMeg petulantly. `So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again, 'said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep. After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the unitedexertions of the entire family Jo's hair was got up and her dress on. Theylooked very well in their simple suits, Meg's in silvery drab, with a bluevelvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin. Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her onlyornament. Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, andall pronounced the effect `quite easy and fine". Meg's high-heeled slipperswere very tight and hurt her, though she would not own it, and Jo'snineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which was notexactly comfortable, but, dear me, let us be elegant or die. `Have a good time, dearies!' said Mrs. March, as the sisters went daintilydown the walk. `Don't eat much supper, and come away at eleven when Isend Hannah for you. ' As the gate clashed behind them, a voice cried froma window... `Girls, girls! Have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?'`Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers, ' cried Jo, addingwith a laugh as they went on, `I do believe Marmee would ask that if wewere all running away from an earthquake. `It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady isalways known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief, ' replied Meg, whohad a good many little `aristocratic tastes' of her own. `Now don't forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo. Is my sashright? And does my hair look very bad?' said Meg, as she turned from theglass in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing room after a prolonged prink. `I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remindme by a wink, will you?' returned Jo, giving her collar a twitch and herhead a hasty brush. `No, winking isn't ladylike. I'll lift my eyebrows if any thing is wrong, and nod if you are all right. Now hold your shoulder straight, and takeshort steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced to anyone. It isn'tthe thing. '`How do you learn all the proper ways? I never can. Isn't that musicgay?'Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to parties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to them. Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly and handed them over tothe eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie and was at her ease verysoon, but Jo, who didn't care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as acolt in a flower garden. Half a dozen jovial lads were talking about skatesin another part of the room, and she longed to go and join them, for skatingwas one of the joys of her life. She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but theeyebrows went up so alarmingly that she dared not stir. No one came totalk to her, and one by one the group dwindled away till she was left alone. She could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burned breadth wouldshow, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing began. Megwas asked at once, and the tight slippers tripped about so briskly that nonewould have guessed the pain their wearer suffered smilingly. Jo saw a bigred headed youth approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engageher, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy herselfin peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person had chosen the samerefuge, for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself face to face withthe `Laurence boy'. `Dear me, I didn't know anyone was here!' stammered Jo, preparing toback out as speedily as she had bounced in. But the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a littlestartled, `Don't mind me, stay if you like. '`Shan't I disturb you?'`Not a bit. I only came here because I don't know many people and feltrather strange at first, you know. '`So did I. Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather. 'The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to bepolite and easy, `I think I've had the pleasure of seeing you before. You livenear us, don't you?'`Next door. ' And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's primmanner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chattedabout cricket when he brought the cat home. That put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in her heartiestway, `We did have such a good time over your nice Christmas present. '`Grandpa sent it. '`But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?'`How is your cat, Miss March?' asked the boy, trying to look sober whilehis black eyes shone with fun. `Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo, 'returned the young lady. `I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie. '`Laurie Laurence, what an odd name. '`My first name is theodore, but I don't like it, for the fellows called meDora, so I made the say Laurie instead. '`I hate my name, too, so sentimental! I wish every one would say Joinstead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?'`I thrashed `em. '`I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it. ' And Joresigned herself with a sigh. `Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?' asked Laurie, looking as if he thoughtthe name suited her. `I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is lively. Ina place like this I'm sure to upset something, tread on people's toes, or dosomething dreadful, so I keep out of mischief and let Meg sail about. Don'tyou dance?'`Sometimes. You see I've been abroad a good many years, and haven'tbeen into company enough yet to know how you do things here. '`Abroad!. ' cried Jo. `Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear peopledescribe their travels. 'Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin, but Jo's eager questionssoon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay, where the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of boats on the lake, and forholiday fun went on walking trips about Switzerland with their teachers. `Don't I wish I'd been there!' cried Jo. `Did you go to Paris?'`We spent last winter there. '`Can you talk French?'`We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay. '`Do say some! I can read it, but can't pronounce. '`Quel nom a cetter jeune demoiselle en les pantoulles jolis?'`How nicely you do it! Let me see... You said, `Who is the young lady inthe pretty slippers', didn't you?'`Oui, mademoiselle. '`It's my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think she ispretty?'`Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh andquiet, and dances like a lady. 'Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, andstored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and critisized and chatted tillthey felt like old acquaintances. Laurie's bashfulness soon wore off, for Jo'sgentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and Jo was hermerry self again, because her dress was forgotten and nobody lifted theireyebrows at her. She liked the `Laurence boy' better than ever and tookseveral good looks at him, so that she might describe him to the girls, forthey had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were almostunknown creatures to them. `Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose, fine teeth, small hands and feet, taller than I am, very polite, for a boy, and altogetherjolly. Wonder how old he is?'It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask, but she checked herself in timeand, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a round-about way. `I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging away at yourbooks, no, I mean studying hard. ' And Jo blushed at the dreadful `pegging'which had escaped her. Laurie smiled but didn't seem shocked, and answered with a shrug. `Notfor a year or two. I won't go before seventeen, anyway. '`Aren't you but fifteen?' asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she hadimagined seventeen already. `Sixteen, next month. '`How I wish I was going to college! You don't look as if you liked it. '`I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don't like the wayfellows do either, in this country. ' `What do you like?'`To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way. 'Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his black browslooked rather threatening as he knit them, so she changed the subject bysaying, as her foot kept time, `That's a splendid polka! Why don't you goand try it?'`If you will come too, ' he answered, with a gallant little bow. `I can't, for I told meg I wouldn't, because... ' There Jo stopped, andlooked undecided whether to tell or to laugh. `Because, what?'`You won't tell?'`Never!'`Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn myfrocks, and I scorched this one, and though it's nicely mended, it shows, and Meg told me to keep still so no one would see it. You may laugh, if youwant to. It is funny, I know. 'But Laurie didn't laugh. He only looked dawn a minute, and theexpression of his face puzzled Jo when he said very gently, `Never mindthat. I'll tell you how we can manage. There's a long hall out there, and wecan dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please come. 'Jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves whenshe saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well, and taught her theGerman step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and spring. When themusic stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath, and Lauriewas in the midst of an account of a students' festival at Heidelberg whenMeg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantlyfollowed her into a side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding herfoot, and looking pale. `I've sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned and gave me a sadwrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don't know how I'm evergoing to get home, ' she said, rocking to and fro in pain. `I knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly shoes. I'm sorry. But I don'tsee what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night, ' answeredJo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke. `I can't have a carriage without its costing ever so much. I dare say I can'tget one at all, for most people come in their own, and it's a long way to thestable, and no one to send. ' `I'll go. '`No, indeed! It's past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can't stop here, for thehouse is full. Sallie has some girls staying with her. I'll rest till Hannahcomes, and then do the best I can. '`I'll ask Laurie. He will go, ' said Jo, ' looking relieved as the idea occurredto her. `Mercy, no! Don't ask or tell anyone. Get me my rubbers, and put theseslippers with our things. I can't dance anymore, but as soon as supper isover, watch for Hannah and tell me the minute she comes. '`They are going out to supper now. I'll stay with you. I'd rather. '`No, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee. I'm so tired I can't stir. 'So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blunderingaway to the dining room, which she found after going into a china closet, and opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner was taking a littleprivate refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilled, thereby making the front of her dress asbad as the back. `Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!' exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg's gloveby scrubbing her gown with it. `Can I help you?' said a friendly voice. And there was Laurie, with a fullcup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other. `I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and someoneshook me, and here I am in a nice state, ' answered Jo, glancing dismallyfrom the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove. `Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I take it to yoursister?'`Oh, thank you! I'll show you where she is. I don't offer to take it myself, for I should only get into another scrape if I did. 'Jo led the way, and as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie drew up a littletable, brought a second installment of coffee and ice for Jo, and was soobliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a `nice boy'. They had amerry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the midst of a quietgame of BUZZ, with two or three other young people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot and rose so quickly that shewas forced to catch hold of Jo, with an exclamation of pain. `Hush! Don't say anything, ' she whispered, adding aloud, `It's nothing. Iturned my foot a little, that's all, ' and limped upstairs to put her things on. Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits' end, till se decided totake things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down and, finding aservant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It happened to be a hiredwaiter who knew nothing about the neighborhood and Jo was lookinground for help when Laurie, who had heard what she said, came up andoffered his grandfather's carriage, which had just come for him, he said. `It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?' began Jo. Looking relieved buthesitating to accept the offer. `I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It's all on myway, you know, and it rains, they say. 'That settled it, and telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefully acceptedand rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah hated rain asmuch as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they rolled away in theluxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and elegant. Laurie went onthe box so Meg could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their partyin freedom. `I had a capital time. Did you?' asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, andmaking herself comfortable. `Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie's friend, Annie Moffat, took a fancy to me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her when Sallie does. She isgoing in the spring when the opera comes, and it will be perfectly splendid, if Mother only lets me go, ' answered Meg, cheering up at the thought. `I saw you dancing with the red headed man I ran away from. Was henice?'`Oh. Very! His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and I hada delicious redowa with him. '`He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step. Laurieand I couldn't help laughing. Did you hear us?'`No, but it was very rude. What were you about all that time, hiddenaway there?'Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were athome. With many thanks, they said good night and crept in, hoping todisturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two little nightcapsbobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out... `Tell about the party! Tell about the party!'With what Meg called `a great want of manners' Jo had saved somebonbons for the little girls, and they soon subsided, after hearing the mostthrilling events of the evening. `I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come homefrom the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown wit a maid to waiton me, ' said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica and brushed herhair. `I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than wedo, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece and tightslippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them, 'And I think Jo was quite right. CHAPTER FOUR`Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on, ' sighedMeg the morning after the party, for now the holidays were over, the weekof merrymaking did not fit her for going on easily with the task she neverliked. `I wish it was Christmas or New Year's all the time. Wouldn't it be fun?'answered Jo, yawning dismally. `We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it doesseem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, anddrive home, and read and rest, and not work. It's like other people, youknow, and I always envy girls who do such things, I'm so fond of luxury, 'said Meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the leastshabby. `Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble but shoulder our bundlesand trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does. I'm sure Aunt March is aregular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I've learned to carryher without complaining, she will tumble off, or get so light that I shan'tmind her. 'This idea tickled Jo's fancy and put her in good spirits, but Meg didn'tbrighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoiled children, seemedheavier than ever. She had not heart enough even to make herself pretty asusual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hair in the mostbecoming way. `Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those crossmidgets, and no one cares whether I'm pretty or not?' she muttered, shutting her drawer with a jerk. `I shall have to toil and moil all my days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and sour, because I'm poor and can't enjoy my life as other girls do. It's a shame!'So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and wasn't at all agreeableat breakfast time. Everyone seemed rather out of sorts and inclined tocroak. Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself withthe cat and three kittens. Amy was fretting because her lessons were notlearned, and she couldn't find her rubbers. Jo would whistle and make agreat racket getting ready. Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go atonce, and Hannah had the grumps, for being up late didn't suit her. `There never was such a cross family!' cried Jo, losing her temper whenshe had upset an inkstand, broken both boot lacings, and sat down uponher hat. `You're the crossest person in it!' returned Amy, washing out the sumthat was all wrong with the tears that had fallen on her slate. `Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have themdrowned, ' exclaimed Meg angrily as she tried to get rid of the kitten whichhad scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of reach. Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed because shecouldn't remember how much nine times twelve was. `Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry, ' cried Mrs. March, crossingout the third spoiled sentence in her letter. There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laidtwo hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again. These turnoverswere an institution, and the girls called them `muffs', for they had noothers and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on coldmornings. Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy shemight be, for the walk was long and bleak. The poor things got no otherlunch and were seldom home before two. `Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy. Goodbye, Marmee. We are a set of rascals this morning, but we'll come home regularangels. Now then, Meg!' And Jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrimswere not setting out as they ought to do. They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother wasalways at the window to nod and smile, and wave her hand to them. Somehow it seemed as if they couldn't have got through the day withoutthat, for whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of that motherlyface was sure to affect them like sunshine. `If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it wouldserve us right, for more ungrateful wretches than we are were never seen, 'cried Jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitterwind. `Don't use such dreadful expressions, ' replied Meg from the depthsof the veil in which she had shrouded herself like a nun sick of the world. `I like good strong words that mean something, ' replied Jo, catching herhat as it took a leap off her head preparatory to flying away altogether. `Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither a rascal nor a wretchand I don't choose to be called so. '`You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you can't sitin the lap of luxury all the time. Poor dear, just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with. '`How ridiculous you are, Jo!' But Meg laughed at the nonsense and feltbetter in spite of herself. `Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs and tried to be dismal, asyou do, we should be in a nice state. Thank goodness, I can always findsomething funny to keep me up. Don't croak any more, but come homejolly, there's a dear. 'Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted forthe day, each going a different way, each hugging her little warm turnover, and each trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, andthe unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth. When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunatefriend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something towardtheir own support, at least. Believing that they could not begin too early tocultivate energy, industry, and independence, their parents consented, andboth fell to work with the hearty good will which in spite of all obstacles issure to succeed at last. Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with her smallsalary. As she said, she was `fond of luxury', and her chief trouble waspoverty. She found it harder to bear than the others because she couldremember a time when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, and want of any kind unknown. She tried not to be envious ordiscontented, but it was very natural that the young girl should long forpretty things, gay friends, accomplishments, and a happy life. At the Kings'she daily saw all she wanted, for the children's older sisters were just out, and Meg caught frequent glimpses of dainty ball dresses and bouquets, heard lively gossip about theaters, concerts, sleighing parties, andmerrymakings of all kinds, and saw money lavished on trifles whichwould have been so precious to her. Poor Meg seldom complained, but asense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for shehad not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which alonecan make life happy. Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed an activeperson to wait upon her. The childless old lady had offered to adopt one ofthe girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her offerwas declined. Other friends told the Marches that they had lost all chanceof being remembered in the rich old lady's will, but the unworldly Marchesonly said... `We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Rich or poor, we willkeep together and be happy in one another. 'The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but happening to meetJo at at a friend's, something in her comical face and blunt manners struckthe old lady's fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion. Thisdid not suit Jo at all, but she accepted the place since nothing betterappeared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well with herirascible relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo marchedhome, declaring she couldn't bear it longer, but Aunt March always clearedup quickly, and sent for her to come back again with such urgency that shecould not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery old lady. I suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, whichwas left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died. Jo remembered thekind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges withhis big dictionaries, tell her stories about queer pictures in his Latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever he met her in the street. Thedim, dusty room, with the busts staring down from the tall bookcases, thecozy chairs, the globes, and best of all, the wilderness of books in which shecould wander where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her. The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Johurried to this quiet place, and curling herself up in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regularbookworm. But, like all happiness, it did not last long, for as sure as shehad just reached the heart of the story, the sweetest verse of a song, or themost perilous adventure of her traveler, a shrill voice called, `Josy-phine!Josy-phine! and she had to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash thepoodle, or read Belsham's Essays by the hour together. Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. What it was, she hadno idea as yet, but left it for time to tell her, and meanwhile, found hergreatest affliction in the fact that she couldn't read, run, and ride as muchas she liked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were alwaysgetting her into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and downs, whichwere both comic and pathetic. But the training she received at AuntMarch's was just what she needed, and the thought that she was doingsomething to support herself made her happy in spite of the perpetual`Josy-phine!'Beth was too bashful to go to school. It had been tried, but she suffered somuch that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home with her father. Even when he went away, and her mother was called to devote her skilland energy to Soldiers' Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herself anddid the best she could. She was a housewifely little creature, and helpedHannah keep home neat and comfortable for the workers, never thinkingof any reward but to be loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely noridle, for her little world was peopled with imaginary friends, and she wasby nature a busy bee. There were six dolls to be taken up and dressed everymorning, for Beth was a child still and and loved her pets as well as ever. Not one whole or handsome one among them, all were outcasts till Bethtook them in, for when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to herbecause Amy would have nothing old or ugly. Beth cherished them all themore tenderly for that very reason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls. No pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals, no harsh words or blowswere ever given them, no neglect ever saddened the heart or the mostrepulsive, but all were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed with anaffection which never failed. One forlorn fragment of dollanity hadbelonged to Jo and, having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in therag bag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Beth and taken toher refuge. Having no top to its head, she tied on a neat little cap, and asboth arms and legs were gone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in ablanket and devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid. If anyone hadknown the care lavished on that dolly, I think it would have touched theirhearts, even while they laughed. She brought it bits of bouquets, she readto it, took it out to breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sang itlullabies and never went to be without kissing its dirty face and whisperingtenderly, `I hope you'll have a good night, my poor dear. 'Beth had her troubles as well as the others, and not being an angel but avery human little girl, she often `wept a little weep' as Jo said, because shecouldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music sodearly, tried so hard to learn, and practiced away so patiently at thejingling old instrument, that it did seem as if someone (not to hint AuntMarch) ought to help her. Nobody did, however, and nobody saw Bethwipe the tears off the yellow keys, that wouldn't keep in tune, when shewas all alone. She sang like a little lark about her work, never was too tiredfor Marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, ' Iknow I'll get my music some time, if I'm good. 'There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners tillneeded, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices tillthe little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshinypresence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind. If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, shewould have answered at once, `My nose. ' When she was a baby, Jo hadaccidently dropped her into the coal hod, and Amy insisted that the fallhad ruined her nose forever. It was not big nor red, like poor `Petrea's', itwas only rather flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it anaristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, and it was doing its best togrow, but Amy felt deeply the want of a Grecian nose, and drew wholesheets of handsome ones to console herself. `Little Raphael, ' as her sisters called her, had a decided talent fordrawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designingfairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art. Her teacherscomplained that instead of doing her sums she covered her slate withanimals, the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy maps on, andcaricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all herbooks at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons as well as shecould, and managed to escape reprimands by being a model ofdeportment. She was a great favorite with her mates, being good-temperedand possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort. Her little airs andgraces were much admired, so were her accomplishments, for besides herdrawing, she could play twelve tunes, crochet, and read French withoutmispronouncing more than two-thirds of the words. She had a plaintiveway of saying, `When Papa was rich we did so-and-so, ' which was verytouching, and her long words were considered `perfectly elegant' by thegirls. Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted her, and hersmall vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely. One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities. She had to wear her cousin's clothes. NowFlorence's mama hadn't a particle of taste, and Amy suffered deeply athaving to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, andfussy aprons that did not fit. Everything was good, well made, and littleworn, but Amy's artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull purple with yellow dots and notrimming. `My only comfort, ' she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, `is that Motherdoesn't take tucks in my dresses whenever I'm naughty, as Maria Parks'smother does. My dear, it's really dreadful, for sometimes she is so bad herfrock is up to her knees, and she can't come to school. When I think of thisdeggerredation, I fell that I can bear even my flat nose and purple gownwith yellow skyrockets on it. 'Meg was Amy's confidante and monitor, and by some strange attractionof opposites Jo was gentle Beth's. To Jo alone did the shy child tell herthoughts, and over her big harum-scarum sister Beth unconsciouslyexercised more influence than anyone in the family. The two older girlswere a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger sistersinto her keeping and watched over her in her own way, `playing mother'they called it, and put their sisters in the places of discarded dolls with thematernal instinct of litte women. `Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a dismal day I'm reallydying for some amusement, ' said Meg, as they sat sewing together thatevening. `I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'll tellyou about it, ' began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories. `I was reading thateverlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for Aunt soondrops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like fury till shewakes up. I actually made myself sleepy, and before she began to nod, Igave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by opening my mouthwide enough to take the whole book in at once. `I wish I could, and be done

with it, ' said I, trying not to be saucy. `Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and thinkthem over while she just `lost' herself for a moment. She never finds herselfvery soon, so the minute her cap began to bob like a top-heavy dahlia, Iwhipped the VICAR OF WAKEFIELD out of my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him and one on Aunt. I'd just got to where they alltumbled into the water when I forgot and laughed out loud. Aunt woke upand, being more good-natured after her nap, told me to read a bit andshow what frivolous work I preferred to the worthy and instructiveBelsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, though she only said... `I don't understand what it's all about. Go back and begin it, child. '`Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could. OnceI was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, `I'mafraid it tires you, ma'am. Shan't I stop now?'`She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gaveme a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way, `Finish thechapter, and don't be impertinent, miss'. '`Did she own she liked it?' asked Meg. `Oh, bless you, no! But she let old Belsham rest, and when I ran backafter my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicar that shedidn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall because of the good timecoming. What a pleasant life she might have if only she chose! I don't envyher much, in spite of her money, for after all rich people have about asmany worries as poor ones, I think, ' added Jo. `That reminds me, ' said Meg, `that I've got something to tell. It isn'tfunny, like Jo's story, but I thought about it a good deal as I came home. Atthe Kings' today I found everybody in a flurry, and one of the children saidthat her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and Papa had senthim away. I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. King talking very loud, andGrace and Ellen turned away their faces when they passed me, so Ishouldn't see how red and swollen their eyes were. I didn't ask anyquestions, of course, but I felt so sorry for them and was rather glad Ihadn't any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family. '`I think being disgraced in school is a great deal tryinger than anythingbad boys can do, ' said Amy, shaking her head, as if her experience of lifehad been a deep one. `Susie Perkins came to school today with a lovely redcarnelian ring. I wanted it dreadfully, and wished I was her with all mymight. Well, she drew a picture of Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and ahump, and the words, `Young ladies, my eye is upon you!' coming out ofhis mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it when all of asudden his eye was on us, and he ordered Susie to bring up her slate. Shewas parrylized with fright, but she went, and oh, what do you think hedid? He took her by the ear--the ear! Just fancy how horrid!--and led herto the recitation platform, and made her stand there half and hour, holdingthe slate so everyone could see. '`Didn't the girls laugh at the picture?' asked Jo, who relished the scrape. `Laugh? Not one! They sat still as mice, and Susie cried quarts, I knowshe did. I didn't envy her then, for I felt that millions of carnelian ringswouldn't have made me happy after that. I never, never should have gotover such a agonizing mortification. ' And Amy went on with her work, inthe proud consciousness of virtue and the successful utterance of two longwords in a breath. `I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at dinner, butI forgot, ' said Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basket in order as she talked. `When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. Laurence was in the fishshop, but he didn't see me, for I kept behind the fish barrel, and he wasbusy with Mr. Cutter the fishman. A poor woman came in with a pail amop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her do some scrubbing for a bitof fish, because she hadn’t any dinner for her children, and hadbeen disappointed of a day's work. Mr. Cutter was in a hurry and said`No', rather crossly, so she was going away, looking hungry and sorry, when Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his caneand held it out to her. She was so glad and surprised she took it right intoher arms, and thanked him over and over. He told her to `go along andcook it', and she hurried off, so happy! Wasn't it good of him? Oh, she didlook so funny, hugging the big, slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence'sbed in heaven would be `aisy'. 'When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked their mother for one, and after a moments thought, she said soberly, `As I sat cutting out blueflannel jackets today at the rooms, I felt very anxious about Father, andthought how lonely and helpless we should be, if anything happened tohim. It was not a wise thing to do, but I kept on worrying till an old mancame in with an order for some clothes. He sat down near me, and I beganto talk to him, for he looked poor and tired and anxious. ``Have you sons in the army?' I asked, for the note he brought was not tome. `Yes, ma'am. I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner, and I'mgoing to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital. ' he answeredquietly. ``You have done a great deal for your country, sir, ` I said, feeling respectnow, instead of pity. ``Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am. I'd go myself, if I was any use. As I ain't, I give my boys, and give `em free. '`He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to givehis all, that I was ashamed of myself. I'd given one man and thought it toomuch, while he gave four without grudging them. I had all my girls tocomfort me at home, and his last son was waiting, miles away, to say good-by to him, perhaps! I felt so rich, so happy thinking of my blessings, that Imade him a nice bundle, gave him some money, and thanked him heartilyfor the lesson he had taught me. '`Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it, like this. I like to thinkabout them afterward, if they are real and not too preachy, ' said Jo, after aminute's silence. Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to thislittle audience for many years, and knew how to please them. `Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat anddrink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends andparents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented. ' (Herethe listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sew diligently. )`These girls were anxious to be good and made many excellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and were constantly saying, `If onlywe had this, ` or `If we could only do that, ` quite forgetting how much theyalready had, and how many things they actually could do. So they askedan old woman what spell they could use to make them happy, and shesaid, `When you feel discontented, think over your blessings, and begrateful. '' (Here Jo looked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed hermind, seeing that the story was not done yet. )`Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon weresurprised to see how well off they were. One discovered that moneycouldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses, another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with her youth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble old lady who couldn't enjoyher comforts, a third that, disagreeable as it was to help get dinner, it washarder still to go begging for it and the fourth, that even carnelian ringswere not so valuable as good behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest theyshould be taken away entirely, instead of increased, and I believe they werenever disappointed or sorry that they took the old woman's advice. '`Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own storiesagainst us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!' cried Meg. `I likethat kind of sermon. It's the sort Father used to tell us, ' said Beththoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo's cushion. `I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be morecareful than ever now, for I've had warning from Susies's downfall, ' saidAmy morally. `We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it. If we do so, you just sayto us, as old Chloe did in UNCLE TOM, `Tink ob yer marcies, chillen! `Tinkob yer marcies!'' added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, help getting amorsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took it to heart as muchas any of them. CHAPTER FIVE`What in the world are you going to do now, Jo. ' asked Meg one snowyafternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other. `Going out for exercise, ' answered Jo with a mischievous twinkle in hereyes. `I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough!It's cold and dull out, and I advise you to stay warm and dry by the fire, asI do, ' said Meg with a shiver. `Never take advice! Can't keep still all day, and not being a pussycat, Idon't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I'm going to find some. 'Meg went back to toast her feet and read IVANHOE, and Jo began to digpaths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soonswept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun cameout and the invalid dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated theMarches' house from that of Mr. Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of thecity, which was still countrylike, with groves and lawns, large gardens, andquiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that insummer covered its walls and the flowers, which then surrounded it. Onthe other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort ofcomfort and luxury, from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to theconservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the richcurtains. Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked onthe lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few peoplewent in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson. To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed. She had long wantedto behold these hidden glories, and to know the Laurence boy, who lookedas if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since theparty, she had been more eager than ever, and had planned many ways ofmaking friends with him, but he had not been seen lately, and Jo began tothink he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upperwindow, looking wistfully down into their garden, where Beth and Amywere snow-balling one another. `That boy is suffering for society and fun, ' she said to herself. `Hisgrandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up allalone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young andlively. I've a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!'The idea amused Jo. Who liked to do daring things and was alwaysscandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of `going over' wasnot forgotten. And when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to trywhat could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off, and then sallied outto dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, andnothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at theupper window. `There he is, ' thought Jo, `Poor boy! All alone and sick this dismal day. It's a shame! I'll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say akind word to him. 'Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing aface which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened andthe mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished herbroom as she called out... `How do you do? Are you sick?'Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven... `Better, thank you. I've had a bad cold, and been shut up a week. '`I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?'`Nothing. It's dull as tombs up here. '`Don't you read?'`Not much. They won't let me. '`Can't somebody read to you?'`Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and I hate toask Brooke all the time. '`Have someone come and see you then. '`There isn't anyone I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head isweak. '`Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls are quietand like to play nurse. '`Don't know any. '`You know us, ' began Jo, then laughed and stopped. `So I do! Will you come, please?' cried Laurie. `I'm not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me. I'll go ask her. Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till I come. 'With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter ofexcitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready, foras Mrs. March said, he was `a little gentleman'. And did honor to thecoming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh color, andtrying tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozen servants, wasanything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, than a decided voice, asking for `Mr. Laurie', and a surprised- looking servant came running upto announce a young lady. `All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo, `said Laurie, going to the door of hislittle parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's three kittens in the other. `Here I am, bag and baggage, ' she said briskly. `Mother sent her love, and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring someof her blancmange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her catswould be comforting. I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn't refuse, she was so anxious to do something. 'It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing, for in laughingover the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once. `That looks too pretty to eat, ' he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jouncovered the dish, and showed the blancmange, surrounded by a garlandof green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium. `It isn't anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to show it. Tell thegirl to put it away for your tea. It's so simple you can eat it, and being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat. What a cozy room thisis!'`It might be it it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and I don't knowhow to make them mind. It worries me though. '`I'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearthbrushed, so--and the things made straight on the mantelpiece, so--and thebooks put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now then, you're fixed. 'And so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked thingsinto place and given quite a different air to the room. Laurie watched her inrespectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat downwith a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully... `How kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please take the bigchair and let me do something to amuse my company. '`No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?' and Jo lookedaffectionately toward some inviting books near by. `Thank you! I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'd rather talk, 'answered Laurie. `Not a bit. I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going. Beth says I neverknow when to stop. '`Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goesout with a little basket?' asked Laurie with interest. `Yes, that's Beth. She's my girl, and a regular good one she is, too. '`The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?'Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, `Why, you see I often hear youcalling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't help lookingover at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I begyour pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down thecurtain at the window where the flowers are. And when the lamps arelighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around thetable with your mother. Her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweetbehind the flowers, I can't help watching it. I haven't got any mother, youknow. ' And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips thathe could not control. The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo's warm heart. She had been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, andat fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was sick andlonely, and feeling how rich she was in home and happiness, she gladlytried to share it with him. Her face was very friendly and her sharp voiceunusually gentle as she said... `We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look asmuch as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come overand see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps of good, and Bethwould sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would dance. Meg and Iwould make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we'd havejolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?'`I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind, though hedoes not look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he'safraid I might be a bother to strangers, ' began Laurie, brightening moreand more. `We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think you'd bea bother. We want to know you, and I've been trying to do it this ever solong. We haven't been here a great while, you know, but we have gotacquainted with all our neighbors but you. '`You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much whathappens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you know, and Ihave no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as I can. '`That's bad. You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere youare asked, then you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to. Never mind being bashful. It won't last long if you keep going. 'Laurie turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accused ofbashfulness, for there was so much good will in Jo it was impossible not totake her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant. `Do you like your school?' asked the boy, changing the subject, after alittle pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jo looked about her, wellpleased. `Don't go to school, I'm a businessman--girl, I mean. I go to wait on mygreat-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too, ' answered Jo. Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering justin time that it wasn't manners to make too many inquiries into people'saffairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable. Jo liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at AuntMarch, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fatpoodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the library where she reveled. Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim oldgentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and in the middle of a finespeech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy layback and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid poppedher head in to see what was the matter. `Oh! That does me no end of good. Tell on, please, ' he said, taking hisface out of the sofa cushion, red and shining with merriment. Much elated with her success, Jo did `tell on', all about their plays andplans, their hopes and fears for Father, and the most interesting events ofthe little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to talking aboutbooks, and to Jo's delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as shedid, and had read even more than herself. `If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandfather is out, so you needn't be afraid, ' said Laurie, getting up. `I'm not afraid of anything, ' returned Jo, with a toss of the head. `I don't believe you are!' exclaimed the boy, looking at her with muchadmiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to bea trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met hem in some of his moods. The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie led theway from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck herfancy. And so, at last they came to the library, where she clapped her handsand pranced, as she always did when especially delighted. It was linedwith books, and there were pictures and statues, and distracting littlecabinets full of coins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queertables, and bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quaint tilesall round it. `What richness!' sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chair andgazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction. `Theodore Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world, ' she added impressively. `A fellow can't live on books, ' said Laurie, shaking his head as heperched on a table opposite. Before he could more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaiming with alarm, `Mercy me! It's your grandpa!'`Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you know, ' returnedthe boy, looking wicked. `I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know why I should be. Marmee said I might come, and I don't think you're any the worse for it, 'said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door. `I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I'm only afraidyou are very tired of talking to me. It was so pleasant, I couldn't bear tostop, ' said Laurie gratefully. `The doctor to see you, sir, ' and the maid beckoned as she spoke. `Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see him, 'said Laurie. `Don't mind me. I'm happy as a cricket here, ' answered Jo. Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. Shewas standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman when the dooropened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, `I'm sure now that Ishouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes, though his mouth isgrim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own. He isn't ashandsome as my grandfather, but I like him. '`Thank you, ma'am, ' said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to her greatdismay, stood old Mr. Laurence. Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart beganto beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said. For a minutea wild desire to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly, and thegirls would laugh at her, so she resolved to stay and get out of the scrape asshe could. A second look showed her that the living eyes, under the bushyeyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones, and there was a slytwinkle in them, which lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice wasgruffer than ever, as the old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadfulpause, `So you're not afraid of me, hey?'`Not much, sir. '`And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?'`Not quite, sir. '`And I've got a tremendous will, have I?'`I only said I thought so. '`But you like me in spite of it?'`Yes, I do, sir. 'That answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh, shookhands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod, `You've got yourgrandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. He was a fine man, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, and I was proud to behis friend. '`Thank you, sir, ' And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited herexactly. `What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?' was the nextquestion, sharply put. `Only trying to be neighborly, sir. ' And Jo to how her visit came about. `You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?'`Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him goodperhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, forwe don't forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us, ' said Joeagerly. `Tut, tut, tut! That was the boy's affair. How is the poor woman?'`Doing nicely, sir. ' And off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all aboutthe Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than theywere. `Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see your mothersome fine day. Tell her so. There's the tea bell, we have it early on the boy'saccount. Come down and go on being neighborly. '`If you'd like to have me, sir. '`Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't. ' And Mr. Laurence offered her his armwith old-fashioned courtesy. `What would Meg say to this?' thought Jo, as she was marched away, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story athome. `Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?' said the oldgentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with a startof surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with his redoubtablegrandfather. `I didn't know you'd come, sir, ' he began, as Jo gave him a triumphantlittle glance. `That's evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman. ' And having pulled the boy's hair by way ofa caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a series ofcomic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosionof laughter from Jo. The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, buthe watched the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, andthe change in his grandson did not escape him. There was color, light, andlife in the boy's face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merrimentin his laugh. `She's right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these little girls can do forhim, ' thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened. He liked Jo, for herodd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understand the boy almostas well as if she had been one herself. If the Laurences had been what Jo called `prim and poky', she would nothave got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward. Butfinding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a goodimpression. When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he hadsomething more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory, which had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, asshe went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on eitherside, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful vines and treesthat hung about her, while her new friend cut the finest flowers till hishands were full. Then he tied them up, saying, with the happy look Jo likedto see, `Please give these to your mother, and tell her I like the medicine shesent me very much. 'They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great drawingroom, by Jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, whichstood open. `Do you play?' she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful expression. `Sometimes, ' he answered modestly. `Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth. '`Won't you first?'`Don't know how. Too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly. 'So Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried inheliotrope and tea roses. Her respect and regard for the `Laurence' boyincreased very much, for he played remarkably well and didn't put on anyairs. She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so, only praisedhim till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came to his rescue. `That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugarplums are notgood for him. His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do as well in moreimportant things. Going? well, I'm much obliged to you, and I hope you'llcome again. My respects to your mother. Good night, Doctor Jo. 'He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said somethingamiss. He shook his head. `No, it was me. He doesn't like to hear me play. '`Why not?'`I'll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can't. ' `No needof that. I am not a young lady, and it's only a step. Take care of yourself, won't you?'`Yes, but you will come again, I hope?'`If you promise to come and see us after you are well. '`I will. '`Good night, Laurie!' `Good night, Jo, good night!'When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family feltinclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very attractivein the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talkof her father with the old man who had not forgotten him, Meg longed towalk in the conservatory, Beth sighed for the grand piano. And Amy waseager to see the fine pictures and statues. `Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?' asked Jo, who was of an inquiring disposition. `I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's father, marriedan Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is veryproud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did notlike her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died whenLaurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. I fancythe boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraidof losing him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by hislove of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say his grandfather fearsthat he may want to be a musician. At any rate, his skill reminds him of thewoman he did not like, and so he `glowered' as Jo said. '`Dear me, how romantic!' exclaimed Meg. `How silly!' said Jo. `Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not plaguehis life out sending him to college, when he hates to go. '`That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, Isuppose. Italians are always nice, ' said Meg, who was a little sentimental. `What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke tohim, hardly, ' cried Jo, who was not sentimental. `I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how tobehave. That was a nice little speech about the medicine Mother sent him. '`He meant the blanc mange, I suppose. ' `How stupid you are, child! Hemeant you, of course. '`Did he?' And Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to herbefore. `I never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment when you get it, 'said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter. `I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to be silly andspoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy and I like him, and I won't have anysentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish. We'll all be good tohim because he hasn't got any mother, and he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?'`Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg willremember that children should be children as long as they can. '`I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet, ' observed Amy. `What do you say, Beth?'`I was thinking about our `PILGRIM'S PROGRESS', ' answered Beth, whohad not heard a word. `How we got out of the Slough and through theWicket Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying, andthat maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be ourPalace Beautiful. '`We have got to get by the lions first, ' said Jo, as if she rather liked theprospect. CHAPTER SIXThe big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some time forall to get in, and Beth found it very hard to pass the lions. Old Mr. Laurence was the biggest one, but after he had called, said somethingfunny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with theirmother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid Beth. The other lionwas the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich, for this made them shy ofaccepting favors which they could not return. But, after a while, they foundthat he considered them the benefactors, and could not do enough to showhow grateful he was for Mrs. March's motherly welcome, their cheerfulsociety, and the comfort he took in that humble home of theirs. So theysoon forgot their pride and interchanged kindnesses without stopping tothink which was the greater. All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time, for the newfriendship flourished like grass in spring. Every one liked Laurie, and heprivately informed his tutor that `the Marches were regularly splendidgirls. ' With the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they took the solitary boyinto their midst and made much of him, and he found something verycharming in the innocent companionship of these simple-hearted girls. Never having known mother or sisters, he was quick to feel the influencesthey brought about him, and their busy, lively ways made him ashamed ofthe indolent life he led. He was tired of books, and found people sointeresting now that Mr. Brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactoryreports, for Laurie was always playing truant and running over to theMarches'. `Never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it up afterward, ' said theold gentleman. `The good lady next door says he is studying too hard andneeds young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect she is right, andthat I've been coddling the fellow as if I'd been his grandmother. Let himdo what he likes, as long as he is happy. He can't get into mischief in thatlittle nunnery over there, and Mrs. March is doing more for him than wecan. 'What good times they had, to be sure. Such plays and tableaux, suchsleigh rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the old parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg couldwalk in the conservatory whenever she liked and revel in bouquets, Jobrowsed over the new library voraciously, and convulsed the oldgentleman with her criticisms, Amy copied pictures and enjoyed beauty toher heart's content, and Laurie played `lord of the manor' in the mostdelightful style. But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck upcourage to go to the `Mansion of Bliss', as Meg called it. She went once withJo, but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared at her sohard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said `Hey!' so loud, that hefrightened her so much her `feet chattered on the floor', she never told hermother, and she ran away, declaring she would never go there any more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or enticements couldovercome her fear, till, the fact coming to Mr. Laurence's ear in somemysterious way, he set about mending matters. During one of the briefcalls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and talked awayabout great singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had heard, and toldsuch charming anecdotes that Beth found it impossible to stay in herdistant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fascinated. At the back ofhis chair she stopped and stood listening, with her great eyes wide openand her cheeks red with excitement of this unusual performance. Taking nomore notice of her than if she had been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on aboutLaurie's lessons and teachers. And presently, as if the idea had justoccurred to him, he said to Mrs. March... `The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for he was gettingtoo fond of it. But the piano suffers for want of use. Wouldn't some of yourgirls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, just to keep it intune, you know, ma`am?'Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keepfrom clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation, and the thoughtof practicing on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away. Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence went on with an odd littlenod and smile... `They needn't see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time. For I'mshut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out a greatdeal, and the servants are never near the drawing room after nine o'clock. 'Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for thatlast arrangement left nothing to be desired. `Please, tell the young ladieswhat I say, and if they don't care to come, why, never mind. ' Here a littlehand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a face full ofgratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way... `Oh sir, they do care, very very much!' `Are you the musical girl?' heasked, without any startling `Hey!' as he looked down at her very kindly. `I'm Beth. I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite sure nobody willhear me, and be disturbed, ' she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling ather own boldness as she spoke. `Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so come anddrum away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you. '`How kind you are, sir!'Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore, but she was notfrightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because she had nowords to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The oldgentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, hekissed herr, saying, in a tone few people ever heard... `I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear!Good day. Madam. ' And away he went, in a great hurry. Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart theglorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not home. Howblithely she sang that evening, and how they all laughed at her because shewoke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Nextday, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the side door, and made her wayas noiselessly as any mouse to the drawing room where her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano, andwith trembling fingers and frequent stops to listen and look about, Beth atlast touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend. She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner, but she had noappetite, and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general state ofbeatitude. After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly everyday, and the great drawing room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that cameand went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laurence opened his studydoor to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked. She never saw Laurie mountguard in the hall to warn the servants away. She never suspected that theexercise books and new songs which she found in the rack were put therefor her especial benefit, and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what isn't always the case, thather granted wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was sograteful for this blessing that a greater was given her. At any rate shedeserved both. `Mother, I'm going to work Mr. Laurence a pair of slippers. He is so kind to me, I must thank him, and I don't know any other way. Can I do it?' asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his. `Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thankinghim. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for the making up, 'replied Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting Beth's requestsbecause she so seldom asked anything for herself. After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun.


A cluster of grave yetcheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced veryappropriate and pretty, and beth worked away early and late, withoccasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needlewoman, andthey were finished before anyone got tired of them. Then she wrote a short, simple note, and with Laurie's help, got them smuggled onto the studytable one morning before the old gentleman was up. When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen. All day passed a a part of the next before any acknowledgement arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crochety friend. On theafternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poorJoanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As she came up the street, onher return, she saw three, yes, four heads popping in and out of the parlorwindows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, andseveral joyful voices screamed... `Here's a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it!'`Oh, Beth, he's sent you... ' began Amy, gesticulating with unseemlyenergy, but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming down thewindow. Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door her sisters seizedand bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all pointing and allsaying at once, `Look there! Look there!' Beth did look, and turned palewith delight and surprise, for there stood a little cabinet piano, with a letterlying on the glossy lid, directed like a sign board to `Miss Elizabeth March. '`For me?' gasped Beth, holding onto Jo and feeling as if she shouldtumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether. `Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't you thinkhe's the dearest old man in the world? Here's the key in the letter. Wedidn't open it, but we are dying to know what he says, ' cried Jo, huggingher sister and offering the note. `You read it! I can't, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!' and Beth hid herface in Jo's apron, quite upset by her present. Jo opened the paper and began to laugh, for the first worked she sawwere... `Miss March: `Dear Madam--' `How nice it sounds! I wish someonewould write to me so!' said Amy, who thought the old-fashioned addressvery elegant. ``I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had any thatsuited me so well as yours, `' continues Jo. ``Heartsease is my favoriteflower, and these will always remind me of the gentle giver. I like to paymy debts, so I know you will allow `the old gentleman' to send yousomething which once belonged to the little grand daughter he lost. Withhearty thanks and best wishes, I remain ``Your grateful friend and humbleservant, ``JAMES LAURENCE'`There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm sure! Laurie told mehow fond Mr. Laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he keptall her little things carefully. Just think, he's given you her piano. Thatcomes of having big blue eyes and loving music, ' said Jo, trying to sootheBeth, who trembled and looked more excited than she had ever beenbefore. `See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green sild, puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete, ' added Meg, opening the instrument and displaying itsbeauties. ``Your humble servant, James Laurence'. Only think of his writing that toyou. I'll tell the girls. They'll think it's splendid, ' said Amy, muchimpressed by the note. `Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of the baby pianny, ' said Hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows. So Beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable pianoever heard. It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple- pie order, but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm lay in the happiest of all happyfaces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly touched the beautiful black andwhite keys and pressed the bright pedals. `You'll have to go and thank him, ' said Jo, by way of a joke, for the ideaof the child's really going never entered her head. `Yes, I mean to. I guess I'll go no, before I get frightened thinking aboutit. ' And, to the utter amazement of the assembled family, Beth walkeddeliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the Laurences'door. `Well, I wish I may die if it ain't the queerest thing I ever see! The piannyhas turned her head! She'd never have gone in her right mind, ' criedHannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quite speechless bythe miracle. They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth didafterward. If you will believe me, she went and knocked at the study doorbefore she gave herself time to think, and when a gruff voice called out, `come in!' she did go in, right up to Mr. Laurence, who looked quite takenaback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a small quaver in hervoice, `I came to thank you, sir, for... ' But she didn't finish, for he looked sofriendly that she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lostthe little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck and kissed him. If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentlemanwouldn't have been more astonished. But he liked it. Oh, dear, yes, he likedit amazingly! And was so touched and pleased by that confiding little kissthat all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee, and laid hiswrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own littlegrand daughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, andsat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, forlove casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, shook hands cordially, and touchedhis hat as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like ahandsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he was. When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way ofexpressing her satisfaction, Amy nearly fell out of the window in hersurprise, and Meg exclaimed, with up-lifted hands, `Well, I do believe theworld is coming to an end. CHAPTER SEVEN`That boy is a perfect cyclops, isn't he?' said Amy one day, as Laurieclattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as he passed. `How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? And very handsomeones they are, too, ' cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about herfriend. `I didn't day anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fireup when I admire his riding. '`Oh, my goodness! That little goose means a centaur, and she called hima Cyclops, ' exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter. `You needn't be so rude, it's only a `lapse of lingy', as Mr. Davis says, ' retorted Amy, finishing Jowith her Latin. `I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on thathorse, ' she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear. `Why?' asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy'ssecond blunder. `I need it so much. I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn tohave the rag money for a month. '`In debt, Amy? What do you mean?' And Meg looked sober. `Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, youknow, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything chargedat the shop. '`Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be prickingbits of rubber to make balls. ' And Meg tried to keep her countenance, Amylooked so grave and important. `Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want tobe thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing but limes now, foreveryone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading them offfor pencils, bead rings, paper dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girllikes another, she gives her a lime. If she's mad with her, she eats onebefore her face, and doesn't offer even a suck. They treat by turns, and I'vehad ever so many but haven't returned them, and I ought for they are debtsof honor, you know. '`How much will pay them off and restore your credit?' asked Meg, taking out her purse. '`A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treatfor you. Don't you like limes?'`Not much. You may have my share. Here's the money. Make it last aslong as you can, for it isn't very plenty, you know. '`Oh, thank you! It must be so nice to have pocket money! I'll have agrand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I felt delicate about takingany, as I couldn't return them, and I'm actually suffering for one. 'Next day Amy was rather late at school, but could not resist thetemptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paperparcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. Duringthe next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty- fourdelicious limes (she ate one on the way) and was going to treat circulatedthrough her `set', and the attentions of her friends became quiteoverwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her next party on the spot. MaryKinglsey insisted on lending her her watch till recess, and Jenny Snow, asatirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy upon her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet and offered to furnish answers to certainappalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow's cutting remarksabout `some persons whose noses were not too flat to smell other people'slimes, and stuck-up people who were not too proud to ask for them', andshe instantly crushed `that Snow girl's' hopes by the withering telegram, `You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for you won't get any. 'A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise, which honor to her foerankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assume theairs of a studious young peacock. But, alas, alas! Pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. Nosooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments and bowed himselfout, than Jenny, under pretense of asking an important question, informedMr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk. Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnlyvowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking the law. This much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing gum after along and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscated novels andnewspapers, had suppressed a private post office, had forbiddendistortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that oneman could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys aretrying enough to human patience, goodness knows, but girls are infinitelymore so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyrannical tempers and nomore talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis knew any quantity ofGreek, Latin, algebra, and ologies of all sorts so he was called a fineteacher, and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not consideredof any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment fordenouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had evidently taken hiscoffee too strong that morning, there was an east wind, which alwaysaffected his neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the credit which hefelt he deserved. Therefore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, languageof a schoolgirl, `He was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear". Theword `limes' was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, and herapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat withunusual rapidity. `Young ladies, attention, if you please!'At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance. `Miss March, come to the desk. 'Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fearoppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience. `Bring with you the limes you have in your desk, ' was the unexpectedcommand which arrested her before she got out of her seat. `Don't take all. ' whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presenceof mind. Amy hastily shook out half a dozen and laid the rest down before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent whenthat delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis particularlydetested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust added to his wrath. `Is that all?'`Not quite, ' stammered Amy. `Bring the rest immediately. 'With a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed. `You are sure there are no more?'`I never lie, sir. '`So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw themout of the window. 'There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as thelast hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips. Scarletwith shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times, and aseach doomed couple, looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell from herreluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over by the little Irishchildren, who were their sworn foes. This--this was too much. All flashedindignant or appealing glances at the inexorable Davis, and one passionatelime lover burst into tears. As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous `Hem!'and said, in his most impressive manner... `Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorrythis has happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I neverbreak my word. Miss March, hold out your hand. 'Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him animploring look which pleaded for her better than the words she could notutter. She was rather a favorite with `old Davis', as, of course, he wascalled, and it's my private belief that he would have broken his word if theindignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed theculprit's fate. `Your hand, Miss March!' was the only answer her mute appeal received, and too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw bach her headdefiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on her littlepalm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference toher. For the first time in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, inher eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down. `You will now stand on the platform till recess, ' said Mr. Davis, resolvedto do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun. That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her seat, andsee the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies, but to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon her, seemedimpossible, and for a second she felt as if she could only drop down whereshe stood, and break her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong and thethought of Jenny Snow helped her to bear it, and, taking the ignominiousplace, she fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a seaof faces, and stood there, so motionless and white that the girls found ithard to study with that pathetic figure before them. During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive littlegirl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot. To others it mightseem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard experience, forduring the twelve years of her life she had been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched her before. The smart of herhand and the ache of her heart were forgotten in the sting of the thought, `Ishall have to tell at home, and they will be so disappointed in me!'The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last, andthe word `Recess!' had never seemed so welcome to her before. `You can go, Miss March, ' said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable. He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as shewent, without a word to anyone, straight into the anteroom, snatched herthings, and left the place `forever, ' as she passionately declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got home, and when the older girlsarrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, and comforted her afflictedlittle daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg bathed the insulted hand withglycerine and tears, Beth felt that even her beloved kittens would fail as abalm for griefs like this, Jo wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrestedwithout delay, and Hannah shook her fist at the `villain' and poundedpotatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle. No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates, but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant in theafternoon, also unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo appeared, wearing a grim expression as she stalked up to the desk, and delivered aletter from her mother, then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door mat, as if she shookthat dust of the place off her feet. `Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a littleevery day with Beth, ' said Mrs. March that evening. `I don't approve ofcorporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. Davis's manner ofteaching and don't think the girls you associate with are doing you anygood, so I shall ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else. '`That's good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school. It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes, ' sighed Amy, withthe air of a martyr. `I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deservedsome punishment for disobedience, ' was the severe reply, which ratherdisappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy. `Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole school?'cried Amy. `I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault, ' replied hermother, `but I'm not sure that it won't do you more good than a moldermethod. You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quitetime you set about correcting it. You have a good many little gifts andvirtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit spoils the finestgenius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness will beoverlooked long, even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using itwell should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power is modesty. '`So it is!' cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. `I knewa girl once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she didn'tknow it, never guessed what sweet little things she composed when shewas alone, and wouldn't have believed it if anyone had told her. '`I wish I'd known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I'mso stupid, ' said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly. `You do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could, 'answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in hismerry black eyes that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face inthe sofa cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery. Jo let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth, who couldnot be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So Laurie didhis best, and sang delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor, for tothe Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his character. When hewas gone, amy, who had been pensive all evening, said suddenly, as ifbusy over some new idea, `Is Laurie an accomplished boy?'`Yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent. He willmake a fine man, if not spoiled by petting, ' replied her mother. `And he isn't conceited, is he?' asked Amy. `Not in the least. That is why he is so charming and we all like him somuch. ' `I see. It's nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not toshow off or get perked up, ' said Amy thoughtfully. `These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner andconversations, if modestly used, but it is not necessary to display them, 'said Mrs. March. `Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns andribbons at once, that folks may know you've got them, ' added Jo, and thelecture ended in a laugh. CHAPTER EIGHT`Girls, where are you going?' asked Amy, coming into their room oneSaturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with an air ofsecrecy which excited her curiosity. `Never mind. Little girls shouldn't ask questions, ' returned Jo sharply. Now if there is anything mortifying to out feelings when we are young, it is to be told that, and to be bidden to `run away, dear' is still more tryingto us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who never refused her anythingvery long, she said coaxingly, `Do tell me! I should think you might let mego, too, for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I haven't got anything to do, and am so lonely. '`I can't, dear, because you aren't invited, ' began Meg, but Jo broke inimpatiently, `Now, Meg, be quiet or you will spoil it all. You can't go, Amy, so don't be a baby and whine about it. '`You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You werewhispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you stoppedwhen I came in. Aren't you going with him?'`Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering. 'Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into herpocket. `I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see the SEVENCASTLES!' she cried, adding resolutely, `and I shall go, for Mother said Imight see it, and I've got my rag money, and it was mean not to tell me intime. '`Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child, ' said Meg soothingly. `Mother doesn't wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not wellenough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go withBeth and Hannah, and have a nice time. '`I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me. I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I'm dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I'll be ever so good, ' pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as shecould. `Suppose we take her. I don't believe Mother would mind, if we bundleher up well, ' began Meg. `If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it, and it will be veryrude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she'dhate to poke herself where she isn't wanted, ' said Jo crossly, for shedisliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoyherself. Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, `I shall go. Meg says I may, and if Ipay for myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it. '`You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn't sitalone, so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our pleasure. Orhe'll get another seat for you, and that isn't proper when you weren'tasked. You shan't stir a step, so you may just stay where you are, ' scoldedJo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry. Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry and Meg toreason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls hurrieddown, leaving their sister wailing. For now and then she forgot her grown-up ways and acted like a spoiled child. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone, `You'll be sorry forthis, Jo March, see if you ain't. '`Fiddlesticks!' returned Jo, slamming the door. They had a charming time, for THE SEVEN CASTLES OF THEDIAMOND LAKE was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. Butin spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and the gorgeous princesand princesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it. The fairyqueen's yellow curls reminded her of Amy, and between the acts sheamused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her`sorry for it'. She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course oftheir lives, for both had quick tempers and were apt to be violent whenfairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and semioccasionalexplosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had hard times tryingto curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble. Heranger never lasted long, and having humbly confessed her fault, shesincerely repented and tried to do better. Her sisters used to say that theyrather liked to get Jo into a fury because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried desperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was alwaysready to flame up and defeat her, and it took years of patient effort tosubdue it. When they got home, they found amy reading in the parlor. Sheassumed an injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes from herbook, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conqueredresentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowingdescription of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo's first lookwas toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy had soothed herfeelings by turning Jo's top drawer upside down on the floor. Everythingwas in its place, however, and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten herwrongs. There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery whichproduced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in theafternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demandingbreathlessly, `Has anyone taken my book?'Meg and Beth said, `No. ' at once, and looked surprised. Amy poked thefire and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise and was down upon her in aminute. `Amy, you've got it!'`No, I haven't. '`You know where it is, then!'`No, I don't. '`That's a fib!' cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierceenough to frighten a much braver child than Amy. `It isn't. I haven't got it, don't know where it is now, and don't care. '`You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or I'll makeyou. ' And Jo gave her a slight shake. `Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book again, 'cried Amy, getting excited in her turn. `why not?'`I burned it up. '`What! My little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant tofinish before Father got home? Have you really burned it?' said Jo, turningvery pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously. `Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday, andI have, so.. 'Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered her, and she shookAmy till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief andanger... `You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I'll neverforgive you as long as I live. 'Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite besideherself, and with a parting box on her sister's ear, she rushed out of theroom up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone. The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, havingheard the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had doneher sister. Jo's book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by herfamily as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen littlefairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting her whole heartinto her work, hoping to make something good enough to print. She hadjust copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old manuscript, sothat Amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years. Itseemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a dreadful calamity, and shefelt that it never could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a departedkitten, and Meg refused to defend her pet. Mrs. March looked grave andgrieved, and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardonfor the act which she now regretted more than any of them. When the tea bell rang, Jo appeared, looking so grim andunapproachable that it took all Amy's courage to say meekly... `Please forgive me, Jo. I'm very, very sorry. '`I never shall forgive you, ' was Jo's stern answer, and from that momentshe ignored Amy entirely. No one spoke of the great trouble, not even Mrs. March, for all hadlearned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words were wasted, and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her owngenerous nature, softened Jo's resentment and healed the breach. It was nota happy evening, for though they sewed as usual, while their mother readaloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting, and thesweet home peace was disturbed. They felt this most when singing timecame, for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy brokedown, so Meg and Mother sang alone. But in spite of their efforts to be ascheery as larks, the flutelike voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune. As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently, `Mydear, don't let the sun go down upon your anger. Forgive each other, helpeach other, and begin again tomorrow. 'Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry hergrief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she feltso deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet. So she winkedhard, shook her head, and said gruffly because Amy was listening, `It wasan abominable thing, and she doesn't deserve to be forgiven. 'With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidentialgossip that night. Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been repulsed, and began to wish she had not humbled herself, to feel more injured thanever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which wasparticularly exasperating. Jo still looked like a thunder cloud, and nothingwent well all day. It was bitter cold in the morning, she dropped herprecious turnover in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of the fidgets, Meg was sensitive, Beth would look grieved and wistful when she gothome, and Amy kept making remarks about people who were alwaystalking about being good and yet wouldn't even try when other people setthem a virtuous example. `Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to goskating. He is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know, 'said Jo to herself, and off she went. Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatientexclamation. `There! She promised I should go next time, for this is the last ice weshall have. But it's no use to ask such a crosspatch to take me. '`Don't say that. You were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive the lossof her precious little book, but I think she might do it now, and I guess shewill, if you try her at the right minute, ' said Meg. `Go after them. Don't sayanything till Jo has got good-natured with Laurie, than take a quiet minuteand just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and I'm sure she'll be friendsagain with all her heart. '`I'll try, ' said Amy, for the advice suited her, and after a flurry to getready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing over the hill. It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reachedthem. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back. Laurie did not see, for hewas carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spellhad preceded the cold snap. `I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right before we begin torace, ' Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young Russian inhis fur-trimmed coat and cap. Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing onher fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but Jo never turned and wentslowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort ofsatisfaction in her sister's troubles. She had cherished her anger till it grewstrong and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always dounless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back... `Keep near the shore. It isn't safe in the middle. ' Jo heard, but Amy wasstruggling to her feet and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over hershoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear... `No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself. 'Laurie had vanished round the bend, Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the the smoother ice in the middle of theriver. For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart, then sheresolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time tosee Amy throw up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rottenice, the splash of water, and a cry that made Jo's heart stand still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone. She tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them, and for a second, shecould only stand motionless, staring with a terror-stricken face at the littleblue hood above the black water. Something rushed swiftly by her, andLaurie's voice cried out... `Bring a rail. Quick, quick!'How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes sheworked as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Jodragged a rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, morefrightened than hurt. `Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can. Pile our things onher, while I get off these confounded skates, ' cried Laurie, wrapping hiscoat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemed sointricate before. Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home, and after anexciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets before a hot fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown about, looking pale andwild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands cut and bruisedby ice and rails and refractory buckles. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the bed, she called Jo to her andbegan to bind up the hurt hands. `Are you sure she is safe?' whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at thegolden head, which might have been swept away from her sight foreverunder the treacherous ice. `Quite safe, dear. She is not hurt, and won't even take cold, I think, youwere so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly, ' replied hermother cheerfully. `Laurie did it all. I only let her go. Mother, if she should die, it would bemy fault. ' And Jo dropped down beside the bed in a passion of penitenttears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness ofheart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavypunishment which might have come upon her. `It's my dreadful temper! Itry to cure it, I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. OH, Mother, what shall I do? What shall I do?' cried poor Jo, in despair. `Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it isimpossible to conquer your fault, ' said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzyhead to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo criedeven harder. `You don't know, you can't guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could doanything when I'm in a passion. I get so savage, I could hurt anyone andenjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil mylife, and make everybody hate me. Oh, Mother, help me, do help me!'`I will, my child, I will. Don't cry so bitterly, but remember this day, andresolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it. Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater than yours, and it often takesus all our lives to conquer them. You think your temper is the worst in theworld, but mine used to be just like it. '`Yours, Mother? Why, you are never angry!' And for the moment Joforgot remorse in surprise. `I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded incontrolling it. I am angry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but I have learnednot to show it, and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take meanother forty years to do so. 'The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a betterlesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comfortedat once by the sympathy and confidence given her. The knowledge that hermother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier tobear and strengthened her resolution to cure it, though forty years seemedrather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen. `Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and goout of the room sometimes, when Aunt March scolds or people worryyou?' asked Jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever before. `Yes, I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips, and whenI feel that they mean to break out against my will, I just go away for aminute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked, 'answered Mrs. March with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothed andfastened up Jo's disheveled hair. `How did you learn to keep still? That is what troubles me, for the sharpwords fly out before I know what I'm about, and the more I say the worse Iget, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say dreadful things. Tellme how you do it, Marmee dear. ' `My good mother used to help me.. '`As you do us... ' interrupted Jo, with a grateful kiss. `But I lost her when I was a little older than you are, and for years had tostruggle on alone, for I was too proud to confess my weakness to anyoneelse. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tears over myfailures, for in spite of my efforts I never seemed to get on. Then yourfather came, and I was so happy that i found it easy to be good. But by-and-by, when I had four little daughters round me and we were poor, thenthe old trouble began again, for I am not patient by nature, and it tried mevery much to see my children wanting anything. '`Poor Mother! What helped you then?'`Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or complains, butalways hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to dootherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed me that Imust try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for Iwas their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own. Astartled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke sharply rebukedme more than any words could have done, and the love, respect, andconfidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for myefforts to be the woman I would have them copy. '`Oh, Mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied, ' cried Jo, much touched. `I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watchover your `bosom enemy', as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoilyour life. You have had a warning. Remember it, and try with heart andsoul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow andregret than you have known today. '`I will try, Mother, I truly will. But you must help me, remind me, andkeep me from flying out. I used to see Father sometimes put his finger onhis lips, and look at you with a very kind but sober face, and you alwaysfolded your lips tight and went away. Was he reminding you then?' askedJo softly. `Yes. I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved mefrom many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look. 'Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled as she spoke, and fearing that she had said too much, she whispered anxiously, `Was itwrong to watch you and to speak of it? I didn't mean to be rude, but it's socomfortable to say all I think to you, and feel so safe and happy here. '`Mu Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatesthappiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know howmuch I love them. '`I thought I'd grieved you. '`No, dear, but speaking of Father reminded me how much I miss him, how much I owe him, and how faithfully I

should watch and work to keephis little daughters safe and good for him. '`Yet you told him to go, Mother, and didn't cry when he went, and nevercomplain now, or seem as if you needed any help, ' said Jo, wondering. `I gave my best to the country I love, and kept my tears till he was gone. Why should I complain, when we both have merely done our duty andwill surely be the happier for it in the end? If I don't seem to need help, it isbecause I have a better friend, even than Father, to comfort and sustain me. My child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning and maybe many, but you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel thestrength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do that of yourearthly one. The more you love and trust Him, and the less you willdepend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire orchange, can never be taken from you, but my become the source of lifelongpeace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with allyour little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely andconfidingly as you come to your mother. 'Jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and in the silence whichfollowed the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed left her heart withoutwords. For in that sad yet happy hour, she had learned not only thebitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of self-denial and self-control, and led by her mother's hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friendwho always welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of anyfather, tenderer than that of any mother. Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once tomend her fault, l Jo looked up with an expression on her face which it hadnever worn before. `I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her, and today, ifit hadn't been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be sowicked?' said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister softly stroking thewet hair scattered on the pillow. As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with asmile that went straight to Jo's heart. Neither said a word, but they huggedone another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven andforgotten in one hearty kiss. CHAPTER NINE`I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that thosechildren should have the measles just now, ' said Meg, one April day, as shestood packing the `go abroady' trunk in her room, surrounded by hersisters. `And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A wholefortnight of fun will be regularly splendid, ' replied Jo, looking like awindmill as she folded skirts with her long arms. `And such lovely weather, I'm so glad of that, ' added Beth, tidily sortingneck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great occasion. `I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these nice things, 'said Amy with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished hersister's cushion. `I wish you were all going, but as you can't, I shall keep my adventuresto tell you when I come back. I'm sure it's the least I can do when you havebeen so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready, ' said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearlyperfect in their eyes. `What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?' asked Amy, whohad not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest in which Mrs. March kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when theproper time came. `A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. Iwanted the violet silk, but there isn't time to make it over, so I must becontented with my old tarlatan. '`It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it offbeautifully. I wish I hadn't smashed my coral bracelet, for you might havehad it, ' said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions wereusually too dilapidated to be of much use. `There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure chest, butMother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament for a young girl, andLaurie promised to send me all I want, ' replied Meg. `Now, let me see, there's my new gray walking suit, just curl up the feather in my hat, Beth, then my poplin for Sunday and the small party, it looks heavy for spring, doesn't it? The violet silk would be so nice. Oh, dear!'`Never mind, you've got the tarlatan for the big party, and you alwayslook like an angel in white, ' said Amy, brooding over the little store offinery in which her soul delighted. `It isn't low-necked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it will have to do. My blue housedress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, that I feelas if I'd got a new one. My silk sacque isn't a bit the fashion, and mybonnet doesn't look like Sallie's. I didn't like to say anything, but I wassadly disappointed in my umbrella. I told Mother black with a whitehandle, but she forgot and bought a green one with a yellowish handle. It'sstrong and neat, so I ought not to complain, but I know I shall feel ashamedof it beside Annie's silk one with a gold top, ' sighed Meg, surveying thelittle umbrella with great disfavor. `Change it, ' advised Jo. `I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she took so muchpains to get my things. It's a nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm not goingto give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves are mycomfort. You are a dear to lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich and sort ofelegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for common. 'And Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove box. `Annie Moffat has blueand pink bows on her nightcaps. Would you put some on mine?' sheasked, as Beth brought up a pile of snowy muslins, fresh from Hannah'shands. `No, I wouldn't, for the smart caps won't match the plain gowns withoutany trimming on them. Poor folks shouldn't rig, ' said Jo decidedly. `I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have real lace on my clothesand bows on my caps?' said Meg impatiently. `You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could onlygo to Annie Moffat's, ' observed Beth in her quiet way. `So I did! Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does seem as if themore one gets the more one wants, doesn't it? There now, the trays areready, and everything in but my ball dress, which I shall leave for Motherto pack, ' said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from the half-filled trunk tothe many times pressed and mended white tarlatan, which she called her`ball dress' with an important air. The next day was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fortnight ofnovelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit ratherreluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontentedthan she went. But she begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to takegood care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter ofirksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take herfirst taste of fashionable life. The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants. Butthey were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon puttheir guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, thatthey were not particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and that all theirgilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they weremade. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a finecarriage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. Itsuited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners andconversation of those about her, to put on little airs and graces, use Frenchphrases, crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions aswell as she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat's pretty things, themore she envied her and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare anddismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt thatshe was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new glovesand silk stockings. She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girlswere busily employed in `having a good time'. They shopped, walked, rode, and called all day, went to theaters and operas or frolicked at home inthe evening, for Annie had many friends and knew how to entertain them. Her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and one was engaged, whichwas extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat was afat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, and Mrs. Moffat, a fat, jollyold lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg as her daughter had done. Everyone petted her, and `Daisey', as they called her, was in a fair way tohave her head turned. When the evening for the small party came, she found that the poplinwouldn't do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dresses andmaking themselves very fine indeed. So out came the tarlatan, lookingolder, limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie's crisp new one. Megsaw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her cheeks began toburn, for with all her gentleness she was very proud. No one said a wordabout it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and Annie to tie her sash, andBelle, the engaged sister, praised her white arms. But in their kindness Megsaw only pity for her poverty, and her heart felt very heavy as she stood byherself, while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzybutterflies. The hard, bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maidbrought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had the coveroff, and all were exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within. `It's for Belle, of course, George always sends her some, but these arealtogether ravishing, ' cried Annie, with a great sniff. `They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note, ' put in themaid, holding it to Meg. `What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a lover, ' cried thegirls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise. `The note is from Mother, and the flowers from Laurie, ' said Meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her. `Oh, indeed!' said Annie with a funny look, as Meg slipped the note intoher pocket as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false pride, for thefew loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her up bytheir beauty. Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the breasts, hair, orskirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that Clara, the elder sister, told her she was `the sweetest little thing she ever saw', and they lookedquite charmed with her small attention. Somehow the kind act finished herdespondency, and when all the rest went to show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed face in the mirror, as she laid herferns against her rippling hair and fastened the roses in the dress thatdidn't strike her as so very shabby now. She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to herheart's content. Everyone was very kind, and she had three compliments. Annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice. Major Lincoln asked who `the fresh little girl with the beautiful eyes' was, and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing with her because she `didn't dawdle, but had some spring in her', as he gracefully expressed it. So altogether shehad a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of conversation, whichdisturbed her extremely. She was sitting just inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she heard a voice ask onthe other side of the flowery wall... `How old is he?'`Sixteen or seventeen, I should say, ' replied another voice. `It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it? Sallie saysthey are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them. '`Mrs. M. Has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently doesn't think of it yet, ' said Mrs. Moffat. `She told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and colored upwhen the flowers came quite prettily. Poor thing! She'd be so nice if shewas only got up in style. Do you think she'd be offended if we offered tolend her a dress for Thursday?' asked another voice. `She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlatan isall she has got. She may tear it tonight, and that will be a good excuse foroffering a decent one. 'Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed andrather agitated. She was proud, and her pride was useful just then, for ithelped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had justheard. For, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not helpunderstanding the gossip of her friends. She tried to forget it, but couldnot, and kept repeating to herself, `Mrs. M. Has made her plans, ' `that fibabout her mamma, ' and `dowdy tarlatan, ' till she was ready to cry andrush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay, and being rather excited, she succeeded sowell that no one dreamed what an effort she was making. She was veryglad when it was all over and she was quiet in her bed, where she couldthink and wonder and fume till her head ached and her hot cheeks werecooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish, yet well meant words, hadopened a new world to Meg, and much disturbed the peace of the old onein which till now she had lived as happily as a child. Her innocentfriendship with Laurie was spoiled by the silly speeches she hadoverheard. Her faith in her mother was a little shaken by the worldly plansattributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by herself, and thesensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suiteda poor man's daughter was weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls whothought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under heaven. Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, halfresentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for not speakingout frankly and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled thatmorning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even totake up their worsted work. Something in the manner of her friends struckMeg at once. They treated her with more respect, she thought, took quite atender interest in what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainlybetrayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered her, though she did notunderstand it till Miss Belle looked up from her writing, and said, with asentimental air... `Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, forThursday. We should like to know him, and it's only a proper complimentto you. 'Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her replydemurely, `You are very kind, but I'm afraid he won't come. '`Why not, Cherie?' asked Miss Belle. `He's too old. '`My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to know!' criedMiss Clara. `Nearly seventy, I believe, ' answered Meg, counting stitches to hide themerriment in her eyes. `You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man, ' exclaimed MissBelle, laughing. `There isn't any, Laurie is only a little boy. ' And Meg laughed also at thequeer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her supposedlover. `About you age, ' Nan said. `Nearer my sister Jo's, I am seventeen in August, ' returned Meg, tossingher head. `It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?' said Annie, lookingwise about nothing. `Yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and we are so fondof them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know, so it isquite natural that we children should play together. ' And Meg hoped theywould say no more. `It's evident Daisy isn't out yet, ' said Miss Clara to Belle with a nod. `Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round, ' returned Miss Belle with ashrug. `I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls. Can I do anythingfor you, young ladies?' asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in like an elephant insilk and lace. `No, thank you, ma'am, ' replied Sallie. `I've got my new pink silk forThursday and don't want a thing. '`Nor I... ' began Meg, but stopped because it occurred to her that she didwant several things and could not have them. `What shall you wear?' asked Sallie. `My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen, it got sadly tornlast night, ' said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling veryuncomfortable. `Why don't you send home for another?' said Sallie, who was not anobserving young lady. `I haven't got any other. ' It cost Meg an effort to say that, but Sallie didnot see it and exclaimed in amiable surprise, `Only that?' How funny... ' Shedid not finish her speech, for Belle shook her head at her and broke in, saying kindly... `Not at all. Where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she isn't outyet? There's no need of sending home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, forI've got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I've outgrown, and you shallwear it to please me, won't you, dear?'`You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress if you don't, it doeswell enough for a little girl like me, ' said Meg. `Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to doit, and you'd be a regular little beauty with a touch here and there. I shan'tlet anyone see you till you are done, and then we'll burst upon them likeCinderella and her godmother going to the ball, ' said Belle in herpersuasive tone. Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if shewould be `a little beauty' after touching up caused her to accept and forgetall her former uncomfortable feelings toward the Moffats. On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid, andbetween them they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped and curledher hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortensewould have added `a soupcon of rouge', if Meg had not rebelled. Theylaced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly breatheand so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. Aset of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and evenearrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did notshow. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom and a ruche, reconciled Megto the display of her pretty, white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silkboots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and Miss Bellesurveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll. `Mademoiselle is chatmante, tres jolie, is she not?' cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture. `Come and show yourself, ' said Miss Belle, leading the way to the roomwhere the others were waiting. As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earringstinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her fun hadreally begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that she was `a littlebeauty'. Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and forseveral minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable, enjoying herborrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies. `While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirt andthose French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take your silver butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head, Clara, and don'tany of you disturb the charming work of my hands, ' said Belle, as shehurried away, looking well pleased with her success. `You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I'm nowherebeside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you're quite French, I assureyou. Let your flowers hang, don't be so careful of them, and be sure youdon't trip, ' returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was prettier thanherself. Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely downstairsand sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few earlyguests were assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a charmabout fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures theirrespect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, werevery affectionate all of a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had onlystared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to beintroduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, andseveral old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat replyto one of them... `Daisy March--father a colonel in the army--one of our first families, butreverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences; sweetcreature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her. '`Dear me!' said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observationof Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been rather shockedat Mrs. Moffat's fibs. The `queer feeling' did not pass away, but sheimagined herself acting the new part of fine lady and so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, the train kept getting under herfeet, and she was in constant fear lest her earrings should fly off and getlost or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of ayoung gentleman who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stoppedlaughing and looked confused, for just opposite, she saw Laurie. He wasstaring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, shethought, for though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyesmade her blush and wish she had her old dress on. To complete herconfusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish and shy. `Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head. I won't care for it, orlet it change me a bit, ' thought Meg, and rustled across the room to shakehands with her friend. `I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't. ' she said, with her mostgrown-up air. `Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did, ' answeredLaurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at hermaternal tone. `What shall you tell her?' asked Meg, full of curiosity to know hisopinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him for the first time. `I shall say I didn't know you, for you look so grown-up and unlikeyourself, I'm quite afraid of you, ' he said, fumbling at his glove button. `How absurd of you! The girls dressed me up for fun, and I rather like it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me?' said Meg, bent on making him saywhether he thought her improved or not. `Yes, I think she would, ' returnedLaurie gravely. `Don't you like me so?' asked Meg. `No, I don't, ' was the blunt reply. `Why not?' in an anxious tone. He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantasticallytrimmed dress with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, which had not particle of his usual politeness in it. `I don't like fuss and feathers. 'That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself, and Megwalked away, saying petulantly, `You are the rudest boy I ever saw. 'Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window to coolher cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliant color. Asshe stood there, Major Lincoln passed by, and a minute after she heard himsaying to his mother... `They are making a fool of that little girl. I wanted you to see her, butthey have spoiled her entirely. She's nothing but a doll tonight. '`Oh, dear!' sighed Meg. `I wish I'd been sensible and worn my ownthings, then I should not have disgusted other people, or felt souncomfortable and ashamed of myself. 'She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by thecurtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till some onetouched her, and turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, withhis very best bow and his hand out... `Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me. '`I'm afraid it will be to disagreeable to you, ' said Meg, trying to lookoffended and failing entirely. `Not a bit of it, I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll be good. I don't like yourgown, but I do think you are just splendid. ' And he waved his hands, as ifwords failed to express his admiration. Meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting to catchthe time, `Take care my skirt doesn't trip you up. It's the plague of my lifeand I was a goose to wear it. '`Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful, ' said Laurie, lookingdown at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of. Away theywent fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced at home, they were wellmatched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as theytwirled merrily round and round, feeling more friendly than ever aftertheir small tiff. `Laurie, I want you to do me a favor, will you?' said Meg, as he stoodfanning her when her breath gave out, which it did very soon though shewould not own why. `Won't I!' said Laurie, with alacrity. `Please don't tell them at home about my dress tonight. They won'tunderstand the joke, and it will worry Mother. '`Then why did you do it?' said Laurie's eyes, so plainly that Meg hastilyadded... `I shall tell them myself all about it, and `fess' to Mother how silly I'vebeen. But I'd rather do it myself. So you'll not tell, will you?'`I give you my word I won't, only what shall I say when they ask me?'`Just say I looked pretty well and was having a good time. '`I'll say the first with all my heart, but how about the other? You don'tlook as if you were having a good time. Are you?' And Laurie looked at herwith an expression which made her answer in a whisper... `No, not just now. Don't think I'm horrid. I only wanted a little fun, butthis sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm getting tired of it. '`Here comes Ned Moffat. What does he want?' said Laurie, knitting hisblack brows as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a pleasantaddition to the party. `He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's coming forthem. What a bore!' said Meg, assuming a languid air which amusedLaurie immensely. He did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw her drinkingchampagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving `like a pairof fools', as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of right towatch over the Marches and fight their battles whenever a defender wasneeded. `You'll have a splitting headache tomorrow, if you drink much of that. Iwouldn't, Meg, your mother doesn't like it, you know, ' he whispered, leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass and Fisher stoopedto pick up her fan. `I'm not Meg tonight, I'm `a doll' who does all sorts of crazy things. Tomorrow I shall put away my `fuss and feathers' and be desperately goodagain, ' se answered with an affected little laugh. `Wish tomorrow was here, then, ' muttered Laurie, walking off, ill-pleased at the change he saw in her. Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did. After supper she undertook the German, and blundered through it, nearlyupsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way thatscandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture. But he got nochance to deliver it, for Meg kept away from him till he came to say goodnight. `Remember!' she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache hadalready begun. `Silence a` la mort, ' replied Laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, as hewent away. This little bit of byplay excited Annie's curiosity, but Meg was too tiredfor gossip and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to a masquerade andhadn't enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was sick all the nextday, and on Saturday went home, quite used up with her fortnight's funand feeling that she had `sat in the lap of luxury' long enough. `It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on allthe time. Home is a nice place, though it isn't splendid, ' said Meg, lookingabout her with a restful expression, as she sat with her mother and Jo onthe Sunday evening. `I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seemdull and poor to you after your fine quarters, ' replied her mother, who hadgiven her many anxious looks that day. For motherly eyes are quick to seeany change in children's faces. Meg had told her adventures gayly and said over and over what acharming time she had had, but something still seemed to weigh upon herspirits, and when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat thoughtfullystaring at the fire, saying little and looking worried. As the clock strucknine and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left her chair and, taking Beth'sstool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying bravely... `Marmee, I want to `fess'. '`I thought so. What is it, dear?'`Shall I go away?' asked Jo discreetly. `Of course not. Don't I always tell you everything? I was ashamed tospeak of it before the younger children, but I want you to know all thedreadful things I did at the Moffats'. '`We are prepared, ' said Mrs. March, smiling but looking a little anxious. `I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that they powderedand squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a fashion plate. Lauriethought I wasn't proper. I know he did, though he didn't say so, and oneman called me `a doll'. I knew it was silly, but they flattered me and said Iwas a beauty, and quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a fool of me. '`Is that all?' asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast faceof her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart to blame her littlefollies. `No, I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and wasaltogether abominable, ' said Meg self-reproachfully. `There is something more, I think. ' And Mrs. March smoothed the softcheek, which suddenly grew rosy as Meg answered slowly... `Yes. It's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have people sayand think such things about us and Laurie. 'Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats', and as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill pleasedthat such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind. `Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard, ' cried Jo indignantly. `Why didn't you pop out and tell them so on the spot?'`I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help hearing at first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't remember that I ought to goaway. '`Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settle suchridiculous stuff. The idea of having `plans' and being kind to Lauriebecause he's rich and may marry us by-and-by! Won't he shout when I tellhim what those silly things say about us poor children?' And Jo laughed, asif on second thoughts the thing struck her as a good joke. `If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you! She mustn't, must she, Mother?'said Meg, looking distressed. `No, never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you can, 'said Mrs. March gravely. `I was very unwise to let you go among people ofwhom I know so little, kind, I dare say, but worldly, ill-bred, and full ofthese vulgar ideas about young people. I am more sorry than I can expressfor the mischief this visit may have done you, Meg. '`Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me. I'll forget all the bad andremember only the good, for I did enjoy a great deal, and thank you verymuch for letting me go. I'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, Mother. Iknow I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you till I'm fit to take care ofmyself. But it is nice to be praised and admired, and I can't help saying Ilike it, ' said Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession. `That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does notbecome a passion and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things. Learnto know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite theadmiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty, Meg. 'Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behindher, looking both interested and a little perplexed, for it was a new thing tosee Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of thatsort. And Jo felt as if during that fortnight her sister had grown upamazingly, and was drifting away from her into a world where she couldnot follow. `Mother, do you have `plans', as Mrs. Moffat said?' asked Meg bashfully. `Yes, my dear, I have a great many, all mothers do, but mine differsomewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I will tell you some of them, forthe time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and heartof yours right, on a very serious subject. You are young, Meg, but not tooyoung to understand me, and mothers' lips are the fittest to speak of suchthings to girls like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen tomy `plans' and help me carry them out, if they are good. 'Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought theywere about to join in some very solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, andwatching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her serious yetcheery way... `I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good. To beadmired, loved, and respected. To have a happy youth, to be well andwisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care andsorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen by agood man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman, and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience. It isnatural to think of it, Meg, right to hope and wait for it, and wise toprepare for it, so that when the happy time comes, you may feel ready forthe duties and worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, butnot to have you make a dash in the world, marry rich men merely becausethey are rich, or have splendid houses, which are not homes because love iswanting. Money is a needful and precious thing, and when well used, anoble thing, but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize tostrive for. I'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace. '`Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they put themselvesforward, ' sighed Meg. `Then we'll be old maids, ' said Jo stoutly. `right, Jo. Better be happy oldmaids than unhappy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to findhusbands, ' said Mrs. March decidedly. `Don't be troubled, Meg, povertyseldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the best and most honored women Iknow were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to beold maids. Leave these things to time. Make this home happy, so that youmay be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contentedhere if they are not. One thing remember, my girls. Mother is always readyto be your confidante, Father to be your friend, and both of hope and trustthat our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride andcomfort of out lives. '`We will, Marmee, we will!' cried both, with all their hearts, as she badethem good night. CHAPTER TENAs spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, andthe lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the littleplot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, `I'd know which eachof them gardings belonged to, ef I see `em in Chiny, ' and so she might, forthe girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's had roses andheliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it. Jo's bed was never aliketwo seasons, for she was always trying experiments. This year it was to bea plantation of sun flowers, the seeds of which cheerful land aspiring plantwere to feed Aunt Cockle-top and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birdsand catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, rather small andearwiggy, but very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morning-glorieshanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tallwhite lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants aswould consent to blossom there. Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts employed the finedays, and for rainy ones, they had house diversions, some old, some new, all more or less original. One of these was the `P. C', for as secret societieswere the fashion, it was thought proper to have one, and as all of the girlsadmired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick Club. With a fewinterruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every Saturdayevening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were asfollows: Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table on which was alamp, also four white badges, with a big `P. C. ' in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper called, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which allcontributed something, while Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was theeditor. At seven o'clock, the four members ascended to the clubroom, tiedtheir badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick, Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass, Beth, because she was round and rosy, TracyTupman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn't, wasNathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filledwith original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, inwhich they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and shortcomings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles withoutany glass, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himselfproperly, began to read:`THE PICKWICK PORTFOLIO. 'MAY 20, 18---POET'S CORNERANNIVERSARY ODEAgain we meet to celebrate With badge and solemn rite, Our fifty-secondanniversary, In Pickwick Hall, tonight. We all are here in perfect health, None gone from our small band: Againwe see each well-known face, And press each friendly hand. Our Pickwick, always at his post, With reverence we greet, As, spectacleson nose, he reads Our well-filled weekly sheet. Although he suffers from a cold, We joy to hear him speak, For words ofwisdom from him fall, In spite of croak or squeak. Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high, With elephantine grace, Andbeams upon the company, With brown and jovial face. Poetic fire lights up his eye, He struggles `gainst his lot. Behold ambitionon his brow, And on his nose, a blot. Next our peaceful Tupman comes, So rosy, plump, and sweet, Whochokes with laughter at the puns, And tumbles off his seat. Prim little Winkle too is here, With every hair in place, A model ofpropriety, Though he hates to wash his face. The year is gone, we still unite To joke and laugh and read, And treadthe path of literature That doth to glory lead. Long may our paper prosper well, Our club unbroken be, And comingyears their blessings pour On the useful, gay `P. C. '. A. SNODGRASSTHE MASKED MARRIAGE (A Tale Of Venice)Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovelyload to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of CountAdelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower girls, allmingled gaily in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, andso with mirth and music the masquerade went on. `Has your Highnessseen the Lady viola tonight?' asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queenwho floated down the hall upon his

arm. `Yes, is she not lovely, though sosad! Her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates. '`By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards the fairmaid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows herhand, ' returned the troubadour. `Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts hersteps, and is spurned by the old Count, ' said the lady, as they joined thedance. The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, andwithdrawing the young pair to an alcove, hung with purple velvet, hemotioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell on the gay throng, and not asound, but he dash of fountains or the rustle of orange groves sleeping inthe moonlight, broke the hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:`My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you hereto witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait your services. ' Alleyes turned toward the bridal party, and a murmur of amazement wentthrough the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained alltongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gatheredround the count, demanding an explanation. `Gladly would I give it if I could, but I only know that it was the whim ofmy timid Viola, and I yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end. Unmask and receive my blessing. 'But neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom replied in a tonethat startled all listeners as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face ofFerdinand Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the breast where nowflashed the star of an English earl was the lovely Viola, radiant with joyand beauty. `My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I couldboast as high a name and vast a fortune as the Count antonio. I can domore, for even your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux andDe Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in returnfor the beloved hand of this fair lady, now my wife. The count stood like one changed to stone, and turning to thebewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, `To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your wooing may prosper as minehas done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have by this maskedmarriage. ' S. PICKWICKWhy is the P. C. Like the Tower of Babel? It is full of unruly members. THE HISTORY OF A SQUASHOnce upon a time a farmer planted a little seed. In his garden, and after awhile it sprouted and became a vine and bore many squashes. One day inOctober, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. Agorcerman bought and put it in his shop. That same morning, a little girl ina brown hat and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went andbought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in thebig pot, mashed some of it salt and butter, for dinner. And to the rest sheadded a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and somecrackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice, andnext day it was eaten by a family named March. T. TUPMANMr. Pickwick, Sir:- I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner Imean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughingand sometimes won't write his piece in this fine paper I hope you willpardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can't writeout of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains in future Iwill try to take time by the fetlock and prepare some work which will be allcommy la fo that means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school timeYours respectably, N. WINKLE[The above is a manly and handsome aknowledgment of pastmisdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it would be well. ]A SAD ACCIDENTOn Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress. On rushing in a body to the cellar, wediscovered our beloved President prostrate upon the floor, having trippedand fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene ofruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his head andshoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manlyform, and torn his garments badly. On being removed from this periloussituation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury but severalbruises, and we are happy to add, is now doing well. ED. THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENTIt is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysteriousdisappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat Paw. This lovelyand beloved cat was the pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends;for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to allhearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole community. When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher's cart, and it is feared that some villain, tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no trace of her has been discovered, and werelinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, andweep for her as one lost to us forever. A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:A LAMENT (FOR S. B. PAT PAW)We mourn the loss of our little pet, And sigh o'er her hapless fate, Fornever more by the fire she'll sit, Nor play by the old green gate. The little grave where her infant sleeps Is `neath the chestnut tree. Buto'er her grave we may not weep, We know not where it may be. Her empty bed, her idle ball, Will never see her more; No gentle tap, noloving purr Is heard at the parlor door. Another cat comes after her mice, A cat with a dirty face, But she doesnot hunt as our darling did, Nor play with her airy grace. Her stealthy paws tread the very hall Where Snowball used to play, Butshe only spits at the dogs our pet So gallantly drove away. She is useful and mild, and does her best, But she is not fair to see, Andwe cannot give her your place dear, Nor worship her as we worship thee. A. S. ADVERTISEMENTSMiss Oranthy Bluggage, the accomplished strong-minded lecturer, willdeliver her famous lecture on `WOMAN AND HER POSITION' atPickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual performances. A weekly meeting will be held at Kitchen place, to teach young ladieshow to cook. Hannah Brown will preside, and all are invited to attend. The DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday next, and parade inthe upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in uniform andshoulder their brooms at nine precisely. Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new assortment of Doll's Millinery nextweek. The latest Paris fashions have arrived, and orders are respectfullysolicited. A new play will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course of a fewweeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage. TheGreek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger, is the name of this thrillingdrama. !!!HINTSIf S. P. Didn't use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn't always be lateat breakfast. A. S. Is requested not to whistle in the street. T. T please don'tforget Amy's napkin. N. W. Must not fret because his dress has not ninetucks. WEEKLY REPORTMeg--Good. Jo--Bad. Beth--Very Good. Amy--Middling. As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assuremy readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls once upona time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose tomake a proposition. `Mr. President and gentlemen, ' he began, assuming a parliamentaryattitude and tone, `I wish to propose the admission of a new member--onewho highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and wouldadd immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, andbe no end jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorarymember of the P. C. Come now, do have him. 'Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh, but all looked ratheranxious, and no one said a word as Snodgrass took his seat. `We'll put it to a vote, ' said the President. `All in favor of this motionplease to manifest it by saying, `Aye'. '`Contrary-minded say, `No'. 'Meg and Amy were contrary-minded, and Mr. Winkle rose to say withgreat elegance, `We don't wish any boys, they only joke and bounce about. This is a ladies' club, and we wish to be private and proper. '`I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward, 'observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she alwaysdid when doubtful. Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. `Sir, I give you my word as agentleman, Laurie won't do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and he'llgive a tone to our contributions and keep us from being sentimental, don'tyou see? We can do so little for him, and he does so much for us, I think theleast we can do is to offer him a place here, and make him welcome if hecomes. 'This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind. `Yes, we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I say he may come, and hisgrandpa, too, if he likes. 'This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her seat toshake hands approvingly. `Now then, vote again. Everybody remember it'sour Laurie, and say, `Aye!'' cried Snodgrass excitedly. `Aye! Aye! Aye!' replied three voices at once. `Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like `taking time by thefetlock', as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present the newmember. ' And, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw open the doorof the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag bag, flushed andtwinkling with suppressed laughter. `You rogue! You traitor! Jo, how could you?' cried the three girls, asSnodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth, and producing both a chairand a badge, installed him in a jiffy. `The coolness of you two rascals is amazing, ' began Mr. Pickwick, tryingto get up an awful frown and only succeeding in producing an amiablesmile. But the new member was equal to the occasion, and rising, with agrateful salutation to the Chair, said in the most engaging manner, `Mr. President and ladies--I beg pardon, gentlemen--allow me to introducemyself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club. '`Good! Good!' cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warmingpan on which she leaned. `My faithful friend and noble patron, ' continued Laurie with a wave ofthe hand, `who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for thebase stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots ofteasing. '`Come now, don't lay it all on yourself. You know I proposed thecupboard, ' broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly. `Never mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir, ' said the newmember, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. `But on my honor, Inever will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interest of thisimmortal club. '`Hear! Hear!' cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal. `Go on, go on!' added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowedbenignly. `I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honordone me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations betweenadjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in the lowercorner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks on the doorsand every convenience for the mails, also the females, if I may be allowedthe expression. It's the old martin house, but I've stopped up the door andmade the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuabletime. Letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, andas each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me topresent the club key, and with many thanks for your favor, take my seat. 'Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table andsubsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was sometime before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, andeveryone came out surprising, for everyone did her best. So it was anunusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when itbroke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. No one everregretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add `spirit' to themeetings, and `a tone' to the paper, for his orations convulsed his hearersand his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, ordramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought. The P. O. Was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, fornearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real postoffice. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and longletters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings, andpuppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sendingodd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo'scare. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming howmany love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come. CHAPTER ELEVEN`The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I'mfree. Three months' vacation--how I shall enjoy it!' exclaimed Meg, cominghome one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state ofexhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonadefor the refreshment of the whole party. `Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!' said Jo. `I wasmortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her. If she had, I should have felt asif I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and Ihad a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to bethrough that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she'd find itimpossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, andhad a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped out her head, saying, `Josyphine, won't you--?' I didn't hear any more, for I basely turned andfled. I did actually run, and whisked round the corner whee I felt safe. '`Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her, ' said Beth, asshe cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air. `Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?' observed Amy, tastingher mixture critically. `She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter. It's too warm tobe particular about one's parts of speech, ' murmured Jo. `What shall you do all your vacation?' asked Amy, changing the subjectwith tact. `I shall lie abed late, and do nothing, ' replied Meg, from the depths of therocking chair. `I've been routed up early all winter and had to spend mydays working for other people, so now I'm going to rest and revel to myheart's content. '`No, ' said Jo, `that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid in a heap ofbooks, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch inthe old apple tree, when I'm not having l.. '`Don't say `larks!'' implored Amy, as a return snub for the samphire'correction. `I'll say `nightingales' then, with Laurie. That's proper and appropriate, since he's a warbler. '`Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time andrest, as the girls mean to, ' proposed Amy. `Well, I will, if Mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer. They are dreadfully out oforder and really suffering for clothes. '`May we, Mother?' asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing inwhat they called `Marmee's corner'. `You may try your experiment for aweek and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will find thatall play and no work is as bad as all work and no play. '`Oh, dear, no! It will be delicious, I'm sure, ' said Meg complacently. `I now propose a toast, as my `friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp', says. Fun forever, and no grubbing!' cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as thelemonade went round. They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for therest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o'clock. Hersolitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely anduntidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy'sbooks lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but `Marmee'scorner', which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to `rest and read', whichmeant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would getwith her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river with Laurie and theafternoon reading and crying over The Wide, Wide World, up in the appletree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where herfamily resided, but getting tired before half done, she left her establishmenttopsy-turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes towash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed hercurls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someonewould see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared butan inquisitive daddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest, shewent to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping. At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been adelightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in theafternoon and got a `sweet blue muslin, had discovered, after she had cutthe breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her slightlycross. Jo had burned the skin off her nose boating, and got a ragingheadache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of hercloset and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amydeeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy Brown's party was tobe the next day and now like Flora McFlimsey, she had `nothing to wear'. But these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that theexperiment was working finely. She smiled, said nothing, and withHannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and thedomestic machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiarand uncomfortable state of things was produced by the `resting andreveling' process. The days kept getting longer and longer, the weatherwas unusually variable and so were tempers, and unsettled feelingpossessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle handsto do. As the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and thenfound time hang so heavily that she fell to snipping and spoiling herclothes in her attempts to furbish them up a`la Moffat. Jo read till her eyesgave out and she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-naturedLaurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that shedesperately wished she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on prettywell, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and nowork, and fell back into her old ways now and then. But something in theair affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, somuch so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna and toldher she was a fright'. Amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her to amuse herself, she soon found thataccomplished and important little self a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one couldn't draw all the time. Tea partiesdidn't amount to much neither did picnics unless very well conducted. `Ifone could have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go traveling, the summerwould be delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and agrown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz, ' complained MissMalaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui. No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Fridaynight each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearlydone. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had agood deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriatemanner, so she gave Hannah a holiday and let the girls enjoy the full effectof the play system. When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen. `Mercy on us! What has happened?' cried Jo, staring about her indismay. Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but ratherbewildered, and a little ashamed. `Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stayquietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can. It's a very queerthing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself. But she says it has beena hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble but take care of ourselves. '`That's easy enough, and I like the idea, I'm aching for something to do, that is, some new amusement, you know, ' added Jo quickly. In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and theytook hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah's saying, `Housekeeping ain't no joke. ' There was plenty of food in the larder, andwhile Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast, wondering asthey did why servants ever talked about hard work. `I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not to think ofher, for she'd take care of herself, ' said Meg, who presided and felt quitematronly behind the teapot. So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with thecook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelet scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but Mrs. March received herrepast with thanks and laughed heartily over it after Jo was gone. `Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid, but they won'tsuffer, and it will do them good, ' she said, producing the more palatableviands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the badbreakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherly littledeception for which they were grateful. Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cookat her failures. `Never mind, I'll get the dinner and be servant, you bemistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders, ' said Jo, who knew still less than Meg, about culinary affairs. This obliging offer was gladly accepted, and Margaret retired to theparlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofaand shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with perfect faithin her own powers and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to dinner. `You'd better see what you have got before you think of havingcompany, ' said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act. `Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of poatoes, and I shall get someasparagus and a lobster, `for a relish', as Hannah says. We'll have lettuceand make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells. I'll haveblancmange and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too, if you want to beelegant. '`Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything butgingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat. I wash my hands of the dinnerparty, and since you have asked Laurie on your own responsibility, youmay just take care of him. '`I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him and help to thepudding. You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?'asked Jo, rather hurt. `Yes, but I don't know much, except about bread and a few trifles. Youhad better ask Mother's leave before you order anything, ' returned Megprudently. `Of course I shall. I'm not a fool. ' And Jo went off in a huff at the doubtsexpressed of her powers. `Get what you like, and don't disturb me. I'm going out to dinner andcan't worry about things at home, ' said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to her. `I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation today, andread, write, go visiting, and amuse myself. 'The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably andreading early in the morning made Jo feel as if some unnaturalphenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcaniceruption would hardly have seemed stranger. `Everything is out of sorts, somehow, ' she said to herself, goingdownstairs. `There's Beth crying, that's a sure sign that something is wrongin this family. If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her. 'Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to findBeth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage with his littleclaws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which hehad died. `It's all my fault, I forgot him, there isn't a seed or a drop left. Oh, Pip!Oh, Pip! How could I be so cruel to you?' cried Beth, taking the poor thingin her hands and trying to restore him. Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiffand cold, shook her head, and offered her domino box for a coffin. `Put him in the oven, and maybe his will get warm and revive, ' saidAmy hopefully. `He's been starved, and he shan't be baked now he's dead. I'll make hima shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden, and I'll never have anotherbird, never, my Pip! For I am too bad to own one, ' murmured Beth, sittingon the floor with her pet folded in her hands. `The funeral shall be thisafternoon, and we will all go. Now, don't cry, Bethy. It's a pity, but nothinggoes right this week, and Pip has had the worst of the experiment. Makethe shroud, and lay him in my box, and after the dinner party, we'll have anice little funeral, ' said Jo, beginning to feel as if she had undertaken agood deal. Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, whichwas in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron, shefell to work and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when shediscovered that the fire was out. `Here's a sweet prospect!' muttered Jo, slamming the stove door open, and poking vigorously among the cinders. Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while thewater heated. The walk revived her spirits, and flattering herself that shehad made good bargins, she trudged home again, after buying a veryyoung lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acidstrawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived and thestove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had workedit up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and forgotten it. Megwas entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, when the door flew openand a floury, crocky, flushed, and disheveled figure appeared, demandingtartly... `I say, isn't bread `riz' enough when it runs over the pans?'Sallie began to laugh, but Meg nodded and lifted her eyebrows as highas they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish and put the sourbread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, afterpeeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word ofcomfort to Beth, who sat making a winding sheet, while the dear departedlay in state in the domino box. A strange sense of helplessness fell upon thegirls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner, and despair seizedthem when a few minutes later Miss Crocker appeared, and said she'dcome to dinner. Now this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, with a sharpnose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything and gossiped about all shesaw. They disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her, simplybecause she was old and poor and had few friends. So Meg gave her theeasy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, critsizedeverything, and told stories of the people whom she knew. Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertionswhich Jo underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became astanding joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, anddiscovered that something more than energy and good will is necessary tomake a cook. She boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to findthe heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread burnedblack, for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fitto ear. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered andpoked till it was unshelled and its meager proportions concealed in a groveof lettuce leaves. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparaguswaiting, and were not done at the last. The blancmange was lumpy, andthe strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully`deaconed'. `Well, they can eat beef and bread and butter, if they are hungry, only it'smortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing, ' thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood, hot, tired, anddispirited, surveying the feast spread before Laurie, accustomed to all sortsof elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose tattling tongue would report themfar and wide. Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing afteranother was tasted and left, while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, Miss Crocker pursed her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all hismight to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo's one strong point wasthe fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eatwith it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as thepretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the littlerosy islands floating in a sea of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made awry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who refused, thinking theremight not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was aslight pucker about his mouth and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid herface in her napkin, and left the table precipitately. `Oh, what is it?' exclaimed Jo, trembling. `Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour, ' replied Meg with a tragicgesture. Jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she hadgiven a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes onthe kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator. Sheturned scarlet and was on the verge of crying, when she met Laurie's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts. The comical side ofthe affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down hercheeks. So did everyone else, even `Croaker' as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily, with bread and butter, olives andfun. `I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will soberourselves with a funeral, ' said Jo, as they rose, and Miss Crocker madeready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinnertable. They did sober themselves for Beth's sake. Laurie dug a grave under theferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears by his tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets andchickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jowhile she struggled with the dinner. Here lies Pip March, Who died the 7th of June; Loved and lamented sore, And not forgotten soon. At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcomewith emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose, for the bedswere not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up thepillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the remainsof the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them so tired that theyagreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper. Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sourcream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March camehome to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of theafternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of onepart of the experiment. Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was ascramble to get ready to see them. Then tea must be got, errands done, andone or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute. Astwilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch wherethe June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as shesat down, as if tired or troubled. `What a dreadful day this has been!' began Jo, usually the first to speak. `It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable, ' said Meg. `Not a bit like home, ' added Amy. `It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip, ' sighed Beth, glancingwith full eyes at the empty cage above her head. `Here's Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if youwant it. 'As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, lookingas if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs. `Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want anotherweek of it?' she asked, as Beth nestled up to her and the rest turned towardher with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun. `I don't!' cried Jo decidedly. `Nor I, ' echoed the others. `You think then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little forothers, do you?'`Lounging and larking doesn't pay, ' observed Jo, shaking her head. `I'mtired of it and mean to go to work at something right off. '`Suppose you learn plain cooking. That's a useful accomplishment, which no woman should be without, ' said Mrs. March, laughing inaudiblyat the recollection of Jo's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker andheard her account of it. `Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd geton?' cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day. `Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doingher share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on prettywell, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable. So I thought, asa little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks onlyof herself. Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to havedaily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear andforbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?'`We do, Mother we do!' cried the girls. `Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for thoughthey seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learnto carry them. Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for everyone. Itkeeps us from ennui and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and givesus a sense of power and independence better than money or fashion. '`We'll work like bees, and love it too, see if we don't, ' said Jo. `I'll learnplain cooking for my holiday task, and the dinner party I have shall be asuccess. '`I'll make the set of shirts for father, instead of letting you do it, Marmee. I can and I will, though I'm not fond of sewing. That will be better thanfussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they are. 'said Meg. `I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with mymusic and dolls. I am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, notplaying, ' was Beth's resolution, while Amy followed their example byheroically declaring, `I shall learn to make buttonholes, and attend to myparts of speech. '`Very good! Then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancythat we shall not have to repeat it, only don't go to the other extreme anddelve like slaves. Have regular hours for work and play, make each dayboth useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of timeby employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will bring fewregrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of poverty. '`We'll remember, Mother!' And they did. CHAPTER TWELVEBeth was postmistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to itregularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door anddistributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands full, andwent about the house leaving letters and parcels like the penny post. `Here's your posy, Mother! Laurie never forgets that, ' she said, puttingthe fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in `Marmee's corner', and was keptsupplied by the affectionate boy. `Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove, ' continued Beth, delivering thearticles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching wristbands. `Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one, ' said Meg, looking atthe gray cotton glove. `Didn't you drop the other in the garden?'`No, I'm sure I didn't, for there was only one in the office. '`I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. Myletter is only a translation of the German song I wanted. I think Mr. Brookedid it, for this isn't Laurie's writing. 'Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in hergingham morning gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very womanly, as she sat sewing at her little worktable, full of tidywhite rolls, so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as shesewed and sang, while her fingers flew and her thoughts were busied withgirlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that Mrs. March smiled and was satisfied. `Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which coveredthe whole post office and stuck outside, ' said Beth, laughing as she wentinto the study where Jo sat writing. `What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished bigger hats were the fashion, because I burn my face every hot day. He said, `Why mind the fashion?Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!' I said I would if I had one, and he hassent me this to try me. I'll wear it for fun, and show him I don't care for thefashion. ' And hanging the antique broadbrim on a bust of Plato, Jo read herletters. One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it saidto her... My Dear:I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watch yourefforts to control your temper. You say nothing about your trials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no one sees them but the Friendwhose help you daily ask, if I may trust the well-worn cover of yourguidebook. I, too, have seen them all, and heartily believe in the sincerity ofyour resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on, dear, patiently andbravely, and always believe that no one sympathizes more tenderly withyou than your loving... Mother`That does me good! That's worth millions of money and pecks of praise. Oh, Marmee, I do try! I will keep on trying, and not get tired, since I haveyou to help me. 'Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happytears. For she had thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts to begood, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging, because unexpected and from the person whose commendation she mostvalued. Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon, shepinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she betaken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready foreither good or bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Laurie wrote... Dear Jo, What ho!Some english girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow and I wantto have a jolly time. If it's fine, I'm going to pitch my tent in Longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet--have a fire, makemesses, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks. They are nice people, and likesuch things. Brooke will go to keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughn willplay propriety for the girls. I want you all to come, can't let Beth off at anyprice, and nobody shall worry her. Don't bother about rations, I'll see tothat and everything else, only do come, there's a good fellow!In a tearing hurry, Yours ever, Laurie. `Here's richness!' cried Jo, flying in to tell the news to Meg. `Of course we can go, Mother? It will be such a help to Laurie, for I canrow, and Meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in some way. '`I hope the Vaughns are not fine grown-up people. Do you knowanything about them, Jo?' asked Meg. `Only that there are four

of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and Frank(twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine or ten. Laurieknew them abroad, and liked the boys. I fancied, from the way he primmedup his mouth in speaking of her, that he didn't admire Kate much. '`I'm so glad my French print is clean, it's just the thing and so becoming!'observed Meg complacently. `Have you anything decent, Jo?'`Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me. I shall row andtramp about, so I don't want any starch to think of. You'll come, Betty?'`If you won't let any boys talk to me. '`Not a boy!'`I like to please Laurie, and I'm not afraid of Mr. Brooke, he is so kind. But I don't want to play, or sing, or say anything. I'll work hard and nottrouble anyone, and you'll take care of me, Jo, so I'll go. '`That's my good girl. You do try to fight off your shyness, and I love youfor it. Fighting faults isn't easy, as I know, and a cheery word kind of givesa lift. Thank you, Mother, ' And Jo gave the thin cheek a grateful kiss, moreprecious to Mrs. March than if it had given back the rosy roundness of heryouth. `I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I wanted to copy, ' saidAmy, showing her mail. `And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me to come over and play tohim tonight, before the lamps are lighted, and I shall go, ' added Beth, whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely. `Now let's fly round, and do double duty today, so that we can playtomorrow with free minds, ' said Jo, preparing to replace her pen with abroom. When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next morning to promisethem a fine day, he saw a comical sight. Each had made such preparationfor the fete as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of littlecurlpapers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her afflicted facewith cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for theapproaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by putting acolthespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature. It was one of the kindartists use to hold the paper on their drawing boards, therefore quiteappropriate and effective for the purpose it was now being put. This funnyspectacle appeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiancethat Jo woke up and roused her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy'sornament. Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon alively bustle began in both houses. Beth, who was ready first, keptreporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' toilets byfrequent telegrams from the window. `There goes the man with the tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunchin a hamper and a great basket. Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the skyand the weathercock. I wish he would go too. There's Laurie, looking like asailor, nice boy! Oh, mercy me! Here's a carriage full of people, a tall lady, alittle girl, and two dreadful boys. One is lame, poor thing, he's got a crutch. Laurie didn't tell us that. Be quick, girls! It's getting late. Why, there is NedMoffat, I do declare. Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one daywhen we were shopping?'`So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at themountains. There is Sallie. I'm glad she got back in time. Am I all right, Jo?'cried Meg in a flutter. `A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, itlooks sentimental tipped that way and will fly off at the first puff. Nowthen, come on!'`Oh, Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat? It's too absurd! Youshall not make a guy of yourself, ' remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down witha red ribbon the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned leghorn Laurie had sent fora joke. `I just will, though, for it's capital, so shady, light, and big. It will makefun, and I don't mind being a guy if I'm comfortable. ' With that Jo marchedstraight away and the rest followed, a bright little band of sisters, alllooking their best in summer suits, with happy faces under the jauntyhatbrims. Laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordialmanner. The lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes a livelyscene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate, thoughtwenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would do wellto imitate, and who was much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances that hecame especially to see her. Jo understood why Laurie `primmed up hismouth' when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a standoff-don't-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free and easy demeanorof the other girls. Beth took an observation of the new boys and decidedthat the lame one was not `dreadful', but gentle and feeble, and she wouldbe kind to him on that account. Amy found Grace a well-mannered, merry, little person, and after staring dumbly at one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good friends. Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, theparty was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leavingMr. Laurence waving his hat on the shore. Laurie and Jo rowed one boat, Mr. Brooke and Ned the other, while Fred Vaughn, the riotous twin, didhis best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like a disturbed waterbug. Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of general utility. Itbroke the ice in the beginning by producing a laugh, it created quite arefreshing breeze, flapping to and fro as she rowed, and would make anexcellent umbrella for the whole party, if a shower came up, she said. MissKate decided that she was `odd', but rather clever, and smiled upon herfrom afar. Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with therowers, who both admired the prospect and feathered their oars withuncommon `skill and dexterity'. Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quietmanners and considered him a walking encyclopedia of useful knowledge. He never talked to her much, but he looked at her a good deal, and she feltsure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in college, ofcourse put on all the airs which freshmen think it their bounden duty toassume. He was not very wise, but very good-natured, and altogether anexcellent person to carry on a picnic. Sallie Gardiner was absorbed inkeeping her white pique dress clean and chattering with the ubiquitousFred, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks. It was not far to Longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wicketsdown by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field, with three wide-spreading oaks in the middle and a smooth strip of turf for croquet. `Welcome to Camp Laurence!' said the young host, as they landed withexclamations of delight. `Brooke is commander in chief, I am commissary general, the otherfellows are staff officers, and you, ladies, are company. The tent is for yourespecial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this is the messroomand the third is the camp kitchen. Now, let's have a game before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner. 'Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by theother eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred. Laurie took Sallie, Jo, and Ned. The English played well, but the Americans played better, andcontested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of `76 inspiredthem. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes and once narrowly escaped highwords. Jo was through the last wicket and had missed the stroke, whichfailure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind her and his turncame before hers. He gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped aninch on the wrong side. No one was very near, and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which put it just an inch on the rightside. `I'm through! Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first, ' cried theyoung gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow. `You pushed it. I saw you. It's my turn now, ' said Jo sharply. `Upon my word, I didn't move it. It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that isallowed. So, stand off please, and let me have a go at the stake. '`We don't cheat in America, but you can, if you choose, ' said Jo angrily. `Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!'returned Fred, croqueting her ball far away. Jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time, colored up to her forehead and stood a minute, hammering down a wicketwith all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself out withmuch exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time finding itamong the bushes, but she came back, looking cool and quiet, and waitedher turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the place she had lost, and when she got there, the other side had nearly won, for Kate's ball wasthe last but one and lay near the stake. `By George, it's all up with us! Goodbye, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, soyou are finished, ' cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see thefinish. `Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies, ' said Jo, with alook that made the lad redden, `especially when they beat them, ' sheadded, as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a cleverstroke. Laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn't do to exultover the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheer towhisper to his friend, `Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him. We can'ttell him so, but he won't do it again, take my word for it. 'Meg drew her aside, under pretense of pinning up a loose braid, andsaid approvingly, `It was dreadfully provoking, but you kept your temper, and I'm so glad, Jo. '`Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I shouldcertainly have boiled over if I hadn't stayed among the nettles till I got myrage under control enough to hold my tongue.. It's simmering now, so Ihope he'll keep out of my way, ' returned Jo, biting her lips as she gloweredat Fred from under her big hat. `Time for lunch, ' said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. `Commissarygeneral, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss March, MissSallie, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee?'`Jo can, ' said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Jo, feeling that herlate lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside over thecoffeepot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys made a fireand got water from a spring near by. Miss Kate sketched and Frank talkedto Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes to serve as plates. The commander in chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with aninviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with greenleaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone settledthemselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercisedevelops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was, for everythingseemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled avenerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing inequality in thetable, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates, acorns droppedin the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without beinginvited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree to see what wasgoing on. Three white-headed children peeped over the fence, and anobjectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river with allhis might and main. `There's salt here, ' said Laurie, as he handed Jo a saucer of berries. `Thank you, I prefer spiders, ' she replied, fishing up two unwary littleones who had gone to a creamy death. `How dare you remind me of thathorrid dinner party, when your's is so nice in every way?' added Jo, as theyboth laughed and ate out of one plate, the china having run short. `I had an uncommonly good time that day, and haven't got over it yet. This is no credit to me, you know, I don't do anything. It's you and Megand Brooke who make it all go, and I'm no end obliged to you. What shallwe do when we can't eat anymore?' asked Laurie, feeling that his trumpcard had been played when lunch was over. `Have games till it's cooler. I brought Authors, and I dare say Miss Kateknows something new and nice. Go and ask her. She's company, and youought to stay with her more. '`Aren't you company too? I thought she'd suit Brooke, but he keepstalking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous glass ofhers'. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for you can't do it, Jo. 'Miss Kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, andthe boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing roomto play Rig-marole. `One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as hepleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when the nexttakes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done, and makes aperfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over. Please start it, Mr. Brooke, ' said Kate, with a commanding air, which surprised Meg, whotreated the tutor with as much respect as any other gentleman. Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brookeobediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixedupon the sunshiny river. `Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, forhe had nothing but his sword and his shield. He traveled a long while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he came to thepalace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to anyone who couldtame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was very fond. Theknight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely, for the colt was a gallantfellow, and soon learned to love his new master, though he was freakishand wild. Every day, when he gave his lessons to this pet of the king's, theknight rode him through the city, and as he rode, he looked everywhere fora certain beautiful face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, butnever found. One day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw atthe window of a ruinous castle the lovely face. He was delighted, inquiredwho lived in this old castle, and was told that several captive princesseswere kept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy theirliberty. The knight wished intensely that he could free them, but he waspoor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face andlonging to see it out in the sunshine. At last he resolved to get into thecastle and ask how he could help them. He went and knocked. The greatdoor flew open, and he beheld . . '`A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, `At last!At last!'' continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired thestyle. ``Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an ecstasy ofjoy. `Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand of marble fairness. `Never! Tillyou tell me how I may rescue you, ` swore the knight, still kneeling. `Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here till my tyrant is destroyed. '`Where is the villain?' `In the mauve salon. Go, brave heart, and save mefrom despair. ' `I obey, and return victorious or dead!' With these thrillingwords he rushed away, and flinging open the door of the mauve salon, wasabout to enter, when he received... ' `A stunning blow from the big Greeklexicon, which an old fellow in a black gown fired at him, ' said Ned. `Instantly, Sir What's-his-name recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out ofthe window, and turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on hisbrow, found the door locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, gothalfway down when the ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feet below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till hecame to a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their headstogether till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion ofhis prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stonesteps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and spidersthat would frighten you into hysterics, MIss March. At the top of thesesteps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and chilled hisblood.. '`A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in itswasted hand, ' went on Meg. `It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before himdown a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in armorstood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and theghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him, showing theglitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtained door, behind which sounded lovely music. He sprang forward to enter, but thespecter plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him a.. '`Snuffbox, ' said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the audience. ``Thankee, ` said the knight politely, as he took a pinch and sneezed seventimes so violently that his head fell off. `Ha! Ha!' laughed the ghost, andhaving peeped through the keyhole at the princesses spinning away fordear life, the evil spirit picked up her victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other knights packed together without theirheads, like sardines, who all rose and began to.. '`Dance a hornpipe, ' cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath, `and, as theydanced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail. `Up withthe jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard alee, and man the guns!' roaredthe captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a flag black as inkflying from her foremast. `Go in and win, my hearties!' says the captain, and a tremendous fight began. Of course the British beat, they always do. '`No, they don't!' cried Jo, aside. `Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the schooner, whose decks were piled high with dead and whose lee scuppers ran blood, for the order had been `Cutlasses, and die hard!' `Bosun's mate, take a bightof the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if he doesn't confess his sinsdouble quick, ` said the British captain. The Portuguese held his tongue likea brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars cheered like mad. But thesly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war, scuttled her, and down shewent, with all sail set, `To the bottom of the sea, sea, sea' where... ' `Oh, gracious! What shall I say?' cried Sallie, as Fred ended his rigmarole, inwhich he had jumbled together pell-mell nautical phrases and facts out ofone of his favorite books. `Well, they went to the bottom, and a nicemermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on finding the box ofheadless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, hoping to discover themystery about them, for being a woman, she was curious. By-and-by adiver came down, and the mermaid said, `I'll give you a box of pearls ifyou can take it up, ` for she wanted to restore the poor things to life, andcouldn't raise the heavy load herself. So the diver hoisted it up, and wasmuch disappointed on opening it to find no pearls. He left it in a greatlonely field, where it was found by a.. '`Little goose girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field, ' said Amy, when Sallie's invention gave out. `The little girl was sorry for them, andasked an old woman what she should do to help them. `Your geese will tellyou, they know everything. ' said the old woman. So she asked what sheshould use for new heads, since the old ones were lost, and all the geeseopened their hundred mouths and screamed.. '``Cabbages!'' continued Laurie promptly. ``Just the thing, ` said the girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on, theknights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other heads likethem in the world that no one thought anything of it. The knight in whomI'm interest went back to find the pretty face, and learned that theprincesses had spun themselves free and all gone and married, but one. Hewas in a great state of mind at that, and mounting the colt, who stood byhim through thick and thin, rushed to the castle to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his affections picking flowersin her garden. `Will you give me a rose?' said he. `You must come and getit. I can't come to you, it isn't proper, ` said she, as sweet as honey. He triedto climb over the hedge, but it seemed to grow higher and higher. Then hetried to push through, but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was indespair. So he patiently broke twig after twig till he had made a little holethrough which he peeped, saying imploringly, `Let me in! Let me in!' Butthe pretty princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her rosesquietly, and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank willtell you. '`I can't. I'm not playing, I never do, ' said Frank, dismayed at thesentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple. Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep. `So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?' asked Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in hisbuttonhole. `I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate after a while, 'said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his tutor. `What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might dosomething quite clever. Do you know Truth?'`I hope so, ' said Meg soberly. `The game, I mean?'`what is it?' said Fred. `Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any questionput by the rest. It's great fun. '`Let's try it, ' said Jo, who liked new experiments. Miss Kate and Mr. Booke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo, and Laurie piled and drew, and the lot fell to Laurie. `Who are your heroes?' asked Jo. `Grandfather and Napoleon. '`Which lady here do you think prettiest?' said Sallie. `Margaret. '`Which do you like best?' from Fred. `Jo, of course. ' `What silly questions you ask!' And Jo gave a disdainfulshrug as the rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone. `Try again. Truth isn't a bad game, ' said Fred. `It's a very good one for you, ' retorted Jo in a low voice. Her turn camenext. `What is your greatest fault?' asked Fred, by way of testing in her thevirtue he lacked himself. `A quick temper. '`What do you most wish for?' said Laurie. `A pair of boot lacings, ' returned Jo, guessing and defeating his purpose. `Not a true answer. You must say what you really do want most. '`Genius. Don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?' And she slylysmiled in his disappointed face. `What virtues do you most admire in a man?' asked Sallie. `Courage and honesty. '`Now my turn, ' said Fred, as his hand came last. `Let's give it to him, ' whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded and asked atonce... `Didn't you cheat at croquet?'`Well, yes, a little bit. '`Good! Didn't you take your story out of THE SEA LION?' said Laurie. `Rather. '`Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?' askedSallie. `I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't. '`He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance withoutwaiting to draw. I'll harrrow up your feelings first by asking if you don'tthink you are something of a flirt, ' said Laurie, as Jo nodded to Fred as asign that peace was declared. `You impertinent boy! Of course I'm not, ' exclaimed Sallie, with an airthat proved the contrary. `What do you hate most?' asked Fred. `Spiders and rice pudding. '`What do you like best?' asked Jo. `Dancing and French gloves. '`Well, I think Truth is a very silly play. Let's have a sensible game ofAuthors to refresh our minds, ' proposed Jo. Ned, frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on, thethree elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch again, andMargaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass with a book, which he did not read. `How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw, ' said Meg, with mingledadmiration and regret in her voice. `Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it, 'replied Miss Kate graciously. `I haven't time. '`Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine, but Iproved to her that I had talent by taking a few lessons privately, and thenshe was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with yourgoverness?'`I have none. '`I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Veryfine schools they are, too, Papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose?'`I don't go at all. I am a governess myself. '`Oh. Indeed!' said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, `Dear me, how dreadful!' for her tone implied it, and something in her face madeMeg color, and wish she had not been so frank. Mr. Brooke looked up and said quickly, Young ladies in America loveindependence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired andrespected for supporting themselves. '`Oh, yes, of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We havemany most respectable and worthy young women who do the same andare employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well bred and accomplished, you know, ' said Miss Kate in apatronizing tone that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not onlymore distasteful, but degrading. `Did the German song suit, Miss March?' inquired Mr. Brooke, breakingan awkward pause. `Oh, yes! It was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translatedit for me. ' And Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke. `Don't you read German?' asked Miss Kate with a look of surprise. `Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get onvery fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation. '`Try a little now. Here is Schiller's Mary Stuart and a tutor who loves toteach. ' And Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap with an inviting smile. `It's so hard I'm afraid to try, ' said Meg, grateful, but bashful in thepresence of the accomplished young lady beside her. `I'll read a bit to encourage you. ' And Miss Kate read one of the mostbeautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionlessmanner. Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, whosaid innocently, `I thought it was poetry. ' `Some of it is. Try this passage. 'There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poorMary's lament. Meg obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor usedto point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of thehard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the pagewent the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty ofthe sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to thewords of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes then, shewould have stopped short, but she never looked up, and the lesson was notspoiled for her. `Very well indeed!' said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring hermany mistakes, and looking as if he did indeed love to teach. Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the littletableau before her, shut her sketch book, saying with condescension, `You've a nice accent and in time will be a clever reader. I advise you tolearn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I must lookafter Grace, she is romping. ' And Miss Kate strolled away, adding toherself with a shrug, `I didn't come to chaperone a governess, though she isyoung and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are. I'm afraid Lauriewill be quite spoiled among them. '`I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governessesand don't treat them as we do, ' said Meg, looking after the retreating figurewith an annoyed expression. `Tutors also have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my sorrow. There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret. ' And Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful that Meg was ashamed to lamenther hard lot. `I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal ofsatisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain. I only wished I likedteaching as you do. '`I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry tolose him next year, ' said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the turf. `Going to college, I suppose?' Meg's lips asked the question, but her eyesadded, `And what becomes of you?'`Yes, it's high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, Ishall turn soldier. I am needed. '`I am glad of that!' exclaimed Meg. `I should think every young manwould want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay athome, ' she added sorrowfully. `I have neither, and very few friends to carewhether I live or die, ' said Mr. Brooke rather bitterly as he absently put thedead rose in the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave. `Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should allbe very sorry to have any harm happen to you, ' said Meg heartily. `Thank you, that sounds pleasant, ' began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerfulagain, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the oldhorse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the youngladies, and there was no more quiet that day. `Don't you love to ride?' asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting aftera race round the field with the others, led by Ned. `I dote upon it. My sister, Meg, used to ride when Papa was rich, but wedon't keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree, ' added Amy, laughing. `Tell me about Ellen Tree. Is it a donkey?' asked Grace curiously. `Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses and so am I, but we've only gotan old sidesaddle and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple tree that hasa nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the partthat turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we like. '`How funny!' laughed Grace. `I have a pony at home, and ride nearlyevery day in the park with Fred and Kate. It's very nice, for my friends gotoo, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen. '`Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I'd rathergo to Rome than the row, ' said Amy, who had not the remotest idea whatthe Row was and wouldn't have asked for the world. Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as hewatched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author cards, looked up and said, in hershy yet friendly way, `I'm afraid you are tired. Can I do anything for you?'`Talk to me, please. It's dull, sitting by myself, ' answered Frank, who hadevidently been used to being made much of at home. If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed amore impossible task to bashful Beth, but there was no place to run to, noJo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that shebravely resolved to try. `What do you like to talk about?' she asked, fumbling over the cards anddropping half as she tried to tie them up. `Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting, ' said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength. My heart! What shall I do? I don't know anything about them, thoughtBeth, and forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping tomake him talk, `I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know all aboutit. '`I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping aconfounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds forme, ' said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocentblunder. `Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes, ' she said, turningto the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one of the boys'books in which Jo delighted. Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness toamuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of hersisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking awayto one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged protection. `Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him, ' aid Jo, beaming ather from the croquet ground. `I always said she was a little saint, ' added Meg, as if there could be nofurther doubt of it. `I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long, ' said Grace toAmy, as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorncups. `My sister Beth is a very fastidious girl, when she likes to be, ' said Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. She meant `facinating', but as Grace didn'tknow the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded well and madea good impression. An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquetfinished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down theriver, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbleda serenade with the pensive refrain... Alone, alone, ah! Woe, alone, and at the lines... We each are young, we each have a heart, Oh, why should we stand thuscoldly apart?He looked at Meg with such a lackadiasical expression that she laughedoutright and spoiled his song. `How can you be so cruel to me?' he whispered, under cover of a livelychorus. `You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, andnow you snub me. '`I didn't mean to, but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it, 'replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite truethat she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and the talk afterit. Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to herrather pettishly, `There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?'`Not a particle, but she's a dear, ' returned Sallie, defending her friendeven while confessing her shortcomings. `She's not a stricken deer anyway, ' said Ned, trying to be witty, andsucceeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do. On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated withcordial good nights and good-bys, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked afterthem, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, `In spite of theirdemonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knowsthem. '`I quite agree with you, ' said Mr. Brooke. CHAPTER THIRTEENLaurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warmSeptember afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but toolazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods, for the day had beenboth unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live itover again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked hisstudies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased hisgrandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservantshalf out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs wasgoing mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fanciedneglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock to fume overthe stupidity of the world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quietedhim in spite of himself. Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was justimagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world, whenthe sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash. Peeping through themeshes of the hammock, he saw the Marches coming out, as if bound onsome expedition. `What in the world are those girls about now?' thought Laurie, openinghis sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something rather peculiarin the appearance of his neighbors. Each wore a large, flapping hat, abrown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried a long staff. Meghad a cushion, Jo a book, Beth a basket, and Amy a portfolio. All walkedquietly through the garden, out at the little back gate, and began to climbthe hill that lay between the house and river. `Well, that's cool, ' said Laurie to himself, `to have a picnic and never askme! They can't be going in the boat, for they haven't got the key. Perhapsthey forgot it. I'll take it to them, and see what's going on. 'Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to findone, then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered in hispocket, so that the girls were quite out of sight when leaped the fence andran after them. Taking the shortest way to the boathouse, he waited forthem to appear, but no one came, and he went up the hill to take anobservation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, and from the heart ofthis green spot came a clearer sound than the soft sigh of the pines or thedrowsy chirp of the crickets. `Here's a landscape!' thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, andlooking wide-awake and good-natured already. It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in theshady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic windlifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little wood peoplegoing on with their affairs as if these were no strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintily with her white hands, andlooking as fresh and sweet as a rose in her pink dress among the green. Beth was sorting the cones that lay thick under the hemlock near by, for shemade pretty things with them. Amy was sketching a group of ferns, and Jowas knitting as she read aloud. A shadow passed over the boy's face as hewatched them, feeling that he ought to go away because uninvited, yetlingering because home seemed very lonely and this quiet party in thewoods most attractive to his restless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with it's harvesting, ran dawn a pine close beside him, saw himsuddenly and skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espiedthe wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile. `May I come in, please? Or shall I be a bother?' he asked, advancingslowly. Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly and said atonce, `Of course you may. We should have asked you before, only wethought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this. '`I always like your games, but if Meg doesn't want me, I'll go away. '`I've no objection, if you do something. It's against the rules to be idlehere, ' replied Meg gravely but graciously. `Much obliged. I'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit, for it's as dullas the Desert of Sahara down there. Shall I sew, read, cone, draw, or do allat once? Bring on your bears. I'm ready. ' And Laurie sat down with asubmissive expression delightful to behold. `Finish this story while I set my heel, ' said Jo, handing him the book. `Yes'm. ' was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove hisgratitude for the favor of admission into the `Busy Bee Society'. The story was not a long one, and when it was finished, he ventured toask a few questions as a reward of merit. `Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charminginstitution is a new one?'`Would you tell him?' asked Meg of her sisters. `He'll laugh, ' said Amy warningly. `Who cares?' said Jo. `I guess he'll like it, ' added Beth. `Of course I shall! I give you my word I won't laugh. Tell away, Jo, anddon't be afraid. '`The idea of being afraid of you! Well, you see we used to play Pilgrim'sProgress, and we have been going on with it in earnest, all winter andsummer. '`Yes, I know, ' said Laurie, nodding wisely. `Who told you?' demanded Jo. `Spirits. '`No, I did. I wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and he was rather dismal. He did like it, so don't scold, Jo, ' said Bethmeekly. `You can't keep a secret. Never mind, it saves trouble now. '`Go on, please, ' said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed in her work, lookinga trifle displeased. `Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well, we have triednot to waste our holiday, but each has had a task and worked at it with awill. The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, and we are ever soglad that we didn't dawdle. '`Yes, I should think so, ' and Laurie thought regretfully of his own idledays. `Mother likes to have us out-of-doors as much as possible, so webring our work here and have nice times. For the fun of it we bring ourthings in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill, and playpilgrims, as we used to do years ago. We call this hill the DelectableMountain, for we can look far away and see the country where we hope tolive some time. 'Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine, for through an opening in thewood one could look cross the wide, blue river, the meadows on the otherside, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green hills that rose tomeet the sky. The sun was low, and the heavens glowed with the splendorof an autumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds lay on the hilltops, and risinghigh into the ruddy light were silvery white peaks that shone like the airyspires of some Celestial City. `How beautiful that is!' said Laurie softly, for he was quick to see andfeel beauty of any kind. `It's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, but alwayssplendid, ' replied Amy, wishing she could paint it. `Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime--the realcountry, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking. It would benice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could evergo to it, ' said Beth musingly. `There is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go, by-and-by, when we are good enough, ' answered Meg with her sweetest voice. `It seems so long to wait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at once, asthose swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate. '`You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later, no fear of that, ' said Jo. `I'm theone that will have to fight and work, and climb and wait, and maybe neverget in after all. '`you'll have me for company, if that's any comfort. I shall have to do adeal of traveling before I come in sight of your Celestial City. If I arrive late, you'll say a good word for me, won't you, Beth?'Something in the boy's face troubled his little friend, but she saidcheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds, `If people reallywant to go, and really try all their lives, I think they will get in, for I don'tbelieve there are any locks on that door or any guards at the gate. I alwaysimagine it is as it is in the picture, where the shining ones stretch out theirhands to welcome poor Christian as he comes up from the river. `Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could cometrue, and we could live in them?' said Jo, after a little pause. `I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I'd have, 'said Laurie, lying flat and throwing cones at the squirrel who had betrayedhim. `You'd have to take your favorite one. What is it?' asked Meg. `If I tell mine, will you tell yours?'`Yes, if the girls will too. '`We will. Now, Laurie. '`After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd like to settle inGermany and have just as much music as I choose. I'm to be a famousmusician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me. And I'm never to bebothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself and live for what Ilike. That's my favorite castle. What's yours, Meg?'Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a brakebefore her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she said slowly, `Ishould like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious things--nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. Iam to be mistress of it, and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so Inever need work a bit. How I should enjoy it! For I wouldn't be idle, but dogood, and make everyone love me dearly. '`Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air?' asked Laurieslyly. `I said `pleasant people', you know, ' And Meg carefully tied up her shoeas she spoke, so that no one saw her face. `Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband andsome angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn't be perfectwithout, ' said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather scornedromance, except in books. `You'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels in yours, 'answered Meg petulantly. `Wouldn't I though? I'd have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piledhigh with books, and I'd write out of a magic inkstand, so that my worksshould be as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do something splendidbefore I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won't beforgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all some day. I think I shall write books, and getrich and famous, that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream. '`Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take careof the family, ' said Beth contentedly. `Don't you wish for anything else?' asked Laurie. `Since I had my littlepiano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we may all keep well and betogether, nothing else. '`I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and go toRome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole world, ' wasAmy's modest desire. `We're an ambitious set, aren't we? Every one of us, but Beth, wants tobe rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder if any of uswill ever get our wishes, ' said Laurie, chewing grass like a meditative calf. `I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the doorremains to be seen, ' observed Jo mysteriously. `I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it. Hang college!'muttered Laurie with an impatient sigh. `Here's mine!' and Amy waved her pencil. `I haven't got any, ' said Meg forlornly. `Yes, you have, ' said Laurie at once. `Where?'`In your face. '`Nonsense, that's of no use. ' `Wait and see if it doesn't bring yousomething worth having, ' replied the boy, laughing at the thought of acharming little secret which he fancied he knew. Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions and looked acrossthe river with the same expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had wornwhen he told the story of the knight. `If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see how many of ushave got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then than now, ' said Jo, always ready with a plan. `Bless me! How old I shall be, twenty-seven!' exclaimed Meg, who feltgrown up already, having just reached seventeen. `You and I will be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, and Amytwenty-two. What a venerable party!' said Jo. `I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time, but I'msuch a lazy dog, I'm afraid I shall dawdle, Jo. '`You need a motive, Mother says, and when you get it, she is sure you'llwork splendidly. '`Is she? By Jupiter, I will, if I only get the chance!' cried Laurie, sitting upwith sudden energy. `I ought to be satisfied to please Grandfather, and I dotry, but it's working against the grain, you see, and comes hard. He wantsme to be an India merchant, as he was, and I'd rather be shot. I hate tea andsild and spices, and every sort of rubbish his old ships bring, and I don'tcare how soon they go to the bottom when I own them. Going to collegeought to satisfy him, for if I give him four years he ought to let me off fromthe business. But he's set, and I've got to do just as he did, unless I breakaway and please myself, as my father did. If there was anyone left to staywith the old gentleman, I'd do it tomorrow. 'Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat intoexecution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing up very fastand, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of subjection, a young man's restless longing to try the world for himself. `I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and never come homeagain till you have tried your own way, ' said Jo, whose imagination wasfired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy wasexcited by what she called `Teddy's Wrongs'. `That's not right, Jo. You mustn't talk in that way, and Laurie mustn'ttake your bad advice. You should do just what your grandfather wishes, my dear boy, ' said Meg in her most maternal tone. `Do your best at college, and when he sees that you try to please him, I'm sure he won't be hard onyou or unjust to you. As you say, there is no one else to stay with and lovehim, and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him without hispermission. Don't be dismal or fret, but do your duty and you'll get yourreward, as good Mr. Brooke has, by being respected and loved. '`What do you know about him?' asked Laurie, grateful for the goodadvice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversation fromhimself after his unusual outbreak. `Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care ofhis own mother till she died, and wouldn't go abroad as tutor to some niceperson because he wouldn't leave her. And how he provides now for anold woman who nursed his mother, and never tells anyone, but is just asgenerous and patient and good as he can be. '`So he is, dear old fellow!' said Laurie heartily, as Meg paused, lookingflushed and earnest with her story. `It's like Grandpa to find out all abouthim without letting him know, and to tell all his goodness to others, so thatthey might like him. Brooke couldn't understand why your mother was sokind to him, asking him over with me and treating him in her beautifulfriendly way. He thought she was just perfect, and talked about it for daysand days, and went on about you all in flaming style. If ever I do get mywish, you see what I'll do for Booke. '`Begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out, ' said Megsharply. `How do you know I do, Miss?' `I can always tell by his face when hegoes away. If you have been good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly. Ifyou have plagued him, he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to goback and do his work better. '`Well, I like that? So you keep an account of my good and bad marks inBrooke's face, do you? I see him bow and smile as he passes your window, but I didn't know you'd got up a telegraph. '`We haven't. Don't be angry, and oh, don't tell him I said anything! Itwas only to show that I cared how you get on, and what is said here is saidin confidence, you know, ' cried Meg, much alarmed at the thought of whatmight follow from her careless speech. `I don't tell tales, ' replied Laurie, with his `high and mighty' air, as Jocalled a certain expression which he occasionally wore. `Only if Brooke isgoing to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair weather for him toreport. '`Please don't be offended. I didn't meant to preach or tell tales or be silly. I only thought Jo was encouraging you in a feeling which you'd be sorryfor by-and-by. You are so kind to us, we feel as if you were our brother andsay just what we think. Forgive me, I meant it kindly. ' And Meg offered herhand with a gesture both affectionate and timid. Ashamed of his momentary pique, Laurie squeezed the kind little hand, and said frankly, `I'm the one to be forgiven. I'm cross and have been out ofsorts all day. I like to have you tell me my faults and be sisterly, so don'tmind if I am grumpy sometimes. I thank you all the same. 'Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeableas possible, wound cotton for Meg, recited poetry to please Jo, shook downcones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself a fitperson to belong to the `Busy Bee Society'. In the midst of an animateddiscussion on the domestic habits of turtles (one of those amiable creatureshaving strolled up from the river), the faint sound of a bell warned themthat Hannah had put the tea `to draw', and they would just have time toget home to supper. `May I come again?' asked Laurie. `Yes, if your are good, and love your book, as the boys in the primer aretold to do, ' said Meg, smiling. `i'll try. '`Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the Scotchmen do. There's a demand for socks just now, ' added Jo, waving hers like a big blueworsted banner as they parted at the gate. That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight, Laurie, standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David, whosesimple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts of thedead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of theafternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the sacrificecheerfully, `I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman whilehe needs me, for I am all he has. 'CHAPTER FOURTEENJo was very busy in the garret, for the October days began to grow chilly, and the afternoons were short. For two or three hours the sun lay warmlyin the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa, writing busily, withher papers spread out upon a trunk before her, while Scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied by his oldest son, a fineyoung fellow, who was evidently very proud of his whiskers. Quiteabsorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, whenshe signed her name with a flourish and threw down her pen, exclaiming... `There, I've done my best! If this won't suit I shall have to wait till I cando better. 'Lying back on the sofa, she read the manuscript carefully through, making dashes here and there, and putting in many exclamation points, which looked like little balloons. Then she tied it up with a smart redribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistful expression, which plainly showed how ernest her work had been. Jo's desk up herewas an old tin kitchen which hung against the wall. It it she kept herpapers, and a few books, safely shut away from Scrabble, who, beinglikewise of a literary turn, was fond of making a circulating library of suchbooks as were left in his way by eating the leaves. From this tin receptacleJo produced another manuscript, and putting both in her pocket, creptquietly downstairs, leaving her friends to nibble on her pens and taste herink. She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going to theback entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swung herselfdown to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road. Oncethere, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolled away totown, looking very merry and mysterious. If anyone had been watching her, he would have thought hermovements decidedly peculiar, for on alighting, she went off at a greatpace till she reached a certain number in a certain busy street. Havingfound the place with some difficulty, she went into the doorway, looked upthe dirty stairs, and after standing stock still a minute, suddenly dived intothe street and walked away as rapidly as she came. This maneuver sherepeated several times, to the great amusement of a black-eyed younggentleman lounging in the window of a building opposite. On returningfor the third time, Jo gave herself a shake, pulled her hat over her eyes, andwalked up the stairs, looking as if she were going to have all her teeth out. There was a dentist's sign, among others, which adorned the entrance, and after staring a moment at the pair of artificial jaws which slowlyopened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the younggentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himself inthe opposite doorway, saying with a smile and a shiver, `It's like her tocome alone, but if she has a bad time she'll need someone to help herhome. 'In ten minutes Jo came running downstairs with a very red face and thegeneral appearance of a person who had just passed through a tryingordeal of some sort. When she saw the young gentleman she lookedanything but pleased, and passed him with a nod. But he followed, askingwith an air of sympathy, `Did you have a bad time?'`Not very. '`You got through quickly. '`Yes, thank goodness!'`Why did you go alone?'`Didn't want anyone to know. '`You're the oddest fellow I ever saw. How many did you have out?'Jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand him, then began tolaugh as if mightily amused at something. `There are two which I want to have come out, but I must wait a week. '`What are you laughing at? You are up to some mischief, Jo, ' said Laurie, looking mystified. `So are you. What were you doing, sir, up in that billiard saloon?'`Begging your pardon, ma'am, it wasn't a billiard saloon, but agymnasium, and I was taking a lesson in fencing. '`I'm glad of that. '`why?'`You can teach me, and then when we play HAMLET, you can beLaertes, and we'll make a fine thing of the fencing scene. '`Laurie burst out with a hearty boy's laugh, which made several passers-by smile in spite of themselves. `I'll teach you whether we play HAMLET or not. It's grand fun and willstraighten you up capitally. But I don't believe that was your only reasonfor saying `I'm glad' in that decided way, was it now?'`No, I was glad that you were not in the saloon, because I hope younever go to such places. Do you?'`Not often. '`I wish you wouldn't. '`It's no harm, Jo. I have billiards at home, but it's no fun unless you havegood players, so, as I'm fond of it, I come sometimes and have a game withNed Moffat or some of the other fellows. '`Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, for you'll get to liking it better and better, andwill waste time and money, and grow like those dreadful boys. I did hopeyou'd stay respectable and be a satisfaction to your friends, ' said Jo, shaking her head. `Can't a fellow take a little innocent amusement now and then withoutlosing his respectability?' asked Laurie, looking nettled. `That depends upon how and where he takes it. I don't like Ned and hisset, and wish you'd keep out of it. Mother won't let us have him at ourhouse, though he wants to come. And if you grow like him she won't bewilling to have us frolic together as we do now. ' `Won't she?' asked Laurieanxiously. `No, she can't bear fashionable young men, and she'd shut us all up inbandboxes rather than have us associate with them. '`Well, she needn't get out her bandboxes yet. I'm not a fashionable partyand don't mean to be, but I do like harmless larks now and then, don'tyou?'`Yes, nobody minds them, so lark away, but don't get wild, will you? Orthere will be an end of all our good times. '`I'll be a double distilled saint. '`I can't bear saints. Just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and we'llnever desert you. I don't know what I should do if you acted like Mr. King's son. He had plenty of money, but didn't know how to spend it, andgot tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his father's name, Ibelieve, and was altogether horrid. '`You think I'm likely to do the same? Much obliged. '`No, I don't--oh, dear, no!--but I hear people talking about money beingsuch a temptation, and I sometimes wish you were poor. I shouldn't worrythen. '`Do you worry about me, Jo?'`A little, when you look moody and discontented, as you sometimes do, for you've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I'm afraidit would be hard to stop you. 'Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishingshe had held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips smiledas if at her warnings. `Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?' he asked presently. `Of course not. Why?'`Because if you are, I'll take a bus. If you're not, I'd like to walk with youand tell you something very interesting. '`I won't preach any more, and I'd like to hear the news immensely. '`Very well, then, come on. It's a secret, and if I tell you, you must tell meyours. '`I haven't got any, ' began Jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering thatshe had. `You know you have--you can't hide anything, so up and fess, or I won'ttell, ' cried Laurie. `Is your secret a nice one?'`Oh, isn't it! All about people you know, and such fun! You ought to hearit, and I've been aching to tell it this long time. Come, you begin. '`You'll not say anything about it at home, will you?'`Not a word. '`And you won't tease me in private?'`I never tease. '`Yes, you do. You get everything you want out of people. I don't knowhow you do it, but you are a born wheedler. '`Thank you. Fire away. '`Well, I've left two stories with a newspaperman, and he's to give hisanswer next week, ' whispered Jo, in her confidant's ear. `Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American authoress!' criedLaurie, throwing up his hat and catching it again, to the great delight oftwo ducks, four cats, five hens, and half a dozen Irish children, for theywere out of the city now. `Hush! It won't come to anything, I dare say, but Icouldn't rest till I had tried, and I said nothing about it because I didn'twant anyone else to be disappointed. '`It won't fail. Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare comparedto half the rubbish that is published every day. Won't it be fun to see themin print, and shan't we feel proud of our authoress?'Jo's eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in, and afriend's praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs. `Where's your secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I'll never believe you again, 'she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at a word ofencouragement. `I may get into a scrape for telling, but I didn't promise not to, so I will, for I never feel easy in my mind till I've told you any plummy bit of news Iget. I know where Meg's glove is. '`Is that all? said Jo, looking disappointed, as Laurie nodded andtwinkled with a face full of mysterious intelligence. `It's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree when I tell you where itis. '`Tell, then. 'Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo's ear, which produced acomical change. She stood and stared at him for a minute, looking bothsurprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, `How do youknow?'`Saw it. '`Where?'`Pocket. '`All this time?'`Yes, isn't that romantic?'`No, it's horrid. '`Don't you like it?'`Of course I don't. It's ridiculous, it won't be allowed. My patience! Whatwould Meg say?'`You are not to tell anyone. Mind that. '`I didn't promise. '`That was understood, and I trusted you. '`Well, I won't for the present, anyway, but I'm disgusted, and wish youhadn't told me. '`I thought you'd be pleased. '`At the idea of anybody coming to take Meg away? No, thank you. '`You'll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away. '`I'd like to see anyone try it, ' cried Jo fiercely. `So should I!' And Laurie chuckled at the idea. `I don't think secrets agree with me, I feel rumpled up in my mind sinceyou told me that, ' said Jo rather ungratefully. `Race down this hill with me, and you'll be all right, ' suggested Laurie. No one was in sight, the smooth road sloped invitingly before her, andfinding the temptation irresistible, Jo darted away, soon leaving hat andcomb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran. Laurie reached thegoal first and was quite satisfied with the success of his treatment, for hisAtalanta came panting up with flying hair, bright eyes, ruddy cheeks, andno signs of dissatisfaction in her face. `I wish I was a horse, then I could run for miles in this splendid air, andnot lose my breath. It was capital, but see what a guy it's made me. Go, pick up my things, like a cherub, as you are, ' said Jo, dropping down undera maple tree, which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves. Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundled upher braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again. Butsomeone did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking particularlyladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had been making calls. `What in the world are you doing here?' she asked, regarding herdisheveled sister with well-bred surprise. `Getting leaves, ' meekly answered Jo, sorting the rosy handful she hadjust swept up. `And hairpins, ' added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo's lap. `Theygrow on this road, Meg, so do combs and brown straw hats. '`You have been running, Jo. How could you? When will you stop suchromping ways?' said Meg reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs andsmoothed her hair, with which the wind had taken liberties. `Never till I'm stiff and old and have to use a crutch. Don't try to makeme grow up before my time, Meg. It's hard enough to have you change allof a sudden. Let me be a little girl as long as I can. 'As she spoke, Jo bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of her lips, forlately she had felt that Margaret was fast getting to be a woman, andLaurie's secret made her dread the separation which must surely comesome time and now seemed very near. He saw the trouble in her face anddrew Meg's attention from it by asking quickly, `Where have you beencalling, all so fine?'`At the Gardiners', and Sallie has been telling me all about Belle Moffat'swedding. It was very splendid, and they have gone to spend the winter inParis. Just think how delightful that must be!'`Do you envy her, Meg?' said Laurie. `I'm afraid I do. '`I'm glad of it!' muttered Jo, tying on her hat with a jerk. `Why?' asked Meg, looking surprised. `Because if you care much about riches, you will never go and marry apoor man, ' said Jo, frowning at Laurie, who was mutely warning her tomind what she said. `I shall never `go and marry' anyone, ' observed Meg, walking on withgreat dignity while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skippingstones, and `behaving like children', as Meg said to herself, though shemight have been tempted to join them if she had not had her best dress on. For a week or two, Jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quitebewildered. She rushed to the door when the postman rang, was rude toMr. Brooke whenever they met, would sit looking at Meg with a woe-begone face, occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her in a verymysterious manner. Laurie and she were always making signs to oneanother, and talking about `Spread Eagles' till the girls declared they hadboth lost their wits. On the second Saturday after Jo got out of the window, Meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by the sight ofLaurie chasing Jo all over the garden and finally capturing her in Amy'sbower. What went on there, Meg could not see, but shrieks of laughterwere heard, followed by the murmur of voices and a great flapping ofnewspapers. `What shall we do with that girl? She never will behave like a younglady, ' sighed Meg, as she watched the race with a disapproving face. `I hope she won't. She is so funny and dear as she is, ' said Beth, who hadnever betrayed that she was a little hurt at Jo's having secrets with anyonebut her. `It's very trying, but we never can make her commy la fo, ' added Amy, who sat making some new frills for herself, with her curls tied up in a verybecoming way. , two agreeable things that made her feel unusually elegantand ladylike. In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected toread. `Have you anything interesting there?' asked Meg, with condescension. `Nothing but a story, won't amount to much, I guess, ' returned Jo, carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight. `You'd better read it aloud. That will amuse us and keep you out ofmischief, ' said Amy in her most grown-up tone. `What's the name?' asked Beth, wondering why Jo kept her face behindthe sheet. `The Rival Painters. '`That sounds well. Read it, ' said Meg. With a loud `Hem!' and a long breath, Jo began to read very fast. Thegirls listened with interest, for the tale was romantic, and somewhatpathetic, as most of the characters died in the end. `I like that about thesplendid picture, ' was Amy's approving remark, as Jo paused. `I prefer the lovering part. Viola and Angelo are two of our favoritenames, isn't that queer?' said Meg, wiping her eyes, for the lovering partwas tragical. `Who wrote it?' asked Beth, who had caught a glimpse of Jo's face. The reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, displaying a flushedcountenance, and with a funny mixture of solemnity and excitementreplied in a loud voice, `Your sister. '`You?' cried Meg, dropping her work. `It's very good, ' said Amy critically. `I knew it! I knew it! Oh, my Jo, I am so proud!' And Beth ran to hug hersister and exult over this splendid success. Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure! How Meg wouldn'tbelieve it till she saw the words. `Miss Josephine March, ' actually printed inthe paper. How graciously Amy critisized the artistic parts of the story, andoffered hints for a sequel, which unfortunately couldn't be carried out, asthe hero and heroine were dead. How Beth got excited, and skipped andsang with joy. How Hannah came in to exclaim, `Sakes alive, well I never!'in great astonishment at `that Jo's doin's'. How proud Mrs. March waswhen she knew it. How Jo laughed, with tears in her eyes, as she declaredshe might as well be a peacock and done with it. And how th `Spread Eagle'might be said to flap his wings triumphantly over the House of March, asthe paper passed from hand to hand. `Tell us about it. ' `When did it come?' `How much did you get for it?'`What will Father say?' `Won't Laurie laugh?' cried the family, all in onebreath as they clustered about Jo, for these foolish, affectionate people mada jubilee of every little household joy. `Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything, ' said Jo, wondering ifMiss Burney felt any grander over her Evilina than she did over her `RivalPainters'. Having told how she disposed of her tales, Jo added, `And whenI went to get my answer, the man said he liked them both, but didn't paybeginners, only let them print in his paper, and noticed the stories. It wasgood practice, he said, and when the beginners improved, anyone wouldpay. So I let him have the two stories, and today this was sent to me, andLaurie caught me with it and insisted on seeing it, so I let him. And he saidit was good, and I shall write more, and he's going to get the next paid for, and I am so happy, for in time I may be able to support myself and help thegirls. 'Jo's breath gave out here, and wrapping her head in the paper, shebedewed her little story with a few natural tears, for to be independent andearn the praise of those she loved were the dearest wishes of her heart, andthis seemed to be the first step toward that happy end. CHAPTER FIFTEEN`November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year, ' saidMargaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at thefrostbitten garden. `That's the reason I was born in it, ' observed Jo pensively, quiteunconscious of the blot on her nose. `If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it adelightful month, ' said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, evenNovember. `I dare say, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family, ' saidMeg, who was out of sorts. `We go grubbing along day after day, without abit of change, and very little fun. We might as well be in a treadmill. '`My patience, how blue we are!' cried Jo. `I don't much wonder, poordear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind, grind, year in and year out. Oh, don't I wish I could manage things for you as I dofor my heroines! You're pretty enough and good enough already, so I'dhave some rich relation leave you a fortune unexpectedly. Then you'd dashout as an heiress, scorn everyone who has slighted you, go abroad, andcome home my Lady Something in a blaze of splendor and elegance. '`People don't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays, men haveto work and women marry for money. It's a dreadfully unjust world, ' saidMeg bitterly. `Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all. Just wait ten years, andsee if we don't, ' said Amy, who sat in a corner making mud pies, asHannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, and faces. `Can't wait, and I'm afraid I haven't much faith in ink and dirt, thoughI'm grateful for your good intentions. Meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again. Jo groaned andleaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude, but Amy spattedaway energetically, and Beth, who sat at the other window, said, smiling, `Two pleasant things are going to happen right away. Marmee is comingdown the street, and Laurie is tramping through the garden as if he hadsomething nice to tell. 'In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, `Any letter fromFather, girls?' and Laurie to say in his persuasive way, `Won't some of youcome for a drive? I've been working away at mathematics till my head is ina muddle, and I'm going to freshen my wits by a brisk turn. It's a dull day, but the air isn't bad, and I'm going to take Brooke home, so it will be gayinside, if it isn't out. Come, Jo, you and Beth will go, won't you?'`Of course we will. '`Much obliged, but I'm busy. ' And Meg whisked out her workbasket, forshe had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least, not todrive too often with the young gentleman. `We three will be ready in a minute, ' cried Amy, running away to washher hands. `Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?' asked Laurie, leaning overMrs. March's chair with the affectionate look and tone he always gave her. `No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind, dear. It's ourday for a letter, and the postman hasn't been. Father is as regular as thesun, but there's some delay on the way, perhaps. 'A sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after Hannah came in with aletter. `It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum, ' she said, handling it as ifshe was afraid it would explode and do some damage. At the word `telegraph', Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines itcontained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the little paperhad sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed downstairs for water, whileMeg and Hannah supported her, and Jo read aloud, in a frightened voice... Mrs. March: Your husband is very ill. Come at once. S. HALE BlankHospital, Washington. How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely theday darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed tochange, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all thehappiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them. Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over, andstretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they never forgot, `I shall go at once, but it may be too late. Oh, children, children, help me tobear it!'For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in theroom, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help, and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was the first torecover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a good example, for with her, work was panacea for most afflictions. `The Lord keep the dear man! I won't waste no time a-cryin', but git yourthings ready right away, mum, ' she said heartily, as she wiped her face onher apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her own hardone, and went away to work like three women in one. `She's right, there's no time for tears now. Be calm, girls, and let methink. 'They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking palebut steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them. `Where's Laurie?' she asked presently, when she had collected herthoughts and decided on the first duties to be done. `Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!' cried the boy, hurrying fromthe next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrowwas too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see. `Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next train goes early inthe morning. I'll take that. '`What else? The horses are ready. I can go anywhere, do anything, ' hesaid, looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth. `Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that pen and paper. 'Tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages, Jo drew thetable before her mother, well knowing that money for the long, sad journeymust be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything to add to a littleto the sum for her father. `Now go, dear, but don't kill yourself driving at a desperate pace. Thereis no need of that. 'Mrs. March's warning was evidently thrown away, for five minutes laterLaurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as if for his life. `Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can't come. On the way getthese things. I'll put them down, they'll be needed and I must go preparedfor nursing. Hospital stores are not always good. Beth, go and ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles of old wine. I'm not too proud to beg forFather. He shall have the best of everything. Amy, tell Hannah to get downthe black trunk, and Meg, come and help me find my things, for I'm halfbewildered. 'Writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilder the poorlady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a little while, andlet them work. Everyone scattered like leaves before a gust of wind, andthe quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as if the paper hadbeen an evil spell. Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing every comfort thekind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, and friendliest promisesof protection for the girls during the mother's absence, which comfortedher very much. There was nothing he didn't offer, from his own dressinggown to himself as escort. But the last was impossible. Mrs. March wouldnot hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the long journey, yet anexpression of relief was visible when he spoke of it, for anxiety ill fits onefor traveling. He saw the look, knit his heavy eyebrows, rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying he'd be back directly. No one had timeto think of him again till, as Meg ran through the entry, with a pair ofrubbers in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, she came suddenly uponMr. Brooke. `I'm very sorry to hear of this, Miss March, ' he said, in the kind, quiettone which sounded very pleasantly to her perturbed spirit. `I came to offermyself as escort to your mother. Mr. Laurence has commissions for me inWashington, and it will give me real satisfaction to be of service to herthere. 'Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as Megput out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude that Mr. Brooke wouldhave felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling one of timeand comfort which he was about to take. `How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I'm sure, and it will be such arelief to know that she has someone to take care of her. Thank you very, very much!'Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in thebrown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, andlead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother. Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note fromAunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating what shehad often said

before, that she had always told them it was absurd forMarch to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come ofit, and she hoped they would take her advice the next time. Mrs. March putthe note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on with herpreparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which Jo would haveunderstood if she had been there. The short afternoon wore away. All other errands were done, and Megand her mother busy at some necessary needlework, while Beth and Amygoth tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a `slap anda bang', but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious, and Lauriewent off to find her, for no one knew what freak Jo might take into herhead. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with a very queerexpression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear, satisfaction and regret in it, which puzzled the family as much as did theroll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little choke in hervoice, `That's my contribution toward making Father comfortable andbringing him home!' `My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars!Jo, I hope you haven't done anything rash?'`No, it's mine honestly. I didn't beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned it, and Idon't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own. 'As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for allher abundant hair was cut short. `Your hair! Your beautiful hair!' `Oh, Jo, how could you? Your onebeauty. ' `My dear girl, there was no need of this. ' `She doesn't look like myJo any more, but I love her dearly for it!'As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Joassumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle, andsaid, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked it, `Itdoesn't affect the fate of the nation, so don't wail, Beth. It will be good formy vanity, I getting too proud of my wig. It will do my brains good to havethat mop taken off. My head feels deliciously light and cool, and the barbersaid I could soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, andeasy to keep in order. I'm satisfied, so please take the money and let's havesupper. '`Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can't blame you, forI know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call it, to yourlove. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraid you will regret itone of these days, ' said Mrs. March. `No, I won't!' returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her prankwas not entirely condemned. `What made you do it?' asked Amy, who would as soon have thought ofcutting off her head as her pretty hair. `Well, I was wild to to something for Father, ' replied Jo, as they gatheredabout the table, for healthy young people can eat even in the midst oftrouble. `I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knew Aunt Marchwould croak, she always does, if you ask for a ninepence. Meg gave all herquarterly salary toward the rent, and I only got some clothes with mine, soI felt wicked, and was bound to have some money, if I sold the nose off myface to get it. '`You needn't feel wicked, my child! You had no winter things and gotthe simplest with your own hard earnings, ' said Mrs. March with a lookthat warmed Jo's heart. `I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I went along Ikept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I'd like to dive into some ofthe rich stores and help myself. In a barber's window I saw tails of hairwith the prices marked, and one black tail, not so thick as mine, was fortydollars. It came to me all of a sudden that I had one thing to make moneyout of, and without stopping to think, I walked in, asked if they boughthair, and what they would give for mine. '`I don't see how you dared to do it, ' said Beth in a tone of awe. `Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oil his hair. He rather stared at first, as if he wasn't used to having girls bounce into hisshop and ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn't care about mine, itwasn't the fashionable color, and he never paid much for it in the firstplace. The work he put it into it made it dear, and so on. It was getting late, and I was afraid if it wasn't done right away that I shouldn't have it doneat all, and you know when I start to do a thing, I hate to give it up. So Ibegged him to take it, and told him why I was in such a hurry. It was silly, I dare say, but it changed his mind, for I got rather excited, and told thestory in my topsy-turvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly, `Takeit, Thomas, and oblige the young lady. I'd do as much for our Jimmy anyday if I had a spire of hair worth selling. '`Who was Jimmy?' asked Amy, who liked to have things explained asthey went along. `Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly such things makestrangers feel, don't they? She talked away all the time the man clipped, and diverted my mind nicely. '`Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?' asked Meg, with ashiver. `I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that wasthe end of it. I never snivel over trifles like that. I will confess, though, I feltqueer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on the table, and felt only theshort rough ends of my head. It almost seemed as if I'd an arm or leg off. The woman saw me look at it, and picked out a long lock for me to keep. I'll give it to you, Marmee, just to remember past glories by, for a crop is socomfortable I don't think I shall ever have a mane again. 'Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a shortgray one in her desk. She only said, `Thank you, deary, ' but something inher face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully as theycould about Mr. Brooke's kindness, the prospect of a fine day tomorrow, and the happy times they would have when Father came home to benursed. No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o'clock Mrs. March put by thelast finished job, and said, `Come girls. ' Beth went to the piano and playedthe father's favorite hymn. All began bravely, but broke down one by onetill Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to her music wasalways a sweet consoler. `Go to bed and don't talk, for we must be up early and shall need all thesleep we can get. Good night, my darlings, ' said Mrs. March, as the hymnended, for no one cared to try another. They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear invalidlay in the next room. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep in spite of the greattrouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious thoughts she hadever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, and her sister fancied thatshe was asleep, till a stifled sob made her exclaim, as she touched a wetcheek... `Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about father?'`No, not now. '`What then?'`My... My hair!' burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smother her emotion inthe pillow. It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed theafflicted heroine in the tenderest manner. `I'm not sorry, ' protested Jo, with a choke. `I'd do it again tomorrow, if Icould. It's only the vain part of me that goes and cries in this silly way. Don't tell anyone, it's all over now. I thought you were asleep, so I justmade a little private moan for my one beauty. How came you to beawake?'`I can't sleep, I'm so anxious, ' said Meg. `Think about something pleasant, and you'll soon drop off. '`I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever. '`What did you think of?'`Handsome faces--eyes particularly, ' answered Meg, smiling to herselfin the dark. `What color do you like best?'`Brown, that is, sometimes. Blue are lovely. 'Jo, laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiablypromised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living in hercastle in the air. The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as afigure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here, settling apillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each unconsciousface, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to pray the ferventprayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted the curtain to look out intothe dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from behind the clouds andshone upon her like a bright, benignant face, which seemed to whisper inthe silence, ' Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind theclouds. 'CHAPTER SIXTEENIn the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and read their chapterwith an earnestness never felt before. For now the shadow of a real troublehad come, the little books were full of help and comfort, and as theydressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully and hopefully, and sendtheir mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or complaintsfrom them. Everything seemed very strange when they went down, so dimand still outside, so full of light and bustle within. Breakfast at that earlyhour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face looked unnatural as sheflew about her kitchen with her nightcap on. The big trunk stood ready inthe hall, Mother's cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and Mother herself sattrying to eat, but looking so pale and worn with sleeplessness and anxietythat the girls found it very hard to keep their resolution. Meg's eyes keptfilling in spite of herself, Jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen rollermore than once, ant the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression, as ifsorrow was a new experience to them. Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near and they satwaiting for the carriage, Mrs. March said to the girls, who were all busiedabout her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of herbonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a forth fastening up hertravelling bag... `Children, I leave you to Hannah's care and Mr. Laurence's protection. Hannah is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will guard you as ifyou were his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious that you shouldtake this trouble rightly. Don't grieve and fret when I am gone, or thinkthat you can be idle and comfort yourselves by being idle and trying toforget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace. Hopeand keep busy, and whatever happens, remember that you never can befatherless. '`Yes, Mother. '`Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and inany perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent ordo rash things, write to me often, and be my brave girl, ready to help andcheer all. Beth, comfort yourself with your music, and be faithful to thelittle home duties, and You Amy, help all you can, be obedient, and keephappy safe at home. '`We will, Mother! We will!'The rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen. Thatwas the hard minute, but the girls stood it well. No one cried, no one ranaway or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very heavy as theysent loving messages to Father, remembering, as they spoke that it mightbe too late to deliver them. They kissed their mother quietly, clung abouther tenderly, and tried to wave their hands cheerfully when she droveaway. Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and Mr. Brookelooked so strong and sensible and kind that the girls christened him `Mr. Greatheart' on the spot. `Goodby, my darlings! God bless and keep us all!' whispered Mrs. March, as she kissed one dear little face after the other, and hurried into thecarriage. As she rolled away, the sun came out, and looking back, she saw itshining on the group at the gate like a good omen. They saw it also, andsmiled and waved their hands, and the last thing she beheld as she turnedthe corner was the four bright faces, and behind them like a bodyguard, old Mr. Laurence, faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie. `How kind everyone is to us!' she said, turning to find fresh proof of it inthe respectful sympathy of the young man's face. `I don't see how they can help it, ' returned Mr. Brooke, laughing soinfectiously that Mrs. March could not help smiling. And so the journeybegan with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful words. `I feel as if there had been an earthquake, ' said Jo, as their neighborswent home to breakfast, leaving them to rest and refresh themselves. `It seems as if half the house was gone, ' added Meg forlornly. Beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pile ofnicely mended hose which lay on Mother's table, showing that even in herlast hurried moments she had thought and worked for them. It was a littlething, but it went straight to their hearts, and in spite of their braveresolutions, they all broke down and cried bitterly. Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and when theshower showed signs of clearing up, she came to the rescue, armed with acoffeepot. `Now, ny dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and don'tfret. Come and have a cup of coffee all round, and then let's fall to workand be a credit to the family. 'Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact in making it thatmorning. No one could resist her persuasive nods, or the fragrantinvitation issuing from the nose of the coffee pot. They drew up to thetable, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in ten minutes wereall right again. ``Hope and keep busy', that's the motto for us, so let's see who willremember it best. I shall go to Aunt March, as usual. Oh, won't she lecturethough!' said Jo, as she sipped with returning spirit. `I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather stay at home and attendto things here, ' said Meg, wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red. `No need of that. Beth and I can keep house perfectly well, ' put in Amy, with an important air. `Hannah will tell us what to do, and we'll haveeverything nice when you come home, ' added Beth, getting out her mopand dish tub without delay. `I think anxiety is very interesting, ' observed Amy, eating sugarpensively. The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for it, though Meg shookher head at the young lady who could find consolation in a sugar bowl. The sight of the turnovers made Jo sober again, and when the two wentout to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the window wherethey were accustomed to see their mother's face. It was gone, but Beth hadremembered the little household ceremony, and there she was, noddingaway at them like a rosyfaced mandarin. `That's so like my Beth!' said Jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face. `Goodbye, Meggy, I hope the Kings won't strain today. Don't fret aboutFather, dear, ' she added, as they parted. `And I hope Aunt March won't croak. Your hair is becoming, and itlooks very boyish and nice, ' returned Meg, trying not to smile at the curlyhead, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders. `That's my only comfort. ' And, touching her hat a` la Laurie, away wentJo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day. News from their father comforted the girls very much, for thoughdangerously ill, the presence of the best and tenderest of nurses hadalready done him good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and as thehead of the family, Meg insisted on reading the dispatches, which grewmore cheerful as the week passed. At first, everyone was eager to write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter box by one orother of the sisters, who felt rather important with their Washingtoncorrespondence. As one of these packets contained characteristic notesfrom the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, and read them. My dearest Mother:It is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made us, for thenews was so good we couldn't help laughing and crying over it. How verykind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate that Mr. Laurence's business detainshim near you so long, since he is so useful to you and Father. The girls areall as good as gold. Jo helps me with the sewing, and insists on doing allsorts of hard jobs. I should be afraid she might overdo, if I didn't know her`moral fit' wouldn't last long. Beth is as regular about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what you told her. She grieves about Father, and lookssober except when she is at her little piano. Amy minds me nicely, and Itake great care of her. She does her own hair, and I am teaching her tomake buttonholes and mend her stockings. She tries very hard, and I knowyou will be pleased with her improvement when you come. Mr. Laurencewatches over us like a motherly old hen, as Jo says, and Laurie is very kindand neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we get pretty bluesometimes, and feel like orphans, with you so far away. Hannah is a perfectsaint. She does not scold at all, and always calls me Miss Margaret, whichis quite proper, you know, and treats me with respect. We are all well andbusy, but we long, day and night, to have you back. Give my dearest loveto Father, and believe me, ever your own... MEGThis note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast to thenext, which was scribbled on a big sheet of thin foreign paper, ornamentedwith blots and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed letters. My precious Marmee:Three cheers for dear Father! Brooke was a trump to telegraph right off, and let us know the minute he was better. I rushed up garret when theletter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but I could onlycry, and say, `I'm glad! I'm glad!' Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer?For I felt a great many in my heart. We have such funny times, and now Ican enjoy them, for everyone is so desperately good, it's like living in a nestof turtledoves. You'd laugh to see Meg head the table and try to bemotherish. She gets prettier every day, and I'm in love with her sometimes. The children are regular archangels, and I-- well, I'm Jo, and never shall beanything else. Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a quarrel withLaurie. I freed my mind about a silly little thing, and he was offended. Iwas right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he marched home, saying hewouldn't come again till I begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't and gotmad. It lasted all day. I felt bad and wanted you very much. Laurie and Iare both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon. But I thought he'd come to it, forI was in the right. He didn't come, and just at night I remembered whatyou said when Amy fell into the river. I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun set on my anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I wassorry. I met him at the gate, coming for the same thing. We both laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again. I made a `pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash, and asFather likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse him. Give him mylovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times for your... TOPSY-TURVY JOA SONG FROM THE SUDSQueen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam rises high, Andsturdily wash and rinse and wring, And fasten the clothes to dry. Then outin the free fresh air they swing, Under the sunny sky. I wish we could wash from out hearts and souls The stains of the weekaway, And let water and air by their magic make Ourselves as pure asthey. Then on the earth there would be indeed, A glorious washing day!Along the path of a useful life, Will heartsease ever bloom. The busymind has no time to think Of sorrow or care or gloom. And anxiousthoughts may be swept away, As we bravely wield a broom. I am glad a task to me is given, To labor at day by day, For it brings mehealth and strength and hope, And I cheerfully learn to say, `Head, youmay think, Heart, you may feel, But, Hand, you shall work alway!'Dear Mother, There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed pansiesfrom the root I have been keeping safe in the house for Father to see. I readevery morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep withFather's tune. I can't sing `LAND OF THE LEAL' now, it makes me cry. Everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy wants the rest of the page, so I must stop. I didn't forget to cover theholders, and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day. Kiss dear Father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon to yourloving .... LITTLE BETHMa Chere Mamma, We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate the girls--Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words and you can take theproperest. Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me have jelly every nightat tea its so good for me Jo says because it keeps me sweet tempered. Laurie is not as respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in my teens, he calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talking French to me very fastwhen I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie King does. The sleeves of my bluedress were all worn out, and Meg put in new ones, but the full front camewrong and they are more blue than the dress. I felt bad but did not fret Ibear my troubles well but I do wish Hannah would put more starch in myaprons and have buckwheats every day. Can't she? Didn't I make thatinterrigation point nice? Meg says my punchtuation and spelling aredisgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have so many things to do, Ican't stop. Adieu, I send heaps of love to Papa. Your affectionate daughter ... AMY CURTIS MARCHDear Mis March, I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate. The girls is clever and flyround right smart. Miss Meg is going to make a proper good housekeeper. She hes the liking for it, and gits the hang of things surprisin quick. Jo doosbeat all for goin ahead, but she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you neverknow where she's like to bring up. She done out a tub of clothes onMonday, but she starched `em afore they was wrenched, and blued a pinkcalico dress till I thought I should a died a laughin. Beth is the best of littlecreeters, and a sight of help to me, bein so forehanded and dependable. Shetries to learn everything, and really goes to market beyond her years, likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful. We have got onvery economical so fur. I don't let the girls hev coffee only once a week, accordin to your wish, and keep em on plain wholesome vittles. Amy doeswell without frettin, wearin her best clothes and eatin sweet stuff. Mr. Laurie is as full of didoes as usual, and turns the house upside downfrequent, but he heartens the girls, so I let em hev full swing. The oldgentleman send heaps of things, and is rather wearin, but means wal, andit aint my place to say nothin. My bread is riz, so no more at this time. Isend my duty to Mr. March, and hope he's seen the last of his Pewmonia. Yours respectful, Hannah MulletHead Nurse of Ward No. 2, All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in fine condition, commisarydepartment well conducted, the Home Guard under Colonel Teddy alwayson duty, Commander in Chief General Laurence reviews the army daily, Quartermaster Mullet keeps order in camp, and Major Lion does picketduty at night. A salute of twenty-four guns was fired on reciept of goodnews from Washington, and a dress parade took place at headquarters. Commander in chief sends best wishes, in which he is heartily joined by... COLONEL TEDDYDear Madam:The little girls are all well. Beth and my boy report daily. Hannah is amodel servant, and guards pretty Meg like a dragon. Glad the fine weatherholds. Pray make Brooke useful, and draw on me for funds if expensesexceed your estimate. Don't let your husband want anything. Thank Godhe is mending. Your sincere friend and servant, JAMES LAURENCECHAPTER SEVENTEENFor a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have suppliedthe neighborhood. It was really amazing, for everyone seemed in aheavenly frame of mind, and self-denial was all the fashion. Relieved oftheir first anxiety about their father, girls insensibly relaxed theirpraiseworthy efforts a little, and began to fall back into old ways. They didnot forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busy seemed to grow easier, and after such tremendous exertions, they felt that Endeavor deserved aholiday, and gave it a good many. Jo caught a bad cold through neglect to cover the shorn head enough, and was ordered to stay at home till she was better, for Aunt March didn'tlike to hear people read with colds in their heads. Jo liked this, and after anenergetic rummage from garret to cellar, subsided on the sofa to nurse hercold with arsenicum and books. Amy found that housework and art didnot go well together, and returned to her mud pies. Meg went daily to herpupils, and sewed, or thought she did, at home, but much time was spentin writing long letters to her mother, or reading the Washington dispatchesover and over. Beth kept on, with only slight relapses into idleness orgrieving. All the little duties were faithfully done each day, and many of hersisters' also, for they were forgetful, and the house seemed like a clockwhose pendulum was gone a-visiting. When her heart got heavy withlongings for Mother or fears for Father, she went away into a certain closet, hid her face in the folds of a dear old gown, and made her little moan andprayed her little prayer quietly by herself. Nobody knew what cheered herup after a sober fit, but everyone felt how sweet and helpful Beth was, andfell into a way of going to her for comfort or advice in their small affairs. All were unconscious that this experience was a test of character, andwhen the first excitement was over, felt that they had done well anddeserved praise. So they did, but their mistake was in ceasing to do well, and they learned this lesson through much anxiety and regret. `Meg, I wish you'd go and see the Hummels. You know Mother told usnot to forget them. ' said Beth, ten days after Mrs. March's departure. `I'm too tired to go this afternoon, ' re;lied Meg, rocking comfortably asshe sewed. `Can't you, Jo?' asked Beth. `Too stormy for me with my cold. '`I thought it was almost well. '`It's well enough for me to go out with Laurie, but not well enough to goto the Hummels', ' said Jo, laughing, but looking a little ashamed of herinconsistency. `Why don't you go yourself?' asked Meg. `I have been every day, but the baby is sick, and I don't know what to dofor it. Mrs. Hummel goes away to work, and Lottchen takes care of it. But itgets sicker and sicker, and I think you or Hannah ought to go. 'Beth spoke earnestly, and Meg promised she would go tomorrow. `Ask Hannah for some nice little mess, and take it round, Beth, the airwill do you good, ' said Jo, adding apologetically, `I'd go but I want tofinish my writing. '`My head aches and I'm tired, so I thought maybe some of you wouldgo, ' said Beth. `Amy will be in presently, and she will run down for us, suggested Meg. So Beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to their work, and theHummels were forgotten. An hour passed. Amy did not come, Meg wentto her room to try on a new dress, Jo was absorbed in her story, andHannah was sound asleep before the kitchen fire, when Beth quietly put onher hood, filled her basket with odds and ends for the poor children, andwent out into the chilly air with a heavy head and a grieved look in herpatient eyes. It was late when she came back, and no one saw her creepupstairs and shut herself into her mother's room. Half an hour after, Jowent to `Mother's closet' for something, and there found little Beth sittingon the medicine chest, looking very grave, with red eyes and a camphorbottle in her hand. `Christopher Columbus! What's the matter?' cried Jo, as Beth put out herhand as if to warn her off, and asked quickly, `You've had the scarlet fever, havent't you?'`Years ago, when Meg did. Why?'`Then I'll tell you. Oh, Jo, the baby's dead!'`What baby?'`Mrs. Hummel's. It died in my lap before she got home, ' cried Beth witha sob. `My poor dear, how dreadful for you! I ought to have gone, ' said Jo, taking her sister in her arms as she sat down in her mother's bit chair, witha remorseful face. `It wasn't dreadful, Jo, only so sad! I saw in a minute it was sicker, butLottchen said her mother had gone for a doctor, so I took Baby and letLotty rest. It seemed asleep, but all of a sudden if gave a little cry andtrembled, and then lay very still. I tried to warm its feet, and Lotty gave itsome milk, but it didn't stir, and I knew it was dead. '`Don't cry, dear! What did you do?'`I just sat and held it softly till Mrs. Hummel came with the doctor. Hesaid it was dead, and looked at Heinrich and Minna, who have sorethroats. `Scarlet fever, ma'am. Ought to have called me before, ` he saidcrossly. Mrs. Hummel told him she was poor, and had tried to cure babyherself, but now it was too late, and she could only ask him to help theothers and trust to charity for his pay. He smiled then, and was kinder, butit was very sad, and I cried with them till he turned round all of a sudden, and told me to go home and take belladonna right away, or I'd have thefever. '`No, you won't!' cried Jo, hugging her close, with a frightened look. `Oh, Beth, if you should be sick I never could forgive myself! What shall we do?'`Don't be frightened, I guess I shan't have it badly. I looked in Mother'sbook, and saw that it begins with headache, sore throat, and queer feelingslike mine, so I did take some belladonna, and I feel better, ' said Beth, layingher cold hands on her hot forehead and trying to look well. `If Mother was only at home!' exclaimed Jo, seizing the book, and feelingthat Washington was an immense way off. She read a page, looked at Beth, felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then said gravely, `You've beenover the baby every day for more than a week, and among the others whoare going to have it, so I'm afraid you are going to have it, Beth. I'll callHannah, she knows all about sickness. ' `Don't let Amy come. She neverhad it, and I should hate to give it to her. Can't you and Meg have it overagain?' asked Beth, anxiously. `I guess not. Don't care if I do. Serve me right, selfish pig, to let you go, and stay writing rubbish myself!' muttered Jo, as she went to consultHannah. The good soul was wide awake in a minute, and took the lead at once, assuring that there was no need to worry; every one had scarlet fever, andif rightly treated, nobody died, all of which Jo believed, and felt muchrelieved as they went up to call Meg. `Now I'll tell you what we'll do, ' said Hannah, when she had examinedand questioned Beth, `we will have Dr. Bangs, just to take a look at you, dear, and see that we start right. Then we'll send Amy off to Aunt March'sfor a spell, to keep her out of harm's way, and one of you girls can stay athome and amuse Beth for a day or two. '`I shall stay, of course, I'm oldest, ' began Meg, looking anxious and self-reproachful. `I shall, because it's my fault she is sick. I told Mother I'd do the errands, and I haven't, ' said Jo decidedly. `Which will you have, Beth? There ain't no need of but one, ' aid Hannah. `Jo, please. ' And Beth leaned her head against her sister with a contentedlook, which effectually settled that point. `I'll go and tell Amy, ' said Meg, feeling a little hurt, yet rather relievedon the whole, for she did not like nursing, and Jo did. Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had ratherhave the fever than go to Aunt March. Meg reasoned, pleaded, andcommanded, all in vain. Amy protested that she would not go, and Megleft her in despair to ask Hannah what should be done. Before she cameback, Laurie walked into the parlor to find Amy sobbing, with her head inthe sofa cushions. She told her story, expecting to be consoled, but Laurieonly put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room, whistlingsoftly, as he knit his brows in deep thought. Presently he sat down besideher, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, `Now be a sensible littlewoman, and do as they say. No, don't cry, but hear what a jolly plan I'vegot. You go to Aunt March's, and I'll come and take you out every day, driving or walking, and we'll have capital times. Won't that be better thanmoping here?'`I don't wish to be sent off as if I was in the way, ' began Amy, in aninjured voice. `Bless your heart, child, it's to keep you well. You don't want to be sick, do you?'`No, I'm sure I don't, but I dare say I shall be, for I've been with Beth allthe time. '`That's the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you mayescape it. Change of air and care will keep you well, I dare say, or if it doesnot entirely, you will have the fever more lightly. I advise you to be off assoon as you can, for scarlet fever is no joke, miss. '`But it's dull at Aunt March's, and she is so cross, ' said Amy, lookingrather frightened. `It won't be dull with me popping; in every day to tell you how Beth is, and take you out gallivanting. The old lady likes me, and I'll be as sweet aspossible to her, so she won't peck at us, whatever we do. '`Will you take me out in the trotting wagon with Puck?'`On my honor as a gentleman. '`And come every single day?'`See if I don't'`And bring me back the minute Beth is well?'`The identical minute. '`And go to the theater, truly?'`A dozen theaters, if we may. '`Well--I guess I will, ' said Amy slowly. `Good girl! Call Meg, and tell her you'll give in, ' said Laurie, with anapproving pat, which annoyed Amy more than the `giving in'. Meg and Jo came running down to behold the miracle which had beenwrought, and Amy, feeling very precious and self-sacrificing, promised togo, if the doctor said Beth was going to be ill. `How is the little dear?' asked Laurie, for Beth was his especial pet, andhe felt more anxious about her than he liked to show. `She is lying down on Mother's bed, and feels better. The baby's deathtroubled her, but I dare say she has only got cold. Hannah says she thinksso, but she looks worried, and that makes me fidgety, ' answered Meg. `What a trying world it is!' said Jo, rumpling up her hair in a fretful way. `No sooner do we get out of one trouble than down comes another. Theredoesn't seem to be anything to hold on to when Mother's gone, so I'm all atsea. '`Well, don't make a porcupine of yourself, it isn't becoming. Settle yourwig, Jo, and tell me if I shall telegraph to your mother, or do anything?'asked Laurie, who never had been reconciled to the loss of his friend's onebeauty. `That is what troubles me, ' said Meg. `I think we ought to tell her if Bethis really ill, but Hannah says we mustn't, for Mother can't leave Father, andit will only make them anxious. Beth won't be sick long, and Hannahknows just what to do, and Mother said we were to mind her, so I supposewe must, but it doesn't seem quite right to me. '`Hum, well, I can't say. Suppose you ask Grandfather after the doctorhas been. '`We will. Jo, go and get Dr. Bangs at once, ' commanded Meg. `We can'tdecide anything till he has been. '`Stay where you are, Jo. I'm errand boy to this establishment, ' saidLaurie, taking up his cap. `I'm afraid you are busy, ' began Meg. `No, I've done my lessons for the day. '`Do you study in vacation time?' asked Jo. `I follow the good example my neighbors set me, ' was Laurie's answer, as he swung himself out of the room. `I have great hopes for my boy, ' observed Jo, watching him fly over thefence with an approving smile. `He does very well, for a boy, ' was Meg's somewhat ungracious answer, for the subject did not interest her. Dr. Bangs came, said Beth had symptoms of the fever, but he thoughtshe would have it lightly, though he looked sober over the Hummel story. Amy was ordered off at once, and provided with something to ward offdanger, she departed in great state, with Jo and Laurie as escort. Aunt March received them with her usual hospitality. `What do you want now?' she asked, looking sharply over her spectacles, while the parrot, sitting on the back of her chair, called out... `Go away. No boys allowed here. 'Laurie retired to the window, and Jo told her story. `No more than I expected, if you are allowed to go poking about amongpoor folks. Amy can stay and make herself useful if she isn't sick, whichI've no doubt she will be, looks like it now. Don't cry, child, it worries meto hear people sniff. ' Amy was on the point of crying, but Laurie slylypulled the parrot's tail, which caused Polly to utter an astonished croakand call out, `Bless my boots!' in such a funny way, that she laughedinstead. `What do you hear from your mother?' asked the old lady gruffly. `Father is much better, ' replied Jo, trying to keep sober. `Oh, is her? Well, that won't last long, I fancy. March never had anystamina, ' was the cheerful reply. `Ha, ha! Never say die, take a pinch of snuff, goodbye, goodbye!'squalled Polly, dancing on her perch, and clawing at the old lady's cap asLaurie tweaked him in the rear. `Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird! And, Jo, you'd better goat once. It isn't proper to be gadding about so late with a rattlepated boylike.. '`Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!' cried Polly, tumbling offthe chair with a bounce, and running to peck the `rattlepated' boy, whowas shaking with laughter at the last speech. `I don't think I can bear it, but I'll try, ' thought Amy, as she was leftalone with Aunt March. `Get along, you fright!' screamed Polly, and at that rude speech Amycould not restrain a sniff. CHAPTER EIGHTEENBeth did have the fever, and was much sicker than anyone but Hannahand the doctor suspected. The girls knew nothing about illness, and Mr. Laurence was not allowed to see her, so Hannah had everything her ownway, and busy Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the excellentnurse. Meg stayed at home, lest she should infect the Kings, and kepthouse, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wrote letters inwhich no mention was made of Beth's illness. She could not think it right todeceive her mother, but she had been bidden to mind Hannah, andHannah wouldn't hear of `Mrs. March bein' told, and worried just for secha trifle. 'Jo devoted herself to Beth day and night, not a hard task, for Beth wasvery patient, and bore her pain uncomplainingly as long as she couldcontrol herself. But there came a time when during the fever fits she beganto talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to play on the coverlet as if on her belovedlittle piano, and try to sing with a throat so swollen that there was no musicleft, a time when she did not know the familiar faces around her, butaddressed them by wrong names, and called imploringly for her mother. Then Jo grew frightened, Meg begged to be allowed to write the truth, andeven Hannah said she `would think of it, though there was no danger yet'. A letter from Washington added to their trouble, for Mr. March had had arelapse, and could not think of coming home for a long while. How dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely the house, andhow heavy were the hearts of the sisters as they worked and waited, whilethe shadow of death hovered over the once happy home. Then it was thatMargaret, sitting alone with tears dropping often on her work, felt how richshe had been in things more precious than any luxuries money couldbuy--in love, protection, peace, and health, the real blessings of life. Then itwas that Jo, living in the darkened room, with that suffering little sisteralways before her eyes and that pathetic voice sounding in her ears, learned to see the beauty and to sweetness of Beth's nature, to feel howdeep and tender a place she filled in all hearts, and to acknowledge theworth of Beth's unselfish ambition to live for others, and make homehappy by that exercise of those simple virtues which all may possess, andwhich all should love and value more than talent, wealth, or beauty. AndAmy, in her exile, longed eagerly to be at home, that she might work forBeth, feeling now that no service would be hard or irksome, andremembering, with regretful grief, how many neglected tasks those willinghands had done for her. Laurie haunted the house like a restless ghost, andMr. Laurence locke the grand piano, because he could not bear to bereminded of the young neighbor who used to make the twilight

pleasantfor him. Everyone missed Beth. The milkman, baker, grocer, and butcherinquired how she did, poor Mrs. Hummel came to beg pardon for herthoughtlessness and to get a shroud for Minna, the neighbors sent all sortsof comforts and good wishes, and even those who knew her best weresurprised to find how many friends shy little Beth had made. Meanwhile she lay on her bed with old Joanna at her side, for even in herwanderings she did not forget her forlorn protege. She longed for her cats, but would not have them brought, lest they should get sick, and in herquiet hours she was full of anxiety about Jo. She sent loving messages toAmy, bade them tell her mother that she would write soon, and oftenbegged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, that Father might notthink she had neglected him. But soon even these intervals ofconsciousness ended, and she lay hour after hour, tossing to and fro, withincoherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavy sleep which brought herno refreshment. Dr. Bangs came twice a day, Hannah sat up at night, Megkept a telegram in her desk all ready to send off at any minute, and Jonever stirred from Beth's side. The first of December was a wintry day indeed to them, for a bitter windblew, snow fell fast, and the year seemed getting ready for its death. WhenDr. Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, held the hot hand inboth his own for a minute, and laid it gently down, saying, in a low voiceto Hannah, `If Mrs. March can leave her husband she'd better be sent for. 'Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously, Megdropped down into a chair as the strength seemed to go out of her limbs atthe sound of those words, and Jo, standing with a pale face for a minute, ran to the parlor, snatched up the telegram, and throwing on her things, rushed out into the storm. She was soon back, and while noiselessly takingoff her cloak, Laurie came in with a letter, saying that Mr. March wasmending again. Jo read it thankfully, but the heavy weight did not seemlifted off her heart, and her face was so full of misery that Laurie askedquickly, `What is it? Is Beth worse?'`I've sent for Mother, ' said Jo, tugging at her rubber boots with a tragicexpression. `Good for you, Jo! Did you do it on your own responsibility?' askedLaurie, as he seated her in the hall chair and took off the rebellious boots, seeing how her hands shook. `No. The doctor told us to. '`Oh, Jo, it's not so bad as that?' cried Laurie, with a startled face. `Yes, it is. She doesn't know us, she doesn't even talk about the flocks ofgreen doves, as she calls the vine leaves on the wall. She doesn't look likemy Beth, and there's nobody to help us bear it. Mother and father bothgone, and God seems so far away I can't find Him. 'As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo's cheeks, she stretched out herhand in a helpless sort of way, as if groping in the dark, and Laurie took itin his, whispering as well as he could with a lump in his throat, `I'm here. Hold on tome, Jo, dear!'She could not speak, but she did `hold on', and the warm grasp of thefriendly human hand comforted her sore heart, and seemed to lead hernearer to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble. Laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fittingwords came to him, so he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head as hermother used to do. It was the best thing he could have done, far moresoothing than the most eloquent words, for Jo felt the unspoken sympathy, and in the silence learned the sweet solace which affection administers tosorrow. Soon she dried the tears which had relieved her, and looked upwith a grateful face. `Thank you, Teddy, I'm better now. I don't feel so forlorn, and will try tobear it if it comes. '`Keep hoping for the best, that will help you, Jo. Soon your mother willbe here, and then everything will be all right. '`I'm so glad Father is better. Now she won't feel so bad about leavinghim. Oh, me! It does seem as if all the troubles came in a heap, and I got theheaviest part on my shoulders, ' sighed Jo, spreading her wet handkerchiefover her knees to dry. `Doesn't Meg pull fair?' asked Laurie, looking indignant. `Oh, yes, she tries to, but she can't love Bethy as I do, and she won't missher as I shall. Beth is my conscience, and I can't give her up. I can't! I can't!'Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she crieddespairingly, for she had kept up bravely till now and never shed a tear. Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he hadsubdued the choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips. It might beunmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of it. Presently, as Jo's sobsquieted, he said hopefully, `I don't think she will die. She's so good, and weall love her so much, I don't believe God will take her away yet. '`The good and dear people always do die, ' groaned Jo, but she stoppedcrying, for her friend's words cheered her up in spite of her own doubtsand fears. `Poor girl, you're worn out. It isn't like you to be forlorn. Stop a bit. I'llhearten you up in a jiffy. 'Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head downon Beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from thetable where she left it. It must have possessed some magic, for thesubmissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo, and whenLaurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, and said bravely, `I drink-- Health to my Beth! You are a good doctor, Teddy, and such a comfortable friend. How can I ever pay you?' sheadded, as the wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done hertroubled mind. `I'll send my bill, by-and-by, and tonight I'll give you some- thing thatwill warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine, ' said Laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at something. `What is it?' cried Jo, forgetting her woes for a minute in her wonder. `I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and Brooke answered she'dcome at once, and she'll be here tonight, and everything will be all right. Aren't you glad I did it?'Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for hehad kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls or harmingBeth. Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment hestopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her arms round his neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, `Oh, Laurie! Oh, Mother! I am so glad!'She did not weep again, but laughed hysterically, and trembled and clungto her friend as if she was a little bewildered by the sudden news. Laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence of mind. He patted her back soothingly, and finding that she was recovering, followed it up by a bashful kiss or two, which brought Jo round at once. Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, saying breathlessly, `Oh, don't! I didn't mean to, it was dreadful of me, but you were such adear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I couldn't help flying at you. Tell me all about it, and don't give me wine again, it makes me act so. '`I don't mind, ' laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie. `Why, you see I gotfidgety, and so did Grandpa. We thought Hannah was overdoing theauthority business, and your mother ought to know. She'd never forgive usif Beth... Well, if anything happened, you know. So I got grandpa to say itwas high time we did something, and off I pelted to the office yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most took my head off when Iproposed a telegram. I never can bear to be `lorded over', so that settled mymind, and I did it. Your mother will come, I know, and the late train is in attwo A. M. I shall go for her, and you've only got to bottle up your rapture, and keep Beth quiet till that blessed lady gets here. '`Laurie, you're an angel! How shall I ever thank you?'`Fly at me again. I rather liked it, ' said Laurie, looking mischievous, athing he had not done for a fortnight. `No, thank you. I'll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes. Don'ttease, but go home and rest, for you'll be up half the night. Bless you, Teddy, bless you!'Jo had backed into a corner, and as she finished her speech, she vanishedprecipitately into the kitchen, where she sat down upon a dresser and toldthe assembled cats that she was `happy, oh, so happy!' while Lauriedeparted, feeling that he had made a rather neat thing of it. `That's the interferingest chap I ever see, but I forgive him and do hopeMrs. March is coming right away, ' said Hannah, with an air of relief, whenJo told the good news. Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while Jo setthe sickroom in order, and Hannah `knocked up a couple of pies in case ofcompany unexpected". A breath of fresh air seemed to blow through thehouse, and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms. Everything appeared to feel the hopeful change. Beth's bird began to chirpagain, and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy's bush in thewindow. The fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness, and every timethe girls met, their pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one another, whispering encouragingly, `Mother's coming, dear! Mother's coming!'Every one rejoiced but Beth. She lay in that heavy stupor, alike unconsciousof hope and joy, doubt and danger. It was a piteous sight, the once rosyface so changed and vacant, the once busy hands so weak and wasted, theonce smiling lips quite dumb, and the once pretty, well-kept hair scatteredrough and tangled on the pillow. All day she say so, only rousing now andthen to mutter, `Water!' with lips so parched they could hardly shape theword. All day Jo and Meg hovered over her, watching, waiting, hoping, and trusting in God and Mother, and all day the snow fell, the bitter windraged, and the hours dragged slowly by. But night came at last, and everytime the clock struck, the sisters, still sitting on either side of the bed, looked at each other with brightening eyes, for each hour brought helpnearer. The doctor had been in to say that some change, for better or worse, would probably take place about midnight, at which time he would return. Hannah, quite worn out, lay down on the sofa at the bed's foot and fellfast asleep, Mr. Laurence marched to and fro in the parlor, feeling that hewould rather face a rebel battery than Mrs. March's countenance as sheentered. Laurie lay on the rug, pretending to rest, but staring into the firewith the thoughtful look which made his black eyes beautifully soft andclear. The girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came to them as they kepttheir watch, with that dreadful sense of powerlessness which comes to usin hours like those. `If God spares Beth, I never will complain again, ' whispered Megearnestly. `If god spares Beth, I'll try to love and serve Him all my life, ' answeredJo, with equal fervor. `I wish I had no heart, it aches so, ' sighed Meg, after a pause. `If life is often as hard as this, I don't see how we ever shall get throughit, ' added her sister despondently. Here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot themselves in watchingBeth, for they fancied a change passed over her wan face. The house wasstill as death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deep hush. Weary Hannah slept on, and no one but the sisters saw the pale shadowwhich seemed to fall upon the little bed. An hour went by, and nothinghappened except Laurie's quiet departure for the station. Another hour, still no one came, and anxious fears of delay in the storm, or accidents bythe way, or, worst of all, a great grief at Washington, haunted the girls. It was past two, when Jo, who stood at the window thinking how drearythe world looked in its winding sheet of snow, heard a movement by thebed, and turning quickly, saw Meg kneeling before their mother's easychair with her face hidden. A dreadful fear passed coldly over Jo, as shethought, `Beth is dead, and Meg is afraid to tell me. 'She was back at her post in an instant, and to her excited eyes a greatchange seemed to have taken place. The fever flush and the look of painwere gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and peaceful in itsutter repose that Jo felt no desire to weep or to lament. Leaning low overthis dearest of her sisters, she kissed the damp forehead with her heart onher lips, and softly whispered, `Goodby, my Beth. Goodby!'As if awaked by the stir, Hannah started out of her sleep, hurried to thebed, looked at Beth, felt her hands, listened at her lips, and then, throwingher apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro, exclaiming, under herbreath, `The fever's turned, she's sleepin' nat'ral, her skin's damp, and shebreathes easy. Praise be given! Oh, my goodness me!'Before the girls could believe the happy truth, the doctor came toconfirm it. He was a homely man, but they thought his face quite heavenlywhen he smiled and said, with a fatherly look at them, `Yes, my dears, Ithink the little girl will pull through this time. Keep the house quiet, let hersleep, and when she wakes, give her.. 'What they were to give, neither heard, for both crept into the dark hall, and, sitting on the stairs, held each other close, rejoicing with hearts too fullfor words. When they went back to be kissed and cuddled by faithfulHannah, they found Beth lying, as she used to do, with her cheek pillowedon her hand, the dreadful pallor gone, and breathing quietly, as if justfallen asleep. `If Mother would only come now!' said Jo, as the winter night began towane. `See, ' said Meg, coming up with a white, half-opened rose, `I thought thiswould hardly be ready to lay in Beth's hand tomorrow if she--went awayfrom us. But it has blossomed in the night, and now I mean to put it in myvase here, so that when the darling wakes, the first thing she sees will bethe little rose, and Mother's face. 'Never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never had the world seemedso lovely as it did to the heavy eyes of Meg and Jo, as they looked out inthe early morning, when their long, sad vigil was done. `It looks like a fairy world, ' said Meg, smiling to herself, as she stoodbehind the curtain, watching the dazzling sight. `Hark!' cried Jo, starting to her feet. Yes, there was a sound of bells at the door below, a cry from Hannah, and then Laurie's voice saying in a joyful whisper, `Girls, she's come! She'scome!'CHAPTER NINETEENWhile these things were happening at home, Amy was having hardtimes at Aunt March's. She felt her exile deeply, and for the first time in herlife, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. Aunt Marchnever petted any one. She did not approve of it, but she meant to be kind, for the well- behaved little girl pleased her very much, and Aunt Marchhad a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, though shedidn't think it proper to confess it. She really did her best to make Amyhappy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made. Some old people keepyoung at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, can sympathize withchildren's little cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can hide wiselessons under pleasant plays, giving and receiving friendship in thesweetest way. But Aunt March had not this gift, and she worried Amy verymuch with her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy talks. Finding the child more docile and amiable than her sister, the old lady feltit her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of homefreedom and indulgence. So she took Amy by the hand, and taught her asshe herself had been taught sixty years ago, a process which carried dismayto Amy's soul, and made her feel like a fly in the web of a very strict spider. She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the old-fashioned spoons, the fat silver teapot, and the glasses till they shone. Thenshe must dust the room, and what a trying job that was. Not a speckescaped Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs and muchcarving, which was never dusted to suit. Then Polly had to be fed, the lapdog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down to get things or deliverorders, for the old lady was very lame and seldom left her big chair. Afterthese tiresome labors, she must do her lessons, which was a daily trial ofevery virtue she possessed. Then she was allowed one hour for exercise orplay, and didn't she enjoy it?Laurie came every day, and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowedto go out with him, when they walked and rode and had capital times. After dinner, she had to read aloud, and sit still while the old lady slept, which she usually did for an hour, as she dropped off over the first page. Then patchwork or towels appeared, and Amy sewed with outwardmeekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to amuseherself as she liked till teatime. The evenings were the worst of all, for AuntMarch fell to telling long stories about her youth, which were sounutterably dull that Amy was always ready to go to be, intending to cryover her hard fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed outmore than a tear or two. If it had not been for Laurie, and old Esther, the maid, she felt that shenever could have got through that dreadful time. The parrot alone wasenough to drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did not admire him, and revenged himself by being as mischievous as possible. He pulled herhair whenever she came near him, upset his bread and milk to plague herwhen she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop bark by pecking at himwhile Madam dozed, called her names before company, and behaved in allrespects like an reprehensible old bird. Then she could not endure the dog, a fat, cross beast who snarled and yelped at her when she made his toilet, and who lay on his back with all his legs in the air and a most idioticexpression of countenance when he wanted something to eat, which wasabout a dozen times a day. The cook was bad-tempered, the old coachmanwas deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any notice of the younglady. Esther was a Frenchwoman, who had lived with`Madame', as she calledher mistress, for many years, and who rather tyrannized over the old lady, who could not get along without her. Her real name was Estelle, but AuntMarch ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition that she wasnever asked to change her religion. She took a fancy to Mademoiselle, andamused her very much with odd stories of her life in France, when Amy satwith her while she got up Madam's laces. She also allowed her to roamabout the great house, and examine the curious and pretty things storedaway in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests, for Aunt March hoardedlike a magpie. Amy's chief delight was an Indian cabinet, full of queerdrawers, little pigeonholes, and secret places, in which were kept all sortsof ornaments, some precious, some merely curious, all more or lessantique. To examine and arrange these things gave Amy great satisfaction, especially the jewel cases, in which on velvet cushions reposed theornaments which had adorned a belle forty years ago. There was the garnetset which Aunt March wore when she came out, the pearls her father gaveher on her wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings andpins, the queer lockets, with portraits of dead friends and weeping willowsmade of hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn, Uncle March's big watch, with the red seal so many childish hands hadplayed with, and in a box all by itself lay Aunt March's wedding ring, toosmall now for her fat finger, but put carefully away like the most preciousjewel of them all. `Which would Mademoiselle choose if she had her will?' asked Esther, wo always sat near to watch over and lock up the valuables. `I like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace among them, and I'mfond of necklaces, they are so becoming. I should choose this if I might, 'replied Amy, looking with great admiration at a string of gold and ebonybeads from which hung a heavy cross of the same. `I, too, covet that, but not as a necklace. Ah, no! To me it is a rosary, andas such I should use it like a good catholic, ' said Esther, eyeing thehandsome thing wistfully. `Is it meant to use as you use the string of good-smelling wooden beadshanging over your glass?' asked Amy. `Truly, yes, to pray with. It would be pleasing to the saints if one used sofine a rosary as this, instead of wearing it as a vain bijou. '`You seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, Esther, andalways come down looking quiet and satisfied. I wish I could. '`If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find true comfort, but as thatis not to be, it would be well if you went apart each day to meditate andpray, as did the good mistress whom I served before Madame. She had alittle chapel, and in it found solacement for much trouble. '`Would it be right for me to do so too?' asked Amy, who in herloneliness felt the need of help of some sort, and found that she was apt toforget her little book, now that Beth was not there to remind her of it. `It would be excellent and charming, and I shall gladly arrange the littledressing room for you if you like it. Say nothing to Madame, but when shesleeps go you and sit alone a while to think good thoughts, and pray thedear God preserve your sister. 'Esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her advice, for she had anaffectionate heart, and felt much for the sisters in their anxiety. Amy likedthe idea, and gave her leave to arrange the light closet next her room, hoping it would do her good. `I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt Marchdies, ' she said, as she slowly replaced the shining rosary and shut the jewelcases one by one. `To you and your sisters. I know it, Madame confides in me. I witnessedher will, and it is to be so, ' whispered Esther smiling. `How nice! But I wish she'd let us have them now. Procrastination is notagreeable, ' observed Amy, taking a last look at the diamonds. `It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things. The first onewho is affianced will have the pearls, Madame has said it, and I have afancy that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when you go, forMadame approves your good behavior and charming manners. '`Do you think so? Oh, I'll be a lamb, if I can only have that lovely ring!It's ever so much prettier than Kitty Bryant's. I do like Aunt March afterall. ' And Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face and a firmresolve to earn it. From that day she was a model of obedience, and the old ladycomplacently admired the success of her training. Esther fitted up thecloset with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it a picturetaken from one of the shut-up rooms. She thought it was of no great value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it, well knowing that Madame wouldnever know it, nor care if she did. It was, however, a very valuable copy ofone of the famous pictures of the world, and Amy's beauty-loving eyeswere never tired of looking up at the sweet face of the Divine Mother, while her tender thoughts of her own were busy at her heart. On the tableshe laid her little testament and hymnbook, kept a vase always full of thebest flowers Laurie brought her, and came every day to `sit alone' thinkinggood thoughts, and praying the dear God to preserve her sister. Esther hadgiven her a rosary of black beads with a silver cross, but Amy hung it upand did not use it, feeling doubtful as to its fitness for Protestant prayers. The little girl was very sincere in all this, for being left alone outside thesafe home nest, she felt the need of some kind hand to hold by so sorelythat she instinctively turned to the strong and tender Friend, whosefatherly love most closely surrounds His little children. She missed hermother's help to understand and rule herself, but having been taughtwhere to look, she did her best to find the way and walk in it confidingly. But Amy was a young pilgrim, and just now her burden seemed veryheavy. She tried to forget herself, to keep cheerful, and be satisfied withdoing right, though no one saw or praised her for it. In her first effort atbeing very, very good, she decided to make her will, as Aunt March haddone, so that if she did fall ill and die, her possessions might be justly andgenerously divided. It cost her a pang even to think of giving up the littletreasures which in her eyes were as precious as the old lady's jewels. During one of her play hours she wrote out the important document aswell as she could, with some help from Esther as to certain legal terms, andwhen the good-natured Frenchwoman had signed her name, Amy feltrelieved and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as a secondwitness. As it was a rainy day, she went upstairs to amuse herself in one ofthe large chambers, and took Polly with her for company. In this roomthere was a wardrobe full of old-fashioned costumes with which Estherallowed her to play, and it was her favorite amusement to array herself inthe faded brocades, and parade up and down before the long mirror, making stately curtsies, and sweeping her train about with a rustle whichdelighted her ears. So busy was she on this day that she did not hearLaurie's ring nor see his face peeping in at her as she gravely promenadedto and fro, flirting her fan and tossing her head, on which she wore a greatpink turban, contrasting oddly with her blue brocade dress and yellowquilted petticoat. She was obliged to walk carefully, for she had onhighheeled shoes, and, as Laurie told Jo afterward, it was a comical sight tosee her mince along in her gay suit, with Polly sidilng and bridling justbehind her, imitating her as well as he could, and occasionally stopping tolaugh or exclaim, `Ain't we fine? Get along, you fright! Hold your tongue!Kiss me, dear! Ha! Ha!'Having with difficulty restrained an explosion of merriment, lest itshould offend her majesty, Laurie tapped and was graciously received. `Sit down and rest while I put these things away, then I want to consultyou about a very serious matter, ' said Amy, when she had shown hersplendor and driven Polly into a corner. `That bird is the trial of my life, 'she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while Laurieseated himself astride a chair. `Yesterday, when Aunt was asleep and I wastrying to be as still as a mouse, Polly began to squall and flap about in hiscage, so I went to let him out, and found a big spider there. I poked it out, and it ran under the bookcase. Polly marched straight after it, stoopeddown and peeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny way, with acock of his eye, `Come out and take a walk, my dear. ' I couldn't helplaughing, which made Poll swear, and Aunt woke up and scolded us both. '`Did the spider accept the old fellow's invitation?' asked Laurie, yawning. `Yes, out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, andscrambled up on Aunt's chair, calling out, `Catch her! Catch her! Catchher!' as I chased the spider. '`That's a lie! Oh, lor!' cried the parrot, pecking at Laurie's toes. `I'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment, ' cried Laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side and gravelycroaked, `Allyluyer! Bless your buttons, dear!'`Now I'm ready, ' said Amy, shutting the wardrobe and taking a piece ofpaper out of her pocket. `I want you to read that, please, and tell me if it islegal and right. I felt I ought to do it, for life is uncertain and I don't wantany ill feeling over my tomb. 'Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read thefollowing document, with praiseworthy gravity, considering the spelling:MY LAST WILL AND TESTIMENTI, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, go give and bequeethe allmy earthly property--viz. To wit:--namelyTo my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art, including frames. Also my $100, to do what he likes with. To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets--alsomy likeness, and my medal, with much love. To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise ring (if I get it), also mygreen box with the doves on it, also my; piece of real lace for her neck, andmy sketch of her as a memorial of her `little girl'. To Jo I leave my breastpin, the one mended with sealing wax, also mybronze inkstand--she lost the cover--and my most precious plaster rabbit, because I am sorry I burned up her story. To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls and the little bureau, myfan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can wear them being thinwhen she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my regret that I evermade fun of old Joanna. To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my papermashay portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it hadn't anyneck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any oneof my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best. To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with alooking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remind himof the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family, especiallyBeth. I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apron andmy gold-bead ring with a kiss. To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork I leavehoping she `will remember me, when it you see'. And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all willbe satisfied and not blame the dead. I forgive everyone, and trust we mayall meet when the trump shall sound. Amen. To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861. Amy Curtis MarchWitnesses:Estelle Valnor, Theodore Laurence. The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained that he was torewrite it in ink and seal it up for her properly. `What put it into your head? Did anyone tell you about Beth's givingaway her things?' asked Laurie soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape, withsealing wax, a taper, and a standish before him. She explained and then asked anxiously, `What about Beth?'`I'm sorry I spoke, but as I did, I'll tell you. She felt so ill one day that shetold Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats to you, and the poorold doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was sorry she had solittle to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of us, and her best love toGrandpa. She never thought of a will. 'Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till agreat tear dropped on the paper. Amy's face was full of trouble, but sheonly said, `Don't people put sort of postscripts to their wills, sometimes?'`Yes, `codicils', they call them. '`Put one in mine then, that I wish all my curls cut off, and given round tomy friends. I forgot it, but I want it done though it will spoil my looks. 'Laurie added it, smiling at Amy's last and greatest sacrifice. Then heamused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials. Butwhen he came to go, Amy held him back to whisper with trembling lips, `Isthere really any danger about Beth?'`I'm afraid there is, but we must hope for the best, so don't cry, dear. 'And Laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly gesture which was verycomforting. When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in thetwilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart, feelingthat a million turquoise rings would not console her for the loss of hergentle little sister. CHAPTER TWENTYI don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the motherand daughters. Such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that thehouse was full of genuine happiness, and that Meg's tender hope wasrealized, for when Beth woke from that long, healing sleep, the first objectson which her eyes fell were the little rose and Mother's face. Too weak towonder at anything, she only smiled and nestled close in the loving armsabout her, feeling that the hungry longing was satisfied at last. Then sheslept again, and the girls waited upon their mother, for she would notunclasp the thin hand which clung to hers even in sleep. Hannah had `dished up' and astonishing breakfast for the traveler, finding it impossible to vent her excitement in any other way, and Meg andJo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to herwhispered account of Father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise to stay andnurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on the homewardjourney, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given herwhen she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold. What a strange yet pleasant day that was. So brilliant and gay without, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow. So quiet andreposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching, and a Sabbathstillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah mountedguard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off, Meg and Joclosed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten boats safe atanchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave Beth's side, butrested in the big chair, waking often to look at, touch, and brood over herchild, like a miser over some recovered treasure. Laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so wellthat Aunt March actually `sniffed' herself, and never once said `I told youso". Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good thoughtsin the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never even thought of theturquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in Laurie's opinion, thatshe behaved `like a capital little woman'. Even Polly seemed impressed, forhe called her a good girl, blessed her buttons, and begged her to `come andtake a walk, dear', in his most affable tone. She would very gladly havegone out to enjoy the bright wintry weather, but discovering that Lauriewas dropping with sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, shepersuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time about it, and when she returned, he was stretched outwith both arms under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March hadpulled down the curtains and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit ofbenignity. After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake up till night, and I'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectually roused byAmy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were a good manyhappy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my private opinionthat Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in her mother's lap and toldher trials, receiving consolation and compensation in the shape ofapproving smiles and fond caresses. They were alone together in thechapel, to which her mother did not object when its purpose was explainedto her. `On the contrary, I like it very much, dear, ' looking from the dusty rosaryto the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its garland ofevergreen. `It is an excellent plan to have some place where we can go to bequiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good many hard times inthis life of ours, but we can always bear them if we ask help in the rightway. I think my little girl is learning this. '`Yes, Mother, and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the bigcloset to put my books and the copy of that picture which I've tried tomake. The woman's face is not good, it's too beautiful for me to draw, butthe baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to think He was alittle child once, for then I don't seem so far away, and that helps me. 'As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ child on his Mother's knee, Mrs. March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She saidnothing, but Amy understood the look, and after a minute's pause, sheadded gravely, `I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Auntgave me the ring today. She called me to her and kissed me, and put it onmy finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it's too big. I'd liketo wear them Mother, can I?'`They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too young for suchornaments, Amy, ' said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand, withthe band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard formedof two tiny golden hands clasped together. `I'll try not to be vain, ' said Amy. `I don't think I like it only because it'sso pretty, but I want to wear it as the girl in the story wore her bracelet, toremind me of something. '`Do you mean Aunt March?' asked her mother, laughing. `No, to remind me not to be selfish. ' Amy looked so earnest and sincereabout it that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to thelittle plan. `I've thought a great deal lately about my `bundle of naughties', andbeing selfish is the largest one in it, so I'm going to try hard to cure it, if Ican. Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason everyone loves her and feels sobad at the thoughts of losing her. People wouldn't feel so bat about me if Iwas sick, and I don't deserve to have them, but I'd like to be loved andmissed by a great many friends, so I'm going to try and be like Beth all Ican. I'm apt to forget my resolutions, but if I had something always aboutme to remind me, I guess I should do better. May we try this way?'`Yes, but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear your ring, dear, and do your best. I think you will prosper, for the sincere wish to begood is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again. 'That evening while Meg was writing to her father to report the traveler'ssafe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into Beth's room, and finding her mother inher usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her hair, with aworried gesture and an undecided look. `What is it, deary?' asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a facewhich invited confidence. `I want to tell you something, Mother. '`About Meg?'`How quickly you guessed! Yes, it's about her, and though it's a littlething, it fidgets me. '`Beth is asleep. Speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn'tbeen here, I hope?' asked Mrs. March rather sharply. `No. I should have shut the door in his face if he had, ' said Jo, settlingherself on the floor at her mother's feet. `Last summer Meg left a pair ofgloves over at the Laurences' and only one was returned. We forgot aboutit, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg but didn'tdare say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now, isn't it a dreadful stateof things?'`Do you think Meg cares for him?' asked Mrs. March, with an anxiouslook. `Mercy me! I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!' criedJo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. `In novels, the girlsshow it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and actinglike fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort. She eats and drinksand sleeps like a sensible creature, she looks straight in my face when I talkabout that man, and only blushes a little bit when Teddy jokes aboutlovers. I forbid him to do it, but he doesn't mind me as he ought. '`Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in John?'`Who?' cried Jo, staring. `Mr. Brooke. I call him `John' now. We fell into the way of doing so at thehospital, and he likes it. '`Oh, dear! I know you'll take his part. He's been good to Father, and youwon't send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean thing!To go petting Papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into liking him. 'And Jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful tweak. `My dear, don't get angry about it, and I will tell you how it happened. John went with me at Mr. Laurence's request, and was so devoted to poorFather that we couldn't help getting fond of him. He was perfectly openand honorable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn acomfortable home before he asked her to marry him. He only wanted ourleave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love him if hecould. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listento him, but I will not consent to Meg's engaging herself so young. '`Of course not. It

would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief brewing. Ifelt it, and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry Megmyself, and keep her safe in the family. 'This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile, but she said gravely, `Jo, I confide in you and don't wish you to say anything to Meg yet. When Johncomes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of her feelingstoward him. '`She'll see those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then it will beall up with her. She's got such a soft heart, it will melt like butter in the sunif anyone looks sentimentlly at her. She read the short reports he sent morethan she did your letters, and pinched me when I spoke of it, and likesbrown eyes, and doesn't think John an ugly name, and she'll go and fall inlove, and there's an end of peace and fun, and cozy times together. I see itall! They'll go lovering around the house, and we shall have to dodge. Megwill be absorbed and no good to me any more. Brooke will scratch up afortune somehow, carry her off, and make a hole in the family, and I shallbreak my heart, and everything will be abominably uncomfortable. Oh, dear me! Why weren't we all boys, then there wouldn't be any bother. 'Jo leaned her chin on her knees in a disconsolate attitude and shook herfist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up with anair of relief. `You don't like it, Mother? I'm glad of it. Let's send him about hisbusiness, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be happy together as wealways have been. '`I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to homesof your own in time, but I do want to keep my girls as long as I can, and Iam sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only seventeen and it willbe some years before John can make a home for her. Your father and I haveagreed that she shall not bind herself in any way, nor be married, beforetwenty. If she and John love one another, they can wait, and test the loveby doing so. She is conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating himunkindly. My pretty, tender hearted girl! I hope things will go happily withher. '`Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?' asked Jo, as her mother'svoice faltered a little over the last words. `Money is a good and useful thing, Jo, and I hope my girls will never feelthe need of it too bitterly not be tempted by too much. I should like toknow that John was firmly established in some good business, which gavehim an income large enough to keep free from debt and make Megcomfortable. I'm not ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionableposition, or a great name for my girls. If rank and money come with loveand virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your goodfortune, but I know, by experience, how much genuine happiness can behad in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and someprivations give sweetness to the few pleasures. I am content to see Megbegin humbly, for if I am not mistaken, she will be rich in the possession ofa good man's heart, and that is better than a fortune. '`I understand, Mother, and quite agree, but I'm disappointed about Meg, for I'd planned to have her marry Teddy by-and-by and sit in the lap ofluxury all her days. Wouldn't it be nice?' asked Jo, looking up with abrighter face. `He is younger than she, you know, ' began Mrs. March, but Jo broke in... `Only a little, he's old for his age, and tall, and can be quite grown-up inhis manners if he likes. Then he's rich and generous and good, and loves usall, and I say it's a pity my plan is spoiled. '`I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown-up enough for Meg, and altogethertoo much of a weathercock just now for anyone to depend on. Don't makeplans, Jo, but let time and their own hearts mate your friends. We can'tmeddle safely in such matters, and had better not get `romantic rubbish' asyou call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship. '`Well, I won't, but I hate to see things going all crisscross and gettingsnarled up, when a pull her and a snip there would straighten it out. I wishwearing flatirons on our heads would keep us from growing up. But budswill be roses, and kittens cats, more's the pity!'`What's that about flatirons and cats?' asked Meg, as she crept into theroom with the finished letter in her hand. `Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to bed. Come, Peggy, ' saidJo, unfolding herself like an animated puzzle. `Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love toJohn, ' said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter and gave it back. `Do you call him `John'?' asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyeslooking down into her mother's. `Yes, he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him, ' repliedMrs. March, returning the look with a keen one. `I'm glad of that, he is so lonely. Good night, Mother, dear. It is soinexpressibly comfortable to have you here, ' was Meg's answer. The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one, and as she wentaway, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, `She doesnot love John yet, but will soon learn to. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEJo's face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important. Meg observedit, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that thebest way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure ofbeing told everything if she did not ask. She was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo assumed apatronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in turn assumed anair of dignified reserve and devoted herself to her mother. This left Jo toher own devices, for Mrs. March had taken her place as nurse, and badeher rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long confinement. Amy beinggone, Laurie was her only refuge, and much as she enjoyed his society, sherather dreaded him just then, for he was an incorrigible tease, and shefeared he would coax the secret from her. She was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected amystery than he set himself to find it out, and led Jo a trying life of it. Hewheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected indifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared her knew, then that hedidn't care; and at last, by dint of perseverance, he satisfied himself that itconcerned Meg and Mr. Brooke. Feeling indignant that he was not takeninto his tutor's confidence, he set his wits to work to devise some properretaliation for the slight. Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter and was absorbedin preparations for her father's return, but all of a sudden a change seemedto come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike herself. Shestarted when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very quiet, and satover her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on her face. To her mother'sinquiries she answered that she was quite well, and Jo's she silenced bybegging to be let alone. `She feels it in the air--love, I mean--and she's going very fast. She's gotmost of the symptoms--is twittery and cross, doesn't eat, lies awake, andmopes in corners. I caught her singing that song he gave her, and once shesaid `John', as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy. Whatever shallwe do?' said Jo, looking ready for any measures, however violent. `Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and patient, and Father'scoming will settle everything, ' replied her mother. `Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How odd! Teddy never sealsmine, ' said Jo next day, as she distributed the contents of the little postoffice. Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound fromMeg made them look up to see her staring at her note with a frightenedface. `My child, what is it?' cried her mother, running to her, while Jo tried totake the paper which had done the mischief. `It's all a mistake, he didn't send it. Oh, Jo, how could you do it?' andMeg hid her face in her hands, crying as if her heart were quite broken. `Me! I've done nothing! What's she talking about?' cried Jo, bewildered. Meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note fromher pocket and threw it at Jo, saying reproachfully, `You wrote it, and thatbad boy helped you. How could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel to usboth?'Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note, whichwas written in a peculiar hand. `My Dearest Margaret, `I can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate before Ireturn. I dare not tell your parents yet, but I think they would consent ifthey knew that we adored one another. Mr. Laurence will help me to somegood place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make me happy. I imploreyou to say nothing to your family yet, but to send one word of hopethrough Laurie to, `Your devoted John. '`Oh, the little villain! That's the way he meant to pay me for keeping myword to Mother. I'll give him a hearty scolding and bring him over to begpardon, ' cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice. But her motherheld her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore... `Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first. You have played so many pranksthat I am afraid you have had a hand in this. '`On my word, Mother, I haven't! I never saw that note before, and don'tknow anything about it, as true as I live!' said Jo, so earnestly that theybelieved her. `If I had taken part in it I'd have done it better than this, andhave written a sensible note. I should think you'd have known Mr. Brookewouldn't write such stuff as that, ' she added, scornfully tossing down thepaper. `It's like his writing, ' faltered Meg, comparing it with the note in herhand. `Oh, Meg, you didn't answer it?' cried Mrs. March quickly. `Yes, I did!' and Meg hid her face again, overcome with shame. `Here's a scrape! Do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain and belectured. I can't rest till I get hold of him. ' And Jo made for the door again. `Hush! Let me handle this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret, tellme the whole story, ' commanded Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg, yetkeeping hold of Jo, lest she should fly off. `I received the first letter from Laurie, who didn't look as if he knewanything about it, ' began Meg, without looking up. `I was worried at firstand meant to tell you, then I remembered how you liked Mr. Brooke, so Ithought you wouldn't mind if I kept my little secret for a few days. I'm sosilly that I liked to think no one knew, and while I was deciding what tosay, I felt like the girls in books, who have such things to do. Forgive me, Mother, I'm paid for my silliness now. I never can look him in the faceagain. '`What did you say to him?' asked Mrs. March. `I only said I was too young to do anything about it yet, that I didn'twish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father. I was verygrateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, for along while. 'Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped her hands, exclaiming, with a laugh, `You are almost equal to Caroline Percy, who wasa pattern of prudence! Tell on, Meg. What did he say to that?'`He writes in a different way entirely, telling me that he never sent anylove letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, Jo, should takeliberties with our names. It's very kind and respectful, but think howdreadful for me!'Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jotramped about the room, calling Laurie names. All of a sudden shestopped, caught up the two notes, and after looking at them closely, saiddecidedly, `I don't believe Brooke ever saw either of these letters. Teddywrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me with because I wouldn't tellhim my secret. '`Don't have any secrets, Jo. Tell it to Mother and keep out of trouble, as Ishould have done, ' said Meg warningly. `Bless you, child! Mother told me. '`That will do, Jo. I'll comfort Meg while you go and get Laurie. I shall siftthe matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks at once. ' Away ranJo, and Mrs. March gently told Meg Mr. Brooke's real feelings. `Now, dear, what are your own? Do you love him enough to wait till her can make ahome for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for the present?'`I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to have anything to dowith lovers for a long while, perhaps never, 'answered Meg petulantly. `If John doesn't know anything about thisnonsense, don't tell him, and make Jo and Laurie hold their tongues. Iwon't be deceived and plagued and made a fool of. It's a shame!'Seeing Meg's usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt bythis mischievous joke, Mrs. March soothed her by promises of entire silenceand great discretion for the future. The instant Laurie's step was heard inthe hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March received the culpritalone. Jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing he wouldn't come, but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March's face, and stood twirling hishat with a guilty air which convicted him at once. Jo was dismissed, butchose to march up and down the hall like a sentinel, having some fear thatthe prisoner might bolt. The sound of voices in the parlor rose and fell forhalf an hour, but what happened during that interview the girls neverknew. When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother withsuch a penitent face that Jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think itwise to betray the fact. Meg received his humble apology, and was muchcomforted by the assurance that Brooke knew nothing of the joke. `I'll never tell him to my dying day, wild horses shan't drag it out of me, so you'll forgive me, Meg, and I'll do anything to show how out-and-outsorry I am, ' he added, looking very much ashamed of himself. `I'll try, but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do, I didn't think youcould be so sly and malicious, Laurie, ' replied Meg, trying to hid hermaidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air. `It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve to be spoken to for amonth, but you will, though, won't you?' And Laurie folded his handstogether with such and imploring gesture, as he spoke in his irresistiblypersuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him in spite of hisscandalous behavior. Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face relaxed, in spite of herefforts to keep sober, when she heard him declare that he would atone forhis sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a worm before theinjured damsel. Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, andsucceeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entiredisapprobation. Laurie looked at her once or twice, but as she showed nosign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till the otherswere done with him, when he made her a low bow and walked off withouta word. As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving, andwhen Meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely and longed forTeddy. After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, andarmed with a book to return, went over to the big house. `Is Mr. Laurence in?' asked Jo, of a housemaid, who was comingdownstairs. `Yes, Miss, but I don't believe he's seeable just yet. '`Why not? Is he ill?'`La, no Miss, but he's had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one of histantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so I dursn't gonigh him. '`Where is Laurie?'`Shut up in his room, and he won't answer, though I've been a-tapping. Idon't know what's to become of the dinner, for it's ready, and there's noone to eat it. '`I'll go and see what the matter is. I'm not afraid of either of them. 'Up went Jo, and knocked smartly on the door of Laurie's little study. `Stop that, or I'll open the door and make you!' called out the younggentleman in a threatening tone. Jo immediately knocked again. The door flew open, and in she bouncedbefore Laurie could recover from his surprise. Seeing that he really was outof temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contriteexpression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly, `Please forgive me for being so cross. I came to make it up, and can't goaway till I have. '`It's all right. Get up, and don't be a goose, Jo, ' was the cavalier reply toher petition. `Thank you, I will. Could I ask what's the matter? You don't look exactlyeasy in your mind. '`I've been shaken, and I won't bear it!' growled Laurie indignantly. `Who did it?' demanded Jo. `Grandfather. If it had been anyone else I'd have... ' And the injuredyouth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm. `That's nothing. I often shake you, and you don't mind, ' said Josoothingly. `Pooh! You're a girl, and it's fun, but I'll allow no man to shake me!'`I don't think anyone would care to try it, if you looked as much like athundercloud as you do now. Why were you treated so?'`Just because I wouldn't say what your mother wanted me for. I'dpromised not to tell, and of course I wasn't going to break my word. '`Couldn't you satisfy your grandpa in any other way?'`No, he would have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I'd have told my part of the scrape, if I could without bringing Meg in. As Icouldn't, I held my tongue, and bore the scolding till the old gentlemancollared me. Then I bolted, for fear I should forget myself. '`It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know, so go down and make up. I'll helpyou. '`Hanged if I do! I'm not going to be lectured and pummelled byeveryone, just for a bit of a frolic. I was sorry about Meg, and beggedpardon like a man, but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in the wrong. '`He didn't know that. '`He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a baby. It's no use, Jo, he'sgot to learn that I'm able to take care of myself, and don't need anyone'sapron string to hold on by. ' `What pepper pots you are! ` sighed Jo. `Howdo you mean to settle this affair?'`Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can't tell himwhat the fuss's about. '`Bless you! He won't do that. '`I won't go down till he does. '`Now, Teddy, be sensible. Let it pass, and I'll explain what I can. Youcan't stay here, so what's the use of being melodramatic?'`I don't intend to stay here long, anyway. I'll slip off and take a journeysomewhere, and when Grandpa misses me he'll come round fast enough. '`I dare say, but you ought not to go and worry him. '`Don't preach. I'll go to Washington and see Brooke. It's gay there, andI'll enjoy myself after the troubles. '`What fun you'd have! I wish I could run off too, ' said Jo, forgetting herpart of mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital. `Come on, then! Why not? You go and surprise your father, and I'll stirup old Brooke. It would be a glorious joke. Let's do it, Jo. We'll leave aletter saying we are all right, and trot off at once. I've got money enough. Itwill do you good, and no harm, as you go to your father. 'For a moment Jo looked as if she would agree, for wild as the plan was, it just suited her. She was tired of care and confinement, longed for change, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novel charms ofcamps and hospitals, liberty and fun. Her eyes kindled as they turnedwistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old house opposite, andshe shook her head with sorrowful decision. `If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time, but asI'm a miserable girl, I must be proper and stop at home. Don't tempt me, Teddy, it's a crazy plan. '`That's the fun of it, ' began Laurie, who had got a willful fit on him andwas possessed to break out of bounds in some way. `Hold your tongue!' cried Jo, covering her ears. ``Prunes and prisms' aremy doom, and I may as well make up my mind to it. I came here tomoralize, not to hear things that make me skip to think of. '`I know Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but I thought you hadmore spirit, ' began Laurie insinuatingly. `Bad boy, be quiet! Sit down and think of your own sins, don't gomaking me add to mine. If I get your grandpa to apologize for the shaking, will you give up running away?' asked Jo seriously. `Yes, but you won't do it, ' answered Laurie, who wished to make up, butfelt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first. `If I can manage the young one, I can the old one, ' muttered Jo, as shewalked away, leaving Laurie bent over a railroad map with his headpropped up on both hands. `Come in!' And Mr. Laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, asJo tapped at his door. `It's only me, Sir, come to return a book, ' she said blandly, as sheentered. `Want any more?' asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, buttrying not to show it. `Yes, please. I like old Sam so well, I think I'll try the second volume, 'returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second dose ofBoswell's Johnson, as he had recommended that lively work. The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward theshelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed. Jo skipped up, and sittingon the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was reallywondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in her mind, forafter taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced round on her, speaking so abruptly that Rasselas tumbled face downward on the floor. `What has that boy been about? Don't try to shield him. I know he hasbeen in mischief by the way he acted when he came home. I can't get aword from him, and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him hebolted upstairs and locked himself into his room. '`He did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a wordto anyone, ' began Jo reluctantly. `That won't do. He shall not shelter himself behind a promise from yousofthearted girls. If he's done anything amiss, he shall confess, beg pardon, and be punished. Out with it, Jo. I won't be kept in the dark. 'Mr. Laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that Jo wouldhave gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and brave itout. `Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell. Mother forbade it. Laurie has confessed, askedpardon, and been punished quite enough. We don't keep silence to shieldhim, but someone else, and it will make more trouble if you interfere. Please don't. It was partly my fault, but it's all right now. So let's forget it, and talk about the RAMBLER or something pleasant. '`Hang the RAMBLER! Come down and give me your word that thisharum-scarum boy of mine hasn't done anything ungrateful orimpertinent. If he has, after all your kindness to him, I'll thrash him withmy own hands. 'The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew theirascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to the contrary. She obediently descended, andmade as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg orforgetting the truth. `Hum... Ha... Well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, andnot from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. He's a stubborn fellow and hard tomanage, ' said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he hadbeen out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air ofrelief. `So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses andall the king's men couldn't, ' said Jo, trying to say a kind word for herfriend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another. `You think I'm not kind to him, hey?' was the sharp answer. `Oh, dear no, Sir. You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just atrifle hasty when he tries your patience. Don't you think you are?'Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief andsurprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the table with arattle and exclaimed frankly, `You're right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but hetries my patience past bearing, and I know how it will end, if we go on so. '`I'll tell you, he'll run away. ' Jo was sorry for that speech the minute itwas made. She meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear muchrestraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad. Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with atroubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over histable. It was Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and marriedagainst the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied her remembered andregretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue. `He won't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens itsometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertisefor two boys and look among the ships bound for India. 'She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidentlytaking the whole as a joke. `You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? Where's your respect for me, and your proper bringing up? Bless the boys and girls! What torments theyare, yet we can't do without them, ' he said, pinching her cheeks good-humoredly. `Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it's allright, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his grandfather. Iwon't bear it. '`He won't come, Sir. He feels badly because you didn't believe him whenhe said he couldn't tell. I think the shaking hurt his feelings very much. 'Jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began tolaugh, and she knew the day was won. `I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, Isuppose. What the dickens does the fellow expect?' And the old gentlemanlooked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness. `If I were you, I'd write him an apology, Sir. He says he won't comedown till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in anabsurd way. A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, andbring him down quite amiable. Try it. He likes fun, and this was is betterthan talking. I'll carry it up, and teach him his duty. 'Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, sayingslowly, `You're a sly puss, but I don't mind being managed by you andBeth. Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with thisnonsense. 'The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use toanother after offering some deep insult. Jo dropped a kiss on the top of Mr. Laurence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under Laurie's door, advising him through the keyhole to be submissive, decorous, and a fewother agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door locked again, she left thenote to do its work, and was going quietly away, when the younggentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, `What a goodfellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?' he added, laughing. `No, he was pretty mild, on the whole. '`AH! I got it all round. Even you cast me off over there, and I felt justready to go to the deuce, ' he began apologetically. `Don't talk that way, turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, myson. '`I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil mycopybooks, and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end, ' hesaid dolefully. `Go and eat your dinner, you'll feel better after it. Men always croakwhen they are hungry, ' and Jo whisked out at the front door after that. `That's a `label' on my `sect', ' answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he wentto partake of humble pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was quitesaintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the rest ofthe day. Everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, butthe mischief was done, for though others forgot it, Meg remembered. Shenever alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good deal, dreamed dreams more than ever, and once Jo, rummaging her sister's deskfor stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with the words, `Mrs. JohnBrooke', whereat she groaned tragically and cast it into the fire, feeling thatLaurie's prank had hastened the evil day for her. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOLike sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk or returningearly in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats at first, and in time with doll'ssewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. Her once active limbs were sostiff and feeble that Jo took her for a daily airing about the house in herstrong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burned her white handscooking delicate messes for `the dear', while Amy, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many of her treasures as she couldprevail on her sisters to accept. As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible ormagnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merryChristmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have hadbonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way. After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were consideredeffectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which were ratherbelied by explosions of laughter when the two got together. Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendidChristmas Day. Hannah `felt in her bones' that it was going to be anunusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, foreverybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. Tobegin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them, then Bethfelt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother'sgift, a soft crimson merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to thewindow to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables haddone their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they had worked bynight and conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden stood a statelysnow maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket of fruit and flowers inone hand, a great roll of music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an Afghanround her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas carol issuing from her lips on apink paper streamer. THE JUNGFRAU TO BETHGod bless you, dear Queen Bess! May nothing you dismay, But healthand peace and happiness Be yours, this Christmas day. Here's fruit to feedour busy bee, And flowers for her nose. Here's music for her pianee, Anafghan for her toes, A portrait of Joanna, see, By Raphael No. 2, Who laboured with greatindustry To make it fair and true. Accept a ribbon red, I beg, For Madam Purrer's tail, And ice cream madeby lovely Peg, A Mont Blanc in a pail. Their dearest love my makers laid Within my breast of snow. Accept it, and the Alpine maid, From Laurie and from Jo. How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down tobring in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presentedthem. `I'm so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn't hold onedrop more, ' said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo carried her offto the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some ofthe delicious grapes the `Jungfrau' had sent her. `So am I, ' added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the long-desired UNDINE AND SINTRAM. `I'm sure I am, ' echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of theMadonna and Child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame. `Of course I am!' cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first silddress, for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it. `How can I be otherwise?'said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went from her husband's letter toBeth's smiling face, and her hand carressed the brooch made of gray andgolden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which the girls had just fastened onher breast. Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in thedelightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort it is. Half an hour aftereveryone had said they were so happy they could only hold one dropmore, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door and popped his headin very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault and utteredan Indian war whoop, for his face was so full of suppressed excitement andhis voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumped up, though he onlysaid, in a queer, breathless voice, `Here's another Christmas present for theMarch family. 'Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked awaysomehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something andcouldn't. Of course there was a general stampede, and for several minuteseverybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms. Jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored byLaurie in the china closet. Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as hesomewhat incoherently explained. And Amy, the dignified, tumbled over astool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father'sboots in the most touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to recoverherself, and held up her hand with a warning, `Hush! Remember Beth. 'But it was too late. The study door flew open, the little red wrapperappeared on the threshold, joy put strength into the feeble limbs, and Bethran straight into her father's arms. Never mind what happened just afterthat, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness of the pastand leaving only the sweetness of the present. It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straightagain, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fatturkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from thekitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke forhis faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenlyremembered that Mr. March needed rest, and seizing Laurie, heprecipitately retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, whichthey did, by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard. Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when thefine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor, to take advantage ofit, how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a mostestimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute justthere, and after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire, lookedat his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you to imagine. Also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head and asked, rather abruptly, if he wouldn't like to have something to eat. Jo saw and understood thelook, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea, muttering toherself as she slammed the door, `I hate estimable young men with browneyes!'There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fatturkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned, and decorated. So was the plum pudding, which melted in one's mouth, likewise the jellies, in which Amy reveled like a fly in a honeypot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said, `For mymind was that flustered, Mum, that it's a merrycle I didn't roast thepudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin' of it in a cloth. 'Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, atwhom Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy chairsstood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank healths, toldstories, sang songs, `reminisced', as the old folks say, and had a thoroughlygood time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but the girls would not leavetheir father, so the guests departed early, and as twilight gathered, thehappy family sat together round the fire. `Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas weexpected to have. Do you remember?' asked Jo, breaking a short pausewhich had followed a long conversation about many things. `Rather a pleasant year on the whole!' said Meg, smiling at the fire, andcongratulating herself on having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity. `I think it's been a pretty hard one, ' observed Amy, watching the lightshine on her ring with thoughtful eyes. `I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back, ' whispered Beth, who saton her father's knee. `Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially thelatter part of it. But you have got on bravely, and I think the burdens are ina fair way to tumble off very soon, ' said Mr. March, looking with fatherlysatisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him. `How do you know? Did Mother tell you?' asked Jo. `Not much. Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've madeseveral discoveries today. '`Oh, tell us what they are!' cried Meg, who sat beside him. `Here is one. ' And taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two orthree little hard spots on the palm. `I remember a time when this hand waswhite and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very prettythen, but to me it is much prettier now, for in this seeming blemishes I reada little history. A burnt offering has been made to vanity, this hardenedpalm has earned something better than blisters, and I'm sure the sewingdone by these pricked fingers will last a long time, so much good will wentinto the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value the womanly skill which keepshome happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments. I'mproud to shake this good, industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soonbe asked to give it away. 'If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it inthe hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he gaveher. `What about Jo? Please say something nice, for she has tried so hard andbeen so very, very good to me, ' said Beth in her father's ear. He laughed and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with andunusually mild expression in her face. `In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the `son Jo' whom I left a year ago, 'said Mr. March. `I see a young lady who pins her collar straight, laces herboots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on the rug as sheused to do. Her face is rather thin and pale just now, with watching andanxiety, but I like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her voice islower. She doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a certainlittle person in a motherly way which delights me. I rather miss my wildgirl, but if I get a strong, helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place, I shallfeel quite satisfied. I don't know whether the shearing sobered our blacksheep, but I do know that in all Washington I couldn't find anythingbeautiful enough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars my goodgirl sent me. 'Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosyin the firelight as she received her father's praise, feeling that she diddeserve a portion of it. `Now, Beth, ' said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait. `There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will slip awayaltogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be, ' began their fathercheerfully. But recollecting how nearly he had lost her, he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own, `I've got you safe, myBeth, and I'll keep

you so, please God. 'After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricketat his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair... `I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for hermother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place tonight, and has waited onevery on with patience and good humor. I also observe that she does notfret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very prettyring which she wears, so I conclude that she has learned to think of otherpeople more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mold hercharacter as carefully as she molds her little clay figures. I am glad of this, for though I should be very proud of a graceful statue made by her, I shallbe infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making lifebeautiful to herself and others. '`What are you thinking of, Beth?' asked Jo, when Amy had thanked herfather and told about her ring. `I read in PILGRIM'S PROGRESS today how, after many troubles, christian and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow where liliesbloomed all year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey's end, ' answered Beth, adding, as sheslipped out of her father's arms and went to the instrument, `It's singingtime now, and I want to be in my old place. I'll try to sing the song of theshepherd boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for Father, because he likes the verses. 'So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and in thesweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sang to her ownaccompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song forher. He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride. He that ishumble ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have, Little be it, or much. And, Lord!Contentment still I crave, Because Thou savest such. Fulness to them a burden is, That go on pilgrimage. Here little, andhereafter bliss, Is best from age to age!CHAPTER TWENTY-THREELike bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hoveredabout Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killed bykindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth's sofa, with the otherthree close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then `to peek atthe dear man', nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness. Butsomething was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessedthe fact. Mr. And Mrs. March looked at one another with an anxiousexpression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, andwas seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke's umbrella, which had been left inthe hall. Meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent, started when the bellrang, and colored when John's name was mentioned. Amy said, `Everyoneseemed waiting for something, and couldn't settle down, which was queer, since Father was safe at home, ' and Beth innocently wondered why theirneighbors didn't run over as usual. Laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemedsuddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down on one kneein the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his handsimploringly, as if begging some boon. And when Meg told him to behavehimself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair. `What does the goose mean?' said Meg, laughing and trying to lookunconscious. `He's showing you how your John will go on by-and-by. Touchin, isn'tit?' answered Jo scornfully. `Don't say my John, it isn't proper or true, ' but Meg's voice lingered overthe words as if they sounded pleasant to her. `Please don't plague me, Jo, I've told you I don't care much about him, and there isn't to be anythingsaid, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before. '`We can't, for something has been said, and Laurie's mischief has spoiledyou for me. I see it, and so does Mother. You are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I don't mean to plague you and willbear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait, so if youmean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly, ' said Jo pettishly. `I can't say anything till he speaks, and he won't, because Father said Iwas too young, ' began Meg, bending over her work with a queer littlesmile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on thatpoint. `If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry orblush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided no. '`I'm not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, for I've planned it all, so I needn't be taken unawares. There's no knowingwhat may happen, and I wished to be prepared. 'Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which Meg hadunconsciously assumed and which was as becoming as the pretty colorvarying in her cheeks. `Would you mind telling me what you'd say?' asked Jo morerespectfully. `Not at all. You are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidente, and my experience will be useful to you by-and-by, perhaps, in your ownaffairs of this sort. '`Don't mean to have any. It's fun to watch other people philander, but Ishould feel like a fool doing it myself, ' said Jo, looking alarmed at thethought. `I think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you. ' Megspoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had often seenlovers walking together in the summer twilight. `I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man, ' said Jo, rudely shortening her sister's little reverie. `Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, `Thank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with Father that I am too young toenter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us befriends as we were. '`Hum, that's stiff and cool enough! I don't believe you'll ever say it, and Iknow he won't be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the rejected loversin books, you'll give in, rather than hurt his feelings. '`No, I won't. I shall tell him I've made up my mind, and shall walk out ofthe room with dignity. 'Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin to sew as fastas if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time. Josmothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave amodest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which was anything buthospitable. `Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella, that is, to see how yourfather finds himself today, ' said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused as hiseyes went from one telltale face to the other. `It's very well, he's in the rack. I'll get him, and tell it you are here. ' Andhaving jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, Joslipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and airher dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle toward thedoor, murmuring... `Mother will like to see you. Pray sit down, I'll call her. '`Don't go. Are you afraid of me, Margaret?' And Mr. Brooke looked sohurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. Sheblushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called herMargaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet itseemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, sheput out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said gratefully... `How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to Father? I only wish Icould thank you for it. '`Shall I tell you how?' asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast inboth his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the browneyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and tostop and listen. `Oh no, please don't, I'd rather not, ' she said, trying to withdraw herhand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial. `I won't trouble you. I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. I love you so much, dear, ' added Mr. Brooke tenderly. This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn't makeit. She forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, `I don'tknow, ' so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish littlereply. He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself asif quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said in his mostpersuasive tone, `Will you try and find out? I want to know so much, for Ican't go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have myreward in the end or not. '`I'm too young, ' faltered Meg, wondering was she was so fluttered, yetrather enjoying it. `I'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Wouldit be a very hard lesson, dear?'`Not if I chose to learn it, but... '`Please choose to learn, Meg. I love you to teach, and this is easier thanGerman, ' broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that shehad no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it. His tone was properly beseeching, but stealing a shy look at him, Megsaw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore thesatisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success. This nettled her. Annie Moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and thelove of power, which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little women, wokeup all of a sudden and took possession of her. She felt excited and strange, and not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, `I don't choose. Please go awayand let me be!'Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumblingabout his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and itrather bewildered him. `Do you really mean that?' he asked anxiously, following her as shewalked away. `Yes, I do. I don't want to be worried about such things. Father says Ineedn't, it's too soon and I'd rather not. '`Mayn't I hope you'll change your mind by-and-by? I'll wait and saynothing till you have had more time. Don't play with me, Meg. I didn'tthink that of you. '`Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't, ' said Meg, taking anaughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power. Hewas grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroeswhom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped aboutthe room as they did. He just stood looking at her so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of herself. What would havehappened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in atthis interesting minute. The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she hadmet Laurie as she took her airing, and hearing of Mr. March's arrival, drovestraight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of thehouse, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. Shedid surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen aghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study. `Bless me, what's all this?' cried the old lady with a rap of her cane as sheglanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady. `It's Father's friend. I'm so surprised to see you!' stammered Meg, feelingthat she was in for a lecture now. `That's evident, ' returned Aunt March, sitting down. `But what isFather's friend saying to make you look like a peony? There's mischiefgoing on, and I insist upon knowing what it is, ' with another rap. `We were only talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella, ' began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house. `Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Joblundered into a wrong message in one of your Father's letters, and I madeher tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, child?' cried Aunt March, looking scandalized. `Hush! He'll hear. Shan't I call Mother?' said Meg, much troubled. `Not yet. I've something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one penny of mymoney ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl, ' said theold lady impressively. Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit ofopposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us havea spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love. IfAunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probablyhave declared she couldn't think of it, but as she was preemptorily orderednot to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being alreadymuch excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit. `I shall marrywhom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to anyone youlike, ' she said, nodding her head with a resolute air. `Highty-tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, Miss? You'll be sorryfor it by-and-by, when you've tried love in a cottage and found it a failure. '`It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses, ' retortedMeg. Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did notknow her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave andindependent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love him, if sheliked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as she could, `Now, Meg, my dear, bereasonable and take my advice. I mean it kindly, and don't want you tospoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning. You ought tomarry well and help your family. It's your duty to make a rich match and itought to be impressed upon you. '`Father and Mother don't think so. They like John though he is poor. '`Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair ofbabies. '`I'm glad of it, ' cried Meg stoutly. Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. `This Rook ispoor and hasn't got any rich relations, has he?'`No, but he has many warm friends. '`You can't live on friends, try it and see how cool they'll grow. He hasn'tany business, has he?'`Not yet. Mr. Laurence is going to help him. '`That won't last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow and not tobe depended on. So you intend to marry a man without money, position, orbusiness, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might becomfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought youhad more sense, Meg. '`I couldn't do better if I waited half my life! John is good and wise, he'sgot heaps of talent, he's willing to work and sure to get on, he's soenergetic and brave. Everyone likes and respects him, and I'm proud tothink he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly, ' said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness. `He knows you have got rich relations, child. That's the secret of hisliking, I suspect. '`Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above suchmeanness, and I won't listen to you a minute if you talk so, ' cried Megindignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady'ssuspicions. `My John wouldn't marry for money, any more than I would. We are willing to work and we mean to wait. I'm not afraid of being poor, for I've been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him because he lovesme, and I.. 'Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't madeup her mind, that she had told `her John' to go away, and that he might beoverhearing her inconsistent remarks. Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having herpretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl's happy youngface made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour. `Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a willful child, andyou've lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I won't stop. I'mdisappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your father now. Don'texpect anything from me when you are married. Your Mr. Book's friendsmust take care of you. I'm done with you forever. 'And slamming the door in Meg's face, Aunt March drove off in highdudgeon. She seemed to take all the girl's courage with her, for when leftalone, Meg stood for a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry. Beforeshe could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said all in one breath, `I couldn't help hearing, Meg. Thank you fordefending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for me a littlebit. '`I didn't know how much till she abused you, ' began Meg. `And I needn't go away, but my stay and be happy, may I, dear?'Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and thestately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herselfforever in Jo's eyes by meekly whispering, `Yes, John, ' and hiding her faceon Mr. Brooke's waistcoat. Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no sound within, noddedand smiled with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, `She has seen himaway as we planned, and that affair is settled. I'll go and hear the fun, andhave a good laugh over it. 'But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon thethreshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouthnearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy andto praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an objectionablelover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenelysitting on the sofa, with the strongminded sister enthroned upon his kneeand wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort ofgasp, as if a cold shower bath had suddenly fallen upon her, for such anunexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away. At the oddsound the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proudand shy, but `that man', as Jo called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished newcomer, `Sister Jo, congratulate us!'That was adding insult to injury, it was altogether too much, and makingsome wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as sheburst into the room, `Oh, do somebody go down quick! John Brooke isacting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!'Mr. And Mrs. March left the room with speed, and casting herself uponthe be, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news toBeth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable andinteresting event, and Jo got little comfort from them, so she went up to herrefuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to the rats. Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a greatdeal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends bythe eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, andpersuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it. The tea bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which hemeant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both lookingso happy that Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy was verymuch impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity, Beth beamed atthem from a distance, while Mr. And Mrs. March surveyed the youngcouple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident AuntMarch was right in calling them as `unworldly as a pair of babies'. No oneate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the old room seemed tobrighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there. `You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?' saidAmy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in a sketch she wasplanning to make. `No, I'm sure I can't. How much has happened since Isaid that! It seems a year ago, ' answered Meg, who was in a blissful dreamlifted far above such common things as bread and butter. `The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think thechanges have begun, ' said Mrs. March. `In most families there comes, nowand then, a year full of events. This has been such a one, but it ends well, after all. '`Hope the next will end better, ' muttered Jo, who found it very hard tosee Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face, for Jo loved a few personsvery dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way. `I hope the third year from this will end better. I mean it shall, if I live towork out my plans, ' said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if everything hadbecome possible to him now. `Doesn't it seem very long to wait?' asked Amy, who was in a hurry forthe wedding. `I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short time tome, ' answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face never seen therebefore. `You have only to wait, I am to do the work, ' said John beginning hislabors by picking up Meg's napkin, with an expression which caused Jo toshake her head, and then say to herself with an air of relief as the frontdoor banged, `Here comes Laurie. Now we shall have some sensibleconversation. 'But Jo was mistaken, for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing withgood spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for `Mrs. John Brooke', and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair had beenbrought about by his excellent management. `I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for whenhe makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done though the skyfalls, ' said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and hiscongratulations. `Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen for thefuture and invite you to my wedding on the spot, ' answered Mr. Brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil. `I'll come if I'm at the ens of the earth, for the sight of Jo's face alone onthat occasion would be worth a long journey. You don't look festive, ma'am, what's the matter?' asked Laurie, following her into a corner of theparlor, whither all had adjourned to greet Mr. Laurence. `I don't approve of the match, but I've made up my mind to bear it, andshall not say a word against it, ' said Jo solemnly. `You can't know howhard it is for me to give up Meg, ' she continued with a little quiver in hervoice. `You don't give her up. You only go halves, ' said Laurie consolingly. `It can never be the same again. I've lost my dearest friend, ' sighed Jo. `You've got me, anyhow. I'm not good for much, I know, but I'll standby you, Jo, all the days of my life. Upon my word I will!' And Laurie meantwhat he said. `I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged. You are always a greatcomfort to me, Teddy, ' returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands. `Well, now, don't be dismal, there's a good fellow. It's all right you see. Meg is happy, Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately, Grandpa will attend tohim, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her own little house. We'll havecapital times after she is gone, for I shall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad on some nice trip or other. Wouldn't that consoleyou?'`I rather think it would, but there's no knowing what may happen inthree years, ' said Jo thoughtfully. `That's true. Don't you wish you could take a look forward and weewhere we shall all be then? I do, ' returned Laurie. `I think not, for I might see something sad, and everyone looks so happynow, I don't believe they could be much improved. ' And Jo's eyes wentslowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was apleasant one. Father and Mother sat together, quietly reliving the first chapter of theromance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawingthe lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light ofwhich touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy. Bethlay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her littlehand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peacefulway she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave quietlook which best became her, and Laurie, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both. So the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Whether it ever risesagain, depends upon the reception given the first act of the domestic dramacalled LITTLE WOMEN. LITTLE WOMEN PART 2CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURIn order that we may start afresh and go to Meg's wedding with freeminds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches. Andhere let me premise that if any of the elders think there is too much`lovering' in the story, as I fear they may (I'm not afraid the young folkswill make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March, `What can youexpect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing youngneighbor over the way?'The three years that have passed have brought but few changes to thequiet family. The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with hisbooks and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature as bygrace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind `brother', the piety that blossoms intocharacter, making it august and lovely. These attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity which shuthim out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him many admirablepersons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as naturally he gavethem the honey into which fifty years of hard experience had distilled nobitter drop. Earnest young men found the gray-headed scholar as young atheart as they, thoughtful or troubled women instinctively brought theirdoubts to him, sure of finding the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel. Sinners told their sins to the pure-hearted old man and were both rebukedand saved. Gifted men found a companion in him. Ambitious men caughtglimpses of nobler ambitions than their own, and even worldlingsconfessed that his beliefs were beautiful and true, although `they wouldn'tpay'. To outsiders the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and sothey did in many things, but the quiet scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, andcomforter, for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troubloustimes, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacred words, husband andfather. The girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their souls intotheir father's, and to both parents, who lived and labored so faithfully forthem, they gave a love that grew with their growth and bound themtenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses life and outlives death. Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when wesaw her last, and just now so absorbed in Meg's affairs that the hospitalsand homes still full of wounded `boys' and soldiers' widows, decidedlymiss the motherly missionary's visits. John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was senthome, and not allowed to return. He received no stars or bars, but hedeserved them, for he cheerfully risked all he had, and life and love arevery precious when both are in full bloom. Perfectly resigned to hisdischarge, he devoted himself to getting well, preparing for business, andearning a home for Meg. With the good sense and sturdy independencethat characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence's more generous offers, and accepted the place of bookkeeper, feeling better satisfied to begin withan honestly earned salary than by running any risks with borrowedmoney. Meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growingwomanly in character, wise in housewifely arts, and prettier than ever, forlove is a great beautifier. She had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and feltsome disappointment at the humble way in which the new life must begin. Ned Moffat had just married Sallie Gardiner, and Meg couldn't helpcontrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid outfitwith her own, and secretly wishing she could have the same. But somehowenvy and discontent soon vanished when she thought of all the patientlove and labor John had put into the little home awaiting her, and whenthey sat together in the twilight, talking over their small plans, the futurealways grew so beautiful and bright that she forgot Sallie's splendor andfelt herself the richest, happiest girl in Christendom. Jo never went back to Aunt March, for the old lady took such a fancy toAMy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing lessons from one of thebest teachers going, and for the sake of this advantage, Amy would haveserved a far harder mistress. So she gave her mornings to duty, herafternoons to pleasure, and prospered finely. Jo meantime devoted herselfto literature and Beth, who remained delicate long after the fever was athing of the past. Not an invalid exactly, but never again the rosy, healthycreature she had been, yet always hopeful, happy, and serene, and busywith the quiet duties she loved, everyone's friend, and an angel in thehouse, long before those who loved her most had learned to know it. As long as THE SPREAD EAGLE paid her a dollar a column for her`rubbish', as she called it, Jo felt herself a woman of means, and spun herlittle romances diligently. But great plans fermented in her busy brain andambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held a slowlyincreasing pile of blotted manuscript, which was one day to place the nameof March upon the roll of fame. Laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, wasnow getting through it in the easiest possible manner to please himself. Auniversal favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, and the kindestheart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to get other people outof them, he stood in great danger of being spoiled, and probably wouldhave been, like many another promising boy, if he had not possessed atalisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man who was boundup in his success, the motherly friend who watched over him as if he wereher son, and last, but not least by any means, the knowledge that fourinnocent girls loved, admired, and believed in him with all their hearts. Being only `a glorious human boy', of course he frolicked and flirted, grew dandified, aquatic, sentimental, or gymnastic, as college fashionsordained, hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once cameperilously near suspension and expulsion. But as high spirits and the loveof fun were the causes of these pranks, he always managed to save himselfby frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irresistible power ofpersuasion which he possessed in perfection. In fact, he rather pridedhimself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill the girls with graphicaccounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified professors, andvanquished enemies. The `men of my class', were heroes in the eyes of thegirls, who never wearied of the exploits of `our fellows', and werefrequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these great creatures, whenLaurie brought them home with him. Amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle amongthem, for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift of fascinationwith which she was endowed. Meg was too much absorbed in her privateand particular John to care for any other lords of creation, and Beth too shyto do more than peep at them and wonder how Amy dared to order themabout so, but Jo felt quite in her own element, and found it very difficult torefrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, and feats, whichseemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies. They all liked Jo immensely, but never fell in love with her, though veryfew escaped without paying the tribute of a sentimental sigh or two atAmy's shrine. And speaking of sentiment brings us very naturally to the`Dovecote'. That was the name of the little brown house Mr. Brooke had preparedfor Meg's first home. Laurie had christened it, saying it was highlyappropriate to the gentle lovers who `went on together like a pair ofturtledoves, with first a bill and then a coo'. It was a tiny house, with a littlegarden behind and a lawn about as big as a pocket handkerchief in thefront. Here Meg meant to have a fountain, shrubbery, and a profusion oflovely flowers, though just at present the fountain was represented by aweather-beaten urn, very like a dilapidated slopbowl, the shrubberyconsisted of several young larches, undecided whether to live or die, andthe profusion of flowers was merely hinted by regiments of sticks to showwhere seeds were planted. But inside, it was altogether charming, and thehappy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar. To be sure, the hall was sonarrow it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could havebeen got in whole, the dining room was so small that six people were atight fit, and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose ofprecipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coalbin. But onceget used to these slight blemishes and nothing could be more complete, forgood sense and good taste had presided over the furnishing, and the resultwas highly satisfactory. There were no marble-topped tables, long mirrors, or lace curtains in the little parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, afine picture or two, a stand of flowers in the bay window, and, scattered allabout, the pretty gifts which came from friendly hands and were the fairerfor the loving messages they brought. I don't think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost any of its beauty becauseJohn put up the bracket it stood upon, that any upholsterer could havedraped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy's artistic hand, or that any store-room was ever better provided with good wishes, merrywords, and happy hopes than that in which Jo and her mother put awayMeg's few boxes, barrels, and bundles, and I am morally certain that thespandy new kitchen never could have looked so cozy and neat if Hannahhad not arranged every pot and pan a dozen times over, and laid the fireall ready for lighting the minute `Mis. Brooke came home'. I also doubt ifany young matron ever began life with so rich a supply of dusters, holders, and piece bags, for Beth made enough to last till the silver wedding cameround, and invented three different kinds of dishcloths for the expressservice of the bridal china. People who hire all these things done for them never know what theylose, for the homeliest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them, andMeg found so many proofs of this that everything in her small nest, fromthe kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was eloquent ofhome love and tender forethought. What happy times they had planning together, what solemn shoppingexcursions, what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughterarose over Laurie's ridiculous bargains. In his love of jokes, this younggentleman, though nearly through college, was a much of a boy as ever. His last whim had been to bring with him on his weekly visits some new, useful, and ingenious article for the young housekeeper. Now a bag ofremarkable clothespins, next, a wonderful nutmeg grater which fell topieces at the first trial, a knife cleaner that spoiled all the knives, or asweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet and left the dirt, labor-saving soap that took the skin off one's hands, infallible cements whichstuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of the deluded buyer, and everykind of tinware, from a toy savings bank for odd pennies, to a wonderfulboiler which would wash articles in its own steam with every prospect ofexploding in the process. In vain Meg begged him to stop. John laughed at him, and Jo called him`Mr. Toodles'. He was possessed with a mania for patronizing Yankeeingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth. So each week beheldsome fresh absurdity. Everything was done at last, even to Amy's arranging different coloredsoaps to match the different colored rooms, and Beth's setting the table forthe first meal. `Are you satisfied? Does it seem like home, and do you feel as if youshould be happy here?' asked Mrs. March, as she and her daughter wentthrough the new kingdom arm in arm, for just then they seemed to clingtogether more tenderly than ever. `Yes, Mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and so happy that Ican't talk about it, ' with a look that was far better than words. `If she only had a servant or two it would be all right, ' said Amy, comingout of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whether the bronzeMercury looked best on the whatnot or the mantlepiece. `Mother and I have talked that over, and I have made up my mind to tryher way first. There will be so little to do that with Lotty to run my errandsand help me here and there, I shall only have enough work to keep mefrom getting lazy or homesick, ' answered Meg tranquilly. `Sallie Moffat has four, ' began Amy. `If Meg had four, the house wouldn't hold them, and master and missiswould have to camp in the garden, ' broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a bigblue pinafore, was giving the last polish to the door handles. `Sallie isn't a poor man's wife, and many maids are in keeping with herfine establishment. Meg and John begin humbly, but I have a feeling thatthere will be quite as much happiness in the little house as in the big one. It's a great mistake for young girls like Meg to leave themselves nothing todo but dress, give orders, and gossip. When I was first married, I used tolong for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so that i might have thepleasure of mending them, for I got heartily sick of doing fancywork andtending my pocket handkerchief. '`Why didn't you go into the kitchen and make messes, as Sallie says shedoes to amuse herself, though they never turn out well and the servantslaugh at her, ' said Meg. `I did after a while, not to `mess' but to learn of Hannah how thingsshould be done, that my servants need not laugh at me. It was play then, but there came a time when I was truly grateful that I not only possessedthe will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little girls, and helpmyself when I could no longer afford to hire help. You begin at the otherend, Meg, dear, but the lessons you learn now will be of use to you by-and-by when John is a richer man, for the mistress of a house, howeversplendid, should know how work ought to be done, if she wishes to bewell and honestly served. '`Yes, Mother, I'm sure of that, ' said Meg, listening respectfully to thelittle lecture, for the best of women will hold forth upon the all absorbingsubject of house keeping. `Do you know I like this room most of all in mybaby house, ' added Meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs and shelooked into her well-stored linen closet. Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves andexulting over the goodly array. All three laughed as Meg spoke, for thatlinen closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married `thatBrooke' she shouldn't have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather ina quandary when time had appeased her wrath and made her repent hervow. She never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind howto get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could satisfy herself. Mrs. Carrol, Florence's mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, andmarked a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as herpresent, all of which was faithfully done, but the secret leaked out, and wasgreatly enjoyed by the family, for Aunt March tried to look utterlyunconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the old-fashionedpearls long promised to the first bride. `That's a housewifely taste which I am glad to see. I had a young friendwho set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls forcompany and that satisfied her, ' said Mrs. March, patting the damasktablecloths,

with a truly feminine appreciation of their fineness. `I haven't a single finger bowl, but this is a setout that will last me all mydays, Hannah says. ' And Meg looked quite contented, as well she might. A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt basinof a hat, and a flyaway coat, came tramping down the road at a great pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, straight up toMrs. March, with both hands out and a hearty . .. `Here I am, Mother! Yes, it's all right. 'The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him, akindly questioning look which the handsome eyes met so frankly that thelittle ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss. `For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker's congratulations andcompliments. Bless you, Beth! What a refreshing spectacle you are, Jo. Amy, you are getting altogether too handsome for a single lady. 'As Laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to Meg, pilled Beth'shair ribbon, stared at Jo's bib pinafore, and fell into an attitude of mockrapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, and everyone began totalk. `Where is John?' asked Meg anxiously. `Stopped to get the license for tomorrow, ma'am. '`Which side won the last match, Teddy?' inquired Jo, who persisted infeeling an interest in manly sports despite her nineteen years. `Ours, of course. Wish you'd been there to see. '`How is the lovely Miss Randal?' asked Amy with a significant smile. `More cruel than ever. Don't you see how I'm pining away?' And Lauriegave his broad chest a sounding slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh. `What's the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg, ' said Beth, eyingthe knobby parcel with curiosity. `It's a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves, 'observed Laurie, as a watchman's rattle appeared, amid the laughter of thegirls. `Any time when John is away and you get frightened, Mrs. Meg, justswing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhood in ajiffy. Nice thing, isn't it?' And Laurie gave them a sample of its powers thatmade them cover up their ears. `There's gratitude for you! And speaking of gratitude reminds me tomention that you may thank Hannah for saving your wedding cake fromdestruction. I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if she hadn'tdefended it manfully I'd have had a pick at it, for it looked like aremarkably plummy one. '`I wonder if you will ever grow up, Laurie, ' said Meg in a matronly tone. `I'm doing my best, ma'am, but can't get much higher, I'm afraid, as sixfeet is about all men can do in these degenerate days, ' responded theyoung gentleman, whose head was about level with the little chandelier. `I suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in this spick-and-spanbower, so as I'm tremendously hungry, I propose an adjournment, ' headded presently. `Mother and I are going to wait for John. There are some last things tosettle, ' said Meg, bustling away. `Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant's to get more flowers fortomorrow, ' added Amy, tying a picturesque hat over her picturesque curls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody. `Come, Jo, don't desert a fellow. I'm in such a state of exhaustion I can'tget home without help. Don't take off your apron, whatever you do, it'speculiarly becoming, ' said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especial aversion inher capacious pocket and offered her arm to support his feeble steps. `Now, Teddy, I want to talk seriously to you about tomorrow, ' began Jo, as they strolled away together. `You must promise to behave well, and notcut up any pranks, and spoil our plans. '`Not a prank. '`And don't say funny things when we ought to be sober. '`I never do. You are the one for that. '`And I implore you not to look at me during the ceremony. I shallcertainly laugh if you do. '`You won't see me, you'll be crying so hard that the thick fog round youwill obscure the prospect. '`I never cry unless for some great affliction. '`Such as fellows going to college, hey?' cut in Laurie, with suggestivelaugh. `Don't be a peacock. I only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company. '`Exactly. I say, Jo, how is Grandpa this week? Pretty amiable?'`Very. Why, have you got into a scrape and want to know how he'll takeit?' asked Jo rather sharply. `Now, Jo, do you think I'd look your mother in the face and say `Allright', if it wasn't?' And Laurie stopped short, with an injured air. `No, I don't. '`Then don't go and be suspicious. I only want some money, ' said Laurie, walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone. `You spend a great deal, Teddy. '`Bless you, I don't spend it, it spends itself somehow, and is gone before Iknow it. '`You are so generous and kind-hearted that you let people borrow, andcan't say `No' to anyone. We heard about Henshaw and all you did forhim. If you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you, 'said Jo warmly. `Oh, he made a mountain out of a molehill. You wouldn't have me letthat fine fellow work himself to death just for want of a little help, when heis worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?'`Of course not, but I don't see the use of your having seventeenwaistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat every time you come home. Ithought you'd got over the dandy period, but every now and then it breaksout in a new spot. Just now it's the fashion to be hideous, to make yourhead look like a scrubbing brush, wear a strait jacket, orange gloves, andclumping square-toed boots. If it was cheap ugliness, I'd say nothing, but itcosts as much as the other, and I don't get any satisfaction out of it. 'Laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack, thatthe felt hat fell off, and Jo walked on it, which insult only afforded him anopportunity for expatiating on the advantages of a rough-and-readycostume, as he folded up the maltreated hat, and stuffed it into his pocket. `Don't lecture any more, there's a good soul! I have enough all throughthe week, and like to enjoy myself when I come home. I'll get myself upregardless of expense tomorrow and be a satisfaction to my friends. '`I'll leave you in peace if you'll only let your hair grow. I'm notaristocratic, but I do object to being seen with a person who looks like ayoung prize fighter, ' observed Jo severely. `This unassuming style promotes study, that's why we adopt it, 'returned Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, havingvoluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand forquarterinch-long stubble. `By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperate aboutAmy. He talks of her constantly, writes poetry, and moons about in a mostsuspicious manner. He'd better nip his little passion in the bud, hadn't he?'added Laurie, in a confidential, elder brotherly tone, after a minute'ssilence. `Of course he had. We don't want any more marrying in this family foryears to come. Mercy on us, what are the children thinking of?' And Jolooked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet intheir teens. `It's a fast age, and I don't know what we are coming to, ma'am. You area mere infant, but you'll go next, Jo, and we'll be left lamenting, ' saidLaurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times. `Don't be alarmed. I'm not one of the agreeable sort. Nobody will wantme, and it's a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in a family. '`You won't give anyone a chance, ' said Laurie, with a sidelong glanceand a little more color than before in his sunburned face. `You won't showthe soft side of your character, and if a fellow gets a peep at it by accidentand can't help showing that he likes it, you treat him as Mrs. Gummidgedid her sweetheart, throw cold water over him, and get so thorny no onedares touch or look at you. '`I don't like that sort of thing. I'm too busy to be worried with nonsense, and I think it's dreadful to break up families so. Now don't say any moreabout it. Meg's wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk of nothingbut lovers and such absurdities. I don't wish to get cross, so let's change thesubject. ' And Jo looked quite ready to fling cold water on the slightestprovocation. Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them in along low whistle and the fearful prediction as they parted at the gate, `Mark my words, Jo, you'll go next. 'CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEThe June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on thatmorning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, likefriendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement weretheir ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one anotherwhat they had seen, for some peeped in at the dining room windowswhere the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at thesisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those whocame and went on various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and all, fromthe rosiest full-blown flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute ofbeauty and fragrance to the gentle mistress who had loved and tendedthem so long. Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetest inheart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair andtender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, nororange flowers would she have. `I don't want a fashionable wedding, butonly those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be myfamiliar self. 'So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopesand innocent romances of a girlish heart. Her sisters braided up her prettyhair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley, which`her John' liked best of all the flowers that grew. `You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovelythat I should hug you if it wouldn't crumple your dress, ' cried Amy, surveying her with delight when all was done. `Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don'tmind my dress. I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it today. 'And Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her with Aprilfaces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed the old. `Now I'm going to tie John's cravat for him, and then to stay a fewminutes with Father quietly in the study. ' And Meg ran down to performthese little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherever she went, conscious that in spite of the smiles on the motherly face, there was a secretsorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of the first bird from the nest. As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to theirsimple toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes which threeyears have wrought in their appearance, for all are looking their best justnow. Jo's angles are much softened, she has learned to carry herself with ease, if not grace. The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becomingto the small head atop of the tall figure. There is a fresh color in her browncheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only gentle words fall from her sharptongue today. Beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever. The beautiful, kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one, although it is not sad itself. It is the shadow of pain which touches theyoung face with such pathetic patience, but Beth seldom complains andalways speaks hopefully of `being better soon'. Amy is with truth considered `the flower of the family', for at sixteen shehas the air and bearing of a full-grown woman, not beautiful, butpossessed of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in the linesof her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her dress, thedroop of her hair, unconscious yet harmonious, and as attractive to manyas beauty itself. Amy's nose still afflicted her, for it never would growGrecian, so did her mouth, being too wide, and having a decided chin. These offending features gave character to her whole face, but she nevercould see it, and consoled herself with her wonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and curls more golden and abundant than ever. All three wore suits of thin silver gray (their best gowns for the summer), with blush roses in hair and bosom, and all three looked just what theywere, fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment in their busylives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the romance ofwomanhood. There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be asnatural and homelike as possible, so when Aunt March arrived, she wasscandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, tofind the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and tocatch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a gravecountenance and a wine bottle under each arm. `Upon my word, here's a state of things!' cried the old lady, taking theseat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moirewith a great rustle. `You oughtn't to be seen till the last minute, child. '`I'm not a show, Aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticizemy dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I'm too happy to care whatanyone says or thinks, and I'm going to have my little wedding just as Ilike it. John, dear, here's your hammer. ' And away went Meg to help `thatman' in his highly improper employment. Mr. Brooke didn't even say, `Thank you, ' but as he stooped for theunromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding door, with alook that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket handkerchief with asudden dew in her sharp old eyes. A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorousexclamation, `Jupiter Ammon! Jo's upset the cake again!' caused amomentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived, and `the party came in', as Beth used to say when a child. `Don't let that young giant come near me, he worries me worse thanmosquitoes, ' whispered the old lady to Amy, as the rooms filled andLaurie's black head towered above the rest. `He has promised to be very good today, and he can be perfectly elegantif he likes, ' returned Amy, and gliding away to warn Hercules to beware ofthe dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with adevotion that nearly distracted her. There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the roomas Mr. March and the young couple took their places under the green arch. Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up. The fatherlyvoice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the service morebeautiful and solemn. The bridegroom's hand trembled visibly, and no oneheard his replies. But Meg looked straight up in her husband's eyes, andsaid, `I will!' with such tender trust in her own face and voice that hermother's heart rejoiced and Aunt March sniffed audibly. Jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only savedfrom a demonstration by the consciousness that Laurie was staring fixedlyat her, with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in his wickedblack eyes. Beth kept her face hidden on her mother's shoulder, but Amystood like a graceful statue, with a most becoming ray of sunshine touchingher white forehead and the flower in her hair. It wasn't at all the thing, I'm afraid, but the minute she was fairlymarried, Meg cried, `The first kiss for Marmee!' and turning, gave it withher heart on her lips. During the next fifteen minutes she looked more likea rose than ever, for everyone availed themselves of their privileges to thefullest extent, from Mr. Laurence to old Hannah, who, adorned with aheaddress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her in the hall, cryingwith a sob and a chuckle, `Bless you, deary, a hundred times! The cake ain'thurt a mite, and everything looks lovely. 'Everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or tried to, which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts are light. Therewas no display of gifts, for they were already in the little house, nor wasthere an elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of cake and fruit, dressedwith flowers. Mr. Laurence and Aunt March shrugged and smiled at oneanother when water, lemonade, and coffee were found to be to only sortsof nectar which the three Hebes carried around. No one said anything, tillLaurie, who insisted on serving the bride, appeared before her, with aloaded salver in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face. `Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident?' he whispered, `or am Imerely laboring under a delusion that I saw some lying about loose thismorning?'`No, your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and Aunt Marchactually sent some, but Father put away a little for Beth, and dispatched therest to the Soldier's Home. You know he thinks that wine should be usedonly in illness, and Mother says that neither she nor her daughters willever offer it to any young man under her roof. 'Meg spoke seriously and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh, but hedid neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuous way, `Ilike that! For I've seen enough harm done to wish other women wouldthink as you do. '`You are not made wise by experience, I hope?' And there was ananxious accent in Meg's voice. `No. I give you my word for it. Don't think too well of me, either, this isnot one of my temptations. Being brought up where wine is as common aswater and almost as harmless, I don't care for it, but when a pretty girloffers it, one doesn't like to refuse, you see. '`But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come, Laurie, promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiest day of mylife. 'A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate amoment, for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial. Meg knew thatif he gave the promise he would keep it at all costs, and feeling her power, used it as a woman may for her friend's good. She did not speak, but shelooked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, and a smilewhich said, `No one can refuse me anything today. 'Laurie certainly could not, and with an answering smile, he gave her hishand, saying heartily, `I promise, Mrs. Brooke!'`I thank you, very, very much. '`And I drink `long life to your resolution', Teddy, ' cried Jo, baptizing himwith a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass and beamedapprovingly upon him. So the toast was drunk, the pledge made and loyally kept in spite ofmany temptations, for with instinctive wisdom, the girls seized a happymoment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all his life. After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through thehouse and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within. Meg andJohn happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass plot, when Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touchto this unfashionable wedding. `All the married people take hands and dance round the new-madehusband and wife, as the Germans do, while we bachelors and spinstersprance in couples outside!' cried Laurie, promenading down the path withAmy, with such infectious spirit and skill that everyone else followed theirexample without a murmur. Mr. And Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrolbegan it, others rapidly joined in, even Sallie Moffat, after a moment'shesitation, threw her train over her arm and whisked Ned into the ring. Butthe crowning joke was Mr. Laurence and Aunt March, for when the statelyold gentleman chass'ed solemnly up to the old lady, she just tucked hercane under arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest anddance about the bridal pair, while the young folks pervaded the gardenlike butterflies on a midsummer day. Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then peoplebegan to go. `I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well, but I think you'll besorry for it, ' said Aunt March to Meg, adding to the bridegroom, as he ledher to the carriage, `You've got a treasure, young man, see that you deserveit. '`That is the prettiest wedding I've been to for an age, Ned, and I don'tsee why, for there wasn't a bit of style about it, ' observed Mrs. Moffat toher husband, as they drove away. `Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get oneof those little girls to help you, and I shall be perfectly satisfied, ' said Mr. Laurence, settling himself in his easy chair to rest after the excitement ofthe morning. `I'll do my best to gratify you, Sir, ' was Laurie's unusually dutiful reply, as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo had put in his buttonhole. The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg hadwas the quiet walk with John from the old home to the new. When shecame down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dovecolored suit andstraw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say goodby, astenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour. `Don't feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I love youany the less for loving John so much, ' she said, clinging to her mother, withfull eyes for a moment. `I shall come every day, Father, and expect to keepmy old place in all your hearts, though I am married. Beth is going to bewith me a great deal, and the other girls will drop in now and then to laughat my housekeeping struggles. Thank you all for my happy wedding day. Goodby, goodby!'They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tenderpride as she walked away, leaning on her husband's arm, with her handsfull of flowers and the June sunshine brightening her happy face--and soMeg's married life began. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXIt takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent andgenius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learningthis distinction through much tribulation, for mistaking enthusiasm forinspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For along time there was a lull in the `mud-pie' business, and she devotedherself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such tasteand skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But over-strained eyes caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a boldattempt at poker sketching. While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of aconflagration, for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at allhours, smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hotpokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without apail of water and the dinner bell at her door in case of fire. Raphael's facewas found boldly executed on the underside of the moulding board, andBacchus on the head of a beer barrel. A chanting cherub adorned the coverof the sugar bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet suppliedkindling for some time. From fire to oil was a natural transition for burned fingers, and Amy fellto painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her out withhis castoff palettes, brushes, and colors, and she daubed away, producingpastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Hermonstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at anagricultural fair, and the perilous pitching of her vessels would haveproduced seasickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard toall known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him withlaughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staringat you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo. Oily brownshadows of faces with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt. Buxom ladies and dropiscal infants, Rubens, and Turner appeared intempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or abouy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased. Charcoal portraits came next, and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coalbin. Softened intocrayon sketches, they did better, for the likenesses were good, and Amy'shair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced`wonderfully fine'. A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly castsof her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closetshelves onto people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, till theirincoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to beregarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenchedher ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast herown pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthlybumping and screaming and running to the rescue, found the youngenthusiast hopping wildly about the shed with her foot held fast in a panfull of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. With muchdifficulty and some danger she was dug out, for Jo was so overcome withlaughter while she excavated that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least. After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her tohaunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing forruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book`delicious bit', composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a brokenmullein stalk, or `a heavenly mass of clouds', that looked like a choicedisplay of featherbeds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floatingon the river in the midsummer sun to study light and shade, and got awrinkle over her nose trying after `points of sight', or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called. If `genius is eternal patience', as Michelangelo affirms, Amy had someclaim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should dosomething worthy to be called `high art'. She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for shehad resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if shenever became a great artist. Here she succeeded better, for she was one ofthose happily created beings who please without effort, make friendseverywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate soulsare tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybodyliked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an instinctive sense ofwhat was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the rightperson, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessedthat her sisters used to say, `If Amy went to court without any rehearsalbeforehand, she'd know exactly what to do. 'One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in `our best society', without being quite sure what the best really was. Money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirablethings in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessedthem, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was notadmirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, shecultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunitycame she might be ready to take the place from which poverty nowexcluded her. `My lady, ' as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuinelady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buyrefinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and thattrue breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks. `I want to ask a favor of you, Mamma, ' Amy said, coming in with animportant air one day. `Well, little girl, what is it?' replied her mother, in whose eyes the statelyyoung lady still remained `the baby'. `Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate forthe summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to see theriver, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire inmy book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I amgrateful, for they are all rich and I know I am poor, yet they never madeany difference. '`Why should they?' And Mrs. March put the question with what the girlscalled her `Maria Theresa air'. `You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearlyeveryone, so don't ruffle up like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickensget pecked by smarter birds. The ugly duckling turned out a swan, youknow. ' And Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happytemper and hopeful spirit. Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as sheasked, `Well, my swan, what is your plan?'`I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them for adrive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and makea little artistic fete for them. '`That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?'`Oh, dear, no! We must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolateand ice cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want mylunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living. '`How many young ladies are there?' asked her mother, beginning to looksober. `Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come. '`Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry themabout. '`Why, Mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six oreight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach wagon and borrow Mr. Laurence's cherry-bounce. ' (Hannah's pronunciation of charabanc. )`All of this will be expensive, Amy. '`Not very. I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself. '`Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and thebest we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would bepleasanter to them, as a change if nothing more, and much better for usthan buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style notin keeping with our circumstances?'`If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know that I cancarry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a little, and I don'tsee why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it, ' said Amy, with the decisionwhich opposition was apt to change into obstinacy. Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when itwas possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which shewould gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice asmuch as they did salts and senna. `Very well, Amy, if your heart is set upon it, and you see your waythrough without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'll say nomore. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll do mybest to help you. '`Thanks, Mother, you are always so kind. ' And away went Amy to layher plan before her sisters. Meg agreed at once, and promised to her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to hervery best saltspoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project and wouldhave nothing to do with it at first. `Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care asixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle toany mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in acoupe, ' said Jo, who, being called from the tragic climax of her novel, wasnot in the best mood for social enterprises. `I don't truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!'returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questionsarose. `The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great deal ofkindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you callfashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people like you, to go intogood society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean tomake the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the worldwith your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, ifyou like. That's not my way. 'When Amy had whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually gotthe best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such anunlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such a good hit thatboth burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as `a nonsensicalbusiness'. The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Mondaywas set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because herweek's work was deranged, and prophesied that `ef the washin' and ironin'warn't done reg'lar, nothin' would go well anywheres". This hitch in themainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the wholeconcern, but Amy's motto was `Nil desperandum', and having made upher mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. Tobegin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well. The chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. Then thecake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon, and variousother expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up ratheralarmingly afterward. Beth got a cold and took to her bed. Meg had anunusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such adivided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes wereuncommonly numerous, serious, and trying. It it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday, and arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. OnMonday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is moreexasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew alittle, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for anyone else tomake up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their bedsand through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. Theparlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby, but without stopping tosigh for what she had not, she skillfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the carpet, covering stains on thewalls with homemade statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, asdid the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about. The lunch looked charming, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hopedit would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver wouldget safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and Mother wereall ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, and achinghead, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything wouldallow, and as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipationsof the happy moment when, lunch safely over, she should drive away withher friends for an afternoon of artistic delights, for the `cherry bounce' andthe broken bridge were her strong points. Then came the hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlorto porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart showerat eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies whowere to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two the exhausted familysat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of thefeast, that nothing might be lost. `No doubt about the weather today, they will certainly come, so we mustfly round and be ready for them, ' said Amy, as the sun woke her nextmorning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had saidnothing about Tuesday, for her interest like her cake was getting a littlestale. `I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad today, ' saidMr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placiddespair. `Use the chicken then, the toughness won't matter in a salad, ' advised hiswife. `Hannah left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'mvery sorry, amy, ' added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats. `Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do, ' said Amydecidedly. `Shall I rush into town and demand one?' asked Jo, with themagnanimity of a martyr. `You'd come bringing it home under your arm without any paper, just totry me. I'll go myself, ' answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail. Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel traveling basket, shedeparted, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit and fither for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire wasprocured, likewise a bottle of dressing to prevent further loss of time athome, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought. As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, Amy pocketed her veil and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying tofind out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her cardfull of refractory figures that she did not observe a newcomer, who enteredwithout stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, `Good morning, Miss March, ' and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's most elegantcollege friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and congratulating herself thatshe had on her new traveling dress, returned the young man's greetingwith her usual suavity and spirit. They got on excellently, for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest bylearning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting awayin a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to thedoor, she upset the basket, and--oh horror!--the lobster, in all its vulgarsize and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a Tudor. `By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!' cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing tohand out the basket after the old lady. `Please don't--it's--it's mine, ' murmured Amy, with a face nearly as redas her fish. `Oh, really, I beg pardon. It's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?' saidTudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that didcredit to his breeding. Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, andsaid, laughing, `Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he'sgoing to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?'Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mindwere touched. The lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasingreminiscences, and curiosity about `the charming young ladies' divertedhis mind from the comical mishap. `I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I shan't see them, that's a comfort, ' thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed. She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets ofdressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with thepreparations which now seemed more irksome than before, and at twelveo'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested inher movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday's failure bya grand success today, so she ordered the `cherry bounce', and drove awayin state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet. `There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go onto the porch and meetthem. It looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good timeafter all her trouble, ' said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. Butafter one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for lookingquite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady. `Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table. It will betoo absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl, ' cried Jo, hurrying away to the

lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh. In came Amy, quite calm and delightfully cordial to the one guest whohad kept her promise. The rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a mosthilarious set, for it was impossible to control entirely the merriment whichpossessed them. The remodeled lunch being gaily partaken of, the studioand garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered abuggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce), and drove her friend quietlyabout the neighborhood till sunset, when `the party went out'. As she came walking in, looking very tired but as composed as ever, sheobserved that every vestige of the unfortunate fete had disappeared, excepta suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth. `You've had a loverly afternoon for your drive, dear, ' said her mother, asrespectfully as if the whole twelve had come. `Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought, 'observed Beth, with unusual warmth. `Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have somuch company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours, ' asked Megsoberly. `Take it all. I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it willmold before I can dispose of it, ' answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of thegenerous store she had laid in for such an end as this. `It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us, ' began Jo, as they sat down to icecream and salad for the second time in two days. A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and thewhole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, `saladwas one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn... ' Here a generalexplosion of laughter cut short the `history of salads', to the great surpriseof the learned gentleman. `Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels. Germanslike messes. I'm sick of the sight of this, and there's no reason you shouldall die of a surfeit because I've been a fool, ' cried Amy, wiping her eyes. `Ithought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in thewhat-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and Motherwaiting in state to receive the throng, ' sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter. `I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best tosatisfy you, ' said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret. `I am satisfied. I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that itfailed. I comfort myself with that, ' said Amy with a little quiver in hervoice. `I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll thank you stillmore if you won't allude to it for a month, at least. 'No one did for several months, but the word `fete' always produced ageneral smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster inthe shape of a charm for her watch guard. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENFortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good luck penny inher path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million wouldhave given more real happiness then did the little sum that came to her inthis wise. Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on herscribbling suit, and `fall into a vortex', as she expressed it, writing away ather novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she couldfind no peace. Her `scribbling suit' consisted of a black woolen pinafore onwhich she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair whenthe decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiringeyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merelypopping in their heads semi-occasionally to ask, with interest, `Does geniusburn, Jo?' They did not always venture even to ask this question, but tookan observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive articleof dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard workwas going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew, andwhen despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast uponthe floor, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silentlywithdrew, and not until the red bow was seen gaily erect upon the giftedbrow, did anyone dare address Jo. She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fitcame on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissfullife, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe andhappy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to heras any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day andnight were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only atsuch times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no otherfruit. The devine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then sheemerged from her `vortex', hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent. She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she wasprevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for hervirtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lectureon the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject forsuch an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil wouldbe remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of thePharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coaland flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles thanthat of the Sphinx. They were early, and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Joamused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seatwith them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads andbonnets to match, discussing Women's Rights and making tatting. Beyondsat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, asomber spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an oldgentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On herright, her only neighbor was a studious looking lad absorbed in anewspaper. It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idlywondering what fortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed themelodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over aprecipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a disheveled female was flying away in the background with hermouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking and, with boyish good nature offered half his paper, saying bluntly, `want toread it? That's a first-rate story. 'Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking forlads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literaturein which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's inventionfails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis personae, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall. `Prime, isn't it?' asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraphof her portion. `I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried, ' returned Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash. `I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a goodliving out of such stories, they say. ' And he pointed to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale. `Do you know her?' asked Jo, with sudden interest. `No, but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in theoffice where this paper is printed. ' `Do you say she makes a good living outof stories like this?' And Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated groupand thickly sprinkled exclamation points that adorned the page. `Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well forwriting it. 'Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while ProfessorSands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, andhieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, andboldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columnsfor a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the audienceawoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the firstfounded on paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopementor after the murder. She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much tothe disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when`genius took to burning'. Jo had never tried this style before, contentingherself with very mild romances for THE SPREAD EAGLE. Her experienceand miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her someidea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Herstory was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintancewith those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and havinglocated it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking andappropriate denouement. The manuscript was privately dispatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receiveany sum it might be considered worth. Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep asecret, but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of everseeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took herbreath away, for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into herlap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read herletter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindlynote could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellowcreature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to thatamusement, for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it wasencouraging, and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she hadlearned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story. A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, havingcomposed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them withthe letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had wonthe prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story cameeveryone read and praised it, though after her father had told her that thelanguage was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quitethrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way... `You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind themoney. '`I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such afortune?' asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverentialeye. `Send Beth and Mother to the seaside for a month or two, ' answered Jopromptly. To the seaside they went, after much discussion, and though Beth didn'tcome home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger. So Jo was satisfiedwith the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheeryspirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She did earn severalthat year, and began to feel herself a power in the house, for by the magicof a pen, her `rubbish' turned into comforts for them all. The Duke'sDaughter paid the butcher's bill, A Phantom Hand put down a new carpet, and the Curse of the Coventrys proved the blessing of the Marches in theway of groceries and gowns. Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction whichcomes from hearty work of head or hand, and to the inspiration ofnecessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of theworld. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her ownwants, and need ask no one for a penny. Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, andencouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame andfortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all herconfidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to threepublishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut itdown one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired. `Now I must either bundle it back in to my tin kitchen to mold, pay forprinting it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is moreconvenient, so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this importantsubject, ' said Jo, calling a family council. `Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen, ' was her father'sadvice, and he practiced what he preached, having waited patiently thirtyyears for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it evennow when it was sweet and mellow. `It seems to me that Jo will profit more by taking the trial than bywaiting, ' said Mrs. March. `Criticism is the best test of such work, for it willshow her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do betternext time. We are too partial, but the praise and blame of outsiders willprove useful, even if she gets but little money. '`Yes, ' said Jo, knitting her brows, `that's just it. I've been fussing over thething so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. Itwill be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tellme what they think of it. '`I wouldn't leave a word out of it. You'll spoil it if you do, for the interestof the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and itwill be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on, ' said Meg, whofirmly believed that this book was the most remarkable novel ever written. `But Mr. Allen says, `Leave out the explanations, make it brief anddramatic, and let the characters tell the story', ' interrupted Jo, turning tothe publisher's note. `Do as he tells you. He knows what will sale, and we don't. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By-and-by, when you'vegot a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical andmetaphysical people in your novels, ' said Amy, who took a strictlypractical view of the subject. `Well, ' said Jo, laughing, `if my people are `philosophical andmetaphysical', it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say;, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise ideasjumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, whatdo you say?'`I should so like to see it printed soon, ' was all Beth said, and smiled insaying it. But there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and awistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilledJo's heart for a minute with a forboding fear, and decided her to make herlittle venture `soon'. So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on hertable, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasingeveryone, she took everyone's advice, and like the old man and his donkeyin the fable suited nobody. Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously gotinto it, so that was allowed to remain though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much description. Out, therefore it came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Megadmired the tragedy, so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amyobjected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched thespritly scenes which relieved the somber character of the story. Then, tocomplicate the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent thepoor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world to tryits fate. Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it, likewiseplenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected thatshe was thrown into a state of bewilderment from which it took her sometime to recover. `You said, Mother, that criticism would help me. But how can it, whenit's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a promisingbook or broken all the ten commandments?' cried poor Jo, turning over aheap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy oneminute, wrath and dismay the next. `This man says, `An exquisite book, fullof truth, beauty, and earnestness. All is sweet, pure, and healthy. '' continued the perplexed authoress. `Thenext, `The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualisticideas, and unnatural characters. ' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don'tsee how this critic can be right. Another says, `It's one of the best Americannovels which has appeared for years. ' (I know better than that), and thenext asserts that `Though it is original, and written with great force andfeeling, it is a dangerous book. ' `Tisn't! Some make fun of it, someoverpraise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, whenI only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed the wholeor not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged. 'Her family and friends administered comfort and commendationliberally. Yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meantso well and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those whoseopinion had real value gave her the critism which is an author's besteducation, and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at herpoor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and strongerfor the buffeting she had received. `Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me, ' she said stoutly, `andI've got the joke on my side, after all, for the parts that were taken straightout of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes thatI made up out of my own silly head are pronounced `charmingly natural, tender, and true'. So I'll comfort myself with that, and when I'm ready, I'llup again and take another. 'CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTLike most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with thedetermination to be a model housekeeper. John should find home aparadise, he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuouslyevery day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but succeed, inspite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the littlewoman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a trueMartha, cumbered with many cares. She was too tired, sometimes, even tosmile, John grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty dishes and ungratefullydemanded plain fare. As for buttons, she soon learned to wonder wherethey went, to shake her head over the carelessness of men, and to threatento make him sew them on himself, and see if his work would standimpatient and clumsy fingers any better than hers. They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn't liveon love alone. John did not find Meg's beauty diminished, though shebeamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot. Nor did Meg miss anyof the romance from the daily parting, when her husband followed up hiskiss with the tender inquiry, `Shall I send some veal or mutton for dinner, darling?' The little house ceased to be a glorified bower, but it became ahome, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change for the better. Atfirst they played keep-house, and frolicked over it like children. Then Johntook steadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon hisshoulders, and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron, andfell to work, as before said, with more energy than discretion. While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius'sReceipt Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out theproblems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited in tohelp eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would be privatelydispatched with a batch of failures, which were to be concealed from alleyes in the convenient stomachs of the little Hummels. An evening withJohn over the account books usually produced a temporary lull in theculinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would ensue, during which the poorman was put through a course of bread pudding, hash, and warmed-overcoffee, which tried his soul, although he bore it with praiseworthyfortitude. Before the golden mean was found, however, Meg added to herdomestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without, afamily jar. Fired a with housewifely wish to see her storeroom stocked withhomemade preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly. Johnwas requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and an extraquantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe and were to be attendedto at once. As John firmly believed that `my wife' was equal to anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, he resolved that she should begratified, and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most pleasing form forwinter use. Home came four dozen delightful little pots, half a barrel ofsugar, and a small boy to pick the currants for her. With her pretty hairtucked into a little cap, arms bared to the elbow, and a checked apronwhich had a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the young housewife fell towork, feeling no doubts about her success, for hadn't she seen Hannah doit hundreds of times? The array of pots rather amazed her at first, but Johnwas so fond of jelly, and the nice little jars would look so well on the topshelf, that Meg resolved to fill them all, and spend a long day picking, boiling, straining, and fussing over her jelly. She did her best, she askedadvice of Mrs. Cornelius, she racked her brain to remember what Hannahdid that she left undone, she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, but thatdreadful stuff wouldn't `jell'. She longed to run home, bib and all, and ask Mother to lend her a hand, but John and she had agreed that they would never annoy anyone withtheir private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They had laughed over thatlast word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one, but theyhad held to their resolve, and whenever they could get on without helpthey did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March had advised the plan. SoMeg wrestled alone with the refractory sweetmeats all that hot summerday, and at five o'clock sat down in her topsy-turvey kitchen, wrung herbedaubed hands, lifted up her voice and wept. Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, `My husbandshall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever he likes. I shallalways be prepared. There shall be no flurry, no scolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and a good dinner. John, dear, never stopto ask my leave, invite whom you please, and be sure of a welcome fromme. 'How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed with pride tohear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a superior wife. But, although they had had company from time to time, it never happenedto be unexpected, and Meg had never had an opportunity to distinguishherself till now. It always happens so in this vale of tears, there is aninevitability about such things which we can only wonder at, deplore, andbear as we best can. If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have beenunpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in the year, to bringa friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulating himself that ahandsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it wouldbe ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant anticipations of thecharming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came running outto meet him, he escorted his friend to his mansion, with the irrepressiblesatisfaction of a young host and husband. It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reachedthe Dovecote. The front door usually stood hospitably open. Now it was notonly shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps. Theparlor windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wifesewing on the piazza, in white, with a distracting little bow in her hair, or abright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest. Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared but a sanginary-looking boyasleep under the current bushes. `I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while Ilook up Mrs. Brooke, ' said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude. Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burned sugar, and Mr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face. He pauseddiscreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared, but he could both seeand hear, and being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily. In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair. One edition of jelly wastrickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third wasburning gaily on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmly eatingbread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, sat sobbing dismally. `My dearest girl, what is the matter?' cried John, rushing in, with awfulvisions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secretconsternation at the thought of the guest in the garden. `Oh, John, I am so tired and hot and cross and worried! I've been at it tillI'm all worn out. Do come and help me or I shall die!' And the exhaustedhousewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet welcome inevery sense of the word, for her pinafore had been baptized at the sametime as the floor. `What worries you dear? Has anything dreadful happened?' asked theanxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which was allaskew. `Yes, ' sobbed Meg despairingly. `Tell me quick, then. Don't cry. I can bear anything better than that. Outwith it, love. '`The... The jelly won't jell and I don't know what to do!'John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward, and thederisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, which putthe finishing stroke to poor Meg's woe. `Is that all? Fling it out of the window, and don't bother any more aboutit. I'll buy you quarts if you want it, but for heaven's sake don't havehysterics, for I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner, and.. 'John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with atragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone of mingledindignation, reproach, and dismay... `A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, how could youdo such a thing?'`Hush, he's in the garden! I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can't behelped now, ' said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye. `You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought tohave remembered how busy I was, ' continued Meg petulantly, for eventurtledoves will peck when ruffled. `I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for Imet him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave, when you havealways told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if I everdo again!' added John, with an aggrieved air. `I should hope not! Take him away at once. I can't see him, and thereisn't any dinner. '`Well, I like that! Where's the beef and vegetables I sent home, and thepudding you promised?' cried John, rushing to the larder. `I hadn't time tocook anything. I meant to dine at Mother's. I'm sorry, but I was so busy, 'and Meg's tears began again. John was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day's work tocome home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an emptytable, and a cross wife was not exactly conductive to repose of mind ormanner. He restrained himself however, and the little squall would haveblown over, but for one unlucky word. `It's a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we'll pullthrough and have a good time yet. Don't cry, dear, but just exert yourself abit, and fix us up something to eat. We're both as hungry as hunters, so weshan't mind what it is. Give us the cold meat, and bread and cheese. Wewon't ask for jelly. 'He meant it to be a good-natured joke, but that one word sealed his fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the lastatom of patience vanished as he spoke. `You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can. I'm too used up to`exert' myself for anyone. It's like a man to propose a bone and vulgarbread and cheese for company. I won't have anything of the sort in myhouse. Take that Scott up to Mother's, and tell him I'm away, sick, dead, anything. I won't see him, and you two can laugh at me and my jelly asmuch as you like. You won't have anything else here. ' And havingdelivered her defiance all on one breath, Meg cast away her pinafore andprecipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own room. What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but Mr. Scott was not taken `up to Mother's', and when Meg descended, after theyhad strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous lunch whichfilled her with horror. Lotty reported that they had eaten `a much, andgreatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the sweet stuff, andhide the pots. 'Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her own shortcomings, of loyalty to John, `who might be cruel, but nobody should knowit, ' restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, she dressed herselfprettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and be forgiven. Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in that light. Hehad carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his little wife as well ashe could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend enjoyed theimpromptu dinner, and promised to come again, but John was angry, though he did not show it, he felt that Meg had deserted him in his hour ofneed. `It wasn't fair to tell a man to bring folks home any time, with perfectfreedom, and when he took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch, to be laughed at or pitied. No, by George, itwasn't! And Meg must know it. 'He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was overand he strolled home after seeing Scott off, a milder mood came over him. `Poor little thing! It was hard upon her when she tried so heartily to pleaseme. She was wrong, of course, but then she was young. I must be patientand teach her. ' He hoped she had not gone home--he hated gossip andinterference. For a minute he was ruffled again at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that Meg would cry herself sick softened his heart, andsent him on at a quicker pace, resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quitefirm, and show her where she had failed in her duty to her spouse. Meg likewise resolved to be `calm and kind, but firm', and show him hisduty. She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed andcomforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, she did nothing of thesort, and when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally, as sherocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor. John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe, but feeling thathis dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came leisurelyin and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularly relevant remark, `Weare going to have a new moon, my dear. '`I've no objection, ' was Meg's equally soothing remark. A few othertopics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke and wet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. John went to onewindow, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figurativelyspeaking. Meg went to the other window, and sewed as if new rosettes forslippers were among the necessaries of life. Neither spoke. Both lookedquite `calm and firm', and both felt desperately uncomfortable. `Oh, dear, ' thought Meg, `married life is very trying, and does needinfinite patience as well as love, as Mother says. ' The word `Mother'suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, and received withunbelieving protests. `John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see andbear with them, remembering your own. He is very decided, but never willbe obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is veryaccurate, and particular about the truth--a good trait, though you call him`fussy'. Never deceive him by look or word, Meg, and he will give you theconfidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a temper, not likeours--one flash and then all over--but the white, still anger that is seldomstirred, but once kindled is hard to quench. Be careful, be very careful, notto wake his anger against yourself, for peace and happiness depend onkeeping his respect. Watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you botherr, and guard against the little piques, misunderstandings, and hastywords that often pave the way for bitter sorrow and regret. 'These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement, her own hastyspeeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her ownanger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home tosuch a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in hereyes, but he did not see them. She put down her work and got up, thinking, `I will be the first to say, `Forgive me', but he did not seem to hear her. Shewent very slowly across the room, for pride was hard to swallow, andstood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if shereally couldn't do it, then came the thought, This is the beginning. I'll domy part, and have nothing to reproach myself with, ' and stooping sown, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that settled it. Thepenitent kiss was better than a world of words, and John had her on hisknee in a minute, saying tenderly... `It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me, dear. Inever will again!'But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, bothdeclaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made, for family peacewas preserved in that little family jar. After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, and servedhim up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first course, on whichoccasion she was so gay and gracious, and made everything go off socharmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was a lucky fellow, and shook hishead over the hardships of bachelorhood all the way home. In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffatrenewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip at thelittle house, or inviting `that poor dear' to come in and spend the day at thebig house. It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg often felt lonely. Allwere busy at home, John absent till night, and nothing to do but sew, orread, or potter about. So it naturally fell out that Meg got into the way ofgadding and gossiping with her friend. Seeing Sallie's pretty things madeher long for such, and pity herself because she had not got them. Sallie wasvery kind, and often offered her the coveted trifles, but Meg declined them, knowing that John wouldn't like it, and then this foolish little woman wentand did what John disliked even worse. She knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trustedher, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value more--his money. She knew where it was, was free to take what she liked, and allhe asked was that she should keep account of every penny, pay bills once amonth, and remember that she was a poor man's wife. Till now she haddone well, been prudent and exact, kept her little account books neatly, andshowed them to him monthly without fear. But that autumn the serpentgot into Meg's paradise, and tempted her like many a modern Eve, notwith apples, but with dress. Meg didn't like to be pitied and made to feelpoor. It irritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and thenshe tried to console herself by buying something pretty, so that Sallieneedn't think she had to economize. She always felt wicked after it, for thepretty things were seldom necessaries, but then they cost so little, it wasn'tworth worrying about, so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in theshopping excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on. But the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when she cast upher accounts at the end of the month the sum total rather scared her. Johnwas busy that month and left the bills to her, the next month he was absent, but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Meg never forgot it. A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and it weighed upon herconscience. Sallie had been buying silks, and Meg longed for a new one, just a handsome light one for parties, her black silk was so common, andthin things for evening wear were only proper for girls. Aunt Marchusually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five dollars apiece at NewYear's. That was only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silkgoing at a bargain, and she had the money, if she only dared to take it. Johnalways said what was his was hers, but would he think it right to spend notonly the prospective five-and-twenty, but another five-and-twenty out ofthe household fund? That was the question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to lend the money, and with the best intentions in life hadtempted Meg beyond her strength. In an evil moment the shopman held upthe lovely, shimmering folds, and said, `A bargain, I assure, you, ma'am. 'She answered, `I'll take it, ' and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie hadexulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, anddriven away, feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police wereafter her. When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse byspreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked less silvery now, didn'tbecome her, after all, and the words `fifty dollars' seemed stamped like apattern down each breadth. She put it away, but it haunted her, notdelightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfully like the ghost of a follythat was not easily laid. When John got out his books that night, Meg'sheart sank, and for the first time in her married life, she was afraid of herhusband. The kind, brown eyes looked as if they could be stern, andthough he was unusually merry, she fancied he had found her out, butdidn't mean to let her know it. The house bills were all paid, the books allin order. John had praised her, and was undoing the old pocketbook whichthey called the `bank', when Meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously... `You haven't seen my private expense book yet. 'John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so, andused to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things womenwanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely themeaning of a hug-me-tight, or wonder how a little thing composed of threerosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a bonnet, and cost six dollars. That night he looked as if he would like the fun ofquizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance, ashe often did, being particularly proud of his prudent wife. The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him. Meggot behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinkles out of histired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing withevery word . .. `John, dear, I'm ashamed to show you my book, for I've really beendreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must have things, youknow, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did, and my New Year's moneywill partly pay for it, but I was sorry after I had done it, for I knew you'dthink it wrong in me. 'John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly, `Don't go and hide. I won't beat you if you have got a pair of killing boots. I'm rather proud of my wife's feet, and don't mind if she does pay eight ornine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones. 'That

had been one of her last `trifles', and John's eye had fallen on it ashe spoke. `Oh, what will he say when he comes to that awful fifty dollars!'thought Meg, with a shiver. `It's worse than boots, it's a silk dress, ' she said, with the calmness ofdesperation, for she wanted the worst over. `Well, dear, what is the `dem'd total', as Mr. Mantalini says?'That didn't sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her withthe straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet andanswer with one as frank till now. She turned the page and her head at thesame time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enoughwithout the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added. For aminute the room was very still, then John said slowly--but she could feel itcost him an effort to express no displeasure--... `Well, I don't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all the furbelowsand notions you have to have to finish it off these days. '`It isn't made or trimmed, ' sighed Meg, faintly, for a sudden recollectionof the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her. `Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman, but I've no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat's when she getsit on, ' said John dryly. `I know you are angry, John, but I can't help it. I don't mean to wasteyour money, and I didn't think those little things would count up so. I can'tresist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me because Idon't. I try to be contented, but it is hard, and I'm tired of being poor. 'The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, but he did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself manypleasures for Meg's sake. She could have bitten her tongue out the minuteshe had said it, for John pushed the books away and got up, saying with alittle quiver in his voice, `I was afraid of this. I do my best, Meg. ' If he hadscolded her, or even shaken her, it would not have broken her heart likethose few words. She ran to him and held him close, crying, with repentanttears, `Oh, John, my dear, kind, hard-working boy. I didn't mean it! It wasso wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could I say it! Oh, how could Isay it!'He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach, but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not beforgotten soon, although he might never allude to it again. She hadpromised to love him for better or worse, and then she, his wife, hadreproached him with his poverty, after spending his earnings recklessly. Itwas dreadful, and the worst of it was John went on so quietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened, except that he stayed in town later, andworked at night when she had gone to cry herself to sleep. A week orremorse nearly made Meg sick, and the discovery that John hadcountermanded the order for his new greatcoat reduced her to a state ofdespair which was pathetic to behold. He had simply said, in answer to hersurprised inquiries as to the change, `I can't afford it, my dear. 'Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall withher face buried in the old greatcoat, crying as if her heart would break. They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husbandbetter for his poverty, because it seemed to have made a man of him, givenhim the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught him atender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings andfailures of those he loved. Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, told the truth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor. The good- natured Mrs. Moffatwillingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a present of itimmediately afterward. Then Meg ordered home the greatcoat, and whenJohn arrived, she put it on, and asked him how he liked her new silk gown. One can imagine what answer he made, how he received his present, andwhat a blissful state of things ensued. John came home early, Meg gaddedno more, and that greatcoat was put on in the morning by a very happyhusband, and taken off at night by a most devoted little wife. So the yearrolled round, and at midsummer there came to Meg a new experience, thedeepest and tenderest of a woman's life. Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dovecote one Saturday, with an excited face, and was received with the clash of cymbals, forHannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in theother. `How's the little mamma? Where is everybody? Why didn't you tell mebefore I came home?' began Laurie in a loud whisper. `Happy as a queen, the dear! Every soul of `em is upstairs a worshipin'. We didn't want no hurrycanes round. Now you go into the parlor, and I'llsend `em down to you, ' with which somewhat involved reply Hannahvanished, chuckling ecstatically. Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upona large pillow. Jo's face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled, and therewas an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort. `Shut your eyes and hold out your arms, ' she said invitingly. Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind himwith an imploring gesture. `No, thank you. I'd rather not. I shall drop it orsmash it, as sure as fate. '`Then you shan't see your nevvy, ' said Jo decidedly, turning as if to go. `I will, I will! Only you must be responsible for damages. ' And obeyingorders, Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put into hisarms. A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah, and Johncaused him to open them the next minute, to find himself invested withtwo babies instead of one. No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enoughto convulse a Quaker, as he stood and stared wildly from the unconsciousinnocents to the hilarious spectators with such dismay that Jo sat down onthe floor and screamed. `Twins, by Jupiter!' was all he said for a minute, then turning to thewomen with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added, `Take`em quick, somebody! I'm going to laugh, and I shall drop `em. 'Jo rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each are, as if already initiated into the mysteries of babytending, while Laurielaughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. `It's the best joke of the season, isn't it? I wouldn't have told you, for I setmy heart on surprising you, and I flatter myself I've done it, ' said Jo, whenshe got her breath. `I never was more staggered in my life. Isn't it fun? Are they boys? Whatare you going to name them? Let's have another look. Hold me up, Jo, forupon my life it's one too many for me, ' returned Laurie, regarding theinfants with the air of a big, benevolent Newfoundland looking at a pair ofinfantile kittens. `Boy and girl. Aren't they beauties?' said the proud papa, beaming uponthe little red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels. `Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which?' and Laurie bentlike a well-sweep to examine the prodigies. `Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, French fashion, so you can always tell. Besides, one has blue eyes and one brown. Kissthem, Uncle Teddy, ' said wicked Jo. `I'm afraid they mightn't like it, ' began Laurie, with unusual timidity insuch matters. `Of course they will, they are used to it now. Do it this minute, sir!'commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy. Laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peck at each littlecheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal. `There, I knew they didn't like it! That's the boy, see him kick, he hits outwith his fists like a good one. Now then, young Brooke, pitch into a man ofyour own size, will you?' cried Laurie, delighted with a poke in the facefrom a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about. `He's to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, after motherand grandmother. We shall call her Daisey, so as not to have two Megs, and I suppose the mannie will be Jack, unless we find a better name, ' saidAmy, with aunt-like interest. `Name him Demijohn, and call him Demi for short, ' said Laurie`Daisy and Demi, just the thing! I knew Teddy would do it, ' cried Joclapping her hands. Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were `Daisy' and`Demi' to the end of the chapter. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE`Come, Jo, it's time. '`For what?'`You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to makehalf a dozen calls with me today?'`I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don'tthink I ever was mad enough to say I'd make six calls in one day, when asingle one upsets me for a week. '`Yes, you did, it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon ofBeth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return ourneighbors' visits. '`If it was fair, that was in the bond, and I stand to the letter of my bond, Shylock. There is a pile of clouds in the east, it's not fair, and I don't go. '`Now, that's shirking. It's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and youpride yourself on keeping; promises, so be honorable, come and do yourduty, and then be at peace for another six months. 'At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking, for she wasmantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to herselfbecause she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provoking tobe arrested in the act of a first tryingon, and ordered out to make calls inher best array on a warm July day. She hated calls of the formal sort, andnever made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or promise. In the present instance there was no escape, and having clashed herscissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelled thunder, she gavein, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air ofresignation, told Amy the victim was ready. `Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint! You don't intendto make calls in that state, I hope, ' cried Amy, surveying her withamazement. `Why not? I'm neat and cool and comfortable, quite proper for a dustywalk on a warm day. If people care more for my clothes than they do forme, I don't wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant asyou please. It pays for you to be fine. It doesn't for me, and furbelows onlyworry me. '`Oh, dear!' sighed Amy, `now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive medistracted before I can get her properly ready. I'm sure it's no pleasure tome to go today, but it's a debt we owe society, and there's no one to pay itbut you and me. I'll do anything for you, Jo, if you'll only dress yourselfnicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can talk so well, look soaristocratic in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you try, thatI'm proud of you. I'm afraid to go alone, do come and take care of me. '`You're an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old sister inthat way. The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and your beingafraid to go anywhere alone! I don't know which is the most absurd. Well, I'll go if I must, and do my best. You shall be commander of the expedition, and I'll obey blindly, will that satisfy you?' said Jo, with a sudden changefrom perversity to lamblike submission. `You're a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I'll tellyou how to behave at each place, so that you will make a good impression. I want people to like you, and they would if you'd only try to be a littlemore agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink rose in yourbonnet. It's becoming, and you look too sober in your plain suit. Take yourlight gloves and the embroidered handkerchief. We'll stop at Meg's, andborrow her white sunshade, and then you can have my dove-colored one. 'While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them, notwithout entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustled intoher new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet stringsin an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on hercollar, wrinkled up her features generally as she shook out thehandkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as thepresent mission was to her feelings, and when she had squeezed her handsinto tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch ofelegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly... `I'm perfectly miserable, but if you consider me presentable, I die happy. '`You're highly satisfactory. Turn slowly round, and let me get a carefulview. ' Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and there, then fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, `Yes, you'll do. Your headis all I could ask, for that white bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands easily, no matter if yourgloves do pinch. There's one thing you can do well, Jo, that is, wear ashawl. I can't, but it's very nice to see you, and I'm so glad Aunt Marchgave you that lovely one. It's simple, but handsome, and those folds overthe arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and haveI looped my dress evenly? I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my nose isn't. '`You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever, ' said Jo, looking through herhand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against the goldenhair. `Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please, ma'am?'`Hold it yup when you walk, but drop it in the house. The sweepingstyle suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. Youhaven't half buttoned one cuff, do it at once. You'll never look finished ifyou are not careful about the little details, for they make yup the pleasingwhole. 'Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing upher cuff, but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as `pretty aspicters', Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch them. `Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so Iwant you to put on your best deportment. Don't make any of your abruptremarks, or do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and quiet, that'ssafe and ladylike, and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes, ' said Amy, asthey approached the first place, having borrowed the white parasol andbeen inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm. `Let me see. `Calm, cool, and quiet', yes, I think I can promise that. I'veplayed the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I'll try it off. Mypowers are great, as you shall see, so be easy in your mind, my child. 'Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word, for duringthe first call she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every foldcorrectly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and as silentas the sphinx. In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her `charming novel', and theMisses Chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera, and the fashions. Each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and a demure `Yes' or `No'with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the word `talk', tried to drawher out, and administered covert pokes with her foot. Jo sat as if blandlyunconcious of it all, with deportment like Maud's face, `icily regular, splendidly null'. `What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!' wasthe unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door closedupon their guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, but Amylooked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laidthe blame upon Jo. `How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properlydignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock and stone. Try to be sociable at the Lamb's'. Gossip as other girls do, and be interestedin dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up. They move in thebest society, are valuable persons for us to know, and I wouldn't fail tomake a good impression there for anything. '`I'll be agreeable. I'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and rapturesover any trifle you like. I rather enjoy this, and now I'll imitate what iscalled `a charming girl'. I can do it, for I have May Chester as a model, andI'll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don't say, `What a lively, nicecreature that Jo March is!'Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish therewas no knowing where she would stop. Amy's face was a study when shesaw her sister skim into the next drawing room, kiss all the young ladieswith effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in thechat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possessionof by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a longaccount of Lucretia's last attack, while three delightful young gentlemenhovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rush in and rescue her. So situated, she was powerless to check Jo, who seemed possessed by aspirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the lady. A knot of headsgathered about her, and Amy strained her ears to hear what was going on, for broken sentences filled her with curiosity, and frequent peals oflaughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her suffering onoverhearing fragments of this sort of conversation. `She rides splendidly. Who taught her?'`No one. She used to practice mounting, holding the reins, and sittingstraight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything, for she doesn'tknow what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheap becauseshe trains them to carry ladies so well. She has such a passion for it, I oftentell her if everything else fails, she can be a horsebreaker, and get her livingso. 'At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for theimpression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, whichwas her especial aversion. But what could she do? For the old lady was inthe middle of her story, and long before it was done, Jo was off again, makemore droll revelations and committing still more fearful blunders. `Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that youhad to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for apleasure party, wasn't it?'`Which did she choose?' asked one of the laughing gentlemen, whoenjoyed the subject. `None of them. She heard of a young horse at the farm house over theriver, and though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, becausehe was handsome and spirited. Her struggles were really pathetic. Therewas no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took the saddle to thehorse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over the river, put it on herhead, and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the old man!'`Did she ride the horse?'`Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her broughthome in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of theparty. '`Well, I call that plucky!' And young Mr. Lamb turned an approvingglance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make thegirl look so red and uncomfortable. She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when asudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress. One of theyoung ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to thepicnic and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was boughttwo years ago, must needs answer with unnecessary frankness, `Oh, Amypainted it. You can't buy those soft shades, so we paint ours any color welike. It's a great comfort to have an artistic sister. '`Isn't that an original idea?' cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun. `That's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There'snothing the child can't do. Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie'sparty, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of skyblue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin, ' added Jo, with an airof pride in her sister's accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she feltthat it would be a relief to throw her cardcase at her. `We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much, 'observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed. Any mention of her `works' always had a bad effect upon Jo, who eithergrew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusqueremark, as now. `Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write thatrubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it. Are you going to NewYork this winter?'As Miss Lamb had `enjoyed' the story, this speech was not exactlygrateful or complimentary. The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake, butfearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for herto make the first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptnessthat left three people with half- finished sentences in their mouths. `Amy, we must go. Good-by, dear, do come and see us. We are piningfor a visit. I don't dare to ask you, Mr. Lamb, but if you should come, Idon't think I shall have the heart to send you away. 'Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester's gushing stylethat Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strong desireto laugh and cry at the same time. `Didn't I do well?' asked Jo, with a satisfied air as they walked away. `Nothing could have been worse, ' was Amy's crushing reply. `Whatpossessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats and boots, and all the rest of it?'`Why, it's funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it's nouse pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season, andhave things as easy and fine as they do. '`You needn't go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose our;poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way. You haven't a bit of properpride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak, 'said Amy despairingly. Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with thestiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors. `How shall I behave here?' she asked, as they approached the thirdmansion. `Just as you please. I wash my hands of you, ' was Amy's short answer. `Then I'll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we'll have acomfortable time. Goodness knows I need a little change, for elegance has abad effect upon my constitution, ' returned Jo gruffly, being disturbed byher failure to suit. An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty childrenspeedily soothed her ruffled feelings, and leaving Amy to entertain thehostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo devotedherself to the young folks and found the change refreshing. She listened tocollege stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and poodles without amurmur, agreed heartily that `Tom Brown was a brick, ' regardless of theimproper form of praise, and when one lad proposed a visit to his turtletank, she went with an alacrity which caused Mamma to smile upon her, asthat motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a ruinous condition byfilial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, and dearer to her than the mostfaultless coiffure from the hands of an inspired Frenchwoman. Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself toher heart's content. Mr. Tudor's uncle had married an English lady whowas third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family withgreat respect, for in spite of her American birth and breeding, shepossessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best of us--thatunacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set the mostdemocratic nation under the sun in ferment at the coming of a royalyellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has something to dowith the love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for animperious little mother, who held him while she could, and let him go witha farewell scolding when he rebelled. But even the satisfaction of talkingwith a distant connection of the British nobility did not render Amyforgetful of time, and when the proper number of minutes had passed, shereluctantly tore herself from this aristocratic society, and looked about forJo, fervently hoping that her incorrigible sister would not be found in anyposition which should bring disgrace upon the name of March. It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad. For Jo sat on thegrass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dogreposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related one ofLaurie's pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was pokingturtles with Amy's cherished parasol, a second was eating gingerbreadover Jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her gloves. But all wereenjoying themselves, and when Jo collected her damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come again, `It was such fun tohear about Laurie's larks. '`Capital boys, aren't they? I feel quite young and brisk again after that. 'said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from habit, partlyto conceal the bespattered parasol. `Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?' asked Amy, wisely refrainingfrom any comment upon Jo's dilapidated appearance. `Don't like him, he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, a nddoesn't speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is fast, and I don'tconsider him a desirable acquaintance, so I let him alone. '`You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod, and justnow you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod andthe bow, it would have been right, ' said Amy reprovingly. `No, it wouldn't, ' returned Jo, `I neither like, respect, nor admire Tudor, though his grandfather's uncle's nephew's niece was a third cousin to alord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever. I think well ofhim, and like to show that I do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brownpaper parcels. '`It's no use trying to argue with you, ' began Amy. `Not the least, my dear, ' interrupted Jo, `so let us look amiable, and dropa card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I'm deeply grateful. 'The family cardcase having done its duty the girls walked on, and Jouttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being toldthat the young ladies were engaged. `now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March today. We can rundown there any time, and it's really a pity to trail through the dust in ourbest bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross. '`Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt March likes to have us pay herthe compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call. It's a littlething to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don't believe it will hurt yourthings half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your bonnet. '`What a good girl you are, Amy!' said Jo, with a repentant glance fromher own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh andspotless still. `I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to pleasepeople as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much time to dothem, so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let the small onesslip, but they tell best in the end, I fancy. 'Amy smiled and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air, `Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones, for they haveno other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you'd rememberthat, and practice it, you'd be better liked than I am, because there is moreof you. '`I'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I'm willing to ownthat you are right, only it's easier for me to risk my life for a person than tobe pleasant to him when I don't feel like it. It's a great misfortune to havesuch strong likes and dislikes, isn't it?'`It's a greater not to be able to hide them. I don't mind saying that I don'tapprove of Tudor any more than you do, but I'm not called upon to tellhim so. Neither are you, and there is no use in making yourselfdisagreeable because he is. '`But I think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men, and how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not doany good, as I know to my sorrow, since I've had Teddie to manage. Butthere are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word, and I say we ought to do it to others if we can. '`Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can't be taken as a sample of otherboys, ' said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would haveconvulsed the `remarkable boy' if he had heard it. `If we were belles, orwomen of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps, but for usto frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don't approve of them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn't have a particle ofeffect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical. '`So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merelybecause we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That's a nice sort ofmorality. '`I can't argue about it, I only know that it's the way of the world, andpeople who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their pains. Idon't like reformers, and I hope you never try to be one. '`I do like them, and I shall be one if I can, for in spite of the laughing theworld would never get on without them. We can't agree about that. For youbelong to the old set, and I to the new. You will get on the best, but I shallhave the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think. '`Well, compose yourself now, and don't worry Aunt with your newideas. '`I'll try not to, but I'm always possessed to burst out with someparticularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her. It's mydoom, and I can't help it. 'They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some veryinteresting subject, but they dropped it as the girls came in, with aconscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about theirnieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned, but Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper and pleasedeverybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit wasfelt at once, and both aunts `my deared' her affectionately, looking whatthey afterward said emphatically, `That child improves every day. '`Are you going to help about the fair, dear?' asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amysat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so well in theyoung. `Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend atable, as I have nothing but my time to give. '`I'm not, ' put in Jo decidedly. `I hate to be patronized, and the Chestersthink it's a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair. Iwonder you consented, Amy, they only want you to work. '`I am willing to work. It's for the freedmen as well as the Chesters, and Ithink it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. Patronagedoes not trouble me when it is well meant. '`Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear. It's apleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts. Some do not, and thatis trying, ' observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who satapart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression. If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in thebalance for one of them, she would have turned dove-like in a minute, butunfortunately, we don't have windows in our breasts, and cannot see whatgoes on in the minds of our friends. Better for us that we cannot as ageneral thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a savingof time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of several yearsof pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue. `I don't like favors, they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I'd ratherdo everything for myself, and be perfectly independent. '`Ahem!' coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March. `I told you so, ' said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol. Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in theair, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting. `Do you speak French, dear?' asked Mrs. Carrol, laying a hand onAmy's. `Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often asI like, ' replied amy, with a grateful look, which caused the old lady to smileaffably. `How are you about languages?' asked Mrs. Carrol of JO. `Don't know a word. I'm very stupid about studying anything, can't bearFrench, it's such a slippery, silly sort of language, ' was the brusque reply. Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy, `You are quite strong and well no, dear, I believe? Eyes don't trouble youany more, do they?'`Not at all, thank you, ma'am. I'm very well, and mean to do great thingsnext winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that joyful timearrives. '`Good girl! You deserve to go, and I'm sure you will some day, ' saidAunt March, with an approving; pat on the head, as Amy picked up herball for her. Crosspatch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin, squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair topeep into Jo's face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that itwas impossible to help laughing. `Most observing bird, ' said the old lady. `Come and take a walk, my dear?' cried Polly, hopping toward the chinacloset, with a look suggestive of a lump of sugar. `Thank you, I will. Come Amy. ' And Jo brought the visit to an end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon herconstitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy kissedboth the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impressionof shadow and sunshine, which impression caused Aunt March to say, asthey vanished... `You'd better do it, Mary. I'll supply the money. And Aunt Carrol toreply decidedly, `I certainly will, if her father and mother consent. 'CHAPTER THIRTYMrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was considereda great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to be invited to takea table, and everyone was much interest in the matter. Amy was asked, butJo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows weredecidedly akimbo at this period of her life, and it took a good many hardknocks to teach her how to get on easily. The `haughty, uninterestingcreature' was let severely alone, but Amy's talent and taste were dulycomplimented by the offer of the art table, and she exerted herself toprepare and secure appropriate and valuable contributions to it. Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened, thenthere occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almost impossible toavoid, when some five-and-twenty women, old and young, with all theirprivate piques and prejudices, try to work together. May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greaterfavorite than herself, and just at this time several trifling circumstancesoccurred to increase the feeling. Amy's dainty pen-and-ink work entirelyeclipsed May's painted vases--that was one thorn. Then the all conqueringTudor had danced four times with Amy at a late party and only once withMay--that was thorn number two. But the chief grievance that rankled inher soul, and gave an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, was a rumorwhich some obliging gossip had whispered to her, that the March girls hadmade fun of her at the Lambs'. All the blame of this should have fallenupon Jo, for her naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection, and the frolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke to escape. No hint of thishad reached the culprits, however, and Amy's dismay can be imagined, when, the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touchesto her pretty table, Mrs. Chester, who, of course, resented the supposedridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look... `I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about mygiving this table to anyone but my girls. As this is the most prominent, andsome say the most attractive table of all, and they are the chief getters-up ofthe fair, it is thought best for them to take this place. I'm sorry, but I knowyou are too sincerely interested in the cause to mind a little personaldisappointment, and you shall have another table if you like. 'Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver thislittle speech, but when the time came, she found it rather difficult to utter itnaturally, with Amy's unsuspicious eyes looking straight at her full ofsurprise and trouble. `Amy felt that there was something behind this, but would not guesswhat, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did, `Perhapsyou had rather I took no table at all?'`Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg. It's merely a matter ofexpediency, you see, my girls will naturally take the lead, and this table isconsidered their proper place. I think it very appropriate to you, and feelvery grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty, but we must give up ourprivate wishes, of course, and I will see that you have a good placeelsewhere. Wouldn't you like the flower table? The little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a charming thing of it, and theflower table is always attractive you know. '`Especially to gentlemen, ' added May, with a look which enlightenedAmy as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She colored angrily, buttook no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered with unexpectedamiability... `It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my place here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like. '`You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer, ' beganMay, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had so carefully madeand so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but Amy mistook hermeaning, and said quickly . .. `Oh, certainly, if they are in your way, ' and sweeping her contributionsinto her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that herself and her worksof art had been insulted past forgiveness. `Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak, Mama, 'said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table. `Girls' quarrels are soon over, ' returned her mother, feeling a trifleashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might. The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which cordialreception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically. But everythingseemed against her. It was late, and she was tired. Everyone was too busywith their own affairs to help her, and the little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered like so many magpies, making a greatdeal of confusion in their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch wouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled andthreatened to tumble down on her head when the hanging baskets werefilled. Her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sephia tear on theCupid's cheek. She bruised her hands with hammering, and got coldworking in a draft, which last affliction filled her with apprehensions forthe morrow. Any girl reader who has suffered like afflictions willsympathize with poor Amy and wish her well through her task. There was great indignation at home when she told her story thatevening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done right. Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all, and Jo demanded why shedidn't take all her pretty things and leave those mean people to get onwithout her. `Because they are mean is no reason why i

should be. I hate such things, and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don't intend to show it. Theywill feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions, won't they, Marmee?'`That's the right spirit, my dear. A kiss for a blow is always best, thoughit's not very easy to give it sometimes, ' said her mother, with the air of onewho had learned the difference between preaching and practicing. In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate, Amyadhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering her enemyby kindness. She began well, thanks to a silent reminder that came to herunexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged her table thatmorning, while the little girls were in the anteroom filling the baskets, shetook up her pet production, a little book, the antique cover of which herfather had found among his treasures, and in which on leaves of vellumshe had beautifully illuminated different texts. As she turned the pages richin dainty devices with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon one versethat made her stop and think. Framed in a brilliant scrollwork of scarlet, blue and gold, with little spirits of good will helping one another up anddown among the thorns and flowers, were the words, `Thou shalt love thyneighbor as thyself. '`I ought, but I don't, ' thought Amy, as her eye went from the bright pageto May's discontented face behind the big vases, that could not hide thevacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy stood a minute, turning theleaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for allheartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit. Many wise and true sermonsare preached us every day by unconscious ministers in street, school, office, or home. Even a fair table may become a pulpit, if it can offer the good andhelpful words which are never out of season. Amy's conscience preachedher a little sermon from that text, then and there, and she did what many ofus do not always do, took the sermon to heart, and straightway put it inpractice. A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiring thepretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. They droppedtheir voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side ofthe story and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirithad come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it. She heardMay say sorrowfully... `It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don't wantto fill up with odds and ends. The table was just complete then. Now it'sspoiled. '`I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her, ' suggested someone. `How could I after all the fuss?' began May, but she did not finish, forAmy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly... `You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them. Iwas just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for they belong to your tablerather than mine. Here they are, please take them, and forgive me if I washasty in carrying them away last night. 'As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile, and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendly thingthan it was to stay and be thanked for it. `Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?' cried one girl. May's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose temper wasevidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with a disagreeablelaugh, `Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn't sell them at her own table. 'Now, that was hard. When we make little sacrifices we like to have themappreciated, at least, and for a minute Amy was sorry she had done it, feeling that virtue was not always its won reward. But it is, as she presentlydiscovered, for her spirits began to rise, and her table to blossom under herskillful hands, the girls were very kind, and that one little act seemed tohave cleared the atmosphere amazingly. It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat behind hertable, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon. Few cared tobuy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long beforenight. The art table was the most attractive in the room. There was a crowdabout it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to and fro withimportant faces and rattling money boxes. Amy often looked wistfullyacross, longing to be there, where she felt at home and happy, instead of ina corner with nothing to do. It might seem no hardship to some of us, butto a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, but very trying, andthe thought of Laurie and his friends made it a real martyrdom. She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quietthat they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made nocomplaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her mother gave heran extra cordial cup of tea. Beth helped her dress, and made a charminglittle wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished her family by getting herselfup with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were about to beturned. `Don't do anything rude, pray Jo. I won't have any fuss made, so let it allpass and behave yourself, ' begged Amy, as she departed early, hoping tofind a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little table. `I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to ever one Iknow, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible. Teddy and hisboys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet. ' returned Jo, leaningover the gate to watch for Laurie. Presently the familiar tramp was heard inthe dusk, and she ran out to meet him. `Is that my boy?'`As sure as this is my girl!' And Laurie tucked her hand under his armwith the air of a man whose every wish was gratified. `Oh, teddy, such doings!' And Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal. `A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and I'll behanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, and camp downbefore her table afterward, ' said Laurie, espousing her cause with warmth. `The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may notarrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but I shouldn'twonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean thing they arevery likely to do another, ' observed Jo in a disgusted tone. `I didn't know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grandpa waspoorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did want some. '`Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking? They arejust as much yours as mine. Don't we always go halves in everything?'began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn thorny. `Gracious, I hope not! Half of some of your things wouldn't suit me atall. But we mustn't stand philandering here. I've got to help Amy, so yougo and make yourself splendid, and if you'll be so very kind as to let Hayestake a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I'll bless you forever. '`Couldn't you do it now?' asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut thegate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the bars, `Goaway, Teddy, I'm busy. 'Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, for Hayessent up a wilderness of flowers, with a loverly basket arranged in his bestmanner for a centerpiece. Then the March family turned out en masse, andJo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy's taste, and apparently enjoyingthemselves very much. Laurie and his friends gallantly threw themselvesinto the breach, bought up the bouquets, encamped before the table, andmade that corner the liveliest spot in the room. Amy was in her elementnow, and out of gratitude, if nothing more, was as spritely and gracious aspossible, coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was it's ownreward, after all. Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy washappily surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the hall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subjectof the Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the illfeeling and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible. She alsodiscovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, andconsidered her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art table, sheglanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no sign of them. `Tuckedaway out of sight, I dare say, ' thought Jo, who could forgiver her ownwrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered her family. `Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?' asked May with aconciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be generous. `She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she isenjoying herself. The flower table is always attractive, you know, `especially to gentlemen'. 'Jo couldn't resist giving that little slap, but May took it so meekly sheregretted it a minute after, and fell to praising the great vases, which stillremained unsold. `Is Amy's illumination anywhere about' I took a fancy to buy that forFather, ' said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister's work. `Everything of Amy's sold long ago. I took care that the right people sawthem, and they made a nice little sum of money for us, ' returned May, whohad overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy had, that day. Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, and Amy lookedboth touched and surprised by the report of May's word and manner. `Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tablesas generously as you have by mine, especially the art table, ' she said, ordering out `Teddy's own', as the girls called the college friends. ``Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table, but do your dutylike men, and you'll get your money's worth of art in every sense of theword, ' said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx prepared to takethe field. `To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May, ' said little Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and getting promptlyquenched by Laurie, who said... `Very well, my son, for a small boy!' and walked him off, with a paternalpat on the head. `Buy the vases, ' whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals offire on her enemy's head. To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, butpervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemenspeculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and wanderedhelplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases. Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and saidsomething to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beamwith satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride andanxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till severaldays later. The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amygoodnight, she did not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, anda look which said `forgive and forget'. That satisfied Amy, and when shegot home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with agreat bouquet in each. `The reward of merit for a magnanimous March, ' asLaurie announced with a flourish. `You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of characterthan I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You've behaved sweetly, and Irespect you with all my heart, ' said Jo warmly, as they brushed their hairtogether late that night. `Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must havebeen dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting your heart onselling your own pretty things. I don't believe I could have done it askindly as you did, ' added Beth from her pillow. `Why, girls, you needn't praise me so. I only did as I'd be done by. Youlaugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true gentlewomanin mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know how. I can't explainexactly, but I want to be above the little meannesses and follies and faultsthat spoil so many women. I'm far from it now, but I do my best, and hopein time to be what Mother is. 'Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, `I understand nowwhat you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again. You are getting on fasterthan you think, and I'll take lessons of you in true politeness, for you'velearned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary, you'll get your reward someday, and no one will be more delighted than I shall. 'A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to bedelighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March's face wasilluminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who werewith her, demanded what the glad tiding were. `Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants.. '`Me to go with her!' burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in anuncontrollable rapture. `No, dear, not you. It's Amy. '`Oh, Mother! She's too young, it's my turn first. I've wanted it so long. Itwould do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid. I must go!'`I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is not forus to dictate when she offers such a favor. '`It's always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work. It isn't fair, oh, it isn't fair!' cried Jo passionately. `I'm afraid it's partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me theother day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said--`I planned atfirst to ask Jo, but as `favors burden her', and she `hates French', I think Iwon't venture to invite her. Amy is more docile, will make a goodcompanion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may give her. '`Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can't I learn to keep itquiet?' groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. Marchsaid sorrowfully... `I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, so try tobear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasure by reproaches orregrets. '`I'll try, ' said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up the basketshe had joyfully upset. `I'll take a leaf out of her book, and try not only toseem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute of happiness. But itwon't be easy, for it is a dreadful disappointment. ' And poor Jo bedewedthe little fat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears. `Jo, dear, I'mvery selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and I'm glad you are not going quiteyet, ' whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and all, with such a clingingtouch and loving face that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret thatmade her want to box her own ears, and humbly beg Aunt Carrol toburden her with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it. By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the familyjubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without repinings atAmy's good fortune. The young lady herself received the news as tidingsof great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort hercolors and pack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art than herself. `It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls, ' she said impressively, as shescraped her best palette. `It will decide my career, for if I have any genius, Ishall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove it. '`Suppose you haven't?' said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the newcollars which were to be handed over to Amy. `Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living, ' replied theaspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But she made a wry face atthe prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorousmeasures before she gave up her hopes. `No, you won't. You hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days, ' said Jo. `Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that onewill. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be an artist myself, I should liketo be able to help those who are, ' said Amy, smiling, as if the part of LadyBountiful would suit her better than that of a poor drawing teacher. `Hum!' said Jo, with a sigh. `If you wish it you'll have it, for your wishesare always granted--mine never. '`Would you like to go?' asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose withher knife. `Rather!'`Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forum forrelics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times. '`Thank you. I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does, ' returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer asgratefully as she could. `There was not much time for preparation, and thehouse was in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the lastflutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried till she couldn't cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly tillthe steamer sailed. Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, itsuddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between herand those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the last lingerer, saying with a sob... `Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything should happen... ``I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I'll come and comfort you, 'whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to keep hisword. So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always new andbeautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her from theshore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall thehappy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could seenothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONELondonDearest People, Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped here years ago, and won't go anywhere else. However, we don't mean to stay long, so it'sno great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits out of my notebook, for I've done nothing butsketch and scribble since I started. I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I goton delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant peopleto amuse me. Everyone was very kind to me, especially the officers. Don'tlaugh, Jo, gentlemen really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, orto wait upon one, and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to makethem useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, I'm afraid. Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so whenI had done what I could for them, I went and enjoyed myself. Such walkson deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost asexciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wishBeth could have come, it would have done her so much good. As for Jo, shewould have gone up and sat on the maintop jib, or whatever the high thingis called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the captain'sspeaking trumpet, she'd have been in such a state of rapture. It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found itvery lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there, ruinson some of the hills, and gentlemen's countryseats in the valleys, with deerfeeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I didn't regret gettingup to see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, anda rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it. At Queenstown on of my new acquaintances left us, Mr. Lennox, andwhen I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed and and, with a look at me... `Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney? She lives on the banks ofKillarney; From the glance of her eye, Shun danger and fly, For fatal's theglance of Kate Kearney. 'Wasn't that nonsensical?We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy place, and Iwas glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved `a la mutton chop, the first thing. Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton, but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little bootblackknew that an American stood in them, and said, with a grin, `There yer har, sir. I've given `em the latest Yankee shine. ' It amused Uncle immensely. Oh, I must tell you what that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I sawin my room was a lovely one, with `Robert Lennox's compliments, ' on thecard. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like traveling. I never shall get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was like ridingthrough a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouseswere my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticedwindows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The very cattlelooked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and thehens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous like Yankeebiddies. Such perfect color I never saw, the grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, I was in a rapture all the way. So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everythingwhile we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt wastired and went to sleep, but Uncle read his guidebook, and wouldn't beastonished at anything. This is the way we went on. Amy, flying up--`Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo, darting tomy window--`How sweet! We must go there sometime, won't we Papa?'Uncle, calmly admiring his boots--`No, my dear, not unless you want beer, that's a brewery. 'A pause--then Flo cried out, `Bless me, there's a gallows and a mangoing up. ' `Where, where?' shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts with acrossbeam and some dangling chains. `A colliery, ' remarks Uncle, with atwinkle of the eye. `Here's a lovely flock of lambs all lying down, ' saysAmy. `See, Papa, aren't they pretty?' added Flo sentimentally. `Geese, young ladies, ' returns Uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settlesdown to enjoy the FLIRTATIONS OF CAPTAIN CAVENDISH, and I havethe scenery all to myself. Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to beseen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a littlebetween the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off insuch a hurry I wasn't half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a muslindress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in RegentStreet is perfectly splendid. Things seem so cheap, nice ribbons onlysixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesn'tthat sound sort of elegant and rich?Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and Unclewere out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it wasn'tthe thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! For whenwe were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo wasfrightened, and told me to stop him. But he was up outside behindsomewhere, and I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see meflap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck pace. At last, in my despair, Isaw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, anda beery voice said... `Now, then, mum?'I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, with an `Aye, aye, mum, ' the man made his horse walk, as if going to afuneral. I poked again and said, `A little faster, ' then off he went, helter-skelter as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate. Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are morearistocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. I often see hisfootmen lounging at the back gate, and the Duke of Wellington's house isnot far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for therewere fat dowagers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, withgorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, andpowdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I eversaw, handsome girls, looking half asleep, dandies in queer English hats andlavender kids lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets andmuffin caps stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them. Rotten Row means `Route de Roi', or the king's way, but now it's morelike a riding school than anything else. The horses are splendid, and themen, especially the grooms, ride well, but the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our rules. I longed to show them a tearingAmerican gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scanthabits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark. Everyone rides--old men, stout ladies, little children-- and the young folksdo a deal of flirting here, I say a pair exchange rose buds, for it's the thingto wear one in the button-hole, and I thought it rather a nice little idea. In the P. M. To Westminster Abbey, but don't expect me to describe it, that's impossible, so I'll only say it was sublime! This evening we are goingto see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of mylife. It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning without tellingyou what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we were attea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so surprised, for I shouldn't have known them but for the cards. Both are tall fellowswith whiskers, Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard fromLaurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house, but Unclewon't go, so we shall return the call, and see them as we can. They went tothe theater with us, and we did have such a good time, for Frank devotedhimself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as ifwe had know each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, andwas sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, andsent his `respectful compliments to the big hat'. Neither of them hadforgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feellike a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late, with my room fullof pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theaters, new gowns, andgallant creatures who say `Ah!' and twirl their blond mustaches with thetrue English lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsenseam, as ever, your loving... AMYPARISDear girls, In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughnswere, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips toHampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, forat Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and at the Museum, rooms full ofpictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other greatcreatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regularEnglish picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than Icould copy, also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We `did'London to our heart's content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry togo away, for though English people are slow to take you in, when theyonce make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in hospitality, Ithink. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall bedreadfully disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends, andthe boys very nice fellows, especially Fred. Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying hehad come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked soberat first, but he was so cool about it she couldn't say a word. And now weget on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know tenwords, and insists on talking English very loud, as if it would make peopleunderstand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the `parley vooing', as Uncle calls it. Such delightful times as we are having! Sight-seeing from morning tillnight, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafes, and meeting with all sortsof droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she hasno soul for art, but I have, and I'm cultivation eye and taste as fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better, for I've seen her Napoleon'scocked hat and gray coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush, alsoMarie Antoinette's little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne'ssword, and many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours about themwhen I come, but haven't time to write. The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of bijouterie and lovelythings that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy them. Fred wanted toget me some, but of course I didn't allow it. Then the Bois and ChampsElysees are tres magnifique. I've seen the imperial family several times, theemperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, butdressed in bad taste, I thought--purple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kissed hishand to the people as he passes in his four-horse barouche, with postilionsin red satin jackets and a mounted guard before and behind. We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though theantique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Pere la Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and looking in, one sees atable, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners tosit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy. Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and sitting on the balcony, we lookup and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend ourevenings talking there when too tired with our day's work to go out. Fredis very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man I everknew-- except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish Fred wasdark, for I don't fancy light men, however, the Vaughns are very rich andcome of an excellent family, so I won't find fault with their yellow hair, asmy own is yellower. Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland, and as we shalltravel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty letters. I keep my diary, and try to `remember correctly and describe clearly all that I see andadmire', as Father advised. It is good practice for me, and with mysketchbook will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles. Adieu, I embrace you tenderly. VOTRE AMIEHEIDELBERGMy dear Mamma, Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell you whathas happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see. The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with allmy might. Get Father's old guidebooks and read about it. I haven't wordsbeautiful enough to describe it. At Coblenz we had a lovely time, for somestudents from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us aserenade. It was a moonlight night, and about one o'clock Flo and I werewaked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, andhid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us Fred and the studentssinging away down below. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw--theriver, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlighteverywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of stone. When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw themscramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughingaway, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed meone of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked verysentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didn't throw it, but Flo, whichseemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turnedsensible again. I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it beginsto look like it. The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where Fredlost some money, and I scolded him. He needs someone to look after himwhen Frank is not with him. Kate said once she hoped he'd marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would be well for him. Frankfurt wasdelightful. I saw Goeth's house, Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famousAriadne. It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I hadknown the story better. I didn't like to ask, as everyone knew it orpretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it. I ought to haveread more, for I find I don't know anything, and it mortifies me. Now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and Fred has justgone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him. Inever thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the serenade night. Since then I've begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, anddaily adventures were something more to him than fun. I haven't flirted, Mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done myvery best. I can't help it if people like me. I don't try to make them, and itworries me if I don't care for them, though Jo says I haven't got any heart. Now I know Mother will shake her head, and the girls say, `Oh, themercenary little wretch!', but I've made up my mind, and if Fred asks me, Ishall accept him, though I'm not madly in love. I like him, and we get oncomfortably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and veryrich--ever so much richer than the Laurences. I don't think his familywould object, and I should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have theestate, I suppose, and such a splendid one it is! A city house in afashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortableand full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for it'sgenuine. I've seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, andpictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should ask! And I'd rather have itthan any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind. Imay be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minutelonger than I can help. One of us must marry well. Meg didn't, Jo won't, Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round. I wouldn'tmarry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of that, and though Fredis not my model hero, he does very well, and in time I should get fondenough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. SoI've been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it wasimpossible to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but littlethings showed it. He never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of thecarriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, andfrowns at anyone else who ventures to speak tome. Yesterday at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend, a rakish-looking baron, about `ein wonderschones Blondchen', Fred lookedas fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate. He isn't one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he hasScotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes. Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least all of usbut Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the Post Restante forletters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults wherethe monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector long agofor his English wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying to sketchthe gray stone lion's head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprayshanging round it. I felt as if I'd got into a romance, sitting there, watchingthe Meckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of theAustrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl. Ihad a feeling that something was going to happen and I was ready for it. Ididn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited. By-and-by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying through thegreat arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said he'd just got a letter begging himto come home, for Frank was very ill. So he was going at once on the nighttrain and only had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, anddisappointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as he shookhands, and said it in a way that I could not mistake, `I shall soon comeback, you won't forget me, Amy?'I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and therewas no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was off in anhour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to speak, but Ithink, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father notto do anything of the sort yet a while, for is is a rash boy, and the oldgentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome, and then, if I don't change my mind, I'll say `Yes, thank you, ' when he says`Will you, please?'Of course this is all very private, but I wished you to know what wasgoing on. Don't be anxious about me, remember I am your `prudent Amy', and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as you like. I'll use it if I can. I wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love andtrust me. Ever your AMYCHAPTER THIRTY-TWO`Jo, I'm anxious about Beth. '`Why, Mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came. '`It's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits. I'm sure there issomething on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is. '`What makes you think so, Mother?'`She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as sheused. I found her crying over the babies the other day. When she sings, thesongs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in her face that Idon't understand. This isn't like Beth, and it worries me. '`Have you asked her about it?'`I have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my questions or lookedso distressed that I stopped. I never force my children's confidence, and Iseldom have to wait for long. 'Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemedquite unconscious of any secret disquietude but Beth's, and after sewingthoughtfully for a minute, Jo said, `I think she is growing up, and so beginsto dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowingwhy or being able to explain them. Why, Mother, Beth's eighteen, but wedon't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman. '`So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up, ' returned her motherwith a sigh and a smile. `Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts ofworries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one. I promise neverto hop very far, if that is any comfort to you. '`It's a great comfort, Jo. I always feel strong when you are at home, nowMeg is gone. Beth is too feeble and Amy too young to depend upon, butwhen the tug comes, you are always ready. '`Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there must always beone scrub in a family. Amy is splendid in fine works and I'm not, but I feelin my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or half the family fallsick

at once. Amy is distinguishing herself abroad, but if anything is amissat home, I'm your man. '`I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender little heartto her Jo sooner than to anyone else. Be very kind, and don't let her thinkanyone watches or talks about; her. If she only would get quite strong andcheerful again, I shouldn't have a wish in the world. '`Happy woman! I've got heaps. '`My dear, what are they?'`I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine. They are not verywearing, so they'll keep. ' And Jo stitched away, with a wise nod which sether mother's heart at rest about her for the present at least. While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched Beth, and aftermany conflicting conjectures, finally settled upon one which seemed toexplain the change in her. A slight incident gave Jo the clue to the mystery, she thought, and lively fancy, loving heart did the rest. She was affecting towrite busily one Saturday afternoon, when she and Beth were alonetogether. Yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on her sister, who seemedunusually quiet. Sitting at the window, Beth's work often dropped into herlap, and she leaned her head upon her hand, in a dejected attitude, whileher eyes rested on the dull, autumnal landscape. Suddenly some onepassed below, whistling like an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out, `All serene! Coming in tonight. 'Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the passer-bytill his quick tramp died away, then said softly as if to herself, `How strongand well and happy that dear boy looks. '`Hum!' said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face, for the bright colorfaded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and presently a tear layshining on the window ledge. Beth whisked it off, and in her half-avertedface read a tender sorrow that made her own eyes fill. Fearing to betrayherself, she slipped away, murmuring something about needing morepaper. `Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!' she said, sitting down in her ownroom, pale with the shock of the discovery which she believed she had justmade. `I never dreamed of such a thing. What will Mother say? I wonder ifher... ' there Jo stopped and turned scarlet with a sudden thought. `If heshouldn't love back again, how dreadful it would be. He must. I'll makehim!' And she shook her head threateningly at the picture of themischievous- looking boy laughing at her from the wall. `Oh dear, we aregrowing up with a vengeance. Here's Meg married and a mamma, Amyflourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love. I'm the only one that has senseenough to keep out of mischief. ' Jo thought intently for a minute with hereyes fixed on the picture, then she smoothed out her wrinkled foreheadand said, with a decided nod at the face opposite, `No thank you, sir, you're very charming, but you've no more stability than a weathercock. Soyou needn't write touching notes and smile in that insinuating way, for itwon't do a bit of good, and I won't have it. 'Then she sighed, and fell into a reverie from which she did not wake tillthe early twilight sent her down to take new observations, which onlyconfirmed her suspicion. Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked withJo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but sowas everybody's. Therefore, no one thought of imagining that he caredmore for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression hadprevailed in the family of late that `our boy' was getting fonder than ever ofJo, who, however, wouldn't hear a word upon the subject and scoldedviolently if anyone dared to suggest it. If they had known the varioustender passages which had been nipped in the bud, they would have hadthe immense satisfaction of saying, `I told you so. ' But Jo hated`philandering', and wouldn't allow it, always having a joke or a smileready at the least sign of impending danger. When Laurie first went tocollege, he fell in love about once a month, but these small flames were asbrief as ardent, did no damage, and much amused Jo, who took greatinterest in the alternations of hop, despair, and resignation, which wereconfided to her in their weekly conferences. But there came a time whenLaurie ceased to worship at many shrines, hinted darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulged occasionally in Byronic fits of gloom. Then he avoided the tender subject altogether, wrote philosophical notes toJo, turned studious, and gave out that he was going to `dig', intending tograduate in a blaze of glory. This suited the young lady better than twilightconfidences, tender pressures of the hand, and eloquent glances of the eye, for with Jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferred imaginaryheroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shutup in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable. Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and Jowatched Laurie that night as she had never done before. If she had not gotthe new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual in thefact that Beth was very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her. But having giventhe rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her at a great pace, andcommon sense, being rather weakened by a long course or romancewriting, did not come to the rescue. As usual Beth lay on the sofa andLaurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all sorts of gossip, forshe depended on her weekly `spin', and he never disappointed her. Butthat evening Jo fancied that Beth's eyes rested on the lively, dark facebeside her with peculiar pleasure, and that she listened with intenseinterest to an account of some exciting cricket match, though the phrases, `caught off a tice', `stumped off his ground'', and `the leg hit for three', were as intelligible to her as Sanskrit. She also fancied, having set her heartupon seeing it, that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie'smanner, that he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a little absent--minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with anassiduity that was really almost tender. `Who knows? Stranger things have happened, ' thought Jo, as she fussedabout the room. `She will make quite an angel of him, and he will make lifedelightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love each other. Idon't see how he can help it, and I do believe he would if the rest of uswere out of the way. 'As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that sheought to dispose of herself with all speed. But where should she go? Andburning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she sat down tosettle that point. Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa--long, broad, well-cushioned, and low, a trifle shabby, as well it might be, for the girls hadslept and sprawled on it as babies, fished over the back, rode on the arms, and had menageries under it as children, and rested tired heads, dreameddreams, and listened to tender talk on it as young women. They all loved it, for it was a family refuge, and one corner had always been Jo's favoritelounging place. Among the many pillows that adorned the venerable couchwas one, hard, round, covered with prickly horsehair, and furnished with aknobby button at each end. This repulsive pillow was her especialproperty, being used as a weapon of defense, a barricade, or a sternpreventive of too much slumber. Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deepaversion, having been unmercifully pummeled with it in former days whenromping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from the seat hemost coveted next ot Jo in the sofa corner. If `the sausage' as the called it, stood on end, it was a sign that he might approach and repose, but if it layflat across the sofa, woe to man, woman, or child who dared disturb it!That evening Jo forgot to barricade her corner, and had not been in her seatfive minutes, before a massive form appeared beside her, and with botharms spread over the sofa back, both long legs stretched out before him, Laurie exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction... `Now, this is filling at the price. '`No slang, ' snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was too late, there was no room for it, and coasting onto the floor, it disappeared in amost mysterious manner. `Come, Jo, don't be thorny. After studying himself to a skeleton all theweek, a fellow deserves petting and ought to get it. '`Beth will pet you. I'm busy. '`No, she's not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort of thing, unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it. Have you? Do you hate yourboy, and want to fire pillows at him?'Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldomheard, but Jo quenched `her boy' by turning on him with a stern query, `How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?'`Not one, upon my word. She's engaged. Now then. '`I'm glad of it, that's one of your foolish extravagances, sending flowersand things to girls for whom you don't care two pins, ' continued Joreprovingly. `Sensible girls for whom I do care whole papers of pins won't let mesend them `flowers and things', so what can I do? My feelings need a`vent'. '`Mother doesn't approve of flirting even in fun, and you do flirtdesperately, Teddy. '`I'd give anything if I could answer, `So do you'. As I can't, I'll merelysay that I don't see any harm in that pleasant little game, if all partiesunderstand that it's only play. '`Well, it does look pleasant, but I can't learn how it's done. I've tried, because one feels awkward in company not to do as everybody else iddoing, but I don't seem to get on', said Jo, forgetting to play mentor. `Take lessons of Amy, she has a regular talent for it. '`Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far. I supposeit's natural to some people to please without trying, and others to alwayssay and do the wrong thing in the wrong place. '`I'm glad you can't flirt. It's really refreshing to see a sensible, straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a fool ofherself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really do go on atsuch a rate I'm ashamed of them. They don't mean any harm, I'm sure, butif they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward, they'd mendtheir ways, I fancy. '`They do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows getthe worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit. If you behavedproperly, they would, but knowing you like their nonsense, they keep itup, and then you blame them. '`Much you know about it, ma'am, ' said Laurie in a superior tone. `Wedon't like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes. Thepretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, amonggentleman. Bless your innocent soul! If you could be in my place for amonth you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon my word, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always want to say with ourfriend Cock Robin... `Out upon you, fie upon you, Bold-faced jig!'It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between Laurie'schivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very naturaldislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society showed himmany samples. Jo knew that `young Laurence' was regarded as a mosteligible parti by worldly mamas, was much smiled upon by theirdaughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb ofhim, so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoiled, andrejoiced more than she confessed to find that he still believed in modestgirls. Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping hervoice, `If you must have a `went', Teddy, go and devote yourself to one ofthe `pretty, modest girls' whom you do respect, and not waste your timewith the silly ones. '`You really advise it?' And Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture ofanxiety and merriment in his face. `Yes, I do, but you'd better wait till you are through college, on thewhole, and be fitting yourself for the place meantime. You're not half goodenough for--well, whoever the modest girl may be. ' And Jo looked a littlequeer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her. `That I'm not!' acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quitenew to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently wound Jo's apron tasselround his finger. `Mercy on us, this will never do, ' thought Jo, adding aloud, `Go and singto me. I'm dying for some music, and always like yours. '`I'd rather stay here, thank you. '`Well, you can't, there isn't room. Go and make yourself useful, sinceyou are too big to be ornamental. I thought you hated to be tied to awoman's apron string?' retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of hisown. `Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!' and Laurie gave anaudacious tweak at the tassel. `Are you going?' demanded Jo, diving for the pillow. He fled at once, and the minute it was well, `Up with the bonnets ofbonnie Dundee, ' she slipped away to return no more till the younggentleman departed in high dudgeon. Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the soundof a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's bedside, with the anxious inquiry, `What is it, dear?'`I thought you were asleep, ' sobbed Beth. `Is it the old pain, my precious?'`No, it's a new one, but I can bear it. ' And Beth tried to check her tears. `Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did the other. '`You can't, there is no cure. ' There Beth's voice gave way, and clinging toher sister, she cried so despairingly that Jo was frightened. `Where is it? Shall I call Mother?'`No, no, don't call her, don't tell her. I shall be better soon. Lie down hereand `poor' my head. I'll be quiet and go to sleep, indeed I will. ' Jo obeyed, but as her hand went softly to and fro across Beth's hot forehead and weteyelids, her heart was very full and she longed to speak. But young as shewas, Jo had learned that hearts, like flowers, cannot be rudely handled, butmust open naturally, so though she believed she knew the cause of Beth'snew pain, she only said, in her tenderest tone, `Does anything trouble you, deary?'`Yes, Jo, ' after a long pause. `Wouldn't it comfort you to tell me what it is?'`not now, not yet. '`Then I won't ask, but remember, Bethy, that Mother and Jo are alwaysglad to hear and help you, if they can. '`I know it. I'll tell you by-and-by. '`Is the pain better now?'`Oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, Jo. '`Go to sleep, dear. I'll stay with you. 'So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quiteherself again, for at eighteen neither heads nor hearts ache long, and aloving word can medicine most ills. But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project forsome days, she confided it to her mother. `You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll tell you one ofthem, Marmee, ' she began, as they sat along together. `I want to go awaysomewhere this winter for a change. '`Why, Jo?' And her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggesteda double meaning. With her eyes on her work Jo answered soberly, `I want something new. I feel restless and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more than I am. I brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirring up, so as Ican be spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way and try my wings. '`Where will you hop?'`To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it. You knowMrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach herchildren and sew. It's rather hard to find just the thing, but I think I shouldsuit if I tried. '`My dear, go out to service in that great boarding house!' And Mrs. March looked surprised, but not displeased. `It's not exactly going out to service, for Mrs. Kirke is your friend--thekindest soul that ever lived--and would make things pleasant for me, Iknow. Her family is separate from the rest, and no one knows me there. Don't care if they do. It's honest work, and I'm not ashamed of it. '`Nor I. But your writing?'`All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new things, get newideas, and even if I haven't much time there, I shall bring home quantitiesof material for my rubbish. '`I have no doubt of it, but are these your only reasons for this suddenfancy?'`No, Mother. '`May I know the others?'Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color inher cheeks. `It may be vain and wrong to say it, but--I'm afraid--Laurie isgetting too fond of me. '`Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care foryou?' And Mrs. March looked anxious as she put the question. `Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immenselyproud of him, but as for anything more, it's out of the question. '`I'm glad of that, Jo. '`Why, please?'`Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another. As friends youare very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow over, but I fear youwould both rebel if you were mated for life. You are too much alike and toofond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get onhappily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience andforbearance, as well as love. '`That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it. I'm glad youthink he is only beginning to care for me. It would trouble me sadly tomake him unhappy, for I couldn't fall in love with the dear old fellowmerely out of gratitude, could I?'`You are sure of his feeling for you?'The color deepened in Jo's cheeks as she answered, with the look ofmingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speakingof first lovers, `I'm afraid it is so, Mother. He hasn't said anything, but helooks a great deal. I think I had better go away before it comes to anything. '`I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go. 'Jo looked relieved, and after a pause, said, smiling, `How Mrs. Moffatwould wonder at your want of management, if she knew, and how she willrejoice that Annie may still hope. '`AH, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is thesame in all--the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and I amcontent with her success. You I leave to enjoy your liberty till you tire of it, for only then will you find that there is something sweeter. Amy is mychief care now, but her good sense will help ;her. For Beth, I indulge nohopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems brighter this lastday or two. Have you spoken to her?'`Yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by-and-by. Isaid no more, for I think I know it, ' And Jo told her little story. Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of thecase, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that for Laurie's sake Joshould go away for a time. `Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled, then I'll runaway before he can collect his wits and be tragic. Beth must think I'm goingto please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie to her. But she can petand comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion. He's been through so many little trials of the sort, he's used to it, and willsoon get over his lovelornity. 'Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear thatthis `little trial' would be harder than the others, and that Laurie would notget over his `lovelornity' as easily as heretofore. The plan was talked over in a family council and agreed upon, for Mrs. Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her. The teaching would render her independent, and such leisure as she gotmight be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and societywould be both useful and agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was eager tobe gone, for the home nest was growing too narrow for her restless natureand adventurous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and trembling shetold Laurie, but to her surprise he took it very quietly. He had been graverthan usual of late, but very pleasant, and when jokingly accused of turningover a new leaf, he answered soberly, `So I am, and I mean this one shallstay turned. 'Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come onjust then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart, for Bethseemed more cheerful, and hoped she was doing the best for all. `One thing I leave in your especial care, ' she said, the night before sheleft. `You mean your papers?' asked Beth. `No, my boy. Be very good to him, won't you?'`Of course I will, but I can't fill your place, and he'll miss you sadly. '`It won't hurt him, so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague, pet, and keep in order. '`I'll do my best, for your sake, ' promised Beth, wondering why Jo lookedat her so queerly. When Laurie said good-by, he whispered significantly, `It won't do a bitof good, Jo. My eye is on you, so mind what you do, or I'll come and bringyou home. 'CHAPTER THIRTY-THREENew York, NovemberDear Marmee and Beth, I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps to tell, though I'm not a fine young lady traveling on the continent. When I lostsight of Father's dear old face, I felt a trifle blue, and might have shed abriny drop or two, if an Irish lady with four small children, all crying moreor less, hadn't diverted my mind, for I amused myself by droppinggingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths toroar. Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared uplikewise and enjoyed my journey with all my heart. Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even in that bighouse full of strangers. She gave me a funny little sky parlor--all she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so I can sithere and write whenever I like. A fine view and a church tower oppositeatone for the many stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. Thenursery, where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next Mrs. Kirke'sprivate parlor, and the two little girls are pretty children, rather spoiled, Ifancy, but they took to me after telling them The Seven Bad Pigs, and I'veno doubt I shall make a model governess. I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to the great table, and for the present I do, for I am bashful, though no one will believe it. `Now, my dear, make yourself at home, ' said Mrs. K. In her motherlyway, `I'm on the drive from morning to night, as you may suppose withsuch a family, but a great anxiety will be off my mind if I know thechildren are safe with you. My rooms are always open to you, and yourown shall be as comfortable as I can make it. There are some pleasantpeople in the house if you feel sociable, and your evenings are always free. Come to me if anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can. There'sthe tea bell, I must run and change my cap. ' And off she bustled, leavingme to settle myself in my new nest. As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flights arevery long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting at the head of the thirdone for a little servant girl to lumber up, I saw a gentleman come alongbehind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the wayup, put it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nodand a foreign accent, `It goes better so. The little back is too young to hafsuch heaviness. 'Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for as Father says, trifles showcharacter. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K. , that evening, she laughed, andsaid, `That must have been Professor Bhaer, he's always doing things ofthat sort. 'Mrs. K. Told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good, but poor as achurch mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two little orphannephews whom he is educating here, according to the wishes of his sister, who married an American. Not a very romantic story, but it interested me, and I was glad to hear that Mrs. K. Lends him her parlor for some of hisscholars. There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean topeep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost forty, so it's noharm, Marmee. After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I attacked the bigworkbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend. I shallkeep a journal-letter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, and moretomorrow. Tuesday EveHad a lively time in my seminary this morning, for the children actedlike Sancho, and at one time I really thought I should shake them all round. Some good angel inspired me to try gymnastics, and I kept it up till theywere glad to sit down and keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them outfor a walk, and I went to my needlework like little Mabel `with a willingmind'. I was thanking my stars that I'd learned to make nice buttonholes, when the parlor door opened and shut, and someone began to hum, Kennst Du Das Land, like a big bumblebee. It was dreadfully improper, Iknow, but I couldn't resist the temptation, and lifting one end of the curtainbefore the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was there, and while hearranged his books, I took a good look at him. A regular German--ratherstout, with brown hair tumbled all over his head, a bushy beard, goodnose, the kindest eyes I ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one'sears good, after our sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes wererusty, his hands were large, and he hadn't a really handsome feature in hisface, except his beautiful teeth, yet I liked him, for he had a fine head, hislinen was very nice, and he looked like a gentleman, though two buttonswere off his coat and there was a patch on one shoe. He looked sober inspite of his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth bulbstoward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like an old friend. Then he smiled, and when a tap came at the door, called out in a loud, brisk tone, `Herein!'I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of a childcarrying a big book, and stopped, to see what was going on. `Me wants me Bhaer, ' said the mite, slamming down her book andrunning to meet him. `Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer. Come, then, and take a goot hug from him, my Tina, ' said the Professor, catching her up with a laugh, and holding herso high over his head that she had to stoop her little face to kiss him. `Now me mus tuddy my lessin, ' went on the funny little thing. So he puther up at the table, opened the great dictionary she had brought, and gaveher a paper and pencil, and she scribbled away, turning a leaf now andthen, and passing her little fat finger down the page, as if finding a word, so soberly that I nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while Mr. Bhaer stoodstroking her pretty hair with a fatherly look that made me think she mustbe his own, though she looked more French than German. Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me back tomy work, and there I virtuously remained through all the noise andgabbling that went on next door. One of the girls kept laughing affectedly, and saying, `Now Professor, ' in a coquettish tone, and the otherpronounced her German with an accent that must have made it hard forhim to keep sober. Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once I heard himsay emphatically, `No, no, it is not so, you haf not attend to what I say, ' andonce there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with his book, followedby the despairing exclamation, `Prut! It all goes bad this day. 'Poor man, I pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took just one morepeep to see if he survived it. He seemed to have thrown himself back in hischair, tired out, and sat there with his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put his books in his pocket, as if ready for anotherlesson, and taking little Tina who had fallen asleep on the sofa in his arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life of it. Mrs. Kirkeasked me if I wouldn't go down to the five o'clock dinner, and feeling alittle bit homesick, I thought I would, just to see what sort of people areunder the same roof with me. So I made myself respectable and tried to slipin behind Mrs. Kirke, but as she is short and I'm tall, my efforts atconcealment were rather a failure. She gave me a seat by her, and after myface cooled off, I plucked up courage and looked about me. The long tablewas full, and every-- one intent on getting their dinner, the gentlemenespecially, who seemed to be eating on time, for they bolted in every senseof the word, vanishing as soon as they were done. There was the usualassortment of young men absorbed in themselves, young couples absorbedin each other, married ladies in their babies, and old gentlemen in politics. Idon't think I shall care to have much to do with any of them, except onesweetfaced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something in her. Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Professor, shoutinganswers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf old gentleman on oneside, and talking philosophy with a Frenchman on the other. If Amy hadbeen here, she'd have turned her back on him forever because, sad torelate, he had a great appetite, and shoveled in his dinner in a mannerwhich would have horrified `her ladyship'. I didn't mind, for I like `to seefolks eat with a relish', as Hannah says, and the poor man must haveneeded a deal of food after teaching idiots all day. As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were settling theirhats before the hall mirror, and I heard one say low to the other, `Who's thenew party?'`Governess, or something of that sort. '`What the deuce is she at our table for?'`Friend of the old lady's. '`Handsome head, but no style. '`Not a bit of it. Give us a light and come on. 'I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a governess is as good as aclerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't style, which is more than some peoplehave, judging from the remarks of the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like bad chimneys. I hate ordinary people!ThursdayYesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing, and writing in mylittle room, which is very cozy, with a light and fire. I picked up a few bitsof news and was introduced to the Professor. It seems that Tina is the childof the Frenchwoman who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. Thelittle thing has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the houselike a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is very fondof children, though a `bacheldore'. Kitty and Minnie Kirk likewise regardhim with affection, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he tells. The younger menquiz him, it seems, call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make allmanner of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. Kirke says, and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him in spite of his foreignways. The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated, and kind. She spoketo me at dinner today (for I went to table again, it's such fun to watchpeople), and asked me to come and see her at her room. She has fine booksand pictures, knows interesting persons, and seems friendly, so I shallmake myself agreeable, for I do want to get into good society, only it isn'tthe same sort that Amy likes. I was in our parlor last evening when Mr. Bhaer came in with somenewspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn't there, but Minnie, who is a little oldwoman, introduced me very prettily. `This is Mamma's friend, MissMarch. '`Yes, and she's jolly and we like her lots, ' added Kitty, who is and `enfantterrible'. We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and theblunt addition were rather a comical contrast. `Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch. If soagain, call at me and I come, ' he said, with a threatening frown thatdelighted the little wretches. I promised I would, and he departed, but it seems as if I was doomed tosee a good deal of him, for today as I passed his door on my way out, byaccident I knocked against it with my umbrella. It flew open, and there hestood in his dressing gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and adarning needle in the other. He didn't seem at all ashamed of it, for when Iexplained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in hisloud, cheerful way... `You haf a fine day to make your walk. Bon voyage, Mademoiselle. 'I laughed all the way downstairs, but it was a little pathetic, also to thinkof the poor man having to mend his own clothes. The German gentlemenembroider, I know, but darning hose is another thing and not so pretty. Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, whohas a room full of pretty things, and who was very charming, for sheshowed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go withher to lectures and concerts, as her escort, if I enjoyed them. She put it as afavor, but I'm sure Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out ofkindness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such peopledon't burden me, and I accepted gratefully. When I got back to the nurserythere was such an uproar in the parlor that I looked in, and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his hands and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leadinghim with a jump rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with seedcakes, as they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs. `We are playing nargerie, ' explained Kitty. `Dis is mine effalunt!' added Tina, holding on by the Professor's hair. `Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon, whenFranz and Emil come, doesn't she, Mr. Bhaer?' said Minnie. The `effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of them, and saidsoberly to me, `I gif you my wort it is so, if we make too large a noise youshall say Hush! to us, and we go more softly. 'I promised to do so, but left the door open and enjoyed the fun as muchas they did, for a more glorious frolic I never witnessed. They played tagand soldiers, danced and sang, and when it began to grow dark they allpiled onto the sofa about the Professor, while he told charming fairy storiesof the storks on the chimney tops, and the little `koblods', who ride thesnowflakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple and natural asGermans, don't you?I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if motives ofeconomy didn't stop me, for though I've used thin paper and written fine, Itremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need. Pray forwardAmy's as soon as you can spare them. My small news will sound very flatafter her splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying sohard that he can't find time to write to his friends? Take good care of himfor me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies, and give heaps of love toeveryone. From your faithful Jo. P. S. On reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather Bhaery, but I amalways interested in odd people, and I really had nothing else to writeabout. Bless you!DECEMBERMy Precious Betsey, As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to you, for it mayamuse you, and give you some idea of my goings on, for though quiet, theyare rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful! After what Amy would callHerculaneum efforts, in the way of mental and moral agriculture, myyoung ideas begin to shoot and my little twigs to bend as I could wish. They are not so interesting tome as Tina and the boys, but I do my duty bythem, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little lads, quiteafter my own heart, for the mixture of German and American spirit in theproduces a constant state of effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotoustimes, whether spent in the house or out, for on pleasant days they all go towalk, like a seminary, with the Professor and myself to keep order, andthen such fun!We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take lessons. I reallycouldn't help it, and it all came about in such a droll way that I must tellyou. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke called to me one day as I passedMr. Bhaer's room where she was rummaging. `Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me put thesebooks to rights, for I've turned everything upside down, trying to discoverwhat he has done with the six new handkerchiefs I gave him not long ago. 'I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was `a den' tobe sure. Books and papers everywhere, a broken meerschaum, and an oldflute over the mantlepiece as if done with, a ragged bird without any tailchirped on one window seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other. Half-finished boats and bits of string lay among the manuscripts. Dirtylittle boots stood drying before the fire, and traces of the dearly belovedboys, for whom he makes a slave of himself, were to be seen all over theroom. After a grand rummage three of the missing articles were found, oneover the bird cage, one covered with ink, and a third burned brown, havingbeen used as a holder. `Such a man!' laughed good-natured Mrs. K. , as she put the relics in therag bay. `I suppose the others are torn up to rig ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite tails. It's dreadful, but I can't scold him. He's so absent-minded and goodnatured, he lets those boys ride over him roughshod. Iagreed to do his washing and mending, but he forgets to give out histhings and I forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass sometimes. '`Let me mend them, ' said I. `I don't mind it, and he needn't know. I'dlike to, he's so kind to me about bringing my letters and lending books. 'So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two pairs of thesocks, for they were boggled out of shape with his queer darns. Nothingwas said, and I hoped he wouldn't find it out, but one day last week hecaught me at it. Hearing the lessons he gives to others has interested andamused me so much that I took a fancy to lear, for Tina runs in and out, leaving the door open, and I can hear. I had been sitting near this door, finishing off the last sock, and trying to understand what he said to a newscholar, who is as stupid as I am. The girl had gone, and I thought he hadalso, it was so still, and I was busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking toand fro in a most absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, andthere was Mr. Bhaer looking and laughing quietly, while he made signs toTina not to betray him. `So!' he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, `you peep at me, I peepat you, and this is not bad, but see, I am not pleasanting when I say, hafyou a wish for German?'`Yes, but you are too busy. I am too stupid to learn, ' I blundered out, asred as a peony. `Prut! We will make the time, and we fail not to find the sense. Atefening I shall gif a little lesson with much gladness, for look you, MeesMarsch, I haf this debt to pay. ' And he pointed to my work `Yes, ` they sayto one another, these so kind ladies, `he is a stupid old fellow, he will seenot what we do, he will never observe that his sock heels go not in holesany more, he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, andbelieve that strings make theirselves. ' `Ah! But I haf an eye, and I see much. I haf a heart, and I feel thanks for this. Come, a little lesson then and now, or no more good fairy works for me and mine. 'Of course I couldn't say anything after that, and as it really is a splendidopportunity, I made the bargain, and we began. I took four lessons, andthen I stuck fast in a grammatical bog. The Professor was very patient withme, but it must have been torment to him, and now and then he'd look atme with such an expression of mild despair that it was a toss-up with mewhether to laugh or cry. I tried both ways, and when it came to a sniff orutter mortification and woe, he just threw the grammar on to the floor andmarched out of the room. I felt myself disgraced and deserted forever, butdidn't blame him a particle, and was scrambling my papers together, meaning to rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as briskand beaming as if I'd covered myself in glory. `Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these pleasant

littleMARCHEN together, and dig no more in that dry book, that goes in thecorner for making us trouble. 'He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Andersons's fairy tales soinvitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than ever, and went at mylesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely. Iforgot my bashfulness, and pegged away (no other word will express it)with all my might, tumbling over long words, pronouncing according toinspiration of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished readingmy first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried outin his hearty way, `Das ist gut!' Now we go well! My turn. I do him inGerman, gif me your ear. ' And away he went, rumbling out the words withhis strong voice and a relish which was good to see as well as hear. Fortunately the story was the CONSTANT TIN SOLDIER, which is droll, you know, so I could laugh, and I did, though I didn't understand half heread, for I couldn't help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the wholething so comical. After that we got on better, and now I read my lessonspretty well, for this way of studying suits me, and I can see that thegrammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills in jelly. Ilike it very much, and he doesn't seem tired of it yet, which is very good ofhim, isn't it? I mean to give him something on Christmas, for I dare notoffer money. Tell me something nice, Marmee. I'm glad Laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given up smokingand lets his hair grow. You see Beth manages him better than I did. I'm notjealous, dear, do your best, only don't make a saint of him. I'm afraid Icouldn't like him without a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits ofmy letters. I haven't time to write much, and that will do just as well. Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable. JANUARYA Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family, which of courseincludes Mr. L. And a young man by the name of Teddy. I can't tell youhow much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle, for i didn't get it till night andhad given up hoping. Your letter came in the morning, but you saidnothing about a parcel, meaning it for a surprise, so I was disappointed, forI'd had a `kind of feeling' that you wouldn't forget me. I felt a little low inmy mind as I sat up in my room after tea, and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me, I just hugged it and pranced. It was so homey and refreshing that I sat down on the floor and read andlooked and ate and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd way. The thingswere just what I wanted, and all the better for being made instead ofbought. Beth's new `ink bib' was capital, and Hannah's box of hardgingerbread will be a treasure. I'll be sure and wear the nice flannels yousent, Marmee, and read carefully the books Father has marked. Thank youall, heaps and heaps!Speaking of books reminds me that I'm getting rich in that line, for onNew Year's Day Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine Shakespeare. It is one he valuesmuch, and I've often admired it, set up in the place of honor with hisGerman Bible, Plato, Homer, and Milton, so you may imagine how I feltwhen he brought it down, without its cover, and showed me my own namein it, `from my friend Friedrich Bhaer". `You say often you wish a library. Here I gif you one, for between theselids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read him well, and he willhelp you much, for the study of character in this book will help you to readit in the world and paint it with your pen. 'I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about `my library', as if Ihad a hundred books. I never knew how much there was in Shakespearebefore, but then I never had a Bhaer to explain it to me. Now don't laugh athis horrid name. It isn't pronounced either Bear or Beer, as people will sayit, but something between the two, as only Germans can give it. I'm gladyou both like what I tell you about him, and hope you will know him someday. Mother would admire his warm heart, Father his wise head. I admireboth, and feel rich in my new `friend Friedrich Bhaer'. Not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, I got several littlethings, and put them about the room, where he would find themunexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or funny, a new standish on histable, a little vase for his flower, he always has one, or a bit of green in aglass, to keep him fresh, he says, and a holder for his blower, so that heneedn't burn up what Amy calls `mouchoirs'. I made it like those Bethinvented, a big butterfly with a fat body, and black and yellow wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes. It took his fancy immensely, and he put iton his mantlepiece as an article of virtue, so it was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he didn't forget a servant or a child in the house, and not asoul here, from the French laundrywoman to Miss Norton forgot him. Iwas so glad of that. They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time New Year's Eve. I didn'tmean to go down, having no dress. But at the last minute, Mrs. Kirkeremembered some old brocades, and Miss Norton lent me lace andfeathers. So I dressed up as Mrs. Malaprop, and sailed in with a mask on. No one knew me, for I disguised my voice, and no one dreamed of thesilent, haughty Miss March (for they think I am very stiff and cool, most ofthem, and so I am to whippersnappers) could dance and dress, and burstout into a `nice derangement of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks ofthe Nile'. I enjoyed it very much, and when we unmasked it was fun to seethem stare at me. I heard one of the young men tell another that he knewI'd been an actress, in fact, he thought he remembered seeing me at one ofthe minor theaters. Meg will relish that joke. Mr. Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was Titania, a perfect little fairy in his arms. To see them dancewas `quite a landscape', to use a Teddyism. I had a very happy New Year, after all, and when I thought it over in myroom, I felt as if I was getting on a little in spite of my many failures, forI'm cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and take more interest inother people than I used to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all! Ever yourloving... JoCHAPTER THIRTY-FOURThough very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busywith the daily work that earned her bread and made it sweeter for theeffort, Jo still found time for literary labors. The purpose which now tookpossession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl, but themeans she took to gain her end were not the best. She saw that moneyconferred power, therefore, she resolved to have, not to be used for herselfalone, but for those whom she loved more than life. The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth everything shewanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in her bedroom, goingabroad herself, and always having more than enough, so that she mightindulge in the luxury of charity, had been for years Jo's most cherishedcastle in the air. The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, afterlong traveling and much uphill work, lead to this delightful chateau enEspagne. But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for publicopinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks on biggerbeanstalks than hers. Like that immortal hero, she reposed awhile after thefirst attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the giant'streasures, if I remember rightly. But the `up again and take another' spiritwas as strong in Jo as in Jack, so she scrambled up on the shady side thistime and got more booty, but nearly left behind her what was far moreprecious 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 `thrillingtale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the WeeklyVolcano. She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she had a womanlyinstinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many thanthe worth of character or the magic of manners. So she dressed herself inher best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nornervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herselfin a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of threegentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, whicharticles of dress none of them took the trouble to remove on herappearance. Somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hesitated on thethreshold, murmuring in much embarrassment... `Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished to seeMr. Dashwood. 'Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advanced with anod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep. Feeling that shemust get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her manuscript and, blushing redder and redder with each sentence, blundered out fragmentsof the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion. `A friend of mine desired me to offer--a story--just as an experiment--would like your opinion--be glad to write more if this suits. 'While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken themanuscript, and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirtyfingers, and casting critical glances up and down the neat pages. `Not a first attempt, I take it?' observing that the pages were numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon--sure sign of anovice. `No, sir. She has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale in theBLARNEYSTONE BANNER. '`Oh, did she?' And Mr. Dashwood gave JO a quick look, which seemedto take note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet to thebuttons on her boots. `Well, you can leave it, if you like. We've more of thissort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present, but I'll runmy eye over it, and give you an answer next week. 'Now, Jo did not like to leave it, for Mr. Dashwood didn't suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but bow andwalk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was apt to dowhen nettled or abashed. Just then she was both, for it was perfectlyevident from the knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen thather little fiction of `my friend' was considered a good joke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as he closed the door, completed her discomfiture. Half resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in anhour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for nextweek. When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced. Mr. Dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeableand Mr. Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember hismanners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than thefirst. `We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't object to a fewalterations. It's too long, but omitting the passages I've marked will make itjust the right length, ' he said, in a businesslike tone. Jo hardly knew her own MS again, so crumpled and underscored wereits pages and paragraphs, but feeling as a tender patent might on beingasked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a new cradle, she looked at the marked passages and was surprised to find that all themoral reflections--which she had carefully put in as ballast for muchromance--had been stricken out. `But, Sir, I thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so Itook care to have a few of my sinners repent. 'Mr. Dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for Jo hadforgotten her `friend', and spoken as only an author could. `People want to be amused, not preached at, you know. Morals don't sellnowadays. ' Which was not quite a correct statement, by the way. `You think it would do with these alterations, then?'`Yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up--language good, and soon, ' was Mr. Dashwood's affable reply. `What do you--that is, what compensation--' began Jo, not exactlyknowing how to express herself. `Oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for things of this sort. Pay when it comes out, ' returned Mr. Dashwood, as if that point hadescaped him. Such trifles do escape the editorial mind, it is said. `Very well, you can have it, ' said Jo, handing back the story with asatisfied air, for after the dollar-a-column work, even twenty-five seemedgood pay. `Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one better thanthis?' asked Jo, unconscious of her little slip of the tongue, and emboldenedby her success. `Well, we'll look at it. Can't promise to take it. Tell her to make it shortand spicy, and never mind the moral. What name would your friend like toput on it?' in a careless tone. `None at all, if you please, she doesn't wish her name to appear and hasno nom de plume, ' said Jo, blushing in spite of herself. `Just as she likes, of course. The tale will be out next week. Will you callfor the money, or shall I send it?' asked Mr. Dashwood, who felt a naturaldesire to know who his new contributor might be. `I'll call. Good morning, Sir. 'As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the gracefulremark, `Poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do. 'Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury hermodel, Jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of sensational literature, but thanks to the life preserver thrown her by a friend, she came up againnot much the worse for her ducking. Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters andscenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses appeared uponher stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spirit as couldbe expected. Her readers were not particular about such trifles as grammar, punctuation, and probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted herto fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it necessary to tell herthat the real cause of his hospitality was the fact that one of his hacks, onbeing offered higher wages, had basely left him in the lurch. She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grewstout, and the little hoard she was making to take Beth to the mountainsnext summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed. One thingdisturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tell them at home. She had a feeling that Father and Mother would not approve, andpreferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon afterward. It was easyto keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories. Mr. Dashwoodhad of course found it out very soon, but promised to be dumb, and for awonder kept his word. She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to writenothing of which she would be ashamed, and quieted all pricks ofconscience by anticipations of the happy minute when she should show herearnings and laugh over her well-kept secret. But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills couldnot be produced except by harrowing up the souls of the readers, historyand romance, land and sea, science and art, police records and lunaticasylums, had to be ransacked for the purpose. Jo soon found that herinnocent experience had given her but few glimpses of the tragic worldwhich underlies society, so regarding it in a business light, she set aboutsupplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy. Eager to find materialfor stories, and bent on making them original in plot, if not masterly inexecution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes. She excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works onpoisons. She studied faces in the street, and characters, good, bad, andindifferent, all about her. She delved in the dust of ancient times for facts orfictions so old that they were as good as new, and introduced herself tofolly, sin, and misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed. Shethought she was prospering finely, but unconsciously she was beginning todesecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman's character. Shewas living in bad society, and imaginary though it was, its influenceaffected her, for she was feeding heart and fancy on dangerous andunsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from hernature by a premature acquaintance with the darker side of life, whichcomes soon enough to all of us. She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing ofother people's passions and feelings set her to studying and speculatingabout her own. A morbid amusement in which healthy young minds do notvoluntarily indulge. Wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, andwhen Jo most needed hers, she got it. I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to readcharacter, or the natural instinct of a woman for what was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary heroes with everyperfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, who interested herin spite of many human imperfections. Mr. Bhaer, in one of theirconversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and lovely characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer. Jo took him at hisword, for she coolly turned round and studied him--a proceeding whichwould have much surprised him, had he know it, for the worthy Professorwas very humble in his own conceit. Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neitherrich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect what is calledfascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as a genialfire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warmhearth. He was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; astranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake. Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and at last decided that it was benevolencewhich worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, `it sat with its head underits wing', and he turned only his sunny side to the world. There were linesupon his forehead, but Time seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to others. The pleasant curves about hismouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, hiseyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong graspthat was more expressive than words. His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of thewearer. They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make himcomfortable. His capacious waistcoat was sugges- tive of a large heartunderneath. His rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets plainlyproved that little hands often went in empty and came out full. His veryboots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like otherpeople's. `That's it!' said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered that genuinegood will toward one's fellow men could beautify and dignify even a stoutGerman teacher, who shoveled in his dinner, darned his own socks, andwas burdened with the name of Bhaer. Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most femininerespect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about theProfessor added much to her regard for him. He never spoke of himself, and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man muchhonored and esteemed for learning and integrity, till a countryman came tosee him. He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with MissNorton divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it allthe better because Mr. Bhaer had never told it. She felt proud to know thathe was an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poor language-master in America, and his homely, hard-working life was much beautifiedby the spice of romance which this discovery gave it. Another and a bettergift than intellect was shown her in a most unexpected manner. MissNorton had the entree into most society, which Jo would have had nochance of seeing but for her. The solitary woman felt an interest in theambitious girl, and kindly conferred many favors of this sort both on Joand the Professor. She took them with her one night to a select symposium, held in honor of several celebrities. Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom shehad worshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off. But her reverence forgenius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time torecover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men andwomen after all. Imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timidadmiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on`spirit, fire, and dew', to behold him devouring his supper with an ardorwhich flushed his intellectual countenance. Turning as from a fallen idol, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled her romantic illusions. The great novelist vibrated between two decanters with the regularity of apendulum; the famous divine flirted openly with one of the Madame deStaels of the age, who looked daggers at another Corinne, who wasamiably satirizing her, after outmaneuvering her in efforts to absorb theprofound philosopher, who imbibed tea Johnsonianly and appeared toslumber, the loquacity of the lady rendering speech impossible. Thescientific celebrities, forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossipedabout art, while devoting themselves to oysters and ices with characteristicenergy; the young musician, who was charming the city like a secondOrpheus, talked horses; and the specimen of the British nobility presenthappened to be the most ordinary man of the party. Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned, thatshe sat down in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of thephilosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold anintellectual tournament in the recess. The conversations were miles beyondJo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel wereunknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms, and theonly thing `evolved from her inner consciousness' was a bad headacheafter it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually that the world wasbeing picked to pieces, and put together on new and, according to thetalkers, on infinitely better principles than before, that religion was in a fairway to be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but acurious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful, came over her as shelistened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like ayoung balloon out on a holiday. She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found himlooking at her with the grimest expression she had ever seen him wear. Heshook his head and beckoned her to come away, but she was fascinatedjust then by the freedom of Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon after theyhad annihilated all the old beliefs. Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions, not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be lightlyspoken. As he glanced from Jo to several other young people, attracted bythe brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longedto speak, fearing that some inflammable young soul would be led astray bythe rockets, to find when the display was over that they had only an emptystick or a scorched hand. He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for anopinion, he blazed up with honest indignation and defended religion withall the eloquence of truth--an eloquence which made his broken Englishmusical and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise menargued well, but he didn't know when he was beaten and stood to hiscolors like a man. Somehow, as he talked, the world got right again to Jo. The old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemed better than the new. Godwas not a blind force, and immortality was not a pretty fable, but a blessedfact. She felt as if she had solid ground under her feet again, and when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit convinced, Jo wanted to clap herhands and thank him. She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professorher heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out thenand there, because his conscience would not let him be silent. She began tosee that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, orbeauty, and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined it to be, `truth, reverence, and good will', then her friend friedrich Bhaer was notonly good, but great. This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem, she coveted hisrespect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when the wishwas sincerest, she came near to losing everything. It all grew out of acocked hat, for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson witha paper soldier cap on his head, which Tina had put there and he hadforgotten to take off. `It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming down, ' thoughtJo, with a smile, as he said `Goot efening, ' and sat soberly down, quiteunconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and hisheadgear, for he was going to read her the Death of Wallenstein. She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big, hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover itfor himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a German readSchiller is rather an absorbing occupation. After the reading came thelesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night, and thecocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The Professor didn'tknow what to make of her, and stopped at last to ask with an air of mildsurprise that was irresistible ... `Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face? Haf you norespect for me, that you go on so bad?'`How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take your hat off?' saidJo. Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor gravely feltand removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a minute, and then threwback his head and laughed like a merry bass viol. `Ah! I see him now, it is that imp Tina who makes me a fool with my cap. Well, it is nothing, but see you, if this lesson goes not well, you too shallwear him. 'But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr. Bhaercaught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with greatdisgust, `I wish these papers did not come in the house. They are not forchildren to see, nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf nopatience with those who make this harm. 'Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of alunatic, a corpse, a villian, and a viper. She did not like it, but the impulsethat made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear, because for aminute she fancied the paper was the Volcano. It was not, however, andher panic subsided as she remembered that even if it had been and one ofher own tales in it, there would have been no name to betray her. She hadbetrayed herself, however, by a look and a blush, for though an absentman, the Professor saw a good deal more than people fancied. He knewthat Jo wrote, and had met her down among the newspaper offices morethan once, but as she never spoke of it, he asked no questions in spite of astrong desire to see her work. Now it occurred to him that she was doingwhat she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him. He did not say tohimself, `It is none of my business. I've no right to say anything, ' as manypeople would have done. He only remembered that she was young andpoor, a girl far away from mother's love and father's care, and he wasmoved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that whichwould prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from a puddle. Allthis flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared inhis face, and by the time the paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, hewas ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely... `Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think that good younggirls should see such things. They are made pleasant to some, but I wouldmore rather give my boys gunpowder to play with than this bad trash. '`All may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there is a demand for it, I don't see any harm in supplying it. Many very respectable people makean honest living out of what are called sensation stories, ' said Jo, scratchinggathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed her pin. `There is a demand for whisky, but I think you and I do not care to sell it. If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would not feelthat the living was honest. They haf no right to put poison in thesugarplum, and let the small ones eat it. No, they should think a little, andsweep mud in the street before they do this thing. 'Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper inhis hands. Jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her, for her cheeksburned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlesslyup the chimney. `I should like much to send all the rest after him, ' muttered the Professor, coming back with a relieved air. Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make, and herhard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute. Then she thought consolingly to herself, `Mine are not like that, they areonly silly, never bad, so I won't be worried, ' and taking up her book, shesaid, with a studious face, `Shall we go on, Sir? I'll be very good and propernow. '`I shall hope so, ' was all he said, but he meant more than she imagined, and the grave, kind look he gave her made her feel as if the words WeeklyVolcano were printed in large type on her forehead. As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefullyreread every one of her stories. Being a little shortsighted, Mr. Bhaersometimes used eye glasses, and Jo had tried them once, smiling to seehow they magnified the fine print of her book. Now she seemed to have onthe Professor's mental or moral spectacles also, for the faults of these poorstories glared at her dreadfully and filled her with dismay. `They are trash, and will soon be worse trash if I go on, for each is moresensational than the last. I've gone blindly on, hurting myself and otherpeople, for the sake of money. I know it's so, for I can't read this stuff insober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it, and what should I do ifthey were seen at home or Mr. Bhaer got hold of them?'Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into herstove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze. `Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense. I'd better burnthe house down, I suppose, than let other people blow themselves up withmy gunpowder, ' she thought as she watched the Demon of the Jura whiskaway, a little black cinder with fiery eyes. But when nothing remained of all her three month's work except a heapof ashes and the money in her lap, Jo looked sober, as she sat on the floor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages. `I think I haven't done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for mytime, ' she said, after a long meditation, adding impatiently, `I almost wish Ihadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient. If I didn't care about doingright, and didn't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get oncapitally. I can't help wishing sometimes, that Mother and Father hadn'tbeen so particular about such things. 'Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that `Father and Mother wereparticular'. And pity from your heart those who have no such guardians tohedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls toimpatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations to build characterupon in womanhood. Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did notpay for her share of the sensation, but going to the other extreme, as is theway with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs. Sherwood, MissEdgeworth, and Hannah More, and then produced a tale which might havebeen more properly called an essay or a sermon, so intensely moral was it. She had her doubts about it from the beginning, for her lively fancy andgirlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she would have donemasquerading in the stiff and cumbrous costume of the last century. Shesent this didactic gem to several markets, but it found no purchaser, andshe was inclined to agree with Mr. Dashwood that morals didn't sell. Then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have disposed of ifshe had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy lucre for it. The onlyperson who offered enough to make it worth her while to try juvenileliterature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all theworld to his particular belief. But much as she liked to write for children, Jocould not consent to depict all her naughty boys as being eaten by bears ortossed by mad bulls because they did not go to a particular Sabbath school, nor all the good infants who did go as rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded gingerbread to escorts of angels when they departed this lifewith psalms or sermons on their lisping tongues. So nothing came of thesetrials, land Jo corked up her inkstand, and said in a fit of very wholesomehumility... `I don't know anything. I'll wait until I do before I try again, andmeantime, `sweep mud in the street' if I can't do better, that's honest, atleast. ' Which decision proved that her second tumble down the beanstalkhad done her some good. While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life hadbeen as busy and uneventful as usual, and if she sometimes looked seriousor a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer. He did it so quietlythat Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profitby his reproof, but she stood the test, and he was satisfied, for though nowords passed between them, he knew that she had given up writing. Notonly did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand wasno longer inky, but she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met nomore among newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind withsomething useful, if not pleasant. He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo washappy, for while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons besidesGerman, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her own life. It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs. Kirketill June. Everyone seemed sorry when the time came. The children wereinconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair stuck straight up all over his head, for healways rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind. `Going home? Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in, ' he said, when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard in the corner, whileshe held a little levee on that last evening. She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and whenhis turn came, she said warmly, `Now, Sir, you won't forget to come andsee us, if you ever travel our way, will you? I'll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to know my friend. '`Do you? Shall I come?' he asked, looking down at her with an eagerexpression which she did not see. `Yes, come next month. Laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoycommencement as something new. '`That is your best friend, of whom you speak?' he said in an altered tone. `Yes, my boy Teddy. I'm very proud of him and should like you to seehim. 'Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasurein the prospect of showing them to one another. Something in Mr. Bhaer'sface suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie more than a `bestfriend', and simply because she particularly wished not to look as ifanything was the matter, she involuntarily began to blush, and the moreshe tried not to, the redder she grew. If it had not been for Tina on herknee. She didn't know what would have become of her. Fortunately thechild was moved to hug her, so she managed to hide her face an instant, hoping the Professor did not see it. But he did, and his own changed againfrom that momentary anxiety to its usual expression, as he said cordially... `I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the friend muchsuccess, and you all happiness. Gott bless you!' And with that, he shookhands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away. But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with the tiredlook on his face and the `heimweh', or homesickness, lying heavy at hisheart. Once, when he remembered Jo as she sat with the little child in herlap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his head on his hands aminute, and then roamed about the room, as if in search of something thathe could not find. `It is not for me, I must not hope it now, ' he said to himself, with a sighthat was almost a groan. Then, as if reproach- ing himself for the longingthat he could not repress, he went and kissed the two tousled heads uponthe pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and opened his Plato. He did his best and did it manfully, but I don't think he found that a pairof rampant boys, a pipe, or even the divine Plato, were very satisfactorysubstitutes for wife and child at home. Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see Jo off, andthanks to him, she began her solitary journey with the pleasant memory ofa familiar face smiling its farewell, a bunch of violets to keep her company, and best of all, the happy thought, `Well, the winter's gone, and I'vewritten no books, earned no fortune, but I've made a friend worth havingand I'll try to keep him all my life. 'CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVEWhatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purposethat year, for he graduated with honor, and gave the Latin oration with thegrace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes, so his friends said. They were all there, his grandfather--oh, so proud--Mr. And Mrs. March, John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over him with the sincereadmiration which boys make light of at the time, but fail to win from theworld by any after-triumphs. `I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home earlytomorrow. You'll come and meet me as usual, girls?' Laurie said, as he putthe sisters into the carriage after the joys of the day were over. He said`girls', but he meant Jo, for she was the only one who kept up the oldcustom. She had not the heart to refuse her splendid, successful boyanything, and answered warmly... `I'll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you, playing `Hail theconquering hero comes' on a jew's-harp. 'Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a sudden panic, `Oh, deary me! I know he'll say something, and then what shall I do?'Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, andhaving decided that she wouldn't be vain enough to think people weregoing to propose when she had given them every reason to know what heranswer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping Teddywouldn't do anything to make her hurt his poor feelings. A call at Meg's, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, still furtherfortified her for the tete-a-tete, but when she saw a stalwart figure loomingin the distance, she had a strong desire to turn about and run away. `Where's the jew's-harp, Jo?' cried Laurie, as soon as he was withinspeaking distance. `I forgot it. ' And Jo took heart again, for that salutation could not becalled loverlike. She always used to take his arm on these occasions, now she did not, andhe made no complaint, which was a bad sign, but talked on rapidly aboutall sorts of faraway subjects, till they turned from the road into the littlepath that led homeward through the grove. Then he walked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language, and now and then a dreadful pauseoccurred. To rescue the conversation from one of the wells of silence intowhich it kept falling, Jo said hastily, `Now you must have a good longholiday!'`I intend to. 'Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find himlooking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreadedmoment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring, `No, Teddy. Please don't!'`I will, and you must hear me. It's no use, Jo, we've got to have

it out, and the sooner the better for both of us, ' he answered, getting flushed andexcited all at once. `Say what you like then. I'll listen, ' said Jo, with a desperate sort ofpatience. Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to `have itout', if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject withcharacteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choky nowand then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady . .. `I've loved you eversince I've known you, Jo, couldn't help it, you've been so good to me. I'vetried to show it, but you wouldn't let me. Now I'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I can't go on so any longer. '`I wanted to save you this. I thought you'd understand... Began Jo, finding it a great deal harder than she expected. `I know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know what theymean. They say no when they mean yes, and drive a man out of his witsjust for the fun of it, ' returned Laurie, entrenching himself behind anundeniable fact. `I don't. I never wanted to make you care for me so, and I went away tokeep you from it if I could. '`I thought so. It was like you, but it was no use. I only loved you all themore, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards andeverything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I hopedyou'd love me, though I'm not half good enough... ' Here there was a chokethat couldn't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups while he clearedhis `confounded throat'. `You, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and I'm so grateful toyou, and so proud and fond of you, I don't know why I can't love you asyou want me to. I've tried, but I can't change the feeling, and it would be alie to say I do when I don't. '`Really, truly, Jo?'He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question witha look that she did not soon forget. `Really, truly, dear. 'They were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when the last wordsfell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie dropped her hands and turned as if togo on, but for once in his life the fence was too much for him. So he justlaid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still that Jo wasfrightened. `Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if it woulddo any good! I wish you wouldn't take it so hard, I can't help it. You knowit's impossible for people to make themselves love other people if theydon't, ' cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly patted hisshoulder, remembering the time when he had comforted her so long ago. `They do sometimes, ' said a muffled voice from the post. `I don't believeit's the right sort of love, and I'd rather not try it, ' was the decided answer. There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow bythe river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Presently Jo said verysoberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile, `Laurie, I want to tell yousomething. 'He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out in afierce tone, `Don't tell me that, Jo, I can't bear it now!'`Tell what?' she asked, wondering at his violence. `That you love that old man. '`What old man?' demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather. `That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say youlove him, I know I shall do something desperate. ' And he looked as if hewould keep his word, as he clenched his hands with a wrathful spark in hiseyes. Jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself and said warmly, for she too, was getting excited with all this, `Don't swear, Teddy! He isn't old, noranything bad, but good and kind, and the best friend I've got, next to you. Pray, don't fly into a passion. I want to be kind, but I know I shall get angryif you abuse my Professor. I haven't the least idea of loving him oranybody else. '`But you will after a while, and then what will become of me?'`You'll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all thistrouble. '`I can't love anyone else, and I'll never forget you, Jo, Never! Never!'with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words. `What shall I do with him?' sighed Jo, finding that emotions were moreunmanagable than she expected. `You haven't heard what I wanted to tellyou. Sit down and listen, for indeed I want to do right and make youhappy, ' she said, hoping to soothe him with a little reason, which provedthat she knew nothing about love. Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw himself down onthe grass at her feet, leaned his arm on the lower step of the stile, andlooked up at her with an expectant face. Now that arrangement was notconducive to calm speech or clear thought on Jo's part, for how could shesay hard things to her boy while he watched her with eyes full of love andlonging, and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or two her hardness ofheart had wrung from him? She gently turned his head away, saying, asshe stroked the wavy hair which had been allowed to grow for her sake--how touching that was, to be sure! `I agree with Mother that you and I arenot suited to each other, because our quick tempers and strong wills wouldprobably make us very miserable, if we were so foolish as to... ' Jo paused alittle over the last word, but Laurie uttered it with a rapturous expression. `Marry--no we shouldn't! If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything you like. '`No, I can't. I've tried and failed, and I won't risk our happiness by sucha serious experiment. We don't agree and we never shall, so we'll be goodfriends all our lives, but we won't go and do anything rash. '`Yes, we will if we get the chance, ' muttered Laurie rebelliously. `Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case, ' imploredJo, almost at her wit's end. `I won't be reasonable. I don't want to take what you call `a sensibleview'. It won't help me, and it only makes it harder. I don't believe you'vegot any heart. '`I wish I hadn't. 'There was a little quiver in Jo's voice, and thinking it a good omen, Laurie turned round, bringing all his persuasive powers to bear as he said, in the wheedlesome tone that had never been so dangerously wheedlesomebefore, `Don't disappoint us, dear! Everyone expects it. Grandpa has set hisheart upon it, your people like it, and I can't get on without you. Say youwill, and let's be happy. Do, do!'Not until months afterward did Jo understand how she had the strengthof mind to hold fast to the resolution she had made when she decided thatshe did not love her boy, and never could. It was very hard to do, but shedid it, knowing that delay was both useless and cruel. `I can't say `yes' truly, so I won't say it at all. You'll see that I'm right, by-and-by, and thank me for it... ' she began solemnly. `I'll be hanged if I do!' And Laurie bounced up off the grass, burningwith indignation at the very idea. `Yes, you will!' persisted Jo. `You'll get over this after a while, and findsome lovely accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make a finemistress for your fine house. I shouldn't. I'm homely and awkward andodd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel--wecan't help it even now, you see-and I shouldn't like elegant society and youwould, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on without it, andwe should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and everything wouldbe horrid!'`Anything more?' asked asked Laurie, finding it hard to listen patientlyto this prophetic burst. `Nothing more, except that I don't believe I shall ever marry. I'm happyas I am, and love my liberty too well to be in a hurry to give it up for anymortal man. '`I know better!' broke in Laurie. `You think so now, but there'll come atime when you will care for somebody, and you'll love him tremendously, and live and die for him. I know you will, it's your way, and I shall have tostand by and see it. ' And the despairing lover cast his hat upon the groundwith a gesture that would have seemed comical, if his face had not been sotragic. `Yes, I will live and die for him, if her ever comes and makes me lovehim in spite of myself, and you must do the best you can!' cried Jo, losingpatience with poor Teddy. `I've done my best, but you won't be reasonable, and it's selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can't give. I shall always befond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but I'll never marry you, and thesooner you believe it the better for both of us--so now!'That speech was like gunpowder. Laurie looked at her a minute as if hedid not quite know what to do with himself, then turned sharply away, saying in a desperate sort of tone, `You'll be sorry some day, Jo. '`Oh, where are you going?' she cried, for his face frightened her. `To the devil!' was the consoling answer. For a minute Jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself down the banktoward the river, but it takes much folly, sin or misery to send a young manto a violent death, and Laurie was not one of the weak sort who areconquered by a single failure. He had no thought of a melodramaticplunge, but some blind instinct led him to fling hat and coat into his boat, and row away with all his might, making better time up the river than hehad done in any race. Jo drew a long breath and unclasped her hands asshe watched the poor fellow trying to outstrip the trouble which he carriedin his heart. `That will do him good, and he'll come home in such a tender, penitentstate of mind, that I shan't dare to see him. ' she said, adding, as she wentslowly home, feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing, andburied it under the leaves. `Now I must go and prepare Mr. Laurence to bevery kind to my poor boy. I wish he'd love Beth, perhaps he may in time, but I begin to think I was mistaken about her. Oh dear! How can girls liketo have lovers and refuse them? I think it's dreadful. ' Being sure that noone could do it so well as herself, she went straight to Mr. Laurence, toldthe hard story bravely through, and then broke down, crying so dismallyover her own insensibility that the kind old gentleman, though sorelydisappointed, did not utter a reproach. He found it difficult to understandhow any girl could help loving Laurie, and hoped she would change hermind, but he knew even better than Jo that love cannot be forced, so heshook his head sadly and resolved to carry his boy out of harm's way, forYoung Impetuosity's parting words to Jo disturbed him more than hewould confess. When Laurie came home, dead tired but quite composed, hisgrandfather met him as if he knew nothing, and kept up the delusion verysuccessfully for an hour or two. But when they sat together in the twilight, the time they used to enjoy so much, it was hard work for the old man toramble on as usual, and harder still for the young one to listen to praises ofthe last year's success, which to him now seemed like love's labor lost. Hebore it as long as he could, then went to his piano and began to play. Thewindow's were open, and Jo, walking in the garden with Beth, for onceunderstood music better than her sister, for he played the `SONATAPATHETIQUE', and played it as he never did before. `That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry. Give ussomething gayer, lad, ' said Mr. Laurence, whose kind old heart was full ofsympathy, which he longed to show but knew not how. Laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for several minutes, and would have got through bravely, if in a momentary lull Mrs. March'svoice had not been heard calling, `Jo, dear, come in. I want you. 'Just what Laurie longed to say, with a different meaning! As he listened, he lost his place, the music ended with a broken chord, and the musiciansat silent in the dark. `I can't stand this, ' muttered the old gentleman. Up he got, groped hisway to the piano, laid a kind hand on either of the broad shoulders, andsaid, as gently as a woman, `I know, my boy, I know. 'No answer for an instant, then Laurie asked sharply, `Who told you?'`Jo herself. '`Then there's an end of it!' And he shook off his grandfather's handswith an impatient motion, for though grateful for the sympathy, his man'spride could not bear a man's pity. `Not quite. I want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end of it, 'returned Mr. Laurence with unusual mildness. `You won't care to stay athome now, perhaps?'`I don't intend to run away from a girl. Jo can't prevent my seeing her, and I shall stay and do it as long as I like, ' interrupted Laurie in a defianttone. `Not if you are the gentleman I think you. I'm disappointed, but the girlcan't help it, and the only thing left for you to do is to go away for a time. Where will you go?'`Anywhere. I don't care what becomes of me. ' And Laurie got up with areckless laugh that grated on his grandfather's ear. `Take it like a man, and don't do anything rash, for God's sake. Why notgo abroad, as you planned, and forget it?'`I can't. '`But you've been wild to go, and I promised you should when you gotthrough college. '`Ah, but I didn't mean to go alone!' And Laurie walked fast through theroom with an expression which it was well his grandfather did not see. `I don't ask you to go alone. There's someone ready and glad to go withyou, anywhere in the world. '`Who, Sir?' stopping to listen. `Myself. 'Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, sayinghuskily, `I'm a selfish brute, but--you know-Grandfather--``Lord help me, yes, I do know, for I've been through it all before, once inmy own young days, and then with your father. Now, my dear boy, just sitquietly down and hear my plan. It's all settled, and can be carried out atonce, ' said Mr. Laurence, keeping hold of the young man, as if fearful thathe would break away as his father had done before him. `Well, sir, what is it?' And Laurie sat down, without a sign of interest inface or voice. `There is business in London that needs looking after. I meant youshould attend to it, but I can do it better myself, and things here will get onvery well with Brooke to manage them. My partners do almost everything, I'm merely holding on until you take my place, and can be off at any time. '`But you hate traveling, Sir. I can't ask it of you at your age, ' beganLaurie, who was grateful for the sacrifice, but much preferred to go alone, if he went at all. The old gentleman knew that perfectly well, andparticularly desired to prevent it, for the mood in which he found hisgrandson assured him that it would not be wise to leave him to his owndevices. So, stifling a natural regret at the thought of the home comforts hewould leave behind him, he said stoutly, Bless your soul, I'm notsuperannuated yet. I quite enjoy the idea. It will do me good, and my oldbones won't suffer, for traveling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in achair. 'A restless movement from Laurie suggested that his chair was not easy, or that he did not like the plan, and made the old man add hastily, `I don'tmean to be a marplot or a burden. I go because I think you'd feel happierthan if I was left behind. I don't intend to gad about with you, but leaveyou free to go where you like, while I amuse myself in my own way. I'vefriends in London and Paris, and should like to visit them. Meantime youcan go to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, where you will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery, and adventures to your heart's content. 'Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken and theworld a howling wilderness, but at the sound of certain words which theold gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the brokenheart gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenlyappeared in the howling wilderness. He sighed, and then said, in aspiritless tone, `Just as you like, Sir. It doesn't matter where I go or what Ido. '`It does to me, remember that, my lad. I give you entire liberty, but Itrust you to make an honest use of it. Promise me that, Laurie. '`Anything you like, Sir. '`Good, ' thought the old gentleman. `You don't care now, but there'llcome a time when that promise will keep you out of mischief, or I'm muchmistaken. 'Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck while the iron washot, and before the blighted being recovered spirit enough to rebel, theywere off. During the time necessary for preparation, Laurie bore himself asyoung gentleman usually do in such cases. He was moody, irritable, andpensive by turns, lost his appetite, neglected his dress and devoted muchtime to playing tempestuously on his piano, avoided Jo, but consoledhimself by staring at her from his window, with a tragic face that hauntedher dreams by night and oppressed her with a heavy sense of guilt by day. Unlike some sufferers, he never spoke of his unrequited passion, andwould allow no one, not even Mrs. March, to attempt consolation or offersympathy. On some accounts, this was a relief to his friends, but the weeksbefore his departure were very uncomfortable, and everyone rejoiced thatthe `poor, dear fellow was going away to forget his trouble, and comehome happy'. Of course, he smiled darkly at their delusion, but passed itby with the sad superiority of one who knew that his fidelity like his lovewas unalterable. When the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal certaininconvenient emotions which seemed inclined to assert themselves. Thisgaiety did not impose upon anybody, but they tried to look as if it did forhis sake, and he got on very well till Mrs. March kissed him, whit awhisper full of motherly solicitude. Then feeling that he was going veryfast, he hastily embraced them all round, not forgetting the afflictedHannah, and ran downstairs as if for his life. Jo followed a minute after towave her hand to him if he looked round. He did look round, came back, put his arms about her as she stood on the step above him, and looked upat her with a face that made his short appeal eloquent and pathetic. `Oh, Jo, can't you?'`Teddy, dear, I wish I could!'That was all, except a little pause. Then Laurie straightened himself up, said, `It's all right, never mind, ' and went away without another word. Ah, but it wasn't all right, and Jo did mind, for while the curly head lay on herarm a minute after her hard answer, she felt as if she had stabbed herdearest friend, and when he left her without a look behind him, she knewthat the boy Laurie never would come again. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXWhen Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change inBeth. No one spoke of it or seemed aware of it, for it had come toogradually to startle those who saw her daily, but to eyes sharpened byabsence, it was very plain and a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she sawher sister's face. It was no paler and but littler thinner than in the autumn, yet there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if the mortal was beingslowly refined away, and the immortal shining through the frail flesh withan indescribably pathetic beauty. Jo saw and felt it, but said nothing at thetime, and soon the first impression lost much of its power, for Beth seemedhappy, no one appeared to doubt that she was better, and presently inother cares Jo fora time forgot her fear. But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the vague anxietyreturned and haunted her. She had confessed her sins and been forgiven, but when she showed her savings and proposed a mountain trip, Beth hadthanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far away from home. Anotherlittle visit to the seashore would suit her better, and as Grandma could notbe prevailed upon to leave the babies, Jo took Beth down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the open air, and let the fresh sea breezesblow a little color into her pale cheeks. It was not a fashionable place, but even among the pleasant people there, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for one another. Beth was tooshy to enjoy society, and Jo too wrapped up in her to care for anyone else. So they were all in all to each other, and came and went, quite unconsciousof the interest they exited in those about them, who watched withsympathetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always together, as ifthey felt instinctively that a long separation was not far away. They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it, for often between ourselves andthose nearest and dearest to us there exists a reserve which it is very hardto overcome. Jo felt as if a veil had fallen between her heart and Beth's, butwhen she put out her hand to lift it up, there seemed something sacred inthe silence, and she waited for Beth to speak. She wondered, and wasthankful also, that her parents did not seem to see what she saw, andduring the quiet weeks when the shadows grew so plain to her, she saidnothing of it to those at home, believing that it would tell itself when Bethcame back no better. She wondered still more if her sister really guessedthe hard truth, and what thoughts were passing through her mind duringthe long hours when she lay on the warm rocks with her head in Jo's lap, while the winds blew healthfully over her and the sea made music at herfeet. One day Beth told her. Jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still, andputting down her book, sat looking at her with wistful eyes, trying to seesigns of hope in the faint color on Beth's cheeks. But she could not findenough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands seemedtoo feeble to hold even the rosy little shells they had been collecting. Itcame to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was slowly driftingaway form her, and her arms instinctively tightened their hold upon thedearest treasure she possessed. For a minute her eyes were too dim forseeing, and when they cleared, Beth was looking up at her so tenderly thatthere was hardly any need for her to say, `Jo, dear, I'm glad you know it. I've tried to tell you, but I couldn't. 'There was no answer except her sister's cheek against her own, not eventears, for when most deeply moved, Jo did not cry. She was the weakerthen, land Beth tried to comfort and sustain her, with her arms about herand the soothing words she whispered in her ear. `I've known it for a good while, dear, and now I'm used to it, it isn't hardto think of or to bear. Try to see it so and don't be troubled about me, because it's best, indeed it is. '`Is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, Beth? You did notfeel it then, land keep it to yourself so long, did you?' asked Jo, refusing tosee or say that it was best, but glad to know that Laurie had no part inBeth's trouble. `Yes, I gave up hoping then, but I didn't like to own it. I tried to think itwas a sick fancy, and would not let it trouble anyone. But when I saw youall so well and strong and full of happy plans, it was hard to feel that Icould never be like you, and then I was miserable, Jo. '`Oh, Beth, and you didn't tell me, didn't let me comfort and help you?How could you shut me out, bear it all alone?'Jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached to think of thesolitary struggle that must have gone on while Beth learned to say goodbyeto health, love, and live, and take up her cross so cheerfully. `Perhaps it was wrong, but I tried to do right. I wasn't sure, no one saidanything, and I hoped I was mistaken. It would have been selfish tofrighten you all when Marmee was so anxious about Meg, and Amy away, and you so happy with Laurie--at least I thought so then. '`And I thought you loved him, Beth, and I went away because Icouldn't, ' cried Jo, glad to say all the truth. Beth looked so amazed at the idea that Jo smiled in spite of her pain, andadded softly, `Then you didn't, dearie? I was afraid it was so, and imaginedyour poor little heart full of lovelornity all that while. '`Why, Jo, how could I, when he was so fond of you?' asked Beth, asinnocently as a child. `I do love him dearly. He is so good to me, how can Ihelp It? But he could never be anything to me but my brother. I hope hetruly will be, sometime. '`Not through me, ' said Jo decidedly. `Amy is left for him, and theywould suit excellently, but I have no heart for such things, now. I don't carewhat becomes of anybody but you, Beth. You must get well. '`I want to, oh, so much! I try, but every day I lose a little, and feel moresure that I shall never gain it back. It's like the tide, Jo, when it turns, it goesslowly, but it can't be stopped. '`It shall be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nineteen is tooyoung, Beth. I can't let you go. I'll work and pray and fight against it. I'llkeep you in spite of everything. There must be ways, it can't be too late. God won't be so cruel as to take you from me, ' cried poor Jo rebelliously, for her spirit was far less piously submissive than Beth's. Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itselfin acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies orprotestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave hercourage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like aconfiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to God andnature, Father and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for herpassionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, fromwhich our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which Hedraws us closer to Himself. She could not say, `I'm glad to go, ' for life wasvery sweet for her. She could only sob out, `I try to be willing, ' while sheheld fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over themtogether. By and by Beth said, with recovered serenity, `You'll tell them this whenwe go home?'`I think they will see it without words, ' sighed Jo, for now it seemed toher that Beth changed every day. `Perhaps not. I've heard that the people who love best are often blindestto such things. If they don't see it, you will tell them for me. I don't wantany secrets, and it's kinder to prepare them. Meg has John and the babies tocomfort her, but you must stand by Father and Mother, won't you Jo?'`If I can. But, Beth, I don't give up yet. I'm going to believe that it is a sickfancy, and not let you think it's true. ' said Jo, trying to speak cheerfully. Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way, `I don't knowhow to express myself, and shouldn't try to anyone but you, because I can'tspeak out except to my Jo. I only mean to say that I have a feeling that itnever was intended I should live long. I'm not like the rest of you. I nevermade any plans about what I'd do when I grew up. I never thought ofbeing married, as you all did. I couldn't seem to imagine myself anythingbut stupid little Beth, trotting about at home, of no use anywhere but there. I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even inheaven. 'Jo could not speak, and for several minutes there was no sound but thesigh of the wind and the lapping of the tide. A white-winged gull flew by, with the flash of sunshine on its silvery breast. Beth watched it till itvanished, and her eyes were full of sadness. A little gray-coated sand birdcame tripping over the beach `peeping' softly to itself, as if enjoying the sunand sea. It came quite close to Beth, and looked at her with a friendly eyeand sat upon a warm stone, dressing its wet feathers, quite at home. Bethsmiled and felt comforted, for the tiny thing seemed to offer its smallfriendship and remind her that a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed. `Dear little bird! See, Jo, how tame it is. I like peeps better than the gulls. They are not so wild and handsome, but they seem happy, confiding littlethings. I used to call them my birds last summer, and Mother said theyreminded her of me --busy, quaker-colored creatures, always near theshore, and always chirping that contented little song of theirs. You are thegull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out tosea, and happy all alone. Meg is the turtledove, and Amy is like the larkshe write about, trying to get up among the clouds, but always droppingdown into its nest again. Dear little girl! She's so ambitious, but her heart isgood and tender, and no matter how high she flies, she never will forgethome. I hope I shall see her again, but she seems so far away. '`She is coming in the spring, and I mean that you shall be all ready to seeand enjoy her. I'm going to have you well and rosy by that time. ' began Jo, feeling that of all the changes in Beth, the talking change was the greatest, for it seemed to cost no effort now, and she thought aloud in a way quiteunlike bashful Beth. `Jo, dear, don't hope any more. It won't do any good. I'm sure of that. We won't be miserable, but enjoy being together while we wait. We'll havehappy times, for I don't suffer much, and I think the tide will go out easily, if you help me. 'Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that silent kiss, shededicated herself soul and body to Beth. She was right. There was no need of any words when they got home, forFather and Mother saw plainly now what they had prayed to be savedfrom seeing. Tired with her short journey, Beth went at once to bed, sayinghow glad she was to be home, and when Jo went down, she found that shewould be spared the hard task of telling Beth's secret. Her father stoodleaning his head on the mantelpiece and did not turn as she came in, buther mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and Jo went to comfort herwithout a word. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENAt three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice maybe seen on the Promenade des Anglais--a charming place, for the widewalk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded onone side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels andvillas, while beyond lie orange orchards and the hills. Many nations arerepresented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn, and on asunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. HaughtyEnglish, lively French, sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, uglyRussians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunterhere, chatting over the news, and criticzing the latest celebrity who hasarrived--Ristori or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of theSandwich Islands. The equipages are as varied as the company and attractas much attention, especially the low basket barouches in which ladiesdrive themselves, with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep theirvoluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and littlegrooms on the perch behind. Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression ofcountenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the independent air of an American--a combination which causedsundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundrydandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, andorange flowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and thenenvy him his inches. There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but theyoung man took little notice of them, except to glance now and then atsome blonde girl in blue. Presently he strolled out of the promenade andstood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go and listen tothe band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along the beach towardCastle Hill. The quick trot of ponies feet made him look up, as one of thelittle carriages, containing a single young lady, came rapidly down thestreet. The lady was young, blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared aminute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, hehurried forward to meet her. `Oh, Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!' cried Amy, dropping the reins and holding out both hands, to the great scandalizationof a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps, lest she should bedemoralized by beholding the free manners of these `mad English'. `I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you, and here I am. '`How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are youstaying?'`Very well--last night--at the Chauvain. I called at your hotel, but youwere out. '`I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get in and we cantalk at our ease. I was going for a drive and longing for company. Flo'ssaving up for tonight. '`What happens then, a ball?'`A Christmas party at out hotel. There are many Americans there, andthey give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us, of course? Aunt will becharmed. '`Thank you. Where now?' asked Laurie, leaning back and folding hisarms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred to drive, for herparasol whip and blue reins over the white ponies backs afforded herinfinite satisfaction. `I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to Castle Hill. Theview is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. Have you ever beenthere?'`Often, years ago, but I don't mind having a look at it. '`Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you, your grandfatherwrote that he expected you from Berlin. ' `Yes, I spent a month there andthen joined him in Paris, where he has settled for the winter. He has friendsthere and finds plenty to amuse him, so I go and come, and we got oncapitally. '`That's a sociable arrangement, ' said Amy, missing something in Laurie'smanner, though she couldn't tell what. `Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still, so we each suitourselves, and there is no trouble. I am often with him, and he enjoys myadventures, while I like to feel that someone is glad to see me when I getback from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, isn't it?' he added, with a look ofdisgust as they drove along the boulevard to the Place Napoleon in the oldcity. `The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the hills aredelicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streets are my delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass. It's going to theChurch of St. John. 'While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under theircanopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and some brotherhoodin blue chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felt a new sort ofshyness steal over her, for he was changed, and she could not find themerry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man beside her. He washandsomer than ever and greatly improved, she thought, but now that theflush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless--not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two ofprosperous life should have made him. She couldn't understand it and didnot venture to ask questions, so she shook her head and touched up herponies, as the procession wound away across the arches of the Paglionibridge and vanished in the church. `Que pensez-vous?' she said, airing her French, which had improved inquantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad. `That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result ischarming, ' replied Laurie, bowing with his hand on his heart and anadmiring look. She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfyher like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when hepromenaded round her on festival occasions, and tole her she was`altogether jolly', with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the head. She didn't like the new tone, for though not blase, it sounded indifferent inspite of the look. `If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he's stay a boy, ' shethought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, tryingmeantime to seem quite easy and gay. At Avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, giving the reins toLaurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road betweengreen hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly as in June. `Beth is very poorly, Mother says. I often think I ought to go home, butthey all say `stay'. So I do, for I shall never have another chance like this, 'said Amy, looking sober over one page. `I think you are right, there. You could do nothing at home, and it is agreat comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoyingso much, my dear. 'He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self as he said that, and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heart was lightened, for thelook, the act, the brotherly `my dear', seemed to assure her that if anytrouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land. Presently shelaughed and showed him a small sketch of Jo in her scribbling suit, withthe bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth thewords, `Genius burns!'. Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket `to keep it from blowingaway', and listened with interest to the lively letter Amy read him. `This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in themorning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night, ' said Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock of splendidpeacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed. While Amystood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbs to thebrilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him, with a naturalcuriosity to see what changes time and absence had wrought. He foundnothing to perplex or disappoint, much to admire and approve, foroverlooking a few little affectations of speech and manner, she was assprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribablesomething in dress and bearing which we call elegance. Always mature forher age, she had gained a certain aplomb in both carriage and conversation, which made her seem more of a woman of the world than she was, but herold petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign polish. Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks, buthe saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried away a pretty littlepicture of a bright-faced girl standing in the sunshine, which brought outthe soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of her cheeks, the golden gloss ofher hair, and made her a prominent figure in the pleasant scene. As they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill, Amy wavedher hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and said, pointing hereand there, `Do you remember the Cathedral and the Corso, the fishermendragging their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's Tower, just below, and best of all, that speck far out to sea whichthey say ils Corsica?'`I remember. It's not much changed, ' he answered without enthusiasm. `What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!' said Amy, feelingin good spirits and anxious to see him so also. `Yes, ' was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see theisland which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now made interestingin his sight. `Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me what youhave been doing with yourself all this while, ' said Amy, seating herself, ready for a good talk. But she did not get it, for though he joined her and answered all herquestions freely, she could only learn that he had roved about theContinent and been to Greece. So after idling away an hour, they drovehome again, and having paid his respects to Mrs. Carrol, Laurie left them, promising to return in the evening. It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately prinked that night. Time and absence had done its work on both the young people. She hadseen her old friend in a new light, not as `our boy', but as a handsome andagreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire to find favorin his sight. Amy knew her good points, and made the most of them withthe taste and skill which is a fortune to a poor and pretty woman. Tarlatan

and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herself in themon such occasions, and following the sensible English fashion of simpledress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with fresh flowers, afew trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which were bothinexpensive and effective. It must be confessed that the artist sometimesgot possession of the woman, and indulged in antique coiffures, statuesqueattitudes, and classic draperies. But, dear heart, we all have out littleweaknesses, and find it easy to pardon such in the young, who satisfy oureyes with their comeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their artlessvanities. `I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home, ' said Amyto herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball dress, and covered it with acloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and golden heademerged with a most artistic effect. Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves and curls into a Hebe-like knot at theback of her head. `It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to make a frightof myself, ' she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, or braid, as thelatest style commanded. Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amylooped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the whiteshoulders in delicate green vines. Remembering the painted boots, shesurveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and chasseddown the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself. `My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and thereal lace on Aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress. If I only had aclassical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy, ' she said, surveyingherself with a critical eye and a candle in each hand. In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as sheglided away. She seldom ran--it did not suit her style, she thought, forbeing tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriate than thesportive or piquante. She walked up and down the long saloon whilewaiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself under the chandelier, whichhad a good effect upon her hair, then she thought better of it, and wentaway to the other end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire tohave the first view a propitious one. It so happened that she could not havedone a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly she did not hear him, andas she stood at the distant window, with her head half turned and onehand gathering up her dress, the slender, white figure against the redcurtains was as effective as a well-placed statue. `Good evening, Diana!' said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction sheliked to see in his eyes when they rested on her. `Good evening, Apollo!' she answered, smiling back at him, for he toolooked unusually debonair, and the thought of entering the ballroom onthe arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plain MissesDavis from the bottom of her heart. `Here are your flowers. I arranged them myself, remembering that youdidn't like what Hannah calls a `sot-bookay', said Laurie, handing her adelicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily passedit in Cardiglia's window. `How kind you are!' she exclaimed gratefully. `If I'd known you werecoming I'd have had something ready for you today, though not as prettyas this, I'm afraid. '`Thank you. It isn't what it should be, but you have improved it, ' headded, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist. `Please don't. '`I thought you liked that sort of thing. '`Not from you, it doesn't sound natural, and I like your old bluntnessbetter. '`I'm glad of it, ' he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned hergloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do whenthey went to parties together at home. The company assembled in the long salle a manger that evening wassuch as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. The hospitable Americanshad invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and having no prejudiceagainst titles, secured a few to add luster to their Christmas ball. A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talkwith a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's mother in black velvet with apearl bridle under her chin. A Polish count, aged eighteen, devoted himselfto the ladies, who pronounced him, `a fascinating dear', and a GermanSerene Something, having come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Rothschild's private secretary, alargenosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if hismaster's name crowned him with a golden halo. A stout Frenchman, whoknew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, and Lady deJones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight. Ofcourse, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto, and a few plain but piquanteFrench demoiselles, likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemenwho disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations lined thewalls and smiled upon them benignly when they danced with theirdaughters. Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she `took thestage' that night, leaning on Laurie's arm. She knew she looked well, sheloved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girlsfirst discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue ofbeauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis girls, who wereawkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and threegrimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner asshe passed, which was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking friendmight be. With the first burst of the band, Amy's color rose, her eyes beganto sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently, for she danced well andwanted Laurie to know it. Therefore the shock she received can better beimagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquil tone, `Do youcare to dance?'`One usually does at a ball. 'Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error asfast as possible. `I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?'`I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances devinely, but he willexcuse me, as you are an old friend, ' said Amy, hoping that the namewould have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be trifledwith. `Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support . .. A daughter of thegods, Devinely tall, and most devinely fair, 'was all the satisfaction she got, however. The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, andAmy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillion, feeling all thewhile as if she could dance the tarantella with relish. Laurie resigned her tothe `nice little boy', and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amyfor the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properlypunished, for she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning torelent if he then gave any signs penitence. She showed him her ball bookwith demure satisfaction when he strolled instead of rushed up to claimher for the next, a glorious polka redowa. But his polite regrets didn'timpose upon her, and when she galloped away with the Count, she sawLaurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief. That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him for a longwhile, except a word now and then when she came to her chaperonbetween the dances for a necessary pin or a moment's rest. Her anger had agood effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemedunusually blithe and brilliant. Laurie's eyes followed her with pleasure, forshe neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He very naturally fellto studying her from this new point of view, and before the evening washalf over, had decided that `little Amy was going to make a very charmingwoman'. It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season tookpossession of everyone, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged asif they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those who couldn'tadmired their neighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark withDavises, and many Jones gamboled like a flock of young giraffes. Thegolden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with a dashingfrenchwoman who carped the floor with her pink satin train. The sereneTeuton found the supper table and was happy, eating steadily through thebill of fare, and dismayed the garcons by the ravages he committed. But theEmperor's friend covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when thefigures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout man wascharming to behold, for though he `carried weight', he danced like anIndia-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced, his face glowed, his baldhead shown, his coattails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in theair, and when the music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, andbeamed upon his fellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses. Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm butmore graceful agility, and Laurie found himself involuntarily keeping timeto the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by asindefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances that he was `desolated to leave so early', she was ready torest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment. It had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blighted affections find abalm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the enchantment ofbeauty, light, music, and motion. Laurie had a waked-up look as he rose togive her his seat, and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, shesaid to herself, with a satisfied smile, `Ah, I thought that would do himgood!'`You look like Balzac's `FEMME PEINTE PAR ELLE-NENE', ' he said, ashe fanned her with one hand and held her coffee cup in the other. `My rouge won't come off. ' And Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, andshowed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laughoutright. `What do you call this stuff?' he asked, touching a fold of her dress thathad blown over his knee. `Illusion. '`Good name for it. It's very pretty--new thing, isn't it?'`It's as old as the hills. You have seen it on dozens of girls, and you neverfound out that it was pretty till now? Stupide!'`I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see. '`None of that, it is forbidden. I'd rather take coffee than compliments justnow. No, don't lounge, it makes me nervous. 'Laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty plate feeling an oddsort of pleasure in having `little Amy' order him about, for she had lost hershyness now, and felt an irrestible desire to trample on him, as girls have adelightful way of doing when lords of creation show any signs ofsubjection. `Where did you learn all this sort of thing?' he asked with a quizzicallook. `As `this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would you kindlyexplain?' returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, butwickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable. `Well--the general air, the style, the self-possession, the-- the--illusion--you know', laughed Laurie, breaking down and helping himselfout of his quandary with the new word. Amy was gratified, but of course didn't show it, and demurelyanswered, `Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self. I study as well asplay, and as for this'--with a little gesture toward her dress--`why, tulle ischeap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used to making the most ofmy poor little things. 'Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't in good taste, but Laurie liked her better for it, and found himself both admiring andrespecting the brave patience that made the most of opportunity, and thecheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers. Amy did not know whyhe looked at her so kindly, now why he filled up her book with his ownname, and devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening in the mostdelightful manner, but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change wasthe result of one of the new impressions which both of them wereunconsciously giving and receiving. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTIn France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when `Vive la liberte!' becomes their motto. In America, as everyoneknows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy theirfreedom with republican zest, but the young matrons usually abdicate withthe first heir to the throne and go into a seclusion almost as close as aFrench nunnery, though by no means as quiet. Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement isover, and most of them might exclaim, as did a very pretty woman theother day, `I'm as handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of mebecause I'm married. 'Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience thisaffliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world primitivecustoms prevailed, and she found herself more admired and beloved thanever. As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was verystrong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter exclusionof everything and everybody else. Day and night she brooded over themwith tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to the tender mercies of thehelp, for an Irish lady now presided over the kitchen department. Being adomestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions he had beenaccustomed to receive, but as he adored his babies, he cheerfullyrelinquished his comfort for a time, supposing with masculine ignorancethat peace would soon be restored. But three months passed, and there wasno return of repose. Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbedevery minute of her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who took life `aisy', kept him on short commons. When he went out in themorning he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma, if he came gaily in at night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenchedby a `Hush! They are just asleep after worrying all day. ' If he proposed alittle amusement at home, `No, it would disturb the babies. ' If he hinted ata lecture or a concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and adecided `Leave my children for pleasure, never!' His sleep was broken byinfant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and froin the watches of the night. His meals were interrupted by the frequentflight of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffledchirp sounded from the nest above. And when he read his paper of anevening, Demi's colic got into the shipping list and Daisy's fall affected theprice of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in domestic news. The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft himof his wife, home was merely a nursery and the perpetual `hushing' madehim feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred precincts ofBabyland. He bore it very patiently for six months, and when no signs ofamendment appeared, he did what other paternal exiles do--tried to get alittle comfort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone to housekeeping notfar off, and John fell into the way of running over for an hour or two of anevening, when his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singinglullabies that seemed to have no end. Mrs. Scott was a lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be agreeable, and she performed her mission mostsuccessfully. The parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboardready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little supper setforth in tempting style. John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely, but as it was he gratefully took the next best thing and enjoyed hisneighbor's society. Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it arelief to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing in theparlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children. But by-and-by, when the teething worry was over and the idols went to sleep at properhours, leaving Mamma time to rest, she began to miss John, and find herworkbasket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite in his olddressing gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender. Shewould not ask him to stay at home, but felt injured because he did notknow that she wanted him without being told, entirely forgetting the manyevenings he had waited for her in vain. She was nervous and worn outwith watching and worry, and in that unreasonable frame of mind whichthe best of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares oppressthem. Want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much devotionto that idol of American women, the teapot, makes them feel as if theywere all nerve and no muscle. `Yes, ' she would say, looking in the glass, `I'm getting old and ugly. Johndoesn't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his faded wife and goesto see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances. Well, the babies loveme, they don't care if I am thin and pale and haven't time to crimp my hair, they are my comfort, and some day John will see what I've gladlysacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?'To which pathetic appeal daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with acrow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, whichsoothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased as politicsabsorbed John, who was always running over to discuss interesting pointswith Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him. Not a word did shesay, however, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted onknowing what the matter was, for Meg's drooping spirits had not escapedher observation. `I wouldn't tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really do need advice, for if John goes on much longer I might as well be widowed, ' replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's bib with an injured air. `Goes on how, my dear?' asked her mother anxiously. `He's away all day, and at night when I want to see him, he iscontinually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair that I should have thehardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even thebest of them. '`So are women. Don't blame John till you see where you are wrongyourself. '`But it can't be right for him to neglect me. '`Don't you neglect him?'`Why, Mother, I thought you'd take my part!'`So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault is yours, Meg. '`I don't see how. '`Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while youmade it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisuretime?'`No, but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend. '`I think you could, dear, and I think you ought. May I speak quite freely, and will you remember that it's Mother who blames as well as Mother whosympathizes?'`Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often feel as if Ineeded teaching more than ever since these babies look to me foreverything. 'Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and with a littleinterruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovinglytogether, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever. `You have only made the mistake that most young wives make-forgottenyour duty to your husband in your love for your children. A very naturaland forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied beforeyou take to different ways, for children should draw you nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and John had nothing to do butsupport them. I've seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feelingsure it would come right in time. '`I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous, and Iwouldn't insult him by such an idea. He doesn't see that I want him, and Idon't know how to tell him without words. '`Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear, he's longing forhis little home, but it isn't home without you, and you are always in thenursery. '`Oughtn't I to be there?'`Not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous, and thenyou are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe something to John aswell as to the babies. Don't neglect husband for children, don't shut himout of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as wellas yours, and the children need him. Let him feel that he has a part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you all. '`You really think so, Mother?'`I know it, Meg, for I've tried it, and I seldom give advice unless I'veproved its practicability. When you and Jo were little, I went on just as youare, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless I devoted myself wholly to you. Poor Father took to his books, after I had refused all offers of help, and leftme to try my experiment alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jowas too much for me. I nearly spoiled her by indulgence. You were poorly, and I worried about you till I fell sick myself. Then Father came to therescue, quietly managed everything, and made himself so helpful that Isaw my mistake, and never have been able to got on without him since. That is the secret of our home happiness. He does not let business weanhim from the little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to letdomestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our partalone in many things, but at home we work together, always. '`It is so, Mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband and childrenwhat you have been to yours. Show me how, I'll do anything you say. '`You were always my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you, I'd letJohn have more to do with the management of Demi, for the boy needstraining, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what I have oftenproposed, let Hannah come and help you. She is a capital nurse, and youmay trust the precious babies to her while you do more housework. Youneed the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would find hiswife again. Go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are thesunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fairweather. Then I'd try to take an interest in whatever John likes--talk withhim, let him read to you, exchange ideas, and help each other in that way. Don't shut yourself up in a bandbox because you are a woman, butunderstand what is going on, and educate yourself to take your part in theworld's work, for it all affects you and yours. '`John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I ask questionsabout politics and things. '`I don't believe he would. Love covers a multitude of sins, and of whomcould you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and see if he doesn't findyour society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's suppers. '`I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I have neglected him sadly, but I thought Iwas right, and he never said anything. '`He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, I fancy. This isjust the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to grow apart, andthe very time when they ought to be most together, for the first tendernesssoon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it. And no time is sobeautiful and precious to parents as the first years of the little lives given tothem to train. Don't let John be a stranger to the babies, for they will domore to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation thananything else, and through them you will learn to know and love oneanother as you should. Now, dear, good-by. Think over Mother'spreachment, act upon it if it seems good, and God bless you all. 'Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the firstattempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it. Of course thechildren tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon as they foundout that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted. Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but Papa was not so easilysubjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt atpaternal discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a trifle ofhis sire's firmness of character, we won't call it obstinacy, and when hemade up his little to have or to do anything, all the king's horses and all theking's men could not change that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thoughtthe dear too young to be taught to conquer his prejudices, but Papabelieved that it never was too soon to learn obedience. So Master Demiearly discovered that when he undertook to `wrastle' with `Parpar', healways got the worst of it, yet like the Englishman, baby respected the manwho conquered him, and loved the father whose grave `No, no, ' was moreimpressive than all Mamma's love pats. A few days after the talk with hermother, Meg resolved to try a social evening with John, so she ordered anice supper, set the parlor in order, dressed herself prettily, and put thechildren to bed early, that nothing should interfere with her experiment. But unfortunately Demi's most unconquerable prejudice was against goingto bed, and that night he decided to go on a rampage. So poor Meg sangand rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-prevoking wile she coulddevise, but all in vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut, and long after Daisy hadgone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good nature she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of countenance. `Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while Mamma runs down and givespoor Papa his tea?' asked Meg, as the hall door softly closed, and the well-known step went tip-toeing into the dining room. `Me has tea!' said Demi, preparing to join in the revel. `No, but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go bye-bylike Daisy. Will you, lovey?'`Iss!' and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry thedesired day. Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away and randown to greet her husband with a smiling face and the little blue bow inher hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once and said withpleased surprise, `Why, little mother, how gay we are tonight. Do youexpect company?'`Only you, dear. '`No, I'm tired of being dowdy, so I dressed up as a change. You alwaysmake yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are, so why shouldn'tI when I have the time?'`I do it out of respect for you, my dear, ' said old-fashioned John. `Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke, ' laughed Meg, looking young and pretty again, as she nodded to him over the teapot. `Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes right. Idrink your health, dear. ' And John sipped his tea with an air of reposefulrapture, which was of very short duration however, for as he put down hiscup, the door handle rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard, saying impatiently ... `Opy doy. Me's tummin!'`It's that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas, ' said Meg, answering the call. `Mornin' now, ' announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered, with hislong nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and every curl bobbinggayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the `cakies' with loving glances. `No, it isn't morning yet. You must go to bed, and not trouble poorMamma. Then you can have the little cake with sugar on it. '`Me loves Parpar, ' said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternalknee and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook his head, and said toMeg... `If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him do it, or he will never learn to mind you. '`Yes, of course. Come, Demi. ' And Meg led her son away, feeling astrong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, laboringunder the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as theyreached the nursery. Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gavehim a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any morepromenades till morning. `Iss!' said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regardinghis first attempt as eminently successful. Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, whenthe little ghost walked again and exposed the maternal delinquencies byboldly demanding, `More sudar, Marmar. '`Now this won't do, ' said John, hardening his heart against the engaginglittle sinner. `We shall never know any peace till that child learns togo tobed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough. Give himone lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leavehim, Meg. '`He won't stay there, he never does unless I sit by him. '`I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as Mammabids you. '`S'ant!' replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted `cakie', and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity. `You must never say that to Papa. I shall carry you if you don't goyourself. '`Go `way, me don't love Parpar. ' And Demi retired to his mother's skirtsfor protection. But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to theenemy, with a `Be gentle with him, John, ' which struck the culprit withdismay, for when Mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was athand. Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by astrong hand to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the wayupstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on theother, and made for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by thetail of his little toga and put back again, which lively performance was keptup till the young man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself toroaring at the top of his voice. This vocal exercise usually conquered Meg, but John sat as unmoved as the post which is popularly believed to be deaf. No coaxing, no sugar, no lullaby, no story, even the light was put out andonly the red glow of the fire enlivened the `big dark' which Demi regardedwith curiosity rather than fear. This new order of things disgusted him, andhe howled dismally for `Marmar', as his angry passions subsided, andrecollections of his tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar went to Meg'sheart, and she ran up to say beseechingly... `Let me stay with him, he'll be good now, John. '`No, my dear. I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him, and hemust, if I stay here all night. '`But he'll cry himself sick, ' pleaded Meg, reproaching herself fordeserting her boy. `No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off and then the matter issettled, for he will understand that he has got to mind. Don't interfere, I'llmanage him. '`He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harshness. '`He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoiled by indulgence. Godown, my dear, and leave the boy to me. 'When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and neverregretted her docility. `Please let me kiss him once, John?'`Certainly. Demi, say good night to Mamma, and let her go and rest, forshe is very tired with taking care of you all day. 'Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory, for after it wasgiven, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom of thebed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind. `Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying. I'll cover him up, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest. ' thought John, creeping to thebedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep. But he wasn't, for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi's eyesopened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, saying witha penitent hiccough, `Me's dood, now. 'Sitting on the stairs outside Meg wondered at the long silence whichfollowed the uproar, and after imagining all sorts of impossible accidents, she slipped into the room to set her fears at rest. Demi lay fast asleep, not inhis usual spreadeagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close inthe circle of his father's arm and holding his father's finger, as if he felt thatjustice was tempered with mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and wiserbaby. So held, John had waited with a womanly patience till the little handrelaxed its hold, and while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by thattussle with his son than with his whole day's work. As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled toherself, and then slipped away again, saying in a satisfied tone, `I neverneed fear that John will be too harsh with my babies. He does know how tomanage them, and will be a great help, for Demi is getting too much forme. 'When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachfulwife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming a bonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election, ifhe was not too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some kindwas going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing that Meg was such atransparent little person, she couldn't keep a secret to save her life, andtherefore the clue would soon appear. He read a long debate with the mostamiable readiness and then explained it in his most lucid manner, whileMeg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions, and keepher thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of herbonnet. In her secret soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad asmathematics, and the the mission of politicians seemed to be calling eachother names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, and when Johnpaused, shook her head and said with what she thought diplomaticambiguity, `Well, I really don't see what we are coming to. 'John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty littlepreparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with thegenuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken. `She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and like millinery forhers, that's only fair, ' thought John the Just, adding aloud, `That's verypretty. Is it what you call a breakfast cap?'`My dear man, it's a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theaterbonnet. '`I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of theflyaway things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?'`These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so. ' AndMeg illustrated by putting on the bonnet and regarding him with an air ofcalm satisfaction that was irresistible. `It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks young andhappy again. ' And John kissed the smiling face, to the great detriment ofthe rosebud under the chin. `I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new concertssome night. I really need some music to put me in tune. Will you, please?'`Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. You havebeen shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and I shall enjoy it, ofall things. What put it into your head, little mother?'`Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervousand cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed change and less care, so Hannah is to help me with the children, and I'm to see to things aboutthe house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me fromgetting to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my time. It's onlyan experiment, John, and I want to try it for your sake as much as for mine, because I've neglected you shamefully lately, and I'm going to make homewhat it used to be, if I can. You don't object, I hope?'Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the littlebonnet had from utter ruin. All that we have any business to know is thatJohn did not appear to object, judging from the changes which graduallytook place in the house and its inmates. It was not all Paradise by anymeans, but everyone was better for the division of labor system. Thechildren throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, stedfast John broughtorder and obedience into Babydom, while Meg recovered her spirits andcomposed her nerves by plenty of wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her sensible husband. Homegrew homelike again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Megwith him. The Scotts came to the Brookes' now, and everyone found thelittle house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even Sallie Moffatt liked to go there. `It is always so quiet and pleasanthere, it does me good, Meg, ' she used to say, looking about her with wistfuleyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use it in her greathouse, full of splendid lonliness, for there were no riotous, sunny-facedbabies there, and Ned lived in a world of lis own, where there was no placefor her. This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meghad found the key to it, and each year of Married life taught them how touse it, unlocking the treasuries of real home love and mutual helpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy. This is the sortof shelf on which young wives and mothers may consent to be laid, safefrom the restless fret and fever of the world, finding loyal lovers in the littlesons and daughters who cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, orage, walking side by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithfulfriend, who is, in the true sense of the good old Saxon word, the `house-band', and learning, as Meg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom ishome, her highest honor the art of ruling it not as a queen, but as a wisewife and mother. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINELaurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month. Hewas tired of wandering about alone, and Amy's familiar presence seemedto give a homelike charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore a part. Herather missed the `petting' he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of itagain, for no attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were half sopleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amy never wouldpet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him now, and quiteclung to him, feeling that he was the representative of the dear family forwhom she longed more than she would confess. They naturally tookcomfort in each other's society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at Nice no one can be very industrious duringthe gay season. But, while apparently amusing themselves in the mostcareless fashion, they were half-consciously making discoveries andforming opinions about each other. Amy rose daily in the estimation of herfriend, but he sank in hers, and each felt the truth before a word wasspoken. Amy tried to please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for themany pleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little services towhich womanly women know how to lend an indescribable charm. Lauriemade no effort of any kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably aspossible, trying to forget, and feeling that all women owed him a kindword because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to begenerous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if shewould have taken them, but at the same time he felt that he could notchange the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded thekeen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such half-sorrowful, half-scornful surprise. `All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I preferred to stay at homeand write letters. They are done now, and I am going to Valrosa to sketch, will you come?' said Amy, as she

joined Laurie one lovely day when helounged in as usual about noon. `Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?' he answeredslowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after the glare without. `I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, so you'llhave nothing to do but hold your umbrella, and keep your gloves nice, 'returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids, which werea weak point with Laurie. `Then I'll go with pleasure. ' And he put out his hand for her sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp... `Don't trouble yourself. It's no exertion to me, but you don't look equalto it. 'Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she randownstairs, but when they got into the carriage he took the reins himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and fall asleep on hisperch. The two never quarreled. Amy was too well-bred, and just now Lauriewas too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim with aninquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they went on together inthe most amicable manner. It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenesthat delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient monastery, whence thesolemn chanting of the monks came down to them. There a bare-leggedshepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket over oneshoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped among the rocks orlay at his feet. Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with panniers offreshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting betweenthe green piles, or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovels to offernosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough. Gnarled olive treescovered the hills with their dusky foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside, while beyond greenslopes and craggy heights, the Maritime Alps rose sharp and white againstthe blue Italian sky. Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of perpetual summerroses blossomed everywhere. They overhung the archway, thrustthemselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome topassers-by, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon trees andfeathery palms up to the villa on the hill. Every shadowy nook, where seatsinvited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom, every cool grotto had itsmarble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflectedcrimson, white, or pale pink roses, leaning down to smile at their ownbeauty. Roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbedthe pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace, whence onelooked down on the sunny Mediterranean, and the white-walled city on itsshore. `This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it? Did you ever see suchroses?' asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and aluxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by. `No, nor felt such thorns, ' returned Laurie, with his thumb in his mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower that grew justbeyond his reach. `Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns, ' said Amy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall behindher. She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and he stood aminute looking down at them with a curious expression, for in the Italianpart of his nature there was a touch of superstition, and he was just then inthat state of half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, when imaginative youngmen find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere. He hadthought of Jo in reaching after the thorny red rose, for vivid flowersbecame her, and she had often worn ones like that from the greenhouse athome. The pale roses Amy gave him were the sort that the Italians lay indead hands, never in bridal wreaths, and for a moment he wondered if theomen was for Jo or for himself, but the next instant his American commonsense got the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh thanAmy had heard since he came. `It's good advice, you'd better take it and save your fingers, ' she said, thinking her speech amused him. `Thank you, I will, ' he answered in jest, and a few months later he did itin earnest. `Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?' she asked presently, as she settled herself on a rustic seat. `Very soon. '`You have said that a dozen times within the last three weeks. '`I dare say, short answers save trouble. '`He expects you, and you really ought to go. '`Hospitable creature! I know it. '`Then why don't you do it?'`Natural depravity, I suppose. '`Natural indolence, you mean. It's really dreadful!' And Amy lookedsevere. `Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so I mightas well stay and plague you a little longer, you can bear it better, in fact Ithink it agrees with you excellently. ' And Laurie composed himself for alounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade. Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an air ofresignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture `that boy' and in aminute she began again. `What are you doing just now?'`Watching lizards. '`No, no. I mean what do you intend and wish to do?'`Smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me. '`How provoking you are! I don't approve of cigars and I will only allowit on condition that you let me put you into my sketch. I need a figure. '`With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me, full length or three-quarters, on my head or my heels? I should respectfully suggest arecumbent posture, then put yourself in also and call it `Dolce far niente'. '`Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like. I intend to work hard, ' saidAmy in her most energetic tone. `What delightful enthusiasm!' And he leaned against a tall urn with an irof entire satisfaction. `What would Jo say if she saw you now?' asked Amy impatiently, hoping to stir him up by the mention of her still more energetic sister'sname. `As usual, `Go away, Teddy. I'm busy!'' He laughed as he spoke, but thelaugh was not natural, and a shade passed over his face, for the utteranceof the familiar name touched the wound that was not healed yet. Both toneand shadow struck Amy, for she had seen and heard them before, and nowshe looked up in time to catch a new expression on Laurie's face--a hardbitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone before shecould study it and the listless expression back again. She watched him for amoment with artistic pleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked, as helay basking in the sun with uncovered head and eyes full of southerndreaminess, for he seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie. `You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his tomb, ' she said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined against the dark stone. `Wish I was!'`That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life. You are sochanged, I sometimes think--' There Amy stopped, with a half-timid, half-wistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech. Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitatedto express, and looking straight into her eyes, said, just as he used to say itto her mother, `It's all right, ma'am. 'That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begun to worry herlately. It also touched her, and she showed that it did, by the cordial tone inwhich she said... `I'm glad of that! I didn't think you'd been a very bad boy, but I fanciedyou might have wasted money at that wicked Baden-Baden, lost your heartto some charming Frenchwoman with a husband, or got into some of thescrapes that young men seem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour. Don't stay out there in the sun, come and lie on the grass here and `let us befriendly', as Jo used to say when we got in the sofa corner and told secrets. 'Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amusehimself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of Amy's hat, that lay there. `I'm all ready for the secrets. ' And he glanced up with a decidedexpression of interest in his eyes. `I've none to tell. You may begin. '`Haven't one to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'd had somenews from home. '`You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hear often? I fanciedJo would send you volumes. '`She's very busy. I'm roving about so, it's impossible to be regular, youknow. When do you begin your great work of art, Raphaella?' he asked. Changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he had beenwondering if Amy knew his secret and wanted to talk about it. `Never, ' she answered, with a despondent but decided air. `Rome tookall the vanity out of me, for after seeing the wonders there, I felt tooinsignificant to live and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair. '`Why should you, with so much energy and talent?'`That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energycan make it so. I want to be great, or nothing. I won't be a common-placedauber, so I don't intend to try any more. '`And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask?'`Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society, if I get thechance. 'It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, but audacitybecomes young people, and Amy's ambition had a good foundation. Laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit with which she took up a newpurpose when a long-cherished one died, and spent no time lamenting. `Good! And here is where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy. 'Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a conscious look in herdowncast face that made Laurie sit up and say gravely, `Now I'm going toplay brother, and ask questions. May I?'`I don't promise to answer. '`Your face will, if your tongue won't. You aren't woman of the worldenough yet to hide your feelings, my dear. I heard rumors about Fred andyou last year, and it's my private opinion that if he had not been calledhome so suddenly and detained so long, something would have come of it, hey?'`That's not for me to say, ' was Amy's grim reply, but her lips wouldsmile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eye which betrayed that sheknew her power and enjoyed the knowledge. `You are not engaged, I hope?' And Laurie looked very elder-brotherlyand grave all of a sudden. `No. '`But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down on his knees, won't you?'`Very likely. '`Then you are fond of old Fred?'`I could be, if I tried. '`But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Bless my soul, whatunearthly prudence! He's a good fellow, Amy, but not the man I fanciedyou'd like. '`He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners, ' began Amy, tryingto be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed of herself, inspite of the sincerity of her intentions. `I understand. Queens of society can't get on without money, so youmean to make a good match, and start in that way? Quite right and proper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from the lips of one of your mother'sgirls. '`True, nevertheless. 'A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was utteredcontrasted curiously with the young speaker. Laurie felt this instinctivelyand laid himself down again, with a sense of disappointment which hecould not explain. His look and silence, as well as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled Amy, and made her resolve to deliver her lecturewithout delay. `I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little, ' she said sharply. `Do it for me, there's a dear girl. '`I could, if I tried. ' And she looked as if she would like doing it in themost summary style. `Try, then. I give you leave, ' returned Laurie, who enjoyed havingsomeone to tease, after his long abstinence from his favorite pastime. `You'd be angry in five minutes. '`I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire. You are ascool and soft as snow. '`You don't know what I can do. Snow produces a glow and a tingle, ifapplied rightly. Your indifference is half affectation, and a good stirring upwould prove it. '`Stir away, it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the big man saidwhen his little wife beat him. Regard me in the light of a husband or acarpet, and beat till you are tired, if that sort of exercise agrees with you. 'Being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see him shake off theapathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, andbegan. `Flo and I have got a new name for you. It's Lazy Laurence. How do youlike it?'She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his arms under hishead, with an imperturbable, `That's not bad. Thank you, ladies. '`Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?'`Pining to be told. '`Well, I despise you. ' If she had even said `I hate you' in a petulant orcoquettish tone, he would have laughed and rather liked it, but the grave, almost sad, accent in her voice made him open his eyes, and ask quickly... `Why, if you please?'`Because, with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you arefaulty, lazy, and miserable. '`Strong language, mademoiselle. '`If you like it, I'll go on. '`Pray do, it's quite interesting. '`I thought you'd find it so. Selfish people always like to talk aboutthemselves. '`Am I selfish?' The question slipped out involuntarily and in a tone ofsurprise, for the one virtue on which he prided himself was generosity. `Yes, very selfish, ' continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice, twice aseffective just then as an angry one. `I'll show you how, for I've studied youwhile we were frolicking, and I'm not at all satisfied with you. Here youhave been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing but waste time andmoney and disappoint your friends. '`Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year grind?'`You don't look as if you'd had much. At any rate, you are none thebetter for it, as far as I can see. I said when we first met that you hadimproved. Now I take it all back, for I don't think you half so nice as whenI left you at home. You have grown abominably lazy, you like gossip, andwaste time on frivolous things, you are contented to be petted and admiredby silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise ones. Withmoney, talent, position, health, and beauty, ah you like that old Vanity! Butit's the truth, so I can't help saying it, with all these splendid things to useand enjoy, you can find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead of being theman you ought to be, you are only... ' There she stopped, with a look thathad both pain and pity in it. `Saint Laurence on a gridiron, ' added Laurie, blandly finishing thesentence. But the lecture began to take effect, for there was a wide-awakesparkle in his eyes now and a half-angry, half-injured expression replacedthe former indifference. `I supposed you'd take it so. You men tell us we are angels, and say wecan make you what we will, but the instant we honestly try to do you good, you laugh at us and won't listen, which proves how much your flattery isworth. ' Amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back on the exasperatingmartyr at her feet. In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she could notdraw, and Laurie's voice said, with a droll imitation of a penitent child, `Iwill be good, oh, I will be good!'But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tapping on theoutspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, `Aren't you ashamed of ahand like that? It's as soft and white as a woman's, and looks as if it neverdid anything but wear Jouvin's best gloves and pick flowers for ladies. Youare not a dandy, thank Heaven, so I'm glad to see there are no diamonds orbig seal rings on it, only the little old one Jo gave you so long ago. Dearsoul, I wish she was here to help me!'`So do I!'The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was energy enoughin the echo of her wish to suit even Amy. She glanced down at him with anew thought in her mind, but he was lying with his hat half over his face, as if for shade, and his mustache hid his mouth. She only saw his chest riseand fall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and the hand thatwore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if to hide something tooprecious or too tender to be spoken of. All in a minute various hints andtrifles assumed shape and significance in Amy's mind, and told her whather sister never had confided to her. She remembered that Laurie neverspoke voluntarily of Jo, she recalled the shadow on his face just now, thechange in his character, and the wearing of the little old ring which was noornament to a handsome hand. Girls are quick to read such signs and feeltheir eloquence. Amy had fancied that perhaps a love trouble was at thebottom of the alteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled, and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that could be beautifully softand kind when she chose to make it so. `I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if you weren't thesweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd be very angry with me. Butwe are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn't bear to think they should bedisappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhaps they wouldunderstand the change better than I do. '`I think they would, ' came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite astouching as a broken one. `They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding, when I should have been more kind and patient than ever. I never did likethat Miss Randal and now I hate her!' said artful Amy, wishing to be sureof her facts this time. `Hang Miss Randal!' And Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a lookthat left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady. `I beg pardon, I thought... ' And there she paused diplomatically. `No, you didn't, you knew perfectly well I never cared for anyone butJo, ' Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone, and turned his face away ashe spoke. `I did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you cameaway, I supposed I was mistaken. And Jo wouldn't be kind to you? Why, Iwas sure she loved you dearly. '`She was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky for her she didn'tlove me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow you think me. It's her faultthough, and you may tell her so. 'The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubledAmy, for she did not know what balm to apply. `I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross, but I can'thelp wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear. '`Don't, that's her name for me!' And Laurie put up his hand with a quickgesture to stop the words spoken in Jo's half-kind, half-reproachful tone. `Wait till you've tried it yourself, ' he added in a low voice, as he pulled upthe grass by the handful. `I'd take it manfully, and be respected if i couldn't be loved, ' said Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it. Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to liveit down alone. Amy's lecture put the Matter in a new light, and for the firsttime it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shuthimself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenly shaken out of apensive dream and found it impossible to go to sleep again. Presently hesat up and asked slowly, `Do you think Jo would despise me as you do?'`Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don't you dosomething splendid, and make her love you?'`I did my best, but it was no use. '`Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than you ought to havedone, for your grandfather's sake. It would have been shameful to fail afterspending so much time and money, when everyone knew that you coulddo well. '`I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me, 'began Laurie, leaning his head on his hand in a despondent attitude. `No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did you good, andproved that you could do something if you tried. If you'd only set aboutanother task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy self again, andforget your trouble. '`That's impossible. '`Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders, and think, `Much sheknows about such things'. I don't pretend to be wise, but I am observing, and I see a great deal more than you'd imagine. I'm interested in otherpeople's experiences and inconsistencies, and though I can't explain, Iremember and use them for my own benefit. Love Jo all your days, if youchoose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so manygood gifts because you can't have the one you want. There, I won't lectureany more, for I know you'll wake up and be a man in spite of thathardhearted girl. 'Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turning the little ring on hisfinger, and Amy put the last touches to the hasty sketch she had beenworking at while she talked. Presently she put it on his knee, merelysaying, `How do you like that?'He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing, for it wascapitally done, the long, lazy figure on the grass, with listless face, half-shuteyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came the little wreath ofsmoke that encircled the dreamer's head. `How well you draw!' he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure ather skill, adding, with a half-laugh, `Yes, that's me. '`As you are. This is as you were. ' And Amy laid another sketch besidethe one he held. It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in it whichatoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly that a suddenchange swept over the young man's face as he looked. Only a rough sketchof Laurie taming a horse. Hat and coat were off, and every line of the activefigure, resolute face, and commanding attitude was full of energy andmeaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching his neck underthe tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground, andears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had mastered him. In theruffled mane. The rider's breezy hair and erect attitude, there was asuggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthfulbuoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine grace of the `DOLCEFAR NIENTE' sketch. Laurie said nothing but as his eye went from one tothe other, Amy say him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read andaccepted the little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and withoutwaiting for him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way... `Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck, and we alllooked on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Jo clapped and pranced, and I sat on the fence and drew you. I found that sketch in my portfolio theother day, touched it up, and kept it to show you. '`Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then, and Icongratulate you. May I venture to suggest in ` a honeymoon paradise' thatfive o'clock is the dinner hour at your hotel?'Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bowand looked at his watch, as if to remind her that even moral lectures shouldhave an end. He tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air, but it wasan affectation now, for the rousing had been more effacious than he wouldconfess. Amy felt the shade of coldness in his manner, and said to herself ... `Now, I've offended him. Well, if it does him good, I'm glad, if it makeshim hate me, I'm sorry, but it's true, and I can't take back a word of it. 'They laughed and chatted all the way home, and little Baptist, upbehind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in charming spirits. But both felt ill at ease. The friendly frankness was disturbed, the sunshinehad a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was a secretdiscontent in the heart of each. `Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?' asked Amy, as they parted ather aunt's door. `Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir, madamoiselle. ' AndLaurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion, which became himbetter than many men. Something in his face made Amy say quickly andwarmly... `No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'd ratherhave a hearty English handshake than all the sentimental salutations inFrance. '`Goodbye, dear. ' And with these words, uttered in the tone she liked, Laurie left her, after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness. Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note whichmade her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end. My Dear Mentor, Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within yourself, for `LazyLaurence' has gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys. A pleasant winterto you, and may the gods grant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! Ithink Fred would be benefited by a rouser. Tell him so, with mycongratulations. Yours gratefully, Telemachus`Good boy! I'm glad he's gone, ' said Amy, with an approving smile. Thenext minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding, with an involuntary sigh, `Yes, I am glad, but how I shall miss him. 'CHAPTER FORTYWhen the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increasedaffection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times oftrouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part towardmaking that last year a happy one. The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it wasgathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano, thelittle worktable, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books found theirway there, Mother's easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest sketches, and everyday Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshine forAunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, that he might enjoy thepleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved andlonged for. Old Hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes totempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from acrossthe sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths ofwarmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter. Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquil andbusy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, andeven while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for thosewho should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one ofher pleasures was to make little things for the school children daily passingto and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purplehands, a needlebook for some small mother of many dolls, penwipers foryoung penmen toiling through forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbersof the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother, who satabove there, and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastesand needs. If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright littlefaces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the drolllittle letters which came to her, full of blots and gratitude. The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to lookround, and say `How beautiful this is!' as they all sat together in her sunnyroom, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sistersworking near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, from the wise oldbooks which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicablenow as when written centuries ago, a little chapel, where a paternal priesttaught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them thathope can comfort love, and faith make resignation possible. Simplesermons, that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for thefather's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in thevoice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read. It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparationfor the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, Beth said the needle was `soheavy', and put it down forever. Talking wearied her, faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfullyperturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh. Ah me! Such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, whenthose who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out tothem beseechingly, to hear the bitter cry, `Help me, help me!' and to feelthat there was no help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle ofthe young life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then thenatural rebellion over, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever. With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though shesaid little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrimcalled was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying tosee the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river. Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said `I feel stronger when youare here. ' She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked foranything, and `tried not to be a trouble'. All day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then than of anyhonor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for nowher heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patience were sosweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them, charity for all, thelovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty toduty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly. Often when she woke Jo found Beth reading in her well-worn little book, heard her singing softly, to beguile the sleepless night, or saw her lean herface upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through the transparentfingers, and Jo would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herselffrom the dear old life, and fit herself for the life to come, by sacred words ofcomfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well. Seeing this did more for Jo than the wisest sermons, the saintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter. For with eyes madeclear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, sherecognized the beauty of her sister's life--uneventful, unambitious, yet fullof the genuine virtues which `smell sweet, and blossom in the dust', theself-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest inheaven, the true success which is possible to all. One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table, to findsomething to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hardto bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite, Pilgrims'sProgress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in Jo's hand. The namecaught her eye and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tearshad fallen on it. `Poor Jo! She's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave. She showsme all her things, and I don't think she'll mind if I look at this', thoughtBeth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug, with the tongs besideher, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart. MY BETHSitting patient in the shadow Till the blessed light shall come, A sereneand saintly presence Sanctifies our troubled home. Earthly joys and hopesand sorrows Break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn riverWhere her willing feet now stand. O my sister, passing from me, Out of human care and strife, Leave me, as a gift, those virtues Which have beautified your life. Dear, bequeath methat great patience Which has power to sustain A cheerful, uncomplainingspirit In its prison-house of pain. Give me, for I need it sorely, Of that courage, wise and sweet, Which hasmade the path of duty Green beneath your willing feet. Give me thatunselfish nature, That with charity devine Can pardon wrong for love'sdear sake-- Meek heart, forgive me mine!Thus our parting daily loseth Something of its bitter pain, And whilelearning this hard lesson, My great loss becomes my gain. For the touch ofgrief will render My wild nature more serene, Give to life new aspirations, A new trust in the unseen. Henceforth, safe across the river, I shall see forever more A beloved, household spirit Waiting for me on the shore. Hope and faith, born of mysorrow, Guardian angels shall become, And the sister gone before me Bytheir hands shall lead me home. Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought alook of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face, for her one regret had been thatshe had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had notbeen useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared. As shesat with the paper folded between her hands, the charred log fell asunder. Jo started up, revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept. `Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See, I found this and read it. I knew youwouldn't care. Have I been all that to you, Jo?' she asked, with wistful, humble earnestness. `OH, Beth, so much, so much!' And Jo's head went down upon thepillow beside her sister's. `Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so good as you makeme, but I have tried to do right. And now, when it's too late to begin evento do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much, and feels as if I'd helped them. '`More than any one in the world, Beth. I used to think I couldn't let yougo, but I'm learning to feel that I don't lose you, that you'll be more to methan ever, and death can't part us, though it seems to. '`I know it cannot, and I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I shall beyour Beth still, to love and help you more than ever. You must take myplace, Jo, and be everything to Father and Mother when I'm gone. Theywill turn to you, don't fail them, and if it's hard to work alone, rememberthat I don't forget you, and that you'll be happier in doing that thanwriting splendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thingthat we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the go easy. '`I'll try, Beth. ' And then and there Jo renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty ofother desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality oflove. So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earthgreener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in timeto say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to thehands that had led her all her life, as Father and Mother guided hertenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and gave her up to God. Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, seevisions, or depart with beatified countenances, and those who have spedmany parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally andsimply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the `tide went out easily', and in thedark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her firstbreath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, onelittle sigh. With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sisters made herready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing withgrateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patiencethat had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverent joy that totheir darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantom full of dread. When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out, Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang blithelyon a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshly at thewindow, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over theplacid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peace that those wholoved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked God that Beth waswell at last. CHAPTER FORTY-ONEAmy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it tilllong afterward. Men seldom do, for when women are the advisers, thelords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded themselvesthat it is just what they intended to do. Then they act upon it, and, if itsucceeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it. If it fails, theygenerously give her the whole. Laurie went back to his grandfather, andwas so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the old gentleman declaredthe climate of Nice had improved him wonderfully, and he had better try itagain. There was nothing the young gentleman would have liked better, but elephants could not have dragged him back after the scolding he hadreceived. Pride forbid, and whenever the longing grew very strong, hefortified his resolution by repeating the words that had made the deepestimpression, `I despise you. ' `Go and do something splendid that will makeher love you. 'Laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon broughthimself to confess that he had been selfish and lazy, but then when a manhas a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagaries till he haslived it down. He felt that his blighted affections were quite dead now, andthough he should never cease to be a faithful mourner, there was nooccasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously. Jo wouldn't love him, but hemight make her respect and admire him by doing something which shouldprove that a girl's no had not spoiled his life. He had always meant to dosomething, and Amy's advice was quite unnecessary. He had only beenwaiting till the aforesaid blighted affections were decently interred. Thatbeing done, he felt that he was ready to `hide his stricken heart, and stilltoil on'. As Goethe, when he had a joy or a grief, put it into a song, so Laurieresolved to embalm his love sorrow in music, and to compose a Requiemwhich should harrow up Jo's soul and melt the heart of every hearer. Therefore the next time the old gentleman found him getting restless andmoody and ordered him off, he went to Vienna, where he had musicalfriends, and fell to work with the firm determination to distinguish himself. But whether the sorrow was too vast to be embodied in music, or music tooethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he soon discovered that the Requiem wasbeyond him just at present. It was evident that his mind was not inworking order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying, for often in the middleof a plaintive strain, he would find himself humming a dancing tune thatvividly recalled the Christmas ball at Nice, especially the stout Frenchman, and put an effectual stop to tragic composition for the time being. Then he tried an opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning, but here again unforeseen difficulties beset him. He wanted Jo for hisheroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tenderrecollections and romantic visions of his love. But memory turned traitor, and as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, would only recall Jo'soddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in the most unsentimentalaspects--beating mats with her head tied up in a bandana, barricadingherself with the sofa pillow, or throwing cold water over his passion a laGummidge--and an irresistable laugh spoiled the pensive picture he wasendeavoring to paint. Jo wouldn't be put into the opera at any price, and hehad to give her up with a `Bless that girl, what a torment she is!' and aclutch at his hair, as became a distracted composer. When he looked about him for another and a less intractable damsel toimmortalize in melody, memory produced one with the most obligingreadiness. This phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden hair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his mind'seye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies, and blue

ribbons. He did not give the complacent wraith any name, but he took her for hisheroine and grew quite fond of her, as well he might, for he gifted her withevery gift and grace under the sun, and escorted her, unscathed, throughtrials which would have annihilated any mortal woman. Thanks to this inspiration, he got on swimmingly for a time, butgradually the work lost its charm, and he forgot to compose, while he satmusing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get some new ideasand refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettled statethat winter. He did not do much, but he thought a great deal and wasconscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself. `It's geniussimmering, perhaps. I'll let it simmer, and see what comes of it, ' he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that it wasn't genius, but something farmore common. Whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he grewmore and more discontented with his desultory life, began to long for somereal and earnest work to go at, soul and body, and finally came to the wiseconclusion that everyone who loved music was not a composer. Returningfrom one of Mozart's grand operas, splendidly performed at the RoyalTheatre, he looked over his own, played a few of the best parts, sat staringat the busts of Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and bach, who stared benignlyback again. Then suddenly he tore up his music sheets, one by one, and asthe last fluttered out of his hand, he said soberly to himself... `She is right! Talent isn't genius, and you can't make it so. That music hastaken the vanity out of my as Rome took it out of her, and I won't be ahumbug any longer. Now what shall I do?'That seemed a hard question to answer, and Laurie began to wish he hadto work for his daily bread. Now if ever, occurred an eligible opportunityfor `going to the devil', as he once forcibly expressed it, for he had plenty ofmoney and nothing to do, and Satan is proverbially fond of providingemployment for full and idle hands. The poor fellow had temptationsenough from without and from within, but he withstood them pretty well, for much as he valued liberty, he valued good faith and confidence more, so his promise to his grandfather, and his desire to be able to look honestlyinto the eyes of the women who loved him, and say `All's well, ' kept himsafe and steady. Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, `I don't believe it, boys willbe boys, young men must sow their wild oats, and women must not expectmiracles. ' I dare say you don't, Mrs. Grundy, but it's true nevertheless. Women work a good many miracles, and I have a persuasion that they mayperform even that of raising the standard of manhood by refusing to echosuch sayings. Let the boys be boys, the longer the better, and let the youngmen sow their wild oats if they must. But mothers, sisters, and friends mayhelp to make the crop a small one, and keep many tares from spoiling theharvest, by believing, and showing that they believe, in the possibility ofloyalty to the virtues which make men manliest in good women's eyes. If itis a feminine delusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it halfthe beauty and the romance of life is lost, and sorrowful forebodings wouldembitter all our hopes of the brave, tenderhearted little lads, who still lovetheir mothers better than themselves and are not ashamed to own it. Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorb allhis powers for years, but to his great surprise he discovered it grew easierevery day. He refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself, andcouldn't understand it, but these hearts of ours are curious and contrarythings, and time and nature work their will in spite of us. Laurie's heartwouldn't ache. The wound persisted in healing with a rapidity thatastonished him, and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying toremember. He had not foreseen this turn of affairs, and was not preparedfor it. He was disgusted with himself, surprised at his own fickleness, andfull of a queer mixture of disappointment and relief that he could recoverfrom such a tremendous blow so soon. He carefully stirred up the embersof his lost love, but they refused to burst into a blaze. There was only acomfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him intoa fever, and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passionwas slowly subbsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender, a littlesad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving abrotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end. As the word `brotherly' passed through his mind in one of his reveries, he smiled, and glanced up at the picture of Mozart that was before him... `Well, he was a great man, and when he couldn't have one sister he tookthe other, and was happy. 'Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them, and the next instantkissed the little old ring, saying to himself, `No, I won't! I haven't forgotten, I never can. I'll try again, and if that fails, why then... Leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote toJo, telling her that he could not settle to anything while there was the leasthope of her changing her mind. Couldn't she, wouldn't she, and let himcome home and be happy? While waiting for an answer he did nothing, but he did it energetically, for he was in a fever of impatience. It came atlast, and settled his mind effectually on one point, for Jo decidedly couldn'tand wouldn't. She was wrapped up in Beth, and never wished to hear theword love again. Then she begged him to be happy with somebody else, but always keep a little corner of his ghart for his loving sister Jo. In apostscript she desired him not to tell Amy that Beth was worse, she wascoming home in the spring and there was no need of saddening theremainder of her stay. That would be time enough, please God, but Lauriemust write to her often, and not let her feel lonely, homesick or anxious. `So I will, at once. Poor little girl, it will be a sad going home for her, I'mafraid. ' And Laurie opened his desk, as if writing to Amy had been theproper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks before. But he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out his bestpaper, he came across something which changed his purpose. Tumblingabout in one part of the desk among bills, passports, and businessdocuments of various kinds were several of Jo's letters, and in anothercompartment were three notes from Amy, carefully tied up with one of herblue ribbons and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put awayinside. With a half-repentant, half-amused expression, Laurie gathered upall Jo's letters, smoothed, folded, and put them neatly into a small drawerof the desk, stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his finger, thenslowly drew it off, laid it with the letters, locked the drawer, and went outto hear High Mass at Saint Stefan's, feeling as if there had been a funeral, and though not overwhelmed with affliction, this seemed a more properway to spend the rest of the day than in writing letters to charming youngladies. The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, forAmy was homesick, and confessed it in the most delightfully confidingmanner. The correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew to andfro with unfailing regularity all through the early spring. Laurie sold hisbusts, made allumettes of his opera, and went back to Paris, hopingsomebody would arrive before long. He wanted desperately to go to Nice, but would not till he was asked, and Amy would not ask him, for just thenshe was having little experiences of her own, which made her rather wishto avoid the quizzical eyes of `out boy'. Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had oncedecided to answer, `Yes, thank you, ' but now she said, `No, thank you, 'kindly but steadily, for when the time came, her courage failed her, and shefound that something more than money and position was needed to satisfythe new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopes and fears. Thewords, `Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man I fancied you wouldever like, ' and Laurie's face when he uttered them, kept returning to her aspertinaciously as her own did when she said in look, if not in words, `Ishall marry for money. ' It troubled her to remember that now, she wishedshe could take it back, it sounded so unwomanly. She didn't want Laurie tothink her a heartless, worldly creature. She didn't care to be a queen ofsociety now half so much as she did to be a lovable woman. She was soglad he didn't hate her for the dreadful things she said, but took them sobeautifully and was kinder than ever. His letters were such a comfort, forthe home letters were very irregular and not half so satisfactory as hiswhen they did come. It was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them, for the poor fellow was forlorn, and needed petting, since Jo persisted inbeing stonyhearted. She ought to have made an effort and tried to lovehim. It couldn't be very hard, many people would be proud and glad tohave such a dear boy care for them. But Jo never would act like other girls, so there was nothing to do but be very kind and treat him like a brother. If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period, theywould be a much happier race of beings than they are. Amy never lecturednow. She asked his opinion on all subjects, she was interested in everythinghe did, made charming little presents for him, and sent him two letters aweek, full of lively gossip, sisterly confidences, and captivating sketches ofthe lovely scenes about her. As few brothers are complimented by havingtheir letters carried about in their sister's pockets, read and rereaddiligently, cried over when short, kissed when long, and treasuredcarefully, we will not hint that Amy did any of these fond and foolishthings. But she certainly did grow a little pale and pensive that spring, lostmuch of her relish for society, and went out sketching alone a good deal. She never had much to show when she came home, but was studyingnature, I dare say, while she sat for hours, with her hands folded, on theterrace at Valrosa, or absently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, astalwart knight carved on a tomb, a young man asleep in the grass, with hishat over his eyes, or a curly haired girl in gorgeous array, promenadingdown a ballroom on the arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left a bluraccording to the last fashion in art, which was safe but not altogethersatisfactory. Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred, and findingdenials useless and explanations impossible, Amy left her to think whatshe liked, taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone toEgypt. That was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved, as he said tohimself, with a venerable air . .. `I was sure she would think better of it. Poor old fellow! I've beenthrough it all, and I can sympathize. 'With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged hisduty to the past, put his feet up on the sofa and enjoyed Amy's letterluxuriously. While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home. But the letter telling that Beth was failing never reached Amy, and whenthe next found her at Vevay, for the heat had driven them from Nice inMay, and they had travelled slowly to Switzerland, by way of Genoa andthe Italian lakes. She bore it very well, and quietly submitted to the familydecree that she should not shorten her visit, for since it was too late to saygoodbye to Beth, she had better stay, and let absence soften her sorrow. Buther heart was very heavy, she longed to be at home, and every day lookedwistfully across the lake, waiting for Laurie to come and comfort her. He did come very soon, for the same mail brought letters to them both, but he was in Germany, and it took some days to reach him. The momenthe read it, he packed his knapsack, bade adieu to his fellow pedestrians, and was off to keep his promise, with a heart full of joy and sorrow, hopeand suspense. He knew Vevay well, and as soon as the boat touched the little quay, hehurried along the shore to La Tour, where the Carrols were living enpension. The garcon was in despair that the whole family had gone to takea promenade on the lake, but no, the blonde mademoiselle might be in thechateau garden. If monsier would give himself the pain of sitting down, aflash of time should present her. But monsieur could not wait even a `flashof time', and in the middle of the speech departed to find mademoisellehimself. A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnutsrustling overhead, ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of thetower falling far across the sunny water. At one corner of the wide, lowwall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work, or consoleherself with the beauty all about her. She was sitting here that day, leaningher head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes, thinking ofBeth and wondering why Laurie did not come. She did not hear him crossthe courtyard beyond, nor see him pause in the archway that led from thesubterranean path into the garden. He stood a minute looking at her withnew eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen before, the tender side ofAmy's character. Everything about her mutely suggested love and sorrow, the blotted letters in her lap, the black ribbon that tied up her hair, thewomanly pain and patience in her face, even the little ebony cross at herthroat seemed pathetic to Laurie, for he had given it to her, and she wore itas her only ornament. If he had any doubts about the reception she wouldgive him, they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, fordropping everything, she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone of unmistakablelove and longing... `Oh, Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come to me!'I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood togetherquite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent down protectingly overthe light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so well asLaurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the worldwho could fill Jo's place and make him happy. He did not tell her so, butshe was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, were satisfied, and gladlyleft the rest to silence. In a minute Amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears, Laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundrywell-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future. As hesat down beside her, amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at therecollection of her impulsive greeting. `I couldn't help it, I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to seeyou. It was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as I was beginningto fear you wouldn't come, ' she said, trying in vain to speak quitenaturally. `I came the minute I heard. I wish I could say something to comfort youfor the loss of dear little Beth, but I can only feel, and... ' He could not getany further, for her too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quiteknow what to say. He longed to lay Amy's head down on his shoulder, andtell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare, so took her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than words. `You needn't say anything, this comforts me, ' she said softly. `Beth iswell and happy, and I mustn't wish her back, but I dread the going home, much as I long to see them all. We won't talk about it now, for it makes mecry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay. You needn't go right back, need you?'`Not if you want me, dear. '`I do, so much. Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one of thefamily, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while. 'Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was fullthat Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what shewanted--the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation sheneeded. `Poor little soul, you look as if you'd grieved yourself half sick! I'm goingto take care of you, so don't cry any more, but come and walk about withme, the wind is too chilly for you to sit still, ' he said, in the half-caressing, half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her armthrough his, and began to pace up and down the sunny walk under thenew-leaved chestnuts. He felt more at ease upon his legs, and Amy found itpleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfully for her alone. The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemedexpressly made for them, so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing butthe tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo oftheir words, as it rippled by below. For an hour this new pair walked andtalked, or rested on the wall, enjoying the sweet influences which gavesuch a charm to time and place, and when an unromantic dinner bellwarned them away, Amy felt as if she left her burden of lonliness andsorrow behind her in the chateau garden. The moment Mrs. Carrol saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminatedwith a new idea, and exclaimed to herself, `Now I understand it all--thechild has been pining for young Laurence. Bless my heart, I never thoughtof such a thing!'With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayedno sign of enlightenment, but cordially urged Laurie to stay and beggedAmy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so muchsolitude. Amy was a model of docility, and as her aunt was a good dealoccupied with Flo, she was left to entertain her friend, and did it with morethan her usual success. At Nice, Laurie had lounged and Amy had scolded. At Vevay, Lauriewas never idle, but always walking, riding, boating, or studying in themost energetic manner, while Amy admired everything he did andfollowed his example as far and as fast as she could. He said the changewas owing to the climate, and she did not contradict him, being glad of alike excuse for her own recovered health and spirits. The invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise workedwholesome changes in minds as well as bodies. They seemed to get clearerviews of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills. The freshwinds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists. The warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tenderhopes, and happy thoughts. The lake seemed to wash away the troubles ofthe past, and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon themsaying, `Little children, love one another. 'In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy thatLaurie could not bear to disturb it by a word. It took him a little while torecover from his surprise at the cure of his first, and as he had firmlybelieved, his last and only love. He consoled himself for the seemingdisloyalty by the thought that Jo's sister was almost the same as Jo's self, and the conviction that it would have been impossible to love any otherwoman but Amy so soon and so well. His first wooing had been of thetempestuous order, and he looked back upon ;it as if through a long vistaof years with a feeling of compassion blended with regret. He was notashamed of it, but put it away as one of the bitter-sweet experiences of hislife, for which he could be grateful when the pain was over. His secondwooing, he resolved, should be as calm and simple as possible. There wasno need of having a scene, hardly any need of telling Amy that he lovedher, she knew it without words and had given him his answer long ago. Itall came about so naturally that no one could complain, and he knew thateverybody would be pleased, even Jo. But when our first little passion hasbeen crushed, we are apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, soLaurie let the days pass, enjoying every hour, and leaving to chance theutterance of the word that would put an end to the first and sweetest partof his new romance. He had rather imagined that the denoument would take place in thechateau garden by moonlight, and in the most graceful and decorusmanner, but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter was settled onthe lake at noonday in a few blunt words. They had been floating about allthe morning, from gloomy St. Gingolf to sunny Montreux, with the Alps ofSavoy on one side, Mont St. Bernard and the Dent du Midi on the other, pretty Vevay in the valley, and Lausanne upon the hill beyond, a cloudlessblue sky overhead, and the bluer lake below, dotted with the picturesqueboats that look like white-winged gulls. They had been talking of Bonnivard, as they glided past Chillon, and ofRousseau, as they looked up at Clarens, where he wrote his Heloise. Neither had read it, but they knew it was a love story, and each privatelywondered if it was half as interesting as their own. Amy had been dabblingher hand in the water during the little pause that fell between them, andwhen she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oars with an expression inhis eyes that made her say hastily, merely for the sake of saying something. . `You must be tired. Rest a little, and let me row. It will do me good, forsince you came I have been altogether lazy and luxurious. '`I'm not tired, but you may take an oar, if you like. There's room enough, though I have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat won't trim, ' returnedLaurie, as if he rather liked the arrangment. Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offeredthird of a seat, shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar. Sherowed as well as she did many other things, and though she used bothhands, and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothlythrough the water. `How well we pull together, don't we?' said Amy, who objected tosilence just then. `So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, Amy?' very tenderly. `Yes, Laurie, ' very low. Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty littletableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected inthe lake. CHAPTER FORTY-TWOIt was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up inanother, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example. But whenthe helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved presencegone, and nothing remained but lonliness and grief, then Jo found herpromise very hard to keep. How could she `comfort Father and Mother'when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister, howcould she `make the house cheerful' when all its light and warmth andbeauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the old home for the new, and where in all the world could she `find some useful, happy work to do', that would take the place of the loving service which had been its ownreward? She tried in a blind, hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebellingagainst it all the while, for it seemed unjust that her few joys should belessened, her burdens made heavier, and life get harder and harder as shetoiled along. Some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some allshadow. It was not fair, for she tried more than Amy to be good, but nevergot any reward, only disappointment, trouble and hard work. Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair cameover her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house, devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that neverseemed to grow any easier. `I can't do it. I wasn't meant for a life like this, and I know I shall break away and do something desperate if somebodydoesn't come and help me, ' she said to herself, when her first efforts failedand she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind which often comeswhen strong wills have to yield to the inevitable. But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize hergood angels at once because they wore familiar shapes and used the simplespells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, thinkingBeth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her crywith the bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, `Oh, Beth, come back! Comeback!' she did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain. For, as quick tohear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, hermother came to comfort her, not with words only, but the patienttenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of agreater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow. Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief and strengthned love. Feeling this, Jo's burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and lifelooked more endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's arms. When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise foundhelp, for one day she went to the study, and leaning over the good grayhead lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said very humbly, `Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. I need it more than she did, for I'mall wrong. '`My dear, nothing can comfort me like this, ' he answered, with a falter inhis voice, and both arms round her, as if he too, needed help, and did notfear to ask for it. Then, sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo told her troubles, the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that discouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all the sad bewildermentwhich we call despair. She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the helpshe needed, and both found consolation in the act. For the time had comewhen they could talk together not only as father and daughter, but as manand woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy aswell as mutual love. Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study whichJo called `the church of one member', and from which she came with freshcourage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit. For theparents who had taught one child to meet death without fear, were tryingnow to teach another to accept life without despondency or distrust, and touse its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power. Other helps had Jo--humble, wholesome duties and delights that wouldnot be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learned to seeand value. Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as theyonce had been, for Beth had presided over both, and something of herhousewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop and the oldbrush, never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself hummingthe songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and giving thelittle touches here and there that kept everything fresh and cozy, whichwas the first step toward making home happy, though she didn't know ittill Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand... `You thoughtful creeter, you're determined we shan't miss that dearlamb ef you can help it. We don't say much, but we see it, and the Lord willbless you for't, see ef He don't. 'As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved hersister Meg was, how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husbandand children, and how much they were all doing for each other. `Marriage is an excellent thing, after all. I wonder if I should blossom outhalf as well as you have, if I tried it?' said Jo, as she constructed a kite forDemi in the topsy-turvy nursery. `It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of yournature, Jo. You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-softwithin, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get at it. Love will make youshow your heart one day, and then the rough burr will fall off. '`Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma`am, and it takes a good shake to bringthem down. Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be bagged by them, 'returned Jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows would evercarry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob. Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit, but shefelt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her power, andthe sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of Meg's most effectivearguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly. Grief is the bestopener of some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready for the bag. A little moresunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's impatient shake, but a man'shand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal soundand sweet. If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and beenmore prickly than ever, fortunately she wasn't thinking about herself, sowhen the time came, down she dropped. Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought at thisperiod of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced the world, andgone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts in her pocket. But, you see, Jo wasn't a heroine, she was only a struggling human girl likehundreds of others, and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested. It's highly virtuous to saywe'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, and it takes a long pull, astrong pull, and a pull all together before some of us even get our feet set inthe right way. Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feelunhappy if she did not, but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing!She had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter howhard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than todevote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make home as happy tothem as they had to her? And if difficulties were necessary to increase thesplendor of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girlthan to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live forothers?Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, not what shehad expected, but better because self had no part in it. Now, could she doit? She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found thehelps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she took it, not as areward, but as a comfort, as Christian took the refreshment afforded by thelittle arbor where he rested, as he climbed the hill called Difficulty. `Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy, ' said hermother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed Jo. `I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things. '`We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much. '`Don't believe I can. ' But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaul herhalf-finished manuscripts. An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratchingaway, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, whichcaused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with the success ofher suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, but something got intothat story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it, for when herfamily had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against herwill, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise, it was notonly paid for, but others requested. Letters from several persons, whosepraise was honor, followed the appearance of the little story, newspaperscopied it, and strangers as well as friends, admired it. For a small thing itwas a great success, and Jo was more astonished than when her novel wascommended and condemned all at once. `I don't understand it. What can there be in a simple little story like thatto make people praise it so?' she said, quite bewildered. `There is truth in it, Jo, that's the secret. Humor and pathos make it alive, and you have found your style at last. You wrote with not thoughts of fameand money, and put your heart into it, my daughter. You have had thebitter, now comes the sweet. Do your best, and grow as happy as we are inyour success. '`If there is anything good or true in what I write, it isn't mine. I owe it allto you and Mother and Beth, ' said Jo, more touched by her father's wordsthan by any amount of praise from the world. So taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories, and sent themaway to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a very charitableworld to such humble wanderers, for they were kindly welcomed, and senthome comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful children whom goodfortune overtakes. When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March fearedthat Jo would find it difficult to rejoice over it, but her fears were soon setat rest, for thought Jo looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, and wasfull of hopes and plans for `the children' before she read the letter twice. Itwas a sort of written duet, wherein each glorified the other in loverlikefashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of, for no one hadany objection to make. `You like it, Mother?' said Jo, as they laid down the closely written sheetsand looked at one another. `Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that she had refusedFred. I felt sure then that something better than what you call the`mercenary spirit' had come over her, and a hint here and there in herletters made me suspect that love and Laurie would win the day. '`How sharp you are, Marmee, and how silent! You never said a workedto me. '`Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they havegirls to manage. I was half afraid to put the idea into your head, lest youshould write and congratulate them before the thing was settled. '`I'm not the scatterbrain I was. You may trust me. I'm sober and sensibleenough for anyone's confidante now. '`So you are, my dear, and I should have made you mine, only I fancied itmight pain you to learn that your Teddy loved someone else. '`Now, Mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish, afterI'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if not best?'`I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if hecame back, and asked again, you might perhaps, feel like giving anotheranswer. Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, andsometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart. So Ifancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now. '`No, Mother, it is better as it ia, and I'm glad Amy has learned to lovehim. But you are right in one thing. I am lonely, and perhaps if Teddy hadtried again, I might have said `Yes', not because I love him any more, butbecause I care more to be loved than when he went away. '`I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on. There are plentyto love you, so try to be satisfied with Father and Mother, sisters andbrothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all comes to give you yourreward. '`Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don't mind whispering toMarmee that I'd like to try all kinds. It's very curious, but the more I try tosatisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, the more I seem to want. I'd no idea hearts could take in so many. Mine is so elastic, it never seemsfull now, and I used to be quite contented with my family. I don'tunderstand it. '`I do. ' And Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back theleaves to read what Amy said of Laurie. `It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me. He isn't sentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, andit makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seem to be the same girl Iwas. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, forhe lets me read his heart, and I find it full of noble impulses and hopes andpurposes, and am so proud to know it's mine. He says he feels as if he`could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots oflove for ballast'. I pray he may, and try to be all he believes me, for I lovemy gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never willdesert him, while God lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew howmuch like heaven this world could be, when two people love and live forone another!'`And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy! Truly, love does workmiracles. How very, very happy they must be!' And Jo laid the rustlingsheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of alovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he findshimself alone in the workaday world again. By-and-by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could notwalk. A restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again, notbitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one sistershould have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true, she knew thatand tried to put it away, but the natural craving for affection was strong, and Amy's happiness woke the hungry longing for someone to `love withheart and soul, and cling to while God let them be together'. Up in thegarret, where Jo's unquiet wanderings ended stood four little woodenchests in a row, each marked with its owners name, and each filled withrelics of the childhood and girlhood ended now for all. Jo glanced intothem, and when she came to her own, leaned her chin on the edge, andstared absently at the chaotic collection, till a bundle of old exercise bookscaught her eye. She drew them out, turned them over, and relived thatpleasant winter at kind Mrs. Kirke's. She had smiled at first, then shelooked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message writtenin the Professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out of herlap, and she sat looking at the friendly words, as they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart. `Wait for me, my friend. I may be a little late, but I shall surely come. '`Oh, if he only would! So kine, so good, so patient with me always, mydear old Fritz. I didn't value him half enough when I had him, but nowhow I should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me, andI'm all alone. 'And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to befulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag bag, and cried, as if inopposition to the rain pattering on the roof. Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits? Or was it the waking up ofa sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer? Who shallsay?CHAPTER FORTY-THREEJo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, andthinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk. No onedisturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little red pillow, planningstories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister whonever seemed far away. Her face looked tired, grave, and rather sad, fortomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years wentby, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to haveaccomplished. Almost twenty-five, and nothing to show for it. Jo wasmistaken in that. There was a good deal to show, and by-and-by she saw, and was grateful for it. `An old maid, that's what I'm to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for aspouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a morsel offame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I'm old and can't enjoy it, solitary, and can't share it, independent, and don't need it. Well, I needn't be a soursaint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say, old maids are very comfortablewhen they get used to it, but... ' And there Jo sighed, as if the prospect wasnot inviting. It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to five-and-twenty. But it's not as bad as it looks, and one can get on quite happily ifone has something in one's self to fall back upon. At twenty-five, girlsbegin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they neverwill be. At thirty they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact, andif sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have twentymore useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow oldgracefully. Don't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly underthe sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, loveitself, make the faded faces beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad, soursisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetestpart of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them with compassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that they too may missthe blossom time. That

rosy cheeks don't last forever, that silver threadswill come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by-and-by, kindness andrespect will be as sweet as love and admiration now. Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matterhow poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is thatwhich is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, andserve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect the goodaunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and petted, toooften without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips theyhave given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingershave set for you, the steps the willing old feet have taken, and gratefullypay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to receive aslong as they live. The bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and willlike you all the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that canpart mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find atender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, whohas kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for `the best nevvy inthe world'. Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this littlehomily), for suddenly Laurie's ghost seemed to stand before her, asubstantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he used towear when he felt a good deal and didn't like to show it. But, like Jenny inthe ballad... She could not think it he, and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and kissedher. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully . .. `Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!'`Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?'`Glad! My blessed boy, words can't express my gladness. Where's Amy?'`Your mother has got her down at Meg's. We stopped there by the way, and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches. '`Your what?' cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with anunconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him. `Oh, the dickens! Now I've done it. ' And he looked so guilty that Jo wasdown on him like a flash. `You've gone and got married!'`Yes, please, but I never will again. ' And he went down upon his knees, with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth, andtriumph. `Actually married?'`Very much so, thank you. '`Mercy on us. What dreadful thing will you do next?' And Jo fell into herseat with a gasp. `A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation, 'returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with satisfaction. `What can you expect, when you take one's breath away, creeping in likea burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, you ridiculous boy, and tell me all about it. '`Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not tobarricade. 'Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and pattedthe sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, `The old pillow is upgarret, and we don't need it now. So, come and fess, Teddy. '`How good it sounds to hear you say `Teddy'! No one ever calls me thatbut you. ' And Laurie sat down with an air of great content. `What does Amy call you?'`My lord. '`That's like her. Well, you look it. ' And Jo's eye plainly betrayed that shefound her boy comelier than ever. The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a naturalone, raised by time absence, and change of heart. Both felt it, and for aminute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a little shadowover them. It was gone directly however, for Laurie said, with a vainattempt at dignity... `Don't I look like a married man and the head of a family?' `Not a bit, and you never will. You've grown bigger and bonnier, but you are thesame scapegrace as ever. '`Now really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect, ' began Laurie, who enjoyed it all immensely. `How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is soirresistibly funny that I can't keep sober!' answered Jo, smiling all over herface, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then settled down fora good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion. `It's no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all comingup presently. I couldn't wait. I wanted to be the one to tell you the grandsurprise, and have `first skim' as we used to say when we squabbled aboutthe cream. '`Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrongend. Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I'm pining to know. '`Well, I did it to please Amy, ' began Laurie, with a twinkle that made Joexclaim... `Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth, ifyou can, sir. '`Now she's beginning to marm it. Isn't it jolly to hear her?' said Laurie tothe fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite agreed. `It's all thesame, you know, she and I being one. We planned to come home with theCarrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly changed their minds, anddecided to pass another winter in Paris. But Grandpa wanted to comehome. He went to please me, and I couldn't let him go along, neither couldI leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got English notions about chaperons andsuch nonsense, and wouldn't let Amy come with us. So I just settled thedifficulty by saying, `Let's be married, and then we can do as we like'. '`Of course you did. You always have things to suit you. '`Not always. ' And something in Laurie's voice made Jo say hastily... `How did you ever get Aunt to agree?'`It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heapsof good reasons on our side. There wasn't time to write and ask leave, butyou all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only `taking timeby the fetlock', as my wife says. '`Aren't we proud of those two word, and don't we like to say them?'interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with delightthe happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so tragicallygloomy when she saw them last. `A trifle, perhaps, she's such a captivatinglittle woman I can't help being proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Auntwere there to play propriety. We were so absorbed in one another we wereof no mortal use apart, and that charming arrangement would makeeverything easy all round, so we did it. '`When, where, how?' asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest andcuriosity, for she could not realize it a particle. `Six weeks ago, at the American consul's, in Paris, a very quiet weddingof course, for even in our happiness we didn't forget dear little Beth. 'Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed thelittle red pillow, which he remembered well. `Why didn't you let us know afterward?' asked Jo, in a quieter tone, when they had sat quite still a minute. `We wanted to surprise you. We thought we were coming directly home, at first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found hecouldn't be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend ourhoneymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regularhoneymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are butonce in their lives. My faith! Wasn't it love among the roses!'Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it, for the factthat he told her these things so freely and so naturally assured her that hehad quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away her hand, but asif he guessed the thought that prompted the half-involuntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with a manly gravity she had never seen inhim before... `Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we'll put it by forever. As Itold you in my letter when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to me, Inever shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I have learned tosee that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed places in my heart, that'sall. I think it was meant to be so, and would have come about naturally, if Ihad waited, as you tried to make me, but I never could be patient, and so Igot a heartache. I was a boy then, headstrong and violent, and it took ahard lesson to show me my mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and Ifound it out, after making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was sotumbled up in my mind, at one time, that I didn't know which I loved best, you or Amy, and tried to love you both alike. But I couldn't, and when Isaw her in Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once. You bothgot into your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the oldlove before it was on with the new, that I could honestly share my heartbetween sister Jo and wife Amy, and love them dearly. Will you believe it, and go back to the happy old times when we first knew one another?'`I'll believe it, with all my heart, but, Teddy, we never can be boy andgirl again. The happy old times can't come back, and we mustn't expect it. We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for playtime is over, and we must give up frolicking. I'm sure you feel this. I see the change inyou, and you'll find it in me. I shall miss my boy, but I shall love the manas much, and admire him more, because he means to be what I hoped hewould. We can't be little playmates any longer, but we will be brother andsister, to love and help one another all our lives, won't we, Laurie?'He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid hisface down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyishpassion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them both. Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn't the coming home to be a sadone, `I can't make it true that you children are really married and going toset up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday that I was buttoningAmy's pinafore, and pulling your hair when you teased. Mercy me, howtime does fly!'`As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn't talk so like agrandma. I flatter myself I'm a `gentleman growed' as Peggotty said ofDavid, and when you see Amy, you'll find her rather a precocious infant, 'said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air. `You may be a little older in years, but I'm ever so much older in feeling, Teddy. Women always are, and this last year has been such a hard one thatI feel forty. '`Poor Jo! We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You areolder. Here's a line, and there's another. Unless you smile, your eyes looksad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear on it. You'vehad a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone. What a selfish beastI've been!' And Laurie pulled his own hair, with a remorseful look. But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tonewhich she tried to make more cheerful, `No, I had Father and Mother tohelp me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you andAmy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear. I amlonely, sometimes, but I dare say it's good for me, and.. '`You never shall be again, ' broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her, asif to fence out every human ill. `Amy and I can't get on without you, so youmust come and teach `the children' to keep house, and go halves ineverything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all be blissfullyhappy and friendly together. '`If I shouldn't be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to feelquite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to fly awaywhen you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy. ' And Jo leaned herhead on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill andLaurie told her to hold on to him. He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jowas smiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at hiscoming. `You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, andlaughing the next. You look a little wicked now. What is it, Grandma?'`I was wondering how you and Amy get on together. '`Like angels!'`Yes, of course, but which rules?'`I don't mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her think so, itpleases her, you know. By-and-by we shall take turns, for marriage, theysay, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties. '`You'll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of yourlife. '`Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don't think I shall mind much. She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well. In fact, I rather likeit, for she winds one round her finger as softly and prettily as a skein ofsilk, and makes you feel as if she was doing you a favor all the while. '`That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying it!'cried Jo, with uplifted hands. It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile with masculinescorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his `high and mighty' air, `Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort of man to submit to it. My wife and I respect ourselves and one another too much ever totyrannize or quarrel. 'Jo like that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boyseemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with herpleasure. `I am sure of that. Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She isthe sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best, you remember. '`She can blow him up as well as shine on him, ' laughed Laurie. `such alecture as I got at Nice! I give you my word it was a deal worse than any oryour scoldings, a regular rouser. I'll tell you all about it sometime, shenever will, because after telling me that she despised and was ashamed ofme, she lost her heart to the despicable party and married the good-for-nothing. '`What baseness! Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I'll defendyou. '`I look as if I needed it, don't I?' said Laurie, getting up and striking anattitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the rapturous, asAmy's voice was heard calling, `Where is she? Where's my dear old Jo?'In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed allover again, and after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were setdown to be looked at and exulted over. Mr. Laurence, hale and hearty asever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign tour, for thecrustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and the old-fashioned courtliness hadreceived a polish which made it kindlier than ever. It was good to see himbeam at `my children', as he called the young pair. It was better still to seeAmy pay him the daughterly duty and affection which completely won hisold heart, and best of all, to watch Laurie revolve about the two, as if nevertired of enjoying the pretty picture they made. The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that herown dress hadn't a Parisian air, that young Mrs. Mofffat would be entirelyeclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that `her ladyship' was altogether amost elegant and graceful woman. Jo thought, as she watched the pair, `How well they look together! I was right, and Laurie has found thebeautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better than clumsyold Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him. ' Mrs. March and her husbandsmiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for they saw that theiryoungest had done well, not only in worldly things, but the better wealthof love, confidence, and happiness. For Amy's face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a peacefulheart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool, prim carriage waschanged to a gentle dignity, both womanly and winning. No littleaffectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of her manner was morecharming than the new beauty or the old grace, for it stamped her at oncewith the unmistakable sign of the true gentlewoman she had hoped tobecome. `Love has done much for our little girl, ' said her mother softly. `She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear, ' Mr. Marchwhispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head besidehim. Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her `pitty aunty', butattached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full of delightfulcharms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before hecompromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took thetempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flank movementproduced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew where tohave him. `Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintanceyou hit me in the face. Now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman, ' andwith that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew in away that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted hisboyish soul. `Blest if she ain't in silk from head to foot? Ain't it a relishin' sight to seeher settin' there as fine as a fiddle, anch a happy procession as filed awayinto the little dining room! Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence. Mrs. March as proudly leaned on the arm of `my son'. The old gentlemantook Jo, with a whispered, `You must be my girl now, ' and a glance at theempty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, `I'll try to fill herplace, sir. The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, foreveryone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel attheir own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of theopportunity. Didn't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, geta hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn't they each whisk acaptivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and crumbletreacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry arefrail? Burdened with the guilty consciousness of the sequestered tarts, andfearing that Dodo's sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of cambricand merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to`Dranpa', who hadn't his spectacles on. Amy, who was handed about likerefreshments, returned to the parlor on Father Laurence's arm. The otherspaired off as before, and this arrangement left Jo companionless. She didnot mind it at the minute, for she lingered to answer Hannah's eagerinquiry. `Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silverdishes that's stored away over yander?'`Shouldn't wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, andwore diamonds and point lace every day. Teddy thinks nothing too goodfor her, ' returned Jo with infinite satisfaction. `No more there is! Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?' askedHannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose. `I don't care. ' And Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an uncongenialtopic just then. She stood a minute looking at the party vanishing above, and as Demi's short plaid legs toiled up the last stair, a sudden sense oflonliness came over her so strongly that she looked about her with dimeyes, as if to find something to lean upon, for even Teddy had deserted her. If she had known what birthday gift was coming every minute nearer andnearer, she would not have said to herself, `I'll weep a little weep when I goto bed. It won't do to be dismal now. ' Then she drew her hand over hereyes, for one of her boyish habits was never to know where herhandkerchief was, and had just managed to call up a smile when therecame a knock at the porch door. She opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost hadcome to surprise her, for there stood a tall bearded gentleman, beaming onher from the darkness like a midnight sun. `Oh, Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you!' cried Jo, with a clutch, as if shefeared the night would swallow him up before she could get him in. `And I to see Miss Marsch, but no, you haf a party, ' and the Professorpaused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down tothem. `No, we haven't, only the family. My sister and friends have just comehome, and we are all very happy. Come in, and make one of us. 'Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gonedecorously away, and come again another day, but how could he, when Joshut the door behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face hadsomething to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him, andshowed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitary man, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes. `If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop, I will so gladly see them all. You hafbeen ill, my friend?'He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the light fell onher face, and he saw a change in it. `Not ill, but tired and sorrowful. We have had trouble since I saw youlast. '`Ah, yes, I know. My heart was sore for you when I heard that, ' And heshook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that Jo felt as if nocomfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big, warmhand. `Father, Mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer, ' she said, with a faceand tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she might as wellhave blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish. If the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set at restin a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Everyone greeted himkindly, for Jo's sake at first, but very soon they liked him for his own. Theycould not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens all hearts, and thesesimple people warmed to him at once, feeling even the more friendlybecause he was poor. For poverty enriches those who live above it, and is asure passport to truly hospitable spirits. Mr. Bhaer sat looking about himwith the air of a traveler who knocks at a strange door, and when it opens, finds himself at home. The children went to him like bees to a honeypot, and establishing themselves on each knee, proceeded to captivate him byrifling his pockets, pulling his beard, and investigating his watch, withjuvenile audacity. The women telegraphed their approval to one another, and Mr. March, feeling that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choiceststores for his guest's benefit, while silent John listened and enjoyed thetalk, but said not a word, and Mr. Laurence found it impossible to go tosleep. If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie's behavior would haveamused her, for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something likesuspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe thenewcomer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long. He gotinterested in spite of himself, and before he knew it, was drawn into thecircle. For Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere, and did himselfjustice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked at him often, and ashadow would pass across his face, as if regretting his own lost youth, ashe watched the young man in his prime. Then his eyes would turn to Jo sowistfully that she would have surely answered the mute inquiry if she hadseen it. But Jo had her own eyes to take care of, and feeling that they couldnot be trusted, she prudently kept them on the little sock she was knitting, like a model maiden aunt. A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh waterafter a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several propitiousomens. Mr. Bhaer's face had lost the absent-minded expression, and lookedall alive with interest in the present moment, actually young andhandsome, she thought, forgetting to compare him with Laurie, as sheusually did strange men, to their great detriment. Then he seemed quiteinspired, though the burial customs of the ancients, to which theconversation had strayed, might not be considered an exhilarating topic. Joquite glowed with triumph when Teddy got quenched in an argument, andthought to herself, as she watched her father's absorbed face, `How hewould enjoy having such a man as my Professor to talk with every day!'Lastly, Mr. Bhaer was dressed in a new suit of black, which made him lookmore like a gentleman than ever. His bushy hair had been cut andsmoothly brushed, but didn't stay in order long, for in exciting moments, he rumpled it up in the droll way he used to do, and Jo liked it rampantlyerect better than flat, because she thought it gave his fine forehead a Jove-like aspect. Poor Jo, how she did glorify that plain man, as she sat knittingaway so quietly, yet letting nothing escape her, not even the fact that Mr. Bhaer actually had gold sleeve-buttons in his immaculate wristbands. `Dear old fellow! He couldn't have got himself up with more care if he'dbeen going a-wooing, ' said Jo to herself, and then a sudden thought born ofthe words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her ball, andgo down after it to hide her face. The maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, forthough just in the act of setting fire to a funeral pyre, the Professor droppedhis torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the little blueball. Of course they bumped their heads smartly together, saw stars, andboth came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, to resume their seats, wishing they had not left them. Nobody knew where the evening went to, for Hannah skillfullyabstracted the babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, andMr. Laurence went home to rest. The others sat round the fire, talkingaway, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternal wasimpressed with a firm conviction that Daisy had tumbled out of be, andDemi set his nightgown afire studying the structure of matches, made amove to go. `We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all togetheragain once more, ' said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe andpleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul. They were not all there. But no one found the words thougtless oruntrue, for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league thatlove made disoluble. The little chair stood in its old place. The tidy basket, with the bit of work she left unfinished when the needle grew `so heavy', was still on its accustomed shelf. The beloved instrument, seldom touchednow had not been moved, and above it Beth's face, serene and smiling, asin the early days, looked down upon them, seeming to say, `Be happy. I amhere. '`Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved, 'said Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil. But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, `Nottonight, dear. I can't show off tonight. 'But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she sangBeth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master couldnot have taught, and touched the listener's hearts with a sweeter powerthan any other inspiration could have given her. The room was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line of Beth's favoritehymn. It was hard to say... Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling thather welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth's kiss. `Now, we must finish with Mignon's song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that, ' saidJo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat with agratified `Hem!' as he stepped into the corner where Jo stood, saying... `You will sing with me? We go excellently well together. 'A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than agrasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing awhole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune. Itdidn't much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily andwell, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen to themellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone. Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms, used to be theProfessor's favorite line, for `das land' meant Germany to him, but now heseemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, upon the words... There, oh there, might I with thee, O, my beloved, goand one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she longedto say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither wheneverhe liked. The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired coveredwith laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet, for she had been introducedsimply as `my sister', and on one had called her by her new name since hercame. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said, in his most graciousmanner, at parting... `My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that thereis always a welcome waiting for you over the way. 'Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenlyilluminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most delightfullydemonstrative old fellow he ever met. `I too shall go, but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif me leave, dearmadame, for a little business in the city will keep me here some days. 'He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo, and the mother's voice gaveas cordial an assent as did the daughter's eyes, for Mrs. March was not soblind to her children's interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed. `I suspect that is a wise man, ' remarked Mr. March, with placidsatisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last guest had gone. `I know he is a good one, ' added Mrs. March, with decided approval, asshe wound up the clock. `I thought you'd like him, ' was all Jo said, as she slipped away to herbed. She wondered what the business was that brought Mr. Bhaer to the city, and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor, somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact. If she had seenhis face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a severeand rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared to be gazingdarkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon the subject, especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed the picture in the dark. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR`Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour?The luggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery, trying to find some things I want, ' said Laurie, coming in the next day tofind Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made `the baby'again. `Certainly. Go, dear, I forgot that you have any home but this. ' And Mrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding ring, as if askingpardon for her maternal covetousness. `I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it, but I can't get onwithout my little woman any more than a.. '`Weathercock can without the wind, ' suggested Jo, as he paused for asimile. Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy camehome. `Exactly, for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, withonly an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had an easterlyspell since I was married. Don't know anything about the north, but amaltogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?'`Lovely weather so far. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm notafraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship. Come home, dear, and I'll find your bootjack. I suppose that's what you are rummaging afteramong my things. Men are so helpless, Mother, ' said Amy, with a matronlyair, which delighted her husband. `What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?' askedJo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores. `We have our plans. We don't mean to say much about them yet, becausewe are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle. I'm goinginto business with a devotion that shall delight Grandfather, and prove tohim that I'm not spoiled. I need something of the sort to keep me steady. I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man. '`And Amy, what is she going to do?' asked Mrs. March, well pleased atLaurie's decision and the energy with which he spoke. `After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shallastonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliantsociety we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall exertover the world at large. That's about it, isn't it, Madame Recamier?' askedLaurie with a quizzical look at Amy. `Time will show. Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my familyby calling me names before their faces, ' answered Amy, resolving thatthere should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salon as aqueen of society. `How happy those children seem together!' observed Mr. March, findingit difficult to become absorbed in his Aristotle after the young couple hadgone. `Yes, and I think it will last, ' added Mrs. March, with the restfulexpression of a pilot who has brought a ship safely into port. `I know it will. Happy Amy!' And Jo sighed, then smiled brightly asProfessor Bhaer opened the gate with an impatient push. Later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about thebootjack, Laurie said suddenly to his wife, `Mrs. Laurence. '`My Lord!'`That man intends to marry our Jo!'`I hope so, don't you, dear?'`Well, my love, I consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of thatexpressive word, but I do wish he was a little younger and a good dealricher. '`Now, Laurie, don't be too fastidious and worldly-minded. If they loveone another it doesn't matter a particle how old they are nor how poor. Women never should marry for money... ' Amy caught herself up short asthe words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, withmalicious gravity... `Certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intend todo it sometimes. If my memory serves me, you once thought it your dutyto make a rich match. That accounts, perhaps, for your marrying a good-for-nothing like me. '`Oh, my dearest boy, don't, don't say that! I forgot you were rich when Isaid `Yes'. I'd have married you if you hadn't a penny, and I sometimeswish you were poor that I might show how much I love you. ' And Amy, who was very dignified in public and very fond in private, gaveconvincing proofs of the truth of her words. `You don't really think I am such a mercenary creature as I tried to beonce, do you? It would break my heart if you didn't believe that I'd gladlypull in the same boat with you, even if you had to get your living byrowing on the lake. '2`Am I an idiot and a brute? How could I think so, when you refused aricher man for me, and won't let me give you half I want to now, when Ihave the right? Girls do it every day, poor things, and are taught to think itis their only salvation, but you had better lessons, and though I trembledfor you at one time, I was not disappointed, for the daughter was true tothe mother's teaching. I told Mamma so yesterday, and she looked as gladand grateful as if I'd given her a check for a million, to be spent in charity. You are not listening to my moral remarks, Mrs. Laurence. ' And Lauriepaused, for Amy's eyes had an absent look, though fixed upon his face. `Yes, I am, and admiring the mple in your chin at the same time. I don'twish to make you vain, but I must confess that I'm prouder of myhandsome husband than of all his money. Don't laugh, but your nose issuch a comfort to me. ' And Amy softly caressed the well-cut feature withartistic satisfaction. Laurie had received many compliments in his life, but never one thatsuited him better, as he plainly showed though he did laugh at his wife'speculiar taste, while she said slowly, `May I ask you a question, dear?'`Of course, you may. '`Shall you care if Jo does marry Mr. Bhaer?'`Oh, that's the trouble is it? I thought there was something in the dimplethat didn't quite suit you. Not being a dog in the manger, but the happiestfellow alive, I assure you I can dance at Jo's wedding with a heart as lightas my heels. Do you doubt it, my darling?'Amy looked up at him, and was satisfied. Her little jealous fear vanishedforever, and she thanked him, with a face full of love and confidence. `I wish we could do something for that capital old Professor. Couldn'twe invent a rich relation, who shall obligingly die out there in Germany, and leave him a tidy little fortune?' said Laurie, when they began to paceup and down the long drawing room, arm in arm, as they were fond ofdoing, in memory of the chateau garden. `Jo would find us out, and spoil it all. She is very proud of him, just as heis, and said yesterday that she thought poverty was a beautiful thing. '`Bless her dear heart! She won't think so when she has a literaryhusband, and a dozen little professors and professorins to support. Wewon't interfere now, but watch our chance, and do them a good turn inspite of themselves. I owe Jo for a part of my education, and she believes inpeople's paying their honest debts, so I'll get round her in that way. '`How delightful it is to be able to help others, isn't it? That was alwaysone of my dreams, to have the power of giving freely, and thanks to you, the dream has come true. '`Ah, we'll do quantities of good, won't we? There's one sort of povertythat I particularly like to help. Out-and-out beggars get taken care of, butpoor gentle folks fare badly, because they won't ask, and people don't dareto offer charity. Yet there are a thousand ways of helping them, if one onlyknows how to do it so delicately that it does not offend. I must say, I like toserve a decayed gentleman better than a blarnerying beggar. I suppose it'swrong, but I do, though it is harder. '`Because it takes a gentleman to do it, ' added the other member of thedomestic admiration society. `Thank you, I'm afraid I don't deserve that pretty compliment. But I wasgoing to say that while I was dawdling about abroad, I saw a good manytalented young fellows making all sorts of sacrifices, and enduring realhardships, that they might realize their dreams. Splendid fellows, some ofthem, working like heros, poor and friendless, but so full of courage, patience, and ambition that I was ashamed of myself, and longed to givethem a right good lift. Those are people whom it's a satisfaction to help, forif they've got genius, it's an honor to be allowed to serve them, and not letit be lost or delayed for want of fuel to keep the pot boiling. If they haven't, it's a pleasure to comfort the poor souls, and keep them from despair whenthey find it out. '`Yes, indeed, and there's another class who can't ask, and who suffer insilence. I know something of it, for I belonged to it before you made aprincess of me, as the king does the beggarmaid in the old story. Ambitiousgirls have a hard time, Laurie, and often have to see youth, health, andprecious opportunities go by, just for want of a little help at the rightminute. People have been very kind to me, and whenever I see girlsstruggling along, as we used to do, I want to put out my hand and helpthem, as I was helped. '`And so you shall, like an angel as you are!' cried Laurie, resolving, witha glow of philanthropic zeal, to found and endow an institution for theexpress benefit of young women with artistic tendencies. `Rich people haveno right to sit down and enjoy themselves, or let their money accumulatefor others to waste. It's not half so sensible to leave legacies when one diesas it is to use the money wisely while alive, and enjoy making one's fellowcreatures happy with it. We'll have a good time ourselves, and add an extrarelish to our own pleasure by giving other people a generous taste. Willyou be a little Dorcal, going about emptying a big basket of comforts, andfilling it up with good deeds?'`With all my heart, if you will be a brave St. Martin, stopping as you ridegallantly through the world to share your cloak with the beggar. '`It's a bargain, and we shall get the best of it!'So the young pair shook hands upon it, and then paced happily onagain, feeling that their pleasant home was more homelike because theyhoped to brighten other homes, believing that their own feet would walkmore uprightly along the flowery path before them, if they smoothedrough ways for other feet, and feeling that their hearts were more closelyknit together by a love which could tenderly remember those less blestthan they.



CHAPTER FORTY-FIVEI cannot feel that I have done my duty as humble historian of the Marchfamily, without devoting at least one chapter to the two most precious andimportant members of it. Daisy and Demi had now arrived at years ofdiscretion, for in this fast age babies of three or four assert their rights, andget them, too, which is more than many of their elders do. If there everwere a pair of twins in danger of being utterly spoiled by adoration, it wasthese prattling Brookes. Of course they were the most remarkable childrenever born, as will be shown when I mention that they walked at eightmonths, talked fluently at twelve months, and at two years they took theirplaces at table, and behaved with a propriety which charmed all beholders. At three, Daisy demanded a `needler', and actually made a bag with fourstitches in it. She likewise set up housekeeping in the sideboard, andmanaged a microscopic cooking stove with a skill that brought tears ofpride to Hannah's eyes, while Demi learned his letters with hisgrandfather, who invented a new mode of teaching the alphabet byforming letters with his arms and legs, thus uniting gymnastics for headand heels. The boy early developed a mechanical genius which delightedhis father and distracted his mother, for he tried to imitate every machinehe saw, and kept the nursery in a chaotic condition, with his `sewinsheen', a mysterious structure of string, chairs, clothespins, and spools, for wheelsto go `wound and wound'. Also a basket hung over the back of a chair, inwhich he vainly tried to hoist his too confiding sister, who, with femininedevotion, allowed her little head to be bumped till rescued, when theyoung inventor indignantly remarked, `Why, Marmar, dat's my lellywaiter, and me's trying to pull her up. 'Though utterly unlike in character, the twins got on remarkably welltogether, and seldom quarreled more than thrice a day. Of course, Demityrannized over Daisy, and gallantly defended her from every otheraggressor, while Daisy made a galley slave of herself, and adored herbrother as the one perfect being in the world. A rosy, chubby, sunshinylittle soul was Daisy, who found her way to everybody's heart, and nestledthere. One of the captivating children, who seem made to be kissed andcuddled, adorned and adored like little goddesses, and produced forgeneral approval on all festive occasions. Her small virtues were so sweetthat she would have been quite angelic if a few small naughtinesses hadnot kept her delightfully human. It was all fair weather in her world, andevery morning she scrambled up to the window in her little nightgown tolook our, and say, no matter whether it rained or shone, `Oh, pitty day, oh, pitty day!' Everyone was a friend, and she offered kisses to a stranger soconfidingly that the most inveterate bachelor relented, and baby-loversbecame faithful worshipers. `Me loves evvybody, ' she once said, opening her arms, with her spoon inone hand, and her mug in the other, as if eager to embrace and nourish thewhole world. As she grew, her mother began to feel that the Dovecote would beblessed by the presence of an inmate as serene and loving as that whichhad helped to make the old house home, and to pray that she might bespared a loss like that which had lately taught them how long they hadentertained an angel unawares. Her grandfather often called her `Beth', andher grandmother watched over her with untiring devotion, as if trying toatone for some past mistake, which no eye but her own could see. Demi, like a true Yankee, was of an inquiring turn, wanting to knoweverything, and often getting much disturbed because he could not getsatisfactory answers to his perpetual `What for?'He also possessed a philosophic bent, to the great delight of hisgrandfather, who used to hold Socratic conversations with him, in whichthe precocious pupil occasionally posed his teacher, to the undisguisedsatisfaction of the womenfolk. `What makes my legs go, Dranpa?' asked the young philosopher, surveying those active portions of his frame with a meditative air, whileresting after a go-to-bed frolic one night. `It's your little mind, Demi, ' replied the sage, stroking the yellow headrespectfully. `What is a little mine?'`It is something which makes your body move, as the spring made thewheels go in my watch when I showed it to you. '`Open me. I want to see it go wound. '`I can't do that any more than you could open the watch. God winds youup, and you go till He stops you. '`Does I?' And Demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in thenew thought. `Is I wounded up like the watch?'`Yes, but I can't show you how, for it is done when we don't see. 'Demi felt his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the watch, andthen gravely remarked, `I dess Dod does it when I's asleep. 'A careful explanation followed, to which he listened so attentively thathis anxious grandmother said, `My dear, do you think it wise to talk aboutsuch things to that baby? He's getting great bumps over his eyes, andlearning to ask the most unanswerable questions. '`If he is old enough to ask the question he is old enough to receive trueanswers. I am not putting the thoughts into his head, but helping himunfold those already there. These children are wiser than we are, and Ihave no doubt the boy understands every word I have said to him. Now, Demi, tell me where you keep your mind. 'If the boy had replied like Alcibiades, `By the gods, Socrates, I cannottell, ' his grandfather would not have been surprised, but when, afterstanding a moment on one leg, like a meditative young stork, he answered, in a tone of calm conviction, `In my little belly, ' the old gentleman couldonly join in Grandma's laugh, and dismiss the class in metaphysics. There might have been cause for maternal anxiety, if Demi had not givenconvincing proofs that he was a true boy, as well as a budding philosopher, for often, after a discussion which caused Hannah to prophesy, withominous nods, `That child ain't long for this world, ' he would turn aboutand set her fears at rest by some of the pranks with which dear, dirty, naughty little rascals distract and delight their parent's souls. Meg made many moral rules, and tried to keep them, but what motherwas ever proof against the winning wiles, the ingenious evasions, or thetranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early showthemselves accomplished Artful Dodgers?`No more raisins, Demi. They'll make you sick, ' says Mamma to theyoung person who offers his services in the kitchen with unfailingregularity on plum-pudding day. `Me likes to be sick. '`I don't want to have you, so run away and help Daisy make pattycakes. 'He reluctantly departs, but his wrongs weigh upon his spirit, and by-and-by when an opportunity comes to redress them, he outwits Mamma bya shrewd bargain. `Now you have been good children, and I'll play anything you like, ' saysMeg, as she leads her assistant cooks upstairs, when the pudding is safelybouncing in the pot. `Truly, Marmar?' asks Demi, with a brilliant idea in his well-powderedhead. `Yes, truly. Anything you say, ' replies the shortsighted parent, preparingherself to sing, `The Three Little Kittens' half a dozen times over, or to takeher family to `Buy a penny bun, ' regardless of wind or limb. But Demicorners her by the cool reply... `Then we'll go and eat up all the raisins. 'Aunt Dodo was chief playmate and confidante of both children, and thetrio turned the little house topsy-turvy. Aunt Amy was as yet only a nameto them, Aunt Beth soon faded into a pleasantly vague memory, but AuntDodo was a living reality, and they made the most of her, for whichcompliment she was deeply grateful. But when Mr. Bhaer came, Joneglected her playfellows, and dismay and desolation fell upon their littlesouls. Daisy, who was fond of going about peddling kisses, lost her bestcustomer and became bankrupt. Demi, with infantile penetration, soondiscovered that Dodo like to play with `the bear-man' better than she didhim, but though hurt, he concealed his anguish, for he hadn't the heart toinsult a rival who kept a mine of chocolate drops in his waistcoat pocket, and a watch that could be taken out of its case and freely shaken by ardentadmirers. Some persons might have considered these pleasing liberties as bribes, but Demi didn't see it in that light, and continued to patronize the `thebear-man' with pensive affability, while Daisy bestowed her smallaffections upon him at the third call, and considered his shoulder herthrone, his arm her refuge, his gifts treasures surpassing worth. Gentlemen are sometimes seized with sudden fits of admiration for theyoung relatives of ladies whom they honor with their regard, but thiscounterfeit philoprogenitiveness sits uneasily upon them, and does notdeceive anybody a particle. Mr. Bhaer's devotion was sincere, howeverlikewise effective--for honesty is the best policy in love as in law. He wasone of the men who are at home with children, and looked particularlywell when little faces made a pleasant contrast with his manly one. Hisbusiness, whatever it was, detained him from day to day, but eveningseldom failed to bring him out to see--well, he always asked for Mr. March, so I suppose he was the attraction. The excellent papa laboredunder the delusion that he was, and reveled in long discussions with thekindred spirit, till a chance remark of his more observing grandsonsuddenly enlightened him. Mr. Bhaer came in one evening to pause on the threshold of the study, astonished by the spectacle that met his eye. Prone upon the floor lay Mr. March, with his respectable legs in the air, and beside him, likewise prone, was Demi, trying to imitate the attitude with his own short, scarlet-stockinged legs, both grovelers so seriously absorbed that they wereunconscious of spectators, till Mr. Bhaer laughed his sonorous laugh, andJo cried out, with a scandalized face... `Father, Father, here's the Professor!'Down went the black legs and up came the gray head, as the preceptorsaid, with undisturbed dignity, `Good evening, Mr. Bhaer. Excuse me for amoment. We are just finishing our lesson. Now, Demi, make the letter andtell its name. '`I knows him!' And, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs tok theshape of a pair of compasses, and the intelligent pupil triumphantlyshouted, `It's a We, Dranpa, it's a We!'`He's a born Weller, ' laughed Jo, as her parent gathered himself up, andher nephew tried to stand on his head, as the only mode of expressing hissatisfaction that school was over. `What have you been at today, bubchen?' asked Mr. Bhaer, picking upthe gymnast. `Me went to see little Mary. '`And what did you there?'`I kissed her, ' began Demi, with artless frankness. `Prut! Thou beginnestearly. What did the little Mary say to that?' asked Mr. Bhaer, continuing toconfess the young sinner, who stood upon the knee, exploring thewaistcoat pocket. `Oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and I liked it. Don't little boys likelittle girls?' asked Demi, with his mouth full, and an air of blandsatisfaction. `You precious chick! Who put that into your head?' said Jo, enjoying theinnocent revelation as much as the Professor. ``Tisn't in mine head, it's in mine mouf, ' answered literal Demi, puttingout his tongue, with a chocolate drop on it, thinking she alluded toconfectionery, not ideas. `Thou shouldst save some for the little friend. Sweets to the sweet, mannling. ' And Mr. Bhaer offered Jo some, with a look that made herwonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods. Demi also sawthe smile, was impressed by it, and artlessy inquired. .. `Do great boys like great girls, to, `Fessor?'Like young Washington, Mr. Bhaer `couldn't tell a lie', so he gave thesomewhat vague reply that he believed they did sometimes, in a tone thatmade Mr. March put down his clothesbrush, glance at Jo's retiring face, and then sink into his chair, looking as if the `precocious chick' had put anidea into his head that was both sweet and sour. Why Dodo, when she caught him in the china closet half an hourafterward, nearly squeezed the breath out of his little body with a tenderembrace, instead of shaking him for being there, and why she followed upthis novel performance by the unexpected gift of a big slice of bread andjelly, remained one of the problems over which Demi puzzled his smallwits, and was forced to leave unsolved forever. CHAPTER FORTY-SIXWhile Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, as they set their house in order, and planned a blissful future, Mr. Bhaerand Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy roadsand sodden fields. `I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I shouldgive it up, just because I happen to meet the Professor on his way out, ' saidJo to herself, after two or three encounters, for though there were two pathsto Meg's whichever one she took she was sure to meet him. , either going orreturning. He was always walking rapidly, and never seemed to see heruntil quite close, when he would look as if his short-sighted eyes had failedto recognize the approaching lady till that moment. Then, if she was goingto Meg's he always had something for the babies. If her face was turnedhomeward, he had merely strolled down to see the river, and was justreturning, unless they were tired of his frequent calls. Under the circumstances, what could Jo do but greet him civilly, andinvite him in? If she was tired of his visits, she concealed her wearinesswith perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffee for supper, `asFriedrich--I mean Mr. Bhaer--doesn't like tea. 'By the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on, yet everyone tried to look as if they were stone-blind to the changes in Jo'sface. They never asked why she sang about her work, did up her hair threetimes a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise. And no oneseemed to have the slightest suspicion that Professor Bhaer, while talkingphilosophy with the father, was giving the daughter lessons in love. Jo couldn't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly tried toquench her feelings, and failing to do so, led a somewhat agitated life. Shewas mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering, after her manyand vehement declarations of independence. Laurie was her especialdread, but thanks to the new manager, he behaved with praiseworthypropriety, never called Mr. Bhaer `a capital old fellow' in public, neveralluded, in the remotest manner, to Jo's improved appearance, or expressedthe least surprise at seeing the Professor's hat on the Marches' table nearlyevery evening. But he exulted in private and longed for the time to comewhen he could give Jo a piece of plate, with a bear and a ragged staff on itas an appropriate coat of arms. For a fortnight, the Professor came and went with lover-like regularity. Then he stayed away for three whole days, and made no sign, a proceedingwhich caused everybody to look sober, and Jo to become pensive, at first, and then--alas for romance--very cross. `Disgusted, I dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came. It'snothing tome, of course, but I should think he would have come and bid usgoodbye like a gentleman, ' she said to herself, with a despairing look at thegate, as she put on her things for the customary walk one dull afternoon. `You'd better take the little umbrella, dear. It looks like rain, ' said hermother, observing that she had on her new bonnet, but not alluding to thefact. `Yes, Marmee, do you want anything in town? I've got to run in andget some paper, ' returned Jo, pulling out the bow under her chin before theglass as an excuse for not looking at her mother. `Yes, I want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles, andtwo yards of narrow lavender ribbon. Have you got your thick boots on, and something warm under your cloak?'`I believe so, ' answered Jo absently. `If you happen to meet Mr. Bhaer, bring him home to tea. I quite long tosee the dear man, ' added Mrs. March. Jo heard that, but made no answer, except to kiss her mother, and walkrapidly away, thinking with a glow of gratitude, in spite of her heartache, `How good she is to me! What do girls do who haven't any mothers to helpthem through their troubles?'The dry-goods stores were not down among the counting-houses, banks, and wholesale warerooms, where gentlemen most do congregate, but Jofound herself in that part of the city before she did a single errand, loiteringalong as if waiting for someone, examining engineering instruments in onewindow and samples of wool in another, with most unfeminine interest, tumbling over barrels, being half-smothered by descending bales, andhustled unceremoniously by busy men who looked as if they wondered`how the deuce she got there'. A drop of rain on her cheek recalled herthoughts from baffled hopes to ruined ribbons. For the drops continued tofall, and being a woman as well as a lover, she felt that, though it was toolate to save her heart, she might her bonnet. Now she remembered the littleumbrella, which she had forgotten to take in her hurry to be off, but regretwas unavailing, and nothing could be done but borrow one or submit to toa drenching. She looked up at the lowering sky, down at the crimson bowalready flecked with black, forward along the muddy street, then one long, lingering look behind, at a certain grimy warehouse, with `Hoffmann, Swartz, & Co. ' over the door, and said to herself, with a sternly reproachfulair... `It serves me right! what business had I to put on all my best things andcome philandering down here, hoping to see the Professor? Jo, I'mashamed of you! No, you shall not go there to borrow an umbrella, or findout where he is, from his friends. You shall trudge away, and do yourerrands in the rain, and if you catch your death and ruin your bonnet, it'sno more than you deserve. Now then!'With that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowlyescaped annihilation from a passing truck, and precipitated herself into thearms of a stately old gentleman, who said, `I beg pardon, ma'am, ' andlooked mortally offended. Somewhat daunted, Jo righted herself, spreadher handkerchief over the devoted ribbons, and putting temptation behindher, hurried on, with increasing dampness about the ankles, and muchclashing of umbrellas overhead. The fact that a somewhat dilapidated blueone remained stationary above the unprotected bonnet attracted herattention, and looking up, she saw Mr. Bhaer looking down. `I feel to know the strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under manyhorse noses, and so fast through much mus. What do you down here, myfriend?'`I'm shopping. 'Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side tothe wholesale hide and leather concern on the other, but her only saidpolitely, `You haf no umbrella. May I go also, and take for you thebundles?'`Yes, thank you. 'Jo's cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what hethought of her, but she didn't care, for in a minute she found herselfwalking away arm in arm with her Professor, feeling as if the sun hadsuddenly burst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all rightagain, and that one thoroughly happy woman was paddling through thewet that day. `We thought you had gone, ' said Jo hastily, for she knew he was lookingat her. Her bonnet wasn't big enough to hide her face, and she feared hemight think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly. `Did you believe that I should go with no farewell to those who haf beenso heavenly kind tome?' he asked so reproachfully that she felt as if shehad insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily... `No, I didn't. I knew you were busy about your own affairs, but werather missed you, Father and Mother especially. '`And you?'`I'm always glad to see you, sir. 'In her anxiety to keep her voice quite calm, Jo made it rather cool, andthe frosty little monosyllable at the end seemed to chill the Professor, forhis smile vanished, as he said gravely... `I thank you, and come one more time before I go. '`You are going, then?'‘I haf no longer any business here, it is done. '`Successfully, I hope?' said Jo, for the bitterness of disappointment wasin that short reply of his. `I ought to think so, for I haf a way opened to me by which I can makemy bread and gif my Junglings much help. '`Tell me, please! I like to know all about the--the boys, 'said Jo eagerly. `That is so kind, I gladly tell you. My friends find for me a place in acollege, where I teach as at home, and earn enough to make the waysmooth for Franz and Emil. For this I should be grateful, should I not?'`Indeed you should. How splendid it will be to have you doing what youlike, and be able to see you often, and the boys!' cried Jo, clinging to thelads as an excuse for the satisfaction she could not help betraying. `Ah! But we shall not meet often, I fear, this place is at the West. '`So far away!' And Jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it didn't matter nowwhat became of her clothes or herself. Mr. Bhaer could read several languages, but he had not learned to readwomen yet. He flattered himself that he knew Jo pretty well, and was, therefore, much amazed by the contradictions of voice, face, and manner, which she showed him in rapid succession that day, for she was in half adozen different moods in the course of half an hour. When she met him shelooked surprised, though it was impossible to help suspecting that she hadcome for that express purpose. When he offered her his arm, she took itwith a look that filled him with delight, but when he asked if she missedhim, she gave such a chilly, formal reply that despair fell upon him. Onlearning his good fortune she almost clapped her hands. Was the joy all forthe boys? Then on hearing his destination, she said, `So far away!' in a toneof despair that lifted him on to a pinnacle of hope, but the next minute shetumbled him down again by observing, like one entirely absorbed in thematter... `Here's the place for my errands. Will you come in? It won't take long. 'Jo rather prided herself upon her shopping capabilities, and particularlywished to impress her escort with the neatness and dispatch with whichshe would accomplish the business. But owing to the flutter she was in, everything went amiss. She upset the tray of needles, forgot the silesia wasto be `twilled' till it was cut off, gave the wrong change, and coveredherself with confusion by asking for lavender ribbon at the calico counter. Mr. Bhaer stood by, watching her blush and blunder, and as he watched, his own bewilderment seemed to subside, for he was beginning to see thaton some occasions, women, like dreams, go by contraries. When they came out, he put the parcel under his arm with a morecheerful aspect, and splashed through the puddles as if he rather enjoyed iton the whole. `Should we no do a little what you call shopping for the babies, and haf afarewell feast tonight if I go for my last call at your so pleasant home?' heasked, stopping before a window full of fruit and flowers. `What will we buy?' asked Jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech, andsniffing the mingled odors with an affectation of delight as they went in. `May they haf oranges and figs?' asked Mr. Bhaer, with a paternal air. `They eat them when they can get them. ' `Do you care for nuts?'`Like a squirrel. '`Hamburg grapes. Yes, we shall drink to the Fatherland in those?'Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he didn'tbuy a frail of dated, a cask of raisins, and a bag of almonds, and be donewith it? Whereat Mr. Bhaer confiscated her purse, produced his own, andfinished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot of rosydaisies, and a pretty jar of honey, to be regarded in the light of a demijohn. Then distorting his pockets with knobby bundles, and giving her theflowers to hold, he put up the old umbrella, and they traveled on again. `Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you, ' began the Professor, aftera moist promenade of half a block. `Yes, sir. ' And Jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he wouldhear it. `I am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a time remains tome. '`Yes, sir. ' And Jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the suddensqueeze she gave it. `I wish to get a little dress for my Tina, and I am too stupid to go alone. Will you kindly gif me a word of taste and help?'`Yes, sir. ' And JO felt as calm and cool all of a sudden as if she hadstepped into a refrigerator. `Perhaps also a shawl for Tina's mother, she is so poor and sick, and thehusband is such a care. Yes, yes, a thick, warm shawl would be a friendlything to take the little mother. '`I'll do it with pleasure, Mr. Bhaer. I'm going very fast, and he's gettingdearer every minute, ' added Jo to herself, then with a mental shake sheentered into the business with an energy that was pleasant to behold. Mr. Bhaer left it all to her, so she chose a pretty gown for Tina, and thenordered out the shawls. The clerk, being a married man, condescended totake an interest in the couple, who appeared to be shopping for theirfamily. `Your lady may prefer this. It's a superior article, a most desirable color, quite chaste and genteel, ' he said, shaking out a comfortable gray shawl, and throwing it over Jo's shoulders. `Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?' she asked, turning her back to him, andfeeling deeply grateful for the chance of hiding her face. `Excellently well, we will haf it, ' answered the Professor, smiling to himself as he paid for it, while Jo continued to rummage the counters like a confirmed bargain-hunter. `Now shall we go home?' he asked, as if the words were very pleasant tohim. `Yes, it's late, and I'm so tired. ' Jo's voice was more pathetic than sheknew. For now the sun seemed to have gone in as suddenly as it came out, and the world grew muddy and miserable again, and for the first time shediscovered that her feet were cold, her head ached, and that her heart wascolder than the former, fuller of pain than the latter. Mr. Bhaer was goingaway, he only cared for her as a friend, it was all a mistake, and the soonerit was over the better. With this idea in her head, she hailed an approachingomnibus with such a hasty gesture that the daisies flew out of the pot andwere badly damaged. `This is not our omniboos, ' said the Professor, waving the loaded vehicleaway, and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers. `I beg your pardon. I didn't see the name distinctly. Never mind, I canwalk. I'm used to plodding in the mud, ' returned Jo, winking hard, becauseshe would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes. Mr. Bhaer saw thedrops on her cheeks, though she turned her head away. The sight seemedto touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tonethat meant a great deal, `Heart's dearest, why do you cry?'Now, if Jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have said shewasn't crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other feminine fib properto the occasion. Instead of which, that undignified creature answered, withan irrepressible sob, `Because you are going away. '`Ach, mein Gott, that is so good!' cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp hishands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles, `Jo, I haf nothing but muchlove to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to be surethat I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little placein your heart for old Fritz?' he added, all in one breath. `Oh, yes!' said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both handsover his are, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showedhow happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though shehad no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it. It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desiredto do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account of themud. Neither could he offer Jo his hand, except figuratively, for both werefull. Much less could he indulge in tender remonstrations in the openstreet, though he was near it. So the only way in which he could express hisrapture was to look at her, with an expression which glorified his face tosuch a degree that there actually seemed to be little rainbows in the dropsthat sparkled on his beard. If he had not loved Jo very much, I don't thinkhe could have done it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her skirts ina deplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet aruin. Fortunately, Mr. Bhaer considered her the most beautiful womanliving, and she found him more `Jove-like' than ever, though his hatbrimwas quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (forhe held the umbrella all over Jo), and every finger of his gloves neededmending. Passers-by probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics, for theyentirely forgot to hail a bus, and strolled leisurely along, oblivious ofdeepening dusk and fog. Little they cared what anybody thought, for theywere enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life, themagical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven. TheProfessor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom, and the world hadnothing more to offer him in the way of bliss. While Jo trudged beside him, feeling as if her place had always been there, and wondering how she evercould have chosen any other lot. Of course, she was the first to speak--intelligibly, I mean, for the emotional remarks which followed herimpetuous `Oh, yes!' were not of a coherent or reportable character. `Friedrich, why didn't you.. '`Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!'cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight. `I always call you so to myself--I forgot, but I won't unless you like it. '`Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say `thou', also, and I shallsay your language is almost as beautiful as mine. '`Isn't `thou' a little sentimental?' asked Jo, privately thinking it a lovelymonosyllable. `Sentimental? Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, andkeep ourselves young mit it. Your English `you' is so cold, say `thou', heart's dearest, it means so much to me, ' pleaded Mr. Bhaer, more like aromantic student than a grave professor. `Well, then, why didn't thou tell me all this sooner?' asked Jo bashfully. `Now I shall haf to show thee all my heart, and I so gladly will, becausethou must take care of it hereafter. See, then, my Jo--ah, the dear, funnylittle name--I had a wish to tell something the day I said goodbye in NewYork, but I thought the handsome friend was betrothed to thee, and so Ispoke not. Wouldst thou have said `Yes', then, if I had spoken?'`I don't know. I'm afraid not, for I didn't have any heart just then. '`Prut! That I do not believe. It was asleep till the fairy prince camethrough the wood, and waked it up. Ah, well, `Die erste Liebe ist die beste', but that I should not expect. '`Yes, the first love is the best, but be so contented, for I never hadanother. Teddy was only a boy, and soon got over his little fancy, ' said Jo, anxious to correct the Professor's mistake. `Good! Then I shall rest happy, and be sure that thou givest me all. I hafwaited so long, I am grown selfish, as thou wilt find, Professorin. '`I like that, ' cried Jo, delighted with her new name. `Now tell me whatbrought you, at last, just when I wanted you?'`This. ' And Mr. Bhaer took a little worn paper out of his waistcoatpocket. Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her owncontributions to a paper that paid for poetry, which accounted for hersending it an occasional attempt. `How could that bring you?' she asked, wondering what he meant. `I found it by chance. I knew it by the names and the initials, and in itthere was one little verse that seemed to call me. Read and find him. I willsee that you go not in the wet. 'IN THE GARRETFour little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Allfashioned and filled, long ago, By children now in their prime. Four littlekeys hung side by side, With faded ribbons, brave and gay When fastenedthere, with childish pride, Long ago, on a rainy day. Four little names, oneon each lid, Carved out by a boyish hand, And underneath there lieth hidHistories of the happpy band Once playing here, and pausing oft To hearthe sweet refrain, That came and went on the roof aloft, In the fallingsummer rain. `Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair. I look in with loving eyes, Forfolded here, with well-known care, A goodly gathering lies, The record of apeaceful life-- Gifts to gentle child and girl, A bridal gown, lines to a wife, A tiny shoe, a baby curl. No toys in this first chest remain, For all arecarried away, In their old age, to join again In another small Meg's play. Ah, happy mother! Well I know You hear, like a sweet refrain, Lullabiesever soft and low In the falling summer rain. `Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn, And within a motley store Ofheadless, dolls, of schoolbooks torn, Birds and beasts that speak no more, Spoils brought home from the fairy ground Only trod by youthful feet, Dreams of a future never found, Memories of a past still sweet, Half-writpoems, stories wild, April letters, warm and cold, Diaries of a wilful child, Hints of a woman early old, A woman in a lonely home, Hearing, like a sadrefrain-- `Be worthy, love, and love will come, ' In the falling summer rain. My Beth! the dust is always swept From the lid that bears your name, Asif by loving eyes that wept, By careful hands that often came. Deathcannonized for us one saint, Ever less human than divine, And still we lay, with tender plaint, Relics in this household shrine-- The silver bell, soseldom rung, The little cap which last she wore, The fair, dead Catherinethat hung By angels borne above her door. The songs she sang, withoutlament, In her prison-house of pain, Forever are they sweetly blent Withthe falling summer rain. Upon the last lid's polished field-- Legend now both fair and true Agallant knight bears on his shield, `Amy' in letters gold and blue. Within liesnoods that bound her hair, Slippers that have danced their last, Fadedflowers laid by with care, Fans whose airy toils are past, Gay valentines, allardent flames, Trifles that have borne their part In girlish hopes and fearsand shames, The record of a maiden heart Now learning fairer, truer spells, Hearing, like a blithe refrain, The silver sound of bridal bells In the fallingsummer rain. Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Fourwomen, taught by weal and woe To love and labor in their prime. Foursisters, parted for an hour, None lost, one only gone before, Made by love'simmortal power, Nearest and dearest evermore. Oh, when these hiddenstores of ours Lie open to the Father's sight, May they be rich in goldenhours, Deeds that show fairer for the light, Lives whose brave music longshall ring, Like a spirit-stirring strain, Souls that shall gladly soar and singIn the long sunshine after rain. `It's very bad poetry, but I felt it when I wrote it, one day when I wasvery lonely, and had a good cry on a rag bag. I never thought it would gowhere it could tell tales, ' said Jo, tearing up the verses the Professor hadtreasured so long. `Let it go, it has done it's duty, and I will haf a fresh one when I read allthe brown book in which she keeps her little secrets, ' said Mr. Bhaer with asmile as he watched the fragments fly away on the wind. `Yes, ' he addedearnestly, `I read that, and I think to myself, She has a sorrow, she is lonely, she would find comfort in true love. I haf a heart full, full for her. Shall Inot go and say, `If this is not too poor a thing to gif for what I shall hope toreceive, take it in Gott's name?'`And so you came to find that it was not too poor, but the one preciousthing I needed, ' whispered Jo. `I had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was yourwelcome to me. But soon I began to hope, and then I said, `I will haf her if Idie for it, ' and so I will!' cried Mr. Bhaer, with a defiant nod, as if the wallsof mist closing round them were barriers which he was to surmount orvaliantly knock down. Jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight, though he did not come prancing on a charger in gorgeous array. `What made you stay away so long?' she asked presently, finding it sopleasant to ask confidential questions and get delightful answers that shecould not keep silent. `It was not easy, but I could not find the heart to take you from that sohappy home until I could haf a prospect of one to gif you, after much time, perhaps, and hard work. How could I ask you to gif up so much for a poorold fellow, who has no fortune but a little learning?'`I'm glad you are poor. I couldn't bear a rich husband, ' said Jo decidedly, adding in a softer tone, `Don't fear poverty. I've known it long enough tolose my dread and be happy working for those I love, and don't callyourself old--forty is the prime of life. I couldn't help loving you if youwere seventy!'The Professor found that so touching that he would have been glad ofhis handkerchief, if he could have got at it. As her couldn't, Jo wiped hiseyes for him, and said, laughing, as she took away a bundle or two... `I may be strong-minded, but no one can say I'm out of my sphere now, for woman's special mission is supposed to be drying tears and bearingburdens. I'm to carry my share, Friedrich, and help to earn the home. Makeup your mind to that, or I'll never go, ' she added resolutely, as he tried toreclaim his load. `We shall see. Haf you patience to wait a long time, Jo? I must go awayand do my work alone. I must help my boys first, because, even for you, Imay not break my word to Minna. Can you forgif that, and be happy whilewe hope and wait?'`Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all the resteasy to bear. I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoy myself if Ineglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry or impatience. You can do your part out West, I can do mine here, and both be happyhoping for the best, and leaving the future to be as God wills. '`Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif backbut a full heart and these empty hands, ' cried the Professor, quiteovercome. Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as theystood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, `Not empty now, ' and stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under theumbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it if the flock ofdraggle-tailed sparrows on the hedge had been human beings, for she wasvery far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her ownhappiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was thecrowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night andstorm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waitingto receive them, with a glad `Welcome home!' Jo led her lover in, and shutthe door. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENFor a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, met occasionally, and wrote such voluminous letters that the rise in theprice of paper was accounted for, Laurie said. The second year beganrather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and Aunt March diedsuddenly. But when their first sorrow was over--for they loved the oldlady in spite of her sharp tongue--they found they had cause for rejoicing, for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of joyful thingspossible. `It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, for of course youintend to sell it, ' said Laurie, as they were all talking the matter over someweeks later. `No, I don't, ' was Jo's decided answer, as she petted the fat poodle, whom she had adopted, out of respect to his former mistress. `You don't mean to live there?'`Yes, I do. '`But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a power ofmoney to keep it in order. The garden and orchard alone need two or threemen, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I take it. '`He'll try his hand at it there, if I propose it. '`And you expect to live on the produce of the place? Well, that soundsparadisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work. '`The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one, ' And Jo laughed. `Of what is this fine crop to consist,

ma'am?'`Boys. I want to open a school for little lads--a good, happy, homelikeschool, with me to take care of them and Fritz to teach them. ' `That's a trulyJoian plan for you! Isn't that just like her?' cried Laurie, appealing to thefamily, who looked as much surprised as he. `I like it, ' said Mrs. March decidedly. `So do I, ' added her husband, who welcomed the thought of a chance fortrying the Socratic method of education on modern youth. `It will be an immense care for Jo, ' said Meg, stroking the head or her oneall-absorbing son. `Jo can do it, and be happy in it. It's a splendid idea. Tell us all about it, 'cried Mr. Laurence, who had been longing to lend the lovers a hand, butknew that they would refuse his help. `I knew you'd stand by me, sir. Amy does too--I see it in her eyes, though she prudently waits to turn it over in her mind before she speaks. Now, my dear people, ' continued Jo earnestly, `just understand that thisisn't a new idea of mine, but a long cherished plan. Before my Fritz came, Iused to think how, when I'd made my fortune, and no one needed me athome, I'd hire a big house, and pick up some poor, forlorn little lads whohadn't any mothers, and take care of them, and make life jolly for thembefore it was too late. I see so many going to ruin for want of help at theright minute, I love so to do anything for them, I seem to feel their wants, and sympathize with their troubles, and oh, I should so like to be a motherto them!'Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it, smiling, with tears inher eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way, which they had not seenfor a long while. `I told my plan to Fritz once, and he said it was just what he would like, and agreed to try it when we got rich. Bless his dear heart, he's been doingit all his life--helping poor boys, I mean, not getting rich, that he'll neverbe. Money doesn't stay in his pocket long enough to lay up any. But now, thanks to my good old aunt, who loved me better than I ever deserved, I'mrich, at least I feel so, and we can live at Plumfield perfectly well, if we havea flourishing school. It's just the place for boys, the house is big, and thefurniture strong and plain. There's plenty of room for dozens inside, andsplendid grounds outside. They could help in the garden and orchard. Such work is healthy, isn't it, sir? Then Fritz could train and teach in hisown way, and Father will help him. I can feed and nurse and pet and scoldthem, and Mother will be my stand-by. I've always longed for lots of boys, and never had enough, now I can fill the house full and revel in the littledears to my heart's content. Think what luxury-- Plumfield my own, and awilderness of boys to enjoy it with me. 'As Jo waved her hands and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went offinto a gale of merriment, and Mr. Laurence laughed till they thought he'dhave an apoplectic fit. `I don't see anything funny, ' she said gravely, when she could be heard. `Nothing could be more natural and proper than for my Professor to open aschool, and for me to prefer to reside in my own estate. '`She is putting on airs already, ' said Laurie, who regarded the idea in thelight of a capital joke. `But may I inquire how you intend to support theestablishment? If all the pupils are little ragamuffins, I'm afraid your cropwon't be profitable in a worldly sense, Mr. Bhaer. '`Now don't be a wet-blanket, Teddy. Of course I shall have rich pupils, also--perhaps begin with such altogether. Then, when I've got a start, I cantake in a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish. Rich people's children oftenneed care and comfort, as well as poor. I've seen unfortunate little creaturesleft to servants, or backward ones pushed forward, when it's real cruelty. Some are naughty through mismanagment or neglect, and some lose theirmothers. Besides, the best have to get through the hobbledehoy age, andthat's the very time they need most patience and kindness. People laugh atthem, and hustle them about, try to keep them out of sight, and expectthem to turn all at once from pretty children into fine young men. Theydon't complain much-- plucky little souls--but they feel it. I've beenthrough some- thing of it, and I know all about it. I've a special interest insuch young bears, and like to show them that I see the warm, honest, well-meaning boys' hearts, in spite of the clumsy arms and legs and the topsy-turvy heads. I've had experience, too, for haven't I brought up one boy tobe a pride and honor to his family?'`I'll testify that you tried to do it, ' said Laurie with a grateful look. `And I've succeeded beyond my hopes, for here you are, a steady, sensible businessman, doing heaps of good with your money, and layingup the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars. But you are not merely abusinessman, you love good and beautiful things, enjoy them yourself, andlet others go halves, as you always did in the old times. I am proud of you, Teddy, for you get better every year, and everyone feels it, though youwon't let them say so. Yes, and when I have my flock, I'll just point to you, and say `There's your model, my lads'. 'Poor Laurie didn't know where to look, for, man though he was, something of the old bashfulness came over him as this burst of praisemade all faces turn approvingly upon him. `I say, Jo, that's rather too much, ' he began, just in his old boyish way. `You have all done more for me than I can ever thank you for, except bydoing my best not to disapoint you. You have rather cast me off lately, Jo, but I've had the best of help, nevertheless. So, if I've got on at all, you maythank these two for it. ' And he laid one hand gently on his grandfather'shead, and the other on Amy's golden one, for the three were never farapart. `I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world!'burst out Jo, who was in an unusually up-lifted frame of mind just then. `When I have one of my own, I hope it will be as happy as the three I knowand love the best. If John and my Fritz were only here, it would be quite alittle heaven on earth, ' she added more quietly. And that night when shewent to her room after a blissful evening of family counsels, hopes, andplans, her heart was so full of happiness that she could only calm it bykneeling beside the empty bed always near her own, and thinking tenderthoughts of Beth. It was a very astonishing year altogether, for thingsseemed to happen in an unusually rapid and delightful manner. Almostbefore she knew where she was, Jo found herself married and settled atPlumfield. Then a family of six or seven boys sprung up like mushrooms, and flourished surprisingly, poor boys as well as rich, for Mr. Laurencewas continually finding some touching case of destitution, and begging theBhaers to take pity on the child, and he would gladly pay a trifle for itssupport. In this way, the sly old gentleman got round proud Jo, andfurnished her with the style of boy in which she most delighted. Of course it was uphill work at first, and Jo made queer mistakes, but thewise Professor steered her safely into calmer waters, and the most rampantragamuffin was conquered in the end. How Jo did enjoy her `wilderness ofboys', and how poor, dear Aunt March would have lamented had she beenthere to see the sacred precincts of prim, well-ordered Plumfield overrunwith Toms, Dicks, and Harrys! There was a sort of poetic justice about it, after all, for the old lady had been the terror of the boys for miles around, and now the exiles feasted freely on forbidden plums, kicked up the gravelwith profane boots unreproved, and played cricket in the big field wherethe irritable `cow with a crumpled horn' used to invite rash youths to comeand be tossed. It became a sort of boys' paradise, and Laurie suggested thatit should be called the `Bhaer-garten', as a compliment to its master andappropriate to its inhabitants. It never was a fashionable school, and the Professor did not lay up afortune, but it was just what Jo intended it to be-- `a happy, homelike placefor boys, who needed teaching, care, and kindness'. Every room in the bighouse was soon full. Every little plot in the garden soon had its owner. Aregular menagerie appeared in barn and shed, for pet animals wereallowed. And three times a day, Jo smiled at her Fritz from the head of along table lined on either side with rows of happy young faces, which allturned to her with affectionate eyes, confiding words, and grateful hearts, full of love for `Mother Bhaer'. She had boys enough now, and did not tireof them, though they were not angels, by any means, and some of themcaused both Professor and Professorin much trouble and anxiety. But herfaith in the good spot which exists in the heart of the naughtiest, sauciest, most tantalizing little ragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and in timesuccess, for no mortal boy could hold out long with Father Bhaer shiningon him as benevolently as the sun, and Mother Bhaer forgiving himseventy times seven. Very precious to Jo was the friendship of the lads, their penitent sniffs and whispers after wrongdoing, their droll or touchinglittle confidences, their pleasant enthusiasms, hopes, and plans, even theirmisfortunes, for they only endeared them to her all the more. There wereslow boys and bashful boys, feeble boys and riotous boys, boys that lispedand boys that stuttered, one or two lame ones, and a merry little quadroon, who could not be taken in elsewhere, but who was welcome to the `Bhaer-garten', though some people predicted that his admission would ruin theschool. Yes, Jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work, muchanxiety, and a perpetual racket. She enjoyed it heartily and found theapplause of her boys more satisfying than any praise of the world, for nowshe told no stories except to her flock of enthusiastic believers andadmirers. As the years went on, two little lads of her own came to increaseher happiness--Rob, named for Grandpa, and Teddy, a happy-go-luckybaby, who seemed to have inherited his papa's sunshiny temper as well ashis mother's lively spirit. How they ever grew up alive in that whirlpool ofboys was a mystery to their grandma and aunts, but they flourished likedandelions in spring, and their rough nurses loved and served them well. There were a great many holidays at Plumfield, and one of the mostdelightful was the yearly apple-picking. For then the Marches, Laurences, Brookes. And Bhaers turned out in full force and made a day of it. Fiveyears after Jo's wedding, one of these fruitful festivals occurred, a mellowOctober day, when the air was full of an exhilarating freshness which madethe spirits rise and the blood dance healthily in the veins. The old orchardwore its holiday attire. Goldenrod and asters fringed the mossy walls. Grasshoppers skipped briskly in the sere grass, and crickets chirped likefairy pipers at a feast. Squirrels were busy with their small harvesting. Birds twittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every treestood ready to send down its shower of red or yellow apples at the firstshake. Everybody was there. Everybody laughed and sang, climbed up andtumbled down. Everybody declared that there never had been such aperfect day or such a jolly set to enjoy it, and everyone gave themselves upto the simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if there were no such thingsas care or sorrow in the world. Mr. March strolled placidly about, quoting Tusser, Cowley, andColumella to Mr. Laurence, while enjoying... The gentle apple's winey juice. The Professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stoutTeutonic knight, with a pole for a lance, leading on the boys, who made ahook and ladder company of themselves, and performed wonders in theway of ground and lofty tumbling. Laurie devoted himself to the littleones, rode his small daughter in a bushel-basket, took Daisy up among thebird's nests, and kept adventurous Rob from breaking his neck. Mrs. Marchand Meg sat among the apple piles like a pair of Pomonas, sorting thecontributions that kept pouring in, while Amy with a beautiful motherlyexpression in her face sketched the various groups, and watched over onepale lad, who sat adoring her with his little crutch beside him. Jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with her gown pinnedup, and her hat anywhere but on her head, and her baby tucked under herarm, ready for any lively adventure which might turn up. Little Teddy borea charmed life, for nothing ever happened to him, and Jo never felt anyanxiety when he was whisked up into a tree by one lad, galloped off on theback of another, or supplied with sour russets by his indulgent papa, wholabored under the Germanic delusion that babies could digest anything, from pickled cabbage to buttons, nails, and their own small shoes. Sheknew that little Ted would turn up again in time, safe and rosy, dirty andserene, and she always received him back with a hearty welcome, for Joloved her babies tenderly. At four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remained empty, while theapple pickers rested and compared rents and bruises. Then Jo and Meg, with a detachment of the bigger boys, set forth the supper on the grass, foran out-of-door tea was always the crowning joy of the day. The landliterally flowed with milk and honey on such occasions, for the lads werenot required to sit at table, but allowed to partake of refreshment as theyliked--freedom being the sauce best beloved by the boyish soul. Theyavailed themselves of the rare privilege to the fullest extent, for some triedthe pleasing experiment of drinking mild while standing on their heads, others lent a charm to leapfrog by eating pie in the pauses of the game, cookies were sown broadcast over the field, and apple turnovers roosted inthe trees like a new style of bird. The little girls had a private tea party, andTed roved among the edibles at his own sweet will. When no one could eat any more, the Professor proposed the firstregular toast, which was always drunk at such times--`Aunt March, Godbless her!' A toast heartily given by the good man, who never forgot howmuch he owed her, and quietly drunk by the boys, who had been taught tokeep her memory green. `Now, Grandma's sixtieth birthday! Long life to her, with three timesthree!'That was given with a will, as you may well believe, and the cheeringonce begun, it was hard to stop it. Everybody's health was proposed, formMr. Laurence, who was considered their special patron, to the astonishedguinea pig, who had strayed from its proper sphere in search of its youngmaster. Demi, as the oldest grandchild, then presented the queen of the daywith various gifts, so numerous that they were transported to the festivescene in a wheelbarrow. Funny presents, some of them, but what wouldhave been defects to other eyes were ornaments to Grandma's--for thechildren's gifts were all their own. Every stitch Daisy's patient little fingershad put into the handkerchiefs she hemmed was better than embroidery toMrs. March. Demi's miracle of mechanical skill, though the cover wouldn'tshut, Rob's footstool had a wiggle in its uneven legs that she declared wassoothing, and no page of the costly book Amy's child gave her was so fairas that on which appeared in tipsy capitals, the words-- `To dearGrandma, from her little Beth. 'During the ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared, and whenMrs. March had tried to thank her children, and broken down, whileTeddy wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the Professor suddenly began tosing. Then, from above him, voice after voice took up the words, and fromtree to tree echoed the music of the unseen choir, as the boys sang with alltheir hearts the little song that Jo had written, Laurie set to music, and theProfessor trained his lads to give with the best effect. This was somethingaltogether new, and it proved a grand success, for Mrs. March couldn't getover her surprise, and insisted on shaking hands with every one of thefeatherless birds, from tall Franz and Emil to the little quadroon, who hadthe sweetest voice of all. After this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving Mrs. March and herdaughters under the festival tree. `I don't think I ever ought to call myself `unlucky Jo' again, when mygreatest wish has been so beautifully gratified, ' said Mrs. Bhaer, takingTeddy's little fist out of the milk pitcher, in which he was rapturouslychurning. `And yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so longago. Do you remember our castles in the air?' asked Amy, smiling as shewatched Laurie and John playing cricket with the boys. `Dear fellows! It does my heart good to see them forget business andfrolic for a day, ' answered Jo, who now spoke in a maternal way of allmankind. `Yes, I remember, but the life I wanted then seems selfish, lonely, and cold to me now. I haven't given up the hope that I may write a goodbook yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure it will be all the better for suchexperiences and illustrations as these. ' And Jo pointed from the lively ladsin the distance to her father, leaning on the Professor's arm, as they walkedto and fro in the sunshine, deep in one of the conversations which bothenjoyed so much, and then to her mother, sitting enthroned among herdaughters, with their children in her lap and at her feet, as if all found helpand happiness in the face which never could grow old to them. `My castle was the most nearly realized of all. I asked for splendidthings, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I should be satisfied, if I had alittle home, and John, and some dear children like these. I've got them all, thank God, and am the happiest woman in the world. ' And Meg laid herhand on her tall boy's head, with a face full of tender and devout content. `My castle is very different from what I planned, but I would not alter it, though, like Jo, I don't relinquish all my artistic hopes, or confine myself tohelping others fulfill their dreams of beauty. I've begun to model a figureof baby, and Laurie says it is the best thing I've ever done. I think so, myself, and mean to do it in marble, so that, whatever happens, I may atleast keep the image of my little angel. 'As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleepingchild in her arms, for her one well-beloved daughter was a frail littlecreature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over Amy's sunshine. This cross was doing much for both father and mother, for one love andsorrow bound them closely together. Amy's nature was growing sweeter, deeper, and more tender. Laurie was growing more serious, strong, andfirm, and both were learning that beauty, youth, good fortune, even loveitself, cannot keep care and pain, loss and sorrow, from the most blessedfor ... Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and sad anddreary. `She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear. Don't despond, but hopeand keep happy, ' said Mrs. March, as tenderhearted Daisy stooped fromher knee to lay her rosy cheek against her little cousin's pale one. `I never ought to, while I have you to cheer me up, Marmee, and Laurieto take more than half of every burden, ' replied Amy warmly. `He neverlets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, so devoted toBeth, and such a stay and comfort to me always that I can't love himenough. So, in spite of my one cross, I can say with Meg, `Thank God, I'm ahappy woman. ''`There's no need for me to say it, for everyone can see that I'm farhappier than I deserve, ' added Jo, glancing from her good husband to herchubby children, tumbling on the grass beside her. `Fritz is getting grayand stout. I'm growing as thin as a shadow, and am thirty. We never shallbe rich, and Plumfield may burn up any night, for that incorrigible TommyBangs will smoke sweet-fern cigars under the bed-clothes, though he's sethimself afire three times already. But in spite of these unromantic facts, Ihave nothing to complain of, and never was so jolly in my life. Excuse theremark, but living among boys, I can't help using their expressions nowand then. '`Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one, ' began Mrs. March, frightening away a big black cricket that was staring Teddy out ofcountenance. `Not half so good as yours, Mother. Here it is, and we never can thankyou enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done, ' cried Jo, with the loving impetuosity which she never would outgrow. `I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year, ' said Amysoftly. `A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmeedear, ' added Meg's tender voice. Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if togather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and voicefull of motherly love, gratitude, and humility... `Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greaterhappiness than this!'