“My patience, how blue we are!” cried Jo. “I don’t much wonder, poor dear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind, grind, year in and year out. Oh, don’t I wish I could manage things for you as I do for my heroines! You’re pretty enough and good enough already, so I’d have some rich relation leave you a fortune unexpectedly; then you’d dash out as an heiress, scorn everyone who has slighted you, go abroad, and come home my Lady Something, in a blaze of splendor and elegance.”

“People don’t have fortunes left them in that style nowadays; men have to work, and women to marry for money. It’s a dreadfully unjust world,” said Meg bitterly.

“Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all; just wait ten years, and see if we don’t,” said Amy, who sat in a corner, making mud pies, as Hannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, and faces.

“Can’t wait, and I’m afraid I haven’t much faith in ink and dirt, though I’m grateful for your good intentions.”