“Don’t be frightened, I guess I shan’t have it badly. I looked in mother’s book, and saw that it begins with headache, sore throat, and queer feelings like mine, so I did take some belladonna, and I feel better,” said Beth, laying her cold hands on her hot forehead, and trying to look well.

“If mother was only at home!” exclaimed Jo, seizing the book, and feeling that Washington was an immense way off. She read a page, looked at Beth, felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then said gravely; “You’ve been over the baby every day for more than a week, and among the others who are going to have it; so I’m afraid you are going to have it, Beth. I’ll call Hannah, she knows all about sickness.”

“Don’t let Amy come; she never had it, and I should hate to give it to her. Can’t you and Meg have it over again?” asked Beth, anxiously.

“I guess not; don’t care if I do; serve me right, selfish pig, to let you go, and stay writing rubbish myself!” muttered Jo, as she went to consult Hannah.