Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by his reproof; but she stood the test, and he was satisfied; for, though no words passed between them, he knew that she had given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.
He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo was happy; for, while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons beside German, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her own life.
It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs. Kirke till June. Everyone seemed sorry when the time came; the children were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer’s hair stuck straight up all over his head, for he always rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind.
“Going home? Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in,” he said, when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard, in the corner, while she held a little levee on that last evening.
She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye over night; and when his turn came, she said warmly—
“Now, sir, you won’t forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you? I’ll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to know my friend.”
“Do you? Shall I come?” he asked, looking down at her with an eager expression which she did not see.
“Yes, come next month; Laurie graduates then, and you’d enjoy Commencement as something new.”