Little Women .......................................................................................................................................................1

Louisa May Alcott...................................................................................................................................1

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little

"We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth contentedly from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo

said sadly, "We haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say "perhaps never,"

but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, "You know the reason Mother proposed not

having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks

we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but

we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't." And Meg shook her head,

"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army

wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want

to buy 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

"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils. I really need them," said Amy decidedly.

"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy

what we want, and have a little fun. I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the heels

"I know I doteaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home,"

"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you like to be shut up for hours with a

nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you you're ready to fly

"It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It

makes me cross, and my hands get so stiff, I can't practice well at all." And Beth looked at her rough hands

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for you don't have to go to school with impertinent

girls, who plague you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he

"If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if Papa was a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.

"I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper to use good words, and improve your

"Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money Papa 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 the King children, for they were fighting

"So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a

"Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.

"Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices

"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to lecture in her eldersisterly fashion."You

are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you

were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young

"I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off

her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear

long 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 over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's worse than ever now,

for I'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 be contented with making your name boyish,

and playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the dish washing and

"As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether to particular and prim. 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 of

speaking, when you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad 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 one contradicted her, for the `Mouse' was

As young readers like to know `how people look', we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the

four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire

crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very

plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas

roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of

soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen yearold Jo was

very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long

limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes,

which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her

one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and

feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up

into a woman and didn't like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth haired,

brighteyed 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 she seemed

to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy,

though the youngest, was a most important 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

The clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the

sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened to

welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy chair without being

asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.

"I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, "I'm the man of the family now Papa is away, and I

shall provide the slippers, for he told me 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 for Christmas, land not get anything for

Everyone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her

"I'll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my

"Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to

"I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair with the 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 have

you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles," said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea

"Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow

afternoon, Meg. There is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up and down,

"I don't mean to act any more after this time. I'm getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who was as

"You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear

goldpaper jewelry. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the

boards," said Jo. "We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as

"I can't help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to make myself 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 if

Hugo does come at me with a pistol," returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was

chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.

"Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying frantically, `Roderigo Save me!

Save me!' and away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.

Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by

machinery, and her "Ow!" was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a

despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun with

interest. "It's no use! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don't blame me.

"Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break.

Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect.

Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild,

"It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows.

"I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed

Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.

"Not quite," replied Jo modestly. "I do think THE WITCHES CURSE, an Operatic Tragedy is rather a nice

thing, but I'd like to try McBETH, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing

part. `Is that a dagger that I see before me?" muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had

"No, it's the toasting fork, with Mother's shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth's stagestruck!" cried Meg, and

"Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to

welcome a tall, motherly lady with a `can I help you' look about her which was truly delightful. She was not

elegantly dressed, but a noblelooking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet

"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

While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting

down in the easy chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls

flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought

wood and set chairs, dropping, overturning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth trotted to and fro

between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands

As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, "I've got a treat for you

A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped her 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 the cold season better than we feared. He

sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs. March, patting

"Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger and simper over your plate, Amy," cried Jo,

choking on her tea and dropping her bread, 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 brood over the delight to come, till the

"I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong

"Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivanwhat's its name? Or a nurse, so I could be near him and help

"It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of badtasting things, and drink out of a tin

"Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and

we won't ask for him back a minute sooner 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 the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should

happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially

those which fathers sent home. In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the

homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches,

and military news, and only at the end did the writer's heart overflow with fatherly love and longing for the

"Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find

my best comfort in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind

them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will

remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their

bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when I come back 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 the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her

curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfish girl! But I'll truly try to be

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 rough and 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

Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and began to knit with all her might,

losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that

Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in her cheery voice, "Do you remember

how you used to play Pilgrims Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to

have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you

travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where

"What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and passing through the valley where the

"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 cellar and the dark entry, and always liked

the cake and milk we had up at the top. 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 mature age of twelve.

"We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another.

Out burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads

us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims,

suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before Father comes

"Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?" asked Amy, who was a very literal young lady.

"Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather think she hasn't got any," said her

"Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people."

Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but nobody did, for it would have hurt

"Let us do it," said Meg thoughtfully. "It is only another name for trying to 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 and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We

ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that?" asked Jo, delighted with the

"Look under your pillows christmas morning, and you will find your guidebook," replied Mrs. March.

They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, then out came the four little work baskets,

and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but tonight no one

grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe,

Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different

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 a way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant

accompaniment 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, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always

coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune. They had always

and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was

her voice as she went about the house singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same cheery

Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a

moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was

crammed so full of goodies. Then she remembered her mother's promise and, slipping her hand under her

pillow, drew out a little crimsoncovered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of

the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey. She

woke Meg with a "Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green covered book

appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one

present very precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and find their little books also,

one dovecolored, the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with

In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her

sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.

"Girls," said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little nightcapped ones in

the room beyond, "Mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We

used to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this war trouble unsettled 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 morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through the day."

Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read

"How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the hard words, and they'' explain

things if we don't understand," whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters,

"I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy. and then the rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned, and

the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.

"Where is Mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.

"Goodness only knows. some poor creeter came abeggin', and your ma went straight off to see what was

needed. There never was such a woman for givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin'," replied Hannah,

who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a

"She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything ready," said Meg, looking over the

presents which were collected in a basket 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 did not 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,

"How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them

all myself," said Beth, looking proudly 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

"Isn't that right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's initials are M.M., and I don't want anyone

"It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please

"There's Mother. Hide the basket, quick!" cried Jo, as a door slammed and steps sounded in the hall.

Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.

"Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?" asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and

"Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean anyone should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little

bottle for a big one, and I gave all my 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 the cheap one, and looked so earnest and

humble in her little effort to forget herself 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 the stately bottle.

"You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran

round the corner and changed it the minute 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 the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.

"Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books. We read some, and mean to every

day," they all cried in chorus. "Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you

will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with

a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire.

There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold.

They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute,

"May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" asked Beth eagerly.

"I shall take the cream and the muffings," added Amy, heroically giving up the article she most liked.

Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate.

"I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. "You shall all go and help me, and when we

come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime."

They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back

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.

"Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!" said the poor woman, crying for joy.

In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood,

made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother

tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it

had been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so

many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.

"Das ist gut!" "Die Engelkinder!" cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the

comfortable blaze. The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable,

especially Jo, who had been considered a `Sancho' ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast,

though they didn't get any of it. And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in

all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented

"That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it," said Meg, as they set out their presents while

Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall

vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant

"She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about

Beth played her gayest march, amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs.

March was both surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read

the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into

her pocket, well scented with Amy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were

There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes

these home festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.

The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations

for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to afford any

great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and necessity being the mother of

invention, made whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars,

antique lamps made of oldfashioned butter boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton,

glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond shaped

bits left inn sheets when the lids of preserve pots were cut out. The big chamber was the scene of many

No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart's content and took immense satisfaction in

a pair of russet leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, an old

foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures and appeared on

all occasions. The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several

parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four

different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It was excellent

drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been

On christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and

yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and

whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to

get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the

"A gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the

floor, and a cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in

it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark

and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch

took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with

a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to

and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to

Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of

Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the

audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise,

he stole to the cavern 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 and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs

upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine

dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would 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, with elfin speed, The fragrant philter which I need. Make it sweet and swift

A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared 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 the magic spell, And use it well, Or its

And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar

produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having

croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his

thanks and put the potions in his boots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had killed

a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on

him. Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.

A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a

masterpiece of stage carpentery had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower

rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain

appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with

plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot 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 the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end,

and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was

about to leap gracfully down when "Alas! Alas for Zara!" she forgot her train. It caught in the window, the

tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins.

A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck and a golden head emerged,

exclaiming, "I told you so! I told you so!" With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire,

"Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!" and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him form the kingdom with

wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old

gentleman and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara. She also defied her sire, and he ordered

them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away,

looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.

Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She

hears him coming and hides, sees him put 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 changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the

`minion', carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo,

getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping,

falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.

This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a

quantity of long red hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and

with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest

Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself because he has been told that

Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing

him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door,

and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love.

Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a convent, but

she won't hear of it, and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demands her

hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously but cannot agree,

and Rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag

from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeths untold wealth

to the young pair and an awful doom 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 quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely

softens the stern sire. He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the

lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.

Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the cot bed, on which the dress circle

was built, suddenly shut up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to the

rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. the excitement had hardly

subsided when Hannah appeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to

This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table, they looked at one another in rapturous

amazement. It was like Marmee to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of

since the 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, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house

It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she

"Mother did it." And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.

"Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper," cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration.

"The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don't know him!'

"Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an odd 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

allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the

day. I could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the breadandmilk breakfast."

"That boy; put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted. He

looks as if he'd like to know us but he's bashful, 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

"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's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps his

grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited

him to our party, but he didn't come. 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 the fence, and were getting on capitally,

all about cricket, and so on, when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day, for he

"I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so I've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper

opportunity comes. He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure what

was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of

"It's a mercy you didn't , Mother!" laughed Jo, looking at her boots. "But we'll have another play sometime

"I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!" And Meg examined her flowers with great

"They are lovely. But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said Mrs. March, smelling the halfdead posy in her

Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I could send my bunch to Father. I'm afraid he isn't

"Here!" answered a husky voice from above, and, running up, Meg found her sister eating apples and crying

over the Heir of Redclyffe, wrapped up in a comforter on an old threelegged sofa by the sunny window.

This was Jo's favorite refuge, and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy

the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by and didn't mind her a particle. As Meg appeared,

Scrabble whisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hear the news.

"Such fun! Only see! A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner for tomorrow night!" cried Meg,

"`Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephine at a little dance on New Year's Eve.'

"What's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear our poplins, because we haven't got anything

"If I only had a silk!" sighed Meg. "Mother says I may when I'm eighteen perhaps, but two years is an

"I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us. Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the

burn and the tear in mine. Whatever shall 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 front is all right. I shall have a new ribbon

for my hair, and Marmee will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will

"Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones, so I shall have to go without," said Jo, who

"You must have gloves, or I won't go," cried Meg decidedly. "Gloves are more important than anything else.

You can't dance without them, and if you don't I should be so mortified." "Then I'll stay still. I don't care

much for company dancing. It's no fun to go sailing round. I like to fly about and cut capers."

"You can't ask Mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and you are so careless. She said when you

spoiled the others that she shouldn't get you any more this winter. Can't you make them do?"

"I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how stained 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 glove dreadfully," began Meg, whose gloves were

"Then I'll go without. I don't care what people say!" cried Jo, taking up her book.

"You may have it, you may! Only don't stain it, and do behave nicely. Don't put your hands behind you, or

"Don't worry about me. I'll be as prim ad I can and not get into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and

So Meg went away to `accept with thanks', look over her dress, and sing blithely as she did up her one real

lace frill, while Jo finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble.

On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls played dressing maids and the two

elder were absorbed in the allimportant business of `getting ready for the party'. Simple as the toilets were,

there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing and talking, 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 the papered locks

"What a queer smell! It's like burned feathers," observed Amy, smoothing her own pretty curls with a

"There, now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of little ringlets," said Jo, putting down the tongs.

She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the hair came with the papers, and the

horrified hairdresser laid a row of little scorched 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

"Just my luck! You shouldn't have asked me to do it. I always spoil everything. I'm so sorry, but the tongs

were too hot, and so I've made a mess," groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black pancakes with tears of

"It isn't spoiled. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look

"Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I'd let my hair alone," cried Meg petulantly.

"So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again," said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort

After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the united exertions of the entire family Jo's

hair was got up and her dress on. They looked very well in their simple suits, Meg's in silvery drab, with a

blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin. Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a

white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled

one, and all pronounced the effect "quite easy and fine". Meg's highheeled slippers were very tight and hurt

her, though she would not own it, and Jo's nineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which

"Have a good time, dearies!" said Mrs. March, as the sisters went daintily down the walk. "Don't eat much

supper, and come away at eleven when I send Hannah for you." As the gate clashed behind them, a voice

"Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers," cried Jo, adding with a laugh as they went on, "I do

"It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves,

and handkerchief," replied Meg, who had a good many little `aristocratic tastes' of her own.

"Now don't forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo. Is my sash right? And does my hair look very

bad?" said Meg, as she turned from the glass in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing room after a prolonged prink. "I

know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remind me by a wink, will you?" returned Jo,

"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 take short steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced to anyone. It isn't the

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 to

the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie and was at her ease very soon, 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 a colt in a flower garden. Half a dozen jovial lads were talking about skates in another part of the room,

and she longed to go and join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life. She telegraphed her wish to

Meg, but the eyebrows went up so alarmingly that she dared not stir. No one came to talk 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 would show, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing began. Meg was asked at

once, and the tight slippers tripped about so briskly that none would have guessed the pain their wearer

suffered smilingly. Jo saw a big red headed youth approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engage

her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, another

bashful person had chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself face to face

"Dear me, I didn't know anyone was here!" stammered Jo, preparing to back out as speedily as she had

But the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a little startled, "Don't mind me, stay if you like."

"Not a bit. I only came here because I don't know many people and felt rather strange at first, you know."

The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to be polite and easy, "I think I've had the

"Next door." And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's prim manner was rather funny when he

That put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in her heartiest way, "We did have such a good time

"How is your cat, Miss March?" asked the boy, trying to look sober while his black eyes shone with fun.

"Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo," returned the young lady.

"My first name is theodore, but I don't like it, for the fellows called me Dora, so I made the say Laurie

"I hate my name, too, so sentimental! I wish every one would say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you make

"I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it." And Jo resigned herself with a sigh.

"Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" asked Laurie, looking as if he thought the name suited her.

"I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is lively. In a place like this I'm sure to upset

something, tread on people's toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out of mischief and let Meg sail about.

"Sometimes. You see I've been abroad a good many years, and haven't been into company enough yet to

"Abroad!." cried Jo. "Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people describe their travels."

Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin, but Jo's eager questions soon 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 for

"How nicely you do it! Let me see...you said, `Who is the young lady in the pretty slippers', didn't you?"

"Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady."

Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both

peeped and critisized and chatted till they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie's bashfulness soon wore off, for

Jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and Jo was her merry self again, because her

dress was forgotten and nobody lifted their eyebrows at her. She liked the `Laurence boy' better than ever and

took several good looks at him, so that she might describe him to the girls, for they had no brothers, very few

"Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose, fine teeth, small hands and feet, taller than I

It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask, but she checked herself in time and, with unusual tact, tried to find out

"I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging away at your books, no, I mean studying hard."

Laurie smiled but didn't seem shocked, and answered with a shrug. "Not for a year or two. I won't go before

"Aren't you but fifteen?" asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she had imagined seventeen already.

"I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don't like the way fellows do either, in this country."

Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his black brows looked rather threatening as he knit

them, so she changed the subject by saying, as her foot kept time, "That's a splendid polka! Why don't you go

"I can't, for I told meg I wouldn't, because..." There Jo stopped, and looked undecided whether to tell or to

"Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn my frocks, 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

But Laurie didn't laugh. He only looked dawn a minute, and the expression of his face puzzled Jo when he

said very gently, "Never mind that. I'll tell you how we can manage. There's a long hall out there, and we can

Jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves when she saw the nice, pearlcolored ones

her partner wore. The hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well, and taught her the

German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and spring. When the music stopped, they sat down on

the stairs to get their breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students' festival at Heidelberg

when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room,

"I've sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned and gave me a sad wrench. It aches so, I can hardly

stand, and I don't know how I'm ever going 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't see what you can do, except get a

carriage, or stay here all night," answered Jo, 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't get one at all, for most people come

in their own, and it's a long way to the stable, and no one to send." "I'll go."

"No, indeed! It's past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can't stop here, for the house is full. Sallie has some girls

"I'll ask Laurie. He will go," said Jo," looking relieved as the idea occurred to her.

"Mercy, no! Don't ask or tell anyone. Get me my rubbers, and put these slippers with our things. I can't dance

anymore, but as soon as supper is over, watch for Hannah and tell me the minute she comes."

So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering away 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

little private refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilled,

"Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!" exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg's glove by scrubbing her gown with it.

"Can I help you?" said a friendly voice. And there was Laurie, with a full cup in one hand and a plate of ice

"I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and someone shook me, and here I am in a nice

state," answered Jo, glancing dismally from the stained skirt to the coffeecolored glove.

"Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I take it to your sister?"

"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

Jo led the way, and as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie drew up a little table, brought a second installment

of coffee and ice for Jo, and was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a `nice boy'. They had

a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the midst of a quiet game of BUZZ, with two or

three other young people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot and rose so

"Hush! Don't say anything," she whispered, adding aloud, "It's nothing. I turned 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 to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down and, finding a servant, asked if he

could get her a carriage. It happened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neighborhood and Jo

was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard what she said, came up and offered his grandfather's

"It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?" began Jo. looking relieved but hesitating to accept the offer.

"I always go early, I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It's all on my way, you know, and it rains, they

That settled it, and telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefully accepted and rushed up to bring down the rest

of the party. Hannah hated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they rolled away in the

luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and elegant. Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot

"I had a capital time. Did you?' asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, and making 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 is going in the spring when the opera comes, and it will be perfectly

"Oh. very! His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and I had a delicious redowa with him."

"He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step. Laurie and I couldn't help laughing. Did you

"No, but it was very rude. What were you about all that time, hidden away there?"

Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were at home. With many thanks, they said good

night and crept in, hoping to disturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two little nightcaps bobbed up,

With what Meg called `a great want of manners' Jo had saved some bonbons for the little girls, and they soon

"I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home from the party in a carriage and sit in

my dressing gown wit a maid to wait on me," said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica and brushed her

"I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do, in spite of our burned hair, old

gowns, one glove apiece and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them,"

"Oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on," sighed Meg the morning after the party,

for now the holidays were over, the week of merrymaking did not fit her for going on easily with the task she

"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 does seem so nice to have little suppers and

bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home, and read and rest, and not work. It's like other people, you know,

and I always envy girls who do such things, I'm so fond of luxury," said Meg, trying to decide which of two

"Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble but shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as

Marmee does. I'm sure Aunt March is a regular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I've learned to

carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or get so light that I shan't mind her."

This idea tickled Jo's fancy and put her in good spirits, but Meg didn't brighten, for her burden, consisting of

four spoiled children, seemed heavier than ever. She had not heart enough even to make herself pretty as

usual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hair in the most becoming way.

"Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross midgets, 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

So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and wasn't at all agreeable at breakfast time. Everyone seemed

Beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself with the cat and three kittens. Amy was

fretting because her lessons were not learned, and she couldn't find her rubbers. Jo would whistle and make a

Mrs. March was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at once, and Hannah had the grumps, for

"There never was such a cross family!" cried Jo, losing her temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken

"You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, washing out the sum that was all wrong with the tears that

"Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have them drowned," exclaimed Meg angrily as she

tried to get rid of the kitten which had scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of reach.

Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed because she couldn't remember how much nine

"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, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter.

There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and

stalked out again. These turnovers were an institution, and the girls called them `muffs', for they had no

Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy she might be, for the walk was long and

"Cuddle your cats and get over your headache, Bethy. Goodbye, Marmee. We are a set of rascals this

morning, but we'll come home regular angels. Now then, Meg!" And Jo tramped away, feeling that the

They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was always 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 without

that, for whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of that motherly face was sure to affect them like

"If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful

wretches than we are were never seen," cried Jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter

wind. "Don't use such dreadful expressions," replied Meg from the depths of the veil in which she had

"I like good strong words that mean something," replied Jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her head

"Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither a rascal nor a wretch and I don't choose to be called so."

"You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you can't sit in 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 highheeled

"How ridiculous you are, Jo!" But Meg laughed at the nonsense and felt better in spite of herself.

"Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs and tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice

state. Thank goodness, I can always find something funny to keep me up. Don't croak any more, but come

Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for the 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,

When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be

allowed to do something toward their own support, at least. Believing that they could not begin too early to

cultivate energy, industry, and independence, their parents consented, and both fell to work with the hearty

Margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with her small salary. As she said, she was `fond of

luxury', and her chief trouble was poverty. She found it harder to bear than the others because she could

remember a time when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, and want of any kind unknown. She

tried not to be envious or discontented, but it was very natural that the young girl should long for pretty

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, and merrymakings of all kinds, and saw money

lavished on trifles which would have been so precious to her. Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of

injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learned to know how rich she

Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame and needed an active person to wait upon her. The childless

old lady had offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her

offer was declined. Other friends told the Marches that they had lost all chance of being remembered in the

"We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Rich or poor, we will keep together and be happy in one

The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but happening to meet Jo at at a friend's, something in her

comical face and blunt manners struck the old lady's fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion.

This did not suit Jo at all, but she accepted the place since nothing better appeared and, to every one's

surprise, got on remarkably well with her irascible relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo

marched home, declaring she couldn't bear it longer, but Aunt March always cleared up quickly, and sent for

her to come back again with such urgency that she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the

I suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since

Uncle March died. Jo remembered the kind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges

with his 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. The dim, dusty room, with the busts staring down from the tall

bookcases, the cozy chairs, the globes, and best of all, the wilderness of books in which she could wander

The moment Aunt March took her nap, or was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and curling

herself up in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm.

But, like all happiness, it did not last long, for as sure as she had just reached the heart of the story, the

sweetest verse of a song, or the most perilous adventure of her traveler, a shrill voice called, "Josyphine!

Josyphine! and she had to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the poodle, or read Belsham's Essays by the

Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid. What it was, she had no idea as yet, but left it for time to

tell her, and meanwhile, found her greatest affliction in the fact that she couldn't read, run, and ride as much

as she liked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her

life was a series of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic. But the training she received at Aunt

March's was just what she needed, and the thought that she was doing something to support herself made her

Beth was too bashful to go to school.It had been tried, but she suffered so much 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

skill and energy to Soldiers' Aid Societies, Beth went faithfully on by herself and did the best she could. She

was a housewifely little creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and comfortable for the workers, never

thinking of any reward but to be loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for her little world

was peopled with imaginary friends, and she was by nature a busy bee. There were six dolls to be taken up

and dressed every morning, 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 Beth took them in, for when her sisters outgrew these idols,

they passed to her because Amy would have nothing old or ugly. Beth cherished them all the more 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 blows were ever given them, no neglect ever saddened the heart or the most repulsive, but all

were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed with an affection which never failed. One forlorn fragment of

dollanity had belonged to Jo and, having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in the rag bag, from which

dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Beth and taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, she tied on a neat

little cap, and as both arms and legs were gone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in a blanket and

devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid. If anyone had known the care lavished on that dolly, I think it

would have touched their hearts, even while they laughed. She brought it bits of bouquets, she read to it, took

it out to breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sang it lullabies and never went to be without kissing its

dirty face and whispering tenderly, "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 a very human little girl, she often

`wept a little weep' as Jo said, because she couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved music

so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and practiced away so patiently at the jingling old instrument, that it did

seem as if someone (not to hint Aunt March) ought to help her. Nobody did, however, and nobody saw Beth

wipe the tears off the yellow keys, that wouldn't keep in tune, when she was all alone. She sang like a little

lark about her work, never was too tired for Marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to

There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so

cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet,

If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, "My

nose." When she was a baby, Jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod, and Amy insisted that the fall

had ruined her nose forever. It was not big nor red, like poor `Petrea's', it was only rather flat, and all the

pinching in the world could not give it an aristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, and it was doing its

best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of a Grecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to

"Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when

copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art. Her teachers

complained that instead of doing her sums she covered her slate with animals, the blank pages of her atlas

were used to copy maps on, and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all her

books at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons as well as she could, and managed to escape

reprimands by being a model of deportment. She was a great favorite with her mates, being goodtempered

and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort. Her little airs and graces were much admired, so were

her accomplishments, for besides her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, crochet, and read French without

mispronouncing more than twothirds of the words. She had a plaintive way of saying, "When Papa was rich

we did soandso," which was very touching, and her long words were considered `perfectly elegant' by the

Amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were

growing nicely. One thing, however, rather quenched the vanities. She had to wear her cousin's clothes. Now

Florence's mama hadn't a particle of taste, and Amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue

bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit. Everything was good, well made, and little

worn, but Amy's artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull

"My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, "is that Mother doesn't take tucks in my dresses

whenever I'm naughty, as Maria Parks's mother does. My dear, it's really dreadful, for sometimes she is so

bad her frock is up to her knees, and she can't come to school. When I think of this deggerredation, I fell that

Meg was Amy's confidante and monitor, and by some strange attraction of opposites Jo was gentle Beth's. To

Jo alone did the shy child tell her thoughts, and over her big harumscarum sister Beth unconsciously

exercised more influence than anyone in the family. The two older girls were a great deal to one another, but

each took one of the younger sisters into 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 the maternal instinct of litte women.

"Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a dismal day I'm really dying for some amusement," said

"I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'll tell you about it," began Jo, who dearly

loved to tell stories. "I was reading that everlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for Aunt soon

drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up. I actually made myself

sleepy, and before she began to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by opening my

"Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and think them over while she just `lost'

herself for a moment. She never finds herself very soon, so the minute her cap began to bob like a topheavy

dahlia, I whipped 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 all tumbled into the water when I forgot and laughed out loud. Aunt

woke up and, being more goodnatured after her nap, told me to read a bit and show what frivolous work I

preferred to the worthy and instructive Belsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, though she only said...

"Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could. Once I was wicked enough to stop in a

thrilling place, and say meekly, "I'm afraid it tires you, ma'am. Shan't I stop now?"

"She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs,

and said, in her short way, `Finish the chapter, and don't be impertinent, miss'."

"Oh, bless you, no! But she let old Belsham rest, and when I ran back after my gloves this afternoon, there

she was, so hard at the Vicar that she didn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall because of the good

time coming. What a pleasant life she might have if only she chose! I don't envy her much, in spite of her

money, for after all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, I think," added Jo.

"That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got something to tell. It isn't funny, like Jo's story, but I thought

about it a good deal as I came home. At the Kings' today I found everybody in a flurry, and one of the

children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and Papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs.

King crying and Mr. King talking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they passed

me, so I shouldn't see how red and swollen their eyes were. I didn't ask any questions, of course, but I felt so

sorry for them and was rather glad I hadn't any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family."

"I think being disgraced in school is a great deal tryinger than anything bad boys can do," said Amy, shaking

her head, as if her experience of life had been a deep one. "Susie Perkins came to school today with a lovely

red carnelian ring. I wanted it dreadfully, and wished I was her with all my might. Well, she drew a picture of

Mr. Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, `Young ladies, my eye is upon you!' coming

out of his mouth in a balloon thing. We were laughing over it when all of a sudden his eye was on us, and he

ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was parrylized with fright, but she went, and oh, what do you think he

did? He took her by the earthe ear! Just fancy how horrid!and led her to the recitation platform, and

"Laugh? Not one! They sat still as mice, and Susie cried quarts, I know she did. I didn't envy her then, for I

felt that millions of carnelian rings wouldn't have made me happy after that. I never, never should have got

over such a agonizing mortification." And Amy went on with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtue

"I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot," said Beth, putting Jo's

topsyturvy basket in order as she talked. "When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. Laurence was in

the fish shop, but he didn't see me, for I kept behind the fish barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter the

fishman. A poor woman came in with a pail a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her do some

scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she hadn't any dinner for her children, and had been 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 cane and held it out to her.

She was so glad and surprised she took it right into her arms, and thanked him over and over. He told her to

`go along and cook it', and she hurried off, so happy! Wasn't it good of him? Oh, she did look so funny,

hugging the big, slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed 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 blue flannel jackets today at the rooms, I felt very anxious about Father,

and thought how lonely and helpless we should be , if anything happened to him. It was not a wise thing to

do, but I kept on worrying till an old man came in with an order for some clothes. He sat down near me, and I

"`Have you sons in the army?' I asked, for the note he brought was not to me. "Yes, ma'am. I had four, but

two were killed, one is a prisoner, and I'm going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital.' he

"`You have done a great deal for your country, sir, ' I said, feeling respect now, 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

"He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to give his all, that I was ashamed of myself.

I'd given one man and thought it too much, while he gave four without grudging them. I had all my girls to

comfort me at home, and his last son was waiting, miles away, to say goodby to him, perhaps! I felt so rich,

so happy thinking of my blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him some money, and thanked him

"Tell another story, Mother, one with a moral to it, like this. I like to think about them afterward, if they are

Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to this little audience for many years, and knew

"Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat and drink and wear, a good many comforts

and pleasures, kind friends and parents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented." (Here the

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

only we had this, ' or `If we could only do that, ' quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many

things they actually could do. So they asked an old woman what spell they could use to make them happy,

and she said, `When you feel discontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.'" (Here Jo looked up

quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeing that the story was not done yet.)

"Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon were surprised to see how well off they were.

One discovered that money couldn'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 enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeable as it was to help get dinner, it was

harder still to go begging for it and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as good

behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already possessed, and try to deserve

them, lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of increased, and I believe they were never

"Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon instead

of a romance!" cried Meg. "I like that kind of sermon. It's the sort Father used to tell us," said Beth

"I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be more careful than ever now, for I've had

"We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it. If we do so, you just say to us, as old Chloe did in UNCLE

TOM, `Tink ob yer marcies, chillen! `Tink ob yer marcies!'" added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, help

getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took it to heart as much as any of them.

"What in the world are you going to do now, Jo." asked Meg one snowy afternoon, 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

"I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It's cold and dull out, and I advise you

"Never take advice! Can't keep still all day, and not being a pussycat, I don't like to doze by the fire. I like

Meg went back to toast her feet and read IVANHOE, and Jo began to dig paths with great energy. The snow

was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun

came out and the invalid dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated the Marches' house from that of Mr.

Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still countrylike, with groves and lawns, large

gardens, and quiet 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 in summer covered its walls and the flowers, which then

surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and

luxury, from the big coach house and wellkept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely

Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever

smiled at the windows, and few people went 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 wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the Laurence boy, who

looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin. Since the party, she had been more

eager than ever, and had planned many ways of making friends with him, but he had not been seen lately, and

Jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking

wistfully down into their garden, where Beth and Amy were snowballing one another.

"That boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself. "His grandpa does not know what's good for

him, and keeps him shut up all alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and

The idea amused Jo. who liked to do daring things and was always scandalizing Meg by her queer

performances. The plan of `going over' was not forgotten. And when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved

to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off, and then sallied out to 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, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper 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

Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a

minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her

"Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, and I hate to ask Brooke all the time."

"There isn't anyone I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head is weak."

"Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls are quiet and like to play nurse."

"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,

With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her.

Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready, for as Mrs.

March said, he was `a little gentleman'. and did honor to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting

on a fresh color, and trying tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything but neat.

Presently there came a loud ring, than a decided voice, asking for `Mr. laurie', and a surprised looking

"All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo, "said Laurie, going to the door of his little 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

"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 some of her blancmange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats

would 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 laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his

"That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the

blancmange, surrounded by a garland of 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 the girl 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

"It might be it it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and I don't know how to make them mind. It worries

"I'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearth brushed, soand the things made straight

on the mantelpiece, soand the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light,

And so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked things into place and given quite a different air

to the room. Laurie watched her in respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat down

"How kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please take the big chair and let me do something to

"No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" and Jo looked affectionately toward some inviting books near

"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 never know when to stop."

"Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goes out with a little basket?" asked

Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, "Why, you see I often hear you calling to one another, and when I'm

alone up here, I can't help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg

your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where the

flowers are. And when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around

the table with your mother. Her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can't help

watching it. I haven't got any mother, you know." And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the

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, and at fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was sick

and lonely, and feeling how rich she was in home and happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him. Her

"We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as much as you like. I just wish,

though, instead of peeping, you'd come over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps of good,

and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy would dance. Meg and I would make you laugh over

our funny stage properties, and we'd have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?"

"I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind, though he does not look so, and he lets me do

what I like, pretty much, only he's afraid I might be a bother to strangers," began Laurie, brightening more

"We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think you'd be a bother. We want to know you, and

I've been trying to do it this ever so long. We haven't been here a great while, you know, but we have got

"You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much what happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my

tutor, doesn't stay here, you know, and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as

"That's bad. You ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere you are 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 of bashfulness, for there was so much good will

in Jo it was impossible not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant.

"Do you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject, after a little pause, during which he stared at

"Don't go to school, I'm a businessmangirl, I mean. I go to wait on my greataunt, and a dear, cross old

Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering just in time that it wasn't manners to make

too many inquiries into people's affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.

Jo liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at Aunt March, so she gave him a lively

description of the fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and the library where she

Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim old gentleman who came once to woo Aunt

March, and in the middle of a fine speech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay

back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what was the

"Oh! That does me no end of good. Tell on, please," he said, taking his face out of the sofa cushion, red and

Much elated with her success, Jo did `tell on', all about their plays and plans, their hopes and fears for Father,

and the most interesting events of the little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to talking about

books, and to Jo's delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as she did, and had read even more than

"If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandfather is out, so you needn't be afraid," said

"I don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at her with much admiration, though he privately

thought she would have good reason to be a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met hem in some of his

The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurie led the way from room to room, letting Jo stop

to examine whatever struck her fancy. And so, at last they came to the library, where she clapped her hands

and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted. It was lined with books, and there were pictures

and statues, and distracting little cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queer

tables, and bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quaint tiles all round it.

"What richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chair and gazing about her with an air of

intense satisfaction. "Theodore Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she added

"A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his head as he perched 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," returned the 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 afraid you are very tired of talking to me. It

"Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see him," said Laurie.

Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She was standing before a fine portrait of

the old gentleman when the door opened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, "I'm sure now that I

shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a

tremendous will of his own. He isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him."

"Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to her great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.

Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she

thought what she had said. For a minute a wild desire to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly, and

the girls would laugh at her, so she resolved to stay and get out of the scrape as she could. A second look

showed her that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones, and there

was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the

old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful pause, "So you're not afraid of me, hey?"

That answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh, shook hands 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 your

grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. He was a fine man, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and

"Thank you, sir," And Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited her exactly.

"What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was the next question, sharply put.

"Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good perhaps. We are only girls, but we

should be glad to help if we could, for we don't forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us," said Jo

"Doing nicely, sir." And off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all about the Hummels, in whom her

"Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother some fine day. Tell her so. There's the

tea bell, we have it early on the boy's account. Come down and go on being neighborly."

"Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't." And Mr. Laurence offered her his arm with oldfashioned courtesy.

"What would Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marched away, while her eyes danced with fun as she

"Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the old gentleman, as Laurie came running

downstairs and brought up with a start of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with his

"I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a triumphant little 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 of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a series

of comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo.

The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but he watched the young people, who

soon chatted away like old friends, and the change in his grandson did not escape him. There was color, light,

and life in the boy's face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.

"She's right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these little girls can do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he

looked and listened. He liked Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understand the boy

If the Laurences had been what Jo called `prim and poky', she would not have got on at all, for such people

always made her shy and awkward. But finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good

impression. When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he had something more to show her, and took

her away to the conservatory, which had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, as she

went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on either side, the soft light, the damp sweet air,

and the wonderful vines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut the finest flowers till his

hands were full. Then he tied them up, saying, with the happy look Jo liked to see, "Please give these to your

They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great drawing room, by Jo's attention was entirely

So Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in heliotrope and tea roses. Her respect

and regard for the `Laurence' boy increased very much, for he played remarkably well and didn't put on any

airs. She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so, only praised him till he was quite abashed, and

"That will do, that will do, young lady. too many sugarplums are not good for him. His music isn't bad, but I

hope he will do as well in more important things. Going? well, I'm much obliged to you, and I hope you'll

He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked

"I'll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can't." "No need of that. I am not a young lady, and

When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each

found something very attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March wanted to talk of

her father with the old man who had not forgotten him, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory, Beth sighed

"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, married an Italian lady, a musician, which

displeased the old man, who is very proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not

like her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died when Laurie was a little child, and then his

grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is

afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like

his mother, and I dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician. At any rate, his skill

"How silly!" said Jo. "Let him be a musician if he wants to, and not plague his life out sending him to

"That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I suppose. Italians are always nice," said

"What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to him, hardly," cried Jo, who was not

"I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to behave. That was a nice little speech

"He meant the blanc mange, I suppose." "How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course."

"I never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment when you get it," said Meg, with the air of a young

"I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to be silly and spoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy and I

like him, and I won't have any sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish. We'll all be good to

him 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 will remember that children should be children

"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, who had not heard a word. "How we

got out of the Slough and through the Wicket Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying,

and that maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our Palace Beautiful."

"We have got to get by the lions first," said Jo, as if she rather liked the prospect.

The big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some time for all 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 something funny or

kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him,

except timid Beth. The other lion was the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich, for this made them shy of

accepting favors which they could not return. But, after a while, they found that he considered them the

benefactors, and could not do enough to show how grateful he was for Mrs. March's motherly welcome, their

cheerful society, and the comfort he took in that humble home of theirs. So they soon forgot their pride and

All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time, for the new friendship flourished like grass in spring.

Every one liked Laurie, and he privately informed his tutor that "the Marches were regularly splendid girls."

With the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they took the solitary boy into their midst and made much of him,

and he found something very charming in the innocent companionship of these simplehearted girls. Never

having known mother or sisters, he was quick to feel the influences they brought about him, and their busy,

lively ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led. He was tired of books, and found people so

interesting now that Mr. Brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactory reports, for Laurie was always

"Never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it up afterward," said the old gentleman. "The good lady next

door says he is studying too hard and needs young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect she is right,

and that I've been coddling the fellow as if I'd been his grandmother. Let him do what he likes, as long as he

is happy. He can't get into mischief in that little nunnery over there, and Mrs. March is doing more for him

What good times they had, to be sure. Such plays and tableaux, such sleigh rides and skating frolics, such

pleasant evenings in the old parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg could

walk in the conservatory whenever she liked and revel in bouquets, Jo browsed over the new library

voraciously, and convulsed the old gentleman with her criticisms, Amy copied pictures and enjoyed beauty to

her heart's content, and Laurie played `lord of the manor' in the most delightful style.

But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck up courage to go to the `Mansion of Bliss', as

Meg called it. She went once with Jo, but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared at her so

hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said "Hey!" so loud, that he frightened her so much her `feet

chattered on the floor', she never told her mother, and she ran away, declaring she would never go there any

more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or enticements could overcome her fear, till, the fact

coming to Mr. Laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending matters. During one of the brief

calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and talked away about great singers whom he had

seen, fine organs he had heard, and told such charming anecdotes that Beth found it impossible to stay in her

distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fascinated. At the back of his chair she stopped and stood

listening, with her great eyes wide open and her cheeks red with excitement of this unusual performance.

Taking no more notice of her than if she had been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie's lessons and

teachers. And presently, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he said to Mrs. March...

"The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for he was getting too fond of it. But the piano suffers

for want of use. Wouldn't some of your girls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, just to keep it

Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keep from clapping them, for this was an

irresistible temptation, and the thought of practicing on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away.

Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence went on with an odd little nod and smile...

"They needn't see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time. For I'm shut up in my study at the other end of

the house, Laurie is out a great deal, 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 that last arrangement left nothing to be

desired. "Please, tell the young ladies what I say, and if they don't care to come, why, never mind." Here a

little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest

"Oh sir, they do care, very very much!" "Are you the musical girl?" he asked, without any startling "Hey!" as

"I'm Beth. I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me, and be disturbed," she

"Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so come and drum away as much as you like, and I

Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore, but she was not frightened now, and gave the hand a

grateful squeeze because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old

gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed herr, saying, in a tone few

"I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! Good day. madam." And away he went,

Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family of invalids,

as the girls were not home. How blithely she sang that evening, and how they all laughed at her because she

woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Next day, 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 way as 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, and with trembling fingers and frequent stops to listen and look

about, Beth at last 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 no appetite, and could only sit and smile

After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing room was

haunted by a tuneful spirit that came and went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laurence opened his study

door to hear the oldfashioned airs he liked. She never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the

servants away. She never suspected that the exercise books and new songs which she found in the rack were

put there for 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, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing

that a greater was given her. At any rate she deserved 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,

"Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking him. 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

After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the

slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet cheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced very

appropriate and pretty, and beth worked away early and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a

nimble little needlewoman, and they 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 study table one morning before the old

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

the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily

exercise. As she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four heads popping in and out of the

parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful voices

"Oh, Beth, he's sent you..." began Amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy, but she got no further, for Jo

Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal

procession, all pointing and all saying at once, "Look there! Look there!" Beth did look, and turned pale with

delight and surprise, for there stood a little cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed like a

"For me?" gasped Beth, holding onto Jo and feeling as if she should tumble down, it was such an

"Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't you think he's the dearest old man in the world?

Here's the key in the letter. We didn't open it, but we are dying to know what he says," cried Jo, hugging her

"You read it! I can't, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!" and Beth hid her face in Jo's apron, quite upset by

"Miss March: "Dear Madam" "How nice it sounds! I wish someone would write to me so!" said Amy, who

"`I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had any that suited me so well as yours, '"

continues Jo. "`Heartsease is my favorite flower, and these will always remind me of the gentle giver. I like to

pay my debts, so I know you will allow `the old gentleman' to send you something which once belonged to

the little grand daughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain "`Your grateful friend and

"There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm sure! Laurie told me how fond Mr.Laurence used to be of the

child who died, and how he kept all her little things carefully. Just think, he's given you her piano. That

comes of having big blue eyes and loving music," said Jo, trying to soothe Beth, who trembled and looked

"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 its

"`Your humble servant, James Laurence'. Only think of his writing that to you. I'll tell the girls. They'll think

"Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of the baby pianny," said Hannah, who always took a share in the family

So Beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable piano ever 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

happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the

"You'll have to go and thank him," said Jo, by way of a joke, for the idea of the child's really going never

"Yes, I mean to. I guess I'll go no, before I get frightened thinking about it." And, to the utter amazement of

the assembled family, Beth walked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the Laurences'

"Well, I wish I may die if it ain't the queerest thing I ever see! The pianny has turned her head! She'd never

have gone in her right mind," cried Hannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quite speechless

They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth did afterward. If you will believe me,

she went and knocked at the study door before 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 taken aback, and held out her hand,

saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, "I came to thank you, sir, for..." But she didn't finish, for he

looked so friendly that she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved,

If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman wouldn't have been more astonished. But

he liked it. Oh, dear, yes, he liked it amazingly! And was so touched and pleased by that confiding little kiss

that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy

one, feeling as if he had got his own little grand daughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that

moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and

gratitude can conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, shook hands

cordially, and touched his hat as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like a handsome,

When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way of expressing her satisfaction, Amy

nearly fell out of the window in her surprise, and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, "Well, I do believe

"That boy is a perfect cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy one day, as Laurie clattered by on horseback, with a

"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? And very handsome ones they are, too," cried Jo, who

"I didn't day anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire up when I admire his riding."

"Oh, my goodness! That little goose means a centaur, and she called him a 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 Jo with her Latin. "I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as

"Why?" asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder.

"I need it so much. I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to have the rag money for a month."

"Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee

"Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls." And

"Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do it too.

It's nothing but limes now, for everyone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading them off for

pencils, bead rings, paper dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she gives her a lime. If

she's mad with her, she eats one before her face, and doesn't offer even a suck. They treat by turns, and I've

had ever so many but haven't returned them, and I ought for they are debts of 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 treat for you. Don't you like limes?"

"Not much. You may have my share. Here's the money. Make it last as long as you can, for it isn't very

"Oh, thank you! It must be so nice to have pocket money! I'll have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime

this week. I felt delicate about taking any, 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 the temptation of displaying, with pardonable

pride, a moist brownpaper parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. During the next

few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty four delicious limes (she ate one on the way) and

was going to treat circulated through her `set', and the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming.

Katy Brown invited her to her next party on the spot. Mary Kinglsey insisted on lending her her watch till

recess, and Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy upon her limeless state,

promptly buried the hatchet and offered to furnish answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not

forgotten Miss Snow's cutting remarks about `some persons whose noses were not too flat to smell other

people's limes, and stuckup people who were not too proud to ask for them', and she 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

A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn maps

received praise, which honor to her foe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assume

the airs of a studious young peacock. But, alas, alas! Pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful Snow turned

the tables with disastrous success. No sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments and bowed

himself out, than Jenny, under pretense of asking an important question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that

Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly vowed to publicly ferrule the first

person who was found breaking the law. This muchenduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing gum

after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a

private post office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that one

man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying enough to human patience,

goodness knows, but girls are infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyrannical tempers and

no more talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, algebra, and

ologies of all sorts so he was called a fine teacher, and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not

considered of any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment for denouncing Amy, and Jenny

knew it. Mr. Davis had evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning, there was an east wind, which

always affected his neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the credit which he felt he deserved.

Therefore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, language of a schoolgirl, "He was as nervous as a witch and

as cross as a bear". The word `limes' was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his

At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed

Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her

"Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpected command which arrested her before

"Don't take all." whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence of 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 when that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis particularly

"So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window."

There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as the last hope fled, and the treat was

ravished from their longing lips. Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times, and

as each doomed couple, looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell from her reluctant 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 Irish

children, who were their sworn foes. Thisthis was too much. All flashed indignant or appealing glances at

As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous "Hem!" and said, in his most impressive

"Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has happened, but I never allow

my rules to be infringed, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand."

Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring look which pleaded for her better

than the words she could not utter. She was rather a favorite with `old Davis', as, of course, he was called, and

it's my private belief that he would have broken his word if the indignation of one irrepressible young lady

had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's

"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 head defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on her

little palm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the first time in her life

she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.

"You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he

That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and see 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, seemed

impossible, and for a second she felt as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break her heart

with crying. A bitter sense of wrong and the thought of Jenny Snow helped her to bear it, and, taking the

ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood

there, so motionless and white that the girls found it hard to study with that pathetic figure before them.

During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which

she never forgot. To others it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard experience, for

during 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 her hand and the ache of her heart were forgotten in the sting of the thought,

The fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last, and the word `Recess!' had never seemed

He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, without a word to anyone, straight

into the anteroom, snatched her things, 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 girls arrived, some time later, an indignation

meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say much but looked disturbed, and comforted her afflicted

little daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, Beth felt that

even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, Jo wrathfully proposed that Mr. Davis be

arrested without delay, and Hannah shook her fist at the `villain' and pounded potatoes for dinner as if she

No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates, but the sharpeyed demoiselles discovered that

Mr. Davis was quite benignant in the afternoon, also unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo

appeared, wearing a grim expression as she stalked up to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother,

then collected Amy's property, and departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door mat, as if

"Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a little every day with Beth," said Mrs.

March that evening. "I don't approve of corporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. Davis's

manner of teaching and don't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall ask your

"That's good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school. It's perfectly maddening to think of

"I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved some punishment for disobedience," was

the severe reply, which rather disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy.

"I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault," replied her mother, "but I'm not sure that it won't do

you more good than a molder method. You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quite time

you set about correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and virtues, but there is no need of parading

them, for conceit spoils the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness will be

overlooked long, even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the

"So it is!" cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. "I knew a girl once, who had a really

remarkable talent for music, and she didn't know it, never guessed what sweet little things she composed

"I wish I'd known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I'm so stupid," said Beth, who stood

"You do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could," answered Laurie, looking at her with

such mischievous meaning in his merry black eyes that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face in the

Jo let Laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her Beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play for

them after her compliment. So Laurie did his best, and sang delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor,

for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his character. When he was gone, amy, who had

been pensive all evening, said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, "Is Laurie an accomplished boy?"

"Yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent. He will make a fine man, if not spoiled by

"Not in the least. That is why he is so charming and we all like him so much." "I see. It's nice to have

accomplishments and be elegant, but not to show off or get perked up," said Amy thoughtfully.

"These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner and conversations, if modestly used, but it is not

"Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and ribbons at once, that folks may know

"Girls, where are you going?" asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them

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 trying to 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 anything very long, she said

coaxingly, "Do tell me! I should think you might let me go, too, for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I

"I can't, dear, because you aren't invited," began Meg, but Jo broke in impatiently, "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 were whispering and laughing together on the

"I know! I know! You're going to the theater to see the SEVEN CASTLES!" she cried, adding resolutely,

"and I shall go, for Mother said I might see it, and I've got my rag money, and it was mean not to tell me in

"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 well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go

"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

"Suppose we take her. I don't believe Mother would mind, if we bundle her up well," began Meg.

"If she goes I shan't, and if I don't, Laurie won't like it, and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go

and drag in Amy. I should think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted," said Jo crossly, for she

disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoy herself.

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 I pay 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 sit alone, so Laurie will give you his place,

and that will spoil our pleasure. Or he'll get another seat for you, and that isn't proper when you weren't

asked. You shan't stir a step, so you may just stay where you are," scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just

Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from

below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing. For now and then she forgot her

grownup ways and acted like a spoiled child. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called over the banisters

They had a charming time, for THE SEVEN CASTLES OF THE DIAMOND LAKE was as brilliant and

wonderful as heart could wish. But in spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and the gorgeous princes

and princesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it. The fairy queen's yellow curls reminded her of

Amy, and between the acts she amused 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 of their lives, for both had quick tempers

and were apt to be violent when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and semioccasional

explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least

selfcontrol, and had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble.

Her anger never lasted long, and having humbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to do

better. Her sisters used to say that they rather 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 always ready to flame up and

When they got home, they found amy reading in the parlor. She assumed an injured air as they came in, never

lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment,

if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing description of the play. On going up to put away

her best hat, Jo's first look was toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy had soothed her feelings by

turning Jo's top drawer upside down on the floor. Everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty

glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.

There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy

were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demanding

Meg and Beth said, "No." at once, and looked surprised. Amy poked the fire and said nothing. Jo saw her

"That's a fib!" cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child

"You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or I'll make you." And Jo gave her a slight

"Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book again," cried Amy, getting excited in her

"What! My little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before Father got home? Have

you really burned it?" said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy

"Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so..."

Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head,

"You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I'll never forgive you as long as I live."

Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself, and with a parting box on her

sister's ear, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone.

The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard the story, soon brought Amy to a

sense of the wrong she had done her sister. Jo's book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her

family as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but Jo had worked over

them patiently, putting her whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to print. She

had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old manuscript, so that Amy's bonfire had

consumed the loving work of several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a dreadful

calamity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and Meg

refused to defend her pet. Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no one would love her till

When the tea bell rang, Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable that it took all Amy's courage to

"I never shall forgive you," was Jo's stern answer, and from that moment she ignored Amy entirely.

No one spoke of the great trouble, not even Mrs. March, for all had learned 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 own

generous nature, softened Jo's resentment and healed the breach. It was not a happy evening, for though they

sewed as usual, while their mother read aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting,

and the sweet home peace was disturbed. They felt this most when singing time came, for Beth could only

play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy broke down, so Meg and Mother sang alone. But in spite of their

efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flutelike voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of

As Jo received her goodnight kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently, "My dear, don't let the sun go down upon

Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were

an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet. So she winked

hard, shook her head, and said gruffly because Amy was listening, "It was an abominable thing, and she

With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential gossip 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 than ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which

was particularly exasperating. Jo still looked like a thunder cloud, and nothing went well all day. It was bitter

cold in the morning, she dropped her precious turnover in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of the fidgets,

Meg was sensitive, Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home, and Amy kept making remarks

about people who were always talking about being good and yet wouldn't even try when other people set

them a virtuous example. "Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to go skating. He is always kind and jolly,

"There! She promised I should go next time, for this is the last ice we shall have. But it's no use to ask such a

"Don't say that. You were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book, but I

think she might do it now, and I guess she will, if you try her at the right minute," said Meg. "Go after them.

Don't say anything till Jo has got goodnatured with Laurie, than take a quiet minute and just kiss her, or do

"I'll try," said Amy, for the advice suited her, and after a flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, who

It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her

back. Laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spell had

"I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right before we begin to race," Amy heard him say, as he shot

Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her

skates on, but Jo never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of

satisfaction in her sister's troubles. She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her,

as evil thoughts and feelings always do unless 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 was struggling to her feet and did not

catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear...

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 the river. For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart, then she

resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and

go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, 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, she could only stand motionless, staring with a terrorstricken face at

the little blue hood above the black water. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie's voice cried out...

How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying

Laurie, who was quite selfpossessed, and lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Jo

dragged a rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, more frightened than hurt.

"Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can. Pile our things on her, while I get off these confounded

skates," cried Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemed so

Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home, and after an exciting 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 and wild,

with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands cut and bruised by 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

"Are you sure she is safe?" whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been

"Quite safe, dear. she is not hurt, and won't even take cold, I think, you were so sensible in covering and

"Laurie did it all. I only let her go. Mother, if she should die, it would be my fault." And Jo dropped down

beside the bed in a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness

of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon

her. "It's my dreadful temper! I try to cure it, I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. OH,

"Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault," said

Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried even

"You don't know, you can't guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I'm in a passion. I get

so savage, I could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil my

"I will, my child, I will. Don't cry so bitterly, but remember this day, and resolve 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

takes us all our lives to conquer them. You think your temper is the worst in the world, but mine used to be

"Yours, Mother? Why, you are never angry!" And for the moment Jo forgot remorse in surprise.

"I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded in controlling it. I am angry nearly every

day of my life, Jo, but I have learned not to show it, and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take

The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture,

the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her. The knowledge

that her mother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her

resolution to cure it, though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen.

"Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and go out of the room sometimes, when Aunt

March scolds or people worry you?" 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 when I feel that they mean to break out

against my will, I just go away for a minute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked,"

answered Mrs. March with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothed and fastened up Jo's disheveled hair.

"How did you learn to keep still? That is what troubles me, for the sharp words fly out before I know what

I'm about, and the more I say the worse I get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say dreadful

things. Tell me how you do it, Marmee dear." "My good mother used to help me..."

"But I lost her when I was a little older than you are, and for years had to struggle on alone, for I was too

proud to confess my weakness to anyone else. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tears over

my failures, for in spite of my efforts I never seemed to get on. Then your father came, and I was so happy

that i found it easy to be good. But byandby, when I had four little daughters round me and we were poor,

then the old trouble began again, for I am not patient by nature, and it tried me very much to see my children

"Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or complains, but always hopes, and works and waits

so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed me

that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was

easier to try for your sakes than for my own. A startled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke

sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done, and the love, respect, and confidence of my

children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts 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 watch over your `bosom enemy', as father

calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. You have had a warning. Remember it, and try with heart and

soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have known today."

"I will try, Mother, I truly will. But you must help me, remind me, and keep me from flying out. I used to see

Father sometimes put his finger on his lips, and look at you with a very kind but sober face, and you always

folded your lips tight and went away. Was he reminding you then?" asked Jo softly.

"Yes. I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved me from many a sharp word by that little

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 it wrong to watch you and to speak of it? I didn't mean to be rude, but

it's so comfortable 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 greatest happiness and pride to feel that my girls

"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 keep his little daughters safe and good for him."

"Yet you told him to go, Mother, and didn't cry when he went, and never complain now, or seem as if you

"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 and will surely be the happier for it in the end? If I don't seem to need help, it

is because 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 may be many, but you can overcome and outlive them all if you

learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as you do that of your earthly one. The more

you love and trust Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never

tire or change, can never be taken from you, but my become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and

strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as

Jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and in the silence which followed the sincerest prayer she had

ever prayed left her heart without words. For in that sad yet happy hour, she had learned not only the

bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of selfdenial and selfcontrol, and led by her mother's

hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friend who always welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of

Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault, l Jo looked up with an

"I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her, and today, if it hadn't been for Laurie, it might

have been too late! How could I be so wicked?" said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister softly

As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo's heart.

Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven

"I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that those children should have the measles just now,"

said Meg, one April day, as she stood packing the `go abroady' trunk in her room, surrounded by her sisters.

"And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid,"

"And such lovely weather, I'm so glad of that," added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best

"I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these nice things," said Amy with her mouth full of pins,

"I wish you were all going, but as you can't, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I'm

sure it's the least I can do when you have been so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready," said

Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes.

"What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?" asked Amy, who had 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 the

"A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk, but there isn't

"It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn't smashed

my coral bracelet, for you might have had it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions

"There is a lovely oldfashioned pearl set in the treasure chest, but Mother said real flowers were the prettiest

ornament for a young girl, and Laurie 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 always look like an angel in white," said Amy,

"It isn't lownecked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it will have to do. My blue housedress looks so well,

turned and freshly trimmed, that I feel as if I'd got a new one. My silk sacque isn't a bit the fashion, and my

bonnet doesn't look like Sallie's. I didn't like to say anything, but I was sadly disappointed in my umbrella. I

told Mother black with a white handle, but she forgot and bought a green one with a yellowish handle. It's

strong and neat, so I ought not to complain, but I know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie's silk one with

"I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she took so much pains to get my things. It's a

nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm not going to give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves

are my comfort. You are a dear to lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich and sort of elegant, 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 blue and pink bows on her nightcaps. Would you put some on mine?" she asked, as Beth brought up a

"No, I wouldn't, for the smart caps won't match the plain gowns without any trimming on them. Poor folks

"I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have real lace on my clothes and bows on my caps?" said Meg

"You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could only go to Annie Moffat's," observed Beth

"So I did! Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants,

doesn't it? There now, the trays are ready, and everything in but my ball dress, which I shall leave for Mother

to pack," said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from the halffilled trunk to the many times pressed and

The next day was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had

consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented than she

went. But she begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed

so delightful after a winter of irksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first

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. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon

put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly

cultivated or intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of

which they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best

frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the

manners and conversation of those about her, to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, crimp her

hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well as she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat's

pretty things, the more she envied her and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare and dismal as she

thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a very destitute and muchinjured girl, in

She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls were busily employed in `having a

good time'. They shopped, walked, rode, and called all day, went to theaters and operas or frolicked at home

in the evening, for Annie had many friends and knew how to entertain them. Her older sisters were very fine

young ladies, and one was engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat

was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, and Mrs. Moffat, a fat, jolly old 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

When the evening for the small party came, she found that the poplin wouldn't do at all, for the other girls

were putting on thin dresses and making themselves very fine indeed. So out came the tarlatan, looking older,

limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie's crisp new one. Meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one

another, and her cheeks began to burn, for with all her gentleness she was very proud. No one said a word

about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and Annie to tie her sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised

her white arms. But in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her heart felt very heavy as she

stood by herself, while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies. The hard, bitter

feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had

the cover off, 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 are altogether ravishing," cried Annie,

"They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note," put in the maid, holding it to Meg.

"What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a lover," cried the girls, fluttering about Meg in a high

"The note is from Mother, and the flowers from Laurie," said Meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not

"Oh, indeed!" said Annie with a funny look, as Meg slipped the note into her pocket as a sort of talisman

against envy, vanity, and false pride, for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her

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, or skirts 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 looked quite charmed with her small

attention. Somehow the kind act finished her despondency, and when all the rest went to show themselves to

Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, brighteyed face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair

and fastened the roses in the dress that didn't strike her as so very shabby now.

She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her heart'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 she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of conversation, which disturbed her extremely.

She was sitting just inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she heard a

"It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it? Sallie says they are very intimate now, and the

"Mrs. M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently doesn't

"She told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and colored up when the flowers came quite prettily.

Poor thing! She'd be so nice if she was only got up in style. Do you think she'd be offended if we offered to

"She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlatan is all she has got. She may tear it tonight,

Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather agitated. She was proud, and her

pride was useful just then, for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had just

heard. For, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not help understanding the gossip of her friends.

She tried to forget it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, "Mrs. M. has made her plans," "that fib

about her mamma," and 'dowdy tarlatan," till she was ready to cry and rush 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 so

well that no one dreamed what an effort she was making. She was very glad when it was all over and she was

quiet in her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached and her hot cheeks were

cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish, yet well meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and

much disturbed the peace of the old one in which till now she had lived as happily as a child. Her innocent

friendship with Laurie was spoiled by the silly speeches she had overheard. Her faith in her mother was a

little shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by herself, and the

sensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suited a poor man's daughter was

weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under

Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavyeyed, unhappy, half resentful toward her friends, and half

ashamed of herself for not speaking out frankly and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled that

morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even to take up their worsted work.

Something in the manner of her friends struck Meg at once. They treated her with more respect, she thought,

took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity. All

this surprised and flattered her, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from her writing,

"Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, for Thursday. We should like to know him,

Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply demurely, "You are very kind, but I'm

"Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, counting stitches to hide the merriment in her eyes.

"You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man," exclaimed Miss Belle, laughing.

"There isn't any, Laurie is only a little boy." And Meg laughed also at the queer look which the sisters

"Nearer my sister Jo's, I am seventeen in August," returned Meg, tossing her head.

"It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" said Annie, looking wise about nothing.

"Yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and we are so fond of them. My mother and old Mr.

Laurence are friends, you know, so it is quite natural that we children should play together." And Meg hoped

"Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned Miss Belle with a shrug.

"I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls. Can I do anything for you, young ladies?" asked Mrs.

"No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie. "I've got my new pink silk for Thursday and don't want a thing."

"Nor I..." began Meg, but stopped because it occurred to her that she did want several things and could not

"My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen, it got sadly torn last night," said Meg, trying to speak

"Why don't you send home for another?" said Sallie, who was not an observing young lady.

"I haven't got any other." It cost Meg an effort to say that, but Sallie did not see it and exclaimed in amiable

surprise, "Only that?" How funny..." She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook her head at her and broke

"Not at all. Where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she isn't out yet? There's no need of sending

home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, for I've got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I've outgrown, and you

"You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress if you don't, it does well enough for a little girl like me,"

"Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to do it, and you'd be a regular little

beauty with a touch here and there. I shan't let anyone see you till you are done, and then we'll burst upon

them like Cinderella and her godmother going to the ball," said Belle in her persuasive tone.

Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if she would be `a little beauty' after touching

up caused her to accept and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings toward the Moffats.

On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid, and between them they turned Meg into a fine

lady. They crimped and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched

her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortense would have added `a soupcon of rouge', if

Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a skyblue dress, which was so tight she could hardly breathe and

so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. A set of silver filagree was added,

bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did not

show. A cluster of tearose buds at the bosom and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white

shoulders, and a pair of highheeled silk boots 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 Belle surveyed her with the

"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 room where the others were waiting.

As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earrings tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart

beating, she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that she was `a little

beauty'. Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a

jackdaw in the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.

"While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirt and those 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't

any of you disturb the charming work of my hands," said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased

"You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I'm nowhere beside you, for Belle has heaps of

taste, and you're quite French, I assure you. Let your flowers hang, don't be so careful of them, and be sure

you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was prettier than herself.

Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely downstairs and sailed into the drawing rooms

where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a charm

about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who

had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had

only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of

foolish but agreeable things to her, and several 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 reply to one of them...

"Daisy Marchfather a colonel in the armyone of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know;

intimate friends of the Laurences; sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her."

"Dear me!" said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she

had not heard and been rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat's fibs. The `queer feeling' did not pass away, but she

imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady and so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a

sideache, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her earrings should fly off

and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who

tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused, for just opposite, she saw Laurie.

He was staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though he bowed and

smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush and wish she had her old dress on. To complete her

confusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy to see,

"Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head. I won't care for it, or let it change me a bit," thought Meg,

"I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't." she said, with her most grownup air.

"Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did," answered Laurie, without turning his eyes

"What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with

"I shall say I didn't know you, for you look so grownup and unlike yourself, I'm quite afraid of you," he

"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 say whether he thought her improved or not. "Yes, I think she would,"

He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantastically trimmed dress with an expression that

abashed her more than his answer, which had not particle of his usual politeness in it.

That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself, and Meg walked away, saying petulantly,

Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress gave

her an uncomfortably brilliant color. As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by, and a minute after she

"They are making a fool of that little girl. I wanted you to see her, but they have spoiled her entirely. She's

"Oh, dear!" sighed Meg. "I wish I'd been sensible and worn my own things, then I should not have disgusted

She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that her

favorite waltz had begun, till some one touched her, and turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said,

"I'm afraid it will be to disagreeable to you," said Meg, trying to look offended and failing entirely.

"Not a bit of it, I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll be good. I don't like your gown, but I do think you are just

splendid." And he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his admiration.

Meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting to catch the time, "Take care my skirt doesn't

"Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said Laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, which

he evidently approved of. Away they went fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced at home, they were

well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and

"Laurie, I want you to do me a favor, will you?' said Meg, as he stood fanning her when her breath gave out,

"Please don't tell them at home about my dress tonight. They won't understand the joke, and it will worry

"Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so plainly that Meg hastily added...

"I shall tell them myself all about it, and `fess' to Mother how silly I've been. But I'd rather do it myself. So

"I'll say the first with all my heart, but how about the other? You don't look as if you were having a good

time. Are you?' And Laurie looked at her with 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, but this sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm

"Here comes Ned Moffat. What does he want?" said Laurie, knitting his black brows as if he did not regard

"He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's coming for them. What a bore!" said Meg,

He did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw her drinking champagne with Ned and his friend

Fisher, who were behaving `like a pair of fools', as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of right

to watch over the Marches and fight their battles whenever a defender was needed.

"You'll have a splitting headache tomorrow, if you drink much of that. I wouldn'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 stooped

"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 good again," se answered with an affected little laugh.

"Wish tomorrow was here, then," muttered Laurie, walking off, illpleased 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, nearly upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way that

scandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture. But he got no chance to deliver it, for Meg kept

"Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache had already begun.

"Silence a` la mort," replied Laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, as he went away.

This little bit of byplay excited Annie's curiosity, but Meg was too tired for gossip and went to bed, feeling as

if she had been to a masquerade and hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was sick all the next

day, and on Saturday went home, quite used up with her fortnight's fun and feeling that she had `sat in the lap

"It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on all the time. Home is a nice place,

though it isn't splendid," said Meg, looking about her with a restful expression, as she sat with her mother and

"I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seem dull and poor to you after your fine

quarters," replied her mother, who had given her many anxious looks that day. For motherly eyes are quick to

Meg had told her adventures gayly and said over and over what a charming time she had had, but something

still seemed to weigh upon her spirits, and when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat thoughtfully

staring at the fire, saying little and looking worried. As the clock struck nine and Jo proposed bed, Meg

suddenly left her chair and, taking Beth's stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying bravely...

"Of course not. Don't I always tell you everything? I was ashamed to speak of it before the younger children,

"I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that they powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made

me look like a fashion plate. Laurie thought I wasn't proper. I know he did, though he didn't say so, and one

man called me `a doll'. I knew it was silly, but they flattered me and said I was a beauty, and quantities of

"Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast face of her pretty daughter, and could

"No, I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was altogether abominable," said Meg

"There is something more, I think." And Mrs. March smoothed the soft cheek, which suddenly grew rosy as

"Yes. It's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have people say and think such things about us and

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 pleased that 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

"I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help hearing at first, and then I was so angry and

"Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settle such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having

`plans' and being kind to Laurie because he's rich and may marry us byandby! Won't he shout when I tell

him what those silly things say about us poor children?" And Jo laughed, as if on second thoughts the thing

"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 of whom I know so little, kind, I dare say, but worldly, illbred, and full

of these vulgar ideas about young people. I am more sorry than I can express for the mischief this visit may

"Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me. I'll forget all the bad and remember only the good, for I did enjoy a

great deal, and thank you very much for letting me go. I'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, Mother. I know

I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you till I'm fit to take care of myself. But it is nice to be praised and

admired, and I can't help saying I like it," said Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession.

"That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does not become a passion and lead one to do

foolish or unmaidenly things. Learn to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite the

Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behind her, looking both interested and a little

perplexed, for it was a new thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of that

sort. And Jo felt as if during that fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her

"Yes, my dear, I have a great many, all mothers do, but mine differ somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I

will tell you some of them, for the time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and heart of

yours right, on a very serious subject. You are young, Meg, but not too young to understand me, and mothers'

lips are the fittest to speak of such things to girls like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen

Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought they were about to join in some very

solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, and watching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her

"I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good. To be admired, loved, and respected. To have

a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow

to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen by a good 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 is natural

to think of it, Meg, right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for it, so that when the happy time

comes, you may feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not

to have you make a dash in the world, marry rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendid houses,

which are not homes because love is wanting. Money is a needful and precious thing, and when well used, a

noble thing, but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for. I'd rather see you poor men's

wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, without selfrespect and peace."

"Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they put themselves forward," sighed Meg.

"Then we'll be old maids," said Jo stoutly. "right, Jo. Better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or

unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. March decidedly. "Don't be troubled, Meg,

poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the best and most honored women I know were poor girls,

but so loveworthy that they were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these things to time. Make this home

happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are

not. One thing remember, my girls. Mother is always ready to be your confidante, Father to be your friend,

and both of hope and trust that our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of out

"We will, Marmee, we will!" cried both, with all their hearts, as she bade them good night.

As spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the 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 little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, "I'd know which each of them gardings belonged

to, ef I see 'em in Chiny," and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's

had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it. Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she

was always trying experiments. This year it was to be a plantation of sun flowers, the seeds of which cheerful

land aspiring plant were to feed Aunt Cockletop and her family of chicks. Beth had oldfashioned fragrant

flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with

chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy, but

very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morningglories hanging their colored horns and bells in

graceful wreaths all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would

Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts employed the fine days, 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

societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one, and as all of the girls admired Dickens, they

called themselves the Pickwick Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met

every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs

were arranged in a row before a table on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big `P.C.' in

different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper called, The Pickwick Portfolio, to which all contributed

something, while Jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o'clock, the four members

ascended to the clubroom, tied their 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, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn't, was Nathaniel

Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news,

funny advertisements, and hints, in which they goodnaturedly reminded each other of their faults and short

comings. On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glass, rapped upon the table,

hemmed, and having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself

Again we meet to celebrate With badge and solemn rite, Our fiftysecond anniversary, In Pickwick Hall,

We all are here in perfect health, None gone from our small band: Again we see each wellknown face, And

Our Pickwick, always at his post, With reverence we greet, As, spectacles on nose, he reads Our wellfilled

Although he suffers from a cold, We joy to hear him speak, For words of wisdom from him fall, In spite of

Old sixfoot Snodgrass looms on high, With elephantine grace, And beams upon the company, With brown

Poetic fire lights up his eye, He struggles 'gainst his lot. Behold ambition on his brow, And on his nose, a

Next our peaceful Tupman comes, So rosy, plump, and sweet, Who chokes with laughter at the puns, And

Prim little Winkle too is here, With every hair in place, A model of propriety, Though he hates to wash his

The year is gone, we still unite To joke and laugh and read, And tread the path of literature That doth to glory

Long may our paper prosper well, Our club unbroken be, And coming years their blessings pour On the

Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that

filled the stately halls of Count Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower girls, all

mingled gaily in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so with mirth and music the

masquerade went on. "Has your Highness seen the Lady viola tonight?" asked a gallant troubadour of the

fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm. "Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad! 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 fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows her

"Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old Count,"

said the lady, as they joined the dance. The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and withdrawing

the young pair to an alcove, hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell on the

gay throng, and not a sound, but he dash of fountains or the rustle of orange groves sleeping in the moonlight,

"My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my

daughter. Father, we wait your services." All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a murmur of

amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder

possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators

"Gladly would I give it if I could, but I only know that it was the whim of my timid Viola, and I yielded to it.

But neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom replied in a tone that startled all listeners as the mask

fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the breast where now

flashed the star of an English earl was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.

"My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a fortune

as the Count antonio. I can do more, for even your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux and De

Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady,

The count stood like one changed to stone, and turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay

smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has

done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have by this masked marriage." S. PICKWICK

Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed. in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine

and bore many squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. A

gorcerman bought and put it in his shop. That same morning, a little girl in a brown hat and blue dress, with a

round face and snub nose, went and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in

the big pot, mashed some of it salt and butter, for dinner. And to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs,

four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice,

Mr. Pickwick, Sir: I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner I mean is a man named Winkle who

makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes won't write his piece in this fine paper I hope you will

pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can't write out of his head as he has so many

lessons to do and no brains in future I will try to take time by the fetlock and prepare some work which will

be all commy la fo that means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school time Yours respectably, N.

[The above is a manly and handsome aknowledgment of past misdemeanors. If our young friend studied

On 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, we discovered our beloved President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and

fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr.

Pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly

form, and torn his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous situation, it was discovered that he

had suffered no injury but several bruises, and we are happy to add, is now doing well. ED.

It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs.

Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and 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 all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by

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 we

relinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, and weep for her as one lost to us

We mourn the loss of our little pet, And sigh o'er her hapless fate, For never more by the fire she'll sit, Nor

The little grave where her infant sleeps Is 'neath the chestnut tree. But o'er her grave we may not weep, We

Her empty bed, her idle ball, Will never see her more; No gentle tap, no loving purr Is heard at the parlor

Another cat comes after her mice, A cat with a dirty face, But she does not hunt as our darling did, Nor play

Her stealthy paws tread the very hall Where Snowball used to play, But she only spits at the dogs our pet So

She is useful and mild, and does her best, But she is not fair to see, And we cannot give her your place dear,

Miss Oranthy Bluggage, the accomplished strongminded lecturer, will deliver her famous lecture on

"WOMAN AND HER POSITION" at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual performances.

A weekly meeting will be held at Kitchen place, to teach young ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will

The DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday next, and parade in the upper story of the Club House.

Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new assortment of Doll's Millinery next week. The latest Paris fashions

A new play will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything

ever seen on the American stage. The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger, is the name of this thrilling

If S.P. didn't use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn't always be late at breakfast. A.S. is requested not to

whistle in the street. T.T please don't forget Amy's napkin. N.W. must not fret because his dress has not nine

As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one

written by bona fide girls once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose to

"Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone, "I wish to propose the

admission of a new memberone who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and would

add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I propose

Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him."

Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh, but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word as

"We'll put it to a vote," said the President. "All in favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying, `Aye'."

Meg and Amy were contraryminded, and Mr. Winkle rose to say with great 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

Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. "Sir, I give you my word as a gentleman, Laurie won't do anything

of the sort. He likes to write, and he'll give a tone to our contributions and keep us from being sentimental,

don't you see? We can do so little for him, and he does so much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer

This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his

"Yes, we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I say he may come, and his grandpa, too, if he likes."

This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her seat to shake hands approvingly. "Now then,

vote again. Everybody remember it's our Laurie, and say, `Aye!'" cried Snodgrass excitedly.

"Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like `taking time by the fetlock', as Winkle characteristically

observes, allow me to present the new member." And, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw open the

door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag bag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

"You rogue! You traitor! Jo, how could you?" cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly

"The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown and only

succeeding in producing an amiable smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion, and rising, with a

grateful salutation to the Chair, said in the most engaging manner, "Mr. President and ladiesI beg pardon,

gentlemenallow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club."

"Good! Good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming pan on which she leaned.

"My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie with a wave of the hand, "who has so flatteringly

presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and she only gave in after

"Come now, don't lay it all on yourself. You know I proposed the cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was

"Never mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir," said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to

Mr. Pickwick. "But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interest of this

"I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of

promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in the lower

corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks on the doors and every convenience for the

mails, also the females, if I may be allowed the expression. It's the old martin house, but I've stopped up the

door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters,

manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly

nice, I fancy. Allow me to present 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 and subsided, the warming pan clashed and

waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and everyone

came out surprising, for everyone did her best. So it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till

a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. No one ever regretted the

admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, wellbehaved, and jovial member no club could have. He

certainly did add `spirit' to the meetings, and `a tone' to the paper, for his orations convulsed his hearers and

his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo

regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect,

The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed

through it as through the real post office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and long

letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings, and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun,

and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener,

who was smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo's care. How they laughed when the

secret came out, never dreaming how many love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come.

"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I'm free. Three months' vacationhow I

shall enjoy it!" exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state

of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole

"Aunt March went today, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo. "I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with

her. If she had, I should have felt as if 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 I had a fright every time she

spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared

she'd find it impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and had 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 and fled. 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, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a

"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically.

"She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn't matter. It's too warm to be particular about one's parts of

"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing the subject with tact.

"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from the depths of the rocking chair. "I've been routed up

early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now I'm going to rest and revel to my

"No," said Jo, "that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid in a heap of books, and I'm going to improve my

shining hours reading on my perch in the 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 and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed

"Well, I will, if Mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the

"May we, Mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing in what they called `Marmee's

corner'. "You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will

"I now propose a toast, as my `friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp', says. Fun forever, and no grubbing!" cried

They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg

did not appear till ten o'clock. Her solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and

untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's books lay scattered about. Nothing

was neat and pleasant but `Marmee's corner', which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to `rest and read',

which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary. Jo spent the

morning on the river with Laurie and the afternoon reading and crying over The Wide, Wide World, up in the

apple tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting

tired before half done, she left her establishment topsyturvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no

dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to

draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one

appeared but an inquisitive daddylonglegs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got

At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day. Meg,

who went shopping in the afternoon and got a `sweet blue muslin, had discovered, after she had cut the

breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her slightly cross. Jo had burned the skin off her nose

boating, and got a raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion of her closet and

the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock,

for Katy Brown's party was to be the next day and now like Flora McFlimsey, she had `nothing to wear'. But

these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled,

said nothing, and with Hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the domestic

machinery running smoothly. It was astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was

produced by the `resting and reveling' process. The days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was

unusually variable and so were tempers, and unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of

mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found

time hang so heavily that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts to furbish them up a`la

Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out and she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even goodnatured Laurie

had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with Aunt March.

Beth got on pretty well, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back

into her old ways now and then. But something in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was

much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna and told her 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 that accomplished 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 parties didn't amount to much neither did picnics unless

very well conducted. "If one could have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go traveling, the summer would be

delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grownup boy was enough to try the patience of

a Boaz," complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui.

No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Friday night each acknowledged to herself

that she was glad the week was nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who had

a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner, so she gave Hannah a holiday

When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and

Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed.

"Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do

the best we can. It's a very queer thing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself. But she says it has been

"That's easy enough, and I like the idea, I'm aching for something to do, that is, some new amusement, you

In fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they took 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,

and while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast, wondering as they did why servants ever

"I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not to think of her, for she'd take care of herself,"

So a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with the cook's compliments. The boiled tea was

very bitter, the omelet scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but Mrs. March received her repast

"Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid, but they won't suffer, and it will do them good," she

said, producing the more palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad

breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherly little deception for which they were grateful.

Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook at her failures. "Never mind, I'll get

the dinner and be servant, you be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," said Jo, who

This obliging offer was gladly accepted, and Margaret retired to the parlor, which she hastily put in order by

whisking the litter under the sofa and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with perfect faith

in her own powers and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting

"You'd better see what you have got before you think of having company," said Meg, when informed of the

"Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of poatoes, and I shall get some asparagus and a lobster, `for a relish', as

Hannah says. We'll have lettuce and make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells. I'll have blancmange

"Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything but gingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat. I

wash my hands of the dinner party, and since you have asked Laurie on your own responsibility, you may just

"I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him and help to the pudding. You'll give me your advice if I

"Yes, but I don't know much, except about bread and a few trifles. You had better ask Mother's leave before

"Of course I shall. I'm not a fool." And Jo went off in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers.

"Get what you like, and don't disturb me. I'm going out to dinner and can'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,

The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably and reading early in the morning made Jo feel

as if some unnatural phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would

"Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, going downstairs. "There's Beth crying, that's a

sure sign that something is wrong in this family. If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her."

Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary,

who lay dead in the cage with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of

"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

Jo peeped into his halfopen eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head, and

"Put him in the oven, and maybe his will get warm and revive," said Amy hopefully.

"He's been starved, and he shan't be baked now he's dead. I'll make him a shroud, and he shall be buried in

the garden, and I'll never have another bird, never, my Pip! For I am too bad to own one," murmured Beth,

sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands. "The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go.

Now, don't cry, Bethy. It's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has had the worst of the

experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box, and after the dinner party, we'll have a nice little

Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which was in a most discouraging state of

confusion. Putting on a big apron, she fell to work and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when she

"Here's a sweet prospect!" muttered Jo, slamming the stove door open, and poking vigorously among the

Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the water heated. The walk revived her

spirits, and flattering herself that she had made good bargins, she trudged home again, after buying a very

young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid strawberries. By the time she got cleared up,

the dinner arrived and the stove was redhot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had worked it up

early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the

parlor, when the door flew open and a floury, crocky, flushed, and disheveled figure appeared, demanding

Sallie began to laugh, but Meg nodded and lifted her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused the

apparition to vanish and put the sour bread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, after

peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to Beth, who sat making a

winding sheet, while the dear departed lay in state in the domino box. A strange sense of helplessness fell

upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner, and despair seized them when a few minutes

later Miss Crocker appeared, and said she'd come to dinner. Now this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, with a

sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but

had been taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor and had few friends. So Meg gave her

the easy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, critsized everything, and told stories of the

Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which Jo underwent that morning, and the

dinner she served up became a standing joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and

discovered that something more than energy and good will is necessary to make a cook. She boiled the

asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread

burned black, for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to ear. The lobster was a

scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled and its meager proportions

concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and

were not done at the last. The blancmange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having

"Well, they can eat beef and bread and butter, if they are hungry, only it's mortifying 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, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread before Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss

Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after another was tasted and left, while Amy

giggled, Meg looked distressed, Miss Crocker pursed her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all his

might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo's one strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it

well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath

as the pretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea

of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who refused, thinking

there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was

eating away manfully, though there was a slight 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 her face in her napkin, and

"Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied Meg with a tragic gesture.

Jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had given a last hasty powdering to the

berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator.

She turned 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 of the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran

down her cheeks. So did everyone else, even `Croaker' as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate

"I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral," said Jo, as

they rose, and Miss Crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinner

They did sober themselves for Beth's sake. Laurie dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid

in, with many tears by his tenderhearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and

chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo while she struggled with the

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, overcome with emotion and lobster, but there

was no place of repose, for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up the

pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the remains of the feast, which took half the

afternoon and left them so tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper.

Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have had a bad effect

upon her temper. Mrs. March came home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the

afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the experiment.

Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them.

Then tea must be got, errands done, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute.

As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch where the June roses were budding

beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled.

"It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," sighed Beth, glancing with full eyes at the empty cage above

"Here's Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if you want it."

As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much

"Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another week of it?" she asked, as Beth nestled

up to her and the rest turned toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun.

"You think then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little for others, do you?"

"Lounging and larking doesn't pay," observed Jo, shaking her head. "I'm tired of it and mean to go to work at

"Suppose you learn plain cooking. That's a useful accomplishment, which no woman should be without," said

Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly at the recollection of Jo's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker and

"Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd get on?" cried Meg, who had had

"Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing her share faithfully. While Hannah

and I did your work, you got on pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable. So I

thought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of herself. Don't you

feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes,

"Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though they seem heavy sometimes, they are

good for us, and lighten as we learn to carry them. Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for everyone. It

keeps us from ennui and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and

"We'll work like bees, and love it too, see if we don't," said Jo. "I'll learn plain cooking for my holiday task,

"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 than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they

"I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my music and dolls. I am a stupid thing, and

ought to be studying, not playing," was Beth's resolution, while Amy followed their example by heroically

declaring, "I shall learn to make buttonholes, and attend to my parts of speech."

"Very good! Then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancy that we shall not have to repeat it, only

don't go to the other extreme and delve like slaves. Have regular hours for work and play, make each day

both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well. Then youth

will be delightful, old age will bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of poverty."

Beth was postmistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it regularly, and dearly liked the daily

task of unlocking the little door and distributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands full, and

"Here's your posy, Mother! Laurie never forgets that," she said, putting the fresh nosegay in the vase that

"Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove," continued Beth, delivering the articles to her sister, who sat near

"Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one," said Meg, looking at the gray cotton glove. "Didn't you

"I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. My letter is only a translation of the German

Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham morning gown, with the little curls

blowing about her forehead, and very womanly, as she sat sewing at her little worktable, full of tidy white

rolls, so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as she sewed and sang, while her fingers flew and

her thoughts were busied with girlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that Mrs. March

"Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered the whole post office and stuck

"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

has sent me this to try me. I'll wear it for fun, and show him I don't care for the fashion." And hanging the

One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said to her...

I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I watch your efforts to control your temper. You

say nothing about your trials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no one sees them but the Friend

whose help you daily ask, if I may trust the wellworn cover of your guidebook. I, too, have seen them all,

and heartily believe in the sincerity of your resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on, dear, patiently and

bravely, and always believe that no one sympathizes more tenderly with you than your loving...

"That does me good! That's worth millions of money and pecks of praise. Oh, Marmee, I do try! I will keep

Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happy tears. for she had thought that no

one saw and appreciated her efforts to be good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging,

because unexpected and from the person whose commendation she most valued. Feeling stronger than ever to

meet and subdue her Apollyon, she pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she be

taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready for either good or bad news. In a big,

Some english girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow and I want to 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 croquethave a fire, make

messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks. They are nice people, and like such things. Brooke will go to

keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughn will play propriety for the girls. I want you all to come, can't let Beth

off at any price, and nobody shall worry her. Don't bother about rations, I'll see to that and everything else,

"Of course we can go, Mother? It will be such a help to Laurie, for I can row, and Meg see to the lunch, and

"I hope the Vaughns are not fine grownup people. Do you know anything 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. Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys. I fancied, from the way he

"I'm so glad my French print is clean, it's just the thing and so becoming!" observed Meg complacently.

"Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me. I shall row and tramp about, so I don't want any starch to

"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 not trouble 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 you for it. Fighting faults isn't easy, as I

know, and a cheery word kind of gives a lift. Thank you, Mother," And Jo gave the thin cheek a grateful kiss,

more precious to Mrs. March than if it had given back the rosy roundness of her youth.

"I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I wanted to copy," said Amy, showing her mail.

"And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me to come over and play to him 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 play tomorrow with free minds," said Jo, preparing to

When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next morning to promise them a fine day, he saw a comical

sight. Each had made such preparation for the fete as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of

little curlpapers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had

taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by

putting a colthespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature. It was one of the kind artists use to hold the

paper on their drawing boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the purpose it was now being put.

This funny spectacle appeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Jo woke up and

Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both houses.

Beth, who was ready first, kept reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' toilets by

"There goes the man with the tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch in a hamper and a great basket. Now

Mr. Laurence is looking up at the sky and the weathercock. I wish he would go too. There's Laurie, looking

like a sailor, nice boy! Oh, mercy me! Here's a carriage full of people, a tall lady, a little 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 Ned Moffat, I do declare. Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one day when we

"So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at the mountains. There is Sallie. I'm glad she got

"A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, it looks sentimental tipped that way and

"Oh, Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat? It's too absurd! You shall not make a guy of yourself,"

remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down with a red ribbon the broadbrimmed, oldfashioned leghorn Laurie had

"I just will, though, for it's capital, so shady, light, and big. It will make fun, and I don't mind being a guy if

I'm comfortable." With that Jo marched straight away and the rest followed, a bright little band of sisters, all

Laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordial manner. The lawn was the reception

room, and for several minutes a lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate,

though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would do well to imitate, and who was

much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances that he came especially to see her. Jo understood why Laurie

`primmed up his mouth' when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a standoffdon'ttouchme air,

which contrasted strongly with the free and easy demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observation of the

new boys and decided that the lame one was not `dreadful', but gentle and feeble, and she would be kind to

him on that account. Amy found Grace a wellmannered, merry, little person, and after staring dumbly at one

Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the party was soon embarked, and the two

boats pushed off together, leaving Mr. 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, did his best to upset both by paddling

about in a wherry like a disturbed water bug. Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of general

utility. It broke the ice in the beginning by producing a laugh, it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to

and fro as she rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, if a shower came up, she

said. Miss Kate decided that she was `odd', but rather clever, and smiled upon her from afar.

Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with the rowers, who both admired the prospect

and feathered their oars with uncommon `skill and dexterity'. Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young man, with

handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet manners 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 felt

sure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in college, of course put on all the airs which

freshmen think it their bounden duty to assume. He was not very wise, but very goodnatured, and altogether

an excellent person to carry on a picnic. Sallie Gardiner was absorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean

and chattering with the ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks.

It was not far to Longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wickets down by the time they arrived. A

pleasant green field, with three widespreading oaks in the middle and a smooth strip of turf for croquet.

"Welcome to Camp Laurence!" said the young host, as they landed with exclamations of delight.

"Brooke is commander in chief, I am commissary general, the other fellows are staff officers, and you, ladies,

are company. The tent is for your especial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this is the messroom

and 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 the other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg,

Kate, and Fred. Laurie took Sallie, Jo, and Ned. The English played well, but the Americans played better,

and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of `76 inspired them. Jo and Fred had

several skirmishes and once narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket and had missed the

stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was close behind her and his turn came before hers. He

gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch 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 right side.

"I'm through! Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first," cried the young gentleman, swinging his mallet

"Upon my word, I didn't move it. It rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is allowed. So, stand off please, and let me

"Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!" returned Fred, croqueting her ball far

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 wicket with all her might, while Fred hit the stake and declared himself out with

much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time finding it among the bushes, but she came

back, looking cool and quiet, and waited her 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 was the last but one and lay near

"By George, it's all up with us! Goodbye, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, so you are finished," cried Fred

"Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies," said Jo, with a look that made the lad redden,

"especially when they beat them," she added, as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever

Laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it wouldn't do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and

stopped in the middle of the cheer to whisper to his friend, "Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him. We

Meg drew her aside, under pretense of pinning up a loose braid, and said approvingly, "It was dreadfully

"Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I should certainly have boiled over if I hadn't

stayed among the nettles till I got my rage under control enough to hold my tongue.. It's simmering now, so I

hope he'll keep out of my way," returned Jo, biting her lips as she glowered at Fred from under her big hat.

"Time for lunch," said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. "Commissary general, will you make the fire and

get water, while Miss March, Miss Sallie, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee?"

"Jo can," said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Jo, feeling that her late lessons in cookery were to do

her honor, went to preside over the coffeepot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys made a fire

and got water from a spring near by. Miss Kate sketched and Frank talked to Beth, who was making little

The commander in chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with an inviting array of eatables and

drinkables, prettily decorated with green leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone settled

themselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise develops wholesome appetites. A

very merry lunch it was, for everything seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled a

venerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing inequality in the table, which produced many mishaps

to cups and plates, acorns dropped in the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without being

invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree to see what was going on. Three whiteheaded

children peeped over the fence, and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river with

"Thank you, I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwary little ones who had gone to a creamy death.

"How dare you remind me of that horrid dinner party, when your's is so nice in every way?' added Jo, as they

"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 Meg and Brooke who make it all go, and I'm no end obliged to you. what shall

we do when we can't eat anymore?" asked Laurie, feeling that his trump card had been played when lunch

"Have games till it's cooler. I brought Authors, and I dare say Miss Kate knows something new and nice. Go

"Aren't you company too? I thought she'd suit Brooke, but he keeps talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at

them through that ridiculous glass of hers'. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for you can't do

Miss Kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, and the boys could not, eat any more,

"One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as he pleases, only taking care to stop

short at some exciting point, when the next takes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done, and

makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over. Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a

commanding air, which surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other gentleman.

Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke obediently began the story, with the

"Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, for he had nothing but his sword and

his shield. He traveled a long while, nearly eightandtwenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he came to

the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to anyone who could tame and train a fine but

unbroken colt, of which he was very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely, for the colt

was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master, though he was freakish and wild. Every day,

when he gave his lessons to this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through the city, and as he rode, he

looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found.

One day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle the lovely face.

He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept

there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. The knight wished intensely that he

could free them, but he was poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face and longing to

see it out in the sunshine. At last he resolved to get into the castle and ask how he could help them. He went

"A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, `At last! At last!'" continued Kate, who had

read French novels, and admired the style. "`Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an ecstasy of

joy. `Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand of marble fairness. `Never! Till you 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 me from despair.' `I obey, and return

victorious or dead!' With these thrilling words he rushed away, and flinging open the door of the mauve

salon, was about to enter, when he received..." "A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old

fellow in a black gown fired at him," said Ned. "Instantly, Sir What'shisname recovered himself, pitched

the tyrant out of the window, and turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow, found the

door locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway 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 he came to a

little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads together till they cracked like a couple of nuts,

then, by a trifling exertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone steps

covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics,

MIss March. At the top of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and chilled his

"A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in its wasted hand," went on Meg. "It

beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in

armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure ever and anon

turned its face toward him, showing the glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtained

door, behind which sounded lovely music. He sprang forward to enter, but the specter plucked him back, and

"Snuffbox," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the audience. "`Thankee, ' said the knight politely,

as he took a pinch and sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. `Ha! Ha!' laughed the ghost,

and having peeped through the keyhole at the princesses spinning away for dear 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 their

"Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath, "and, as they danced, the rubbishy old castle turned

to a manofwar in full sail. `Up with the jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard alee, and man the guns!'

roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a flag black as ink flying from her foremast. `Go

in and win, my hearties!' says the captain, and a tremendous fight began. Of course the British beat, they

"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

bight of the flyingjib sheet, and start this villain if he doesn't confess his sins double quick, ' said the British

captain. The Portuguese held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars cheered like

mad. But the sly dog dived, came up under the manofwar, scuttled her, and down she went, 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, in which he had jumbled together pellmell nautical phrases and facts out of one of his favorite

books. "Well, they went to the bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on finding

the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, hoping to discover the mystery about them, for

being a woman, she was curious. Byandby a diver came down, and the mermaid said, `I'll give you a box

of pearls if you can take it up, ' for she wanted to restore the poor things to life, and couldn't raise the heavy

load herself. So the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed on opening it to find no pearls. He left it

"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, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. `Your geese

will tell you, they know everything.' said the old woman. So she asked what she should use for new heads,

since the old ones were lost, and all the geese opened 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, the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way rejoicing, never

knowing the difference, for there were so many other heads like them in the world that no one thought

anything of it. The knight in whom I'm interest went back to find the pretty face, and learned that the

princesses had spun themselves free and all gone and married, but one. He was in a great state of mind at that,

and mounting the colt, who stood by him 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 flowers in her garden. `Will you give me a

rose?' said he. `You must come and get it. I can't come to you, it isn't proper, ' said she, as sweet as honey. He

tried to climb over the hedge, but it seemed to grow higher and higher. Then he tried to push through, but it

grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently broke twig after twig till he had made a little

hole through which he peeped, saying imploringly, `Let me in! Let me in!' But the pretty princess did not

seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly, and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not,

"I can't. I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at the sentimental 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

"I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate after a while," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as

"What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do something quite clever. Do you know

"Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at the

Miss Kate and Mr. Booke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo, and Laurie piled and drew, and the lot

"Jo, of course." "What silly questions you ask!" And Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the rest laughed at Laurie's

"What is your greatest fault?' asked Fred, by way of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself.

"Genius. Don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?" And she slyly smiled in his disappointed face.

"He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance without waiting to draw. I'll harrrow up

your feelings first by asking if you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo nodded to Fred

"You impertinent boy! Of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with an air that proved the contrary.

"Well, I think Truth is a very silly play. Let's have a sensible game of Authors to refresh our minds,"

Ned, frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss

Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass with a book,

"How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice.

"Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it," replied Miss Kate graciously.

"Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine, but I proved to her that I had talent by

taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with your

"I forgot young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, Papa says.

"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 made Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.

Mr. Brooke looked up and said quickly, Young ladies in America love independence as much as their

"Oh, yes, of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have many most respectable and worthy

young women who do the same and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen,

they are both well bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate in a patronizing tone that hurt Meg's

"Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an awkward pause.

"Oh, yes! It was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translated it for me." And Meg's downcast face

"Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get on very fast alone, for I've no one to

"Try a little now. Here is Schiller's Mary Stuart and a tutor who loves to teach." And Mr. Brooke laid his

"It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady

"I'll read a bit to encourage you." And Miss Kate read one of the most beautiful passages in a perfectly

Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who said innocently, "I thought it was

There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poor Mary's lament.

Meg obediently following the long grassblade which her new tutor used to point with, read slowly and

timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down

the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, Meg read

as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes

then, she would have stopped short, but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoiled for her.

"Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes, and looking as if he

Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little tableau 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 to learn,

for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I must look after Grace, she is romping." And Miss

Kate strolled away, adding to herself with a shrug, "I didn't come to chaperone a governess, though she is

young and pretty. What odd people these Yankees are. I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoiled among them."

"I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses and don't treat them as we do," said

"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 lament

"I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal of satisfaction out of it after all, so I

"I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry to lose him next year," said Mr. Brooke,

"Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked the question, but her eyes added, "And what becomes of

"Yes, it's high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, I shall turn soldier. I am needed."

"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Meg. "I should think every young man would want to go, though it is hard for

the mothers and sisters who stay at home," she added sorrowfully. "I have neither, and very few friends to

care whether I live or die," said Mr. Brooke rather bitterly as he absently put the dead rose in the hole he had

"Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any harm happen

"Thank you, that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful again, but before he could finish his

speech, Ned, mounted on the old horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the young

"Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting after a race round the field with the

"I dote upon it. My sister, Meg, used to ride when Papa was rich, but we don't keep any horses now, except

"Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses and so am I, but we've only got an old sidesaddle and no horse. Out

in our garden is an apple tree that has a nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the

"How funny!" laughed Grace. "I have a pony at home, and ride nearly every day in the park with Fred and

Kate. It's very nice, for my friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen."

"Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I'd rather go to Rome than the row," said Amy,

who had not the remotest idea what the 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 he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics. Beth,

who was collecting the scattered Author cards, looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, "I'm afraid

"Talk to me, please. It's dull, sitting by myself," answered Frank, who had evidently been used to being made

If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed a more impossible task to bashful Beth,

but there was no place to run to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that

"What do you like to talk about?" she asked, fumbling over the cards and dropping half as she tried to tie

"Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his

My heart! What shall I do? I don't know anything about them, thought Beth, and forgetting the boy's

misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to make him talk, "I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know

"I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a confounded fivebarred gate, so there are no

more horses and hounds for me," said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent blunder.

"Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning to the prairies for help and feeling

Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and

was quite unconscious of her sisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking away to one

"Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him," aid Jo, beaming at her from the croquet ground.

"I always said she was a little saint," added Meg, as if there could be no further doubt of it.

"I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long," said Grace to Amy, as they sat discussing dolls and

"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't know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded well and

An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon. At sunset the

tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the river,

singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain...

We each are young, we each have a heart, Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?

he looked at Meg with such a lackadiasical expression that she laughed outright and spoiled his song.

"How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a lively chorus. "You've kept close to that

"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 true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and the talk after

Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt

"Not a particle, but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending her friend even while confessing her

"She's not a stricken deer anyway," said Ned, trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very young

On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good nights and goodbys, for the

Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after

them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "In spite of their demonstrative manners, American

Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warm September afternoon, wondering what

his neighbors were about, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods, for the day had been

both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weather made

him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his

grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants half out of their wits by

mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about

some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock to fume over the stupidity of the

world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up into the green

gloom of the horsechestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself

tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash.

Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the Marches coming out, as if bound on some

"What in the world are those girls about now?" thought Laurie, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good look,

for there was something rather peculiar in the appearance of his neighbors. Each wore a large, flapping hat, a

brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried a long staff. Meg had a cushion, Jo a book, Beth a

basket, and Amy a portfolio. All walked quietly through the garden, out at the little back gate, and began to

"Well, that's cool," said Laurie to himself, "to have a picnic and never ask me! They can't be going in the

boat, for they haven't got the key. Perhaps they 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 find one, then there was a hunt for the key,

which was at last discovered in his pocket, so that the girls were quite out of sight when leaped the fence and

ran after them. Taking the shortest way to the boathouse, he waited for them to appear, but no one came, and

he went up the hill to take an observation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, and from the heart of this

green spot came a clearer sound than the soft sigh of the pines or the drowsy chirp of the crickets.

"Here's a landscape!" thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, and looking wideawake and

It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in the shady nook, with sun and shadow

flickering over them, the aromatic wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little wood

people going on with their affairs as if these were no strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon her cushion,

sewing daintily with her white hands, and looking 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 she made pretty things with

them. Amy was sketching a group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud. A shadow passed over the

boy's face as he watched them, feeling that he ought to go away because uninvited, yet lingering because

home seemed very lonely and this quiet party in the woods 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 him suddenly and skipped

back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espied the wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a

Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly and said at once, "Of course you may. We should

have asked you before, only we thought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this."

"I've no objection, if you do something. It's against the rules to be idle here," replied Meg gravely but

"Much obliged. I'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit, for it's as dull as the Desert of Sahara down there.

Shall I sew, read, cone, draw, or do all at once? Bring on your bears. I'm ready." And Laurie sat down with a

"Yes'm." was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove his gratitude for the favor of admission

The story was not a long one, and when it was finished, he ventured to ask a few questions as a reward of

"Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charming institution is a new one?"

"Of course I shall! I give you my word I won't laugh. Tell away, Jo, and don't be afraid."

"The idea of being afraid of you! Well, you see we used to play Pilgrim's Progress, and we have been going

"No, I did. I wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and he was rather dismal. He did like it,

"Go on, please," said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed in her work, looking a trifle displeased.

"Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well, we have tried not to waste our holiday, but each

has had a task and worked at it with a will. The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, and we are ever

"Yes, I should think so," and Laurie thought regretfully of his own idle days. "Mother likes to have us

outofdoors as much as possible, so we bring our work here and have nice times. For the fun of it we bring

our things in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill, and play pilgrims, as we used to do

years ago. We call this hill the Delectable Mountain, for we can look far away and see the country where we

Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine, for through an opening in the wood one could look cross the wide,

blue river, the meadows on the other side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green hills that rose to

meet the sky. The sun was low, and the heavens glowed with the splendor of an autumn sunset. Gold and

purple clouds lay on the hilltops, and rising high into the ruddy light were silvery white peaks that shone like

"How beautiful that is!" said Laurie softly, for he was quick to see and feel beauty of any kind.

"It's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, but always splendid," replied Amy, wishing she

"Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometimethe real country, she means, with pigs and

chickens and haymaking. It would be nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could

"There is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go, byandby, when we are good enough,"

"It seems so long to wait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at once, as those swallows fly, and go in at that

"You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later, no fear of that," said Jo. "I'm the one that will have to fight and work,

"you'll have me for company, if that's any comfort. I shall have to do a deal 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 said cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the

changing clouds, "If people really want to go, and really try all their lives, I think they will get in, for I don't

believe there are any locks on that door or any guards at the gate. I always imagine it is as it is in the picture,

where the shining ones stretch out their hands 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 come true, and we could live in them?"

"I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I'd have," said Laurie, lying flat and throwing

"After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd like to settle in Germany and have just as much music as

I choose. I'm to be a famous musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me. And I'm never to be

bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself and live for what I like. That's my favorite castle.

Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a brake before her face, as if to disperse

imaginary gnats, while she said slowly, "I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious

thingsnice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be

mistress of it, and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy

"I said `pleasant people', you know," And Meg carefully tied up her shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her

"Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband and some angelic little children? You know

your castle wouldn't be perfect without," said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather scorned

"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 piled high with books, and I'd write out of

a magic inkstand, so that my works should be as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do something splendid

before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten 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 get

"Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take care of the family," said Beth

"Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie. "Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only

"I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and go to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be

"We're an ambitious set, aren't we? Every one of us, but Beth, wants to be rich and famous, and gorgeous in

every respect. I do wonder if any of us will ever get our wishes," said Laurie, chewing grass like a meditative

"I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen," observed Jo

"I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it. Hang college!" muttered Laurie with an impatient sigh.

"Nonsense, that's of no use." "Wait and see if it doesn't bring you something worth having," replied the boy,

Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions and looked across the river with the same expectant

"If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see how many of us have got our wishes, or how much

"Bless me! How old I shall be, twentyseven!" exclaimed Meg, who felt grown up already, having just

"You and I will be twentysix, Teddy, Beth twentyfour, and Amy twentytwo. What a venerable party!"

"I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time, but I'm such a lazy dog, I'm afraid I shall

"You need a motive, Mother says, and when you get it, she is sure you'll work splendidly."

"Is she? By Jupiter, I will, if I only get the chance!" cried Laurie, sitting up with sudden energy. "I ought to

be satisfied to please Grandfather, and I do try, but it's working against the grain, you see, and comes hard.

He wants me to be an India merchant, as he was, and I'd rather be shot. I hate tea and sild and spices, and

every sort of rubbish his old ships bring, and I don't care how soon they go to the bottom when I own them.

Going to college ought to satisfy him, for if I give him four years he ought to let me off from the business.

But he's set, and I've got to do just as he did, unless I break away and please myself, as my father did. If there

Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat into execution on the slightest provocation, for he

was growing up very fast and, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of subjection, a young

"I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and never come home again till you have tried your own

way," said Jo, whose imagination was fired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy was

"That's not right, Jo. You mustn't talk in that way, and Laurie mustn't take 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 on you or unjust to you. As

you say, there is no one else to stay with and love him, and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him

without his permission. Don't be dismal or fret, but do your duty and you'll get your reward, as good Mr.

"What do you know about him?" asked Laurie, grateful for the good advice, but objecting to the lecture, and

"Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care of his own mother till she died, and

wouldn't go abroad as tutor to some nice person because he wouldn't leave her. And how he provides now for

an old woman who nursed his mother, and never tells anyone, but is just as generous and patient and good as

"So he is, dear old fellow!" said Laurie heartily, as Meg paused, looking flushed and earnest with her story.

"It's like Grandpa to find out all about him without letting him know, and to tell all his goodness to others, so

that they might like him. Brooke couldn't understand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over

with me and treating him in her beautiful friendly way. He thought she was just perfect, and talked about it

for days and days, and went on about you all in flaming style. If ever I do get my wish, you see what I'll do

"How do you know I do, Miss?" "I can always tell by his face when he goes away. If you have been good, he

looks satisfied and walks briskly. If you have plagued him, he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go

"Well, I like that? So you keep an account of my good and bad marks in Brooke'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! It was only to show that I cared how you

get on, and what is said here is said in confidence, you know," cried Meg, much alarmed at the thought of

"I don't tell tales," replied Laurie, with his `high and mighty' air, as Jo called a certain expression which he

occasionally wore. "Only if Brooke is going to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair weather for him

"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 sorry for byandby. You are so kind to us, we feel as if you were our

brother and say just what we think. Forgive me, I meant it kindly." And Meg offered her hand with a gesture

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 of sorts all day. I like to have you tell me my faults and be sisterly, so

Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeable as possible, wound cotton for Meg,

recited poetry to please Jo, shook down cones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself a fit

person to belong to the `Busy Bee Society'. In the midst of an animated discussion on the domestic habits of

turtles (one of those amiable creatures having strolled up from the river), the faint sound of a bell warned

them that Hannah had put the tea `to draw', and they would just have time to get home to supper.

"Yes, if your are good, and love your book, as the boys in the primer are told to do," said Meg, smiling.

"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 blue worsted 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, whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old man,

who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had loved so much.

Remembering the conversation of the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the

sacrifice cheerfully, "I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while he needs me, for I am

Jo 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 warmly in the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa, writing busily,

with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her, while Scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams

overhead, accompanied by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of his whiskers.

Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, when she signed her name with a

"There, I've done my best! If this won't suit I shall have to wait till I can do 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 red ribbon, 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 here was an old tin kitchen which hung against the wall. It it she kept her papers, and a few

books, safely shut away from Scrabble, who, being likewise of a literary turn, was fond of making a

circulating library of such books as were left in his way by eating the leaves. From this tin receptacle Jo

produced another manuscript, and putting both in her pocket, crept quietly downstairs, leaving her friends to

She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going to the back entry window, got out upon the

roof of a low porch, swung herself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road. Once

there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolled away to town, looking very merry and

If anyone had been watching her, he would have thought her movements decidedly peculiar, for on alighting,

she went off at a great pace till she reached a certain number in a certain busy street. Having found the place

with some difficulty, she went into the doorway, looked up the dirty stairs, and after standing stock still a

minute, suddenly dived into the street and walked away as rapidly as she came. This maneuver she repeated

several times, to the great amusement of a blackeyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a building

opposite. On returning for the third time, Jo gave herself a shake, pulled her hat over her eyes, and walked up

There was a dentist's sign, among others, which adorned the entrance, and after staring a moment at the pair

of artificial jaws which slowly opened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the young gentleman

put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himself in the opposite doorway, saying with a smile and

a shiver, "It's like her to come alone, but if she has a bad time she'll need someone to help her home."

In ten minutes Jo came running downstairs with a very red face and the general appearance of a person who

had just passed through a trying ordeal of some sort. When she saw the young gentleman she looked anything

but pleased, and passed him with a nod. But he followed, asking with an air of sympathy, "Did you have a

Jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand him, then began to laugh as if mightily amused at

"What are you laughing at? You are up to some mischief, Jo," said Laurie, looking mystified.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, it wasn't a billiard saloon, but a gymnasium, and I was taking a lesson in

"You can teach me, and then when we play HAMLET, you can be Laertes, and we'll make a fine thing of the

"Laurie burst out with a hearty boy's laugh, which made several passersby smile in spite of themselves.

"I'll teach you whether we play HAMLET or not. It's grand fun and will straighten you up capitally. But I

don't believe that was your only reason for 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 you never go to such places. Do you?"

"It's no harm, Jo. I have billiards at home, but it's no fun unless you have good players, so, as I'm fond of it, I

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, for you'll get to liking it better and better, and will waste time and money, and grow

like those dreadful boys. I did hope you'd stay respectable and be a satisfaction to your friends," said Jo,

"Can't a fellow take a little innocent amusement now and then without losing his respectability?" asked

"That depends upon how and where he takes it. I don't like Ned and his set, and wish you'd keep out of it.

Mother won't let us have him at our house, though he wants to come. And if you grow like him she won't be

willing to have us frolic together as we do now." "Won't she?" asked Laurie anxiously.

"No, she can't bear fashionable young men, and she'd shut us all up in bandboxes rather than have us

"Well, she needn't get out her bandboxes yet. I'm not a fashionable party and don't mean to be, but I do like

"Yes, nobody minds them, so lark away, but don't get wild, will you? Or there will be an end of all our good

"I can't bear saints. Just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and we'll never 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, and got

tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his father's name, I believe, and was altogether horrid."

"No, I don'toh, dear, no!but I hear people talking about money being such a temptation, and I

"A little, when you look moody and discontented, as you sometimes do, for you've got such a strong will, if

Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishing she had held her tongue, for his eyes

"Because if you are, I'll take a bus. If you're not, I'd like to walk with you and tell you something very

"Very well, then, come on. It's a secret, and if I tell you, you must tell me yours."

"You know you haveyou can't hide anything, so up and fess, or I won't tell," cried Laurie.

"Oh, isn't it! All about people you know, and such fun! You ought to hear it, and I've been aching to tell it

"Yes, you do. You get everything you want out of people. I don't know how you do it, but you are a born

"Well, I've left two stories with a newspaperman, and he's to give his answer next week," whispered Jo, in her

"Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American authoress!" cried Laurie, throwing up his hat and catching

it again, to the great delight of two ducks, four cats, five hens, and half a dozen Irish children, for they were

out of the city now. "Hush! It won't come to anything, I dare say, but I couldn't rest till I had tried, and I said

"It won't fail. Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare compared to half the rubbish that is published

every day. Won't it be fun to see them in print, and shan't we feel proud of our authoress?"

Jo's eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in, and a friend's praise is always sweeter than a

"Where's your secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I'll never believe you again," she said, trying to extinguish the

"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

"Is that all? said Jo, looking disappointed, as Laurie nodded and twinkled with a face full of mysterious

"It's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree when I tell you where it is."

Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo's ear, which produced a comical change. She stood and stared at

him for a minute, looking both surprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, "How do you

"Of course I don't. It's ridiculous, it won't be allowed. My patience! What would Meg say?"

"Well, I won't for the present, anyway, but I'm disgusted, and wish you hadn't told me."

"I don't think secrets agree with me, I feel rumpled up in my mind since you told me that," said Jo rather

No one was in sight, the smooth road sloped invitingly before her, and finding the temptation irresistible, Jo

darted away, soon leaving hat and comb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran. Laurie reached the goal

first and was quite satisfied with the success of his treatment, for his Atalanta came panting up with flying

"I wish I was a horse, then I could run for miles in this splendid air, and not 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 under

Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundled up her braids, hoping no one would

pass by till she was tidy again. But someone did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking particularly

"What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, regarding her disheveled sister with wellbred surprise.

"Getting leaves," meekly answered Jo, sorting the rosy handful she had just swept up.

"And hairpins," added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo's lap. "They grow on this road, Meg, so do

"You have been running, Jo. How could you? When will you stop such romping ways?" said Meg

reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs and smoothed 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 make me grow up before my time, Meg. It's

hard enough to have you change all of 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, for lately she had felt that Margaret

was fast getting to be a woman, and Laurie's secret made her dread the separation which must surely come

some time and now seemed very near. He saw the trouble in her face and drew Meg's attention from it by

"At the Gardiners', and Sallie has been telling me all about Belle Moffat's wedding. It was very splendid, and

they have gone to spend the winter in Paris. Just think how delightful that must be!"

"Because if you care much about riches, you will never go and marry a poor man," said Jo, frowning at

"I shall never `go and marry' anyone," observed Meg, walking on with great dignity while the others

followed, laughing, whispering, skipping stones, and `behaving like children', as Meg said to herself, though

For a week or two, Jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quite bewildered. She rushed to the door when

the postman rang, was rude to Mr. Brooke whenever they met, would sit looking at Meg with a woebegone

face, occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her in a very mysterious manner. Laurie and she were

always making signs to one another, and talking about `Spread Eagles' till the girls declared they had both

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 of Laurie chasing Jo all over the garden and finally capturing her in Amy's

bower. What went on there, Meg could not see, but shrieks of laughter were heard, followed by the murmur

"What shall we do with that girl? She never will behave like a young lady," sighed Meg, as she watched the

"I hope she won't. She is so funny and dear as she is," said Beth, who had never betrayed that she was a little

"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 very becoming way., two agreeable things that made her feel unusually

"Nothing but a story, won't amount to much, I guess," returned Jo, carefully keeping the name of the paper

"You'd better read it aloud. That will amuse us and keep you out of mischief," said Amy in her most

With a loud "Hem!" and a long breath, Jo began to read very fast. The girls listened with interest, for the tale

was romantic, and somewhat pathetic, as most of the characters died in the end. "I like that about the splendid

"I prefer the lovering part. Viola and Angelo are two of our favorite names, isn't that queer?" said Meg,

The reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, displaying a flushed countenance, and with a funny mixture

"I knew it! I knew it! Oh, my Jo, I am so proud!" And Beth ran to hug her sister and exult over this splendid

Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure! How Meg wouldn't believe it till she saw the words. "Miss

Josephine March," actually printed in the paper. How graciously Amy critisized the artistic parts of the story,

and offered hints for a sequel, which unfortunately couldn't be carried out, as the hero and heroine were dead.

How Beth got excited, and skipped and sang 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 was when she knew it. How Jo

laughed, with tears in her eyes, as she declared she 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, as the paper passed

"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 one breath as they clustered about Jo, for these foolish, affectionate

"Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything," said Jo, wondering if Miss Burney felt any grander over

her Evilina than she did over her `Rival Painters'. Having told how she disposed of her tales, Jo added, "And

when I went to get my answer, the man said he liked them both, but didn't pay beginners, only let them print

in his paper, and noticed the stories. It was good practice, he said, and when the beginners improved, anyone

would pay. So I let him have the two stories, and today this was sent to me, and Laurie caught me with it and

insisted on seeing it, so I let him. And he said it 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 the girls."

Jo's breath gave out here, and wrapping her head in the paper, she bedewed her little story with a few natural

tears, for to be independent and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearest wishes of her heart, and

"November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year," said Margaret, standing at the window one

"That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose.

"If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month," said Beth, who took a

"I dare say, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family," said Meg, who was out of sorts. "We go

grubbing along day after day, without a bit 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, poor dear, 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 do for my heroines! You're pretty enough and good enough already, so I'd have some rich relation leave you

a fortune unexpectedly. Then you'd dash out as an heiress, scorn everyone who has slighted you, go abroad,

"People don't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays, men have to work and women marry for money.

"Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all. Just wait ten years, and see if we don't," said Amy, who sat

in a corner making mud pies, as Hannah 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, though I'm grateful for your good intentions.

Meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again. Jo groaned and leaned both elbows on the table in a

despondent attitude, but Amy spatted away energetically, and Beth, who sat at the other window, said,

smiling, "Two pleasant things are going to happen right away. Marmee is coming down the street, and Laurie

In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, "Any letter from Father, girls?" and Laurie to say in

his persuasive way, "Won't some of you come for a drive? I've been working away at mathematics till my

head is in a 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 gay inside, if it isn't out. Come, Jo, you and Beth will go, won't

"Much obliged, but I'm busy." And Meg whisked out her workbasket, for she had agreed with her mother that

"We three will be ready in a minute," cried Amy, running away to wash her hands.

"Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?" asked Laurie, leaning over Mrs. March's chair with the

"No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind, dear. It's our day for a letter, and the postman

hasn't been. Father is as regular as the sun, but there's some delay on the way, perhaps."

"It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said, handling it as if she was afraid it would explode and

At the word `telegraph', Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines it contained, and dropped back into her

chair as white as if the little paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed downstairs for water, while

Mrs. March: Your husband is very ill. Come at once. S. HALE Blank Hospital, Washington.

How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely the day darkened outside, and how

suddenly the whole world seemed to change, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all the

Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over, and stretched 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

For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in the room, mingled with broken words of

comfort, tender assurances of help, and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was the first to

recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a good example, for with her, work was panacea for

"The Lord keep the dear man! I won't waste no time acryin', but git your things ready right away, mum," she

said heartily, as she wiped her face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her own

They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking pale but steady, and put away her grief to

"Where's Laurie?' she asked presently, when she had collected her thoughts and decided on the first duties to

"Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy, hurrying from the next room whither he had

withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow was too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see.

"Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next train goes early in the morning. I'll take that."

"What else? The horses are ready. I can go anywhere, do anything," he said, looking ready to fly to the ends

Tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages, Jo drew the table before her mother, well

knowing that money for the long, sad journey must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything to

"Now go, dear, but don't kill yourself driving at a desperate pace. There is no need of that."

Mrs. March's warning was evidently thrown away, for five minutes later Laurie tore by the window on his

"Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can't come. On the way get these things. I'll put them down,

they'll be needed and I must go prepared for 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 for Father. He shall have the best of

everything. Amy, tell Hannah to get down the black trunk, and Meg, come and help me find my things, for

Writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilder the poor lady, and Meg begged her to sit

quietly in her room for a little while, and let them work. Everyone scattered like leaves before a gust of wind,

and the quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as if the paper had been an evil spell.

Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing every comfort the kind old gentleman could think of

for the invalid, and friendliest promises of protection for the girls during the mother's absence, which

comforted her very much. There was nothing he didn't offer, from his own dressing gown to himself as

escort. But the last was impossible. Mrs. March would not hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the long

journey, yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it, for anxiety ill fits one for 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 time to think of him again till, as Meg ran through the entry, with a pair of rubbers in

"I'm very sorry to hear of this, Miss March," he said, in the kind, quiet tone which sounded very pleasantly to

her perturbed spirit. "I came to offer myself as escort to your mother. Mr. Laurence has commissions for me

in Washington, and it will give me real satisfaction to be of service to her there."

Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as Meg put out her hand, with a face so full

of gratitude that Mr. Brooke would have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling one of time

"How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I'm sure, and it will be such a relief to know that she has someone

Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in the brown eyes looking down at her made

her remember the cooling tea, and lead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother.

Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note from Aunt March, enclosing the desired

sum, and a few lines repeating what she had often said before, that she had always told them it was absurd for

March to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come of it, and she hoped they would take

her advice the next time. Mrs. March put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on with her

preparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which Jo would have understood if she had been there.

The short afternoon wore away. All other errands were done, and Meg and her mother busy at some

necessary needlework, while Beth and Amy goth tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a

`slap and a bang', but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious, and Laurie went off to find her, for no

one knew what freak Jo might take into her head. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with a

very queer expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear, satisfaction and regret in it,

which puzzled the family as much as did the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little choke

in her voice, "That's my contribution toward making Father comfortable and bringing him home!" "My dear,

where did you get it? Twentyfive 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 I don't think you'll blame me, for I

As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.

"Your hair! Your beautiful hair!" "Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one beauty." "My dear girl, there was no

need of this." "She doesn't look like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!"

As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Jo assumed an indifferent air, which did

not deceive anyone a particle, and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked it, "It

doesn't affect the fate of the nation, so don't wail, Beth. It will be good for my vanity, I getting too proud of

my wig. It will do my brains good to have that mop taken off. My head feels deliciously light and cool, and

the barber said I could soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order. I'm

"Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can't blame you, for I know how willingly you

sacrificed your vanity, as you call it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraid you will

"No, I won't!" returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her prank was not entirely condemned.

"What made you do it?" asked Amy, who would as soon have thought of cutting off her head as her pretty

"Well, I was wild to to something for Father," replied Jo, as they gathered about the table, for healthy young

people can eat even in the midst of trouble. "I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knew Aunt

March would croak, she always does, if you ask for a ninepence. Meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the

rent, and I only got some clothes with mine, so I felt wicked, and was bound to have some money, if I sold

"You needn't feel wicked, my child! You had no winter things and got the simplest with your own hard

"I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I went along I kept thinking what I could do, and

feeling as if I'd like to dive into some of the rich stores and help myself. In a barber's window I saw tails of

hair with the prices marked, and one black tail, not so thick as mine, was forty dollars. It came to me all of a

sudden that I had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping to think, I walked in, asked if they

"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 his shop and ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn't care about

mine, it wasn't the fashionable color, and he never paid much for it in the first place. 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 done at all, and you know when I start to do a thing, I hate to give it up. So I begged 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 the story in my topsyturvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly, `Take it, Thomas, and oblige the

young lady. I'd do as much for our Jimmy any day if I had a spire of hair worth selling."

"Who was Jimmy?" asked Amy, who liked to have things explained as they went along.

"Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly such things make strangers feel, don't they? She

"I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that was the end of it. I never snivel over

trifles like that. I will confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on the table, and felt

only the short 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

Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a short gray one in her desk. She only said,

"Thank you, deary," but something in her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully as

they could about Mr. Brooke's kindness, the prospect of a fine day tomorrow, and the happy times they would

No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o'clock Mrs. March put by the last finished job, and said, "Come

girls." Beth went to the piano and played the father's favorite hymn. All began bravely, but broke down one

by one till Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to her music was always a sweet consoler.

"Go to bed and don't talk, for we must be up early and shall need all the sleep we can get. Good night, my

They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear invalid lay in the next room. Beth and Amy

soon fell asleep in spite of the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious thoughts she had

ever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, and her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob

"My...My hair!" burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smother her emotion in the pillow.

It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed the afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner.

"I'm not sorry," protested Jo, with a choke. "I'd do it again tomorrow, if I could. 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 just

"Handsome faceseyes particularly," answered Meg, smiling to herself in the dark. "What color do you like

Jo, laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiably promised to make her hair curl, and fell

The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as a figure glided quietly from bed to bed,

smoothing a coverlet here, settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each unconscious

face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As

she lifted the curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from behind the clouds and

shone upon her like a bright, benignant face, which seemed to whisper in the silence," Be comforted, dear

In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and read their chapter with an earnestness never felt before.

For now the shadow of a real trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort, and as they

dressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully and hopefully, and send their mother on her anxious journey

unsaddened by tears or complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went down, so dim

and still outside, so full of light and bustle within. Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even

Hannah's familiar face looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her nightcap on. The big trunk

stood ready in the hall, Mother's cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and Mother herself sat trying to eat, but

looking so pale and worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it very hard to keep their

resolution. Meg's eyes kept filling in spite of herself, Jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller

more than once, ant the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression, as if sorrow was a new experience to

Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near and they sat waiting for the carriage, Mrs. March said to

the girls, who were all busied about her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of her

bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a forth fastening up her travelling 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 if you were his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious that you

should take this trouble rightly. Don't grieve and fret when I am gone, or think that you can be idle and

comfort yourselves by being idle and trying to forget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed

solace. Hope and keep busy, and whatever happens, remember that you never can be fatherless."

"Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and in any perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence.

Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent or do rash things, write to me often, and be my brave girl, ready to help

and cheer all. Beth, comfort yourself with your music, and be faithful to the little home duties, and You Amy,

The rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen. That was the hard minute, but the girls

stood it well. No one cried, no one ran away or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very heavy as

they sent loving messages to Father, remembering, as they spoke that it might be too late to deliver them.

They kissed their mother quietly, clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands cheerfully when she

Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and Mr. Brooke looked so strong and sensible and kind

"Goodby, my darlings! God bless and keep us all!" whispered Mrs. March, as she kissed one dear little face

As she rolled away, the sun came out, and looking back, she saw it shining on the group at the gate like a

good omen. They saw it also, and smiled and waved their hands, and the last thing she beheld as she turned

the corner was the four bright faces, and behind them like a bodyguard, old Mr. Laurence, faithful Hannah,

"How kind everyone is to us!" she said, turning to find fresh proof of it in the respectful sympathy of the

"I don't see how they can help it," returned Mr. Brooke, laughing so infectiously that Mrs. March could not

help smiling. And so the journey began with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful words.

"I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said Jo, as their neighbors went home to breakfast, leaving them to

Beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pile of nicely mended hose which lay on

Mother's table, showing that even in her last hurried moments she had thought and worked for them. It was a

little thing, but it went straight to their hearts, and in spite of their brave resolutions, they all broke down and

Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and when the shower showed signs of clearing up, she

"Now, ny dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and don't fret. Come and have a cup of coffee all

Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact in making it that morning. No one could resist her

persuasive nods, or the fragrant invitation issuing from the nose of the coffee pot. They drew up to the table,

exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in ten minutes were all right again.

"`Hope and keep busy', that's the motto for us, so let's see who will remember it best. I shall go to Aunt

March, as usual. Oh, won't she lecture though!" said Jo, as she sipped with returning spirit.

"I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather stay at home and attend to things here," said Meg, wishing

"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 have everything nice when you come home," added Beth, getting out her mop

The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for it, though Meg shook her head at the young lady who

The sight of the turnovers made Jo sober again, and when the two went out to their daily tasks, they looked

sorrowfully back at the window where they were accustomed to see their mother's face. It was gone, but Beth

had remembered the little household ceremony, and there she was, nodding away at them like a rosyfaced

"That's so like my Beth!" said Jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face. "Goodbye, Meggy, I hope the Kings

"And I hope Aunt March won't croak. Your hair is becoming, and it looks very boyish and nice," returned

Meg, trying not to smile at the curly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders.

"That's my only comfort." And, touching her hat a` la Laurie, away went Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a

News from their father comforted the girls very much, for though dangerously ill, the presence of the best and

tenderest of nurses had already done him good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and as the head of the

family, Meg insisted on reading the dispatches, which grew more cheerful as the week passed. At first,

everyone was eager to write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter box by one or other of

the sisters, who felt rather important with their Washington correspondence. As one of these packets

contained characteristic notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, and read them.

It is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made us, for the news was so good we couldn't help

laughing and crying over it. How very kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate that Mr. Laurence's business

detains him near you so long, since he is so useful to you and Father. The girls are all as good as gold. Jo

helps me with the sewing, and insists on doing all sorts 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 looks sober except when she is at her little piano. Amy

minds me nicely, and I take great care of her. She does her own hair, and I am teaching her to make

buttonholes and mend her stockings. She tries very hard, and I know you will be pleased with her

improvement when you come. Mr. Laurence watches over us like a motherly old hen, as Jo says, and Laurie

is very kind and neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we get pretty blue sometimes, and feel like

orphans, with you so far away. Hannah is a perfect saint. She does not scold at all, and always calls me Miss

Margaret, which is quite proper, you know, and treats me with respect. We are all well and busy, but we long,

day and night, to have you back. Give my dearest love to Father, and believe me, ever your own...

This note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast to the next, which was scribbled on a big

sheet of thin foreign paper, ornamented with blots and all manner of flourishes and curlytailed letters.

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 the letter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but I could only

cry, 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 I can enjoy them, for everyone is so desperately good, it's like

living in a nest of turtledoves. You'd laugh to see Meg head the table and try to be motherish. 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 be anything else. Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a quarrel with Laurie. I freed

my mind about a silly little thing, and he was offended. I was right, but didn't speak as I ought, and he

marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till I begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't and got mad. It

lasted all day. I felt bad and wanted you very much. Laurie and I are both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon.

But I thought he'd come to it, for I was in the right. He didn't come, and just at night I remembered what you

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 was sorry. I met him at the gate, coming for the same thing. We both laughed,

I made a `pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash, and as Father likes my silly little things, I put it

in to amuse him. Give him my lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times for your...

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, While the white foam rises high, And sturdily wash and rinse and wring,

And fasten the clothes to dry. Then out in the free fresh air they swing, Under the sunny sky.

I wish we could wash from out hearts and souls The stains of the week away, And let water and air by their

magic make Ourselves as pure as they. Then on the earth there would be indeed, A glorious washing day!

Along the path of a useful life, Will heartsease ever bloom. The busy mind has no time to think Of sorrow or

care or gloom. And anxious thoughts 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 me health and strength and hope, And I

cheerfully learn to say, "Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel, But, Hand, you shall work alway!"

There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed pansies from the root I have been keeping safe

in the house for Father to see. I read every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep with

Father'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 the

Kiss dear Father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon to your loving . ..

We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate the girlsMeg says I mean contradick so I put

in both words and you can take the properest. Meg is a great comfort to me and lets me have jelly every night

at 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 fast

when I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie King does. The sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and Meg

put in new ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than the dress. I felt bad but did not

fret I bear my troubles well but I do wish Hannah would put more starch in my aprons and have buckwheats

every day. Can't she? Didn't I make that interrigation point nice? Meg says my punchtuation and spelling are

disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have so many things to do, I can't stop. Adieu, I send heaps of

I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate. The girls is clever and fly round 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 doos

beat all for goin ahead, but she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you never know where she's like to bring up.

She done out a tub of clothes on Monday, but she starched 'em afore they was wrenched, and blued a pink

calico dress till I thought I should a died a laughin. Beth is the best of little creeters, and a sight of help to me,

bein so forehanded and dependable. She tries to learn everything, and really goes to market beyond her years,

likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful. We have got on very 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

does well without frettin, wearin her best clothes and eatin sweet stuff. Mr. Laurie is as full of didoes as

usual, and turns the house upside down frequent, but he heartens the girls, so I let em hev full swing. The old

gentleman send heaps of things, and is rather wearin, but means wal, and it aint my place to say nothin. My

bread is riz, so no more at this time. I send my duty to Mr. March, and hope he's seen the last of his

All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in fine condition, commisary department well conducted, the Home

Guard under Colonel Teddy always on duty, Commander in Chief General Laurence reviews the army daily,

Quartermaster Mullet keeps order in camp, and Major Lion does picket duty at night. A salute of twentyfour

guns was fired on reciept of good news from Washington, and a dress parade took place at headquarters.

The little girls are all well. Beth and my boy report daily. Hannah is a model servant, and guards pretty Meg

like a dragon. Glad the fine weather holds. Pray make Brooke useful, and draw on me for funds if expenses

exceed your estimate. Don't let your husband want anything. Thank God he is mending.

For a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have supplied the neighborhood. It was really

amazing, for everyone seemed in a heavenly frame of mind, and selfdenial was all the fashion. Relieved of

their first anxiety about their father, girls insensibly relaxed their praiseworthy efforts a little, and began to

fall back into old ways. They did not forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busy seemed to grow easier,

and after such tremendous exertions, they felt that Endeavor deserved a holiday, 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't like to hear people read with colds in their heads. Jo liked this, and after an

energetic rummage from garret to cellar, subsided on the sofa to nurse her cold with arsenicum and books.

Amy found that housework and art did not go well together, and returned to her mud pies. Meg went daily to

her pupils, and sewed, or thought she did, at home, but much time was spent in writing long letters to her

mother, or reading the Washington dispatches over and over. Beth kept on, with only slight relapses into

All the little duties were faithfully done each day, and many of her sisters' also, for they were forgetful, and

the house seemed like a clock whose pendulum was gone avisiting. When her heart got heavy with longings

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 and prayed her little prayer quietly by herself. Nobody knew what cheered

her up after a sober fit, but everyone felt how sweet and helpful Beth was, and fell into a way of going to her

All were unconscious that this experience was a test of character, and when the first excitement was over, felt

that they had done well and deserved praise. So they did, but their mistake was in ceasing to do well, and they

"Meg, I wish you'd go and see the Hummels. You know Mother told us not to forget them." said Beth, ten

"I'm too tired to go this afternoon," re;lied Meg, rocking comfortably as she sewed.

"It's well enough for me to go out with Laurie, but not well enough to go to the Hummels'," said Jo, laughing,

"I have been every day, but the baby is sick, and I don't know what to do for it. Mrs. Hummel goes away to

work, and Lottchen takes care of it. But it gets sicker and sicker, and I think you or Hannah ought to go."

"Ask Hannah for some nice little mess, and take it round, Beth, the air will do you good," said Jo, adding

"My head aches and I'm tired, so I thought maybe some of you would go," said Beth.

So Beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to their work, and the Hummels were forgotten. An hour

passed. Amy did not come, Meg went to her room to try on a new dress, Jo was absorbed in her story, and

Hannah was sound asleep before the kitchen fire, when Beth quietly put on her hood, filled her basket with

odds and ends for the poor children, and went out into the chilly air with a heavy head and a grieved look in

her patient eyes. It was late when she came back, and no one saw her creep upstairs and shut herself into her

mother's room. Half an hour after, Jo went to `Mother's closet' for something, and there found little Beth

sitting on the medicine chest, looking very grave, with red eyes and a camphor bottle in her hand.

"Christopher Columbus! What's the matter?" cried Jo, as Beth put out her hand as if to warn her off, and

"My poor dear, how dreadful for you! I ought to have gone," said Jo, taking her sister in her arms as she sat

"It wasn't dreadful, Jo, only so sad! I saw in a minute it was sicker, but Lottchen said her mother had gone for

a doctor, so I took Baby and let Lotty rest. It seemed asleep, but all of a sudden if gave a little cry and

trembled, and then lay very still. I tried to warm its feet, and Lotty gave it some milk, but it didn't stir, and I

"I just sat and held it softly till Mrs. Hummel came with the doctor. He said it was dead, and looked at

Heinrich and Minna, who have sore throats. `Scarlet fever, ma'am. Ought to have called me before, ' he said

crossly. Mrs. Hummel told him she was poor, and had tried to cure baby herself, but now it was too late, and

she could only ask him to help the others and trust to charity for his pay. He smiled then, and was kinder, but

it was very sad, and I cried with them till he turned round all of a sudden, and told me to go home and take

"No, you won't!" cried Jo, hugging her close, with a frightened look. "Oh, Beth, if you should be sick I never

"Don't be frightened, I guess I shan't have it badly. I looked in Mother's book, and saw that it begins with

headache, sore throat, and queer feelings like mine, so I did take some belladonna, and I feel better," said

"If Mother was only at home!" exclaimed Jo, seizing the book, and feeling that 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

been over the baby every day for more than a week, and among the others who are going to have it, so I'm

afraid you are going to have it, Beth. I'll call Hannah, she knows all about sickness." "Don't let Amy come.

She never had it, and I should hate to give it to her. Can't you and Meg have it over again?" asked Beth,

"I guess not. Don't care if I do. Serve me right, selfish pig, to let you go, and stay writing rubbish myself!"

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, and if rightly treated, nobody died, all of which Jo believed, and felt much

"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," said Hannah, when she had examined and 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's for a spell, to keep her out of harm's way, and one of you girls can stay at home and amuse Beth for a

"I shall stay, of course, I'm oldest," began Meg, looking anxious and selfreproachful.

"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.

"Jo, please." And Beth leaned her head against her sister with a contented look, which effectually settled that

"I'll go and tell Amy," said Meg, feeling a little hurt, yet rather relieved on the whole, for she did not like

Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had rather have the fever than go to Aunt March.

Meg reasoned, pleaded, and commanded, all in vain. Amy protested that she would not go, and Meg left her

in despair to ask Hannah what should be done. Before she came back, Laurie walked into the parlor to find

Amy sobbing, with her head in the sofa cushions. She told her story, expecting to be consoled, but Laurie

only put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room, whistling softly, as he knit his brows in deep

thought. Presently he sat down beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, "Now be a sensible little

woman, and do as they say. No, don't cry, but hear what a jolly plan I've got. 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 than

"I don't wish to be sent off as if I was in the way," began Amy, in an injured 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 all the time."

"That's the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you may escape it. Change of air and care will

keep you well, I dare say, or if it does not entirely, you will have the fever more lightly. I advise you to be off

"But it's dull at Aunt March's, and she is so cross," said Amy, looking rather 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 as possible to her, so she won't peck at us, whatever we do."

"Good girl! Call Meg, and tell her you'll give in," said Laurie, with an approving pat, which annoyed Amy

Meg and Jo came running down to behold the miracle which had been wrought, and Amy, feeling very

precious and selfsacrificing, promised to go, if the doctor said Beth was going to be ill.

"How is the little dear?" asked Laurie, for Beth was his especial pet, and he felt more anxious about her than

"She is lying down on Mother's bed, and feels better. The baby's death troubled her, but I dare say she has

only got cold. Hannah says she thinks so, 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. There doesn't seem to be anything to hold on to when Mother's gone, so

"Well, don't make a porcupine of yourself, it isn't becoming. Settle your wig, 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

"That is what troubles me," said Meg. "I think we ought to tell her if Beth is really ill, but Hannah says we

mustn't, for Mother can't leave Father, and it will only make them anxious. Beth won't be sick long, and

Hannah knows just what to do, and Mother said we were to mind her, so I suppose we must, but it doesn't

"Hum, well, I can't say. Suppose you ask Grandfather after the doctor has been."

"We will. Jo, go and get Dr. Bangs at once," commanded Meg. "We can't decide anything till he has been."

"Stay where you are, Jo. I'm errand boy to this establishment," said Laurie, taking up his cap.

"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 the fence 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 thought she would have it lightly, though he

looked sober over the Hummel story. Amy was ordered off at once, and provided with something to ward off

"What do you want now?" she asked, looking sharply over her spectacles, while the parrot, sitting on the back

"No more than I expected, if you are allowed to go poking about among poor folks. Amy can stay and make

herself useful if she isn't sick, which I've no doubt she will be, looks like it now. Don't cry, child, it worries

me to hear people sniff." Amy was on the point of crying, but Laurie slyly pulled the parrot's tail, which

caused Polly to utter an astonished croak and call out, "Bless my boots!" in such a funny way, that she

"Oh, is her? Well, that won't last long, I fancy. March never had any stamina," was the cheerful reply.

"Ha, ha! Never say die, take a pinch of snuff, goodbye, goodbye!" squalled Polly, dancing on her perch, and

"Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird! And, Jo, you'd better go at once. It isn't proper to be gadding

"Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!" cried Polly, tumbling off the chair with a bounce, and running

to peck the `rattlepated' boy, who was shaking with laughter at the last speech.

"I don't think I can bear it, but I'll try," thought Amy, as she was left alone with Aunt March.

"Get along, you fright!" screamed Polly, and at that rude speech Amy could not restrain a sniff.

Beth did have the fever, and was much sicker than anyone but Hannah and the doctor suspected. The girls

knew nothing about illness, and Mr. Laurence was not allowed to see her, so Hannah had everything her own

way, and busy Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the excellent nurse. Meg stayed at home, lest she

should infect the Kings, and kept house, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wrote letters in

which no mention was made of Beth's illness. She could not think it right to deceive her mother, but she had

been bidden to mind Hannah, and Hannah wouldn't hear of `Mrs. March bein' told, and worried just for sech a

Jo devoted herself to Beth day and night, not a hard task, for Beth was very patient, and bore her pain

uncomplainingly as long as she could control herself. But there came a time when during the fever fits she

began to talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to play on the coverlet as if on her beloved little piano, and try to sing

with a throat so swollen that there was no music left, a time when she did not know the familiar faces around

her, but addressed them by wrong names, and called imploringly for her mother. Then Jo grew frightened,

Meg begged to be allowed to write the truth, and even 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 a relapse, and could

How dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely the house, and how heavy were the hearts of the sisters

as they worked and waited, while the shadow of death hovered over the once happy home. Then it was that

Margaret, sitting alone with tears dropping often on her work, felt how rich she had been in things more

precious than any luxuries money could buyin love, protection, peace, and health, the real blessings of life.

Then it was that Jo, living in the darkened room, with that suffering little sister always 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

how deep and tender a place she filled in all hearts, and to acknowledge the worth of Beth's unselfish

ambition to live for others, and make home happy by that exercise of those simple virtues which all may

possess, and which all should love and value more than talent, wealth, or beauty. And Amy, in her exile,

longed eagerly to be at home, that she might work for Beth, feeling now that no service would be hard or

irksome, and remembering, with regretful grief, how many neglected tasks those willing hands had done for

her. Laurie haunted the house like a restless ghost, and Mr. Laurence locke the grand piano, because he could

not bear to be reminded of the young neighbor who used to make the twilight pleasant for him. Everyone

missed Beth. The milkman, baker, grocer, and butcher inquired how she did, poor Mrs. Hummel came to beg

pardon for her thoughtlessness and to get a shroud for Minna, the neighbors sent all sorts of comforts and

good wishes, and even those who knew her best were surprised to find how many friends shy little Beth had

Meanwhile she lay on her bed with old Joanna at her side, for even in her wanderings 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

her quiet hours she was full of anxiety about Jo. She sent loving messages to Amy, bade them tell her mother

that she would write soon, and often begged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, that Father might not

think she had neglected him. But soon even these intervals of consciousness ended, and she lay hour after

hour, tossing to and fro, with incoherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavy sleep which brought her no

refreshment. Dr. Bangs came twice a day, Hannah sat up at night, Meg kept a telegram in her desk all ready

The first of December was a wintry day indeed to them, for a bitter wind blew, snow fell fast, and the year

seemed getting ready for its death. When Dr. Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, held the hot

hand in both his own for a minute, and laid it gently down, saying, in a low voice to Hannah, "If Mrs. March

Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously, Meg dropped down into a chair as the

strength seemed to go out of her limbs at the 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 taking off her cloak, Laurie came in with a letter, saying that Mr. March

was mending again. Jo read it thankfully, but the heavy weight did not seem lifted off her heart, and her face

"I've sent for Mother," said Jo, tugging at her rubber boots with a tragic expression.

"Good for you, Jo! Did you do it on your own responsibility?" asked Laurie, as he seated her in the hall chair

"Yes, it is. She doesn't know us, she doesn't even talk about the flocks of green doves, as she calls the vine

leaves on the wall. She doesn't look like my Beth, and there's nobody to help us bear it. Mother and father

As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo's cheeks, she stretched out her hand in a helpless sort of way, as if

groping in the dark, and Laurie took it in his, whispering as well as he could with a lump in his throat, "I'm

She could not speak, but she did `hold on', and the warm grasp of the friendly human hand comforted her sore

heart, and seemed to lead her nearer to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble.

Laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fitting words came to him, so he stood silent,

gently stroking her bent head as her mother used to do. It was the best thing he could have done, far more

soothing than the most eloquent words, for Jo felt the unspoken sympathy, and in the silence learned the

sweet solace which affection administers to sorrow. Soon she dried the tears which had relieved her, and

"Thank you, Teddy, I'm better now. I don't feel so forlorn, and will try to bear it if it comes."

"Keep hoping for the best, that will help you, Jo. Soon your mother will be here, and then everything will be

"I'm so glad Father is better. Now she won't feel so bad about leaving him. Oh, me! It does seem as if all the

troubles came in a heap, and I got the heaviest part on my shoulders," sighed Jo, spreading her wet

"Oh, yes, she tries to, but she can't love Bethy as I do, and she won't miss her as I shall. Beth is my

Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried despairingly, 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 had subdued the

choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips. It might be unmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of

it. Presently, as Jo's sobs quieted, he said hopefully, "I don't think she will die. She's so good, and we all love

"The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words cheered

"Poor girl, you're worn out. It isn't like you to be forlorn. Stop a bit. I'll hearten you up in a jiffy."

Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head down on Beth's little brown hood, which no

one had thought of moving from the table where she left it. It must have possessed some magic, for the

submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo, and when Laurie 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?" she added, as the wine refreshed her

"I'll send my bill, byandby, and tonight I'll give you some thing that will warm the cockles of your heart

better than quarts of wine," said Laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at something.

"I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and Brooke answered she'd come at once, and she'll be here tonight,

Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for he had kept his plot a secret, for fear of

disappointing the girls or harming Beth. Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment he

stopped 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

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 a dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I couldn't help flying at you.

"I don't mind," laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie. "Why, you see I got fidgety, and so did Grandpa. We

thought Hannah was overdoing the authority business, and your mother ought to know. She'd never forgive

us if Beth... Well, if anything happened, you know. So I got grandpa to say it was 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 I proposed a telegram. I never can bear to be `lorded over', so that settled my mind, and I did

it. Your mother will come, I know, and the late train is in at two 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."

"Fly at me again. I rather liked it," said Laurie, looking mischievous, a thing he had not done for a fortnight.

"No, thank you. I'll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes. Don't tease, but go home and rest, for you'll be

Jo had backed into a corner, and as she finished her speech, she vanished precipitately into the kitchen, where

she sat down upon a dresser and told the assembled cats that she was "happy, oh, so happy!" while Laurie

"That's the interferingest chap I ever see, but I forgive him and do hope Mrs. March is coming right away,"

Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while Jo set the sickroom in order, and Hannah

`knocked up a couple of pies in case of company unexpected". A breath of fresh air seemed to blow through

the house, and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms. Everything appeared to feel the

hopeful change. Beth's bird began to chirp again, and a halfblown rose was discovered on Amy's bush in the

window. The fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness, and every time the 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 unconscious of hope and joy, doubt

and danger. It was a piteous sight, the once rosy face so changed and vacant, the once busy hands so weak

and wasted, the once smiling lips quite dumb, and the once pretty, wellkept hair scattered rough and tangled

on the pillow. All day she say so, only rousing now and then to mutter, "Water!" with lips so parched they

could hardly shape the word. 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 wind raged, and the hours dragged slowly by. But night

came at last, and every time the clock struck, the sisters, still sitting on either side of the bed, looked at each

other with brightening eyes, for each hour brought help nearer. 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 fell fast asleep, Mr. Laurence marched to

and fro in the parlor, feeling that he would rather face a rebel battery than Mrs. March's countenance as she

entered. Laurie lay on the rug, pretending to rest, but staring into the fire with the thoughtful look which

The girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came to them as they kept their watch, with that dreadful sense

"If god spares Beth, I'll try to love and serve Him all my life," answered Jo, with equal fervor.

"If life is often as hard as this, I don't see how we ever shall get through it," added her sister despondently.

Here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot themselves in watching Beth, for they fancied a change passed

over her wan face. The house was still 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 shadow which seemed to fall upon the little

bed. An hour went by, and nothing happened except Laurie's quiet departure for the station. Another hour,

still no one came, and anxious fears of delay in the storm, or accidents by the way, or, worst of all, a great

It was past two, when Jo, who stood at the window thinking how dreary the world looked in its winding sheet

of snow, heard a movement by the bed, and turning quickly, saw Meg kneeling before their mother's easy

chair with her face hidden. A dreadful fear passed coldly over Jo, as she thought, "Beth is dead, and Meg is

She was back at her post in an instant, and to her excited eyes a great change seemed to have taken place. The

fever flush and the look of pain were gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and peaceful in its utter

repose that Jo felt no desire to weep or to lament. Leaning low over this dearest of her sisters, she kissed the

damp forehead with her heart on her lips, and softly whispered, "Goodby, my Beth. Goodby!"

As if awaked by the stir, Hannah started out of her sleep, hurried to the bed, looked at Beth, felt her hands,

listened at her lips, and then, throwing her apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro, exclaiming,

under her breath, "The fever's turned, she's sleepin' nat'ral, her skin's damp, and she breathes easy. Praise be

Before the girls could believe the happy truth, the doctor came to confirm it. He was a homely man, but they

thought his face quite heavenly when he smiled and said, with a fatherly look at them, "Yes, my dears, I think

the little girl will pull through this time. Keep the house quiet, let her sleep, 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 full for words. When they went back to be kissed and cuddled by

faithful Hannah, they found Beth lying, as she used to do, with her cheek pillowed on her hand, the dreadful

"See," said Meg, coming up with a white, halfopened rose, "I thought this would hardly be ready to lay in

Beth's hand tomorrow if shewent away from us. But it has blossomed in the night, and now I mean to put it

in my vase here, so that when the darling wakes, the first thing she sees will be the little rose, and Mother's

Never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never had the world seemed so lovely as it did to the heavy eyes

of Meg and Jo, as they looked out in the early morning, when their long, sad vigil was done.

"It looks like a fairy world," said Meg, smiling to herself, as she stood behind the curtain, watching the

Yes, there was a sound of bells at the door below, a cry from Hannah, and then Laurie's voice saying in a

While these things were happening at home, Amy was having hard times at Aunt March's. She felt her exile

deeply, and for the first time in her life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. Aunt March

never 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 March had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, though

she didn't think it proper to confess it. She really did her best to make Amy happy, but, dear me, what

mistakes she made. Some old people keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, can sympathize

with children's little cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can hide wise lessons under pleasant plays,

giving and receiving friendship in the sweetest way. But Aunt March had not this gift, and she worried Amy

very much 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 felt it her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of

home freedom and indulgence. So she took Amy by the hand, and taught her as she herself had been taught

sixty years ago, a process which carried dismay to Amy's soul, and made her feel like a fly in the web of a

She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the oldfashioned spoons, the fat silver teapot, and

the glasses till they shone. Then she must dust the room, and what a trying job that was. Not a speck escaped

Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs and much carving, which was never dusted to suit. Then

Polly had to be fed, the lap dog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down to get things or deliver orders,

for the old lady was very lame and seldom left her big chair. After these tiresome labors, she must do her

lessons, which was a daily trial of every virtue she possessed. Then she was allowed one hour for exercise or

Laurie came every day, and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowed to 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 outward meekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to

amuse herself as she liked till teatime. The evenings were the worst of all, for Aunt March fell to telling long

stories about her youth, which were so unutterably dull that Amy was always ready to go to be, intending to

cry over her hard fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a tear or two.

If it had not been for Laurie, and old Esther, the maid, she felt that she never could have got through that

dreadful time. The parrot alone was enough 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 her hair whenever she came near

him, upset his bread and milk to plague her when she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop bark by pecking

at him while Madam dozed, called her names before company, and behaved in all respects 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 idiotic expression of

countenance when he wanted something to eat, which was about a dozen times a day. The cook was

badtempered, the old coachman was deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any notice of the young

Esther was a Frenchwoman, who had lived with`Madame', as she called her 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

Aunt March ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition that she was never asked to change her

religion. She took a fancy to Mademoiselle, and amused her very much with odd stories of her life in France,

when Amy sat with her while she got up Madam's laces. She also allowed her to roam about the great house,

and examine the curious and pretty things stored away in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests, for Aunt

March hoarded like a magpie. Amy's chief delight was an Indian cabinet, full of queer drawers, little

pigeonholes, and secret places, in which were kept all sorts of ornaments, some precious, some merely

curious, all more or less antique. To examine and arrange these things gave Amy great satisfaction, especially

the jewel cases, in which on velvet cushions reposed the ornaments which had adorned a belle forty years

ago. There was the garnet set which Aunt March wore when she came out, the pearls her father gave her on

her wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings and pins, the queer lockets, with portraits of

dead friends and weeping willows made 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 had played with, and in a box all by itself

lay Aunt March's wedding ring, too small now for her fat finger, but put carefully away like the most

"Which would Mademoiselle choose if she had her will?" asked Esther, wo always sat near to watch over and

"I like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace among them, and I'm fond 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

"I, too, covet that, but not as a necklace. Ah, no! To me it is a rosary, and as such I should use it like a good

"Is it meant to use as you use the string of goodsmelling wooden beads hanging over your glass?" asked

"Truly, yes, to pray with. It would be pleasing to the saints if one used so fine a rosary as this, instead of

"You seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, Esther, and always come down looking quiet and

"If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find true comfort, but as that is not to be, it would be well if you

went apart each day to meditate and pray, as did the good mistress whom I served before Madame. She had a

"Would it be right for me to do so too?" asked Amy, who in her loneliness felt the need of help of some sort,

and found that she was apt to forget 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 little dressing room for you if you like it.

Say nothing to Madame, but when she sleeps go you and sit alone a while to think good thoughts, and pray

Esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her advice, for she had an affectionate heart, and felt much for the

sisters in their anxiety. Amy liked the idea, and gave her leave to arrange the light closet next her room,

"I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt March dies," she said, as she slowly

"To you and your sisters. I know it, Madame confides in me. I witnessed her will, and it is to be so,"

"How nice! But I wish she'd let us have them now. Procrastination is not agreeable," observed Amy, taking a

"It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things. The first one who is affianced will have the

pearls, Madame has said it, and I have a fancy that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when you go,

"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 after all." And Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face and a firm

From that day she was a model of obedience, and the old lady complacently admired the success of her

training. Esther fitted up the closet with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it a picture taken

from one of the shutup rooms. She thought it was of no great value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it,

well knowing that Madame would never know it, nor care if she did. It was, however, a very valuable copy of

one of the famous pictures of the world, and Amy's beautyloving eyes were 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 table

she laid her little testament and hymnbook, kept a vase always full of the best flowers Laurie brought her, and

came every day to `sit alone' thinking good thoughts, and praying the dear God to preserve her sister. Esther

had given her a rosary of black beads with a silver cross, but Amy hung it up and did not use it, feeling

The little girl was very sincere in all this, for being left alone outside the safe home nest, she felt the need of

some kind hand to hold by so sorely that she instinctively turned to the strong and tender Friend, whose

fatherly love most closely surrounds His little children. She missed her mother's help to understand and rule

herself, but having been taught where 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 very heavy. She tried to forget herself, to keep

cheerful, and be satisfied with doing right, though no one saw or praised her for it. In her first effort at being

very, very good, she decided to make her will, as Aunt March had done, so that if she did fall ill and die, her

possessions might be justly and generously divided. It cost her a pang even to think of giving up the little

During one of her play hours she wrote out the important document as well as she could, with some help from

Esther as to certain legal terms, and when the goodnatured Frenchwoman had signed her name, Amy felt

relieved and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as a second witness. As it was a rainy day, she went

upstairs to amuse herself in one of the large chambers, and took Polly with her for company. In this room

there was a wardrobe full of oldfashioned costumes with which Esther allowed her to play, and it was her

favorite amusement to array herself in the faded brocades, and parade up and down before the long mirror,

making stately curtsies, and sweeping her train about with a rustle which delighted her ears. So busy was she

on this day that she did not hear Laurie's ring nor see his face peeping in at her as she gravely promenaded to

and fro, flirting her fan and tossing her head, on which she wore a great pink turban, contrasting oddly with

her blue brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat. She was obliged to walk carefully, for she had on

highheeled shoes, and, as Laurie told Jo afterward, it was a comical sight to see her mince along in her gay

suit, with Polly sidilng and bridling just behind her, imitating her as well as he could, and occasionally

stopping to laugh or exclaim, "Ain't we fine? Get along, you fright! Hold your tongue! Kiss me, dear! Ha!

Having with difficulty restrained an explosion of merriment, lest it should offend her majesty, Laurie tapped

"Sit down and rest while I put these things away, then I want to consult you about a very serious matter," said

Amy, when she had shown her splendor and driven Polly into a corner. "That bird is the trial of my life," she

continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while Laurie seated himself astride a chair.

"Yesterday, when Aunt was asleep and I was trying to be as still as a mouse, Polly began to squall and flap

about in his cage, 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, stooped down and peeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny

way, with a cock of his eye, `Come out and take a walk, my dear.' I couldn't help laughing, which made Poll

"Yes, out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, and scrambled up on Aunt's chair, calling out,

"I'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment," cried Laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, who put his

"Now I'm ready," said Amy, shutting the wardrobe and taking a piece of paper out of her pocket. "I want you

to read that, please, and tell me if it is legal and right. I felt I ought to do it, for life is uncertain and I don't

Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read the following document, with

I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, go give and bequeethe all my earthly propertyviz.to

To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art, including frames. Also my $100, to do what

To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pocketsalso my likeness, and my medal, with

To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise ring (if I get it), also my green box with the doves on it,

also my; piece of real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her 'little girl'.

To Jo I leave my breastpin, the one mended with sealing wax, also my bronze inkstandshe lost the

coverand 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, my fan, my linen collars and my new

slippers if she can wear them being thin when she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my regret that I

To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my paper mashay portfolio, my clay model of a

horse though he did say it hadn't any neck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any

To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which will

be nice for his pens and remind him of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family,

I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apron and my goldbead ring with a kiss.

To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork I leave hoping she `will remember me, when

And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all will be satisfied and not blame the dead. I

To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861.

The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained that he was to rewrite it in ink and seal it up for her

"What put it into your head? Did anyone tell you about Beth's giving away her things?" asked Laurie soberly,

as Amy laid a bit of red tape, with sealing wax, a taper, and a standish before him.

"I'm sorry I spoke, but as I did, I'll tell you. She felt so ill one day that she told Jo she wanted to give her

piano to Meg, her cats to you, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was sorry she

had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of us, and her best love to Grandpa. She never thought of

Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till a great tear dropped on the paper. Amy's

face was full of trouble, but she only said, "Don't people put sort of postscripts to their wills, sometimes?"

"Put one in mine then, that I wish all my curls cut off, and given round to my friends. I forgot it, but I want it

Laurie added it, smiling at Amy's last and greatest sacrifice. Then he amused her for an hour, and was much

interested in all her trials. But when he came to go, Amy held him back to whisper with trembling lips, "Is

"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

When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in the twilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming

tears and an aching heart, feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the loss of her

I don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the mother and 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 the house was full of genuine happiness, and that Meg's tender hope was realized, for when Beth woke

from that long, healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the little rose and Mother's face.

Too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled and nestled close in the loving arms about her, feeling that

the hungry longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the girls waited upon their mother, for she

Hannah had `dished up' and astonishing breakfast for the traveler, finding it impossible to vent her excitement

in any other way, and Meg and Jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to her

whispered account of Father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise to stay and nurse him, the delays which the storm

occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given her when

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 and reposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching, and a Sabbath

stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense

of burdens lifted off, Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like stormbeaten boats safe at

anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave Beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to

look at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered treasure.

Laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well that Aunt March actually `sniffed'

herself, and never once said "I told you so". Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good

thoughts in 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 the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in Laurie's

opinion, that she behaved `like a capital little woman'. Even Polly seemed impressed, for he called her a good

girl, blessed her buttons, and begged her to "come and take a walk, dear", in his most affable tone. She would

very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright wintry weather, but discovering that Laurie was dropping with

sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded 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 out with both arms

under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the curtains and sat doing nothing in an

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 by Amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were a good many

happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all,

when she sat in her mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and compensation in the shape of

approving smiles and fond caresses. They were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not

"On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," looking from the dusty rosary to the wellworn little book, and

the lovely picture with its garland of evergreen. "It is an excellent plan to have some place where we can go

to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good many hard times in this life of ours, but we can

always bear them if we ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is learning this."

"Yes, Mother, and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the big closet to put my books and the copy of

that picture which I've tried to make. The woman's face is not good, it's too beautiful for me to draw, but the

baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to think He was a little child once, for then I don't seem so

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 said nothing, but Amy understood the look, and after a minute's pause, she

added gravely, "I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave me the ring today. She called

me to her and kissed me, and put it on my 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 like to wear them Mother, can

"They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too young for such ornaments, Amy," said Mrs. March,

looking at the plump little hand, with the band of skyblue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard

"I'll try not to be vain," said Amy. "I don't think I like it only because it's so pretty, but I want to wear it as the

"No, to remind me not to be selfish." Amy looked so earnest and sincere about it that her mother stopped

"I've thought a great deal lately about my `bundle of naughties', and being selfish is the largest one in it, so

I'm going to try hard to cure it, if I can. Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason everyone loves her and feels so

bad at the thoughts of losing her. People wouldn't feel so bat about me if I was sick, and I don't deserve to

have them, but I'd like to be loved and missed by a great many friends, so I'm going to try and be like Beth all

I can. I'm apt to forget my resolutions, but if I had something always about me to remind me, I guess I should

"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 be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up your

That evening while Meg was writing to her father to report the traveler's safe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into

Beth's room, and finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her hair, with a

"What is it, deary?' asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a face which invited confidence.

"How quickly you guessed! Yes, it's about her, and though it's a little thing, it fidgets me."

"Beth is asleep. Speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn't been here, I hope?" asked Mrs. March

"No. I should have shut the door in his face if he had," said Jo, settling herself on the floor at her mother's

feet. "Last summer Meg left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences' and only one was returned. We forgot

about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg but didn't dare say so, she was so young

"Mercy me! I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!" cried Jo, with a funny mixture of interest

and contempt. "In novels, the girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and acting

like fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort. She eats and drinks and sleeps like a sensible creature,

she looks straight in my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when Teddy jokes about

"Mr. Brooke. I call him `John' now. We fell into the way of doing so at the hospital, and he likes it."

"Oh, dear! I know you'll take his part. He's been good to Father, and you won'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

"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 poor Father that we couldn't help getting fond of him. He was perfectly open

and honorable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked

her to marry him. He only wanted our leave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love him

if he could. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listen to him, but I will not consent

"Of course not. It would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief brewing. I felt it, and now it's worse than I

imagined. I just wish I could marry Meg myself, 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 John comes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of her feelings

"She'll see those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then it will be all up with her. She's got such a soft

heart, it will melt like butter in the sun if anyone looks sentimentlly at her. She read the short reports he sent

more than she did your letters, and pinched me when I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and doesn't think

John an ugly name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and fun, and cozy times

together. I see it all! They'll go lovering around the house, and we shall have to dodge. Meg will be absorbed

and no good to me any more. Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carry her off, and make a hole in the

family, and I shall break my heart, and everything will be abominably uncomfortable. Oh, dear me! Why

Jo leaned her chin on her knees in a disconsolate attitude and shook her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs.

"You don't like it, Mother? I'm glad of it. Let's send him about his business, and not tell Meg a word of it, but

"I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to homes of your own in time, but I do want

to keep my girls as long as I can, and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only seventeen and it

will be some years before John can make a home for her. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not

bind herself in any way, nor be married, before twenty. If she and John love one another, they can wait, and

test the love by doing so. She is conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly. My pretty,

"Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" asked Jo, as her mother's voice faltered a little over the last

"Money is a good and useful thing, Jo, and I hope my girls will never feel the need of it too bitterly not be

tempted by too much. I should like to know that John was firmly established in some good business, which

gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and make Meg comfortable. I'm not ambitious for a

splendid fortune, a fashionable position, or a great name for my girls. If rank and money come with love and

virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your good fortune, but I know, by experience, how

much genuine happiness can be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and some

privations give sweetness to the few pleasures. I am content to see Meg begin humbly, for if I am not

mistaken, she will be rich in the possession of a 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 byandby and sit in the lap of luxury all her days. Wouldn't it be nice?" asked Jo, looking up with a

"Only a little, he's old for his age, and tall, and can be quite grownup in his manners if he likes. Then he's

rich and generous and good, and loves us all, and I say it's a pity my plan is spoiled."

"I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grownup enough for Meg, and altogether too much of a weathercock just now

for anyone to depend on. Don't make plans, Jo, but let time and their own hearts mate your friends. We can't

meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get `romantic rubbish' as you call it, into our heads, lest it

"Well, I won't, but I hate to see things going all crisscross and getting snarled up, when a pull her and a snip

there would straighten it out. I wish wearing flatirons on our heads would keep us from growing up. But buds

"What's that about flatirons and cats?" asked Meg, as she crept into the room with the finished letter in her

"Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to bed. Come, Peggy," said Jo, unfolding herself like an animated

"Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love to John," said Mrs. March, as she glanced

"Do you call him `John'?" asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes looking down into her mother's.

"Yes, he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him," replied Mrs. March, returning the look with

"I'm glad of that, he is so lonely. Good night, Mother, dear. It is so inexpressibly comfortable to have you

The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one, and as she went away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture

of satisfaction and regret, "She does not love John yet, but will soon learn to.

Jo'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 observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned

that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told everything if she

did not ask. She was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo assumed a

patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in turn assumed an air of dignified reserve and

devoted herself to her mother. This left Jo to her own devices, for Mrs. March had taken her place as nurse,

and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long confinement. Amy being gone, Laurie was her

only refuge, and much as she enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he was an incorrigible

She was quite right, for the mischiefloving lad no sooner suspected a mystery than he set himself to find it

out, and led Jo a trying life of it. He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected

indifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared her knew, then that he didn't care; and at last,

by dint of perseverance, he satisfied himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke. Feeling indignant that he

was not taken into his tutor's confidence, he set his wits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the

Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter and was absorbed in preparations for her father's return,

but all of a sudden a change seemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike herself. She

started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very quiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid,

troubled look on her face. To her mother's inquiries she answered that she was quite well, and Jo's she

"She feels it in the airlove, I meanand she's going very fast. She's got most of the symptomsis

twittery and cross, doesn't eat, lies awake, and mopes in corners. I caught her singing that song he gave her,

and once she said `John', as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy. whatever shall we do?" said Jo,

"Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and patient, and Father's coming will settle everything," replied her

"Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How odd! Teddy never seals mine," said Jo next day, as she

Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from Meg made them look up to see her

"My child, what is it?" cried her mother, running to her, while Jo tried to take the paper which had done the

"It's all a mistake, he didn't send it. Oh, Jo, how could you do it?" and Meg hid her face in her hands, crying

Meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note from her pocket and threw it at Jo, saying

reproachfully, "You wrote it, and that bad boy helped you. How could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel to

Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note, which was written in a peculiar hand.

"I can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate before I return. I dare not tell your parents yet,

but I think they would consent if they knew that we adored one another. Mr. Laurence will help me to some

good place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make me happy. I implore you to say nothing to your family

"Oh, the little villain! That's the way he meant to pay me for keeping my word to Mother. I'll give him a

hearty scolding and bring him over to beg pardon," cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice. But her

"Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first. You have played so many pranks that I am afraid you have had a

"On my word, Mother, I haven't! I never saw that note before, and don't know anything about it, as true as I

live!" said Jo, so earnestly that they believed her. "If I had taken part in it I'd have done it better than this, and

have written a sensible note. I should think you'd have known Mr. Brooke wouldn't write such stuff as that,"

"It's like his writing," faltered Meg, comparing it with the note in her hand. "Oh, Meg, you didn't answer it?"

"Here's a scrape! Do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain and be lectured. I can't rest till I get hold of

"Hush! Let me handle this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret, tell me the whole story," commanded

Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg, yet keeping hold of Jo, lest she should fly off.

"I received the first letter from Laurie, who didn't look as if he knew anything about it," began Meg, without

looking up. "I was worried at first and meant to tell you, then I remembered how you liked Mr. Brooke, so I

thought you wouldn't mind if I kept my little secret for a few days. I'm so silly that I liked to think no one

knew, and while I was deciding what to say, 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 face again."

"I only said I was too young to do anything about it yet, that I didn't wish to have secrets from you, and he

must speak to father. I was very grateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, for a

Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped her hands, exclaiming, with a laugh, "You are almost

equal to Caroline Percy, who was a 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 any love letter at all, and is very sorry that

my roguish sister, Jo, should take liberties with our names. It's very kind and respectful, but think how

Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jo tramped about the room, calling Laurie

names. All of a sudden she stopped, caught up the two notes, and after looking at them closely, said

decidedly, "I don't believe Brooke ever saw either of these letters. Teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow

"Don't have any secrets, Jo. Tell it to Mother and keep out of trouble, as I should have done," said Meg

"That will do, Jo. I'll comfort Meg while you go and get Laurie. I shall sift the matter to the bottom, and put a

stop to such pranks at once." Away ran Jo, 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 a home for you, or will

"I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to have anything to do with lovers for a long while, perhaps

answered Meg petulantly. "If John doesn't know anything about this nonsense, don't tell him, and make Jo

and Laurie hold their tongues. I won'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 by this mischievous joke, Mrs. March

soothed her by promises of entire silence and great discretion for the future. The instant Laurie's step was

heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March received the culprit alone. 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 his hat with a guilty air which convicted him at once. Jo was dismissed, but chose to march up and

down the hall like a sentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt. The sound of voices in the parlor

rose and fell for half an hour, but what happened during that interview the girls never knew.

When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother with such a penitent face that Jo forgave him

on the spot, but did not think it wise to betray the fact. Meg received his humble apology, and was much

"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 outandout sorry 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 you could be so sly and malicious, Laurie,"

replied Meg, trying to hid her maidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air.

"It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve to be spoken to for a month, but you will, though, won't

you?" And Laurie folded his hands together with such and imploring gesture, as he spoke in his irresistibly

persuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him in spite of his scandalous behavior.

Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face relaxed, in spite of her efforts to keep sober, when she heard

him declare that he would atone for his sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a worm before

Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, and succeeding only in primming up her

face into an expression of entire disapprobation. Laurie looked at her once or twice, but as she showed no

sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till the others were done with him, when he made

As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving, and when Meg and her mother went

upstairs, she felt lonely and longed for Teddy. After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, and

"La, no Miss, but he's had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one of his tantrums about something, which

"Shut up in his room, and he won't answer, though I've been atapping. I don't know what's to become of the

"Stop that, or I'll open the door and make you!" called out the young gentleman in a threatening tone.

Jo immediately knocked again. The door flew open, and in she bounced before Laurie could recover from his

surprise. Seeing that he really was out of temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contrite

expression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly, "Please forgive me for being so cross. I

"It's all right. Get up, and don't be a goose, Jo," was the cavalier reply to her petition.

"Thank you, I will. Could I ask what's the matter? You don't look exactly easy in your mind."

"Grandfather. If it had been anyone else I'd have..." And the injured youth finished his sentence by an

"I don't think anyone would care to try it, if you looked as much like a thundercloud as you do now. Why

"Just because I wouldn't say what your mother wanted me for. I'd promised not to tell, and of course I wasn't

"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 I couldn't, I held my tongue, and bore the scolding till the old gentleman

"It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know, so go down and make up. I'll help you."

"Hanged if I do! I'm not going to be lectured and pummelled by everyone, just for a bit of a frolic. I was sorry

about Meg, and begged pardon like a man, but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in the wrong."

"He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a baby. It's no use, Jo, he's got to learn that I'm able to take care

of myself, and don't need anyone's apron string to hold on by." "What pepper pots you are! " sighed Jo. "How

"Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can't tell him what the fuss's about."

"Now, Teddy, be sensible. Let it pass, and I'll explain what I can. You can't stay here, so what's the use of

"I don't intend to stay here long, anyway. I'll slip off and take a journey somewhere, 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, and I'll enjoy myself after the troubles."

"What fun you'd have! I wish I could run off too," said Jo, forgetting her part of mentor in lively visions of

"Come on, then! Why not? You go and surprise your father, and I'll stir up old Brooke. It would be a glorious

joke. Let's do it, Jo. We'll leave a letter saying we are all right, and trot off at once. I've got money enough. It

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 of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun. Her eyes kindled as they turned wistfully toward the window,

but they fell on the old house opposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision.

"If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time, but as I'm a miserable girl, I must be proper

"That's the fun of it," began Laurie, who had got a willful fit on him and was possessed to break out of

"Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears. "`Prunes and prisms' are my doom, and I may as well make

up my mind to it. I came here to moralize, not to hear things that make me skip to think of."

"I know Meg would wetblanket such a proposal, but I thought you had more spirit," began Laurie

"Bad boy, be quiet! Sit down and think of your own sins, don't go making 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, but felt that his outraged dignity must

"If I can manage the young one, I can the old one," muttered Jo, as she walked away, leaving Laurie bent

"Come in!" And Mr. Laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, as Jo tapped at his door.

"Want any more?" asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but trying 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 of Boswell's Johnson, as he had recommended that lively work.

The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward the shelf where the Johnsonian literature

was placed. Jo skipped up, and sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was really

wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that

something was brewing in her mind, for after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced round on

"What has that boy been about? Don't try to shield him. I know he has been in mischief by the way he acted

when he came home. I can't get a word from him, and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him he

"He did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a word to anyone," began Jo reluctantly.

"That won't do. He shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you softhearted 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 would have 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 it

"Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell. Mother forbade it. Laurie has confessed, asked pardon, and been punished quite

enough. We don't keep silence to shield him, 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

"Hang the RAMBLER! Come down and give me your word that this harumscarum boy of mine hasn't done

anything ungrateful or impertinent. If he has, after all your kindness to him, I'll thrash him with my own

The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew the irascible old gentleman would never lift a

finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to the contrary. She obediently descended, and made as

"Hum... ha... well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not from obstinacy, I'll forgive him.

He's a stubborn fellow and hard to manage," said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he had

been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air of relief.

"So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't," said Jo,

trying to say a kind word for her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another.

"Oh, dear no, Sir. You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries your patience.

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 and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the table with a

rattle and exclaimed frankly, "You're right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing,

"I'll tell you, he'll run away." Jo was sorry for that speech the minute it was made. She meant to warn him that

Laurie would not bear much restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad.

Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a troubled glance at the picture of a

handsome man, which hung over his table. It was Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and married

against the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied her remembered and regretted the past, and she wished she

"He won't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, 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

She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently taking 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 they are, yet we can't do without them," he said, pinching her cheeks

goodhumoredly. "Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it's all right, and advise him not to put

"He won't come, Sir. He feels badly because you didn't believe him when he said he couldn't tell. I think the

Jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began to laugh, and she knew the day was

"I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, I suppose. What the dickens does the fellow

"If I were you, I'd write him an apology, Sir. He says he won't come down till he has one, and talks about

Washington, and goes on in an absurd way. A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and bring

him down quite amiable. Try it. He likes fun, and this was is better than talking. I'll carry it up, and teach him

Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying slowly, "You're a sly puss, but I don't

mind being managed by you and Beth. Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this nonsense."

The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to another 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 few other agreeable impossibilities.

Finding the door locked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly away, when the young

gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression

of countenance, "What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?" he added, laughing.

"AH! I got it all round. Even you cast me off over there, and I felt just ready to go to the deuce," he began

"I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks, and I make so many

"Go and eat your dinner, you'll feel better after it. Men always croak when they are hungry," and Jo whisked

"That's a `label' on my `sect'," answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he went to partake of humble pie dutifully

with his grandfather, who was quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the rest of

Everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, but the mischief was done, for though

others forgot it, Meg remembered. She never 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 desk for stamps, found a bit of paper

scribbled over with the words, `Mrs. John Brooke', whereat she groaned tragically and cast it into the fire,

Like sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The invalids improved rapidly, and Mr.

March began to talk or returning early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day,

amusing herself with the wellbeloved cats at first, and in time with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly

behindhand. Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her for a daily airing about the house

in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burned her white hands cooking 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

As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and Jo frequently convulsed the

family by proposing utterly impossible or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry

Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had bonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches,

if he had had his own way. After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered

effectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which were rather belied by explosions of laughter

Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid Christmas Day. Hannah `felt in her bones'

that it was going to be an unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for everybody and

everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. To begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be

with them, then Beth felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother's gift, a soft

crimson merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to the window to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie.

The Unquenchables had done their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they had worked by night and

conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden stood a stately snow maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a

basket of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an Afghan

round her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas carol issuing from her lips on a pink paper streamer.

God bless you, dear Queen Bess! May nothing you dismay, But health and peace and happiness Be yours,

this Christmas day. Here's fruit to feed our busy bee, And flowers for her nose. Here's music for her pianee,

A portrait of Joanna, see, By Raphael No. 2, Who laboured with great industry To make it fair and true.

Accept a ribbon red, I beg, For Madam Purrer's tail, And ice cream made by lovely Peg, A Mont Blanc in a

Their dearest love my makers laid Within my breast of snow. Accept it, and the Alpine maid, From Laurie

How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridiculous

"I'm so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn't hold one drop more," said Beth, quite sighing

with contentment as Jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with

"So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the longdesired UNDINE AND SINTRAM.

"I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the Madonna and Child, which her mother

"Of course I am!" cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first sild dress, 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 to Beth's smiling face, and her hand carressed the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark

Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful storybook fashion, and what a

comfort it is. Half an hour after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more,

the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door and popped his head in very quietly. He might just as well have

turned a somersault and uttered an Indian war whoop, for his face was so full of suppressed excitement and

his voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumped up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice,

Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away somehow, 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 and couldn't.

Of course there was a general stampede, and for several minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the

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 by Laurie in the china closet. Mr. Brooke kissed Meg entirely by

mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained. And Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and never

stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most touching manner. Mrs. March was the

first to recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, "Hush! Remember Beth."

But it was too late. The study door flew open, the little red wrapper appeared on the threshold, joy put

strength into the feeble limbs, and Beth ran straight into her father's arms. Never mind what happened just

after that, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness of the past and leaving only the

It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight again, for Hannah was discovered behind

the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the

kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at

which Mr. Brooke suddenly remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and seizing Laurie, he precipitately

retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, which they did, by both sitting in one big chair and

Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had been

allowed by his doctor, to take advantage of it, how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a

most estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just there, and after a glance at

Meg, who was violently poking the fire, looked at 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 the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea,

muttering to herself as she slammed the door, "I hate estimable young men with brown eyes!"

There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat turkey 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 my mind was that flustered, Mum, that it's a merrycle I didn't roast the

Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, at whom Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie's

infinite amusement. Two easy chairs stood 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, told stories, sang songs,

`reminisced', as the old folks say, and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but the

girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and as twilight gathered, the happy family sat

"Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected to have. Do you remember?" asked

Jo, breaking a short pause which had followed a long conversation about many things.

"Rather a pleasant year on the whole!" said Meg, smiling at the fire, and congratulating herself on having

"I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed Amy, watching the light shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.

"i'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, who sat on her father's knee.

"Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially the latter part of it. But you have got on

bravely, and I think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March, looking with

"Not much. Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several discoveries today."

"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 or three little hard spots on the palm. "I remember a time when this

hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very pretty then, but to me it is much

prettier now, for in this seeming blemishes I read a little history. A burnt offering has been made to vanity,

this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters, and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked

fingers will last a long time, so much good will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value the womanly

skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments. I'm proud to shake

this good, industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away."

If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it in the hearty pressure of her father's

"What about Jo? Please say something nice, for she has tried so hard and been so very, very good to me," said

He laughed and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with and unusually 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 her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on the rug

as she used to do. Her face is rather thin and pale just now, with watching and anxiety, but I like to look at it,

for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower. She doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a

certain little person in a motherly way which delights me. I rather miss my wild girl, but if I get a strong,

helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don't know whether the shearing

sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in all Washington I couldn't find anything beautiful enough to be

Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy in the firelight as she received her

"There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not so shy

as she used to be," began their father cheerfully. 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, my Beth, and I'll keep you so,

After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said, with a caress of

"I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her

place tonight, and has waited on every on with patience and good humor. I also observe that she does not fret

much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears, so I conclude that

she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mold her

character 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 shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making

"What are you thinking of, Beth?" asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her father 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 lilies bloomed 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 she slipped out of her father's arms and went to the

instrument, "It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I'll try to sing the song of the shepherd

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 the sweet voice they had never thought

to hear again, sang to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for her.

He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride. He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his

I am content with what I have, Little be it, or much. And, Lord! Contentment still I crave, Because Thou

Fulness to them a burden is, That go on pilgrimage. Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age!

Like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about 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

by kindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth's sofa, with the other three close by, and Hannah

popping in her head now and then `to peek at the dear man', nothing seemed needed to complete their

happiness. But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs.

March looked at one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of

sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke's umbrella, which had been left in the hall. Meg was

absentminded, shy, and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when John's name was mentioned.

Amy said, "Everyone seemed waiting for something, and couldn't settle down, which was queer, since Father

was safe at home," and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn't run over as usual.

Laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a

melodramatic fit, for he fell down on one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his

hands imploringly, as if begging some boon. And when Meg told him to behave himself and go away, he

wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.

"He's showing you how your John will go on byandby. Touchin, isn't it?" answered Jo scornfully.

"Don't say my John, it isn't proper or true," but Meg's voice lingered over the 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

"We can't, for something has been said, and Laurie's mischief has spoiled you 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 will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make

"I can't say anything till he speaks, and he won't, because Father said I was too young," began Meg, bending

over her work with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that

"If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way,

"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 knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared."

Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which Meg had unconsciously assumed and which was as

"Not at all. You are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidente, and my experience will be useful to

"Don't mean to have any. It's fun to watch other people philander, but I should feel like a fool doing it

"I think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you." Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at

the lane where she had often seen lovers 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 to enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us be

"Hum, that's stiff and cool enough! I don't believe you'll ever say it, and I know he won't be satisfied if you

do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in 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 of the 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 fast as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time.

Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a

"Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella, that is, to see how your father finds himself today," said Mr.

Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eyes 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." And having jumbled her father and the

umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and

air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle toward the door, murmuring...

"Don't go. Are you afraid of me, Margaret?" And Mr. Brooke looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have

done something very rude. She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her

Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to

appear friendly and at her ease, she put 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 I could thank you for it."

"Shall I tell you how?" asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at

Meg with so much love in the brown eyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and

"Oh no, please don't, I'd rather not," she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of

"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

This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn't make it. She forgot every word of it, hung

her head, and answered, "I don't know," so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.

He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump

hand gratefully, and said in his most persuasive tone, "Will you try and find out? I want to know so much, for

I can't go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the end or not."

"I'm too young," faltered Meg, wondering was she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it.

"I'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?"

"Please choose to learn, Meg. I love you to teach, and this is easier than German," broke in John, getting

possession of the other hand, so that she had 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, Meg saw that his eyes were merry as well

as tender, and that he wore the satisfied 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 the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms

of the best of little women, woke up 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,

Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen

"Do you really mean that?" he asked anxiously, following her as she walked away.

"Yes, I do. I don't want to be worried about such things. Father says I needn't, it's too soon and I'd rather not."

"Mayn't I hope you'll change your mind byandby? I'll wait and say nothing till you have had more time.

"Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't," said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's

patience and her own power. He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes

whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the 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 have

happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.

The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had met Laurie as she took her airing, and

hearing of Mr. March's arrival, drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of the

house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much

that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.

"Bless me, what's all this?" cried the old lady with a rap of her cane as she glanced from the pale young

"It's Father's friend. I'm so surprised to see you!" stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now.

"That's evident," returned Aunt March, sitting down. "But what is Father's friend saying to make you look

like a peony? There's mischief going 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

"Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in

one of your Father's letters, and I made her tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, child?" cried Aunt

"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 my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl," said

Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people, and

enjoyed doing it. The best of us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love. If

Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldn't think of

it, but as she was preemptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would.

Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being already much excited, Meg opposed the

old lady with unusual spirit. "I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to

"Hightytighty! Is that the way you take my advice, Miss? You'll be sorry for it byandby, when you've

Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg

hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love

him, if she liked. 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, be reasonable and take my advice. I mean it kindly, and

don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning. You ought to marry well and

help your family. It's your duty to make a rich match and it ought to be impressed upon you."

Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. "This Rook is poor and hasn't got any rich relations,

"You can't live on friends, try it and see how cool they'll grow. He hasn't any business, has he?"

"That won't last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow and not to be depended on. So you intend to

marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you

might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought you had more sense, Meg."

"I couldn't do better if I waited half my life! John is good and wise, he's got heaps of talent, he's willing to

work and sure to get on, he's so energetic and brave. Everyone likes and respects him, and I'm proud to think

he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly," said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her

"He knows you have got rich relations, child. That's the secret of his liking, I suspect."

"Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, and I won't listen to you a

minute if you talk so," cried Meg indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady's

suspicions. "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

Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't made up her mind, that she had told `her

Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, and

something in the girl's happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour.

"Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a willful child, and you've lost more than you know by

this piece of folly. No, I won't stop. I'm disappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your father now. Don't

expect anything from me when you are married. Your Mr. Book's friends must take care of you. I'm done

And slamming the door in Meg's face, Aunt March drove off in high dudgeon. She seemed to take all the

girl's courage with her, for when left alone, Meg stood for a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry.

Before she 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 for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for

Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of

doing either, and disgraced herself forever in Jo's eyes by meekly whispering, "Yes, John," and hiding her

Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door,

and hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, "She has seen

him away as we planned, and that affair is settled. I'll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it."

But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her

there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy and to

praise a strongminded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold

the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strongminded sister enthroned upon his knee and

wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower bath had

suddenly fallen upon her, for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away. At the

odd sound the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but `that man', as Jo

called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished newcomer, "Sister Jo, congratulate

That was adding insult to injury, it was altogether too much, and making some wild demonstration with her

hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as she

burst into the room, "Oh, do somebody go down quick! John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!"

Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed, and casting herself upon the be, Jo cried and scolded

tempestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most

agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them, so she went up to her refuge in the

Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet

Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans,

The tea bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and he

proudly took her in to supper, both looking so happy that Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy was

very much impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity, Beth beamed at them from a distance, while Mr.

and Mrs. March surveyed the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident Aunt

March was right in calling them as `unworldly as a pair of babies'. No one ate much, but everyone looked

very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began

"You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?" said Amy, trying to decide how she

would group the lovers in a sketch she was planning to make. "No, I'm sure I can't. How much has happened

since I said that! It seems a year ago," answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted far above such

"The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the changes have begun," said Mrs.

March. "In most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events. This has been such a one, but it

"Hope the next will end better," muttered Jo, who found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger before

her face, for Jo loved a few persons very 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 to work out my plans," said Mr.

"Doesn't it seem very long to wait?" asked Amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding.

"I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short time to me," answered Meg, with a sweet

"You have only to wait, I am to do the work," said John beginning his labors by picking up Meg's napkin,

with an expression which caused Jo to shake her head, and then say to herself with an air of relief as the front

But Jo was mistaken, for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing with good spirits, bearing a great

bridallooking bouquet for `Mrs. John Brooke', and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole

"I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for when he makes up his mind to

accomplish anything, it's done though the sky falls," said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and his

"Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen for the future 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 on that 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 the

"I don't approve of the match, but I've made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it," said

Jo solemnly. "You can't know how hard it is for me to give up Meg," she continued with a little quiver in her

"You've got me, anyhow. I'm not good for much, I know, but I'll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my life.

"I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged. You are always a great comfort 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 to him, and it will be very

jolly to see Meg in her own little house. We'll have capital 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 console you?"

"I rather think it would, but there's no knowing what may happen in three years," said Jo thoughtfully.

"That's true. Don't you wish you could take a look forward and wee where we shall all be then? I do,"

"I think not, for I might see something sad, and everyone looks so happy now, I don't believe they could be

much improved." And Jo's eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was

Father and Mother sat together, quietly reliving the first chapter of the romance which for them began some

twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of

which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily

with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the

peaceful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave quiet look 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 rises again, depends upon the reception

In order that we may start afresh and go to Meg's wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin with a

little gossip about the Marches. And here 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 folks will make that objection), I can only

say with Mrs. March, "What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young

The three years that have passed have brought but few changes to the quiet family. The war is over, and Mr.

March safely at home, busy with his books and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature as

by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all

mankind `brother', the piety that blossoms into character, making it august and lovely.

These attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity which shut him out from the more worldly

successes, attracted to him many admirable persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as naturally

he gave them the honey into which fifty years of hard experience had distilled no bitter drop. Earnest young

men found the grayheaded scholar as young at heart as they, thoughtful or troubled women instinctively

brought their doubts to him, sure of finding the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel. Sinners told their sins

to the purehearted old man and were both rebuked and saved. Gifted men found a companion in him.

Ambitious men caught glimpses of nobler ambitions than their own, and even worldlings confessed that his

To outsiders the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and so they did in many things, but the quiet

scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and

comforter, for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troublous times, finding him, in the truest

The girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their souls into their father's, and to both parents, who

lived and labored so faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth and bound them

Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when we saw her last, and just now so absorbed

in Meg's affairs that the hospitals and homes still full of wounded `boys' and soldiers' widows, decidedly miss

John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was sent home, and not allowed to return. He

received no stars or bars, but he deserved them, for he cheerfully risked all he had, and life and love are very

precious when both are in full bloom. Perfectly resigned to his discharge, he devoted himself to getting well,

preparing for business, and earning a home for Meg. With the good sense and sturdy independence that

characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence's more generous offers, and accepted the place of bookkeeper,

feeling better satisfied to begin with an honestly earned salary than by running any risks with borrowed

Meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growing womanly in character, wise in housewifely

arts, and prettier than ever, for love is a great beautifier. She had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and felt

some disappointment at the humble way in which the new life must begin. Ned Moffat had just married Sallie

Gardiner, and Meg couldn't help contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid outfit

with her own, and secretly wishing she could have the same. But somehow envy and discontent soon

vanished when she thought of all the patient love and labor John had put into the little home awaiting her, and

when they sat together in the twilight, talking over their small plans, the future always grew so beautiful and

bright that she forgot Sallie's splendor and felt herself the richest, happiest girl in Christendom.

Jo never went back to Aunt March, for the old lady took such a fancy to AMy that she bribed her with the

offer of drawing lessons from one of the best teachers going, and for the sake of this advantage, Amy would

have served a far harder mistress. So she gave her mornings to duty, her afternoons to pleasure, and prospered

finely. Jo meantime devoted herself to literature and Beth, who remained delicate long after the fever was a

thing of the past. Not an invalid exactly, but never again the rosy, healthy creature she had been, yet always

hopeful, happy, and serene, and busy with the quiet duties she loved, everyone's friend, and an angel in the

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 her little romances diligently. But great plans fermented in her busy brain and

ambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held a slowly increasing pile of blotted manuscript,

Laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, was now getting through it in the easiest

possible manner to please himself. A universal favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, and the

kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to get other people out of them, he stood in great

danger of being spoiled, and probably would have been, like many another promising boy, if he had not

possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man who was bound up in his success, the

motherly friend who watched over him as if he were her son, and last, but not least by any means, the

knowledge that four innocent 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 fashions ordained, hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once came

perilously near suspension and expulsion. But as high spirits and the love of fun were the causes of these

pranks, he always managed to save himself by frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irresistible

power of persuasion which he possessed in perfection. In fact, he rather prided himself on his narrow escapes,

and liked to thrill the girls with graphic accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified professors,

and vanquished enemies. The `men of my class', were heroes in the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of

the exploits of `our fellows', and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these great creatures, when

Amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle among them, for her ladyship early felt and

learned to use the gift of fascination with which she was endowed. Meg was too much absorbed in her private

and particular John to care for any other lords of creation, and Beth too shy to do more than peep at them and

wonder how Amy dared to order them about so, but Jo felt quite in her own element, and found it very

difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, and feats, which seemed more natural to

her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies. They all liked Jo immensely, but never fell in love with

her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute of a sentimental sigh or two at Amy's shrine. And

That was the name of the little brown house Mr. Brooke had prepared for Meg's first home. Laurie had

christened it, saying it was highly appropriate to the gentle lovers who `went on together like a pair of

turtledoves, with first a bill and then a coo'. It was a tiny house, with a little garden behind and a lawn about

as big as a pocket handkerchief in the front. Here Meg meant to have a fountain, shrubbery, and a profusion

of lovely flowers, though just at present the fountain was represented by a weatherbeaten urn, very like a

dilapidated slopbowl, the shrubbery consisted of several young larches, undecided whether to live or die, and

the profusion of flowers was merely hinted by regiments of sticks to show where seeds were planted. But

inside, it was altogether charming, and the happy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar. To be sure, the hall

was so narrow it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got in whole, the dining

room was so small that six people were a tight fit, and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose

of precipitating both servants and china pellmell into the coalbin. But once get used to these slight

blemishes and nothing could be more complete, for good sense and good taste had presided over the

furnishing, and the result was highly satisfactory. There were no marbletopped tables, long mirrors, or lace

curtains in the little parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, a stand of flowers in

the bay window, and, scattered all about, the pretty gifts which came from friendly hands and were the fairer

I don't think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost any of its beauty because John put up the bracket it stood

upon, that any upholsterer could have draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy's artistic

hand, or that any storeroom was ever better provided with good wishes, merry words, and happy hopes than

that in which Jo and her mother put away Meg's few boxes, barrels, and bundles, and I am morally certain

that the spandy new kitchen never could have looked so cozy and neat if Hannah had not arranged every pot

and pan a dozen times over, and laid the fire all ready for lighting the minute `Mis. Brooke came home'. I also

doubt if any 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 came round, and invented three different kinds of dishcloths for

People who hire all these things done for them never know what they lose, for the homeliest tasks get

beautified if loving hands do them, and Meg found so many proofs of this that everything in her small nest,

from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was eloquent of home love and tender

What happy times they had planning together, what solemn shopping excursions, what funny mistakes they

made, and what shouts of laughter arose over Laurie's ridiculous bargains. In his love of jokes, this young

gentleman, 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 of

remarkable clothespins, next, a wonderful nutmeg grater which fell to pieces at the first trial, a knife cleaner

that spoiled all the knives, or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet and left the dirt, laborsaving

soap that took the skin off one's hands, infallible cements which stuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of the

deluded buyer, and every kind of tinware, from a toy savings bank for odd pennies, to a wonderful boiler

which would wash articles in its own steam with every prospect of exploding 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 Yankee ingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth. So each week

Everything was done at last, even to Amy's arranging different colored soaps to match the different colored

"Are you satisfied? Does it seem like home, and do you feel as if you should be happy here?" asked Mrs.

March, as she and her daughter went through the new kingdom arm in arm, for just then they seemed to cling

"Yes, Mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and so happy that I can't talk about it," with a look that

"If she only had a servant or two it would be all right," said Amy, coming out of the parlor, where she had

been trying to decide whether the bronze Mercury looked best on the whatnot or the mantlepiece.

"Mother and I have talked that over, and I have made up my mind to try her way first. There will be so little

to do that with Lotty to run my errands and help me here and there, I shall only have enough work to keep me

"If Meg had four, the house wouldn't hold them, and master and missis would have to camp in the garden,"

broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a big blue 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 her fine establishment. Meg and John

begin humbly, but I have a feeling that there 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 to do but dress, give orders, and

gossip. When I was first married, I used to long for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so that i might

have the pleasure of mending them, for I got heartily sick of doing fancywork and tending my pocket

"Why didn't you go into the kitchen and make messes, as Sallie says she does to amuse herself, though they

"I did after a while, not to `mess' but to learn of Hannah how things should 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 possessed the

will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little girls, and help myself when I could no longer afford

to hire help. You begin at the other end, Meg, dear, but the lessons you learn now will be of use to you

byandby when John is a richer man, for the mistress of a house, however splendid, should know how work

"Yes, Mother, I'm sure of that," said Meg, listening respectfully to the little lecture, for the best of women

will hold forth upon the all absorbing subject of house keeping. "Do you know I like this room most of all in

my baby house," added Meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs and she looked into her wellstored linen

Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves and exulting over the goodly array. All three

laughed as Meg spoke, for that linen closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married `that Brooke'

she shouldn't have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather in a quandary when time had appeased her

wrath and made her repent her vow. She never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind how to

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, and marked a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as her present,

all of which was faithfully done, but the secret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family, for Aunt

March tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the oldfashioned pearls

"That's a housewifely taste which I am glad to see. I had a young friend who set up housekeeping with six

sheets, but she had finger bowls for company and that satisfied her," said Mrs. March, patting the damask

"I haven't a single finger bowl, but this is a setout that will last me all my days, Hannah says." And Meg

A tall, broadshouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt basin of 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

The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him, a kindly questioning look which the

handsome eyes met so frankly that the little ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss.

"For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker's congratulations and compliments. 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's hair ribbon, stared at Jo's bib

pinafore, and fell into an attitude of mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, and everyone

"Which side won the last match, Teddy?" inquired Jo, who persisted in feeling an interest in manly sports

"More cruel than ever. Don't you see how I'm pining away?" And Laurie gave his broad chest a sounding slap

"What's the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg," said Beth, eying the 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

"Any time when John is away and you get frightened, Mrs. Meg, just swing that out of the front window, and

it will rouse the neighborhood in a jiffy. Nice thing, isn't it?" And Laurie gave them a sample of its powers

"There's gratitude for you! And speaking of gratitude reminds me to mention that you may thank Hannah for

saving your wedding cake from destruction. I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if she hadn't

defended it manfully I'd have had a pick at it, for it looked like a remarkably plummy one."

"I'm doing my best, ma'am, but can't get much higher, I'm afraid, as six feet is about all men can do in these

degenerate days," responded the young gentleman, whose head was about level with the little chandelier.

"I suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in this spickandspan bower, so as I'm tremendously

"Mother and I are going to wait for John. There are some last things to settle," said Meg, bustling away.

"Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant's to get more flowers for tomorrow," 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't get home without help. Don't take

off your apron, whatever you do, it's peculiarly becoming," said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especial aversion

"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 not cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans."

"And I implore you not to look at me during the ceremony. I shall certainly laugh if you do."

"You won't see me, you'll be crying so hard that the thick fog round you will obscure the prospect."

"Don't be a peacock. I only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company." "Exactly. I say, Jo, how is Grandpa

"Very. Why, have you got into a scrape and want to know how he'll take it?" asked Jo rather sharply.

"Now, Jo, do you think I'd look your mother in the face and say `All right', if it wasn't?" And Laurie stopped

"Then don't go and be suspicious. I only want some money," said Laurie, walking on again, appeased by her

"Bless you, I don't spend it, it spends itself somehow, and is gone before I know it."

"You are so generous and kindhearted that you let people borrow, and can't say `No' to anyone. We heard

about Henshaw and all you did for him. If you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you,"

"Oh, he made a mountain out of a molehill. You wouldn't have me let that fine fellow work himself to death

just for want of a little help, when he is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?"

"Of course not, but I don't see the use of your having seventeen waistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat

every time you come home. I thought you'd got over the dandy period, but every now and then it breaks out

in a new spot. Just now it's the fashion to be hideous, to make your head look like a scrubbing brush, wear a

strait jacket, orange gloves, and clumping squaretoed boots. If it was cheap ugliness, I'd say nothing, but it

Laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack, that the felt hat fell off, and Jo walked on it,

which insult only afforded him an opportunity for expatiating on the advantages of a roughandready

"Don't lecture any more, there's a good soul! I have enough all through the week, and like to enjoy myself

when I come home. I'll get myself up regardless 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 not aristocratic, but I do object to being seen with

"This unassuming style promotes study, that's why we adopt it," returned Laurie, who certainly could not be

accused of vanity, having voluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand for quarterinchlong

"By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperate about Amy. He talks of her constantly,

writes poetry, and moons about in a most suspicious 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's silence.

"Of course he had. We don't want any more marrying in this family for years to come. Mercy on us, what are

the children thinking of?" And Jo looked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet in their

"It's a fast age, and I don't know what we are coming to, ma'am. You are a mere infant, but you'll go next, Jo,

and we'll be left lamenting," said Laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times.

"Don't be alarmed. I'm not one of the agreeable sort. Nobody will want me, and it's a mercy, for there should

"You won't give anyone a chance," said Laurie, with a sidelong glance and a little more color than before in

his sunburned face. "You won't show the soft side of your character, and if a fellow gets a peep at it by

accident and can't help showing that he likes it, you treat him as Mrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart, throw

"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 more about it. Meg's wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk of nothing

but lovers and such absurdities. I don't wish to get cross, so let's change the subject." And Jo looked quite

Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them in a long low whistle and the fearful

The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in

the cloudless sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement were their

ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another what they had seen, for some peeped in at

the dining room windows where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they

dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch,

and hall, and all, from the rosiest fullblown flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and

Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetest in heart and soul seemed to bloom into

her face that day, making it fair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, nor

orange flowers would she have. "I don't want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom I love,

So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes and innocent romances of a girlish

heart. her sisters braided up her pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley,

"You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely that I should hug you if it wouldn't

"Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don't mind 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

"Now I'm going to tie John's cravat for him, and then to stay a few minutes with Father quietly in the study."

And Meg ran down to perform these 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 secret sorrow hid in the motherly heart

As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to their simple toilet, it may be a good time to tell

of a few changes which three years have wrought in their appearance, for all are looking their best just now.

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 becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure. There is a fresh color in

her brown cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only gentle words fall from her sharp tongue 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 the young

face with such pathetic patience, but Beth seldom complains and always speaks hopefully of `being better

Amy is with truth considered `the flower of the family', for at sixteen she has the air and bearing of a

fullgrown woman, not beautiful, but possessed of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in the

lines of her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her dress, the droop of her hair,

unconscious yet harmonious, and as attractive to many as beauty itself. Amy's nose still afflicted her, for it

never would grow Grecian, so did her mouth, being too wide, and having a decided chin. These offending

features gave character to her whole face, but she never could 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 they were, freshfaced, happyhearted girls, pausing a moment in their busy

lives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the romance of womanhood.

There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be as natural and homelike as possible, so

when Aunt March arrived, she was scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to

find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to catch a glimpse of the paternal

minister marching upstairs with a grave countenance and a wine bottle under each arm.

"Upon my word, here's a state of things!" cried the old lady, taking the seat of honor prepared for her, and

settling the folds of her lavender moire with 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 criticize my dress, or count the cost of my

luncheon. I'm too happy to care what anyone says or thinks, and I'm going to have my little wedding just as I

like it. John, dear, here's your hammer." And away went Meg to help `that man' in his highly improper

Mr. Brooke didn't even say, "Thank you," but as he stooped for the unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride

behind the folding door, with a look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket handkerchief with a sudden

A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorous exclamation, "Jupiter Ammon! Jo's

upset the cake again!" caused a momentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived,

"Don't let that young giant come near me, he worries me worse than mosquitoes," whispered the old lady to

"He has promised to be very good today, and he can be perfectly elegant if he likes," returned Amy, and

gliding away to warn Hercules to beware of the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with

There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the room as 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

fatherly voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the service more beautiful and solemn. The

bridegroom's hand trembled visibly, and no one heard his replies. But Meg looked straight up in her

husband's eyes, and said, "I will!" with such tender trust in her own face and voice that her mother's heart

Jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only saved from a demonstration by the

consciousness that Laurie was staring fixedly at her, with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in his

wicked black eyes. Beth kept her face hidden on her mother's shoulder, but Amy stood like a graceful statue,

with a most becoming ray of sunshine touching her white forehead and the flower in her hair.

It wasn't at all the thing, I'm afraid, but the minute she was fairly married, Meg cried, "The first kiss for

Marmee!" and turning, gave it with her heart on her lips. During the next fifteen minutes she looked more

like a rose than ever, for everyone availed themselves of their privileges to the fullest extent, from Mr.

Laurence to old Hannah, who, adorned with a headdress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her in the

hall, crying with a sob and a chuckle, "Bless you, deary, a hundred times! The cake ain't hurt a mite, and

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. There was no display of gifts, for they were already in the little house, nor was

there an elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of cake and fruit, dressed with flowers. Mr. Laurence and

Aunt March shrugged and smiled at one another when water, lemonade, and coffee were found to be to only

sorts of nectar which the three Hebes carried around. No one said anything, till Laurie, who insisted on

serving the bride, appeared before her, with a loaded salver in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face.

"Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident?" he whispered, "or am I merely laboring under a delusion that I

"No, your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and Aunt March actually sent some, but Father put away a

little for Beth, and dispatched the rest to the Soldier's Home. You know he thinks that wine should be used

only in illness, and Mother says that neither she nor her daughters will ever offer it to any young man under

Meg spoke seriously and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh, but he did neither, for after a quick look at

her, he said, in his impetuous way, "I like that! For I've seen enough harm done to wish other women would

"You are not made wise by experience, I hope?" And there was an anxious accent in Meg's voice.

"No. I give you my word for it. Don't think too well of me, either, this is not one of my temptations. Being

brought up where wine is as common as water and almost as harmless, I don't care for it, but when a pretty

"But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come, Laurie, promise, and give me one more

A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a moment, for ridicule is often harder to

bear than selfdenial. Meg knew that if 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 she looked up at him with a face

made very eloquent by happiness, and a smile which said, "No one can refuse me anything today."

Laurie certainly could not, and with an answering smile, he gave her his hand, saying heartily, "I promise,

"And I drink `long life to your resolution', Teddy," cried Jo, baptizing him with a splash of lemonade, as she

So the toast was drunk, the pledge made and loyally kept in spite of many temptations, for with instinctive

wisdom, the girls seized a happy moment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all his life.

After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through the house and garden, enjoying the sunshine

without and within. Meg and John happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass plot, when

Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touch to this unfashionable wedding.

"All the married people take hands and dance round the newmade husband and wife, as the Germans do,

while we bachelors and spinsters prance in couples outside!" cried Laurie, promenading down the path with

Amy, with such infectious spirit and skill that everyone else followed their example without a murmur. Mr.

and Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrol began it, others rapidly joined in, even Sallie Moffat, after a

moment's hesitation, threw her train over her arm and whisked Ned into the ring. But the crowning joke was

Mr. Laurence and Aunt March, for when the stately old gentleman chass'ed solemnly up to the old lady, she

just tucked her cane under arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest and dance about the

bridal pair, while the young folks pervaded the garden like butterflies on a midsummer day.

Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then people began to go.

"I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well, but I think you'll be sorry for it," said Aunt March to

Meg, adding to the bridegroom, as he led her to the carriage, "You've got a treasure, young man, see that you

"That is the prettiest wedding I've been to for an age, Ned, and I don't see why, for there wasn't a bit of style

"Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get one of 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

"I'll do my best to gratify you, Sir," was Laurie's unusually dutiful reply, as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo

The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg had was the quiet walk with John from the

old home to the new. When she came down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dovecolored suit and straw

bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say goodby, as tenderly as if she had been going to

"Don't feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I love you any the less for loving John so

much," she said, clinging to her mother, with full eyes for a moment. "I shall come every day, Father, and

expect to keep my old place in all your hearts, though I am married. Beth is going to be with me a great deal,

and the other girls will drop in now and then to laugh at my housekeeping struggles. Thank you all for my

They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tender pride as she walked away, leaning on

her husband's arm, with her hands full of flowers and the June sunshine brightening her happy faceand so

It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men

and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation, for mistaking enthusiasm for

inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the

`mudpie' business, and she devoted herself to the finest penandink drawing, in which she showed such

taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes caused

While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration, for the odor of burning wood

pervaded the house at all hours, smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, redhot pokers

lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner bell at her

door in case of fire. Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the underside of the moulding board, and

Bacchus on the head of a beer barrel. A chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar bucket, and attempts

From fire to oil was a natural transition for burned fingers, and Amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor.

An artist friend fitted her out with his castoff palettes, brushes, and colors, and she daubed away, producing

pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle

would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair, and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced

seasickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging

had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and darkeyed Madonnas, staring at

you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo. Oily brown shadows of faces with a lurid streak in the

wrong place, meant Rembrandt. Buxom ladies and dropiscal infants, Rubens, and Turner appeared in

tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomatocolored splash in

the middle, which might be the sun or a bouy, 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 into crayon sketches, they did better, for the likenesses were good, and

Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced `wonderfully fine'. A return to clay

and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off

closet shelves onto people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her

mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line,

however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor. Other models

failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an

unearthly bumping and screaming and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly

about the shed with her foot held fast in a pan full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity.

With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out, for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she

excavated that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at

After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood, for

picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book

`delicious bit', composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein stalk, or `a heavenly mass

of clouds', that looked like a choice display of featherbeds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floating

on the river in the midsummer sun to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose trying after

If `genius is eternal patience', as Michelangelo affirms, Amy had some claim to the divine attribute, for she

persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do

She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and

accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better, for she was one of

those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully

and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybody

liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper,

always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so

selfpossessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd

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 desirable things

in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true,

and admiring what was not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated

her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunity came she might be ready to take the place

"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to

learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true

"I want to ask a favor of you, Mamma," Amy said, coming in with an important air one day.

"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained `the

"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out

here for a day. They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they

admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich and

"Why should they?" And Mrs. March put the question with what the girls called her `Maria Theresa air'.

"You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearly everyone, so don't ruffle up like a dear,

motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds. The ugly duckling turned out a swan, you

know." And Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.

Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked, "Well, my swan, what is your

"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them for a drive to the places they want to see, a

"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is

"Oh, dear, no! We must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice cream, besides. The girls are

used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living."

"Why, Mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall

hire a beach wagon and borrow Mr. Laurence's cherrybounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of charabanc.)

"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new,

that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change if nothing more, and much better for us than

buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style not in 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 can carry it out perfectly well, if you and

the girls will help a little, and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," said Amy, with the decision

Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to

learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as

"Very well, Amy, if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of

money, time, and temper, I'll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll do

"Thanks, Mother, you are always so kind." And away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters. Meg

agreed at once, and promised to her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to

her very best saltspoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project and would have 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 a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to

any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupe," said Jo, who, being called from

the tragic climax of her novel, was not 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 questions arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great deal of

kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to

make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to

make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your

When Amy had whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the 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 an

unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of

independence was such a good hit that both 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

The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event.

Hannah was out of humor because her week'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 the mainspring of the domestic

machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern, but Amy's motto was `Nil desperandum', and having

made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin 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 the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon, and various other expenses,

which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward. Beth got a cold and took to her

bed. Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind

that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly 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. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more

exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till

it was too late for anyone else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and

through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly

shabby, but without stopping to sigh 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 the walls with homemade statuary,

which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about.

The lunch looked charming, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the

borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and

Mother were all 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 aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody

and everything would allow, and as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy

moment when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights,

Then came the hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion

varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young

ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of

sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.

"No doubt about the weather today, they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them,"

said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had

said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest like her cake was getting a little stale.

"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad today," said Mr. March, coming in half an hour

"Use the chicken then, the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised his wife.

"Hannah left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'm very sorry, amy," added Beth, who

"Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr.

"You'd come bringing it home under your arm without any paper, just to try me. I'll go myself," answered

Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel traveling basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive

would soothe her ruffled spirit and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire

was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again,

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 to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card

full of refractory figures that she did not observe a newcomer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a

masculine voice said, "Good morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's most elegant

college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her

feet, and congratulating herself that she had on her new traveling dress, returned the young man's greeting

They got on excellently, for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave

first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to the

door, she upset the basket, andoh horror!the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to

"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place

"Please don'tit'sit's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.

"Oh, really, I beg pardon. It's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?" said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and

Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing, "Don't you wish you

were to have some of the salad he's going 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 mind were touched. The lobster was

instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about `the charming young ladies'

"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I shan't see them, that's a comfort," thought Amy, as

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 of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the

preparations which now seemed more irksome than before, and at twelve o'clock all was ready again. feeling

that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday's failure

by a grand success today, so she ordered the `cherry bounce', and drove away in state to meet and escort her

"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go onto the porch and meet them. It looks hospitable, and I want the

poor child to have a good time after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after

one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy

"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table. It will be too 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 who had kept her promise. The rest of the

family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious

set, for it was impossible to control entirely the merriment which possessed them. The remodeled lunch being

gaily partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy

(alas for the elegant cherrybounce), and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when

As she came walking in, looking very tired but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the

unfortunate fete had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth.

"You've had a loverly afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve

"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought," observed Beth, with unusual

"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can't make such

"Take it all. I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mold before I can dispose of it,"

answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous 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 ice cream and salad for the second time

A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till

Mr. March mildly observed, "salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn..." Here a

general explosion of laughter cut short the `history of salads', to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels. Germans like messes. I'm sick of the sight of

this, and there's no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy, wiping her

eyes. "I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the whatyoucallit, like two

little kernels in a very big nutshell, and Mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo, quite spent

"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a

"I am satisfied. I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed. I comfort myself with that,"

said Amy with a little quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll thank you still

No one did for several months, but the word `fete' always produced a general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly,

but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness then did the little sum that came to her in

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and `fall into a vortex', as

she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find

no peace. Her `scribbling suit' consisted of a black woolen pinafore on which 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 when the

decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these

periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semioccasionally to ask, with interest, "Does

genius burn, Jo?" They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap,

and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that

hard work was going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew, and when despair seized the

author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder

silently withdrew, and not until the red bow was seen gaily erect upon the gifted brow, did anyone dare

She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it

with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and

happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook

her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only

at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The devine afflatus usually

lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her `vortex', hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.

She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a

lecture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on the

Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted

that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the

Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were

They were early, and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the

faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads

and bonnets to match, discussing Women's Rights and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers,

artlessly holding each other by the hand, a somber spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old

gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a

It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what fortuitous

concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume,

tumbling over a precipice 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 her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking and, with boyish good

nature offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "want to read it? That's a firstrate story."

Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in

the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in

which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, 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 paragraph of 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 good living 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.

"No, but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed." "Do

you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" And Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated

"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."

Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Professor Sands was prosing away about

Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and

boldly resolving to try for the hundreddollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational story. By the time

the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first

founded on paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the

she said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who

always looked a little anxious when `genius took to burning'. Jo had never tried this style before, contenting

herself with very mild romances for THE SPREAD EAGLE. Her experience and miscellaneous reading were

of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes.

Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable

emotions enabled her to make it, and having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a

striking and appropriate 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

Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret, but Jo did both, and was

just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost

took her breath away, for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared

at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote

that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow creature, I think he would

devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement, for Jo valued the letter more than the money,

because it was encouraging, and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do

A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composed herself, she electrified the

family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had

won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came everyone read and praised it,

though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy

"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money."

"I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the

To the seaside they went, after much discussion, and though Beth didn't come 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

satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more

of those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house, for

by the magic of a pen, her `rubbish' turned into comforts for them all. The Duke's Daughter paid the butcher's

bill, A Phantom Hand put down a new carpet, and the Curse of the Coventrys proved the blessing of the

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 which comes from hearty work of head or hand, and to the inspiration of

necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this

satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her

Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, and encouraged by this fact, she resolved to

make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her

confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on

condition that she would cut it down 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 for printing 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 more

convenient, so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family

"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's advice, and he practiced what he preached, having waited patiently thirty

years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it even now when it was sweet and mellow.

"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by taking the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the

best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next

time. We are too partial, but the praise and blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little

"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it. I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know

whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it,

"I wouldn't leave a word out of it. You'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds

than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on," said Meg, who

"But Mr. Allen says, `Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the

"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. Byandby, when you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical

and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject.

"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are `philosophical and metaphysical', 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 ideas

jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, what do you say?"

"I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it. But there was an

unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor,

which chilled Jo's heart for a minute with a forboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture `soon'.

So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her firstborn on her table, and chopped it up as

ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing everyone, she took everyone's advice, and like the old man and

Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into 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. Meg admired the tragedy, so Jo piled up the

agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched the spritly

scenes which relieved the somber character of the story. Then, to complicate the ruin, she cut it down one

third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world to try its

Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it, likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so

much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment from which it took her some

"You said, Mother, that criticism would help me. But how can it, when it's so contradictory that I don't know

whether I've written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a

heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dismay the next.

All is sweet, pure, and healthy.'" continued the perplexed authoress. "The next, `The theory of the book is

bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, 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't see how this critic can be right.

Another says, `It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for years.' (I know better than that),

and the next asserts that `Though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous

book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some overpraise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound,

when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed the whole or not at all, for I do hate to

Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally. Yet it was a hard time for

sensitive, highspirited Jo, who meant so well and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those

whose opinion had real value gave her the critism which is an author's best education, and when the first

soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and

"Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly, "and I've got the joke on my side, after all,

for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes

that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced `charmingly natural, tender, and true'. So I'll comfort

Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with the determination to be a model

housekeeper. John should find home a paradise, he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously

every 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, in spite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the

little woman fussed, was overanxious to please, and bustled about like a true Martha, cumbered with many

cares. She was too tired, sometimes, even to smile, John grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty dishes and

ungratefully demanded plain fare. As for buttons, she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her

head over the carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them on himself, and see if his work

They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn't live on love alone. John did not find

Meg's beauty diminished, though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot. Nor did Meg miss

any of the romance from the daily parting, when her husband followed up his kiss 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 a home, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change for the better. At first they played

keephouse, and frolicked over it like children. Then John took steadily to business, feeling the cares of the

head of a family upon his shoulders, and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell to

While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius's Receipt Book as if it were a mathematical

exercise, working out the problems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited in to help eat

up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would be privately dispatched with a batch of failures, which

were to be concealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little Hummels. An evening with John

over the account books usually produced a temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would

ensue, during which the poor man was put through a course of bread pudding, hash, and warmedover

coffee, which tried his soul, although he bore it with praiseworthy fortitude. Before the golden mean was

found, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without, a

Fired a with housewifely wish to see her storeroom stocked with homemade preserves, she undertook to put

up her own currant jelly. John was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and an extra quantity

of sugar, for their own currants were ripe and were to be attended to 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 be gratified,

and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most pleasing form for winter use. Home came four dozen delightful

little pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currants for her. With her pretty hair tucked into

a little cap, arms bared to the elbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the

young housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about her success, for hadn't she seen Hannah do it hundreds

of times? The array of pots rather amazed her at first, but John was so fond of jelly, and the nice little jars

would look so well on the top shelf, 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 asked advice of Mrs. Cornelius, she racked her

brain to remember what Hannah did that she left undone, she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, but that

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 with their private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They had laughed over that

last word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one, but they had held to their resolve, and

whenever they could get on without help they did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March had advised the

plan. So Meg wrestled alone with the refractory sweetmeats all that hot summer day, and at five o'clock sat

down in her topsyturvey kitchen, wrung her bedaubed hands, lifted up her voice and wept.

Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, "My husband shall always feel free to bring a friend

home whenever he likes. I shall always 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 stop to ask my leave, invite whom you

How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed with pride to hear 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

happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had an opportunity to distinguish herself till now. It always

happens so in this vale of tears, there is an inevitability about such things which we can only wonder at,

If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have been unpardonable in him to choose that

day, of all the days in the year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulating himself that a

handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it would be ready to the minute, and

indulging in pleasant anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came

running out to meet him, he escorted his friend to his mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young

It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reached the Dovecote. the front door usually

stood hospitably open. Now it was not only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps. The

parlor windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wife sewing on the piazza, in white, with a

distracting little bow in her hair, or a brighteyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest.

Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared but a sanginarylooking boy asleep under the current bushes.

"I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while I look up Mrs. Brooke," said John,

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 paused discreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared, but he could both see

In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair. One edition of jelly was trickled from pot to pot, another lay

upon the floor, and a third was burning gaily on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmly eating

bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron

"My dearest girl, what is the matter?" cried John, rushing in, with awful visions of scalded hands, sudden

news of affliction, and secret consternation 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 till I'm all worn out. Do come and help

me or I shall die!" And the exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet welcome in

every sense of the word, for her pinafore had been baptized at the same time as the floor.

"What worries you dear? Has anything dreadful happened?" asked the anxious John, tenderly kissing the

"Tell me quick, then. Don't cry. I can bear anything better than that. Out with it, love."

John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward, and the derisive Scott smiled involuntarily as

"Is that all? Fling it out of the window, and don't bother any more about it. I'll buy you quarts if you want it,

but for heaven's sake don't have hysterics, for I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner, and..."

John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair,

"A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, how could you do such a thing?"

"Hush, he's in the garden! I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can't be helped now," said John, surveying the

"You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought to have remembered how busy I was,"

"I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for I met him on the way out. I never

thought of asking leave, when you have always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if

"I should hope not! Take him away at once. I can't see him, and there isn't any dinner."

"Well, I like that! Where's the beef and vegetables I sent home, and the pudding you promised?" cried John,

rushing to the larder. "I hadn't time to cook anything. I meant to dine at Mother's. I'm sorry, but I was so

John was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day's work to come home tired, hungry, and

hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an empty table, and a cross wife was not exactly conductive to repose of

mind or manner. He restrained himself however, and the little squall would have blown over, but for one

"It's a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we'll pull through and have a good time yet. Don't

cry, dear, but just exert yourself a bit, and fix us up something to eat. We're both as hungry as hunters, so we

shan't mind what it is. Give us the cold meat, and bread and cheese. We won't ask for jelly."

He meant it to be a goodnatured joke, but that one word sealed his fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint

"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 vulgar bread and cheese for company. I won't have anything of the sort in my

house. 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 as much as you like. You won't have anything else here." And having

delivered her defiance all on one breath, Meg cast away her pinafore and precipitately left the field to bemoan

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 they had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous lunch

which filled her with horror. Lotty reported that they had eaten "a much, and greatly laughed, and the master

Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her own short comings, of loyalty to John, "who

might be cruel, but nobody should know it," restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, she dressed

Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in that light. He had carried it off as a good joke with

Scott, excused his little wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend enjoyed the

impromptu 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 of need. "It wasn't fair to tell a man to bring folks home any time, with

perfect freedom, and when he took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch,

He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was over and 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 please

me. She was wrong, of course, but then she was young. I must be patient and teach her." He hoped she had

not gone homehe hated gossip and interference. 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, and sent him on at a quicker pace,

resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where she had failed in her duty to her

Meg likewise resolved to be `calm and kind, but firm', and show him his duty. She longed to run to meet him,

and beg pardon, and be kissed and comforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, she did nothing of the

sort, and when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally, as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of

John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe, but feeling that his dignity demanded the first

apology, he made none, only came leisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularly relevant

"I've no objection," was Meg's equally soothing remark. A few other topics of general interest were

introduced by Mr. Brooke and wetblanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. John went to

one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figuratively speaking. Meg went to the other

window, and sewed as if new rosettes for slippers were among the necessaries of life. Neither spoke. Both

"Oh, dear," thought Meg, "married life is very trying, and does need infinite patience as well as love, as

Mother says." The word `Mother' suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, and received with

"John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see and bear with them, remembering your

own. He is very decided, but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is very

accurate, and particular about the trutha good trait, though you call him `fussy'. Never deceive him by look

or word, Meg, and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a temper, not

like oursone flash and then all overbut the white, still anger that is seldom stirred, but once kindled is

hard to quench. Be careful, be very careful, not to wake his anger against yourself, for peace and happiness

depend on keeping his respect. Watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against

the little piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words 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 hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her own anger

looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart. She

glanced at him with tears in her eyes, 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. She went very slowly across the room,

for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if she

really couldn't do it, then came the thought, This is the beginning. I'll do my part, and have nothing to

reproach myself with," and stooping sown, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that

settled it. The penitent kiss was better than a world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute,

"It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me, dear. I never will again!"

But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly

After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, and served him up a pleasant feast without a

cooked wife for the first course, on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made everything go off

so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was a lucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of

In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffat renewed her friendship, was always

running out for a dish of gossip at the little house, or inviting `that poor dear' to come in and spend the day at

the big house. It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg often felt lonely. All were busy at home, John absent

till night, and nothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about. So it naturally fell out that Meg got into the way

of gadding and gossiping with her friend. Seeing Sallie's pretty things made her long for such, and pity

herself because she had not got them. Sallie was very 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 went and did what John

She knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trusted her, not only with his happiness, but

what some men seem to value morehis money. She knew where it was, was free to take what she liked,

and all he asked was that she should keep account of every penny, pay bills once a month, and remember that

she was a poor man's wife. Till now she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept her little account books

neatly, and showed them to him monthly without fear. But that autumn the serpent got into Meg's paradise,

and tempted her like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress. Meg didn't like to be pitied and

made to feel poor. It irritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and then she tried to console

herself by buying something pretty, so that Sallie needn't think she had to economize. She always felt wicked

after it, for the pretty things were seldom necessaries, but then they cost so little, it wasn't worth worrying

about, so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in the shopping excursions she was no longer a passive

But the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when she cast up her accounts at the end of the month

the sum total rather scared her. John was 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 her conscience. 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, and thin things for evening

wear were only proper for girls. Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present of twentyfive dollars apiece

at New Year's. That was only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she

had the money, if she only dared to take it. John always said what was his was hers, but would he think it

right to spend not only the prospective fiveandtwenty, but another fiveandtwenty out of the 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 had tempted Meg beyond her strength. In an evil moment the shopman held up the 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 had exulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven

When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by spreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked

less silvery now, didn't become her, after all, and the words `fifty dollars' seemed stamped like a pattern down

each breadth. She put it away, but it haunted her, not delightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfully like

the ghost of a folly that was not easily laid. When John got out his books that night, Meg's heart sank, and for

the first time in her married life, she was afraid of her husband. The kind, brown eyes looked as if they could

be stern, and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he had found her out, but didn't mean to let her

know it. The house bills were all paid, the books all in order. John had praised her, and was undoing the old

pocketbook which they called the `bank', when Meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand,

John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so, and used to enjoy his masculine

amazement at the queer things women wanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely the

meaning of a hugmetight, or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, 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 of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance, as he often did, being

The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him. Meg got behind his chair under pretense of

smoothing the wrinkles out of his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing with

"John, dear, I'm ashamed to show you my book, for I've really been dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about

so much I must have things, you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did, and my New Year's money

will partly pay for it, but I was sorry after I had done it, for I knew you'd think 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 or

That had been one of her last `trifles', and John's eye had fallen on it as he spoke. "Oh, what will he say when

"It's worse than boots, it's a silk dress," she said, with the calmness of desperation, for she wanted the worst

That didn't sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her with the straightforward look that she had

always been ready to meet and answer with one as frank till now. She turned the page and her head at the

same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enough without the fifty, but which was appalling

to her with that added. For a minute the room was very still, then John said slowlybut she could feel it cost

"Well, I don't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all the furbelows and notions you have to have to

"It isn't made or trimmed," sighed Meg, faintly, for a sudden recollection of the cost still to be incurred quite

"Twentyfive yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman, but I've no doubt my wife will look

"I know you are angry, John, but I can't help it. I don't mean to waste your money, and I didn't think those

little things would count up so. I can't resist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me

because I don'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 many pleasures for Meg's sake. She could have bitten her tongue out the

minute she had said it, for John pushed the books away and got up, saying with a little quiver in his voice, "I

was afraid of this. I do my best, Meg." If he had scolded her, or even shaken her, it would not have broken

her heart like those few words. She ran to him and held him close, crying, with repentant tears, "Oh, John, my

dear, kind, hardworking boy. I didn't mean it! It was so wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could I say it!

Oh, how could I say 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 be forgotten soon, although he might never allude to it

again. She had promised to love him for better or worse, and then she, his wife, had reproached him with his

poverty, after spending his earnings recklessly. It was 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, and worked at night

when she had gone to cry herself to sleep. A week or remorse nearly made Meg sick, and the discovery that

John had countermanded the order for his new greatcoat reduced her to a state of despair which was pathetic

to behold. He had simply said, in answer to her surprised inquiries as to the change, "I can't afford it, my

Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall with her face buried in the old greatcoat,

They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husband better for his poverty, because it seemed

to have made a man of him, given him the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught him a tender

patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings and failures 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. Moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a present of it

immediately afterward. Then Meg ordered home the greatcoat, and when John 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, and what a blissful state of things ensued. John came home early, Meg gadded no more, and that

greatcoat was put on in the morning by a very happy husband, and taken off at night by a most devoted little

wife. So the year rolled round, and at midsummer there came to Meg a new experience, the deepest and

Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dovecote one Saturday, with an excited face, and was received

with the clash of cymbals, for Hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in the other.

"How's the little mamma? Where is everybody? Why didn't you tell me before I came home?" began Laurie

"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'll send `em down to you," with which somewhat involved reply Hannah

Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upon a large pillow. Jo's face was very

sober, but her eyes twinkled, and there was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort.

Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind him with an imploring gesture. "No, thank

"I will, I will! Only you must be responsible for damages." And obeying orders, Laurie heroically shut his

eyes while something was put into his arms. A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah, and John

caused him to open them the next minute, to find himself invested with two babies instead of one.

No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enough to convulse a Quaker, as he stood

and stared wildly from the unconscious innocents to the hilarious spectators with such dismay that Jo sat

"Twins, by Jupiter!" was all he said for a minute, then turning to the women 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 Laurie laughed 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 set my heart on surprising you, and I

"I never was more staggered in my life. Isn't it fun? Are they boys? What are you going to name them? Let's

have another look. Hold me up, Jo, for upon my life it's one too many for me," returned Laurie, regarding the

infants with the air of a big, benevolent Newfoundland looking at a pair of infantile kittens.

"Boy and girl. Aren't they beauties?" said the proud papa, beaming upon the little red squirmers as if they

"Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which?" and Laurie bent like a wellsweep to examine the

"Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, French fashion, so you can always tell. Besides,

"I'm afraid they mightn't like it," began Laurie, with unusual timidity in such matters.

"Of course they will, they are used to it now. Do it this minute, sir!" commanded Jo, fearing he might propose

Laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peck at each little cheek that produced another laugh,

"There, I knew they didn't like it! That's the boy, see him kick, he hits out with his fists like a good one. Now

then, young Brooke, pitch into a man of your own size, will you?" cried Laurie, delighted with a poke in the

"He's to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, after mother and 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,"

"Daisy and Demi, just the thing! I knew Teddy would do it," cried Jo clapping her hands.

Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were `Daisy' and `Demi' to the end of the chapter.

"You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half a dozen calls with me today?"

"I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don't think I ever was mad enough to say I'd

"Yes, you did, it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you, and you were to go

"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

"Now, that's shirking. It's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and you pride yourself on keeping; promises, so

be honorable, come and do your duty, and then be at peace for another six months."

At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking, for she was mantuamaker general to the family,

and took especial credit to herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provoking to

be arrested in the act of a first tryingon, and ordered out to make calls in her best array on a warm July day.

She hated calls of the formal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or

promise. In the present instance there was no escape, and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while

protesting that she smelled thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an

"Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint! You don't intend to make calls in that state, I hope,"

"Why not? I'm neat and cool and comfortable, quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day. If people care

more for my clothes than they do for me, I don't wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant

as you please. It pays for you to be fine. It doesn't for me, and furbelows only worry me."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Amy, "now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive me distracted before I can get her

properly ready. I'm sure it's no pleasure to me to go today, but it's a debt we owe society, and there's no one to

pay it but you and me. I'll do anything for you, Jo, if you'll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me

do the civil. You can talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you

try, that I'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 in that way. The idea of my being

aristocratic and wellbred, and your being afraid 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 change from perversity to lamblike submission.

"You're a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I'll tell you 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 little

more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink rose in your bonnet. It's becoming, and you

look too sober in your plain suit. Take your light gloves and the embroidered handkerchief. We'll stop at

Meg's, and borrow her white sunshade, and then you can have my dovecolored one."

While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them, not without entering her protest, however, for

she sighed as she rustled into her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an

irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally

as she shook out the handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the present mission was

to her feelings, and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the

last touch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly...

"You're highly satisfactory. turn slowly round, and let me get a careful view." 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

head is 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 your gloves do pinch. There's one thing you can do well, Jo, that is, wear

a shawl. I can't, but it's very nice to see you, and I'm so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one. It's simple,

but handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and

have I 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 her hand with the air of a connoisseur

at the blue feather against the golden hair. "Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please,

"Hold it yup when you walk, but drop it in the house. The sweeping style suits you best, and you must learn

to trail your skirts gracefully. You haven't half buttoned one cuff, do it at once. You'll never look finished if

you are not careful about the little details, for they make yup the pleasing whole."

Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up her cuff, but at last both were ready,

and sailed away, looking as `pretty as picters', Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch

"Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so I want you to put on your best

deportment. Don't make any of your abrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and

quiet, that's safe and ladylike, and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes," said Amy, as they approached the

first place, having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm.

"Let me see. `Calm, cool, and quiet', yes, I think I can promise that. I've played the part of a prim young lady

on the stage, and I'll try it off. My powers 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 during the first call she sat with every limb

gracefully composed, every fold correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and as silent as

the sphinx. In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her `charming novel', and the Misses 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 draw her out, and administered

covert pokes with her foot. Jo sat as if blandly unconcious of it all, with deportment like Maud's face, `icily

"What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!" was the unfortunately audible remark of

one of the ladies, as the door closed upon their guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, but Amy

looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laid the blame upon Jo.

"How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properly dignified 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

interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up. They move in the best society, are

valuable persons for us to know, and I wouldn't fail to make a good impression there for anything."

"I'll be agreeable. I'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and raptures over any trifle you like. I rather enjoy

this, and now I'll imitate what is called `a charming girl'. I can do it, for I have May Chester as a model, and

I'll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don't say, `What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is!"

Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would

stop. Amy's face was a study when she saw her sister skim into the next drawing room, kiss all the young

ladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in the chat with a spirit which

amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession of by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced

to hear a long account of Lucretia's last attack, while three delightful young gentlemen hovered 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 a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the lady. A knot of heads gathered about her,

and Amy strained her ears to hear what was going on, for broken sentences filled her with curiosity, and

frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her suffering on overhearing

"No one. She used to practice mounting, holding the reins, and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now

she rides anything, for she doesn't know what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheap because

she trains them to carry ladies so well. She has such a passion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails,

At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for the impression was being given that she was

rather a fast young lady, which was her especial aversion. But what could she do? For the old lady was in the

middle of her story, and long before it was done, Jo was off again, make more droll revelations and

"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 you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for a

"Which did she choose?" asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject.

"None of them. She heard of a young horse at the farm house over the river, and though a lady had never

ridden him, she resolved to try, because he was handsome and spirited. Her struggles were really pathetic.

There was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she

actually rowed it over the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the

"Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her brought home in fragments, but she managed

"Well, I call that plucky!" And young Mr. Lamb turned an approving glance upon Amy, wondering what his

She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when a sudden turn in the conversation

introduced the subject of dress. One of the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore

to the picnic and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was bought two years ago, must needs

answer with unnecessary frankness, "Oh, Amy painted it. You can't buy those soft shades, so we paint ours

"That's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There's nothing the child can't do. Why, she

wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie's party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of

sky blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin," added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister's

accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she felt that 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 either grew rigid and looked offended, or

changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now. "Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that

rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it. Are you going to New York this winter?'

As Miss Lamb had `enjoyed' the story, this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary. The minute it

was made Jo saw her mistake, but fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for her

to make the first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptness that left three people with half

"Amy, we must go. Goodby, dear, do come and see us. We are pining for a visit. I don't dare to ask you, Mr.

Lamb, but if you should come, I don't think I shall have the heart to send you away."

Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester's gushing style that Amy got out of the room as rapidly

"Nothing could have been worse," was Amy's crushing reply. "What possessed you to tell those stories about

"Why, it's funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it's no use pretending that we have grooms,

"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 proper pride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak," said

Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with the stiff handkerchief, as if performing a

"Then I'll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we'll have a comfortable time. Goodness knows I need a

little change, for elegance has a bad effect upon my constitution," returned Jo gruffly, being disturbed by her

An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty children speedily soothed her ruffled

feelings, and leaving Amy to entertain the hostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo

devoted herself to the young folks and found the change refreshing. She listened to college stories with deep

interest, caressed pointers and poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that "Tom Brown was a brick,"

regardless of the improper form of praise, and when one lad proposed a visit to his turtle tank, she went with

an alacrity which caused Mamma to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a

ruinous condition by filial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, and dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure

Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself to her heart's content. Mr. Tudor's

uncle had married an English lady who was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family

with great respect, for in spite of her American birth and breeding, she possessed that reverence for titles

which haunts the best of usthat unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set the most

democratic nation under the sun in ferment at the coming of a royal yellowhaired laddie, some years ago,

and which still has something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for an

imperious little mother, who held him while she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he

rebelled. But even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the British nobility did not render

Amy forgetful of time, and when the proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from

this aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hoping that her incorrigible sister would not be

It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad. For Jo sat on the grass, with an encampment of boys

about her, and a dirtyfooted dog reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related one of

Laurie's pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was poking turtles with Amy's cherished parasol, a

second was eating gingerbread over Jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her gloves. but all were

enjoying themselves, and when Jo collected her damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her,

"Capital boys, aren't they? I feel quite young and brisk again after that." said Jo, strolling along with her

"Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?" asked Amy, wisely refraining from any comment upon Jo's

"Don't like him, he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, a nd doesn't speak respectfully of his

mother. Laurie says he is fast, and I don't consider him a desirable acquaintance, so I let him alone."

"You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod, and just now you bowed and smiled in the

politest way to Tommy Chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod and

"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 a lord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever. I think

well of him, and like to show that I do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brown paper parcels."

"Not the least, my dear," interrupted Jo, "so let us look amiable, and drop a card here, as the Kings are

The family cardcase having done its duty the girls walked on, and Jo uttered another thanksgiving on

"now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March today. We can run down there any time, and it's really a

pity to trail through the dust in our best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross."

"Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt March likes to have us pay her the compliment of coming in style,

and making a formal call. It's a little thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don't believe it will hurt your

things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the

"What a good girl you are, Amy!" said Jo, with a repentant glance from her own damaged costume to that of

her sister, which was fresh and spotless still. "I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to please people

as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much time to do them, so I wait for a chance to confer a great

Amy smiled and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air, "Women should learn to be agreeable,

particularly poor ones, for they have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you'd remember

that, and practice it, you'd be better liked than I am, because there is more of you."

"I'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I'm willing to own that you are right, only it's easier for

me to risk my life for a person than to be pleasant to him when I don't feel like it. It's a great misfortune to

"It's a greater not to be able to hide them. I don't mind saying that I don't approve of Tudor any more than you

do, but I'm not called upon to tell him so. Neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself disagreeable

"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 do any good, as I know to my sorrow, since I've had Teddie to manage. But

there are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word, and I say we ought to do it to others

"Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can't be taken as a sample of other boys," said Amy, in a tone of solemn

conviction, which would have convulsed the `remarkable boy' if he had heard it. "If we were belles, or

women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps, but for us to 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

"So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and

"I can't argue about it, I only know that it's the way of the world, and people who set themselves against it

only get laughed at for their pains. I don'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 the world would never get on without

them. We can't agree about that. for you belong to the old set, and I to the new. You will get on the best, but I

shall have the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think."

"I'll try not to, but I'm always possessed to burst out with some particularly blunt speech or revolutionary

They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very interesting subject, but they dropped it

as the girls came in, with a conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their nieces. Jo

was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned, but Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her

temper and pleased everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was felt at once, and

both aunts `my deared' her affectionately, looking what they afterward said emphatically, "That child

"Are you going to help about the fair, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amy sat down beside her with the

"Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend a table, as I have nothing but my time to

"I'm not," put in Jo decidedly. "I hate to be patronized, and the Chesters think it's a great favor to allow us to

help with their highly connected fair. I wonder 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 I think it very kind of them to let me

share the labor and the fun. Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant."

"Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear. It's a pleasure to help people who appreciate our

efforts. Some do not, and that is trying," observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who sat

If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would have

turned dovelike in a minute, but unfortunately, we don't have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what

goes on in the minds of our friends. Better for us that we cannot as a general thing, but now and then it would

be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of several years

"I don't like favors, they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I'd rather do everything for myself, and be

Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect

"Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often as I like," replied amy, with a grateful

"Don't know a word. I'm very stupid about studying anything, can't bear French, it's such a slippery, silly sort

Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy, 'You are quite strong and well no,

"Not at all, thank you, ma'am. I'm very well, and mean to do great things next winter, so that I may be ready

"Good girl! You deserve to go, and I'm sure you will some day," said Aunt March, with an approving; pat on

squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to peep into Jo's face, with such a

"Come and take a walk, my dear?" cried Polly, hopping toward the china closet, with a look suggestive of a

"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 her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy kissed both

the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow and sunshine, which

"You'd better do it, Mary. I'll supply the money. And Aunt Carrol to reply decidedly, "I certainly will, if her

Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was considered a great honor by the young ladies of

the neighborhood to be invited to take a table, and everyone was much interest in the matter. Amy was asked,

but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her

life, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on easily. The `haughty, uninteresting

creature' was let severely alone, but Amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of the art

table, and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate and valuable contributions to it.

Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened, then there occurred one of the little

skirmishes which it is almost impossible to avoid, when some fiveandtwenty women, old and young, with

May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greater favorite than herself, and just at this

time several trifling circumstances occurred to increase the feeling. Amy's dainty penandink work entirely

eclipsed May's painted vasesthat was one thorn. Then the all conquering Tudor had danced four times with

Amy at a late party and only once with Maythat was thorn number two. But the chief grievance that

rankled in her soul, and gave an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip

had whispered to her, that the March girls had made fun of her at the Lambs'. All the blame of this should

have fallen upon 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 this had reached the culprits, however, and Amy's dismay

can be imagined, when, the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touches to her pretty

table, Mrs. Chester, who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but

"I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about my giving this table to anyone but my

girls. As this is the most prominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they are the chief

gettersup of the fair, it is thought best for them to take this place. I'm sorry, but I know you are too sincerely

interested in the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have another table if you like."

Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver this little speech, but when the time came,

she found it rather difficult to utter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspicious eyes looking straight at her full of

"Amy felt that there was something behind this, but would not guess what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and

"Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg. It's merely a matter of expediency, you see, my girls will

naturally take the lead, and this table is considered their proper place. I think it very appropriate to you, and

feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty, but we must give up our private wishes, of course, and

I will see that you have a good place elsewhere. 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 the flower table is always attractive

"Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which enlightened Amy as to one cause of her sudden fall

from favor. She colored angrily, but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered with

"It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my place here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you

"You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," began May, feeling a little

consciencestricken, as she looked at the pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had

so carefully made and so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but Amy mistook her meaning, and said

"Oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping her contributions into her apron, pellmell, she walked

off, feeling that herself and her works of 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

"Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifle ashamed of her own part in this one, as

The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which cordial reception somewhat soothed her

perturbed spirit, and she fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically. But

everything seemed against her. It was late, and she was tired. Everyone was too busy with 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 great deal 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 and threatened to tumble down on her head when the

hanging baskets were filled. Her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sephia tear on the Cupid's cheek.

She bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in a draft, which last affliction filled her with

apprehensions for the morrow. Any girl reader who has suffered like afflictions will sympathize with poor

There was great indignation at home when she told her story that evening. 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 she

didn't take all her pretty things and leave those mean people to get on without 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. They will feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions, won't they,

"That's the right spirit, my dear. A kiss for a blow is always best, though it's not very easy to give it

sometimes," said her mother, with the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and

In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate, Amy adhered to her resolution all the next

day, bent on conquering her enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to a silent reminder that came to her

unexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged her table that morning, while the little girls were in the

anteroom filling the baskets, she took up her pet production, a little book, the antique cover of which her

father had found among his treasures, and in which on leaves of vellum she had beautifully illuminated

different texts. As she turned the pages rich in dainty devices with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon

one verse that 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 and down among the thorns and flowers, were the words, "Thou

"I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from the bright page to May's discontented face behind

the big vases, that could not hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy stood a minute, turning

the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for all heartburnings and uncharitableness of

spirit. Many wise and true sermons are 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 and helpful words which are

never out of season. Amy's conscience preached her a little sermon from that text, then and there, and she did

what many of us do not always do, took the sermon to heart, and straightway put it in practice. A group of

girls were standing about May's table, admiring the pretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen.

They dropped their voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of the story and

judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chance offered

"It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don't want to fill up with odds and ends. The

"How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did not finish, for Amy's voice came across the hall,

"You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them. I was just thinking I'd offer to put

them back, for they belong to your table rather than mine. Here they are, please take them, and forgive me if I

As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile, and hurried away again, feeling that it

May's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose temper was evidently a little soured by making

lemonade, added, with a disagreeable laugh, "Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn't sell them at her own

Now, that was hard. When we make little sacrifices we like to have them appreciated, 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

presently discovered, for her spirits began to rise, and her table to blossom under her skillful hands, the girls

were very kind, and that one little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly.

It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat behind her table, often quite alone, for the little

girls deserted very soon. Few cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long before

The art table was the most attractive in the room. There was a crowd about it all day long, and the tenders

were constantly flying to and fro with important faces and rattling money boxes. Amy often looked wistfully

across, longing to be there, where she felt at home and happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do. It

might seem no hardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, but very

She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quiet that they knew the day had been a hard

one, though she made no complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her mother gave her an extra

cordial cup of tea. Beth helped her dress, and made a charming little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished

her family by getting herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were about to be turned.

"Don't do anything rude, pray Jo. I won't have any fuss made, so let it all pass and behave yourself," begged

Amy, as she departed early, hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little table.

"I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to ever one I know, and to keep them in your corner

as long as possible. Teddy and his boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet." returned Jo, leaning

over the gate to watch for Laurie. Presently the familiar tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet

"As sure as this is my girl!" And Laurie tucked her hand under his arm with the air of a man whose every

"A flock of our fellows are going to drive over byandby, and I'll be hanged if I don't make them buy every

flower she's got, and camp down before her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing her cause with warmth.

"The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may not arrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust

or suspicious, but I shouldn't wonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean thing they are very

"I didn't know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grandpa was poorly, I didn't like to worry him by

"Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking? They are just 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 at all. But we mustn't stand philandering

here. I've got to help Amy, so you go and make yourself splendid, and if you'll be so very kind as to let Hayes

"Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut the gate in his face with inhospitable

Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, for Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a

loverly basket arranged in his best manner for a centerpiece. Then the March family turned out en masse, and

Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring

Amy's taste, and apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie and his friends gallantly threw

themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets, encamped before the table, and made that corner the

liveliest spot in the room. Amy was in her element now, and out of gratitude, if nothing more, was as spritely

and gracious as possible, coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was it's own reward, after all.

Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy was happily surrounded by her guard of honor,

Jo circulated about the hall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of the

Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy

as soon as possible. She also discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, and considered

her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art table, she glanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no

sign of them. "Tucked away out of sight, I dare say," thought Jo, who could forgiver her own wrongs, but

"Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?" asked May with a conciliatory air, for she wanted to show

"She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is enjoying herself. The flower table is

Jo couldn't resist giving that little slap, but May took it so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell to

"Is Amy's illumination anywhere about" I took a fancy to buy that for Father," said Jo, very anxious to learn

"Everything of Amy's sold long ago. I took care that the right people saw them, and they made a nice little

sum of money for us," returned May, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy had, that

Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, and Amy looked both touched and surprised by the

"Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tables as 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 duty like men, and you'll get your money's

worth of art in every sense of the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx prepared to take the

"To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," said little Parker, making a frantic effort to be both

"Very well, my son, for a small boy!" and walked him off, with a paternal pat on the head.

"Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals of fire on her enemy's head.

To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, but pervaded the hall with one under each

arm. The other gentlemen speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and wandered helplessly

about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and

Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said something to Mrs. March in a corner, which

made the latter lady beam with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and anxiety,

The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amy goodnight, she did not gush as usual, but gave

her an affectionate kiss, and a look which said `forgive and forget'. That satisfied Amy, and when she got

home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with a great bouquet in each. "The reward of

"You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of character than I ever gave you credit for,

Amy. You've behaved sweetly, and I respect you with all my heart," said Jo warmly, as they brushed their

"Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must have been dreadfully hard, after working

so long and setting your heart on selling your own pretty things. I don't believe I could have done it as kindly

"Why, girls, you needn't praise me so. I only did as I'd be done by. You laugh at me when I say I want to be a

lady, but I mean a true gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know how. I can't

explain exactly, but I want to be above the little meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women.

Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, "I understand now what you mean, and I'll never laugh

at you again. You are getting on faster than you think, and I'll take lessons of you in true politeness, for

you've learned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary, you'll get your reward some day, and no one will be

A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to be delighted. A letter came from Aunt

Carrol, and Mrs. March's face was illuminated to such a degree when she read it that Jo and Beth, who were

"Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an uncontrollable rapture.

"Oh, Mother! She's too young, it's my turn first. I've wanted it so long. It would do me so much good, and be

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is not for us to dictate when she offers such a

"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 the other day, she regretted your blunt

manners and too independent spirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said`I planned at

first to ask Jo, but as `favors burden her', and she `hates French', I think I won't venture to invite her. Amy is

more docile, will make a good companion 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 it quiet?' groaned Jo, remembering words

which had been her undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said

"I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden

"I'll try," said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up the basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf

out of her book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute of happiness. But

it won't be easy, for it is a dreadful disappointment." And poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held

with several very bitter tears. "Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and I'm glad you are not

going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving face

that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears, and humbly beg

Aunt Carrol to burden 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 family jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual,

perhaps, but without repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young lady herself received the news as tidings of

great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that

evening, leaving such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art than

"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide

my career, for if I have any genius, I shall 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 new collars which were to be handed over

"Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic

composure. But she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorous

"No, you won't. You hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of

"Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that one will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I

can't be an artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are," said Amy, smiling, as if the part of

"Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh. "If you wish it you'll have it, for your wishes are always grantedmine never."

"Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with her knife.

"Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've

"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 as gratefully as she could. "There was not much time for

preparation, and the house was in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the last flutter 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 till the steamer sailed. Then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it

suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and those who loved her best, and

"I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I'll come and comfort you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming

So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is always new and beautiful to young eyes, while her

father and friend watched her from the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall the

happyhearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine

Dearest 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's

no 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

I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck

all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Everyone was very kind to me, especially the officers.

Don't laugh, Jo, gentlemen really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one, and as

they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death,

Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I

went and enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost as

exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could have come, it would

have done her so much good. As for Jo, she would have gone up and sat on the maintop jib, or whatever the

high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the captain's speaking trumpet, she'd have

It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with

brown cabins here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's countryseats in the valleys, with deer

feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of

little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.

At Queenstown on of my new acquaintances left us, Mr. Lennox, and when I said something about the Lakes

"Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney? She lives on the banks of Killarney; From the glance of her eye,

We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy place, and I was 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 bootblack knew 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 saw in my room was a lovely one, with "Robert Lennox's compliments," on the card. Wasn't

I never shall get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was like riding through a long picture gallery, full of

lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed

windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as

they stood kneedeep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous like Yankee

biddies. 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 everything

while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but Uncle

read his guidebook, and wouldn't be astonished 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 to my window"How

sweet! We must go there sometime, won't we Papa?" Uncle, calmly admiring his boots"No, my dear, not

A pausethen Flo cried out, "Bless me, there's a gallows and a man going up." "Where, where?" shrieks

Amy, staring out at two tall posts with a crossbeam and some dangling chains. "A colliery," remarks Uncle,

with a twinkle of the eye. "Here's a lovely flock of lambs all lying down," says Amy. "See, Papa, aren't they

pretty?" added Flo sentimentally. "Geese, young ladies," returns Uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo

settles down to enjoy the FLIRTATIONS OF CAPTAIN CAVENDISH, and I have the scenery all to myself.

Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We

rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came

off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest

mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid. Things seem so cheap, nice ribbons

only sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and

Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and Uncle were out, and went for a drive,

though we learned afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! For

when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to

stop him. but he was up outside behind somewhere, and I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see

me flap 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, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye

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 a funeral. I poked again and said, "A little faster," then off he went,

Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of

Devonshire lives near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate, and the Duke of Wellington's house

is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling

about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind,

and powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I ever saw, handsome girls, looking

half asleep, dandies in queer English hats and lavender kids lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red

jackets and muffin 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 more like a riding school than anything

else. The horses are splendid, and the men, 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 tearing American gallop, for they trotted

solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark.

Everyone ridesold men, stout ladies, little children and the young folks do a deal of flirting here, I say a

pair exchange rose buds, for it's the thing to wear one in the buttonhole, and I thought it rather a nice little

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 going to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of

It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning without telling you what happened last evening. Who

do you think came in, as we were at tea? 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 fellows with whiskers, Fred

handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They

had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house, but Uncle won't go, so we

shall return the call, and see them as we can. They went to the theater with us, and we did have such a good

time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we had

know each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred

laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his `respectful compliments to the big hat'. Neither of them had

forgotten 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 feel like a dissipated London fine lady,

writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theaters, new gowns,

and gallant creatures who say "Ah!" and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English lordliness. I long to

In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they

made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, for

at Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence,

Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a

regular English picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I could 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 to go away, for though English people are slow to take you in, when they once make up their minds to

do it they cannot be outdone in hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter, and I

shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very nice

Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was going

to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she couldn't say a word. And now we

get 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 ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if it would make

people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is oldfashioned, 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

Such delightful times as we are having! Sightseeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the

gay cafes, and meeting with all sorts of 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 has no 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's cocked hat and gray coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush, also Marie Antoinette's

little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword, and many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours

The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of bijouterie and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted

because I can't buy them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow it. Then the Bois and

Champs Elysees are tres magnifique. I've seen the imperial family several times, the emperor an ugly,

hardlooking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thoughtpurple dress, green hat,

and yellow gloves. Little Nap is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kissed his hand to the

people as he passes in his fourhorse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets and a mounted guard

We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though the antique 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 a

table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in when they come to lament.

Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and sitting on the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant

street. It is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there when too tired with our day's work to go out.

Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever knew except Laurie,

whose manners are more charming. I wish Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men, however, the Vaughns

are very rich and come of an excellent family, so I won't find fault with their yellow hair, as my own is

Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland, and as we shall travel 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 and admire', as

Father advised. It is good practice for me, and with my sketchbook will give you a better idea of my tour than

Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell you what has happened, for some of it is very

The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with all my might. Get Father's old guidebooks

and read about it. I haven't words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblenz we had a lovely time, for some

students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight

night, and about one o'clock Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew

up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us Fred and the students singing away down below. It

was the most romantic thing I ever sawthe river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight

When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the

invisible ladies, and go laughing away, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me

one of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I

didn't throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible

again. I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to look like it.

The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was BadenBaden, where Fred lost some money, and I scolded him.

He needs someone to look after him when 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 was delightful. I saw Goeth's house,

Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famous Ariadne. It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I

had known the story better. I didn't like to ask, as everyone knew it or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell

me all about it. I ought to have read 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 just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that

we all got quite fond of him. I never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the serenade night.

Since then I've begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something

more to him than fun. I haven't flirted, Mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done

my very best. I can't help it if people like me. I don't try to make them, and it worries 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,

the mercenary little wretch!", but I've made up my mind, and if Fred asks me, I shall accept him, though I'm

not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough,

and very richever so much richer than the Laurences. I don't think his family would object, and I should be

very happy, for they are all kind, wellbred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will

have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as

our big houses, but twice as comfortable and full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it,

for it's genuine. I've seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures 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 it

than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I hate

poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer 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't marry a man I hated or

despised. You may be sure of that, and though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and in time I

should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I've been turning

the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said

nothing, but little things showed it. He never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or

promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns 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

rakishlooking baron, about `ein wonderschones Blondchen', Fred looked as 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

Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there

after going to the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where

the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector long ago for 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

sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I'd got

into a romance, sitting there, watching the Meckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the

Austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl. I had a feeling that something was

going to happen and I was ready for it. I didn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.

Byandby I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying through the great 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

him to come home, for Frank was very ill. So he was going at once on the night train and only had time to say

goodby. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as he

shook hands, and said it in a way that I could not mistake, "I shall soon come back, you won't forget me,

I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but

messages and goodbyes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to

speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the

sort yet a while, for is is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughterinlaw. 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,

Of course this is all very private, but I wished you to know what was going 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 and trust me.

"It's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits. I'm sure there is something on her mind, and I want

"She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as she used. I found her crying over the

babies the other day. When she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in her

"I have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my questions or looked so distressed that I stopped. I never

Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret

disquietude but Beth's, and after sewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo said, "I think she is growing up, and so

begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why or being able to explain

them. Why, Mother, Beth's eighteen, but we don't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a

"So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her mother with a sigh and a smile.

"Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts of worries, and let your birds hop out of

the nest, one by one. I promise never to 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, now Meg is gone. Beth is too feeble and

"Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there must always be one scrub in a family. Amy is

splendid in fine works and I'm not, but I feel in my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or half the

family fall sick at once. Amy is distinguishing herself abroad, but if anything is amiss at home, I'm your

"I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender little heart to her Jo sooner than to anyone else.

Be very kind, and don't let her think anyone watches or talks about; her. If she only would get quite strong

"I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine. They are not very wearing, so they'll keep." And Jo

stitched away, with a wise nod which set her mother's heart at rest about her for the present at least.

While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched Beth, and after many conflicting conjectures,

finally settled upon one which seemed to explain 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 to write busily one

Saturday afternoon, when she and Beth were alone together. Yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on her

sister, who seemed unusually quiet. Sitting at the window, Beth's work often dropped into her lap, and she

leaned her head upon her hand, in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on the dull, autumnal landscape.

Suddenly some one passed below, whistling like an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out, "All serene!

Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the passerby till his quick tramp died away, then

said softly as if to herself, "How strong and well and happy that dear boy looks."

"Hum!" said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face, for the bright color faded as quickly as it came, the smile

vanished, and presently a tear lay shining on the window ledge. Beth whisked it off, and in her halfaverted

face read a tender sorrow that made her own eyes fill. Fearing to betray herself, she slipped away, murmuring

"Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!" she said, sitting down in her own room, pale with the shock of the

discovery which she believed she had just made. "I never dreamed of such a thing. What will Mother say? I

wonder if her..." there Jo stopped and turned scarlet with a sudden thought. "If he shouldn't love back again,

how dreadful it would be. He must. I'll make him!" And she shook her head threateningly at the picture of the

mischievous looking boy laughing at her from the wall. "Oh dear, we are growing up with a vengeance.

Here's Meg married and a mamma, Amy flourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love. I'm the only one that has

sense enough to keep out of mischief." Jo thought intently for a minute with her eyes fixed on the picture,

then she smoothed out her wrinkled forehead and 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. So you needn't write

touching notes and smile in that insinuating way, for it won'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 till the early twilight sent her down to

take new observations, which only confirmed her suspicion. Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked with

Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but so was everybody's. Therefore, no one

thought of imagining that he cared more for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression had

prevailed in the family of late that `our boy' was getting fonder than ever of Jo, who, however, wouldn't hear

a word upon the subject and scolded violently if anyone dared to suggest it. If they had known the various

tender passages which had been nipped in the bud, they would have had the immense satisfaction of saying,

"I told you so." But Jo hated `philandering', and wouldn't allow it, always having a joke or a smile ready at

the least sign of impending danger. When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month, but

these small flames were as brief as ardent, did no damage, and much amused Jo, who took great interest in

the alternations of hop, despair, and resignation, which were confided to her in their weekly conferences. But

there came a time when Laurie ceased to worship at many shrines, hinted darkly at one allabsorbing

passion, and indulged occasionally in Byronic fits of gloom. Then he avoided the tender subject altogether,

wrote philosophical notes to Jo, turned studious, and gave out that he was going to `dig', intending to

graduate in a blaze of glory. This suited the young lady better than twilight confidences, tender pressures of

the hand, and eloquent glances of the eye, for with Jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferred

imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till

Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and Jo watched Laurie that night as she had

never done before. If she had not got the new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual in the

fact that Beth was very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her. But having given the rein to her lively fancy, it

galloped away with her at a great pace, and common sense, being rather weakened by a long course or

romance writing, did not come to the rescue. As usual Beth lay on the sofa and Laurie sat in a low chair close

by, amusing her with all sorts of gossip, for she depended on her weekly `spin', and he never disappointed

her. But that evening Jo fancied that Beth's eyes rested on the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar

pleasure, and that she listened with intense interest 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 heart upon seeing it, that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in

Laurie's manner, that he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a little

absentminded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with an assiduity that was really almost tender.

"Who knows? Stranger things have happened," thought Jo, as she fussed about the room. "She will make

quite an angel of him, and he will make life delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love each

other. I don't see how he can help it, and I do believe he would if the rest of us were out of the way."

As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that she ought to dispose of herself with all

speed. But where should she go? And burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she sat down

Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofalong, broad, wellcushioned, and low, a trifle shabby, as

well it might be, for the girls had slept 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, dreamed dreams, 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

favorite lounging place. Among the many pillows that adorned the venerable couch was one, hard, round,

covered with prickly horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end. This repulsive pillow was

her especial property, being used as a weapon of defense, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much

Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deep aversion, having been unmercifully

pummeled with it in former days when romping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from the seat

he most 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 lay flat 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 seat five minutes, before a

massive form appeared beside her, and with both arms spread over the sofa back, both long legs stretched out

"No slang," snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was too late, there was no room for it, and coasting

"Come, Jo, don't be thorny. After studying himself to a skeleton all the week, a fellow deserves petting and

"No, she's not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort of thing, unless you've suddenly lost your taste

Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard, but Jo quenched `her boy' by

turning on him with a stern query, "How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?"

"I'm glad of it, that's one of your foolish extravagances, sending flowers and things to girls for whom you

"Sensible girls for whom I do care whole papers of pins won't let me send them `flowers and things', so what

"Mother doesn't approve of flirting even in fun, and you do flirt desperately, Teddy."

"I'd give anything if I could answer, `So do you'. As I can't, I'll merely say that I don't see any harm in that

"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 id doing, but I don't seem to get on", said Jo, forgetting to play mentor.

"Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far. I suppose it's natural to some people to please

without trying, and others to always say 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 of herself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really do go on at such a

rate I'm ashamed of them. They don't mean any harm, I'm sure, but if they knew how we fellows talked about

"They do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows get the worst of it, for you are as silly as

they, every bit. If you behaved properly, they would, but knowing you like their nonsense, they keep it up,

"Much you know about it, ma'am," said Laurie in a superior tone. "We don't like romps and flirts, though we

may act as if we did sometimes. The pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, among

gentleman. Bless your innocent soul! If you could be in my place for a month you'd see things that would

astonish you a trifle. Upon my word, when I see one of those harumscarum girls, I always want to say with

It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between Laurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of

womankind, and his very natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society showed him

many samples. Jo knew that `young Laurence' was regarded as a most eligible parti by worldly mamas, was

much smiled upon by their daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb of him,

so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoiled, and rejoiced more than she confessed to

find that he still believed in modest girls. Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping her

voice, "If you must have a `went', Teddy, go and devote yourself to one of the `pretty, modest girls' whom

"You really advise it?" And Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.

"Yes, I do, but you'd better wait till you are through college, on the whole, and be fitting yourself for the

place meantime. You're not half good enough forwell, whoever the modest girl may be." And Jo looked a

"That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes

"Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo, adding aloud, "Go and sing to me. I'm dying for some music,

"Well, you can't, there isn't room. Go and make yourself useful, since you are too big to be ornamental. I

thought you hated to be tied to a woman's apron string?" retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of his

"Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie gave an audacious tweak at the tassel.

He fled at once, and the minute it was well, "Up with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee," she slipped away to

Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the sound of a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's

"You can't, there is no cure." There Beth's voice gave way, and clinging to her sister, she cried so

"No, no, don't call her, don't tell her. I shall be better soon. Lie down here and `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 wet eyelids, her heart was very full and she longed to speak. But young as she was, Jo had learned that

hearts, like flowers, cannot be rudely handled, but must open naturally, so though she believed she knew the

cause of Beth's new pain, she only said, in her tenderest tone, "Does anything trouble you, deary?"

"Then I won't ask, but remember, Bethy, that Mother and Jo are always glad to hear and help you, if they

So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quite herself again, for at eighteen neither

But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project for some days, she confided it to her mother.

"You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll tell you one of them, Marmee," she began, as they sat

"Why, Jo?" And her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a 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 I can be spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way and try my wings."

"To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it. You know Mrs. Kirke wrote to you for some

respectable young person to teach her children and sew. It's rather hard to find just the thing, but I think I

"My dear, go out to service in that great boarding house!" And Mrs. March looked surprised, but not

"It's not exactly going out to service, for Mrs. Kirke is your friendthe kindest soul that ever livedand

would make things pleasant for me, I know. Her family is separate from the rest, and no one knows me there.

"All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new things, get new ideas, and even if I haven't much time

Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color in her cheeks. "It may be vain and

"Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care for you?' And Mrs. March looked

"Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immensely proud of him, but as for anything more,

"Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another. As friends you are very happy, and your frequent

quarrels soon blow over, but I fear you would both rebel if you were mated for life. You are too much alike

and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a relation

"That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it. I'm glad you think he is only beginning to care for

me. It would trouble me sadly to make him unhappy, for I couldn't fall in love with the dear old fellow

The color deepened in Jo's cheeks as she answered, with the look of mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which

young girls wear when speaking of first lovers, "I'm afraid it is so, Mother. He hasn't said anything, but he

Jo looked relieved, and after a pause, said, smiling, "How Mrs. Moffat would wonder at your want of

"AH, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the same in allthe desire to see their

children happy. Meg is so, and I am content 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 my chief care now, but her good sense

will help ;her. For Beth, I indulge no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems brighter this

"Yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me byandby. I said no more, for I think I know it,"

Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated

"Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled, then I'll run away before he can collect his wits and

be tragic. Beth must think I'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie to her. But she can

pet and comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion. He's been through so many little

Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear that this `little trial' would be harder than

the others, and that Laurie would not get 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 got might be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society would be both useful and

agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was eager to be gone, for the home nest was growing too narrow for her

restless nature and adventurous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and trembling she told Laurie, but to

her surprise he took it very quietly. He had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant, and when

jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, "So I am, and I mean this one shall stay

Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come on just then, and made her preparations

with a lightened heart, for Beth seemed more cheerful, and hoped she was doing the best for all.

"You mean your papers?" asked Beth. "No, my boy. Be very good to him, won't you?"

"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 looked at her so queerly.

When Laurie said goodby, he whispered significantly, "It won't do a bit of good, Jo. My eye is on you, so

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 lost sight of Father's dear old face, I felt a trifle blue, and might have shed a briny

drop or two, if an Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less, hadn't diverted my mind, for I

amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths to roar.

Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared up likewise and enjoyed my journey with all

Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even in that big house full of strangers. She gave

me a funny little sky parlorall she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so I

can sit here and write whenever I like. A fine view and a church tower opposite atone for the many stairs, and

I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The nursery, where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next Mrs.

Kirke's private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty children, rather spoiled, I fancy, but they took to me

after telling them The Seven Bad Pigs, and I've no 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

"Now, my dear, make yourself at home," said Mrs. K. in her motherly way, "I'm on the drive from morning to

night, as you may suppose with such a family, but a great anxiety will be off my mind if I know the children

are safe with you. My rooms are always open to you, and your own shall be as comfortable as I can make it.

There are some pleasant people 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's the tea bell, I must run and change my cap."

As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flights are very long in this tall house, and as I

stood waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber up, I saw a gentleman come along

behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by,

and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent, "It goes better so. The little back is too young to

Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for as Father says, trifles show character. When I mentioned it to

Mrs. K., that evening, she laughed, and said, "That must have been Professor Bhaer, he's always doing things

Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good, but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to

support himself and two little orphan nephews 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 his scholars. There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I

mean to peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost forty, so it's no harm, Marmee.

After tea and a gotobed romp with the little girls, I attacked the big workbasket, and had a quiet evening

chatting with my new friend. I shall keep a journalletter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, and more

Had a lively time in my seminary this morning, for the children acted like 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

they were glad to sit down and keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them out for a walk, and I went to my

needlework like little Mabel `with a willing mind'. 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, I know, but I couldn't resist the temptation, and lifting one end of

the curtain before the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was there, and while he arranged his books, I

took a good look at him. A regular Germanrather stout, with brown hair tumbled all over his head, a bushy

beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, after our

sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes were rusty, his hands were large, and he hadn't a really

handsome feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth, yet I liked him, for he had a fine head, his linen was

very nice, and he looked like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat and there was a patch on one

shoe. He looked sober in spite of his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth bulbs toward

the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like an old friend. Then he smiled, and when a tap came at the

I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of a child carrying a big book, and stopped, to see

"Me wants me Bhaer," said the mite, slamming down her book and running 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 her so 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 put her up at the table, opened the great

dictionary she had brought, and gave her a paper and pencil, and she scribbled away, turning a leaf now and

then, 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 stood stroking her pretty hair with a fatherly look that made me think she

Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me back to my work, and there I virtuously

remained through all the noise and gabbling that went on next door. One of the girls kept laughing affectedly,

and saying, "Now Professor," in a coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her German with an accent that

Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once I heard him say emphatically, "No, no, it is not so,

you haf not attend to what I say," and once there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with his book,

Poor man, I pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took just one more peep to see if he survived it. He

seemed to have thrown himself back in his chair, 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 another lesson, 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. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the five o'clock dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, I

thought I would, just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me. So I made myself

respectable and tried to slip in behind Mrs. Kirke, but as she is short and I'm tall, my efforts at concealment

were rather a failure. She gave me a seat by her, and after my face cooled off, I plucked up courage and

looked about me. The long table was full, and every one intent on getting their dinner, the gentlemen

especially, who seemed to be eating on time, for they bolted in every sense of the word, vanishing as soon as

they were done. There was the usual assortment of young men absorbed in themselves, young couples

absorbed in each other, married ladies in their babies, and old gentlemen in politics. I don't think I shall care

to have much to do with any of them, except one sweetfaced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something

Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Professor, shouting answers to the questions of a very

inquisitive, deaf old gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with a Frenchman on the other. If Amy

had been here, she'd have turned her back on him forever because, sad to relate, he had a great appetite, and

shoveled in his dinner in a manner which would have horrified `her ladyship'. I didn't mind, for I like `to see

folks eat with a relish', as Hannah says, and the poor man must have needed a deal of food after teaching

As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were settling their hats before the hall mirror, and I

I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a governess is as good as a clerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't

style, which is more than some people have, judging from the remarks of the elegant beings who clattered

Yesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing, and writing in my little room, which is very cozy, with a

light and fire. I picked up a few bits of news and was introduced to the Professor. It seems that Tina is the

child of the Frenchwoman who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing has lost her heart to

Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the house like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is

very fond of children, though a `bacheldore'. Kitty and Minnie Kirk likewise regard him 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 men quiz him, it seems, call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner of jokes on

his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. Kirke says, and takes it so goodnaturedly that they all like him in

The maiden lady is a Miss Norton, rich, cultivated, and kind. She spoke to me at dinner today (for I went to

table again, it's such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her at her room. She has fine books

and pictures, knows interesting persons, and seems friendly, so I shall make myself agreeable, for I do want

I was in our parlor last evening when Mr. Bhaer came in with some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn't

there, but Minnie, who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily. "This is Mamma's friend, Miss

"Yes, and she's jolly and we like her lots," added Kitty, who is and `enfant terrible'.

We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and the blunt addition were rather a comical

"Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch. If so again, call at me and I come," he said,

I promised I would, and he departed, but it seems as if I was doomed to see a good deal of him, for today as I

passed his door on my way out, by accident I knocked against it with my umbrella. It flew open, and there he

stood in his dressing gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle in the other. He didn't

seem at all ashamed of it, for when I explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in his

I laughed all the way downstairs, but it was a little pathetic, also to think of the poor man having to mend his

own clothes. The German gentlemen embroider, I know, but darning hose is another thing and not so pretty.

Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss Norton, who has a room full of pretty things, and

who was very charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I would sometimes go with her

to lectures and concerts, as her escort, if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I'm sure Mrs. Kirke has told

her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from such people

don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully. When I got back to the nursery there 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

leading him with a jump rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with seedcakes, as they roared and ramped

"Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon, when Franz and Emil come, doesn't she,

The `effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of them, and said soberly to me, "I gif you my wort it

is so, if we make too large a noise you shall say Hush! to us, and we go more softly."

I promised to do so, but left the door open and enjoyed the fun as much as they did, for a more glorious frolic

I never witnessed. They played tag and soldiers, danced and sang, and when it began to grow dark they all

piled onto the sofa about the Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the storks on the chimney tops,

and the little `koblods', who ride the snowflakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple and natural as

I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if motives of economy didn't stop me, for though I've

used thin paper and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need. Pray forward

Amy's as soon as you can spare them. My small news will sound very flat after her splendors, but you will

like them, I know. Is Teddy studying so hard that he can't find time to write to his friends? Take good care of

him for me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies, and give heaps of love to everyone. From your faithful Jo.

P.S. On reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather Bhaery, but I am always interested in odd people, and I

As this is to be a scribblescrabble letter, I direct it to you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of

my goings on, for though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful! After what Amy would call

Herculaneum efforts, in the way of mental and moral agriculture, my young 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 by

them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little lads, quite after my own heart, for the mixture

of German and American spirit in the produces a constant state of effervescence. Saturday afternoons are

riotous times, whether spent in the house or out, for on pleasant days they all go to walk, like a seminary,

We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take lessons. I really couldn't help it, and it all came about in

such a droll way that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke called to me one day as I passed

"Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me put these books to rights, for I've turned

everything upside down, trying to discover what he has done with the six new handkerchiefs I gave him not

I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was `a den' to be sure. Books and papers

everywhere, a broken meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantlepiece as if done with, a ragged bird

without any tail chirped on one window seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other. Halffinished boats

and bits of string lay among the manuscripts. Dirty little boots stood drying before the fire, and traces of the

dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave of himself, were to be seen all over the room. After a grand

rummage three of the missing articles were found, one over the bird cage, one covered with ink, and a third

"Such a man!" laughed goodnatured Mrs. K., as she put the relics in the rag 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

absentminded and goodnatured, he lets those boys ride over him roughshod. I agreed to do his washing and

mending, but he forgets to give out his things and I forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass

"Let me mend them," said I. "I don't mind it, and he needn't know. I'd like to, he's so kind to me about

So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two pairs of the socks, for they were boggled out of

shape with his queer darns. Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn't find it out, but one day last week he

caught me at it. Hearing the lessons he gives to others has interested and amused 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 new scholar, who is as stupid as I am.

The girl had gone, and I thought he had also, it was so still, and I was busily gabbling over a verb, and

rocking to and fro in a most absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was Mr. Bhaer

"So!" he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, "you peep at me, I peep at you, and this is not bad, but see,

"Yes, but you are too busy. I am too stupid to learn," I blundered out, as red as a peony.

"Prut! We will make the time, and we fail not to find the sense. At efening I shall gif a little lesson with much

gladness, for look you, Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay." And he pointed to my work `Yes, ' they say to

one another, these so kind ladies, `he is a stupid old fellow, he will see not what we do, he will never observe

that his sock heels go not in holes any more, he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, and

believe 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 splendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and

we began. I took four lessons, and then I stuck fast in a grammatical bog. The Professor was very patient with

me, but it must have been torment to him, and now and then he'd look at me with such an expression of mild

despair that it was a tossup with me whether to laugh or cry. I tried both ways, and when it came to a sniff

or utter mortification and woe, he just threw the grammar on to the floor and marched out of the room. I felt

myself disgraced and deserted forever, but didn't blame him a particle, and was scrambling my papers

together, meaning to rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if I'd

"Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these pleasant little MARCHEN together, and dig no more

He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Andersons's fairy tales so invitingly before me, that I was more

ashamed than ever, and went at my lesson in a neckornothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely. I

forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away (no other word will express it) with all my might, tumbling over

long words, pronouncing according to inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best. When I finished

reading my first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried out in his hearty way, "Das ist

gut!' Now we go well! My turn. I do him in German, gif me your ear." And away he went, rumbling out the

words with his 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 he read, for I couldn't help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the whole thing so comical.

After that we got on better, and now I read my lessons pretty well, for this way of studying suits me, and I

can see that the grammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills in jelly. I like it very much,

and he doesn't seem tired of it yet, which is very good of him, isn't it? I mean to give him something on

I'm glad Laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given up smoking and lets his hair grow. You see Beth

manages him better than I did. I'm not jealous, dear, do your best, only don't make a saint of him. I'm afraid I

couldn't like him without a spice of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my letters. I haven't time to write

much, and that will do just as well. Thank Heaven Beth continues so comfortable.

A Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family, which of course includes Mr. L. and a young man by the

name of Teddy. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle, for i didn't get it till night and

had given up hoping. Your letter came in the morning, but you said nothing about a parcel, meaning it for a

surprise, so I was disappointed, for I'd had a `kind of feeling' that you wouldn't forget me. I felt a little low in

my mind as I sat up in my room after tea, and when the big, muddy, batteredlooking 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 and

looked and ate and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd way. The things were just what I wanted, and all

the better for being made instead of bought. Beth's new `ink bib' was capital, and Hannah's box of hard

gingerbread will be a treasure. I'll be sure and wear the nice flannels you sent, Marmee, and read carefully the

Speaking of books reminds me that I'm getting rich in that line, for on New Year's Day Mr. Bhaer gave me a

fine Shakespeare. It is one he values much, and I've often admired it, set up in the place of honor with his

German Bible, Plato, Homer, and Milton, so you may imagine how I felt when he brought it down, without

"You say often you wish a library. Here I gif you one, for between these lids (he meant covers) is many

books in one. Read him well, and he will help you much, for the study of character in this book will help you

I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about `my library', as if I had a hundred books. I never knew

how much there was in Shakespeare before, but then I never had a Bhaer to explain it to me. Now don't laugh

at his horrid name. It isn't pronounced either Bear or Beer, as people will say it, but something between the

two, as only Germans can give it. I'm glad you both like what I tell you about him, and hope you will know

him some day. Mother would admire his warm heart, Father his wise head. I admire both, and feel rich in my

Not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, I got several little things, and put them about the room,

where he would find them unexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or funny, a new standish on his table, a

little vase for his flower, he always has one, or a bit of green in a glass, to keep him fresh, he says, and a

holder for his blower, so that he needn't burn up what Amy calls `mouchoirs'. I made it like those Beth

invented, 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 it on 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 a soul here, from the French

They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time New Year's Eve. I didn't mean to go down, having no dress.

But at the last minute, Mrs. Kirke remembered some old brocades, and Miss Norton lent me lace and

feathers. 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 the silent, haughty Miss March (for they think I am very stiff and cool,

most of them, and so I am to whippersnappers) could dance and dress, and burst out into a `nice derangement

of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks of the Nile'. I enjoyed it very much, and when we unmasked it was

fun to see them stare at me. I heard one of the young men tell another that he knew I'd been an actress, in fact,

he thought he remembered seeing me at one of the 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 dance was `quite a

I had a very happy New Year, after all, and when I thought it over in my room, I felt as if I was getting on a

little in spite of my many failures, for I'm cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and take more interest

in other people than I used to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all! Ever your loving... Jo

Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work that earned her

bread and made it sweeter for the effort, Jo still found time for literary labors. The purpose which now took

possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl, but the means she took to gain her end were

not the best. She saw that money conferred power, therefore, she resolved to have, not to be used for herself

The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth everything she wanted, from strawberries in winter to

an organ in her bedroom, going abroad herself, and always having more than enough, so that she might

indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for years Jo's most cherished castle in the air.

The prizestory experience had seemed to open a way which might, after long traveling and much uphill

work, lead to this delightful chateau en Espagne. But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for

public opinion is a giant which has frightened stouterhearted Jacks on bigger beanstalks than hers. Like that

immortal hero, she reposed awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of

the giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the `up again and take another' spirit was as strong in Jo as in

Jack, so she scrambled up on the shady side this time and got more booty, but nearly left behind her what was

She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even allperfect America read rubbish. She told

no one, but concocted a `thrilling tale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the Weekly

Volcano. She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an

influence more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she dressed

herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed

two pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence

of three gentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them

took the trouble to remove on her appearance. somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hesitated on the

"Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished to see Mr. Dashwood."

Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar

between his fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep. Feeling that

she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her manuscript and, blushing redder and redder with

each sentence, blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.

"A friend of mine desired me to offera storyjust as an experimentwould like your opinionbe glad

While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken the manuscript, and was turning over the leaves

with a pair of rather dirty fingers, 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

"No, sir. She has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale in the BLARNEYSTONE BANNER."

"Oh, did she?" And Mr. Dashwood gave JO a quick look, which seemed to take note of everything she had

on, from the bow in her bonnet to the buttons on her boots. "Well, you can leave it, if you like. We've more of

this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present, but I'll run my eye over it, and give you

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 and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was apt to do

when nettled or abashed. Just then she was both, for it was perfectly evident from the knowing glances

exchanged among the gentlemen that her 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 an hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for next week.

When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced. Mr. Dashwood was much wider

awake than before, which was agreeable and Mr. Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to

remember his manners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first.

"We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't object to a few alterations. It's too long, but omitting the

passages I've marked will make it just the right length," he said, in a businesslike tone.

Jo hardly knew her own MS again, so crumpled and underscored were its pages and paragraphs, but feeling

as a tender patent might on being asked 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 the moral reflectionswhich she had

"But, Sir, I thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so I took care to have a few of my sinners

Mr. Dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for Jo had forgotten her `friend', and spoken as only

"People want to be amused, not preached at, you know. Morals don't sell nowadays." Which was not quite a

"Yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked uplanguage good, and so on," was Mr. Dashwood's affable

"What do youthat is, what compensation" began Jo, not exactly knowing how to express herself.

"Oh, yes, well, we give from twentyfive to thirty for things of this sort. Pay when it comes out," returned

Mr. Dashwood, as if that point had escaped him. Such trifles do escape the editorial mind, it is said.

"Very well, you can have it," said Jo, handing back the story with a satisfied air, for after the

"Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one better than this?" asked Jo, unconscious of her

"Well, we'll look at it. Can't promise to take it. Tell her to make it short and spicy, and never mind the moral.

"None at all, if you please, she doesn't wish her name to appear and has no nom de plume," said Jo, blushing

"Just as she likes, of course. The tale will be out next week. Will you call for the money, or shall I send it?"

asked Mr. Dashwood, who felt a natural desire to know who his new contributor might be.

As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the graceful remark, "Poor and proud, as usual, but

Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury her model, 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

Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters and scenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies,

nuns, and duchesses appeared upon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spirit as

could be expected. Her readers were not particular about such trifles as grammar, punctuation, and

probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking

it necessary to tell her that the real cause of his hospitality was the fact that one of his hacks, on being offered

She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grew stout, and the little hoard she was

making to take Beth to the mountains next summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed. One thing

disturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tell them at home. She had a feeling that Father and

Mother would not approve, and preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon afterward. It was easy to

keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories. Mr. Dashwood had of course found it out very soon,

She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to write nothing of which she would be

ashamed, and quieted all pricks of conscience by anticipations of the happy minute when she should show her

But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills could not be produced except by harrowing

up the souls of the readers, history and romance, land and sea, science and art, police records and lunatic

asylums, had to be ransacked for the purpose. Jo soon found that her innocent experience had given her but

few glimpses of the tragic world which underlies society, so regarding it in a business light, she set about

supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy. Eager to find material for stories, and bent on making

them original in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and

crimes. She excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on poisons. She studied faces in

the street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her. She delved in the dust of ancient times for

facts or fictions so old that they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin, and misery, as well

as her limited opportunities allowed. She thought she was prospering finely, but unconsciously she was

beginning to desecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman's character. She was living in bad

society, and imaginary though it was, its influence affected her, for she was feeding heart and fancy on

dangerous and unsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by a premature

acquaintance with the darker side of life, which comes soon enough to all of us.

She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing of other people's passions and feelings set

her to studying and speculating about her own. a morbid amusement in which healthy young minds do not

voluntarily indulge. Wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, and when Jo most needed hers, she got

I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to read character, or the natural instinct of a

woman for what was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary heroes with every

perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human

imperfections. Mr. Bhaer, in one of their conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and lovely

characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer. Jo took him at his word, for she coolly

turned round and studied hima proceeding which would have much surprised him, had he know it, for the

Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome,

in no respect what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as a genial fire, and

people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth. He was poor, yet always appeared to

be giving something away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but as happyhearted 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 benevolence which

worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, `it sat with its head under its wing', and he turned only his sunny

side to the world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed to have touched him gently,

remembering how kind he was to others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many

friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong

His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of the wearer. They looked as if they were at ease,

and liked to make him comfortable. His capacious waistcoat was sugges tive of a large heart underneath.

His rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and

came out full. His very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other people's.

"That's it!" said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered that genuine good will toward one's fellow men

could beautify and dignify even a stout German teacher, who shoveled in his dinner, darned his own socks,

Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most feminine respect for intellect, and a little discovery

which she made about the Professor 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 much honored and esteemed for learning and

integrity, till a countryman came to see him. He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with Miss

Norton divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it all the better because Mr. Bhaer had

never told it. She felt proud to know that he was an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poor

languagemaster in America, and his homely, hardworking life was much beautified by the spice of

romance which this discovery gave it. Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a most

unexpected manner. Miss Norton had the entree into most society, which Jo would have had no chance of

seeing but for her. The solitary woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly conferred many favors

of this sort both on Jo and the Professor. She took them with her one night to a select symposium, held in

Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had worshiped with youthful enthusiasm

afar off. But her reverence for genius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time to recover

from the discovery that the great creatures were only men and women after all. Imagine her dismay, on

stealing a glance of timid admiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on `spirit, fire,

and dew', to behold him devouring his supper with an ardor which 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 a pendulum; the famous divine flirted

openly with one of the Madame de Staels of the age, who looked daggers at another Corinne, who was

amiably satirizing her, after outmaneuvering her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed

tea Johnsonianly and appeared to slumber, the loquacity of the lady rendering speech impossible. The

scientific celebrities, forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about art, while devoting

themselves to oysters and ices with characteristic energy; the young musician, who was charming the city like

a second Orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen of the British nobility present happened to be the most

Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned, that she sat down in a corner to recover

herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of the

philosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess.

The conversations were miles beyond Jo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel were

unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms, and the only thing `evolved from her inner

consciousness' was a bad headache after it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually that the world was

being picked to pieces, and put together on new and, according to the talkers, on infinitely better principles

than before, that religion was in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only

God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement, half

pleasurable, half painful, came over her as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and

She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found him looking at her with the grimest expression

she had ever seen him wear. He shook his head and beckoned her to come away, but she was fascinated just

then by the freedom of Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise gentlemen

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 lightly spoken. As he glanced from Jo to several other young people, attracted

by the brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longed to speak, fearing that some

inflammable young soul would be led astray by the rockets, to find when the display was over that they had

He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for an opinion, he blazed up with honest

indignation and defended religion with all the eloquence of truthan eloquence which made his broken

English musical and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well, but he didn't

know when he was beaten and stood to his colors 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. God was not a blind force,

and immortality was not a pretty fable, but a blessed fact. 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 her hands and

She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professor her heartiest respect, for she knew it

cost him an effort to speak out then and there, because his conscience would not let him be silent. She began

to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty, 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

This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem, she coveted his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his

friendship, and just when the wish was sincerest, she came near to losing everything. It all grew out of a

cocked hat, for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head,

"It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming down," thought Jo, with a smile, as he said "Goot

efening," and sat soberly down, quite unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and his

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 it for himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a German

read Schiller is rather an absorbing occupation. After the reading came the lesson, which was a lively one, for

Jo was in a gay mood that night, and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The Professor

didn't know what to make of her, and stopped at last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible ...

"Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face? Haf you no respect for me, that you go on so

Lifting his hand to his head, the absentminded Professor gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat,

looked at it a minute, and then threw back 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

But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr. Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and

unfolding it, said with great disgust, "I wish these papers did not come in the house. They are not for children

to see, nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf no patience with those who make this harm."

Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villian, and a viper.

She did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear, because for

a minute she fancied the paper was the Volcano. It was not, however, and her panic subsided as she

remembered that even if it had been and one of her own tales in it, there would have been no name to betray

her. She had betrayed herself, however, by a look and a blush, for though an absent man, the Professor saw a

good deal more than people fancied. He knew that Jo wrote, and had met her down among the newspaper

offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it, he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see

her work. Now it occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him. He

did not say to himself, "It is none of my business. I've no right to say anything," as many people would have

done. He only remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from mother's love and father's care,

and he was moved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put

out his hand to save a baby from a puddle. All this flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it

appeared in his face, and by the time the paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, he was ready to say quite

"Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think that good young girls should see such things. They are

made pleasant to some, but I would more 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 make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories," said Jo,

scratching gathers 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 feel that the living was honest. They haf no right to put poison in the

sugarplum, and let the small ones eat it. No, they should think a little, and sweep mud in the street before they

Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper in his hands. Jo sat still, looking as if

the fire had come to her, for her cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone

"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 her hardearned money lay rather

heavily on her conscience at that minute. Then she thought consolingly to herself, "Mine are not like that,

they are only silly, never bad, so I won't be worried," and taking up her book, she said, with a studious face,

"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 Weekly Volcano were printed in large type on her forehead.

As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefully reread every one of her stories. Being a

little shortsighted, Mr. Bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and Jo had tried them once, smiling to see how

they magnified the fine print of her book. Now she seemed to have on the Professor's mental or moral

spectacles also, for the faults of these poor stories 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 more sensational than the last. I've gone

blindly on, hurting myself and other people, for the sake of money. I know it's so, for I can't read this stuff in

sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it, and what should I do if they were seen at home or Mr.

Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her stove, nearly setting the chimney afire

"Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense. I'd better burn the house down, I suppose, than let

other people blow themselves up with my gunpowder," she thought as she watched the Demon of the Jura

But when nothing remained of all her three month's work except a heap of 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 my time," she said, after a long

meditation, adding impatiently, "I almost wish I hadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient. If I didn't care

about doing right, and didn't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally. I can't help

wishing sometimes, that Mother and Father hadn't been so particular about such things."

Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that `Father and Mother were particular'. and pity from your heart

those who have no such guardians to hedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls to

impatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations to build character upon in womanhood.

Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did not pay for her share of the sensation, but

going to the other extreme, as is the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs. Sherwood, Miss

Edgeworth, and Hannah More, and then produced a tale which might have been 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 and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff

and cumbrous costume of the last century. She sent this didactic gem to several markets, but it found no

purchaser, and she 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 if she had not been mercenary enough

to demand filthy lucre for it. The only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to try juvenile

literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his particular belief. But

much as she liked to write for children, Jo could not consent to depict all her naughty boys as being eaten by

bears or tossed 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 life with psalms or sermons on their lisping tongues. So nothing came of these trials, land Jo

"I don't know anything. I'll wait until I do before I try again, and meantime, `sweep mud in the street' if I can't

do better, that's honest, at least." Which decision proved that her second tumble down the beanstalk had done

While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life had been as busy and uneventful as usual,

and if she sometimes looked serious or a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer. He did it so quietly

that Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by his reproof, but she stood the

test, and he was satisfied, for though no words passed between them, he knew that she had given up writing.

Not only did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent

her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged

patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.

He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo was happy, for while her pen lay idle, she

was learning other lessons besides German, 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. Kirke till June. Everyone seemed sorry

when the time came. The children were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair stuck straight up all over his head,

"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, while she held a little levee on that last evening.

She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and when his turn came, she said warmly,

"Now, Sir, you won't forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you? I'll never forgive you if

"Do you? Shall I come?" he asked, looking down at her with an eager expression which she did not see.

"Yes, come next month. Laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoy commencement as something new."

Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasure in the prospect of showing them to

one another. Something in Mr. Bhaer's face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie more than a

`best friend', and simply because she particularly wished not to look as if anything was the matter, she

involuntarily began to blush, and the more she tried not to, the redder she grew. If it had not been for Tina on

her knee. She didn't know what would have become of her. Fortunately the child 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

again from 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 much success, and you all happiness. Gott bless

But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with the tired look on his face and the `heimweh', or

homesickness, lying heavy at his heart. Once, when he remembered Jo as she sat with the little child in her

lap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his head on his hands a minute, and then roamed about the

"It is not for me, I must not hope it now," he said to himself, with a sigh that was almost a groan. Then, as if

reproach ing himself for the longing that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two tousled heads

He did his best and did it manfully, but I don't think he found that a pair of rampant boys, a pipe, or even the

Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see Jo off, and thanks to him, she began her solitary

journey with the pleasant memory of a 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've written no books, earned no

fortune, but I've made a friend worth having and I'll try to keep him all my life."

Whatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purpose that year, for he graduated with honor,

and gave the Latin oration with the grace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes, so his friends

said. They were all there, his grandfatheroh, so proudMr. and Mrs. March, John and Meg, Jo and Beth,

and all exulted over him with the sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, but fail to win

"I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home early tomorrow. You'll come and meet me as

usual, girls?" Laurie said, as he put the 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 old custom. She had not the heart to refuse

"I'll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you, playing `Hail the conquering hero comes' on a

Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a sudden panic, "Oh, deary me! I know he'll say

Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, and having decided that she wouldn't be

vain enough to think people were going to propose when she had given them every reason to know what her

answer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping Teddy wouldn'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 further fortified

her for the teteatete, but when she saw a stalwart figure looming in the distance, she had a strong desire to

"Where's the jew'sharp, Jo?" cried Laurie, as soon as he was within speaking distance.

"I forgot it." And Jo took heart again, for that salutation could not be called loverlike.

She always used to take his arm on these occasions, now she did not, and he made no complaint, which was a

bad sign, but talked on rapidly about all sorts of faraway subjects, till they turned from the road into the little

path that led homeward through the grove. Then he walked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of

language, and now and then a dreadful pause occurred. To rescue the conversation from one of the wells of

silence into which it kept falling, Jo said hastily, "Now you must have a good long holiday!"

Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find him looking down at her with an expression

that assured her the dreaded moment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring, "No,

"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

"Say what you like then. I'll listen," said Jo, with a desperate sort of patience.

Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to `have it out', if he died in the attempt, so he

plunged into the subject with characteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choky now and

then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady . .. "I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo, couldn't

help it, you've been so good to me. I've tried to show it, but you wouldn't let me. Now I'm going to make you

"I wanted to save you this. I thought you'd understand... began Jo, finding it a great deal harder than she

"I know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know what they mean. They say no when they mean

yes, and drive a man out of his wits just for the fun of it," returned Laurie, entrenching himself behind an

"I don't. I never wanted to make you care for me so, and I went away to keep you from it if I could."

"I thought so. It was like you, but it was no use. I only loved you all the more, and I worked hard to please

you, and I gave up billiards and everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I hoped

you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough..." Here there was a choke that couldn't be controlled, so he

"You, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and I'm so grateful to you, and so proud and fond of you, I

don't know why I can't love you as you want me to. I've tried, but I can't change the feeling, and it would be a

He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question with a look that she did not soon forget.

They were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when the last words fell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie

dropped her hands and turned as if to go on, but for once in his life the fence was too much for him. So he

just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still that Jo was frightened.

"Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if it would do any good! I wish you wouldn't

take it so hard, I can't help it. You know it's impossible for people to make themselves love other people if

they don't," cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly patted his shoulder, remembering the time

"They do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post. "I don't believe it's the right sort of love, and I'd

There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow by the river, and the tall grass rustled

in the wind. Presently Jo said very soberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile, "Laurie, I want to tell you

He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out in a fierce tone, "Don't tell me that, Jo, I

"That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say you love him, I know I shall do something

desperate." And he looked as if he would keep his word, as he clenched his hands with a wrathful spark in his

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, nor anything 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 angry if you abuse my Professor. I

"You'll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this trouble."

"I can't love anyone else, and I'll never forget you, Jo, Never! Never!" with a stamp to emphasize his

"What shall I do with him?" sighed Jo, finding that emotions were more unmanagable than she expected.

"You haven't heard what I wanted to tell you. Sit down and listen, for indeed I want to do right and make you

happy," she said, hoping to soothe him with a little reason, which proved that she knew nothing about love.

Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw himself down on the grass at her feet, leaned his arm on

the lower step of the stile, and looked up at her with an expectant face. Now that arrangement was not

conducive to calm speech or clear thought on Jo's part, for how could she say hard things to her boy while he

watched her with eyes full of love and longing, and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or two her hardness of

heart had wrung from him? She gently turned his head away, saying, as she stroked the wavy hair which had

been allowed to grow for her sakehow touching that was, to be sure! "I agree with Mother that you and I

are not suited to each other, because our quick tempers and strong wills would probably make us very

miserable, if we were so foolish as to..." Jo paused a little over the last word, but Laurie uttered it with a

"Marryno we shouldn't! If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything

"No, I can't. I've tried and failed, and I won't risk our happiness by such a serious experiment. We don't agree

and we never shall, so we'll be good friends all our lives, but we won't go and do anything rash."

"Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case," implored Jo, almost at her wit's end.

"I won't be reasonable. I don't want to take what you call `a sensible view'. It won't help me, and it only

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

wheedlesome before, "Don't disappoint us, dear! Everyone expects it. Grandpa has set his heart upon it, your

people like it, and I can't get on without you. Say you will, and let's be happy. Do, do!"

Not until months afterward did Jo understand how she had the strength of mind to hold fast to the resolution

she had made when she decided that she did not love her boy, and never could. It was very hard to do, but she

"I can't say `yes' truly, so I won't say it at all. You'll see that I'm right, byandby, and thank me for it..." she

"I'll be hanged if I do!" And Laurie bounced up off the grass, burning with indignation at the very idea.

"Yes, you will!" persisted Jo. "You'll get over this after a while, and find some lovely accomplished girl, who

will adore you, and make a fine mistress for your fine house. I shouldn't. I'm homely and awkward and odd

and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrelwe can't help it even now, you seeand I

shouldn't like elegant society and you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on without it,

and we should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and everything would be horrid!"

"Anything more?" asked asked Laurie, finding it hard to listen patiently to this prophetic burst.

"Nothing more, except that I don't believe I shall ever marry. I'm happy as I am, and love my liberty too well

"I know better!" broke in Laurie. "You think so now, but there'll come a time 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 to stand by and see it." And the despairing lover cast his hat upon the ground with a gesture that

"Yes, I will live and die for him, if her ever comes and makes me love him in spite of myself, and you must

do the best you can!" cried Jo, losing patience 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 be fond of you, very

fond indeed, as a friend, but I'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better for both of usso

That speech was like gunpowder. Laurie looked at her a minute as if he did 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."

For a minute Jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself down the bank toward the river, but it takes much

folly, sin or misery to send a young man to a violent death, and Laurie was not one of the weak sort who are

conquered by a single failure. He had no thought of a melodramatic plunge, 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 he had

done in any race. Jo drew a long breath and unclasped her hands as she watched the poor fellow trying to

"That will do him good, and he'll come home in such a tender, penitent state of mind, that I shan't dare to see

him." she said, adding, as she went slowly home, feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing, and

buried it under the leaves. "Now I must go and prepare Mr. Laurence to be very 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

like to have lovers and refuse them? I think it's dreadful." Being sure that no one could do it so well as

herself, she went straight to Mr. Laurence, told the hard story bravely through, and then broke down, crying

so dismally over her own insensibility that the kind old gentleman, though sorely disappointed, did not utter a

reproach. He found it difficult to understand how any girl could help loving Laurie, and hoped she would

change her mind, but he knew even better than Jo that love cannot be forced, so he shook his head sadly and

resolved to carry his boy out of harm's way, for Young Impetuosity's parting words to Jo disturbed him more

When Laurie came home, dead tired but quite composed, his grandfather met him as if he knew nothing, and

kept up the delusion very successfully 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 to ramble on as usual, and harder still for the

young one to listen to praises of the last year's success, which to him now seemed like love's labor lost. He

bore it as long as he could, then went to his piano and began to play. The window's were open, and Jo,

walking in the garden with Beth, for once understood music better than her sister, for he played the

"That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry. Give us something gayer, lad," said Mr.

Laurence, whose kind old heart was full of sympathy, 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's voice 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

"I can't stand this," muttered the old gentleman. Up he got, groped his way to the piano, laid a kind hand on

either of the broad shoulders, and said, as gently as a woman, "I know, my boy, I know."

"Then there's an end of it!" And he shook off his grandfather's hands with an impatient motion, for though

"Not quite. I want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end of it," returned Mr. Laurence with unusual

"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

"Not if you are the gentleman I think you. I'm disappointed, but the girl can't help it, and the only thing left

"Anywhere. I don't care what becomes of me." And Laurie got up with a reckless laugh that grated on his

"Take it like a man, and don't do anything rash, for God's sake. Why not go abroad, as you planned, and

"But you've been wild to go, and I promised you should when you got through college."

"Ah, but I didn't mean to go alone!" And Laurie walked fast through the room with an expression which it

"I don't ask you to go alone. There's someone ready and glad to go with you, anywhere in the world."

Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, saying huskily, "I'm a selfish brute, butyou

"Lord help me, yes, I do know, for I've been through it all before, once in my own young days, and then with

your father. Now, my dear boy, just sit quietly down and hear my plan. It's all settled, and can be carried out

at once," said Mr. Laurence, keeping hold of the young man, as if fearful that he would break away as his

"Well, sir, what is it?" And Laurie sat down, without a sign of interest in face or voice.

"There is business in London that needs looking after. I meant you should attend to it, but I can do it better

myself, and things here will get on very 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," began Laurie, who was grateful for the

sacrifice, but much preferred to go alone, if he went at all. The old gentleman knew that perfectly well, and

particularly desired to prevent it, for the mood in which he found his grandson assured him that it would not

be wise to leave him to his own devices. So, stifling a natural regret at the thought of the home comforts he

would leave behind him, he said stoutly, Bless your soul, I'm not superannuated yet. I quite enjoy the idea. It

will do me good, and my old bones won't suffer, for traveling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in a

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't mean to be a marplot or a burden. I go because I think you'd feel

happier than if I was left behind. I don't intend to gad about with you, but leave you free to go where you like,

while I amuse myself in my own way. I've friends in London and Paris, and should like to visit them.

Meantime you can go to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, where you will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery, and

Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken and the world a howling wilderness, but at the

sound of certain words which the old gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the broken heart

gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenly appeared in the howling wilderness. He sighed,

and then said, in a spiritless tone, "Just as you like, Sir. It doesn't matter where I go or what I do."

"It does to me, remember that, my lad. I give you entire liberty, but I trust you to make an honest use of it.

"Good," thought the old gentleman. "You don't care now, but there'll come a time when that promise will

Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck while the iron was hot, and before the blighted being

recovered spirit enough to rebel, they were off. During the time necessary for preparation, Laurie bore

himself as young gentleman usually do in such cases. He was moody, irritable, and pensive by turns, lost his

appetite, neglected his dress and devoted much time to playing tempestuously on his piano, avoided Jo, but

consoled himself by staring at her from his window, with a tragic face that haunted her dreams by night and

oppressed her with a heavy sense of guilt by day. Unlike some sufferers, he never spoke of his unrequited

passion, and would allow no one, not even Mrs. March, to attempt consolation or offer sympathy. On some

accounts, this was a relief to his friends, but the weeks before his departure were very uncomfortable, and

everyone rejoiced that the `poor, dear fellow was going away to forget his trouble, and come home happy'. Of

course, he smiled darkly at their delusion, but passed it by with the sad superiority of one who knew that his

When the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal certain inconvenient emotions which seemed

inclined to assert themselves. This gaiety did not impose upon anybody, but they tried to look as if it did for

his sake, and he got on very well till Mrs. March kissed him, whit a whisper full of motherly solicitude. Then

feeling that he was going very fast, he hastily embraced them all round, not forgetting the afflicted Hannah,

and ran downstairs as if for his life. Jo followed a minute after to wave 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 up at

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

her arm a minute after her hard answer, she felt as if she had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left her

When Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change in Beth. No one spoke of it or seemed

aware of it, for it had come too gradually to startle those who saw her daily, but to eyes sharpened by

absence, it was very plain and a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she saw her 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 being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining through the frail flesh with an indescribably

pathetic beauty. Jo saw and felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the first impression lost much of its

power, for Beth seemed happy, no one appeared to doubt that she was better, and presently in other cares Jo

But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the vague anxiety returned and haunted her. She had

confessed her sins and been forgiven, but when she showed her savings and proposed a mountain trip, Beth

had thanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far away from home. Another little visit to the seashore

would suit her better, and as Grandma could not be 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 breezes blow a little color into

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 too shy 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 unconscious of the interest they

exited in those about them, who watched with sympathetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always

together, as if they felt instinctively that a long separation was not far away.

They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it, for often between ourselves and those nearest and dearest to us there

exists a reserve which it is very hard to overcome. Jo felt as if a veil had fallen between her heart and Beth's,

but when she put out her hand to lift it up, there seemed something sacred in the silence, and she waited for

Beth to speak. She wondered, and was thankful also, that her parents did not seem to see what she saw, and

during the quiet weeks when the shadows grew so plain to her, she said nothing of it to those at home,

believing that it would tell itself when Beth came back no better. She wondered still more if her sister really

guessed the hard truth, and what thoughts were passing through her mind during the 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

One day Beth told her. Jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still, and putting down her book, sat looking at

her with wistful eyes, trying to see signs of hope in the faint color on Beth's cheeks. But she could not find

enough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands seemed too feeble to hold even the rosy

little shells they had been collecting. It came to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was slowly drifting

away form her, and her arms instinctively tightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed. For a

minute her eyes were too dim for seeing, and when they cleared, Beth was looking up at her so tenderly that

there 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 even tears, for when most deeply moved,

Jo did not cry. She was the weaker then, land Beth tried to comfort and sustain her, with her arms about her

"I've known it for a good while, dear, and now I'm used to it, it isn't hard to think of or to bear. Try to see it so

"Is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, Beth? You did not feel it then, land keep it to yourself so

long, did you?" asked Jo, refusing to see or say that it was best, but glad to know that Laurie had no part in

"Yes, I gave up hoping then, but I didn't like to own it. I tried to think it was a sick fancy, and would not let it

trouble anyone. But when I saw you all so well and strong and full of happy plans, it was hard to feel that I

"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

Jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached to think of the solitary struggle that must have

gone on while Beth learned to say goodbye to 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 said anything, and I hoped I was mistaken.

It would have been selfish to frighten you all when Marmee was so anxious about Meg, and Amy away, and

"And I thought you loved him, Beth, and I went away because I couldn't," cried Jo, glad to say all the truth.

Beth looked so amazed at the idea that Jo smiled in spite of her pain, and added softly, "Then you didn't,

dearie? I was afraid it was so, and imagined your poor little heart full of lovelornity all that while."

"Why, Jo, how could I, when he was so fond of you?" asked Beth, as innocently as a child. "I do love him

dearly. He is so good to me, how can I help It? But he could never be anything to me but my brother. I hope

"Not through me," said Jo decidedly. "Amy is left for him, and they would suit excellently, but I have no

heart for such things, now. I don't care what 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 more sure that I shall never gain it back.

It's like the tide, Jo, when it turns, it goes slowly, but it can't be stopped.."

"It shall be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nineteen is too young, Beth. I can't let you go. I'll work

and pray and fight against it. I'll keep 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

Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has

more influence than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her

courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like a confiding child, she asked no

questions, but left everything to God and nature, 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 her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human

love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself.

She could not say, "I'm glad to go," for life was very sweet for her. She could only sob out, "I try to be

willing," while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.

By and by Beth said, with recovered serenity, "You'll tell them this when we go home?"

"I think they will see it without words," sighed Jo, for now it seemed to her that Beth changed every day.

"Perhaps not. I've heard that the people who love best are often blindest to such things. If they don't see it,

you will tell them for me. I don't want any secrets, and it's kinder to prepare them. Meg has John and the

"If I can. But, Beth, I don't give up yet. I'm going to believe that it is a sick fancy, and not let you think it's

Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way, "I don't know how to express myself, and

shouldn't try to anyone but you, because I can't speak out except to my Jo. I only mean to say that I have a

feeling that it never was intended I should live long. I'm not like the rest of you. I never made any plans about

what I'd do when I grew up. I never thought of being married, as you all did. I couldn't seem to imagine

myself anything but 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

Jo could not speak, and for several minutes there was no sound but the sigh of the wind and the lapping of the

tide. A whitewinged gull flew by, with the flash of sunshine on its silvery breast. Beth watched it till it

vanished, and her eyes were full of sadness. A little graycoated sand bird came tripping over the beach

`peeping' softly to itself, as if enjoying the sun and sea. It came quite close to Beth, and looked at her with a

friendly eye and sat upon a warm stone, dressing its wet feathers, quite at home. Beth smiled and felt

comforted, for the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship and remind her that a pleasant world was

"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 little things. I used to call them my birds last summer, and Mother

said they reminded her of me busy, quakercolored creatures, always near the shore, and always chirping

that contented little song of theirs. You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind,

flying far out to sea, and happy all alone. Meg is the turtledove, and Amy is like the lark she write about,

trying to get up among the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest again. Dear little girl! She's so

ambitious, but her heart is good and tender, and no matter how high she flies, she never will forget home. I

"She is coming in the spring, and I mean that you shall be all ready to see and 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 quite unlike 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 have happy times, for I don't suffer much, and I think the tide will go out easily,

Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that silent kiss, she dedicated herself soul and body to Beth.

She was right. There was no need of any words when they got home, for Father and Mother saw plainly now

what they had prayed to be saved from seeing. Tired with her short journey, Beth went at once to bed, saying

how glad she was to be home, and when Jo went down, she found that she would be spared the hard task of

telling Beth's secret. Her father stood leaning his head on the mantelpiece and did not turn as she came in, but

her mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and Jo went to comfort her without a word.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des

Anglaisa charming place, for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded

on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange

orchards and the hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn, and on a

sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans,

handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, freeandeasy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunter here,

chatting over the news, and criticzing the latest celebrity who has arrivedRistori or Dickens, Victor

Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands. The equipages are as varied as the company and attract as

much attention, especially the low basket barouches in which ladies drive themselves, with a pair of dashing

ponies, gay nets to keep their voluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and little

Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a

somewhat absent expression of countenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and

had the independent air of an Americana combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look

approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rosecolored neckties, buff gloves, and

orange flowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches. There were plenty

of pretty faces to admire, but the young man took little notice of them, except to glance now and then at some

blonde girl in blue. Presently he strolled out of the promenade and stood a moment at the crossing, as if

undecided whether to go and listen to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along the beach toward

Castle Hill. The quick trot of ponies feet made him look up, as one of the little carriages, containing a single

young lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady was young, blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared a

minute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried 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 scandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps, lest she

"I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you, and here I am."

"I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get in and we can talk at our ease. I was going for a

"A Christmas party at out hotel. There are many Americans there, and they give it in honor of the day. You'll

"Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and folding his arms, a proceeding which suited Amy,

who preferred to drive, for her parasol whip and blue reins over the white ponies backs afforded her infinite

"I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to Castle Hill. The view is so lovely, and I like to feed the

"Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you, your grandfather wrote that he expected you from

Berlin." "Yes, I spent a month there and then joined him in Paris, where he has settled for the winter. He has

friends there and finds plenty to amuse him, so I go and come, and we got on capitally."

"That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something in Laurie's manner, though she couldn't tell

"Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still, so we each suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I

am often with him, and he enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that someone is glad to see me when I

get back from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, isn't it?" he added, with a look of disgust as they drove along

"The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the hills are delicious, 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 the

While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under their canopies, whiteveiled nuns bearing

lighted tapers, and some brotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felt a new sort

of shyness steal over her, for he was changed, and she could not find the merryfaced boy she left in the

moodylooking man beside her. He was handsomer than ever and greatly improved, she thought, but now

that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritlessnot sick, nor exactly

unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of prosperous life should have made him. She couldn't

understand it and did not venture to ask questions, so she shook her head and touched up her ponies, as the

procession wound away across the arches of the Paglioni bridge and vanished in the church.

"Que pensezvous?" she said, airing her French, which had improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she

"That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is charming," replied Laurie, bowing with

She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to

give her at home, when he promenaded 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

"If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he's stay a boy," she thought, with a curious sense of

At Avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, giving the reins to Laurie, read them luxuriously as

they wound up the shady road between green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly as in June.

"Beth is very poorly, Mother says. I often think I ought to go home, but they all say `stay'. So I do, for I shall

"I think you are right, there. You could do nothing at home, and it is a great comfort to them to know that you

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 the look, the act, the brotherly `my dear', seemed to assure her that if any

trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land. Presently she laughed and showed him a small

sketch of Jo in her scribbling suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the

Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket `to keep it from blowing away', and listened with interest to the

"This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in the morning, 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

splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed. While Amy stood laughing on the

bank above him as she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him,

with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence had wrought. He found nothing to perplex or

disappoint, much to admire and approve, for overlooking a few little affectations of speech and manner, she

was as sprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribable something in dress and bearing

which we call elegance. Always mature for her 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 her old petulance now

and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign

Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks, but he saw enough to satisfy and interest

him, and carried away a pretty little picture of a brightfaced girl standing in the sunshine, which brought out

the soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of her cheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a prominent

As they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill, Amy waved her hand as if welcoming him to her

favorite haunt, and said, pointing here and there, "Do you remember the Cathedral and the Corso, the

fishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's Tower, just below,

"What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" said Amy, feeling in good spirits and anxious to see

"Yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see the island which a greater usurper than even

"Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me what you have been doing with yourself all

But she did not get it, for though he joined her and answered all her questions freely, she could only learn that

he had roved about the Continent and been to Greece. So after idling away an hour, they drove home 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 had seen her old friend in a new light, not as `our boy', but as a handsome and

agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire to find favor in his sight. Amy knew her good

points, and made the most of them with the 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 them on such occasions, and following the

sensible English fashion of simple dress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with fresh flowers, a

few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which were both inexpensive and effective. It must be

confessed that the artist sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged in antique coiffures,

statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies. But, dear heart, we all have out little weaknesses, and find it easy

to pardon such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their comeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their

"I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home," said Amy to herself, as she put on Flo's old

white silk ball dress, and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and

golden head emerged with a most artistic effect. Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the

"It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to make a fright of myself," she used to say, when

Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters

of azalea, and framed the white shoulders in delicate green vines. Remembering the painted boots, she

surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and chassed down the room, admiring her

"My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and the real lace on Aunt's mouchoir gives

an air to my whole dress. If I only had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy," she said,

In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as she glided away. She seldom ranit did

not suit her style, she thought, for being tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriate than the sportive

or piquante. She walked up and down the long saloon while waiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself

under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair, then she thought better of it, and went away to

the other end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one. It so

happened that she could not have done a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly she did not hear him, and

as she stood at the distant window, with her head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress, the slender,

"Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction she liked to see in his eyes when they rested

"Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at him, for he too looked unusually debonair, and the

thought of entering the ballroom on the arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plain

"Here are your flowers. I arranged them myself, remembering that you didn't like what Hannah calls a

`sotbookay', said Laurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily

"How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully. "If I'd known you were coming I'd have had something ready

"Thank you. It isn't what it should be, but you have improved it," he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet

"I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was

The company assembled in the long salle a manger that evening was such as one sees nowhere but on the

Continent. The hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and having no

A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like

Hamlet's mother in black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polish count, aged eighteen, devoted

himself to the ladies, who pronounced him, `a fascinating dear', and a German Serene Something, having

come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Rothschild's private

secretary, a largenosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his master's name crowned

him with a golden halo. A stout Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing,

and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight. Of course, there were

many lightfooted, shrillvoiced American girls, handsome, lifelesslooking English ditto, and a few plain

but piquante French demoiselles, likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemen who disported

themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations lined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they

Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she `took the stage' that night, leaning on Laurie's

arm. She knew she looked well, she loved 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 girls first discover the new

and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis

girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts,

and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, which was good of her, as it permitted them to

see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguishedlooking friend might be. With the first

burst of the band, Amy's color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently, for

she danced well and wanted Laurie to know it. Therefore the shock she received can better be imagined than

Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error as fast as possible.

"I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances devinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old

friend," said Amy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be

"Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support . .. A daughter of the gods, Devinely tall, and most devinely

The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy was compelled to walk

decorously through a cotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance the tarantella with relish. Laurie

resigned her to the `nice little boy', and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy for the joys to

come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself

till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence. She showed him her ball book with demure

satisfaction when he strolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka redowa. But his

polite regrets didn't impose upon her, and when she galloped away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down

That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him for a long while, except a word now and then

when she came to her chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or a moment's rest. Her anger had a

good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and brilliant. Laurie's

eyes followed her with pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace,

making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He very naturally fell to studying her from this new point

of view, and before the evening was half over, had decided that `little Amy was going to make a very

It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took possession of everyone, and Christmas

merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as if

they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those who couldn't admired their neighbors with

uncommon warmth. The air was dark with Davises, and many Jones gamboled like a flock of young giraffes.

The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with a dashing frenchwoman who carped the

floor with her pink satin train. The serene Teuton found the supper table and was happy, eating steadily

through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garcons by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor's friend

covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu

pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold,

for though he `carried weight', he danced like an Indiarubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced, his face

glowed, his bald head shown, his coattails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the

music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow men like a French Pickwick

Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm but more graceful agility, and Laurie found

himself involuntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by as

indefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances that he was

`desolated to leave so early', she was ready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.

It had been successful, for at threeandtwenty, blighted affections find a balm in friendly society, and young

nerves will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the enchantment of

beauty, light, music, and motion. Laurie had a wakedup look as he rose to give her his seat, and when he

hurried away to bring her some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "Ah, I thought that would

"You look like Balzac's `FEMME PEINTE PAR ELLENENE'," he said, as he fanned her with one hand and

"My rouge won't come off." And Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, and showed him her white glove with a

"What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a fold of her dress that had blown over his knee.

"It's as old as the hills. You have seen it on dozens of girls, and you never found out that it was pretty till

"None of that, it is forbidden. I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now. No, don't lounge, it makes me

Laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty plate feeling an odd sort of pleasure in having `little Amy'

order him about, for she had lost her shyness now, and felt an irrestible desire to trample on him, as girls have

"As `this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would you kindly explain?" returned Amy, knowing

perfectly well what he meant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.

"Wellthe general air, the style, the selfpossession, the theillusionyou know", laughed Laurie,

Amy was gratified, but of course didn't show it, and demurely answered, "Foreign life polishes one in spite of

one's self. I study as well as play, and as for this"with a little gesture toward her dress"why, tulle is

cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used to making the most of my 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 and respecting the brave patience that made the most of opportunity, and the

cheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers. Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, now

why he filled up her book with his own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening in the

most delightful manner, but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was the result of one of the new

In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when `Vive la liberte!' becomes their

motto. In America, as everyone knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their

freedom with republican zest, but the young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir to the throne and go

into a seclusion almost as close as a French 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 is over, and most of them might

exclaim, as did a very pretty woman the other day, "I'm as handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of

Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience this affliction till her babies were a year

old, for in her little world primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and beloved than

As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very strong, and she was entirely absorbed in

her children, to the utter exclusion of everything and everybody else. Day and night she brooded over them

with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to the tender mercies of the help, for an Irish lady now

presided over the kitchen department. Being a domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions he

had been accustomed to receive, but as he adored his babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a

time, supposing with masculine ignorance that peace would soon be restored. But three months passed, and

there was no return of repose. Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every 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 the morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma, if he came gaily in at

night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenched by a "Hush! They are just asleep after worrying all day."

If he proposed a little amusement at home, "No, it would disturb the babies." If he hinted at a lecture or a

concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and a decided "Leave my children for pleasure, never!"

His sleep was broken by infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and fro in the

watches of the night. His meals were interrupted by the frequent flight of the presiding genius, who deserted

him, halfhelped, if a muffled chirp sounded from the nest above. And when he read his paper of an evening,

Demi's colic got into the shipping list and Daisy's fall affected the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only

The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of his wife, home was merely a

nursery and the perpetual `hushing' made him feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred

precincts of Babyland. He bore it very patiently for six months, and when no signs of amendment appeared,

he did what other paternal exiles dotried to get a little comfort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone to

housekeeping not far off, and John fell into the way of running over for an hour or two of an evening, when

his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singing lullabies 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 most successfully. The

parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboard ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a

John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely, but as it was he gratefully took the

Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it a relief to know that John was having a

good time instead of dozing in the parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children. But

byandby, when the teething worry was over and the idols went to sleep at proper hours, leaving Mamma

time to rest, she began to miss John, and find her workbasket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite

in his old dressing gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender. She would not ask him to stay at

home, but felt injured because he did not know that she wanted him without being told, entirely forgetting the

many evenings he had waited for her in vain. She was nervous and worn out with watching and worry, and in

that unreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares

oppress them. Want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that idol of American

"Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting old and ugly. John doesn't find me interesting any

longer, so he leaves his faded wife and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances. Well, the

babies love me, 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 gladly sacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?"

To which pathetic appeal daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with a crow, and Meg would put by her

lamentations for a maternal revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased as

politics absorbed John, who was always running over to discuss interesting points with Scott, quite

unconscious that Meg missed him. Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears one

day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for Meg's drooping spirits had not escaped her

"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.

"He's away all day, and at night when I want to see him, he is continually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair

that I should have the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even the best of them."

"Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while you made it a point to give him your

"I think you could, dear, and I think you ought. May I speak quite freely, and will you remember that it's

"Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often feel as if I needed teaching more than ever

Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and with a little interruption in either lap, the two women rocked

and talked lovingly together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever.

"You have only made the mistake that most young wives makeforgotten your duty to your husband in your

love for your children. A very natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied

before you 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 but support them. I've seen it for some weeks, but have not

"I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous, and I wouldn't insult him by such an idea. He

"Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear, he's longing for his little home, but it isn't home

"Not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous, and then you are unfitted for everything.

Besides, you owe something to John as well as to the babies. Don't neglect husband for children, don't shut

him out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as well as 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

"I know it, Meg, for I've tried it, and I seldom give advice unless I've proved its practicability. When you and

Jo were little, I went on just as you are, 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 left me to try my experiment

alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jo was 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 the rescue, quietly

managed everything, and made himself so helpful that I saw 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 wean him from the little

cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits.

"It is so, Mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband and children what you have been to yours. Show

"You were always my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you, I'd let John have more to do with the

management of Demi, for the boy needs training, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what I have

often proposed, let Hannah come and help you. She is a capital nurse, and you may trust the precious babies

to her while you do more housework. You need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would

find his wife again. Go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the sunshinemaker of the

family, and if you get dismal there is no fair weather. Then I'd try to take an interest in whatever John

likestalk with him, 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, but understand what is going on, and educate yourself to

"John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I ask questions about politics and things."

"I don't believe he would. Love covers a multitude of sins, and of whom could you ask more freely than of

him? Try it, and see if he doesn't find your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's suppers."

"I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I have neglected him sadly, but I thought I was right, and he never said

"He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, I fancy. This is just the time, Meg, when young

married people are apt to grow apart, and the very time when they ought to be most together, for the first

tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it. And no time is so beautiful and precious to

parents as the first years of the little lives given to them to train. Don't let John be a stranger to the babies, for

they will do more to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and

through them you will learn to know and love one another as you should. Now, dear, goodby. Think over

Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the first attempt was not made exactly as she

planned to have it. Of course the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon as they found out

that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted. Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices,

but Papa was not so easily subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt at paternal

discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of character, we won't

call it obstinacy, and when he made up his little to have or to do anything, all the king's horses and all the

king's men could not change that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thought the dear too young to be taught to

conquer his prejudices, but Papa believed that it never was too soon to learn obedience. So Master Demi early

discovered that when he undertook to `wrastle' with `Parpar', he always got the worst of it, yet like the

Englishman, baby respected the man who conquered him, and loved the father whose grave "No, no," was

more impressive than all Mamma's love pats. A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a

social evening with John, so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor in order, dressed herself prettily, and put

the children to bed early, that nothing should interfere with her experiment. But unfortunately Demi's most

unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he decided to go on a rampage. So poor

Meg sang and rocked, told stories and tried every sleepprevoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the

big eyes wouldn't shut, and long after Daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good nature

she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wideawake expression of

"Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while Mamma runs down and gives poor Papa his tea?" asked Meg, as

the hall door softly closed, and the wellknown step went tiptoeing into the dining room.

"No, but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go byeby like Daisy. Will you, lovey?"

"Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the desired day.

Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away and ran down to greet her husband with a

smiling face and the little blue bow in her hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once and said

with pleased surprise, "Why, little mother, how gay we are tonight. Do you expect company?"

"No, I'm tired of being dowdy, so I dressed up as a change. You always make yourself nice for table, no

"Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young and pretty again, as she nodded to him over the

"Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes right. I drink your health, dear." And John

sipped his tea with an air of reposeful rapture, which was of very short duration however, for as he put down

his cup, the door handle rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard, saying impatiently ...

"It's that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs, getting his death acold

"Mornin' now," announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered, with his long nightgown gracefully festooned

over his arm and every curl bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the `cakies' with loving

"No, it isn't morning yet. You must go to bed, and not trouble poor Mamma. Then you can have the little cake

"Me loves Parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal knee and revel in forbidden joys. But

"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 a strong desire to spank the little marplot

who hopped beside her, laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as they

Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his

"Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regarding his first attempt as eminently

Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again and

"Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against the engaging little sinner. "We shall never know

any peace till that child learns togo to bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough. Give

him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leave him, Meg."

"S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted `cakie', and beginning to eat the same with

"Go 'way, me don't love Parpar." And Demi retired to his mother's skirts for protection.

But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the enemy, with a "Be gentle with him,

John," which struck the culprit with dismay, for when Mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was at

hand. Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand to that detested bed, poor

Demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way

upstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made for the door, only

to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga and put back again, which lively performance was

kept up till the young man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself to roaring 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 and only the red glow of the

fire enlivened the `big dark' which Demi regarded with curiosity rather than fear. This new order of things

disgusted him, and he howled dismally for `Marmar', as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of his

tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar

"No, my dear. I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him, and he must, if I stay here all night."

"But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for deserting her boy.

"No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off and then the matter is settled, for he will understand that he

"He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoiled by indulgence. Go down, my dear, and leave the boy to

When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and never regretted her docility.

"Certainly. Demi, say good night to Mamma, and let her go and rest, for she is very tired with taking care of

Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory, for after it was given, Demi sobbed more quietly,

and lay quite still at the bottom of the bed, 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 the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.

But he wasn't, for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi's eyes opened, his little chin began to quiver,

Sitting on the stairs outside Meg wondered at the long silence which followed 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 in

his usual spreadeagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm and

holding his father's finger, as if he felt that justice was tempered with mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder

and wiser baby. So held, John had waited with a womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its hold, and

while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle with his son than with his whole day's work.

As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to herself, and then slipped away again,

saying in a satisfied tone, "I never need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies. He does know how to

When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful wife, he was agreeably surprised to

find Meg placidly trimming a bonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election,

if he was not too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some kind was going on, but wisely asked no

questions, knowing that Meg was such a transparent little person, she couldn't keep a secret to save her life,

and therefore the clue would soon appear. He read a long debate with the most amiable readiness and then

explained it in his most lucid manner, while Meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions,

and keep her thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of her bonnet. In her secret

soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad as mathematics, and the the mission of politicians

seemed to be calling each other names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, and when John paused,

shook her head and said with what she thought diplomatic ambiguity, "Well, I really don't see what we are

John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty little preparation of lace and flowers on

her hand, and regarded it with the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken.

"She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and like millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John

the Just, adding aloud, "That's very pretty. Is it what you call a breakfast cap?"

"I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of the flyaway things you sometimes wear.

"These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so." And Meg illustrated by putting on the

bonnet and regarding him with an air of calm satisfaction that was irresistible.

"It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks young and happy again." And John kissed the

"I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new concerts some night. I really need some

"Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. You have been shut up so long, it will do you

no end of good, and I shall enjoy it, of all things. What put it into your head, little mother?"

"Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervous and 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

about the house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me from getting to be a fidgety,

brokendown old woman before my time. It's only an 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 home what it used to

Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the little bonnet had from utter ruin. All that we

have any business to know is that John did not appear to object, judging from the changes which gradually

took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all Paradise by any means, but everyone was better for the

division of labor system. The children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, stedfast John brought order

and obedience into Babydom, while Meg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of

wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her sensible husband. Home

grew homelike again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The Scotts came to the

Brookes' now, and everyone found the little house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family

love. Even Sallie Moffatt liked to go there. "It is always so quiet and pleasant here, it does me good, Meg,"

she used to say, looking about her with wistful eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use it in

her great house, full of splendid lonliness, for there were no riotous, sunnyfaced babies there, and Ned lived

This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg had found the key to it, and each year

of Married life taught them how to use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home love and mutual helpfulness,

which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy. This is the sort of shelf on which young wives and

mothers may consent to be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world, finding loyal lovers in the

little sons and daughters who cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age, walking side by side,

through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is, in the true sense of the good old Saxon word,

the `houseband', and learning, as Meg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom is home, her highest honor

Laurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month. He was tired of wandering about alone,

and Amy's familiar presence seemed to give a homelike charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore a part.

He rather missed the `petting' he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again, for no attentions, however

flattering, from strangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amy never

would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he

was the representative of the dear family for whom she longed more than she would confess. They naturally

took comfort in each other's society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at

Nice no one can be very industrious during the gay season. But, while apparently amusing themselves in the

most careless fashion, they were halfconsciously making discoveries and forming opinions about each

other. Amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers, and each felt the truth before a word

was spoken. Amy tried to please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the many pleasures he gave her, and

repaid him with the little services to which womanly women know how to lend an indescribable charm.

Laurie made no effort of any kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying to forget,

and feeling that all women owed him a kind word because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to

be generous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if she would have taken them, but at the

same time he felt that he could not change the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded the

keen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such halfsorrowful, halfscornful surprise.

"All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I preferred to stay at home and 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

"Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?" he answered slowly, for the shaded salon looked

"I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, so you'll have nothing to do but hold your

umbrella, and keep your gloves nice," returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids, which

"Then I'll go with pleasure." And he put out his hand for her sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with

"Don't trouble yourself. It's no exertion to me, but you don't look equal to it."

Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran downstairs, 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 his

The two never quarreled. Amy was too wellbred, and just now Laurie was too lazy, so in a minute he

peeped under her hatbrim with an inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they went on together in

It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenes that delight beautyloving eyes.

Here an ancient monastery, whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them. There a

barelegged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a

stone while his goats skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek, mousecolored donkeys, laden with

panniers of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between the green piles, or an

old woman spinning with a distaff as she went. Brown, softeyed children ran out from the quaint stone

hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough. Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with

their dusky foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside, while

beyond green slopes and craggy heights, the Maritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky.

Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of perpetual summer roses blossomed everywhere. They

overhung the archway, thrust themselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome to

passersby, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill.

Every shadowy nook, where seats invited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom, every cool grotto had its

marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson, white, or pale pink roses,

leaning down to smile at their own beauty. Roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices,

climbed the pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace, whence one looked down on the

"This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it? Did you ever see such roses?" asked Amy, pausing on the

terrace to enjoy the view, and a luxurious 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

"Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," said Amy, gathering three of the tiny creamcolored

ones that starred the wall behind her. She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and he stood a

minute looking down at them with a curious expression, for in the Italian part of his nature there was a touch

of superstition, and he was just then in that state of halfsweet, halfbitter melancholy, when imaginative

young men find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere. He had thought of Jo in reaching

after the thorny red rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like that from the

greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him were the sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in

bridal wreaths, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for Jo or for himself, but the next instant his

American common sense got the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh than Amy had

"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 it in earnest.

"Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?" she asked presently, as she settled herself on a rustic seat.

"Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so I might as well stay and plague you a little

longer, you can bear it better, in fact I think it agrees with you excellently." And Laurie composed himself for

Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an air of resignation, but she had made up her mind to

"How provoking you are! I don't approve of cigars and I will only allow it on condition that you let me put

"With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me, full length or threequarters, on my head or my heels? I

should respectfully suggest a recumbent 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," said Amy in her most energetic tone.

"What delightful enthusiasm!" And he leaned against a tall urn with an ir of entire satisfaction.

"What would Jo say if she saw you now?" asked Amy impatiently, hoping to stir him up by the mention of

"As usual, `Go away, Teddy. I'm busy!'" He laughed as he spoke, but the laugh was not natural, and a shade

passed over his face, for the utterance of the familiar name touched the wound that was not healed yet. Both

tone and shadow struck Amy, for she had seen and heard them before, and now she looked up in time to catch

a new expression on Laurie's facea hard bitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone

before she could study it and the listless expression back again. She watched him for a moment with artistic

pleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking in the sun with uncovered head and eyes

full of southern dreaminess, 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 wellcut

"That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life. You are so changed, I sometimes think" There

Amy stopped, with a halftimid, halfwistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech.

Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitated to express, and looking straight into

her eyes, said, just as he used to say it to her mother, "It's all right, ma'am."

That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begun to worry her lately. It also touched her, and she

"I'm glad of that! I didn't think you'd been a very bad boy, but I fancied you might have wasted money at that

wicked BadenBaden, lost your heart to some charming Frenchwoman with a husband, or got into some of

the scrapes 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 be friendly', as Jo used to say when we got in the sofa corner and

Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amuse himself by sticking daisies into the

"I'm all ready for the secrets." And he glanced up with a decided expression of interest in his eyes.

"Haven't one to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'd had some news from home.."

"You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hear often? I fancied Jo would send you volumes."

"She's very busy. I'm roving about so, it's impossible to be regular, you know. When do you begin your great

work of art, Raphaella?' he asked. changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he had been

"Never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air. "Rome took all the vanity out of me, for after

seeing the wonders there, I felt too insignificant to live and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair."

"That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or

"Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society, if I get the chance."

It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, but audacity becomes young people, and Amy's ambition

had a good foundation. Laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit with which she took up a new purpose when a

Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a conscious look in her downcast face that made Laurie sit up

"Your face will, if your tongue won't. You aren't woman of the world enough yet to hide your feelings, my

dear. I heard rumors about Fred and you last year, and it's my private opinion that if he had not been called

"That's not for me to say," was Amy's grim reply, but her lips would smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle

"You are not engaged, I hope?" And Laurie looked very elderbrotherly and grave all of a sudden.

"But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down on his knees, won't you?"

"But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Bless my soul, what unearthly prudence! He's a good

"He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners," began Amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but

feeling a little ashamed of herself, in spite of the sincerity of her intentions.

"I understand. Queens of society can't get on without money, so you mean 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's

A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was uttered contrasted curiously with the young speaker.

Laurie felt this instinctively and laid himself down again, with a sense of disappointment which he could not

explain. His look and silence, as well as a certain inward selfdisapproval, ruffled Amy, and made her

"I could, if I tried." And she looked as if she would like doing it in the most summary style.

"Try, then. I give you leave," returned Laurie, who enjoyed having someone to tease, after his long

"I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire. You are as cool and soft as snow."

"You don't know what I can do. Snow produces a glow and a tingle, if applied rightly. Your indifference is

"Stir away, it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the big man said when his little wife beat him. Regard

me in the light of a husband or a carpet, 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 the apathy that so altered him, Amy

"Flo and I have got a new name for you. It's Lazy Laurence. How do you like it?"

She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his arms under his head, with an imperturbable, "That's

"Well, I despise you." If she had even said `I hate you' in a petulant or coquettish 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

"Because, with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable."

"I thought you'd find it so. Selfish people always like to talk about themselves."

"Am I selfish?" The question slipped out involuntarily and in a tone of surprise, for the one virtue on which

"Yes, very selfish," continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice, twice as effective just then as an angry one. "I'll

show you how, for I've studied you while we were frolicking, and I'm not at all satisfied with you. Here you

have been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing but waste time and money and disappoint your

"You don't look as if you'd had much. At any rate, you are none the better for it, as far as I can see. I said

when we first met that you had improved. Now I take it all back, for I don't think you half so nice as when I

left you at home. You have grown abominably lazy, you like gossip, and waste time on frivolous things, you

are contented to be petted and admired by silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise ones.

With money, talent, position, health, and beauty, ah you like that old Vanity! But it's the truth, so I can't help

saying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, you can find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead

of being the man you ought to be, you are only..." There she stopped, with a look that had both pain and pity

"Saint Laurence on a gridiron," added Laurie, blandly finishing the sentence. But the lecture began to take

effect, for there was a wideawake sparkle in his eyes now and a halfangry, halfinjured expression

"I supposed you'd take it so. You men tell us we are angels, and say we can 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

is worth." Amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back on the exasperating martyr at her feet.

In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she could not draw, and Laurie's voice said, with a droll

But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tapping on the outspread hand with her pencil, said

soberly, "Aren't you ashamed of a hand like that? It's as soft and white as a woman's, and looks as if it never

did anything but wear Jouvin's best gloves and pick flowers for ladies. You are not a dandy, thank Heaven, so

I'm glad to see there are no diamonds or big seal rings on it, only the little old one Jo gave you so long ago.

The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was energy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even

Amy. She glanced down at him with a new 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 rise and fall, with a long breath

that might have been a sigh, and the hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if to hide

something too precious or too tender to be spoken of. All in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape

and significance in Amy's mind, and told her what her sister never had confided to her. She remembered that

Laurie never spoke voluntarily of Jo, she recalled the shadow on his face just now, the change in his

character, and the wearing of the little old ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls are quick

to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy had fancied that perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of

the alteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled, and when she spoke again, it was in a voice

"I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if you weren't the sweetesttempered fellow in the

world, you'd be very angry with me. But we are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn't bear to think they

should be disappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhaps they would understand the change

"I think they would," came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite as touching 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 like that Miss Randal and now I hate her!" said artful Amy, wishing to be

"Hang Miss Randal!" And Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments

"No, you didn't, you knew perfectly well I never cared for anyone but Jo," Laurie said that in his old,

"I did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you came away, I supposed I was mistaken. And

"She was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky for her she didn't love me, if I'm the goodfornothing

The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to

"I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross, but I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy,

"Don't, that's her name for me!" And Laurie put up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in

Jo's halfkind, halfreproachful tone. "Wait till you've tried it yourself," he added in a low voice, as he pulled

"I'd take it manfully, and be respected if i couldn't be loved," said Amy, with the decision of one who knew

Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy,

and taking his trouble away to live it down alone. Amy's lecture put the Matter in a new light, and for the first

time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference.

He felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to go to sleep again. Presently

"Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don't you do something splendid, and make her love

"Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than you ought to have done, for your grandfather's sake. It

would have been shameful to fail after spending so much time and money, when everyone knew that you

"No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did you good, and proved that you could do something if

you tried. If you'd only set about another task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy self again, and

"Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders, and think, `Much she knows 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 other

people's experiences and inconsistencies, and though I can't explain, I remember and use them for my own

benefit. Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many

good gifts because you can't have the one you want. There, I won't lecture any more, for I know you'll wake

Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turning the little ring on his finger, and Amy put the last touches

to the hasty sketch she had been working at while she talked. Presently she put it on his knee, merely saying,

He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing, for it was capitally done, the long, lazy figure

on the grass, with listless face, halfshut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came the little

"How well you draw!" he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure at her skill, adding, with a halflaugh,

"As you are. This is as you were." And Amy laid another sketch beside the one he held.

It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in it which atoned for many faults, and it

recalled the past so vividly that a sudden change swept over the young man's face as he looked. Only a rough

sketch of Laurie taming a horse. Hat and coat were off, and every line of the active figure, resolute face, and

commanding attitude was full of energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching his

neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground, and ears pricked up as if

listening for the voice that had mastered him. In the ruffled mane. The rider's breezy hair and erect attitude,

there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy that

contrasted sharply with the supine grace of the `DOLCE FAR NIENTE' sketch. Laurie said nothing but as his

eye went from one to the other, Amy say him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the

little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and without waiting for him to speak, she said, in her

"Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck, and we all looked 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

"Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then, and I congratulate you. May I venture to suggest in `

Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bow and looked at his watch, as if to remind

her that even moral lectures should have an end. He tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air, but it was

an affectation now, for the rousing had been more effacious than he would confess. Amy felt the shade of

"Now, I've offended him. Well, if it does him good, I'm glad, if it makes him hate me, I'm sorry, but it's true,

They laughed and chatted all the way home, and little Baptist, up behind, thought that monsieur and

madamoiselle were in charming spirits. But both felt ill at ease. The friendly frankness was disturbed, the

sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was a secret discontent in the heart of

"Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?" asked Amy, as they parted at her aunt's door.

"Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir, madamoiselle." And Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in

the foreign fashion, which became him better than many men. Something in his face made Amy say quickly

"No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'd rather have a hearty English handshake

"Goodbye, dear." And with these words, uttered in the tone she liked, Laurie left her, after a handshake

Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which made her smile at the beginning and sigh

My Dear Mentor, Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within yourself, for `Lazy Laurence' has

gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a blissful

honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser. Tell him so, with my congratulations.

"Good boy! I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an approving smile. The next 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."

When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping

one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble.

They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.

The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was gathered everything that she most

loved, flowers, pictures, her piano, the little worktable, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books found

their way there, Mother's easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest sketches, and every day Meg brought her babies

on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshine for Aunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, that he might

enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never

wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from

across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from

Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could

change the sweet, unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for

those who should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one of her pleasures was to make

little things for the school children daily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a

pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some small mother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling

through forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for pictureloving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, till the

reluctant climbers of 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 sat above there, and showered down gifts

miraculously suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little

faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came to her, full

The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to look round, and say "How beautiful this

is!" as they all sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sisters

working near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, from the wise old books which seemed rich in good

and comfortable words, as applicable now as when written centuries ago, a little chapel, where a paternal

priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them that hope can comfort love, and

faith make resignation possible. Simple sermons, that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for the

father's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the

It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come, for

byandby, Beth said the needle was `so heavy', and put it down forever. Talking wearied her, faces troubled

her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her

feeble flesh. Ah me! Such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers,

when those who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear

the bitter cry, "Help me, help me!" and to feel that there was no help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp

struggle of the young life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then the natural rebellion over, the

old peace returned more beautiful than ever. With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and

though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the

fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying to see the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she

Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said "I feel stronger when you are 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 for

anything, 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 any honor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for now

her heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patience were so sweetly taught her that she could

not fail to learn them, charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty

to duty 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 wellworn little book, heard her singing softly, to beguile

the sleepless night, or saw her lean her face upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through the transparent

fingers, and Jo would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple,

unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from the dear old life, and fit herself for the life to come, by sacred

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 made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, she

recognized the beauty of her sister's lifeuneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which

`smell sweet, and blossom in the dust', the selfforgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered

One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table, to find something to make her forget the

mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite,

Pilgrims's Progress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in Jo's hand. The name caught her eye and the

"Poor Jo! She's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave. She shows me all her things, and I don't think

she'll mind if I look at this", thought Beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug, with the tongs

Sitting patient in the shadow Till the blessed light shall come, A serene and saintly presence Sanctifies our

troubled home. Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows Break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn

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 me that great patience Which has power to sustain A cheerful,

Give me, for I need it sorely, Of that courage, wise and sweet, Which has made the path of duty Green

beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature, That with charity devine Can pardon wrong for

Thus our parting daily loseth Something of its bitter pain, And while learning this hard lesson, My great loss

becomes my gain. For the touch of grief will render My wild nature more serene, Give to life new aspirations,

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 my sorrow, Guardian angels shall become, And the sister gone before me By

Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's

face, for her one regret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had not

been useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared. As she sat 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

"Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See, I found this and read it. I knew you wouldn't care. Have I been all that to

"OH, Beth, so much, so much!" And Jo's head went down upon the pillow beside her sister's.

"Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so good as you make me, but I have tried to do right. And

now, when it's too late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much,

"More than any one in the world, Beth. I used to think I couldn't let you go, but I'm learning to feel that I

don't lose you, that you'll be more to me than 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 be your Beth still, to love and help you

more than ever. You must take my place, Jo, and be everything to Father and Mother when I'm gone. They

will turn to you, don't fail them, and if it's hard to work alone, remember that I don't forget you, and that

you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thing

"I'll try, Beth." And then and there Jo renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one,

acknowledging the poverty of other desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of

So the spring days came and went , the sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early,

and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands

that had led her all her life, as Father and Mother guided her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and

Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beatified

countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and

simply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the `tide went out easily', and in the dark hour before dawn, on the

bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look,

With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain

would never mar again, seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic

patience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was a

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 blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshly at the

window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over the placid face upon the pillow, a face so

full of painless peace that those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked God that Beth was

Amy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till long afterward. Men seldom do, for

when women are the advisers, the lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded themselves

that it is just what they intended to do. Then they act upon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel

half the credit of it. If it fails, they generously give her the whole. Laurie went back to his grandfather, and

was so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the old gentleman declared the climate of Nice had improved

him wonderfully, and he had better try it again. There was nothing the young gentleman would have liked

better, but elephants could not have dragged him back after the scolding he had received. Pride forbid, and

whenever the longing grew very strong, he fortified his resolution by repeating the words that had made the

deepest impression, "I despise you." "Go and do something splendid that will make her love you."

Laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon brought himself to confess that he had been

selfish and lazy, but then when a man has a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagaries till he

has lived it down. He felt that his blighted affections were quite dead now, and though he should never cease

to be a faithful mourner, there was no occasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously. Jo wouldn't love him, but he

might make her respect and admire him by doing something which should prove that a girl's no had not

spoiled his life. He had always meant to do something, and Amy's advice was quite unnecessary. He had only

been waiting till the aforesaid blighted affections were decently interred. That being done, he felt that he was

As Goethe, when he had a joy or a grief, put it into a song, so Laurie resolved to embalm his love sorrow in

music, and to compose a Requiem which should harrow up Jo's soul and melt the heart of every hearer.

Therefore the next time the old gentleman found him getting restless and moody and ordered him off, he went

to Vienna, where he had musical friends, 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 too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he

soon discovered that the Requiem was beyond him just at present. It was evident that his mind was not in

working order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying, for often in the middle of a plaintive strain, he would find

himself humming a dancing tune that vividly recalled the Christmas ball at Nice, especially the stout

Then he tried an opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning, but here again unforeseen difficulties

beset him. He wanted Jo for his heroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tender recollections

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's oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in the most unsentimental

aspectsbeating mats with her head tied up in a bandana, barricading herself with the sofa pillow, or

throwing cold water over his passion a la Gummidgeand an irresistable laugh spoiled the pensive picture

he was endeavoring to paint. Jo wouldn't be put into the opera at any price, and he had to give her up with a

"Bless that girl, what a torment she is!" and a clutch at his hair, as became a distracted composer.

When he looked about him for another and a less intractable damsel to immortalize in melody, memory

produced one with the most obliging readiness. This phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden

hair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his mind's eye 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 his heroine and grew quite fond of her, as well he might, for he gifted her with every gift and grace

under the sun, and escorted her, unscathed, through trials which would have annihilated any mortal woman.

Thanks to this inspiration, he got on swimmingly for a time, but gradually the work lost its charm, and he

forgot to compose, while he sat musing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get some new ideas and

refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettled state that winter. He did not do much, but he

thought a great deal and was conscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself. "It's genius

simmering, 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 far more common. Whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he

grew more and more discontented with his desultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go

at, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that everyone who loved music was not a

composer. Returning from one of Mozart's grand operas, splendidly performed at the Royal Theatre, he

looked over his own, played a few of the best parts, sat staring at the busts of Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and

bach, who stared benignly back again. Then suddenly he tore up his music sheets, one by one, and as the last

"She is right! Talent isn't genius, and you can't make it so. That music has taken the vanity out of my as

Rome took it out of her, and I won't be a humbug any longer. Now what shall I do?"

That seemed a hard question to answer, and Laurie began to wish he had to work for his daily bread. Now if

ever, occurred an eligible opportunity for `going to the devil', as he once forcibly expressed it, for he had

plenty of money and nothing to do, and Satan is proverbially fond of providing employment for full and idle

hands. The poor fellow had temptations enough 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 honestly into the eyes of the women who loved him, and say

Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, "I don't believe it, boys will be boys, young men must sow their

wild oats, and women must not expect miracles." 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 may perform even that of raising the

standard of manhood by refusing to echo such sayings. Let the boys be boys, the longer the better, and let the

young men sow their wild oats if they must. But mothers, sisters, and friends may help to make the crop a

small one, and keep many tares from spoiling the harvest, by believing, and showing that they believe, in the

possibility of loyalty to the virtues which make men manliest in good women's eyes. If it is a feminine

delusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it half the beauty and the romance of life is lost, and

sorrowful forebodings would embitter all our hopes of the brave, tenderhearted little lads, who still love their

Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorb all his powers for years, but to his great

surprise he discovered it grew easier every day. He refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself, and

couldn't understand it, but these hearts of ours are curious and contrary things, and time and nature work their

will in spite of us. Laurie's heart wouldn't ache. The wound persisted in healing with a rapidity that astonished

him, and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying to remember. He had not foreseen this turn of

affairs, and was not prepared for it. He was disgusted with himself, surprised at his own fickleness, and full of

a queer mixture of disappointment and relief that he could recover from such a tremendous blow so soon. He

carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but they refused to burst into a blaze. There was only a

comfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever, and he was reluctantly

obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly subbsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender,

a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving a brotherly affection which

As the word `brotherly' passed through his mind in one of his reveries, he smiled, and glanced up at the

"Well, he was a great man, and when he couldn't have one sister he took the other, and was happy."

Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them, and the next instant kissed 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 to Jo, telling her that he could not settle

to anything while there was the least hope of her changing her mind. Couldn't she, wouldn't she, and let him

come 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 at last, and settled his mind effectually on one point, for Jo decidedly

couldn't and wouldn't. She was wrapped up in Beth, and never wished to hear the word 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 a postscript she desired him not to tell Amy that Beth was worse, she was coming home in the spring

and there was no need of saddening the remainder of her stay. That would be time enough, please God, but

Laurie must 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'm afraid." And Laurie opened his

desk, as if writing to Amy had been the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks before.

But he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out his best paper, he came across something

which changed his purpose. Tumbling about in one part of the desk among bills, passports, and business

documents of various kinds were several of Jo's letters, and in another compartment were three notes from

Amy, carefully tied up with one of her blue ribbons and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put away

inside. with a halfrepentant, halfamused expression, Laurie gathered up all Jo's letters, smoothed, folded,

and put them neatly into a small drawer of the desk, stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his

finger, then slowly drew it off, laid it with the letters, locked the drawer, and went out to 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 proper way to spend the rest of the day than in writing letters to charming young ladies.

The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for Amy was homesick, and confessed it in

the most delightfully confiding manner. The correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew to and fro

with unfailing regularity all through the early spring. Laurie sold his busts, made allumettes of his opera, and

went back to Paris, hoping somebody 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 then she was having little experiences of

Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had once decided 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

she found that something more than money and position was needed to satisfy the new longing that filled her

heart so full of tender hopes and fears. The words, "Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man I fancied you

would ever like," and Laurie's face when he uttered them, kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own

did when she said in look, if not in words, "I shall marry for money." It troubled her to remember that now,

she wished she could take it back, it sounded so unwomanly. She didn't want Laurie to think her a heartless,

worldly creature. She didn't care to be a queen of society now half so much as she did to be a lovable woman.

She was so glad he didn't hate her for the dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully and was

kinder than ever. His letters were such a comfort, for the home letters were very irregular and not half so

satisfactory as his when 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 in being stonyhearted. She ought to have made an

effort and tried to love him. It couldn't be very hard, many people would be proud and glad to have 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

If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period, they would be a much happier race of beings

than they are. Amy never lectured now. She asked his opinion on all subjects, she was interested in

everything he did, made charming little presents for him, and sent him two letters a week, full of lively

gossip, sisterly confidences, and captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her. As few brothers are

complimented by having their letters carried about in their sister's pockets, read and reread diligently, cried

over when short, kissed when long, and treasured carefully, we will not hint that Amy did any of these fond

and foolish things. But she certainly did grow a little pale and pensive that spring, lost much 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 studying nature, I dare say, while she sat for hours, with her hands folded, on the terrace at Valrosa, or

absently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, a stalwart knight carved on a tomb, a young man asleep in

the grass, with his hat over his eyes, or a curly haired girl in gorgeous array, promenading down a ballroom

on the arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left a blur according to the last fashion in art, which was safe

Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred, and finding denials useless and explanations

impossible, Amy left her to think what she liked, taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone to

Egypt. That was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved, as he said to himself, with a venerable air . ..

"I was sure she would think better of it. Poor old fellow! I've been through it all, and I can sympathize."

With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged his duty to the past, put his feet up on the

While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home. But the letter telling that Beth was

failing never reached Amy, and when the next found her at Vevay, for the heat had driven them from Nice in

May, and they had travelled slowly to Switzerland, by way of Genoa and the Italian lakes. She bore it very

well, and quietly submitted to the family decree that she should not shorten her visit, for since it was too late

to say goodbye to Beth, she had better stay, and let absence soften her sorrow. But her heart was very heavy,

she longed to be at home, and every day looked wistfully across the lake, waiting for Laurie to come and

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 moment he 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, hope and suspense.

He knew Vevay well, and as soon as the boat touched the little quay, he hurried along the shore to La Tour,

where the Carrols were living en pension. The garcon was in despair that the whole family had gone to take a

promenade on the lake, but no, the blonde mademoiselle might be in the chateau garden. If monsier would

give himself the pain of sitting down, a flash of time should present her. But monsieur could not wait even a

`flash of time', and in the middle of the speech departed to find mademoiselle himself.

A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnuts rustling overhead, ivy climbing

everywhere, and the black shadow of the tower falling far across the sunny water. At one corner of the wide,

low wall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work, or console herself with the beauty all about

her. She was sitting here that day, leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes,

thinking of Beth and wondering why Laurie did not come. She did not hear him cross the courtyard beyond,

nor see him pause in the archway that led from the subterranean path into the garden. He stood a minute

looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen before, the tender side of Amy's character.

Everything about her mutely suggested love and sorrow, the blotted letters in her lap, the black ribbon that

tied up her hair, the womanly pain and patience in her face, even the little ebony cross at her throat seemed

pathetic to Laurie, for he had given it to her, and she wore it as her only ornament. If he had any doubts about

the reception she would give him, they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, for dropping

everything, she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone of unmistakable love and longing...

I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood together quite silent for a moment, with the

dark head bent down protectingly over the light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so

well as Laurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Jo's place and

make him happy. He did not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, were satisfied,

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 sundry wellworn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future.

As he sat down beside her, amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at the recollection of her impulsive

"I couldn't help it, I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to see you. It was such a surprise to look up

and find you, just as I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come," she said, trying in vain to speak quite

"I came the minute I heard. I wish I could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear little Beth, but I

can only feel, and..." He could not get any further, for her too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quite

know what to say. He longed to lay Amy's head down on his shoulder, and tell 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 is well 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 me

cry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay. You needn't go right back, need you?"

"I do, so much. Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one of the family, and it would be so

Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full that Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at

once, and gave her just what she wantedthe petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation she

"Poor little soul, you look as if you'd grieved yourself half sick! I'm going to take care of you, so don't cry

any more, but come and walk about with me, the wind is too chilly for you to sit still," he said, in the

halfcaressing, halfcommanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her arm through his, and

began to pace up and down the sunny walk under the newleaved chestnuts. He felt more at ease upon his

legs, and Amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind

The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemed expressly made for them, so sunny and

secluded was it, with nothing but the tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo of

their words, as it rippled by below. For an hour this new pair walked and talked, or rested on the wall,

enjoying the sweet influences which gave such a charm to time and place, and when an unromantic dinner

bell warned them away, Amy felt as if she left her burden of lonliness and sorrow behind her in the chateau

The moment Mrs. Carrol saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminated with a new idea, and exclaimed to

herself, "Now I understand it allthe child has been pining for young Laurence. Bless my heart, I never

With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayed no sign of enlightenment, but

cordially urged Laurie to stay and begged Amy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so

much solitude. Amy was a model of docility, and as her aunt was a good deal occupied with Flo, she was left

At Nice, Laurie had lounged and Amy had scolded. At Vevay, Laurie was never idle, but always walking,

riding, boating, or studying in the most energetic manner, while Amy admired everything he did and

followed his example as far and as fast as she could. He said the change was owing to the climate, and she

did not contradict him, being glad of a like excuse for her own recovered health and spirits.

The invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise worked wholesome changes in minds as well as

bodies. They seemed to get clearer views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills. The fresh

winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists. The warm spring sunshine brought

out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tender hopes, and happy thoughts. The lake seemed to wash away the troubles

of the past, and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon them saying, "Little children, love one

In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy that Laurie could not bear to disturb it by a

word. It took him a little while to recover from his surprise at the cure of his first, and as he had firmly

believed, his last and only love. He consoled himself for the seeming disloyalty 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 other

woman but Amy so soon and so well. His first wooing had been of the tempestuous order, and he looked

back upon ;it as if through a long vista of years with a feeling of compassion blended with regret. He was not

ashamed of it, but put it away as one of the bittersweet experiences of his life, for which he could be

grateful when the pain was over. His second wooing, he resolved, should be as calm and simple as possible.

There was no need of having a scene, hardly any need of telling Amy that he loved her, she knew it without

words and had given him his answer long ago. It all came about so naturally that no one could complain, and

he knew that everybody would be pleased, even Jo. But when our first little passion has been crushed, we are

apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, so Laurie let the days pass, enjoying every hour, and

leaving to chance the utterance of the word that would put an end to the first and sweetest part of his new

He had rather imagined that the denoument would take place in the chateau garden by moonlight, and in the

most graceful and decorus manner, but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter was settled on the lake

at noonday in a few blunt words. They had been floating about all the morning, from gloomy St. Gingolf to

sunny Montreux, with the Alps of Savoy 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 cloudless blue sky overhead, and the bluer

They had been talking of Bonnivard, as they glided past Chillon, and of Rousseau, 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 privately

wondered if it was half as interesting as their own. Amy had been dabbling her hand in the water during the

little pause that fell between them, and when she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oars with an

expression in his 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, for since you came I have been

"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," returned Laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangment.

Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offered third of a seat, shook her hair over her

face, and accepted an oar. She rowed as well as she did many other things, and though she used both hands,

and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothly through the water.

"How well we pull together, don't we?" said Amy, who objected to silence just then.

"So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, Amy?" very tenderly.

Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness

It was easy to promise selfabnegation when self was wrapped up in another, and heart and soul were

purified by a sweet example. But when the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved

presence gone, and nothing remained but lonliness and grief, then Jo found her promise very hard to keep.

How could she `comfort Father and Mother' when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister,

how could she `make the house cheerful' when all its light and warmth and beauty 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 own reward? She tried in a blind,

hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while, for it seemed unjust that her few joys

should be lessened, her burdens made heavier, and life get harder and harder as she toiled along. Some people

seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow. It was not fair, for she tried more than Amy to be good, but

Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came over 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 never

seemed 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 somebody doesn't come and help me," she said to herself, when her first efforts

failed and she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind which often comes when strong wills have to yield

But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her good angels at once because they wore

familiar shapes and used the simple spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, thinking

Beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissive

sorrow, "Oh, Beth, come back! Come back!" she did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain. For, as quick

to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not

with words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a

greater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went

handinhand 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 life looked more endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's

When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found help, for one day she went to the

study, and leaning over the good gray head 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'm all wrong."

"My dear, nothing can comfort me like this," he answered, with a falter in his voice, and both arms round her,

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

bewilderment which we call despair. She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and

both found consolation in the act. For the time had come when they could talk together not only as father and

daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual

love. Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called `the church of one member', and from

which she came with fresh courage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit. For the parents

who had taught one child to meet death without fear, were trying now to teach another to accept life without

despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power.

Other helps had Johumble, wholesome duties and delights that would not be denied their part in serving

her, and which she slowly learned to see and value. Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as

they once had been, for Beth had presided over both, and something of her housewifely spirit seemed to

linger around the little mop and the old brush, never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself

humming the songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and giving the little touches here and

there that kept everything fresh and cozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, though she

"You thoughtful creeter, you're determined we shan't miss that dear lamb ef you can help it. We don't say

As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sister Meg was, how well she could talk,

how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husband

"Marriage is an excellent thing, after all. I wonder if I should blossom out half as well as you have, if I tried

"It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of your nature, Jo. You are like a chestnut burr,

prickly outside, but silkysoft within, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get at it. Love will make you show

"Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma`am, and it takes a good shake to bring them 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 ever

Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit, but she felt it her duty to enforce her

opinion by every argument in her power, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of Meg's

most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly. Grief is the best opener of some hearts,

and Jo's was nearly ready for the bag. A little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's impatient

shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet. If she

suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever, fortunately she wasn't thinking

Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought at this period of her life to have become

quite saintly, renounced the world, and gone 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 like hundreds of others, and

she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested. It's highly

virtuous to say we'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all

together before some of us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her

duty, and to feel unhappy 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 how hard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more

beautiful than to devote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they had to

her? And if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for a

restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others?

Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, not what she had expected, but better because self

had no part in it. Now, could she do it? She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the

helps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as

Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbed the hill called

"Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy," said her mother once, when the desponding fit

"We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you

"Don't believe I can." But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaul her halffinished manuscripts.

An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratching away, with her black pinafore on, and

an absorbed expression, which caused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with the success of

her suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, but something got into that story that went straight to the

hearts of those who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against

her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise, it was not only paid for, but others

requested. Letters from several persons, whose praise was honor, followed the appearance of the little story,

newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends, admired it. For a small thing it was a great success, and

Jo was more astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once.

"I don't understand it. What can there be in a simple little story like that to make people praise it so?" she

"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 fame and money, and put your heart into it, my daughter. You have had

the bitter, now comes the sweet. Do your best, and grow as happy as we are in your success."

"If there is anything good or true in what I write, it isn't mine. I owe it all to you and Mother and Beth," said

Jo, more touched by her father's words than by any amount of praise from the world.

So taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories, and sent them away to make friends for themselves

and her, finding it a very charitable world to such humble wanderers, for they were kindly welcomed, and

sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful children whom good fortune overtakes.

When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March feared that Jo would find it difficult to rejoice

over it, but her fears were soon set at rest, for thought Jo looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, and

was full of hopes and plans for `the children' before she read the letter twice. It was a sort of written duet,

wherein each glorified the other in loverlike fashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of, for no

"You like it, Mother?" said Jo, as they laid down the closely written sheets and looked at one another.

"Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that she had refused Fred. 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 her letters

"Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they have girls to manage. I was half afraid to

put the idea into your head, lest you should write and congratulate them before the thing was settled."

"I'm not the scatterbrain I was. You may trust me. I'm sober and sensible enough for anyone's confidante

"So you are, my dear, and I should have made you mine, only I fancied it might pain you to learn that your

"Now, Mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish, after I'd refused his love, when it was

"I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if he came back, and asked again, you might

perhaps, feel like giving another answer. Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, and

sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart. So I fancied that your boy might fill the

"No, Mother, it is better as it ia, and I'm glad Amy has learned to love him. But you are right in one thing. I

am lonely, and perhaps if Teddy had tried again, I might have said `Yes', not because I love him any more,

"I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on. There are plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied

with Father and Mother, sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all comes to give you

"Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don't mind whispering to Marmee that I'd like to try all kinds.

It's very curious, but the more I try to satisfy 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 seems full now, and I used to be

"I do." And Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back the leaves 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, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seem to be the same girl I

was. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find

it full of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, 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 of love for ballast'. I pray he may,

and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never

will desert him, while God lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world

"And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy! Truly, love does work miracles. How very, very happy they

must be!" And Jo laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a

lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the workaday

Byandby Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could not walk. A restless spirit possessed her,

and the old feeling came again, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one sister

should have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true, she knew that and 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

with heart and soul, and cling to while God let them be together'. Up in the garret, where Jo's unquiet

wanderings ended stood four little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its owners name, and each

filled with relics of the childhood and girlhood ended now for all. Jo glanced into them, and when she came

to her own, leaned her chin on the edge, and stared absently at the chaotic collection, till a bundle of old

exercise books caught her eye. She drew them out, turned them over, and relived that pleasant winter at kind

Mrs. Kirke's. She had smiled at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little

message written in the Professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat

looking at the friendly words, as they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart.

"Oh, if he only would! So kine, so good, so patient with me always, my dear old Fritz. I didn't value him half

enough when I had him, but now how I should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me, and

And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to be fulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a

comfortable rag bag, and cried, as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof.

Was it all selfpity, loneliness, or low spirits? Or was it the waking up of a sentiment which had bided its

Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of

spending the hour of dusk. No one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little red pillow, planning

stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face

looked tired, grave, and rather sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years

went by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twentyfive, and

nothing to show for it. Jo was mistaken in that. There was a good deal to show, and byandby she saw, and

"An old maid, that's what I'm to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for a spouse, a family of stories for

children, and twenty years hence a morsel of fame, 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 sour saint nor a selfish

sinner, and, I dare say, old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it, but..." And there Jo sighed,

It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to fiveandtwenty. But it's not as bad as it looks,

and one can get on quite happily if one has something in one's self to fall back upon. At twentyfive, girls

begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they never will be. At thirty they say nothing

about it, but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have

twenty more useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don't laugh at the

spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly

under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces

beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad, sour sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the

sweetest part 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 miss the blossom time. That rosy cheeks don't last forever, that

silver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, byandby, kindness and respect will be as sweet

Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter how poor and plain and prim, for the

only chivalry worth having is that which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and

serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect the good aunts who have not only lectured

and fussed, but nursed and petted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips

they have given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the

willing old feet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to

receive as long as they live. The brighteyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all the better

for them, and if death, almost the only power that can part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will

be sure to find a tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who has kept the

Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this little homily), for suddenly Laurie's ghost

seemed to stand before her, a substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he used to wear

when he felt a good deal and didn't like to show it. But, like Jenny in the ballad...

and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and kissed her. Then she knew him, and flew up,

"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 an unconscious pride and satisfaction which

"Oh, the dickens! Now I've done it." And he looked so guilty that Jo was down on him like a flash.

"Yes, please, but I never will again." And he went down upon his knees, with a penitent clasping of hands,

"Mercy on us. What dreadful thing will you do next?" And Jo fell into her seat with a gasp.

"A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation," returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude,

"What can you expect, when you take one's breath away, creeping in like a burglar, and letting cats out of

"Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to barricade."

Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted the sofa invitingly, as she said in a

cordial tone, "The old pillow is up garret, 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 that but you." And Laurie sat down with

"That's like her. Well, you look it." And Jo's eye plainly betrayed that she found her boy comelier than ever.

The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a natural one, raised by time absence, and

change of heart. Both felt it, and for a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a little

shadow over them. It was gone directly however, for Laurie said, with a vain attempt 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

"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 so irresistibly funny that I can't keep sober!"

answered Jo, smiling all over her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then settled down for a

"It's no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all coming up presently. I couldn't wait. I

wanted to be the one to tell you the grand surprise, and have `first skim' as we used to say when we squabbled

"Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong end. Now, start right, and tell me how it

"Well, I did it to please Amy," began Laurie, with a twinkle that made Jo exclaim...

"Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth, if you can, sir."

"Now she's beginning to marm it. Isn't it jolly to hear her?" said Laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and

sparkled as if it quite agreed. "It's all the same, you know, she and I being one. We planned to come home

with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly changed their minds, and decided to pass another

winter in Paris. But Grandpa wanted to come home. He went to please me, and I couldn't let him go along,

neither could I leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got English notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and

wouldn't let Amy come with us. So I just settled the difficulty by saying, `Let's be married, and then we can

"It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps of good reasons on our side. There

wasn't time to write and ask leave, but you all liked it, had consented to it byandby, and it was only `taking

"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 delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so tragically

gloomy when she saw them last. "A trifle, perhaps, she's such a captivating little woman I can't help being

proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to play propriety. We were so absorbed in one another we

were of no mortal use apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all round, so we did

"When, where, how?" asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and curiosity, for she could not realize it a

"Six weeks ago, at the American consul's, in Paris, a very quiet wedding of course, for even in our happiness

Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed the little red pillow, which he remembered

"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 he couldn't be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our

honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regular honeymoon home, so we went there,

and were as happy as people are but once 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 fact that he told her these things so

freely and so naturally assured her that he had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away her hand,

but as if he guessed the thought that prompted the halfinvoluntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with

"Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we'll put it by forever. As I told you in my letter when I wrote that

Amy had been so kind to me, I never shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I have learned to see

that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed places in my heart, that's all. I think it was meant to be so, and

would have come about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me, but I never could be patient, and

so I got a heartache. I was a boy then, headstrong and violent, and it took a hard lesson to show me my

mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, after making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I

was so tumbled 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 I saw her in Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at

once. You both got into your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the old love before it was on

with the new, that I could honestly share my heart between 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 and girl 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 in you, and you'll find it in me. I

shall miss my boy, but I shall love the man as much, and admire him more, because he means to be what I

hoped he would. We can't be little playmates any longer, but we will be brother and sister, to love and help

He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his face down on it for a minute, feeling

that out of the grave of a boyish passion, 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 sad one, "I can't make it true that you

children are really married and going to set up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday that I was

buttoning Amy's pinafore, and pulling your hair when you teased. Mercy me, how time does fly!"

"As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn't talk so like a grandma. I flatter myself I'm a

`gentleman growed' as Peggotty said of David, and when you see Amy, you'll find her rather a precocious

"You may be a little older in years, but I'm ever so much older in feeling, Teddy. Women always are, and this

"Poor Jo! We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You are older. Here's a line, and there's

another. Unless you smile, your eyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear on it.

You've had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone. What a selfish beast I've been!" And Laurie

But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone which she tried to make more cheerful,

"No, I had Father and Mother to help me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you and

Amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear. I am lonely, sometimes, but I dare say it's

"You never shall be again," broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her, as if to fence out every human ill.

"Amy and I can't get on without you, so you must come and teach `the children' to keep house, and go halves

in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all be blissfully happy and friendly together."

"If I shouldn't be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to feel quite young already, for somehow all

my troubles seemed to fly away when you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy." And Jo leaned her

head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill and Laurie told her to hold on to him.

He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo was smiling to herself, as if in truth her

"You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and laughing the next. You look a little wicked

"I don't mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her think so, it pleases her, you know. Byandby

we shall take turns, for marriage, they say, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties."

"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 like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and prettily as a skein of

"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 masculine scorn at that insinuation, as he

replied, with his "high and mighty" air, "Amy is too wellbred 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 to tyrannize or quarrel."

Jo like that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy seemed changing very fast into the man,

"I am sure of that. Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She is the sun and I the wind, in the fable,

"She can blow him up as well as shine on him," laughed Laurie. "such a lecture as I got at Nice! I give you

my word it was a deal worse than any or your scoldings, a regular rouser. I'll tell you all about it sometime,

she never will, because after telling me that she despised and was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the

"I look as if I needed it, don't I?" said Laurie, getting up and striking an attitude which suddenly changed

from the imposing to the rapturous, as Amy's voice was heard calling, "Where is she? Where's my dear old

In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed all over again, and after several vain

attempts, the three wanderers were set down to be looked at and exulted over. Mr. Laurence, hale and hearty

as ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign tour, for the crustiness seemed to be nearly

gone, and the oldfashioned courtliness had received a polish which made it kindlier than ever. It was good

to see him beam at `my children', as he called the young pair. It was better still to see Amy pay him the

daughterly duty and affection which completely won his old heart, and best of all, to watch Laurie revolve

The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that her own dress hadn't a Parisian air, that

young Mrs. Mofffat would be entirely eclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that `her ladyship' was

altogether a most elegant and graceful woman. Jo thought, as she watched the pair, "How well they look

together! I was right, and Laurie has found the beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better

than clumsy old Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him." Mrs. March and her husband smiled and nodded at

each other with happy faces, for they saw that their youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, but

For Amy's face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a peaceful heart, her voice had a new

tenderness in it, and the cool, prim carriage was changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly and winning. No

little affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of her manner was more charming than the new beauty

or the old grace, for it stamped her at once with the unmistakable sign of the true gentlewoman she had hoped

"She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear," Mr. March whispered back, with a loving look

Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her `pitty aunty', but attached herself like a lap dog to the

wonderful chatelaine full of delightful charms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before he

compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took the tempting form of a family of wooden

bears from Berne. A flank movement produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew where

"Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance you hit me in the face. Now I demand

the satisfaction of a gentleman," and with that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew in

a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted his boyish soul.

"Blest if she ain't in silk from head to foot? Ain't it a relishin' sight to see her settin' there as fine as a fiddle,

anch a happy procession as filed away into the little dining room! Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs.

Laurence. Mrs. March as proudly leaned on the arm of `my son'. The old gentleman took Jo, with a

whispered, "You must be my girl now," and a glance at the empty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper

The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for everyone was so busy with the

newcomers that they were left to revel at their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of

the opportunity. Didn't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a

crowning trespass, didn't they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and

crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry are frail? Burdened with the guilty

consciousness of the sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo's sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of

cambric and merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to `Dranpa', who hadn't his

spectacles on. Amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returned to the parlor on Father Laurence's

arm. The others paired off as before, and this arrangement left Jo companionless. She did not mind it at the

"Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silver dishes that's stored away over

"Shouldn't wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, and wore diamonds and point lace every

day. Teddy thinks nothing too good for her," returned Jo with infinite satisfaction.

"No more there is! Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?" asked Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry

"I don't care." And Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an uncongenial topic 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 of

lonliness came over her so strongly that she looked about her with dim eyes, 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

and nearer, she would not have said to herself, "I'll weep a little weep when I go to bed. It won't do to be

dismal now." Then she drew her hand over her eyes, for one of her boyish habits was never to know where

her handkerchief was, and had just managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the porch door.

She opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had come to surprise her, for there stood a

"Oh, Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you!" cried Jo, with a clutch, as if she feared the night would swallow

"And I to see Miss Marsch, but no, you haf a party," and the Professor paused as the sound of voices and the

"No, we haven't, only the family. My sister and friends have just come home, and we are all very happy.

Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gone decorously away, and come again another day,

but how could he, when Jo shut the door behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face had

something to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him, and showed 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 haf been ill, my friend?"

He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the light fell on her face, and he saw a change in it.

"Ah, yes, I know. My heart was sore for you when I heard that," And he shook hands again, with such a

sympathetic face that Jo felt as if no comfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big, warm

"Father, Mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer," she said, with a face and tone of such irrepressible pride

and pleasure that she might as well have blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish.

If the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set at rest in a minute by the cordial welcome he

received. Everyone greeted him kindly, for Jo's sake at first, but very soon they liked him for his own. They

could not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens all hearts, and these simple people warmed to him at

once, feeling even the more friendly because he was poor. For poverty enriches those who live above it, and

is a sure passport to truly hospitable spirits. Mr. Bhaer sat looking about him with 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 by rifling his pockets,

pulling his beard, and investigating his watch, with juvenile audacity. The women telegraphed their approval

to one another, and Mr. March, feeling that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choicest stores for his

guest's benefit, while silent John listened and enjoyed the talk, but said not a word, and Mr. Laurence found it

If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie's behavior would have amused her, for a faint twinge, not of

jealousy, but something like suspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe the

newcomer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long. He got interested in spite of himself, and

before he knew it, was drawn into the circle. For Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere, and did

himself justice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked at him often, and a shadow would pass across his

face, as if regretting his own lost youth, as he watched the young man in his prime. Then his eyes would turn

to Jo so wistfully that she would have surely answered the mute inquiry if she had seen it. But Jo had her own

eyes to take care of, and feeling that they could not be trusted, she prudently kept them on the little sock she

A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water after a dusty walk, for the sidelong

peeps showed her several propitious omens. Mr. Bhaer's face had lost the absentminded expression, and

looked all alive with interest in the present moment, actually young and handsome, she thought, forgetting to

compare him with Laurie, as she usually did strange men, to their great detriment. Then he seemed quite

inspired, though the burial customs of the ancients, to which the conversation had strayed, might not be

considered an exhilarating topic. Jo quite glowed with triumph when Teddy got quenched in an argument,

and thought to herself, as she watched her father's absorbed face, "How he would 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

look more like a gentleman than ever. His bushy hair had been cut and smoothly 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 rampantly

erect better than flat, because she thought it gave his fine forehead a Jovelike aspect. Poor Jo, how she did

glorify that plain man, as she sat knitting away so quietly, yet letting nothing escape her, not even the fact

"Dear old fellow! He couldn't have got himself up with more care if he'd been going awooing," said Jo to

herself, and then a sudden thought born of the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her

The maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, for though just in the act of setting fire to a

funeral pyre, the Professor dropped his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the little blue

ball. Of course they bumped their heads smartly together, saw stars, and both came up flushed and laughing,

Nobody knew where the evening went to, for Hannah skillfully abstracted the babies at an early hour,

nodding like two rosy poppies, and Mr. Laurence went home to rest. The others sat round the fire, talking

away, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternal was impressed with a firm conviction

that Daisy had tumbled out of be, and Demi set his nightgown afire studying the structure of matches, made a

"We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together again once more," said Jo, feeling that a

good shout would be a safe and pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.

They were not all there. But no one found the words thougtless or untrue, for Beth still seemed among them,

a peaceful presence, invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league that

love 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 touched now had not been moved, and above it Beth's face, serene and smiling, as in the early days,

"Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved," said Laurie, with pardonable pride in

But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, "Not tonight, dear. I can't show off

But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she sang Beth's songs with a tender music in

her voice which the best master could not have taught, and touched the listener's hearts with a sweeter power

than any other inspiration could have given her. The room was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly

and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that her welcome home was not quite

"Now, we must finish with Mignon's song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that," said Jo, before the pause grew painful.

And Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat with a gratified "Hem!" as he stepped into the corner where Jo stood,

A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than a grasshopper. But she would have

consented if he had proposed to sing a whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune.

It didn't much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily and well, and Jo soon subsided into a

subdued hum, that she might listen to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone. Know'st thou the

used to be the Professor's favorite line, for `das land' meant Germany to him, but now he seemed to dwell,

and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she longed to say she did know the land, and

would joyfully depart thither whenever he liked The song was considered a great success, and the singer

retired covered with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely, and stared at Amy

putting on her bonnet, for she had been introduced simply as `my sister', and on one had called her by her

new name since her came. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said, in his most gracious manner, at

"My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that there is always a welcome waiting for

Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie

"I too shall go, but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif me leave, dear madame, for a little business in

He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo, and the mother's voice gave as cordial an assent as did the

daughter's eyes, for Mrs. March was not so blind to her children's interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed.

"I suspect that is a wise man," remarked Mr. March, with placid satisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last

"I know he is a good one," added Mrs. March, with decided approval, as she wound up the clock.

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 seen his

face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a severe and rigid young lady, with a good deal

of hair, who appeared to be gazing darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon the subject,

"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 to

find 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

"I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it, but I can't get on without my little woman any more

"Weathercock can without the wind," suggested Jo, as he paused for a simile. Jo had grown quite her own

"Exactly, for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with only an occasional whiffle round to the

south, and I haven't had an easterly spell since I was married. Don't know anything about the north, but am

"Lovely weather so far. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm not afraid 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 after

among my things. Men are so helpless, Mother," said Amy, with a matronly air, which delighted her husband.

"What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?" asked Jo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she

"We have our plans. We don't mean to say much about them yet, because we are such very new brooms, but

we don't intend to be idle. I'm going into business with a devotion that shall delight Grandfather, and prove to

him that I'm not spoiled. I need something of the sort to keep me steady. I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to

"And Amy, what is she going to do?" asked Mrs. March, well pleased at Laurie's decision and the energy

"After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall astonish you by the elegant hospitalities

of our mansion, the brilliant society we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall exert over

the world at large. That's about it, isn't it, Madame Recamier?" asked Laurie with a quizzical look at Amy.

"Time will show. Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family by calling me names before their

faces," answered Amy, resolving that there should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salon

"How happy those children seem together!" observed Mr. March, finding it difficult to become absorbed in

"Yes, and I think it will last," added Mrs. March, with the restful expression of a pilot who has brought a ship

"I know it will. Happy Amy!" And Jo sighed, then smiled brightly as Professor Bhaer opened the gate with an

Later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about the bootjack, Laurie said suddenly to his wife,

"Well, my love, I consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of that expressive word, but I do wish he was a

"Now, Laurie, don't be too fastidious and worldlyminded. If they love one 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 as the words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, with malicious gravity...

"Certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intend to do it sometimes. If my memory

serves me, you once thought it your duty to make a rich match. That accounts, perhaps, for your marrying a

"Oh, my dearest boy, don't, don't say that! I forgot you were rich when I said `Yes'. I'd have married you if

you hadn't a penny, and I sometimes wish 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, gave convincing proofs of the truth of her words.

"You don't really think I am such a mercenary creature as I tried to be once, do you? It would break my heart

if you didn't believe that I'd gladly pull in the same boat with you, even if you had to get your living by

"Am I an idiot and a brute? How could I think so, when you refused a richer man for me, and won't let me

give you half I want to now, when I have the right? Girls do it every day, poor things, and are taught to think

it is their only salvation, but you had better lessons, and though I trembled for you at one time, I was not

disappointed, for the daughter was true to the mother's teaching. I told Mamma so yesterday, and she looked

as glad and 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 Laurie paused, for Amy's eyes had an absent look, though fixed upon

"Yes, I am, and admiring the mple in your chin at the same time. I don't wish to make you vain, but I must

confess that I'm prouder of my handsome husband than of all his money. Don't laugh, but your nose is such a

comfort to me." And Amy softly caressed the wellcut feature with artistic satisfaction.

Laurie had received many compliments in his life, but never one that suited him better, as he plainly showed

though he did laugh at his wife's peculiar taste, while she said slowly, "May I ask you a question, dear?"

"Oh, that's the trouble is it? I thought there was something in the dimple that didn't quite suit you. Not being a

dog in the manger, but the happiest fellow alive, I assure you I can dance at Jo's wedding with a heart as light

Amy looked up at him, and was satisfied. Her little jealous fear vanished forever, and she thanked him, with a

"I wish we could do something for that capital old Professor. Couldn't we 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

pace up and down the long drawing room, arm in arm, as they were fond of doing, in memory of the chateau

"Jo would find us out, and spoil it all. She is very proud of him, just as he is, and said yesterday that she

"Bless her dear heart! She won't think so when she has a literary husband, and a dozen little professors and

professorins to support. We won't interfere now, but watch our chance, and do them a good turn in spite of

themselves. I owe Jo for a part of my education, and she believes in people's paying their honest debts, so I'll

"How delightful it is to be able to help others, isn't it? That was always one of my dreams, to have the power

"Ah, we'll do quantities of good, won't we? There's one sort of poverty that I particularly like to help.

Outandout beggars get taken care of, but poor gentle folks fare badly, because they won't ask, and people

don't dare to offer charity. Yet there are a thousand ways of helping them, if one only knows how to do it so

delicately that it does not offend. I must say, I like to serve a decayed gentleman better than a blarnerying

"Because it takes a gentleman to do it," added the other member of the domestic admiration society.

"Thank you, I'm afraid I don't deserve that pretty compliment. But I was going to say that while I was

dawdling about abroad, I saw a good many talented young fellows making all sorts of sacrifices, and

enduring real hardships, that they might realize their dreams. Splendid fellows, some of them, working like

heros, poor and friendless, but so full of courage, patience, and ambition that I was ashamed of myself, and

longed to give them a right good lift. Those are people whom it's a satisfaction to help, for if they've got

genius, it's an honor to be allowed to serve them, and not let it 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 when they

"Yes, indeed, and there's another class who can't ask, and who suffer in silence. I know something of it, for I

belonged to it before you made a princess of me, as the king does the beggarmaid in the old story. Ambitious

girls have a hard time, Laurie, and often have to see youth, health, and precious opportunities go by, just for

want of a little help at the right minute. People have been very kind to me, and whenever I see girls struggling

along, as we used to do, I want to put out my hand and help them, as I was helped."

"And so you shall, like an angel as you are!" cried Laurie, resolving, with a glow of philanthropic zeal, to

found and endow an institution for the express benefit of young women with artistic tendencies. "Rich people

have no right to sit down and enjoy themselves, or let their money accumulate for others to waste. It's not half

so sensible to leave legacies when one dies as it is to use the money wisely while alive, and enjoy making

one's fellow creatures happy with it. We'll have a good time ourselves, and add an extra relish to our own

pleasure by giving other people a generous taste. Will you be a little Dorcal, going about emptying a big

"With all my heart, if you will be a brave St. Martin, stopping as you ride gallantly through the world to share

So the young pair shook hands upon it, and then paced happily on again, feeling that their pleasant home was

more homelike because they hoped to brighten other homes, believing that their own feet would walk more

uprightly along the flowery path before them, if they smoothed rough ways for other feet, and feeling that

their hearts were more closely knit together by a love which could tenderly remember those less blest than

I cannot feel that I have done my duty as humble historian of the March family, without devoting at least one

chapter to the two most precious and important members of it. Daisy and Demi had now arrived at years of

discretion, for in this fast age babies of three or four assert their rights, and get them, too, which is more than

many of their elders do. If there ever were a pair of twins in danger of being utterly spoiled by adoration, it

was these prattling Brookes. Of course they were the most remarkable children ever born, as will be shown

when I mention that they walked at eight months, talked fluently at twelve months, and at two years they took

their places at table, and behaved with a propriety which charmed all beholders. At three, Daisy demanded a

`needler', and actually made a bag with four stitches in it. She likewise set up housekeeping in the sideboard,

and managed a microscopic cooking stove with a skill that brought tears of pride to Hannah's eyes, while

Demi learned his letters with his grandfather, who invented a new mode of teaching the alphabet by forming

letters with his arms and legs, thus uniting gymnastics for head and heels. The boy early developed a

mechanical genius which delighted his father and distracted his mother, for he tried to imitate every machine

he saw, and kept the nursery in a chaotic condition, with his `sewinsheen', a mysterious structure of string,

chairs, clothespins, and spools, for wheels to go `wound and wound'. Also a basket hung over the back of a

chair, in which he vainly tried to hoist his too confiding sister, who, with feminine devotion, allowed her little

head to be bumped till rescued, when the young inventor indignantly remarked, "Why, Marmar, dat's my

Though utterly unlike in character, the twins got on remarkably well together, and seldom quarreled more

than thrice a day. Of course, Demi tyrannized over Daisy, and gallantly defended her from every other

aggressor, while Daisy made a galley slave of herself, and adored her brother as the one perfect being in the

world. A rosy, chubby, sunshiny little soul was Daisy, who found her way to everybody's heart, and nestled

there. One of the captivating children, who seem made to be kissed and cuddled, adorned and adored like

little goddesses, and produced for general approval on all festive occasions. Her small virtues were so sweet

that she would have been quite angelic if a few small naughtinesses had not kept her delightfully human. It

was all fair weather in her world, and every morning she scrambled up to the window in her little nightgown

to look 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 so confidingly that the most inveterate bachelor relented, and

"Me loves evvybody," she once said, opening her arms, with her spoon in one hand, and her mug in the other,

As she grew, her mother began to feel that the Dovecote would be blessed by the presence of an inmate as

serene and loving as that which had helped to make the old house home, and to pray that she might be spared

a loss like that which had lately taught them how long they had entertained an angel unawares. Her

grandfather often called her `Beth', and her grandmother watched over her with untiring devotion, as if trying

Demi, like a true Yankee, was of an inquiring turn, wanting to know everything, and often getting much

disturbed because he could not get satisfactory answers to his perpetual "What for?"

He also possessed a philosophic bent, to the great delight of his grandfather, who used to hold Socratic

conversations with him, in which the precocious pupil occasionally posed his teacher, to the undisguised

"What makes my legs go, Dranpa?" asked the young philosopher, surveying those active portions of his

"It's your little mind, Demi," replied the sage, stroking the yellow head respectfully.

"It is something which makes your body move, as the spring made the wheels go in my watch when I showed

"I can't do that any more than you could open the watch. God winds you up, and you go till He stops you."

"Does I?" And Demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in the new thought. "Is I wounded up like

Demi felt his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the watch, and then gravely remarked, "I dess Dod

A careful explanation followed, to which he listened so attentively that his anxious grandmother said, "My

dear, do you think it wise to talk about such things to that baby? He's getting great bumps over his eyes, and

"If he is old enough to ask the question he is old enough to receive true answers. I am not putting the thoughts

into his head, but helping him unfold those already there. These children are wiser than we are, and I have 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 cannot tell," his grandfather would not have

been surprised, but when, after standing 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 could only join in Grandma's laugh, and

There might have been cause for maternal anxiety, if Demi had not given convincing proofs that he was a

true boy, as well as a budding philosopher, for often, after a discussion which caused Hannah to prophesy,

with ominous nods, "That child ain't long for this world," he would turn about and 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 mother was ever proof against the winning

wiles, the ingenious evasions, or the tranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early show

"No more raisins, Demi. They'll make you sick," says Mamma to the young person who offers his services in

He reluctantly departs, but his wrongs weigh upon his spirit, and byandby when an opportunity comes to

"Now you have been good children, and I'll play anything you like," says Meg, as she leads her assistant

"Yes, truly. Anything you say," replies the shortsighted parent, preparing herself to sing, "The Three Little

Kittens" half a dozen times over, or to take her family to "Buy a penny bun," regardless of wind or limb. But

Aunt Dodo was chief playmate and confidante of both children, and the trio turned the little house

topsyturvy. Aunt Amy was as yet only a name to them, Aunt Beth soon faded into a pleasantly vague

memory, but Aunt Dodo was a living reality, and they made the most of her, for which compliment she was

deeply grateful. But when Mr. Bhaer came, Jo neglected her playfellows, and dismay and desolation fell upon

their little souls. Daisy, who was fond of going about peddling kisses, lost her best customer and became

bankrupt. Demi, with infantile penetration, soon discovered that Dodo like to play with `the bearman' better

than she did him, but though hurt, he concealed his anguish, for he hadn't the heart to insult 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

Some persons might have considered these pleasing liberties as bribes, but Demi didn't see it in that light, and

continued to patronize the `the bearman' with pensive affability, while Daisy bestowed her small affections

upon him at the third call, and considered his shoulder her throne, his arm her refuge, his gifts treasures

Gentlemen are sometimes seized with sudden fits of admiration for the young relatives of ladies whom they

honor with their regard, but this counterfeit philoprogenitiveness sits uneasily upon them, and does not

deceive anybody a particle. Mr. Bhaer's devotion was sincere, however likewise effectivefor honesty is the

best policy in love as in law. He was one of the men who are at home with children, and looked particularly

well when little faces made a pleasant contrast with his manly one. His business, whatever it was, detained

him from day to day, but evening seldom failed to bring him out to seewell, he always asked for Mr.

March, so I suppose he was the attraction. The excellent papa labored under the delusion that he was, and

reveled in long discussions with the kindred spirit, till a chance remark of his more observing grandson

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, scarletstockinged legs, both grovelers so

seriously absorbed that they were unconscious of spectators, till Mr. Bhaer laughed his sonorous laugh, and

Down went the black legs and up came the gray head, as the preceptor said, with undisturbed dignity, "Good

evening, Mr. Bhaer. Excuse me for a moment. We are just finishing our lesson. Now, Demi, make the letter

"I knows him!" And, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs tok the shape of a pair of compasses, and the

"He's a born Weller," laughed Jo, as her parent gathered himself up, and her nephew tried to stand on his

"What have you been at today, bubchen?" asked Mr. Bhaer, picking up the gymnast.

"I kissed her," began Demi, with artless frankness. "Prut! Thou beginnest early. What did the little Mary say

to that?" asked Mr. Bhaer, continuing to confess the young sinner, who stood upon the knee, exploring the

"Oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and I liked it. Don't little boys like little girls?" asked Demi, with his

"You precious chick! Who put that into your head?" said Jo, enjoying the innocent revelation as much as the

"`Tisn't in mine head, it's in mine mouf," answered literal Demi, putting out his tongue, with a chocolate drop

"Thou shouldst save some for the little friend. Sweets to the sweet, mannling." And Mr. Bhaer offered Jo

some, with a look that made her wonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods. Demi also saw the

Like young Washington, Mr. Bhaer `couldn't tell a lie', so he gave the somewhat vague reply that he believed

they did sometimes, in a tone that made 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 an idea into his head that was both

Why Dodo, when she caught him in the china closet half an hour afterward, nearly squeezed the breath out of

his little body with a tender embrace, instead of shaking him for being there, and why she followed up this

novel performance by the unexpected gift of a big slice of bread and jelly, remained one of the problems over

While Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, as they set their house in order, and

planned a blissful future, Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy roads

"I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I should give it up, just because I happen to

meet the Professor on his way out," said Jo to herself, after two or three encounters, for though there were

two paths to Meg's whichever one she took she was sure to meet him., either going or returning. He was

always walking rapidly, and never seemed to see her until quite close, when he would look as if his

shortsighted eyes had failed to recognize the approaching lady till that moment. Then, if she was going to

Meg's he always had something for the babies. If her face was turned homeward, he had merely strolled down

to see the river, and was just returning, unless they were tired of his frequent calls.

Under the circumstances, what could Jo do but greet him civilly, and invite him in? If she was tired of his

visits, she concealed her weariness with perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffee for supper, "as

By the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on, yet everyone tried to look as if they

were stoneblind to the changes in Jo's face. They never asked why she sang about her work, did up her hair

three times a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise. And no one seemed to have the slightest

suspicion that Professor Bhaer, while talking philosophy with the father, was giving the daughter lessons in

Jo couldn't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly tried to quench her feelings, and failing to do

so, led a somewhat agitated life. She was mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering, after her many

and vehement declarations of independence. Laurie was her especial dread, but thanks to the new manager,

he behaved with praiseworthy propriety, never called Mr. Bhaer `a capital old fellow' in public, never

alluded, in the remotest manner, to Jo's improved appearance, or expressed the least surprise at seeing the

Professor's hat on the Marches' table nearly every evening. But he exulted in private and longed for the time

to come when he could give Jo a piece of plate, with a bear and a ragged staff on it as an appropriate coat of

For a fortnight, the Professor came and went with loverlike regularity. Then he stayed away for three whole

days, and made no sign, a proceeding which caused everybody to look sober, and Jo to become pensive, at

"Disgusted, I dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came. It's nothing tome, of course, but I should think

he would have come and bid us goodbye like a gentleman," she said to herself, with a despairing look at the

"You'd better take the little umbrella, dear. It looks like rain," said her mother, observing that she had on her

new bonnet, but not alluding to the fact. "Yes, Marmee, do you want anything in town? I've got to run in and

get some paper," returned Jo, pulling out the bow under her chin before the glass as an excuse for not looking

"Yes, I want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles, and two yards of narrow lavender ribbon.

"If you happen to meet Mr. Bhaer, bring him home to tea. I quite long to see the dear man," added Mrs.

Jo heard that, but made no answer, except to kiss her mother, and walk rapidly 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

The drygoods stores were not down among the countinghouses, banks, and wholesale warerooms, where

gentlemen most do congregate, but Jo found herself in that part of the city before she did a single errand,

loitering along as if waiting for someone, examining engineering instruments in one window and samples of

wool in another, with most unfeminine interest, tumbling over barrels, being halfsmothered by descending

bales, and hustled unceremoniously by busy men who looked as if they wondered `how the deuce she got

there'. A drop of rain on her cheek recalled her thoughts from baffled hopes to ruined ribbons. For the drops

continued to fall, and being a woman as well as a lover, she felt that, though it was too late to save her heart,

she might her bonnet. Now she remembered the little umbrella, which she had forgotten to take in her hurry

to be off, but regret was unavailing, and nothing could be done but borrow one or submit to to a drenching.

She looked up at the lowering sky, down at the crimson bow already flecked with black, forward along the

muddy street, then one long, lingering look behind, at a certain grimy warehouse, with `Hoffmann, Swartz,

"It serves me right! what business had I to put on all my best things and come philandering down here,

hoping to see the Professor? Jo, I'm ashamed of you! No, you shall not go there to borrow an umbrella, or

find out where he is, from his friends. You shall trudge away, and do your errands in the rain, and if you

catch your death and ruin your bonnet, it's no more than you deserve. Now then!"

With that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowly escaped annihilation from a passing

truck, and precipitated herself into the arms of a stately old gentleman, who said, "I beg pardon, ma'am," and

looked mortally offended. Somewhat daunted, Jo righted herself, spread her handkerchief over the devoted

ribbons, and putting temptation behind her, hurried on, with increasing dampness about the ankles, and much

clashing of umbrellas overhead. The fact that a somewhat dilapidated blue one remained stationary above the

unprotected bonnet attracted her attention, and looking up, she saw Mr. Bhaer looking down.

"I feel to know the strongminded lady who goes so bravely under many horse noses, and so fast through

Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side to the wholesale hide and leather concern

on the other, but her only said politely, "You haf no umbrella. May I go also, and take for you the bundles?"

Jo's cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what he thought of her, but she didn't care, for in a

minute she found herself walking away arm in arm with her Professor, feeling as if the sun had suddenly

burst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all right again, and that one thoroughly happy woman

"We thought you had gone," said Jo hastily, for she knew he was looking at her. Her bonnet wasn't big

enough to hide her face, and she feared he might think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly.

"Did you believe that I should go with no farewell to those who haf been so heavenly kind tome?" he asked

so reproachfully that she felt as if she had insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily...

"No, I didn't. I knew you were busy about your own affairs, but we rather missed you, Father and Mother

In her anxiety to keep her voice quite calm, Jo made it rather cool, and the frosty little monosyllable at the

end seemed to chill the Professor, for his smile vanished, as he said gravely...

"Successfully, I hope?" said Jo, for the bitterness of disappointment was in that short reply of his.

"I ought to think so, for I haf a way opened to me by which I can make my bread and gif my Junglings much

"That is so kind, I gladly tell you. My friends find for me a place in a college, where I teach as at home, and

earn enough to make the way smooth 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 you like, and be able to see you often,

and the boys!" cried Jo, clinging to the lads as an excuse for the satisfaction she could not help betraying.

"So far away!" And Jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it didn't matter now what became of her clothes or

Mr. Bhaer could read several languages, but he had not learned to read women 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 a dozen different moods in the course

of half an hour. When she met him she looked surprised, though it was impossible to help suspecting that she

had come for that express purpose. When he offered her his arm, she took it with a look that filled him with

delight, but when he asked if she missed him, she gave such a chilly, formal reply that despair fell upon him.

On learning his good fortune she almost clapped her hands. Was the joy all for the boys? Then on hearing his

destination, she said, "So far away!" in a tone of despair that lifted him on to a pinnacle of hope, but the next

minute she tumbled him down again by observing, like one entirely absorbed in the matter...

Jo rather prided herself upon her shopping capabilities, and particularly wished to impress her escort with the

neatness and dispatch with which she would accomplish the business. But owing to the flutter she was in,

everything went amiss. She upset the tray of needles, forgot the silesia was to be `twilled' till it was cut off,

gave the wrong change, and covered herself 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 that on some occasions, women, like dreams, go by contraries.

When they came out, he put the parcel under his arm with a more cheerful aspect, and splashed through the

"Should we no do a little what you call shopping for the babies, and haf a farewell feast tonight if I go for my

last call at your so pleasant home?" he asked, stopping before a window full of fruit and flowers.

"What will we buy?" asked Jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech, and sniffing the mingled odors with an

Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he didn't buy a frail of dated, a cask of raisins,

and a bag of almonds, and be done with it? Whereat Mr. Bhaer confiscated her purse, produced his own, and

finished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot of rosy daisies, 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 the

"Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you," began the Professor, after a moist promenade of half a block.

"Yes, sir." And Jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he would hear it.

"I am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a time remains to me."

"Yes, sir." And Jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the sudden squeeze 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

"Yes, sir." And JO felt as calm and cool all of a sudden as if she had stepped into a refrigerator.

"Perhaps also a shawl for Tina's mother, she is so poor and sick, and the husband is such a care. Yes, yes, a

"I'll do it with pleasure, Mr. Bhaer. I'm going very fast, and he's getting dearer every minute," added Jo to

herself, then with a mental shake she entered 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 then ordered out the shawls. The clerk,

being a married man, condescended to take an interest in the couple, who appeared to be shopping for their

"Your lady may prefer this. It's a superior article, a most desirable color, quite chaste and genteel," he said,

"Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?" she asked, turning her back to him, and feeling 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 bargainhunter.

"Yes, it's late, and I'm so tired." Jo's voice was more pathetic than she knew. 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 she

discovered that her feet were cold, her head ached, and that her heart was colder than the former, fuller of

pain than the latter. Mr. Bhaer was going away, he only cared for her as a friend, it was all a mistake, and the

sooner it was over the better. With this idea in her head, she hailed an approaching omnibus with such a hasty

"This is not our omniboos," said the Professor, waving the loaded vehicle away, and stopping to pick up the

"I beg your pardon. I didn't see the name distinctly. Never mind, I can walk. I'm used to plodding in the

mud," returned Jo, winking hard, because she would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes. Mr. Bhaer

saw the drops on her cheeks, though she turned her head away. The sight seemed to touch him very much, for

suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tone that 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 she wasn't crying, had a cold in her

head, or told any other feminine fib proper to the occasion. Instead of which, that undignified creature

"Ach, mein Gott, that is so good!" cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella and

the bundles, "Jo, I haf nothing but much love to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to

be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little place in your heart for old

"Oh, yes!" said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his are, and looked up at him

with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though

It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down

upon his knees, on account of the mud. Neither could he offer Jo his hand, except figuratively, for both were

full. Much less could he indulge in tender remonstrations in the open street, though he was near it. So the

only way in which he could express his rapture was to look at her, with an expression which glorified his face

to such a degree that there actually seemed to be little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on his beard. If he

had not loved Jo very much, I don't think he could have done it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her

skirts in a deplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet a ruin. Fortunately, Mr.

Bhaer considered her the most beautiful woman living, and she found him more `Jovelike" than ever,

though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (for he held the

Passersby probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics, for they entirely forgot to hail a bus, and

strolled leisurely along, oblivious of deepening dusk and fog. Little they cared what anybody thought, for

they were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life, the magical moment which

bestows youth on the old, beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste of

heaven. The Professor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom, and the world had nothing 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 ever could have chosen any other lot. Of course, she was the first to speakintelligibly, I mean, for

the emotional remarks which followed her impetuous "Oh, yes!" were not of a coherent or reportable

"Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!" cried the Professor, pausing in a

"Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say `thou', also, and I shall say your language is almost as

"Isn't `thou' a little sentimental?" asked Jo, privately thinking it a lovely monosyllable.

"Sentimental? Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, and keep 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 a

"Now I shall haf to show thee all my heart, and I so gladly will, because thou must take care of it hereafter.

See, then, my Joah, the dear, funny little nameI had a wish to tell something the day I said goodbye in

New York, but I thought the handsome friend was betrothed to thee, and so I spoke not. Wouldst thou have

"Prut! That I do not believe. It was asleep till the fairy prince came through the wood, and waked it up. Ah,

"Yes, the first love is the best, but be so contented, for I never had another. 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 haf waited so long, I am grown selfish,

"I like that," cried Jo, delighted with her new name. "Now tell me what brought you, at last, just when I

Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her own contributions to a paper that paid for

"I found it by chance. I knew it by the names and the initials, and in it there was one little verse that seemed

IN THE GARRET Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled,

long ago, By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side, With faded ribbons, brave and

gay When fastened there, with childish pride, Long ago, on a rainy day. Four little names, one on each lid,

Carved out by a boyish hand, And underneath there lieth hid Histories of the happpy band Once playing here,

and pausing oft To hear the sweet refrain, That came and went on the roof aloft, In the falling summer rain.

"Meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair. I look in with loving eyes, For folded here, with wellknown care, A

goodly gathering lies, The record of a peaceful 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 are carried 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,

"Jo" on the next lid, scratched and worn, And within a motley store Of headless, 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, Halfwrit poems, 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 sad refrain "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, As if by loving eyes that wept, By

careful hands that often came. Death cannonized for us one saint, Ever less human than divine, And still we

lay, with tender plaint, Relics in this household shrine The silver bell, so seldom rung, The little cap which

last she wore, The fair, dead Catherine that hung By angels borne above her door. The songs she sang,

without lament, In her prisonhouse of pain, Forever are they sweetly blent With the falling summer rain.

Upon the last lid's polished field Legend now both fair and true A gallant knight bears on his shield,

"Amy" in letters gold and blue. Within lie snoods that bound her hair, Slippers that have danced their last,

Faded flowers laid by with care, Fans whose airy toils are past, Gay valentines, all ardent flames, Trifles that

have borne their part In girlish hopes and fears and 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 falling summer rain.

Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Four women, taught by weal and woe To

love and labor in their prime. Four sisters, parted for an hour, None lost, one only gone before, Made by

love's immortal power, Nearest and dearest evermore. Oh, when these hidden stores of ours Lie open to the

Father's sight, May they be rich in golden hours, Deeds that show fairer for the light, Lives whose brave

music long shall ring, Like a spiritstirring strain, Souls that shall gladly soar and sing In the long sunshine

"It's very bad poetry, but I felt it when I wrote it, one day when I was very lonely, and had a good cry on a rag

bag. I never thought it would go where it could tell tales," said Jo, tearing up the verses the Professor had

"Let it go, it has done it's duty, and I will haf a fresh one when I read all the brown book in which she keeps

her little secrets," said Mr. Bhaer with a smile as he watched the fragments fly away on the wind. "Yes," he

added earnestly, "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 I not go and say, "If this is not too poor a thing to gif for what I

"And so you came to find that it was not too poor, but the one precious thing I needed," whispered Jo.

"I had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was your welcome to me. But soon I began to hope,

and then I said, `I will haf her if I die for it,' and so I will!" cried Mr. Bhaer, with a defiant nod, as if the walls

of mist closing round them were barriers which he was to surmount or valiantly knock down.

Jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight, though he did not come prancing on a

"What made you stay away so long?" she asked presently, finding it so pleasant to ask confidential questions

"It was not easy, but I could not find the heart to take you from that so happy 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

"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 to lose my dread and be happy working for those I love, and don't call

yourself oldforty is the prime of life. I couldn't help loving you if you were seventy!"

The Professor found that so touching that he would have been glad of his handkerchief, if he could have got

at it. As her couldn't, Jo wiped his eyes for him, and said, laughing, as she took away a bundle or two...

"I may be strongminded, but no one can say I'm out of my sphere now, for woman's special mission is

supposed to be drying tears and bearing burdens. I'm to carry my share, Friedrich, and help to earn the home.

Make up your mind to that, or I'll never go," she added resolutely, as he tried to reclaim his load.

"We shall see. Haf you patience to wait a long time, Jo? I must go away and do my work alone. I must help

my boys first, because, even for you, I may not break my word to Minna. Can you forgif that, and be happy

"Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all the rest easy to bear. I have my duty, also, and

my work. I couldn't enjoy myself if I neglected 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 happy hoping for the best, and leaving the

"Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty

Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both

hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the

umbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it if the flock of draggletailed sparrows on the hedge had

been human beings, for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her own

happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the crowning moment of both their lives,

when, turning from the night and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting

to receive them, with a glad "Welcome home!" Jo led her lover in, and shut the door.

For a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, met occasionally, and wrote such

voluminous letters that the rise in the price of paper was accounted for, Laurie said. The second year began

rather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and Aunt March died suddenly. But when their first

sorrow was overfor they loved the old lady in spite of her sharp tonguethey found they had cause for

rejoicing, for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of joyful things possible.

"It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, for of course you intend to sell it," said Laurie, as they

"No, I don't," was Jo's decided answer, as she petted the fat poodle, whom she had adopted, out of respect to

"But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a power of money to keep it in order. The garden and

orchard alone need two or three men, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I take it."

"And you expect to live on the produce of the place? Well, that sounds paradisiacal, but you'll find it

"Boys. I want to open a school for little ladsa good, happy, homelike school, with me to take care of them

and Fritz to teach them." "That's a truly Joian plan for you! Isn't that just like her?" cried Laurie, appealing to

"So do I," added her husband, who welcomed the thought of a chance for trying the Socratic method of

"It will be an immense care for Jo," said Meg, stroking the head or her one allabsorbing 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

"I knew you'd stand by me, sir. Amy does tooI 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 this isn't a

new idea of mine, but a long cherished plan. Before my Fritz came, I used to think how, when I'd made my

fortune, and no one needed me at home, I'd hire a big house, and pick up some poor, forlorn little lads who

hadn't any mothers, and take care of them, and make life jolly for them before it was too late. I see so many

going to ruin for want of help at the right 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 mother to them!"

Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it, smiling, with tears in her eyes, and went on in the old

"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 doing it all his lifehelping poor boys, I mean, not getting rich, that he'll

never be. 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'm rich, at least I feel so, and we can live at Plumfield perfectly

well, if we have a flourishing school. It's just the place for boys, the house is big, and the furniture strong and

plain. There's plenty of room for dozens inside, and splendid 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 his own way, and Father

will help him. I can feed and nurse and pet and scold them, and Mother will be my standby. I've always

longed for lots of boys, and never had enough, now I can fill the house full and revel in the little dears to my

heart's content. Think what luxury Plumfield my own, and a wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me."

As Jo waved her hands and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went off into a gale of merriment, and Mr.

"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 a school, and for me to prefer to reside in my own estate."

"She is putting on airs already," said Laurie, who regarded the idea in the light of a capital joke. "But may I

inquire how you intend to support the establishment? If all the pupils are little ragamuffins, I'm afraid your

"Now don't be a wetblanket, Teddy. Of course I shall have rich pupils, alsoperhaps begin with such

altogether. Then, when I've got a start, I can take in a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish. Rich people's

children often need care and comfort, as well as poor. I've seen unfortunate little creatures left to servants, or

backward ones pushed forward, when it's real cruelty. Some are naughty through mismanagment or neglect,

and some lose their mothers. Besides, the best have to get through the hobbledehoy age, and that's the very

time they need most patience and kindness. People laugh at them, and hustle them about, try to keep them out

of sight, and expect them to turn all at once from pretty children into fine young men. They don't complain

much plucky little soulsbut they feel it. I've been through some thing of it, and I know all about it. I've

a special interest in such young bears, and like to show them that I see the warm, honest, wellmeaning boys'

hearts, in spite of the clumsy arms and legs and the topsyturvy heads. I've had experience, too, for haven't I

"And I've succeeded beyond my hopes, for here you are, a steady, sensible businessman, doing heaps of good

with your money, and laying up the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars. But you are not merely a

businessman, you love good and beautiful things, enjoy them yourself, and let 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 you won't let them say so. Yes, and when I have my flock, I'll just point to you, and say `There's your

Poor Laurie didn't know where to look, for, man though he was, something of the old bashfulness came over

"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 by doing 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 may thank these two for it." And he

laid one hand gently on his grandfather's head, and the other on Amy's golden one, for the three were never

"I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world!" burst out Jo, who was in an unusually

uplifted frame of mind just then. "When I have one of my own, I hope it will be as happy as the three I

know and love the best. If John and my Fritz were only here, it would be quite a little heaven on earth," she

added more quietly. And that night when she went to her room after a blissful evening of family counsels,

hopes, and plans, her heart was so full of happiness that she could only calm it by kneeling beside the empty

bed always near her own, and thinking tender thoughts of Beth. It was a very astonishing year altogether, for

things seemed to happen in an unusually rapid and delightful manner. Almost before she knew where she

was, Jo found herself married and settled at Plumfield. Then a family of six or seven boys sprung up like

mushrooms, and flourished surprisingly, poor boys as well as rich, for Mr. Laurence was continually finding

some touching case of destitution, and begging the Bhaers to take pity on the child, and he would gladly pay

a trifle for its support. In this way, the sly old gentleman got round proud Jo, and furnished her with the style

Of course it was uphill work at first, and Jo made queer mistakes, but the wise Professor steered her safely

into calmer waters, and the most rampant ragamuffin was conquered in the end. How Jo did enjoy her

`wilderness of boys', and how poor, dear Aunt March would have lamented had she been there to see the

sacred precincts of prim, wellordered Plumfield overrun with 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 gravel with profane boots unreproved, and played

cricket in the big field where the irritable `cow with a crumpled horn' used to invite rash youths to come and

be tossed. It became a sort of boys' paradise, and Laurie suggested that it should be called the `Bhaergarten',

It never was a fashionable school, and the Professor did not lay up a fortune, but it was just what Jo intended

it to be `a happy, homelike place for boys, who needed teaching, care, and kindness'. Every room in the big

house was soon full. Every little plot in the garden soon had its owner. A regular menagerie appeared in barn

and shed, for pet animals were allowed. And three times a day, Jo smiled at her Fritz from the head of a long

table lined on either side with rows of happy young faces, which all turned to her with affectionate eyes,

confiding words, and grateful hearts, full of love for `Mother Bhaer'. She had boys enough now, and did not

tire of them, though they were not angels, by any means, and some of them caused both Professor and

Professorin much trouble and anxiety. But her faith in the good spot which exists in the heart of the

naughtiest, sauciest, most tantalizing little ragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and in time success, for no

mortal boy could hold out long with Father Bhaer shining on him as benevolently as the sun, and Mother

Bhaer forgiving him seventy times seven. Very precious to Jo was the friendship of the lads, their penitent

sniffs and whispers after wrongdoing, their droll or touching little confidences, their pleasant enthusiasms,

hopes, and plans, even their misfortunes, for they only endeared them to her all the more. There were slow

boys and bashful boys, feeble boys and riotous boys, boys that lisped and 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

`Bhaergarten', though some people predicted that his admission would ruin the school.

Yes, Jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work, much anxiety, and a perpetual racket. She

enjoyed it heartily and found the applause of her boys more satisfying than any praise of the world, for now

she told no stories except to her flock of enthusiastic believers and admirers. As the years went on, two little

lads of her own came to increase her happinessRob, named for Grandpa, and Teddy, a happygolucky

baby, who seemed to have inherited his papa's sunshiny temper as well as his mother's lively spirit. How they

ever grew up alive in that whirlpool of boys was a mystery to their grandma and aunts, but they flourished

There were a great many holidays at Plumfield, and one of the most delightful was the yearly applepicking.

For then the Marches, Laurences, Brookes. And Bhaers turned out in full force and made a day of it. Five

years after Jo's wedding, one of these fruitful festivals occurred, a mellow October day, when the air was full

of an exhilarating freshness which made the spirits rise and the blood dance healthily in the veins. The old

orchard wore its holiday attire. Goldenrod and asters fringed the mossy walls. Grasshoppers skipped briskly

in the sere grass, and crickets chirped like fairy pipers at a feast. Squirrels were busy with their small

harvesting. Birds twittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every tree stood ready to send down

its shower of red or yellow apples at the first shake. Everybody was there. Everybody laughed and sang,

climbed up and tumbled down. Everybody declared that there never had been such a perfect day or such a

jolly set to enjoy it, and everyone gave themselves up to the simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if there

Mr. March strolled placidly about, quoting Tusser, Cowley, and Columella to Mr. Laurence, while enjoying...

The Professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stout Teutonic knight, with a pole for a lance,

leading on the boys, who made a hook and ladder company of themselves, and performed wonders in the way

of ground and lofty tumbling. Laurie devoted himself to the little ones, rode his small daughter in a

bushelbasket, took Daisy up among the bird's nests, and kept adventurous Rob from breaking his neck. Mrs.

March and Meg sat among the apple piles like a pair of Pomonas, sorting the contributions that kept pouring

in, while Amy with a beautiful motherly expression in her face sketched the various groups, and watched

Jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with her gown pinned up, and her hat anywhere but on her

head, and her baby tucked under her arm, ready for any lively adventure which might turn up. Little Teddy

bore a charmed life, for nothing ever happened to him, and Jo never felt any anxiety when he was whisked up

into a tree by one lad, galloped off on the back of another, or supplied with sour russets by his indulgent papa,

who labored under the Germanic delusion that babies could digest anything, from pickled cabbage to buttons,

nails, and their own small shoes. She knew that little Ted would turn up again in time, safe and rosy, dirty

and serene, and she always received him back with a hearty welcome, for Jo loved her babies tenderly.

At four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remained empty, while the apple 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,

for an outofdoor tea was always the crowning joy of the day. The land literally flowed with milk and

honey on such occasions, for the lads were not required to sit at table, but allowed to partake of refreshment

as they likedfreedom being the sauce best beloved by the boyish soul. They availed themselves of the rare

privilege to the fullest extent, for some tried the 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 in the trees like a new style of bird. The little girls had a private tea

When no one could eat any more, the Professor proposed the first regular toast, which was always drunk at

such times"Aunt March, God bless her!" A toast heartily given by the good man, who never forgot how

much he owed her, and quietly drunk by the boys, who had been taught to keep her memory green.

That was given with a will, as you may well believe, and the cheering once begun, it was hard to stop it.

Everybody's health was proposed, form Mr. Laurence, who was considered their special patron, to the

astonished guinea pig, who had strayed from its proper sphere in search of its young master. Demi, as the

oldest grandchild, then presented the queen of the day with various gifts, so numerous that they were

transported to the festive scene in a wheelbarrow. Funny presents, some of them, but what would have been

defects to other eyes were ornaments to Grandma'sfor the children's gifts were all their own. Every stitch

Daisy's patient little fingers had put into the handkerchiefs she hemmed was better than embroidery to Mrs.

March. Demi's miracle of mechanical skill, though the cover wouldn't shut, Rob's footstool had a wiggle in its

uneven legs that she declared was soothing, and no page of the costly book Amy's child gave her was so fair

as that on which appeared in tipsy capitals, the words "To dear Grandma, from her little Beth."

During the ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared, and when Mrs. March had tried to thank her

children, and broken down, while Teddy wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the Professor suddenly began to

sing. Then, from above him, voice after voice took up the words, and from tree to tree echoed the music of

the unseen choir, as the boys sang with all their hearts the little song that Jo had written, Laurie set to music,

and the Professor trained his lads to give with the best effect. This was something altogether new, and it

proved a grand success, for Mrs. March couldn't get over her surprise, and insisted on shaking hands with

every one of the featherless birds, from tall Franz and Emil to the little quadroon, who had the sweetest voice

After this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving Mrs. March and her daughters under the festival tree.

"I don't think I ever ought to call myself `unlucky Jo' again, when my greatest wish has been so beautifully

gratified," said Mrs. Bhaer, taking Teddy's little fist out of the milk pitcher, in which he was rapturously

"And yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so long ago. Do you remember our castles in

the air?" asked Amy, smiling as she watched Laurie and John playing cricket with the boys.

"Dear fellows! It does my heart good to see them forget business and frolic for a day," answered Jo, who now

spoke in a maternal way of all mankind. "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 good book yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure

it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrations as these." And Jo pointed from the lively lads in

the distance to her father, leaning on the Professor's arm, as they walked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in

one of the conversations which both enjoyed so much, and then to her mother, sitting enthroned among her

daughters, with their children in her lap and at her feet, as if all found help and happiness in the face which

"My castle was the most nearly realized of all. I asked for splendid things, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I

should be satisfied, if I had a little 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 her hand on her tall boy's head, with a face full

"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 to helping others fulfill their dreams of beauty. I've begun to model a

figure of 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 at least keep the image of my little angel."

As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleeping child in her arms, for her one

wellbeloved daughter was a frail little creature 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 and sorrow bound them closely

together. Amy's nature was growing sweeter, deeper, and more tender. Laurie was growing more serious,

strong, and firm, and both were learning that beauty, youth, good fortune, even love itself, cannot keep care

"She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear. Don't despond, but hope and keep happy," said Mrs. March,

as tenderhearted Daisy stooped from her 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 Laurie to take more than half of every

burden," replied Amy warmly. "He never lets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, so

devoted to Beth, and such a stay and comfort to me always that I can't love him enough. So, in spite of my

"There's no need for me to say it, for everyone can see that I'm far happier than I deserve," added Jo, glancing

from her good husband to her chubby children, tumbling on the grass beside her. "Fritz is getting gray and

stout. I'm growing as thin as a shadow, and am thirty. We never shall be rich, and Plumfield may burn up any

night, for that incorrigible Tommy Bangs will smoke sweetfern cigars under the bedclothes, though he's

set himself afire three times already. But in spite of these unromantic facts, I have nothing to complain of,

and never was so jolly in my life. Excuse the remark, but living among boys, I can't help using their

"Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one," began Mrs. March, frightening away a big black cricket

"Not half so good as yours, Mother. Here it is, and we never can thank you enough for the patient sowing and

reaping you have done," cried Jo, with the loving impetuosity which she never would outgrow.

"A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmee dear," added Meg's tender voice.

Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren

to herself, and say, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility...

"Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!"