“Yes, mother; and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the big closet to put my books, and the copy of that picture which I’ve tried to make. The woman’s face is not good⁠—it’s too beautiful for me to draw⁠—but the baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to think He was a little child once, for then I don’t seem so far away, and that helps me.”

As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ-child on his mother’s knee, Mrs. March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She said nothing, but Amy understood the look, and, after a minute’s pause, she added gravely⁠—

“I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave me the ring today; she called me to her and kissed me, and put it on my finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she’d like to keep me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it’s too big. I’d like to wear them, mother; can I?”