“Oh, Laurie, Laurie, I knew you’d come to me!”

I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood together quite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent down protectingly over the light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so well as Laurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Jo’s place and make him happy.  He did not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, were satisfied, and gladly left the rest to silence.

In a minute Amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears, Laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundry well-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future.  As he sat down beside her, Amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at the recollection of her impulsive greeting.

“I couldn’t help it, I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to see you.  It was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t come,” she said, trying in vain to speak quite naturally.

“I came the minute I heard.  I wish I could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear little Beth, but I can only feel, and . . .”  He could not get any further, for he too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quite know what to say.  He longed to lay Amy’s head down on his shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare, so took her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than words.

“You needn’t say anything, this comforts me,” she said softly.  “Beth is well and happy, and I mustn’t wish her back, but I dread the going home, much as I long to see them all.  We won’t talk about it now, for it makes me cry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay.  You needn’t go right back, need you?”

“Not if you want me, dear.”

“I do, so much.  Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one of the family, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while.”

Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full that Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what she wanted—­the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation she needed.

“Poor little soul, you look as if you’d grieved yourself half sick!  I’m going to take care of you, so don’t cry any more, but come and walk about with me, the wind is too chilly for you to sit still,” he said, in the half-caressing, half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her arm through his, and began to pace up and down the sunny walk under the new-leaved chestnuts.  He felt more at ease upon his legs, and Amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfully for her alone.