on the head, as Amy picked up her ball for her.
“Crosspatch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin,”
squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to peep into Jo’s face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that it was impossible to help laughing.
“Most observing bird,” said the old lady.
“Come and take a walk, my dear?” cried Polly, hopping toward the china-closet, with a look suggestive of lump-sugar.
“Thank you, I will. Come, Amy;” and Jo brought the visit to an end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow and sunshine; which impression caused Aunt March to say, as they vanished—