You're not half good enough for--well, whoever the modest girl may be." and Jo looked a little queer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her.
"That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently wound Jo's apron tassel round his finger.
"Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo, adding aloud, "Go and sing to me.

I'm dying for some music, and always like yours." "I'd rather stay here, thank you." "Well, you can't, there isn't room.

Go and make yourself useful, since you are too big to be ornamental.

I thought you hated to be tied to a woman's apron string ?" retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of his own.
"Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie gave an audacious tweak at the tassel.
"Are you going ?" demanded Jo, diving for the pillow.
He fled at once, and the minute it was well, "Up with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee," she slipped away to return no more till the young gentleman departed in high dudgeon.
Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the sound of a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's bedside, with the anxious inquiry, "What is it, dear ?" "I thought you were asleep," sobbed Beth.
"Is it the old pain, my precious ?" "No, it's a new one, but I can bear it," and Beth tried to check her tears.
"Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did the other." "You can't, there is no cure." There Beth's voice gave way, and clinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly that Jo was frightened.
"Where is it?
Shall I call Mother ?" "No, no, don't call her, don't tell her.

I shall be better soon.