“Prut! that I do not believe. It was asleep till the fairy prince came through the wood, and waked it up. Ah, well, ‘ Die erste Liebe ist die beste ;’ but that I should not expect.”
“Yes, the first love is the best; so be contented, for I never had another. Teddy was only a boy, and soon got over his little fancy,” said Jo, anxious to correct the Professor’s mistake.
“Good! then I shall rest happy, and be sure that thou givest me all. I haf waited so long, I am grown selfish, as thou wilt find, Professorin.”
“I like that,” cried Jo, delighted with her new name. “Now tell me what brought you, at last, just when I most wanted you?”
“This;” and Mr. Bhaer took a little worn paper out of his waistcoat-pocket.
Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her own contributions to a paper that paid for poetry, which accounted for her sending it an occasional attempt.
“How could that bring you?” she asked, wondering what he meant.
“I found it by chance; I knew it by the names and the initials, and in it there was one little verse that seemed to call me. Read and find him; I will see that you go not in the wet.”
Jo obeyed, and hastily skimmed through the lines which she had christened—
“Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago, By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side, With faded ribbons, brave and gay When fastened there, with childish pride, Long ago, on a rainy day. Four little names,