“Well, I won’t; but I hate to see things going all crisscross and getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten it out. I wish wearing flatirons on our heads would keep us from growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats⁠—more’s the pity!”

“What’s that about flatirons and cats?” asked Meg, as she crept into the room, with the finished letter in her hand.

“Only one of my stupid speeches. I’m going to bed; come, Peggy,” said Jo, unfolding herself, like an animated puzzle.

“Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love to John,” said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter, and gave it back.

“Do you call him ‘John’?” asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes looking down into her mother’s.