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, with 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 her with a
face that made his short appeal eloquent and pathetic.
“Oh, Jo, can’t you?”
“Teddy, dear, I wish I could!”
That was all, except a little pause. Then Laurie
straightened himself up, said, “It’s all
right, never mind,” and went away without another
word. Ah, but it wasn’t all right, and
Jo did mind, for while the curly head lay on her arm
a minute after her hard answer, she felt as if she
had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left her
without a look behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie
never would come again.
BETH’S SECRET
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 for a time
forgot her fear.
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 her pale cheeks.
It was not a fashionable place, but even among the
pleasant people there, the girls made few friends,
preferring to live for one another. Beth was
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.
