For a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hopedand loved, met occasionally, and wrote such voluminous lettersthat the rise in the price of paper was accounted for, Lauriesaid. The second year began rather soberly, for their prospectsdid not brighten, and Aunt March died suddenly. But when theirfirst sorrow was over - for they loved the old lady in spiteof her sharp tongue - they found they had cause for rejoicing,for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of joyfulthings possible.

"It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, forof course you intend to sell it," said Laurie, as they were alltalking the matter over some weeks later.

"No, I don't," was Jo's decided answer, as she petted thefat poodle, whom she had adopted, out of respect to his formermistress.

"You don't mean to live there?"

"Yes, I do."

"But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take apower of money to keep it in order. The garden and orchard aloneneed two or three men, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I takeit."

"He'll try his hand at it there, if I propose it."

"And you expect to live on the produce of the place? Well,that sounds paradisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work."

"The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one," andJo laughed.

"Of what is this fine crop to consist, ma'am?"

"Boys. I want to open a school for little lads - a good,happy, homelike school, with me to take care of them and Fritzto teach them."

"That's a truly Joian plan for you! Isn't that just likeher?" cried Laurie, appealing to the family, who looked as muchsurprised as he.

"I like it," said Mrs. March decidedly.

"So do I," added her husband, who welcomed the thought ofa chance for trying the Socratic method of education on modernyouth.

"It will be an immense care for Jo," said Meg, strokingthe head of her one all-absorbing son.

"Jo can do it, and be happy in it. It's a splendid idea.Tell us all about it," cried Mr. Laurence, who had been longingto lend the lovers a hand, but knew that they would refuse hishelp.

"I knew you'd stand by me, sir. Amy does too - I see it inher eyes, though she prudently waits to turn it over in her mindbefore she speaks. Now, my dear people," continued Jo earnestly,"just understand that this isn't a new idea of mine, but a longcherished plan. Before my Fritz came, I used to think how, whenI'd made my fortune, and no one needed me at home, I'd hire abig house, and pick up some poor, forlorn little lads who hadn'tany mothers, and take care of them, and make life jolly for thembefore it was too late. I see so many going to ruin for want ofhelp at the right minute, I love so to do anything for them, Iseem to feel their wants, and sympathize with their troubles, andoh, I should so like to be a mother to them!"

Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it, smiling,with tears in her eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way,which they had not seen for a long while.

"I told my plan to Fritz once, and he said it was just whathe would like, and agreed to try it when we got rich. Bless hisdear heart, he's been doing it all his life - helping poor boys, Imean, not getting rich, that he'll never be. Money doesn't stayin his pocket long enough to lay up any. But now, thanks to mygood old aunt, who loved me better than I ever deserved, I'm rich,at least I feel so, and we can live at Plumfield perfectly well,if we have a flourishing school. It's just the place for boys,the house is big, and the furniture strong and plain. There'splenty of room for dozens inside, and splendid grounds outside.They could help in the garden and orchard. Such work is healthy,isn't it, sir? Then Fritz could train and teach in his own way,and Father will help him. I can feed and nurse and pet and scoldthem, and Mother will be my stand-by. I've always longed for lotsof boys, and never had enough, now I can fill the house full andrevel in the little dears to my heart's content. Think what luxury - Plumfield my own, and a wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me."

As Jo waved her hands and gave a sigh of rapture, the familywent off into a gale of merriment, and Mr. Laurence laughed tillthey thought he'd have an apoplectic fit.

"I don't see anything funny," she said gravely, when shecould be heard. "Nothing could be more natural and proper thanfor my Professor to open a school, and for me to prefer to residein my own estate."

"She is putting on airs already," said Laurie, who regardedthe idea in the light of a capital joke. "But may I inquire howyou intend to support the establishment? If all the pupils arelittle ragamuffins, I'm afraid your crop won't be profitable ina worldly sense, Mrs. Bhaer."

"Now don't be a wet-blanket, Teddy. Of course I shall have richpupils, also - perhaps begin with such altogether. Then, when I'vegot a start, I can take in a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish.Rich people's children often need care and comfort, as well as poor.I've seen unfortunate little creatures left to servants, or backwardones pushed forward, when it's real cruelty. Some are naughtythrough mismanagment or neglect, and some lose their mothers.Besides, the best have to get through the hobbledehoy age, andthat's the very time they need most patience and kindness. Peoplelaugh at them, and hustle them about, try to keep them out of sight,and expect them to turn all at once from pretty children into fineyoung men. They don't complain much - plucky little souls - but theyfeel it. I've been through something of it, and I know all about it.I've a special interest in such young bears, and like to show themthat I see the warm, honest, well-meaning boys' hearts, in spite ofthe clumsy arms and legs and the topsy-turvy heads. I've hadexperience, too, for haven't I brought up one boy to be a pride andhonor to his family?"

"I'll testify that you tried to do it," said Laurie with a grateful look.

"And I've succeeded beyond my hopes, for here you are, asteady, sensible businessman, doing heaps of good with yourmoney, and laying up the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars.But you are not merely a businessman, you love good and beautifulthings, enjoy them yourself, and let others go halves, as youalways did in the old times. I am proud of you, Teddy, for youget better every year, and everyone feels it, though you won'tlet them say so. Yes, and when I have my flock, I'll just pointto you, and say 'There's your model, my lads'."

Poor Laurie didn't know where to look, for, man though hewas, something of the old bashfulness came over him as this burstof praise made all faces turn approvingly upon him.

"I say, Jo, that's rather too much," he began, just in hisold boyish way. "You have all done more for me than I can everthank you for, except by doing my best not to disappoint you. Youhave rather cast me off lately, Jo, but I've had the best of help,nevertheless. So, if I've got on at all, you may thank these twofor it," and he laid one hand gently on his grandfather's head,and the other on Amy's golden one, for the three were never farapart.

"I do think that families are the most beautiful things inall the world!" burst out Jo, who was in an unusually up-liftedframe of mind just then. "When I have one of my own, I hope itwill be as happy as the three I know and love the best. If Johnand my Fritz were only here, it would be quite a little heavenon earth," she added more quietly. And that night when she wentto her room after a blissful evening of family counsels, hopes,and plans, her heart was so full of happiness that she could onlycalm it by kneeling beside the empty bed always near her own, andthinking tender thoughts of Beth.

It was a very astonishing year altogether, for things seemedto happen in an unusually rapid and delightful manner. Almostbefore she knew where she was, Jo found herself married and settledat Plumfield. Then a family of six or seven boys sprung uplike mushrooms, and flourished surprisingly, poor boys as well asrich, for Mr. Laurence was continually finding some touching caseof destitution, and begging the Bhaers to take pity on the child,and he would gladly pay a trifle for its support. In this way,the sly old gentleman got round proud Jo, and furnished her withthe style of boy in which she most delighted.

Of course it was uphill work at first, and Jo made queermistakes, but the wise Professor steered her safely into calmerwaters, and the most rampant ragamuffin was conquered in the end.How Jo did enjoy her 'wilderness of boys', and how poor, dearAunt March would have lamented had she been there to see thesacred precincts of prim, well-ordered Plumfield overrun withToms, Dicks, and Harrys! There was a sort of poetic justiceabout it, after all, for the old lady had been the terror of the boysfor miles around, and now the exiles feasted freely on forbiddenplums, kicked up the gravel with profane boots unreproved,and played cricket in the big field where the irritable'cow with a crumpled horn' used to invite rash youths to come andbe tossed. It became a sort of boys' paradise, and Laurie suggestedthat it should be called the 'Bhaer-garten', as a complimentto its master and appropriate to its inhabitants.

It never was a fashionable school, and the Professor did notlay up a fortune, but it was just what Jo intended it to be - 'a happy, homelike place for boys, who needed teaching, care, andkindness'. Every room in the big house was soon full. Everylittle plot in the garden soon had its owner. A regular menagerieappeared in barn and shed, for pet animals were allowed.And three times a day, Jo smiled at her Fritz from the head ofa long table lined on either side with rows of happy young faces,which all turned to her with affectionate eyes, confiding words,and grateful hearts, full of love for 'Mother Bhaer'. She hadboys enough now, and did not tire of them, though they were notangels, by any means, and some of them caused both Professor andProfessorin much trouble and anxiety. But her faith in the goodspot which exists in the heart of the naughtiest, sauciest, mosttantalizing little ragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and intime success, for no mortal boy could hold out long with FatherBhaer shining on him as benevolently as the sun, and Mother Bhaerforgiving him seventy times seven. Very precious to Jo was thefriendship of the lads, their penitent sniffs and whispers afterwrongdoing, their droll or touching little confidences, theirpleasant enthusiasms, hopes, and plans, even their misfortunes,for they only endeared them to her all the more. There were slowboys and bashful boys, feeble boys and riotous boys, boys thatlisped and boys that stuttered, one or two lame ones, and amerry little quadroon, who could not be taken in elsewhere, butwho was welcome to the 'Bhaer-garten', though some people predictedthat his admission would ruin the school.

Yes, Jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work,much anxiety, and a perpetual racket. She enjoyed it heartily andfound the applause of her boys more satisfying than any praise ofthe world, for now she told no stories except to her flock ofenthusiastic believers and admirers. As the years went on, twolittle lads of her own came to increase her happiness - Rob,named for Grandpa, and Teddy, a happy-go-lucky baby, who seemedto have inherited his papa's sunshiny temper as well as hismother's lively spirit. How they ever grew up alive in thatwhirlpool of boys was a mystery to their grandma and aunts, butthey flourished like dandelions in spring, and their roughnurses loved and served them well.

There were a great many holidays at Plumfield, and one ofthe most delightful was the yearly apple-picking. For then theMarches, Laurences, Brookes and Bhaers turned out in full forceand made a day of it. Five years after Jo's wedding, one of thesefruitful festivals occurred, a mellow October day, when the airwas full of an exhilarating freshness which made the spirits riseand the blood dance healthily in the veins. The old orchard woreits holiday attire. Goldenrod and asters fringed the mossy walls.Grasshoppers skipped briskly in the sere grass, and crickets chirpedlike fairy pipers at a feast. Squirrels were busy with theirsmall harvesting. Birds twittered their adieux from the aldersin the lane, and every tree stood ready to send down its showerof red or yellow apples at the first shake. Everybody was there.Everybody laughed and sang, climbed up and tumbled down. Everybodydeclared that there never had been such a perfect day or sucha jolly set to enjoy it, and everyone gave themselves up tothe simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if there were nosuch things as care or sorrow in the world.

Mr. March strolled placidly about, quoting Tusser, Cowley,and Columella to Mr. Laurence, while enjoying . . .

The gentle apple's winey juice.

The Professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stoutTeutonic knight, with a pole for a lance, leading on the boys,who made a hook and ladder company of themselves, and performedwonders in the way of ground and lofty tumbling. Laurie devotedhimself to the little ones, rode his small daughter in a bushel-basket,took Daisy up among the bird's nests, and kept adventurousRob from breaking his neck. Mrs. March and Meg sat amongthe apple piles like a pair of Pomonas, sorting the contributionsthat kept pouring in, while Amy with a beautiful motherly expressionin her face sketched the various groups, and watched over onepale lad, who sat adoring her with his little crutch beside him.

Jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with hergown pinned up, and her hat anywhere but on her head, and herbaby tucked under her arm, ready for any lively adventure whichmight turn up. Little Teddy bore a charmed life, for nothingever happened to him, and Jo never felt any anxiety when he waswhisked up into a tree by one lad, galloped off on the back ofanother, or supplied with sour russets by his indulgent papa,who labored under the Germanic delusion that babies could digestanything, from pickled cabbage to buttons, nails, and their ownsmall shoes. She knew that little Ted would turn up again intime, safe and rosy, dirty and serene, and she always receivedhim back with a hearty welcome, for Jo loved her babies tenderly.

At four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remainedempty, while the apple pickers rested and compared rents andbruises. Then Jo and Meg, with a detachment of the bigger boys,set forth the supper on the grass, for an out-of-door tea wasalways the crowning joy of the day. The land literally flowedwith milk and honey on such occasions, for the lads were notrequired to sit at table, but allowed to partake of refreshmentas they liked - freedom being the sauce best beloved by the boyishsoul. They availed themselves of the rare privilege to thefullest extent, for some tried the pleasing experiment of drinkingmilk while standing on their heads, others lent a charm toleapfrog by eating pie in the pauses of the game, cookies weresown broadcast over the field, and apple turnovers roosted inthe trees like a new style of bird. The little girls had aprivate tea party, and Ted roved among the edibles at his ownsweet will.

When no one could eat any more, the Professor proposed thefirst regular toast, which was always drunk at such times - "AuntMarch, God bless her!" A toast heartily given by the good man,who never forgot how much he owed her, and quietly drunk by theboys, who had been taught to keep her memory green.

"Now, Grandma's sixtieth birthday! Long life to her, withthree times three!"

That was given with a will, as you may well believe, andthe cheering once begun, it was hard to stop it. Everybody'shealth was proposed, from Mr. Laurence, who was considered theirspecial patron, to the astonished guinea pig, who had strayedfrom its proper sphere in search of its young master. Demi, asthe oldest grandchild, then presented the queen of the day withvarious gifts, so numerous that they were transported to thefestive scene in a wheelbarrow. Funny presents, some of them,but what would have been defects to other eyes were ornamentsto Grandma's - for the children's gifts were all their own. Everystitch Daisy's patient little fingers had put into the handkerchiefsshe hemmed was better than embroidery to Mrs. March. Demi'smiracle of mechanical skill, though the cover wouldn't shut, Rob'sfootstool had a wiggle in its uneven legs that she declared wassoothing, and no page of the costly book Amy's child gave her wasso fair as that on which appeared in tipsy capitals, the words - "To dear Grandma, from her little Beth."

During the ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared,and when Mrs. March had tried to thank her children, and brokendown, while Teddy wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the Professorsuddenly began to sing. Then, from above him, voice after voicetook up the words, and from tree to tree echoed the music of theunseen choir, as the boys sang with all their hearts the littlesong that Jo had written, Laurie set to music, and the Professortrained his lads to give with the best effect. This was somethingaltogether new, and it proved a grand success, for Mrs. Marchcouldn't get over her surprise, and insisted on shaking handswith every one of the featherless birds, from tall Franz andEmil to the little quadroon, who had the sweetest voice of all.

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 whichhe was rapturously churning.

"And yet your life is very different from the one you picturedso 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 businessand frolic for a day," answered Jo, who now spoke in a maternalway of all mankind. "Yes, I remember, but the life I wanted thenseems selfish, lonely, and cold to me now. I haven't given up thehope that I may write a good book yet, but I can wait, and I'msure it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrationsas these," and Jo pointed from the lively lads in thedistance to her father, leaning on the Professor's arm, as theywalked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in one of the conversationswhich both enjoyed so much, and then to her mother, sitting enthronedamong her daughters, with their children in her lap and ather feet, as if all found help and happiness in the face whichnever could grow old to them.

"My castle was the most nearly realized of all. I asked forsplendid things, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I should besatisfied, if I had a little home, and John, and some dear childrenlike these. I've got them all, thank God, and am thehappiest woman in the world," and Meg laid her hand on her tallboy's head, with a face full of tender and devout content.

"My castle is very different from what I planned, but I wouldnot alter it, though, like Jo, I don't relinquish all my artistichopes, or confine myself to helping others fulfill their dreams ofbeauty. I've begun to model a figure of baby, and Laurie says itis the best thing I've ever done. I think so, myself, and meanto do it in marble, so that, whatever happens, I may at least keepthe image of my little angel."

As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of thesleeping child in her arms, for her one well-beloved daughter wasa frail little creature and the dread of losing her was the shadowover Amy's sunshine. This cross was doing much for both fatherand mother, for one love and sorrow bound them closely together.Amy's nature was growing sweeter, deeper, and more tender. Lauriewas growing more serious, strong, and firm, and both were learningthat beauty, youth, good fortune, even love itself, cannot keepcare and pain, loss and sorrow, from the most blessed for . . .

"She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear. Don'tdespond, but hope and keep happy," said Mrs. March, as tenderheartedDaisy stooped from her knee to lay her rosy cheek againsther little cousin's pale one.

"I never ought to, while I have you to cheer me up, Marmee,and Laurie to take more than half of every burden," replied Amywarmly. "He never lets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet andpatient with me, so devoted to Beth, and such a stay and comfortto me always that I can't love him enough. So, in spite of myone cross, I can say with Meg, 'Thank God, I'm a happy woman.'"

"There's no need for me to say it, for everyone can seethat I'm far happier than I deserve," added Jo, glancing fromher good husband to her chubby children, tumbling on the grassbeside her. "Fritz is getting gray and stout. I'm growing asthin as a shadow, and am thirty. We never shall be rich, andPlumfield may burn up any night, for that incorrigible TommyBangs will smoke sweet-fern cigars under the bed-clothes,though he's set himself afire three times already. But inspite of these unromantic facts, I have nothing to complainof, and never was so jolly in my life. Excuse the remark, butliving among boys, I can't help using their expressions nowand then."

"Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one," beganMrs. March, frightening away a big black cricket that wasstaring Teddy out of countenance.

"Not half so good as yours, Mother. Here it is, and wenever can thank you enough for the patient sowing and reapingyou have done," cried Jo, with the loving impetuosity whichshe never would outgrow.

"I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares everyyear," said Amy softly.

"A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart forit, Marmee dear," added Meg's tender voice.

Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch outher arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren to herself,and say, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude,and humility . . .

"Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never canwish you a greater happiness than this!"