“ ‘I don’t understand what it’s all about. Go back and begin it, child.’
“Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could. Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, ‘I’m afraid it tires you, ma’am; shan’t I stop now?’
“She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way—
“ ‘Finish the chapter, and don’t be impertinent, miss.’ ”
“Did she own she liked it?” asked Meg.
“Oh, bless you, no! but she let old Belsham rest; and, when I ran back after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicar that she didn’t hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall, because of the good time coming. What a pleasant life she might have, if she only chose. I don’t envy her much, in spite of her money, for after all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, I think,” added Jo.
“That reminds me,” said Meg, “that I’ve got something to tell. It isn’t funny, like Jo’s story, but I thought about it a good deal as I came home. At the Kings today I found everybody in a flurry, and one of the children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. King talking very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they passed me, so I shouldn’t see how red their eyes were. I didn’t ask any questions, of course; but I felt so sorry for them, and was rather glad I hadn’t any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family.”
“I think being disgraced in school is a great deal try inger than anything bad boys can do,” said Amy, shaking her head, as if her experience of life