When the sun peeped into the girls’ room early next morning to promise them a fine day, he saw a comical sight.  Each had made such preparation for the fete as seemed necessary and proper.  Meg had an extra row of little curlpapers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by putting a clothespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature.  It was one of the kind artists use to hold the paper on their drawing boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the purpose it was now being put.  This funny spectacle appeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Jo woke up and roused her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy’s ornament.

Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both houses.  Beth, who was ready first, kept reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters’ toilets by frequent telegrams from the window.

“There goes the man with the tent!  I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch in a hamper and a great basket.  Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the sky and the weathercock.  I wish he would go too.  There’s Laurie, looking like a sailor, nice boy!  Oh, mercy me!  Here’s a carriage full of people, a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys.  One is lame, poor thing, he’s got a crutch.  Laurie didn’t tell us that.  Be quick, girls!  It’s getting late.  Why, there is Ned Moffat, I do declare.  Meg, isn’t that the man who bowed to you one day when we were shopping?”

“So it is.  How queer that he should come.  I thought he was at the mountains.  There is Sallie.  I’m glad she got back in time.  Am I all right, Jo?” cried Meg in a flutter.

“A regular daisy.  Hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, it looks sentimental tipped that way and will fly off at the first puff.  Now then, come on!”

“Oh, Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat?  It’s too absurd!  You shall not make a guy of yourself,” remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down with a red ribbon the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned leghorn Laurie had sent for a joke.

“I just will, though, for it’s capital, so shady, light, and big.  It will make fun, and I don’t mind being a guy if I’m comfortable.”  With that Jo marched straight away and the rest followed, a bright little band of sisters, all looking their best in summer suits, with happy faces under the jaunty hatbrims.

Laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordial manner.  The lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes a lively scene was enacted there.  Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate, though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would do well to imitate, and who was much flattered by Mr. Ned’s assurances that he came especially to see her.  Jo understood