“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 straight; it looks sentimental tipped that way, and will fly off at the first puff. Now, then, come on!”

“O 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 hat-brims.