After this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving Mrs. March and her daughters under the festival tree.

“I don’t think I ever ought to call myself ‘unlucky Jo’ again, when my greatest wish has been so beautifully gratified,” said Mrs. Bhaer, taking Teddy’s little fist out of the milk pitcher, in which he was rapturously churning.

“And yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so long ago.  Do you remember our castles in the air?” asked Amy, smiling as she watched Laurie and John playing cricket with the boys.

“Dear fellows!  It does my heart good to see them forget business and frolic for a day,” answered Jo, who now spoke in a maternal way of all mankind.  “Yes, I remember, but the life I wanted then seems selfish, lonely, and cold to me now.  I haven’t given up the hope that I may write a good book yet, but I can wait, and I’m sure it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrations as these,” and Jo pointed from the lively lads in the distance to her father, leaning on the Professor’s arm, as they walked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in one of the conversations which both enjoyed so much, and then to her mother, sitting enthroned among her daughters, with their children in her lap and at her feet, as if all found help and happiness in the face which never could grow old to them.

“My castle was the most nearly realized of all.  I asked for splendid things, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I should be satisfied, if I had a little home, and John, and some dear children like these.  I’ve got them all, thank God, and am the happiest woman in the world,” and Meg laid her hand on her tall boy’s head, with a face full of tender and devout content.

“My castle is very different from what I planned, but I would not alter it, though, like Jo, I don’t relinquish all my artistic hopes, or confine myself to helping others fulfill their dreams of beauty.  I’ve begun to model a figure of baby, and Laurie says it is the best thing I’ve ever done.  I think so, myself, and mean to do it in marble, so that, whatever happens, I may at least keep the image of my little angel.”

As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleeping child in her arms, for her one well-beloved daughter was a frail little creature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over Amy’s sunshine.  This cross was doing much for both father and mother, for one love and sorrow bound them closely together.  Amy’s nature was growing sweeter, deeper, and more tender.  Laurie was growing more serious, strong, and firm, and both were learning that beauty, youth, good fortune, even love itself, cannot keep care and pain, loss and sorrow, from the most blessed for . . .

    Into each life some rain must fall,
    Some days must be dark and sad and dreary.

“She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear.  Don’t despond, but hope and keep happy,” said Mrs. March, as tenderhearted Daisy stooped from her knee to lay her rosy cheek against her little cousin’s pale one.