“She sits alone a good deal, and doesn’t talk to her father. I found her crying over the babies the other day. This isn’t like Beth, and it worries me.”

“Have you asked her about it?”

“I have tried once or twice, but she evaded my questions.”

“I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes. Why, Mother, Beth is eighteen, but we don’t realize it, and treat her like a child. We forget she’s a woman.”

“So she is. Dear heart, how fast you grow up,” returned her mother with a sigh and a smile.

“Can’t be helped, Mama.”

“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.”

“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.

Jo watched Beth. Sitting at the window, Beth leaned her head upon her hand, while her eyes rested on the dull, autumn landscape. Suddenly someone passed below, and a voice called out, “All right! I’ll come in tonight.”

Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, 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 walked out of the room.

“Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!” she said, sitting down in her own room, pale with the shock of the discovery.

Jo turned scarlet with a sudden thought.

“If he doesn’t love her, how dreadful it will be! He must. I’ll make him! Oh dear, we are growing up. Here’s Meg married, Amy is flourishing away at Paris, and Beth is in love. I’m the only one that has sense here.”

Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked with Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle. Indeed, a general impression was that he liked Jo, who, however, did not want to hear a word upon the subject.

When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month, but these small flames were brief. But later he avoided the tender subject altogether. Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made. Jo watched Laurie that night as she never did before.

As usual Beth lay on the sofa and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all sorts of gossip. 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.

“Who knows? Stranger things have happened,” thought Jo. “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.”

As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that she ought to go away. But where to go? And she sat down on the sofa.

Soon a form appeared beside her, and with both arms spread over the sofa back, both long legs stretched out before him, Laurie exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction…

“Now, good and cheap.”

“No slang,” snapped Jo.

“Come, Jo, don’t be thorny.”

“How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?”

“Not one, upon my word. She’s engaged.”

“I’m glad of it, that’s one of your foolish extravagances, sending flowers and things to girls for whom you don’t care two pins^[25],” continued Jo.

“Sensible girls for whom I care whole papers of pins won’t let me send them ‘flowers and things’, so what can I do? My feelings need an exit.”

“Mother doesn’t approve of flirting even in fun, and you flirt desperately, Teddy.”

“I’ll give anything if I can answer, ‘So do you’. As I can’t, I’ll merely say that I don’t see any harm in that pleasant little game, if all parties understand that it’s only play.”

“Well, it looks pleasant, but I can’t learn how it’s done.”,

“Take lessons of Amy, she has a regular talent for it.”

“Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far.”

“I’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 them afterward, they’d mend their ways, I fancy.”

“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, and then you blame them. If you must have an ‘exit’, Teddy, go and devote yourself to one of the ‘pretty, modest girls’ whom you do respect, and not waste your time with the silly ones.”

“You really advise it?” and Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.

“Yes, I do.”

Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the sound of a stifled sob made her fly to Beth’s bedside, with the anxious inquiry,

“What is it, dear?”

“I thought you were asleep,” sobbed Beth.

“Is it the old pain, my precious?”

“No, it’s a new one, but I can bear it,” and Beth tried to check her tears.

“Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did the other.”

“You can’t, there is no cure.”

There Beth’s voice gave way, and clinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly that Jo was frightened.

“Where is it? Shall I call Mother?”

“No, no, don’t call her, don’t tell her. I shall be better soon. Lie down here. I’ll be quiet and go to sleep, indeed I will.”

“Does anything trouble you, dear?”

“Yes, Jo,” after a long pause.

“Wouldn’t it comfort you to tell me what it is?”

“Not now, not yet.”

“Then I won’t ask, but remember, Bethy, that Mother and Jo are always glad to hear and help you, if they can.”

“I know it. I’ll tell you by-and-by.”

“Is the pain better now?”

“Oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, Jo.”

“Go to sleep, dear. I’ll stay with you.”

So cheek to cheek they fell asleep.

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, Mummy,” she began, as they sat along together. “I want to go away somewhere this winter for a change.”

“Why, Jo?” and her mother looked up quickly.

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.”

“Where will you go?”

“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 will fit if I try.”

“My dear, go out to service in that great boarding house^[26]!” and Mrs. March looked surprised, but not displeased.

“It’s not exactly going out to service, for Mrs. Kirke is your friend and would make things pleasant for me, I know. It’s honest work, and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Nor I. But your writing?”

“All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new things, get new ideas.”

“I have no doubt of it, but are these your only reasons for this sudden fancy?”

“No, Mother.”

“May I know the others?”

Jo looked up and down, then said slowly, with sudden color in her cheeks.

“It may be vain and wrong to say it, but – I’m afraid – Laurie is getting too fond of me.”

“Then you don’t care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care for you?” and Mrs. March looked anxious as she put the question.

“Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immensely proud of him, but as for anything more, it’s out of the question.”

“I’m glad of that, Jo.”

“Why, please?”

“Because, dear, I don’t think you suited to one another. As friends you are very happy. But I fear you will both rebel if you are married. You are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together.”

“That’s just the feeling I had, though I couldn’t express it. It would trouble me sadly to make him unhappy.”

“You are sure of his feeling for you?”

The color deepened in Jo’s cheeks.

“I’m afraid it is so, Mother. He hasn’t said anything, but he looks a great deal. I think I must go away before it comes to anything.”

“I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go.”

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. Jo was surprised that Laurie took it very quietly and made her preparations with a lightened heart.

“One thing I leave in your especial care,” she said to Beth, the night before she left.

“You mean your papers?” asked Beth.

“No, my boy. Be very good to him, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, but I can’t fill your place, and he’ll miss you sadly.”

“It won’t hurt him, so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague, pet, and keep in order.”

“I’ll do my best, for your sake,” promised Beth, wondering why Jo looked at her so queerly.

When Laurie said good-bye, he whispered significantly,

“It’s useless, Jo. I watch you, so think what you do, or I’ll come and bring you home.”

Jo’s Journal

New York, November

Dear Mummy and Beth,

I’m going to write you a volume. I have may things to tell.

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 parlor – all she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window. I can sit here and write whenever I like.

“Now, my dear, make yourself at home,” said Mrs. K., “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.”

As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flights^[27] are very long in this tall house. As I stood waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to show up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at a door nearby, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent,

“It goes better so. The little back is too young to such heaviness.”

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 always does things of that sort.”

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. I mean to peep at him, and then I’ll tell you how he looks. He’s almost forty, so it’s no harm, mummy.

I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, and more tomorrow.

Tuesday

The children were very noisy and I really thought to shake them. Some good angel inspired me to try gymnastics, and soon they were glad to sit down and keep still. After luncheon, the servant took them out for a walk, and I went to my needlework.

Suddenly the parlor door opened and shut, and someone began to hum, “Kennst Du Das Land^[28]”, like a big bumblebee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I couldn’t resist the temptation, and lifted one end of the curtain before the glass door, and peeped in.

Professor Bhaer was there, and while he arranged his books, I took a good look at him. A regular German-rather stout, with brown hair all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I ever saw, and a splendid big voice. His clothes were rusty, his hands were large, and he had beautiful teeth. He looked like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat and there was a patch on one shoe. 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 door, said in a loud, brisk tone,