Aunt Dodo was chief playmate and confidante of both children,and the trio turned the little house topsy-turvy. 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 bear-man’ 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 shaken by ardent admirers.
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 bear-man’ 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 surpassing worth.
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 effective—for 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 see—well, 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 suddenly enlightened him.
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, scarlet-stockinged legs,both grovelers so seriously absorbed that they were unconscious of spectators, till Mr.Bhaer laughed his sonorous laugh, and Jo cried out, with a scandalized face...
“Father, Father, here’s the Professor!”
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 and tell its name.”
“I knows him!” and, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs took the shape of a pair of compasses,and the intelligent pupil triumphantly shouted, “It’s a We, Dranpa, it’s a We!”
“He’s a born Weller,” laughed Jo, as her parent gathered himself up,and her nephew tried to stand on his head,as the only mode of expressing his satisfaction that school was over.
“What have you been at today, bubchen?” asked Mr. Bhaer, picking up the gymnast.
“Me went to see little Mary.”
“And what did you there?”
“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 waistcoat pocket.
“Oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and I liked it. Don’t little boys like little girls?” asked Demi, with his mouth full, and an air of bland satisfaction.
“You precocious chick!Who put that into your head?” said Jo, enjoying the innocent revelation as much as the Professor.
“’Tisn’t in mine head, it’s in mine mouf,” answered literal Demi, putting out his tongue,with a chocolate drop on it, thinking she alluded to confectionery, not ideas.
“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 smile, was impressed by it, and artlessy inquired. ..
“Do great boys like great girls, to, ’Fessor?”
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 sweet and sour.
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 which Demi puzzled his small wits,and was forced to leave unsolved forever.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX UNDER THE UMBRELLA
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 and sodden fields.
“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 short-sighted 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 Friedrich—I mean Mr. Bhaer—doesn’t like tea.”
By the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on,yet everyone tried to look as if they were stone-blind 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 love.
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 arms.
For a fortnight, the Professor came and went with lover-like 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 first, and then—alas for romance—very cross.
“Disgusted, I dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came. It’s nothing to me, 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 gate, as she put on her things for the customary walk one dull afternoon.
“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 at her mother.
“Yes, I want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles,and two yards of narrow lavender ribbon. Have you got your thick boots on, and something warm under your cloak?”
“I believe so,” answered Jo absently.
“If you happen to meet Mr. Bhaer, bring him home to tea. I quite long to see the dear man, ” added Mrs. March.
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 help them through their troubles?”
The dry-goods stores were not down among the counting-houses, 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 half-smothered 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 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, & Co.’ over the door, and said to herself, with a sternly reproachful air...
“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 strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under many horse noses,and so fast through much mud. What do you down here, my friend?”
“I’m shopping.”
Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side to the wholesale hide and leather concern on the other,but he only said politely, “You haf no umbrella. May I go also, and take for you the bundles?”
“Yes, thank you.”
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 was paddling through the wet that day.
“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 to me?” 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 especially.”
“And you?”
“I’m always glad to see you, sir.”
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...
“I thank you, and come one more time before I go.”
“You are going, then?”
“I haf no longer any business here, it is done.”
“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 help. ”
“Tell me, please!I like to know all about the—the boys,” said Jo eagerly.
“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.
“Ah!But we shall not meet often, I fear, this place is at the West.”
“So far away!” and Jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it didn’t matter now what became of her clothes or herself.
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...
“Here’s the place for my errands. Will you come in?It won’t take long.”
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 puddles as if he rather enjoyed it on the whole.
“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 affectation of delight as they went in.
“May they haf oranges and figs?” asked Mr. Bhaer, with a paternal air.
“They eat them when they can get them.”
“Do you care for nuts?”
“Like a squirrel.”
“Hamburg grapes. Yes, we shall drink to the Fatherland in those?”
Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he didn’t buy a frail of dates,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 flowers to hold,he put up the old umbrella, and they traveled on again.
“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 taste and help?”
“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 thick, warm shawl would be a friendly thing to take the little mother.”
“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 family.
“Your lady may prefer this. It’s a superior article, a most desirable color,quite chaste and genteel,” he said, shaking out a comfortable gray shawl, and throwing it over Jo’s shoulders.
“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 bargain-hunter.
“Now shall we go home?” he asked, as if the words were very pleasant to him.
“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 gesture that the daisies flew out of the pot and were badly damaged.
“This is not our omniboos,” said the Professor, waving the loaded vehicle away,and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers.
“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 answered, with an irrepressible sob, “Because you are going away.”
“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 Fritz?” he added, all in one breath.
“Oh, yes!” said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his arm,and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him,even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.
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 “Jove-like” than ever,though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (for he held the umbrella all over Jo),and every finger of his gloves needed mending.
Passers-by 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 speak—intelligibly, I mean,for the emotional remarks which followed her impetuous “Oh, yes!” were not of a coherent or reportable character.
“Friedrich, why didn’t you...”
“Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!” cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight.
“I always call you so to myself—I forgot, but I won’t unless you like it.”
“Like it?It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say ‘thou’, also,and I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine.”
“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 romantic student than a grave professor.
“Well, then, why didn’t thou tell me all this sooner?” asked Jo bashfully.
“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 Jo—ah, the dear,funny little name—I 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 said ‘Yes’, then, if I had spoken?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid not, for I didn’t have any heart just then.”
“Prut!That I do not believe. It was asleep till the fairy prince came through the wood, and waked it up.Ah, well, ‘Die erste Liebe ist die beste’, but that I should not expect.”
“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, as thou wilt find, Professorin.”
“I like that,” cried Jo, delighted with her new name. “Now tell me what brought you, at last, just when I wanted you?”
“This,” and Mr. Bhaer took a little worn paper out of his waistcoat pocket.
Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed,for it was one of her own contributions to a paper that paid for poetry,which accounted for her sending it an occasional attempt.
“How could that bring you?” she asked, wondering what he meant.
“I found it by chance. I knew it by the names and the initials,and in it there was one little verse that seemed to call me. Read and find him. I will see that you go not in the wet.”
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 happy 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 well-known 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, Lullabies ever soft and low In the falling summer rain.
“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, Half-writ 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 canonized 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 prison-house 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 spirit-stirring strain, Souls that shall gladly soar and sing In the long sunshine after rain.
“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 treasured so long.
“Let it go, it has done its 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 shall hope to receive, take it in Gott’s name?’”
“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 charger in gorgeous array.
“What made you stay away so long?” she asked presently, finding it so pleasant to ask confidential questions and get delightful answers that she could not keep silent.
“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 for a poor old fellow,who has no fortune but a little learning?”