“Hush! It won’t come to anything, I dare say; but I couldn’t rest till I had tried, and I said nothing about it, because I didn’t want anyone else to be disappointed.”

“It won’t fail. Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare, compared to half the rubbish that is published every day. Won’t it be fun to see them in print; and shan’t we feel proud of our authoress?”

Jo’s eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in; and a friend’s praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs.

“Where’s your secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I’ll never believe you again,” she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at a word of encouragement.

“I may get into a scrape for telling; but I didn’t promise not to, so I will, for I never feel easy in my mind till I’ve told you any plummy bit of news I get. I know where Meg’s glove is.”