drops continued to fall, and being a woman as well as a lover, she felt that, though it was too late to save her heart, she might her bonnet.  Now she remembered the little umbrella, which she had forgotten to take in her hurry to be off, but regret was unavailing, and nothing could be done but borrow one or submit to a drenching.  She looked up at the lowering sky, down at the crimson bow already flecked with black, forward along the muddy street, then one long, lingering look behind, at a certain grimy warehouse, with ‘Hoffmann, Swartz, & Co.’ over the door, and said to herself, with a sternly reproachful air . . .

“It serves me right! what business had I to put on all my best things and come philandering down here, hoping to see the Professor?  Jo, I’m ashamed of you!  No, you shall not go there to borrow an umbrella, or find out where he is, from his friends.  You shall trudge away, and do your errands in the rain, and if you catch your death and ruin your bonnet, it’s no more than you deserve.  Now then!”

With that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowly escaped annihilation from a passing truck, and precipitated herself into the arms of a stately old gentleman, who said, “I beg pardon, ma’am,” and looked mortally offended.  Somewhat daunted, Jo righted herself, spread her handkerchief over the devoted ribbons, and putting temptation behind her, hurried on, with increasing dampness about the ankles, and much clashing of umbrellas overhead.  The fact that a somewhat dilapidated blue one remained stationary above the unprotected bonnet attracted her attention, and looking up, she saw Mr. Bhaer looking down.

“I feel to know the strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under many horse noses, and so fast through much mud.  What do you down here, my friend?”

“I’m shopping.”

Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side to the wholesale hide and leather concern on the other, but he only said politely, “You haf no umbrella.  May I go also, and take for you the bundles?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jo’s cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what he thought of her, but she didn’t care, for in a minute she found herself walking away arm in arm with her Professor, feeling as if the sun had suddenly burst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all right again, and that one thoroughly happy woman was paddling through the wet that day.

“We thought you had gone,” said Jo hastily, for she knew he was looking at her.  Her bonnet wasn’t big enough to hide her face, and she feared he might think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly.

“Did you believe that I should go with no farewell to those who haf been so heavenly kind to me?” he asked so reproachfully that she felt as if she had insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily . . .

“No, I didn’t.  I knew you were busy about your own affairs, but we rather missed you, Father and Mother especially.”