The sight of the turnovers made Jo sober again; and when the two went out to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the window where they were accustomed to see their mother’s face. It was gone; but Beth had remembered the little household ceremony, and there she was, nodding away at them like a rosy-faced mandarin.

“That’s so like my Beth!” said Jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face. “Goodbye, Meggy; I hope the Kings won’t train today. Don’t fret about father, dear,” she added, as they parted.

“And I hope Aunt March won’t croak. Your hair is becoming, and it looks very boyish and nice,” returned Meg, trying not to smile at the curly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister’s shoulders.

“That’s my only comfort;” and, touching her hat à la Laurie, away went Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day.