The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably, and reading, early in the morning, made Jo feel as if some natural phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would hardly have seemed stranger.

“Everything is out of sorts, somehow,” she said to herself, going downstairs. “There’s Beth crying; that’s a sure sign that something is wrong with this family. If Amy is bothering, I’ll shake her.”

Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he had died.

“It’s all my fault⁠—I forgot him⁠—there isn’t a seed or a drop left. O Pip! O Pip! how could I be so cruel to you?” cried Beth, taking the poor thing in her hands, and trying to restore him.