“I don’t mind,” laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie.  “Why, you see I got fidgety, and so did Grandpa.  We thought Hannah was overdoing the authority business, and your mother ought to know.  She’d never forgive us if Beth . . .  Well, if anything happened, you know.  So I got grandpa to say it was high time we did something, and off I pelted to the office yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most took my head off when I proposed a telegram.  I never can bear to be ‘lorded over’, so that settled my mind, and I did it.  Your mother will come, I know, and the late train is in at two A.M.  I shall go for her, and you’ve only got to bottle up your rapture, and keep Beth quiet till that blessed lady gets here.”

“Laurie, you’re an angel!  How shall I ever thank you?”

“Fly at me again.  I rather liked it,” said Laurie, looking mischievous, a thing he had not done for a fortnight.

“No, thank you.  I’ll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes.  Don’t tease, but go home and rest, for you’ll be up half the night.  Bless you, Teddy, bless you!”

Jo had backed into a corner, and as she finished her speech, she vanished precipitately into the kitchen, where she sat down upon a dresser and told the assembled cats that she was “happy, oh, so happy!” while Laurie departed, feeling that he had made a rather neat thing of it.

“That’s the interferingest chap I ever see, but I forgive him and do hope Mrs. March is coming right away,” said Hannah, with an air of relief, when Jo told the good news.

Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while Jo set the sickroom in order, and Hannah “knocked up a couple of pies in case of company unexpected”.  A breath of fresh air seemed to blow through the house, and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms.  Everything appeared to feel the hopeful change.  Beth’s bird began to chirp again, and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy’s bush in the window.  The fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness, and every time the girls met, their pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one another, whispering encouragingly, “Mother’s coming, dear!  Mother’s coming!” Every one rejoiced but Beth.  She lay in that heavy stupor, alike unconscious of hope and joy, doubt and danger.  It was a piteous sight, the once rosy face so changed and vacant, the once busy hands so weak and wasted, the once smiling lips quite dumb, and the once pretty, well-kept hair scattered rough and tangled on the pillow.  All day she lay so, only rousing now and then to mutter, “Water!” with lips so parched they could hardly shape the word.  All day Jo and Meg hovered over her, watching, waiting, hoping, and trusting in God and Mother, and all day the snow fell, the bitter wind raged, and the hours dragged slowly by.  But night came at last, and every time the clock struck, the sisters, still sitting on either side of the bed, looked at each other with brightening eyes, for each hour brought help nearer.  The doctor had been in to say that some change, for better or worse, would probably take place about midnight, at which time he would return.