Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammockone warm September afternoon, wondering what his neighbors wereabout, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of hismoods, for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory,and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weathermade him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr.Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather bypracticing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants halfout of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogswas going mad, and, after high words with the stableman aboutsome fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself intohis hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general,till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself.Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees abovehim, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagininghimself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world,when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash.Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the Marchescoming out, as if bound on some expedition.

"What in the world are those girls about now?" thoughtLaurie, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good look, for therewas something rather peculiar in the appearance of hisneighbors. Each wore a large, flapping hat, a brown linen pouchslung over one shoulder, and carried a long staff. Meg had acushion, Jo a book, Beth a basket, and Amy a portfolio. Allwalked quietly through the garden, out at the little back gate,and began to climb the hill that lay between the house and river.

"Well, that's cool," said Laurie to himself, "to have a picnicand never ask me! They can't be going in the boat, for theyhaven't got the key. Perhaps they forgot it. I'll take it to them,and see what's going on."

Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some timeto find one, then there was a hunt for the key, which was at lastdiscovered in his pocket, so that the girls were quite out of sightwhen he leaped the fence and ran after them. Taking the shortest wayto the boathouse, he waited for them to appear, but no one came,and he went up the hill to take an observation. A grove of pinescovered one part of it, and from the heart of this green spot camea clearer sound than the soft sigh of the pines or the drowsy chirpof the crickets.

"Here's a landscape!" thought Laurie, peeping through thebushes, and looking wide-awake and good-natured already.

It was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sattogether in the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering overthem, the aromatic wind lifting their hair and cooling their hotcheeks, and all the little wood people going on with their affairsas if these were no strangers but old friends. Meg sat upon hercushion, sewing daintily with her white hands, and looking as freshand sweet as a rose in her pink dress among the green. Beth wassorting the cones that lay thick under the hemlock near by, forshe made pretty things with them. Amy was sketching a group offerns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud. A shadow passedover the boy's face as he watched them, feeling that he ought togo away because uninvited; yet lingering because home seemed verylonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to hisrestless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with itsharvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenlyand skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espiedthe wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuringsmile.

"May I come in, please? Or shall I be a bother?" he asked,advancing slowly.

Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly andsaid at once, "Of course you may. We should have asked you before,only we thought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this."

"I always like your games, but if Meg doesn't want me, I'llgo away."

"I've no objection, if you do something. It's against therules to be idle here," replied Meg gravely but graciously.

"Much obliged. I'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit,for it's as dull as the Desert of Sahara down there. Shall I sew,read, cone, draw, or do all at once? Bring on your bears.I'm ready." And Laurie sat down with a submissive expressiondelightful to behold.

"Finish this story while I set my heel," said Jo, handing himthe book.

"Yes'm." was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best toprove his gratitude for the favor of admission into the 'Busy BeeSociety'.

The story was not a long one, and when it was finished, heventured to ask a few questions as a reward of merit.

"Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructiveand charming institution is a new one?"

"Would you tell him?" asked Meg of her sisters.

"He'll laugh," said Amy warningly.

"Who cares?" said Jo.

"I guess he'll like it," added Beth.

"Of course I shall! I give you my word I won't laugh. Tellaway, Jo, and don't be afraid."

"The idea of being afraid of you! Well, you see we used toplay Pilgrim's Progress, and we have been going on with it inearnest, all winter and summer."

"Yes, I know," said Laurie, nodding wisely.

"Who told you?" demanded Jo.

"Spirits."

"No, I did. I wanted to amuse him one night when you wereall away, and he was rather dismal. He did like it, so don'tscold, Jo," said Beth meekly.

"You can't keep a secret. Never mind, it saves trouble now."

"Go on, please," said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed in herwork, looking a trifle displeased.

"Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well,we have tried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a taskand worked at it with a will. The vacation is nearly over, thestints are all done, and we are ever so glad that we didn't dawdle."

"Yes, I should think so," and Laurie thought regretfully ofhis own idle days.

"Mother likes to have us out-of-doors as much as possible, sowe bring our work here and have nice times. For the fun of it webring our things in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles toclimb the hill, and play pilgrims, as we used to do years ago. Wecall this hill the Delectable Mountain, for we can look far awayand see the country where we hope to live some time."

Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine, for through anopening in the wood one could look cross the wide, blue river,the meadows on the other side, far over the outskirts of thegreat city, to the green hills that rose to meet the sky. Thesun was low, and the heavens glowed with the splendor of anautumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds lay on the hilltops,and rising high into the ruddy light were silvery white peaksthat shone like the airy spires of some Celestial City.

"How beautiful that is!" said Laurie softly, for he was quickto see and feel beauty of any kind.

"It's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never thesame, but always splendid," replied Amy, wishing she could paint it.

"Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime - thereal country, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking.It would be nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real,and we could ever go to it," said Beth musingly.

"There is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go,by-and-by, when we are good enough," answered Meg with her sweetest voice.

"It seems so long to wait, so hard to do. I want to fly awayat once, as those swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate."

"You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later, no fear of that,"said Jo. "I'm the one that will have to fight and work, and climband wait, and maybe never get in after all."

"You'll have me for company, if that's any comfort. I shallhave to do a deal of traveling before I come in sight of yourCelestial City. If I arrive late, you'll say a good word for me,won't you, Beth?"

Something in the boy's face troubled his little friend, butshe said cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds,"If people really want to go, and really try all their lives, Ithink they will get in, for I don't believe there are any lockson that door or any guards at the gate. I always imagine it isas it is in the picture, where the shining ones stretch out theirhands to welcome poor Christian as he comes up from the river."

"Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which wemake could come true, and we could live in them?" said Jo, aftera little pause.

"I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose whichI'd have," said Laurie, lying flat and throwing cones at thesquirrel who had betrayed him.

"You'd have to take your favorite one. What is it?" askedMeg.

"If I tell mine, will you tell yours?"

"Yes, if the girls will too."

"We will. Now, Laurie."

"After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd liketo settle in Germany and have just as much music as I choose. I'mto be a famous musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hearme. And I'm never to be bothered about money or business, but justenjoy myself and live for what I like. That's my favorite castle.What's yours, Meg?"

Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, andwaved a brake before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats,while she said slowly, "I should like a lovely house, full of allsorts of luxurious things - nice food, pretty clothes, handsomefurniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to bemistress of it, and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants,so I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy it! For I wouldn'tbe idle, but do good, and make everyone love me dearly."

"Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air?" askedLaurie slyly.

"I said 'pleasant people', you know," and Meg carefully tiedup her shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face.

"Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husbandand some angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn'tbe perfect without," said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet,and rather scorned romance, except in books.

"You'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels inyours," answered Meg petulantly.

"Wouldn't I though? I'd have a stable full of Arabian steeds,rooms piled high with books, and I'd write out of a magic inkstand,so that my works should be as famous as Laurie's music. I want todo something splendid before I go into my castle, something heroicor wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't knowwhat, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you allsome day. I think I shall write books, and get rich and famous,that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream."

"Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, andhelp take care of the family," said Beth contentedly.

"Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie.

"Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. Ionly wish we may all keep well and be together, nothing else."

"I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be anartist, and go to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the bestartist in the whole world," was Amy's modest desire.

"We're an ambitious set, aren't we? Every one of us, butBeth, wants to be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect.I do wonder if any of us will ever get our wishes," said Laurie,chewing grass like a meditative calf.

"I've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I canunlock the door remains to be seen," observed Jo mysteriously.

"I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it.Hang college!" muttered Laurie with an impatient sigh.

"Here's mine!" and Amy waved her pencil.

"I haven't got any," said Meg forlornly.

"Yes, you have," said Laurie at once.

"Where?"

"In your face."

"Nonsense, that's of no use."

"Wait and see if it doesn't bring you something worth having,"replied the boy, laughing at the thought of a charming littlesecret which he fancied he knew.

Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions andlooked across the river with the same expectant expression whichMr. Brooke had worn when he told the story of the knight.

"If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see howmany of us have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then thannow," said Jo, always ready with a plan.

"Bless me! How old I shall be, twenty-seven!" exclaimed Meg,who felt grown up already, having just reached seventeen.

"You and I will be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, andAmy twenty-two. What a venerable party!" said Jo.

"I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by thattime, but I'm such a lazy dog, I'm afraid I shall dawdle, Jo."

"You need a motive, Mother says, and when you get it, she issure you'll work splendidly."

"Is she? By Jupiter, I will, if I only get the chance!" criedLaurie, sitting up with sudden energy. "I ought to be satisfied toplease Grandfather, and I do try, but it's working against the grain,you see, and comes hard. He wants me to be an India merchant, as hewas, and I'd rather be shot. I hate tea and silk and spices, andevery sort of rubbish his old ships bring, and I don't care how soonthey go to the bottom when I own them. Going to college ought tosatisfy him, for if I give him four years he ought to let me offfrom the business. But he's set, and I've got to do just as he did,unless I break away and please myself, as my father did. If therewas anyone left to stay with the old gentleman, I'd do it tomorrow."

Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threatinto execution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing upvery fast and, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man'shatred of subjection, a young man's restless longing to try theworld for himself.

"I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and nevercome home again till you have tried your own way," said Jo, whoseimagination was fired by the thought of such a daring exploit, andwhose sympathy was excited by what she called 'Teddy's Wrongs'.

"That's not right, Jo. You mustn't talk in that way, and Lauriemustn't take your bad advice. You should do just what yourgrandfather wishes, my dear boy," said Meg in her most maternal tone."Do your best at college, and when he sees that you try to please him,I'm sure he won't be hard on you or unjust to you. As you say, thereis no one else to stay with and love him, and you'd never forgiveyourself if you left him without his permission. Don't be dismal orfret, but do your duty and you'll get your reward, as good Mr. Brookehas, by being respected and loved."

"What do you know about him?" asked Laurie, grateful for thegood advice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn theconversation from himself after his unusual outbreak.

"Only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took goodcare of his own mother till she died, and wouldn't go abroad astutor to some nice person because he wouldn't leave her. And howhe provides now for an old woman who nursed his mother, and nevertells anyone, but is just as generous and patient and good as hecan be."

"So he is, dear old fellow!" said Laurie heartily, as Megpaused, looking flushed and earnest with her story. "It's likeGrandpa to find out all about him without letting him know, andto tell all his goodness to others, so that they might like him.Brooke couldn't understand why your mother was so kind to him,asking him over with me and treating him in her beautiful friendlyway. He thought she was just perfect, and talked about it fordays and days, and went on about you all in flaming style. If everI do get my wish, you see what I'll do for Brooke."

"Begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out,"said Meg sharply.

"How do you know I do, Miss?"

"I can always tell by his face when he goes away. If youhave been good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly. If youhave plagued him, he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wantedto go back and do his work better."

"Well, I like that? So you keep an account of my good andbad marks in Brooke's face, do you? I see him bow and smile ashe passes your window, but I didn't know you'd got up a telegraph."

"We haven't. Don't be angry, and oh, don't tell him I saidanything! It was only to show that I cared how you get on, andwhat is said here is said in confidence, you know," cried Meg,much alarmed at the thought of what might follow from hercareless speech.

"I don't tell tales," replied Laurie, with his 'high and mighty'air, as Jo called a certain expression which he occasionally wore."Only if Brooke is going to be a thermometer, I must mind and havefair weather for him to report."

"Please don't be offended. I didn't mean to preach or telltales or be silly. I only thought Jo was encouraging you in afeeling which you'd be sorry for by-and-by. You are so kind tous, we feel as if you were our brother and say just what we think.Forgive me, I meant it kindly." And Meg offered her hand with agesture both affectionate and timid.

Ashamed of his momentary pique, Laurie squeezed the kindlittle hand, and said frankly, "I'm the one to be forgiven. I'mcross and have been out of sorts all day. I like to have youtell me my faults and be sisterly, so don't mind if I am grumpysometimes. I thank you all the same."

Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself asagreeable as possible, wound cotton for Meg, recited poetry toplease Jo, shook down cones for Beth, and helped Amy with herferns, proving himself a fit person to belong to the 'Busy BeeSociety'. In the midst of an animated discussion on the domestichabits of turtles (one of those amiable creatures having strolledup from the river), the faint sound of a bell warned them thatHannah had put the tea 'to draw', and they would just have timeto get home to supper.

"May I come again?" asked Laurie.

"Yes, if you are good, and love your book, as the boys inthe primer are told to do," said Meg, smiling.

"I'll try."

"Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the Scotchmen do.There's a demand for socks just now," added Jo, waving herslike a big blue worsted banner as they parted at the gate.

That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight,Laurie, standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to thelittle David, whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit,and watched the old man, who sat with his gray head on his hand,thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had loved so much.Remembering the conversation of the afternoon, the boy said tohimself, with the resolve to make the sacrifice cheerfully, "I'lllet my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while heneeds me, for I am all he has."