“She feels it in the air⁠—love, I mean⁠—and she’s going very fast. She’s got most of the symptoms⁠—is twittery and cross, doesn’t eat, lies awake, and mopes in corners. I caught her singing that song he gave her, and once she said ‘John,’ as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy. Whatever shall we do?” said Jo, looking ready for any measures, however violent.

“Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and patient, and father’s coming will settle everything,” replied her mother.

“Here’s a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How odd! Teddy never seals mine,” said Jo, next day, as she distributed the contents of the little post-office.

Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from Meg made them look up to see her staring at her note, with a frightened face.

“My child, what is it?” cried her mother, running to her, while Jo tried to take the paper which had done the mischief.