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, “Ha!  Ha!”

“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 Macbeth, 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 seen a famous tragedian do.

“No, it’s the toasting fork, with Mother’s shoe on it instead of the bread.  Beth’s stage-struck!” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter.

“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 noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world.

“Well, dearies, how have you got on today?  There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn’t come home to dinner.  Has anyone called, Beth?  How is your cold, Meg?  Jo, you look tired to death.  Come and kiss me, baby.”

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, over-turning, 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 folded.

As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, “I’ve got a treat for you after supper.”

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 her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.