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?”
“Yes, ‘codicils’, they call them.”
“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 done though it will spoil my looks.”
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 there really any danger about Beth?”
“I’m afraid there is, but we must hope
for the best, so don’t cry, dear.”
And Laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly
gesture which was very comforting.
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 gentle little sister.
CONFIDENTIAL
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 would
not unclasp the thin hand which clung to hers even
in sleep.
Hannah had ‘dished up’ an 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 she arrived, worn
out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.
What a strange yet pleasant day that was. So
brilliant and gay without, for all the world seemed
abroad to welcome the first snow. So quiet 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
storm-beaten 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.
