The first of December was a wintry day indeed to them, for a bitter wind blew, snow fell fast, and the year seemed getting ready for its death.  When Dr. Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, held the hot hand in both his own for a minute, and laid it gently down, saying, in a low voice to Hannah, “If Mrs. March can leave her husband she’d better be sent for.”

Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously, Meg dropped down into a chair as the strength seemed to go out of her limbs at the sound of those words, and Jo, standing with a pale face for a minute, ran to the parlor, snatched up the telegram, and throwing on her things, rushed out into the storm.  She was soon back, and while noiselessly taking off her cloak, Laurie came in with a letter, saying that Mr. March was mending again.  Jo read it thankfully, but the heavy weight did not seem lifted off her heart, and her face was so full of misery that Laurie asked quickly, “What is it?  Is Beth worse?”

“I’ve sent for Mother,” said Jo, tugging at her rubber boots with a tragic expression.

“Good for you, Jo!  Did you do it on your own responsibility?” asked Laurie, as he seated her in the hall chair and took off the rebellious boots, seeing how her hands shook.

“No.  The doctor told us to.”

“Oh, Jo, it’s not so bad as that?” cried Laurie, with a startled face.

“Yes, it is.  She doesn’t know us, she doesn’t even talk about the flocks of green doves, as she calls the vine leaves on the wall.  She doesn’t look like my Beth, and there’s nobody to help us bear it.  Mother and father both gone, and God seems so far away I can’t find Him.”

As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo’s cheeks, she stretched out her hand in a helpless sort of way, as if groping in the dark, and Laurie took it in his, whispering as well as he could with a lump in his throat, “I’m here.  Hold on to me, Jo, dear!”

She could not speak, but she did ‘hold on’, and the warm grasp of the friendly human hand comforted her sore heart, and seemed to lead her nearer to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble.

Laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fitting words came to him, so he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head as her mother used to do.  It was the best thing he could have done, far more soothing than the most eloquent words, for Jo felt the unspoken sympathy, and in the silence learned the sweet solace which affection administers to sorrow.  Soon she dried the tears which had relieved her, and looked up with a grateful face.

“Thank you, Teddy, I’m better now.  I don’t feel so forlorn, and will try to bear it if it comes.”

“Keep hoping for the best, that will help you, Jo.  Soon your mother will be here, and then everything will be all right.”

“I’m so glad Father is better.  Now she won’t feel so bad about leaving him.  Oh, me!  It does seem as if all the troubles came in a heap, and I got the heaviest part on my shoulders,” sighed Jo, spreading her wet handkerchief over her knees to dry.