“Doesn’t Meg pull fair?” asked Laurie, looking indignant.

“Oh, yes, she tries to, but she can’t love Bethy as I do, and she won’t miss her as I shall.  Beth is my conscience, and I can’t give her up.  I can’t!  I can’t!”

Down went Jo’s face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried despairingly, for she had kept up bravely till now and never shed a tear.  Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips.  It might be unmanly, but he couldn’t help it, and I am glad of it.  Presently, as Jo’s sobs quieted, he said hopefully, “I don’t think she will die.  She’s so good, and we all love her so much, I don’t believe God will take her away yet.”

“The good and dear people always do die,” groaned Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend’s words cheered her up in spite of her own doubts and fears.

“Poor girl, you’re worn out.  It isn’t like you to be forlorn.  Stop a bit.  I’ll hearten you up in a jiffy.”

Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head down on Beth’s little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from the table where she left it.  It must have possessed some magic, for the submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo, and when Laurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, and said bravely, “I drink—­ Health to my Beth!  You are a good doctor, Teddy, and such a comfortable friend.  How can I ever pay you?” she added, as the wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done her troubled mind.

“I’ll send my bill, by-and-by, and tonight I’ll give you something that will warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine,” said Laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at something.

“What is it?” cried Jo, forgetting her woes for a minute in her wonder.

“I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and Brooke answered she’d come at once, and she’ll be here tonight, and everything will be all right.  Aren’t you glad I did it?”

Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for he had kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls or harming Beth.  Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment he stopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her arms round his neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, “Oh, Laurie!  Oh, Mother!  I am so glad!” She did not weep again, but laughed hysterically, and trembled and clung to her friend as if she was a little bewildered by the sudden news.

Laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence of mind.  He patted her back soothingly, and finding that she was recovering, followed it up by a bashful kiss or two, which brought Jo round at once.  Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, saying breathlessly, “Oh, don’t!  I didn’t mean to, it was dreadful of me, but you were such a dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I couldn’t help flying at you.  Tell me all about it, and don’t give me wine again, it makes me act so.”