“Blest if she ain’t in silk from head to foot; ain’t it a relishin’ sight to see her settin’ there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks calling little Amy ‘Mis.  Laurence!’” muttered old Hannah, who could not resist frequent “peeks” through the slide as she set the table in a most decidedly promiscuous manner.

Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then all burst out together—­trying to tell the history of three years in half an hour.  It was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and provide refreshment—­for they would have been hoarse and faint if they had gone on much longer.  Such a happy procession as filed away into the little dining room!  Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence.  Mrs. March as proudly leaned on the arm of ‘my son’.  The old gentleman took Jo, with a whispered, “You must be my girl now,” and a glance at the empty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, “I’ll try to fill her place, sir.”

The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for everyone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel at their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the opportunity.  Didn’t they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn’t they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry are frail?  Burdened with the guilty consciousness of the sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo’s sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to ‘Dranpa’, who hadn’t his spectacles on.  Amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returned to the parlor on Father Laurence’s arm.  The others paired off as before, and this arrangement left Jo companionless.  She did not mind it at the minute, for she lingered to answer Hannah’s eager inquiry.

“Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silver dishes that’s stored away over yander?”

“Shouldn’t wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, and wore diamonds and point lace every day.  Teddy thinks nothing too good for her,” returned Jo with infinite satisfaction.

“No more there is!  Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?” asked Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose.

“I don’t care,” and Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an uncongenial topic just then.  She stood a minute looking at the party vanishing above, and as Demi’s short plaid legs toiled up the last stair, a sudden sense of loneliness came over her so strongly that she looked about her with dim eyes, as if to find something to lean upon, for even Teddy had deserted her.  If she had known what birthday gift was coming every minute nearer and nearer, she would not have said to herself, “I’ll weep a little weep when I go to bed.  It won’t do to be dismal now.”  Then she drew her hand over her eyes, for one of her boyish habits was never to know where her handkerchief was, and had just managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the porch door.