Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips.
It might be unmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of it.
Presently, as Jo's sobs quieted, he said hopefully, "I don't think she will die.

She's so good, and we all love her so much, I don't believe God will take her away yet." "The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words cheered her up in spite of her own doubts and fears.
"Poor girl, you're worn out.

It isn't like you to be forlorn.

Stop a bit.

I'll hearten you up in a jiffy." Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head down on Beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from the table where she left it.