"What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?" askedMeg one snowy afternoon, as her sister came tramping throughthe hall, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broomin one hand and a shovel in the other.

"Going out for exercise," answered Jo with a mischievoustwinkle in her eyes.

"I should think two long walks this morning would havebeen enough! It's cold and dull out, and I advise you tostay warm and dry by the fire, as I do," said Meg with ashiver.

"Never take advice! Can't keep still all day, and notbeing a pussycat, I don't like to doze by the fire. I likeadventures, and I'm going to find some."

Yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no childrenfrolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows,and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and hisgrandson.

To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchantedpalace, full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed. Shehad long wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know theLaurence boy, who looked as if he would like to be known, if he onlyknew how to begin. Since the party, she had been more eager than ever,and had planned many ways of making friends with him, but he had notbeen seen lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when sheone day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully downinto their garden, where Beth and Amy were snow-balling one another.

"That boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself."His grandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut upall alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebodyyoung and lively. I've a great mind to go over and tell the oldgentleman so!"

The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things and wasalways scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of'going over' was not forgotten. And when the snowy afternoon came,Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off,and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where shepaused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curlyblack head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.

"There he is," thought Jo, "Poor boy! All alone and sick thisdismal day. It's a shame! I'll toss up a snowball and make him lookout, and then say a kind word to him."

Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once,showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the bigeyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed,and flourished her broom as she called out . . .

"How do you do? Are you sick?"

Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven . . .

"Better, thank you. I've had a bad cold, and been shut up aweek."

"I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?"

"Nothing. It's dull as tombs up here."

"Don't you read?"

"Not much. They won't let me."

"Can't somebody read to you?"

"Grandpa does sometimes, but my books don't interest him, andI hate to ask Brooke all the time."

"Have someone come and see you then."

"There isn't anyone I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, andmy head is weak."

"Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girlsare quiet and like to play nurse."

"Don't know any."

"You know us," began Jo, then laughed and stopped.

"So I do! Will you come, please?" cried Laurie.

"I'm not quiet and nice, but I'll come, if Mother will let me.I'll go ask her. Shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till Icome."

With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house,wondering what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutterof excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to getready, for as Mrs. March said, he was 'a little gentleman', and didhonor to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on afresh color, and trying to tidy up the room, which in spite of half adozen servants, was anything but neat. Presently there came a loudring, than a decided voice, asking for 'Mr. Laurie', and a surprised-looking servant came running up to announce a young lady.

"All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo," said Laurie, going to thedoor of his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy andquite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's threekittens in the other.

"Here I am, bag and baggage," she said briskly. "Mother sent herlove, and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me tobring some of her blanc mange, she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats would be comforting. I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn't refuse, she was so anxious to do something."

It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing, forin laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grewsociable at once.

"That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure,as Jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blanc mange, surrounded by agarland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium.

"It isn't anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to showit. Tell the girl to put it away for your tea. It's so simple you caneat it, and being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sorethroat. What a cozy room this is!"

"It might be if it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, andI don't know how to make them mind. It worries me though."

"I'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have thehearth brushed, so - and the things made straight on the mantelpiece,so - and the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofaturned from the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now then,you're fixed."

And so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whiskedthings into place and given quite a different air to the room. Lauriewatched her in respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to hissofa, he sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully . . .

"How kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please takethe big chair and let me do something to amuse my company."

"No, I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" and Jo lookedaffectionately toward some inviting books near by.

"Thank you! I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'drather talk," answered Laurie.

"Not a bit. I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going.Beth says I never know when to stop."

"Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimesgoes out with a little basket?" asked Laurie with interest.

"Yes, that's Beth. She's my girl, and a regular good one she is, too."

"The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?"

"How did you find that out?"

Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, "Why, you see I oftenhear you calling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can'thelp looking over at your house, you always seem to be having suchgood times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes youforget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are.And when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture tosee the fire, and you all around the table with your mother. Herface is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers,I can't help watching it. I haven't got any mother, you know."And Laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lipsthat he could not control.

The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo'swarm heart. She had been so simply taught that there was nononsense in her head, and at fifteen she was as innocent and frankas any child. Laurie was sick and lonely, and feeling how rich shewas in home and happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him.Her face was very friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle asshe said . . .

"We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leaveto look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping,you'd come over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heapsof good, and Beth would sing to you if I begged her to, and Amy woulddance. Meg and I would make you laugh over our funny stageproperties, and we'd have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?"

"I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind,though he does not look so, and he lets me do what I like, pretty much,only he's afraid I might be a bother to strangers," began Laurie,brightening more and more.

"We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't thinkyou'd be a bother. We want to know you, and I've been trying to doit this ever so long. We haven't been here a great while, you know,but we have got acquainted with all our neighbors but you."

"You see, Grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind muchwhat happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, youknow, and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at homeand get on as I can."

"That's bad. You ought to make an effort and go visitingeverywhere you are asked, then you'll have plenty of friends, andpleasant places to go to. Never mind being bashful. It won't lastlong if you keep going."

Laurie turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accusedof bashfulness, for there was so much good will in Jo it wasimpossible not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they weremeant.

"Do you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject,after a little pause, during which he stared at the fire and Jolooked about her, well pleased.

"Don't go to school, I'm a businessman - girl, I mean. I go towait on my great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too,"answered Jo.

Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but rememberingjust in time that it wasn't manners to make too many inquiries intopeople's affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.

Jo liked his good breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh atAunt March, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgetyold lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked Spanish, and thelibrary where she reveled.

Laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about theprim old gentleman who came once to woo Aunt March, and in themiddle of a fine speech, how Poll had tweaked his wig off to hisgreat dismay, the boy lay back and laughed till the tears randown his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what wasthe matter.

"Oh! That does me no end of good. Tell on, please," hesaid, taking his face out of the sofa cushion, red and shiningwith merriment.

Much elated with her success, Jo did 'tell on', all abouttheir plays and plans, their hopes and fears for Father, andthe most interesting events of the little world in which thesisters lived. Then they got to talking about books, and toJo's delight, she found that Laurie loved them as well as shedid, and had read even more than herself.

"If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandfatheris out, so you needn't be afraid," said Laurie, getting up.

"I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a toss ofthe head.

"I don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at herwith much admiration, though he privately thought she would havegood reason to be a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if shemet him in some of his moods.

The atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, Laurieled the way from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whateverstruck her fancy. And so, at last they came to the library,where she clapped her hands and pranced, as she always did whenespecially delighted. It was lined with books, and there werepictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full ofcoins and curiosities, and Sleepy Hollow chairs, and queer tables,and bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quainttiles all round it.

"What richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velourchair and gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction."Theodore Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world,"she added impressively.

"A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his headas he perched on a table opposite.

Before he could more, a bell rang, and Jo flew up, exclaimingwith alarm, "Mercy me! It's your grandpa!"

"Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, youknow," returned the boy, looking wicked.

"I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't knowwhy I should be. Marmee said I might come, and I don't thinkyou're any the worse for it," said Jo, composing herself, thoughshe kept her eyes on the door.

"I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged.I'm only afraid you are very tired of talking to me. It was sopleasant, I couldn't bear to stop," said Laurie gratefully.

"The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as shespoke.

"Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose Imust see him," said Laurie.

"Don't mind me. I'm happy as a cricket here," answered Jo.

Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way.She was standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman whenthe door opened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, "I'msure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes,though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous willof his own. He isn't as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him."

"Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there,to her great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence.

Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and herheart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she hadsaid. For a minute a wild desire to run away possessed her, butthat was cowardly, and the girls would laugh at her, so she resolvedto stay and get out of the scrape as she could. A second look showedher that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder eventhan the painted ones, and there was a sly twinkle in them, whichlessened her fear a good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever,as the old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful pause, "Soyou're not afraid of me, hey?"

"Not much, sir."

"And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?"

"Not quite, sir."

"And I've got a tremendous will, have I?"

"I only said I thought so."

"But you like me in spite of it?"

"Yes, I do, sir."

That answer pleased the old gentleman. He gave a short laugh,shook hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turnedup her face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod,"You've got your grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. Hewas a fine man, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and anhonest one, and I was proud to be his friend."

"Thank you, sir," And Jo was quite comfortable after that, forit suited her exactly.

"What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was thenext question, sharply put.

"Only trying to be neighborly, sir." And Jo told how her visitcame about.

"You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?"

"Yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would dohim good perhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad tohelp if we could, for we don't forget the splendid Christmas presentyou sent us," said Jo eagerly.

"Tut, tut, tut! That was the boy's affair. How is the poorwoman?"

"Doing nicely, sir." And off went Jo, talking very fast, asshe told all about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interestedricher friends than they were.

"Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and seeyour mother some fine day. Tell her so. There's the tea bell,we have it early on the boy's account. Come down and go on beingneighborly."

"If you'd like to have me, sir."

"Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't." And Mr. Laurence offeredher his arm with old-fashioned courtesy.

"What would Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marchedaway, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself tellingthe story at home.

"Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said theold gentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up witha start of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm withhis redoubtable grandfather.

"I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him atriumphant little glance.

"That's evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come toyour tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman." And having pulledthe boy's hair by way of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, whileLaurie went through a series of comic evolutions behind theirbacks, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo.

The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his fourcups of tea, but he watched the young people, who soon chattedaway like old friends, and the change in his grandson did notescape him. There was color, light, and life in the boy's facenow, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.

"She's right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these littlegirls can do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked andlistened. He liked Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, andshe seemed to understand the boy almost as well as if she hadbeen one herself.

If the Laurences had been what Jo called 'prim and poky',she would not have got on at all, for such people always madeher shy and awkward. But finding them free and easy, she wasso herself, and made a good impression. When they rose sheproposed to go, but Laurie said he had something more to showher, and took her away to the conservatory, which had beenlighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, asshe went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls oneither side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderfulvines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut thefinest flowers till his hands were full. Then he tied them up,saying, with the happy look Jo liked to see, "Please give theseto your mother, and tell her I like the medicine she sent me verymuch."

They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the greatdrawing room, but Jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grandpiano, which stood open.

"Do you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectfulexpression.

"Sometimes," he answered modestly.

"Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth."

"Won't you first?"

"Don't know how. Too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly."

So Laurie played and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriouslyburied in heliotrope and tea roses. Her respect and regard forthe 'Laurence' boy increased very much, for he played remarkably welland didn't put on any airs. She wished Beth could hear him, butshe did not say so, only praised him till he was quite abashed, andhis grandfather came to his rescue.

"That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugarplumsare not good for him. His music isn't bad, but I hope he will doas well in more important things. Going? well, I'm much obligedto you, and I hope you'll come again. My respects to your mother.Good night, Doctor Jo."

He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did notplease him. When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if shehad said something amiss. He shook his head.

"No, it was me. He doesn't like to hear me play."

"Why not?"

"I'll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as Ican't."

"No need of that. I am not a young lady, and it's only astep. Take care of yourself, won't you?"

"Yes, but you will come again, I hope?"

"If you promise to come and see us after you are well."

"I will."

"Good night, Laurie!"

"Good night, Jo, good night!"

When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the familyfelt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found somethingvery attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge.Mrs. March wanted to talk of her father with the old man who hadnot forgotten him, Meg longed to walk in the conservatory, Bethsighed for the grand piano, and Amy was eager to see the finepictures and statues.

"Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?"asked Jo, who was of an inquiring disposition.

"I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie'sfather, married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased theold man, who is very proud. The lady was good and lovely andaccomplished, but he did not like her, and never saw his son afterhe married. They both died when Laurie was a little child, andthen his grandfather took him home. I fancy the boy, who was bornin Italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losinghim, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes naturally by hislove of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare say hisgrandfather fears that he may want to be a musician. At any rate,his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he'glowered' as Jo said."

"Dear me, how romantic!" exclaimed Meg.

"How silly!" said Jo. "Let him be a musician if he wants to,and not plague his life out sending him to college, when he hatesto go."

"That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners,I suppose. Italians are always nice," said Meg, who was a littlesentimental.

"What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You neverspoke to him, hardly," cried Jo, who was not sentimental.

"I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knowshow to behave. That was a nice little speech about the medicineMother sent him."

"He meant the blanc mange, I suppose."

"How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course."

"Did he?" And Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurredto her before.

"I never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment whenyou get it," said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew allabout the matter.

"I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not tobe silly and spoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy and I like him,and I won't have any sentimental stuff about compliments and suchrubbish. We'll all be good to him because he hasn't got any mother,and he may come over and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?"

"Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Megwill remember that children should be children as long as they can."

"I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet,"observed Amy. "What do you say, Beth?"

"We have got to get by the lions first," said Jo, as if sherather liked the prospect.