“Beth, if you don’t keep these horrid cats down cellar I’ll have them drowned,” exclaimed Meg angrily, as she tried to get rid of the kitten, which had scrambled up her back, and stuck like a burr just out of reach.

Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed, because she couldn’t remember how much nine times twelve was.

“Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry,” cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoilt sentence in her letter.