It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self waswrapped up in another, and heart and soul were purified by asweet example. But when the helpful voice was silent, thedaily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remainedbut loneliness and grief, then Jo found her promise veryhard to keep. How could she 'comfort Father and Mother' whenher own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister,how could she 'make the house cheerful' when all its light andwarmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left theold home for the new, and where in all the world could she 'findsome useful, happy work to do', that would take the place of theloving service which had been its own reward? She tried in ablind, hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebelling againstit all the while, for it seemed unjust that her few joys shouldbe lessened, her burdens made heavier, and life get harder andharder as she toiled along. Some people seemed to get all sunshine,and some all shadow. It was not fair, for she tried morethan Amy to be good, but never got any reward, only disappointment,trouble and hard work.

Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something likedespair came over her when she thought of spending all her lifein that quiet house, devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures,and the duty that never seemed to grow any easier. "I can't do it.I wasn't meant for a life like this, and I know I shall break awayand do something desperate if somebody doesn't come and help me,"she said to herself, when her first efforts failed and she fellinto the moody, miserable state of mind which often comes whenstrong wills have to yield to the inevitable.

But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognizeher good angels at once because they wore familiar shapes and usedthe simple spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she startedup at night, thinking Beth called her, and when the sight of thelittle empty bed made her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissivesorrow, "Oh, Beth, come back! Come back!" she did not stretch outher yearning arms in vain. For, as quick to hear her sobbing asshe had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother cameto comfort her, not with words only, but the patient tendernessthat soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greatergrief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers,because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow.Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of thenight, turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief andstrengthned love. Feeling this, Jo's burden seemed easier to bear,duty grew sweeter, and life looked more endurable, seen from thesafe shelter of her mother's arms.

When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewisefound help, for one day she went to the study, and leaningover the good gray head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile,she said very humbly, "Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. Ineed it more than she did, for I'm all wrong."

"My dear, nothing can comfort me like this," he answered,with a falter in his voice, and both arms round her, as if he too,needed help, and did not fear to ask for it.

Then, sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo toldher troubles, the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitlessefforts that discouraged her, the want of faith that made life lookso dark, and all the sad bewilderment which we call despair. Shegave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, andboth found consolation in the act. For the time had come when theycould talk together not only as father and daughter, but as man andwoman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy as wellas mutual love. Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study whichJo called 'the church of one member', and from which she came withfresh courage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit.For the parents who had taught one child to meet death without fear,were trying now to teach another to accept life without despondencyor distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitudeand power.

Other helps had Jo - humble, wholesome duties and delights thatwould not be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowlylearned to see and value. Brooms and dishcloths never couldbe as distasteful as they once had been, for Beth had presidedover both, and something of her housewifely spirit seemed tolinger around the little mop and the old brush, never thrownaway. As she used them, Jo found herself humming the songsBeth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and giving thelittle touches here and there that kept everything fresh andcozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, thoughshe didn't know it till Hannah said with an approving squeezeof the hand . . .

"You thoughtful creeter, you're determined we shan't missthat dear lamb ef you can help it. We don't say much, but wesee it, and the Lord will bless you for't, see ef He don't."

As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improvedher sister Meg was, how well she could talk, how much she knewabout good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happyshe was in husband and children, and how much they were all doingfor each other.

"It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly halfof your nature, Jo. You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside,but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get atit. Love will make you show your heart one day, and then the roughburr will fall off."

"Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shaketo bring them down. Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be baggedby them," returned Jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind thatblows would ever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob.

Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit,but she felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument inher power, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as twoof Meg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo lovedtenderly. Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo's wasnearly ready for the bag. A little more sunshine to ripen the nut,then, not a boy's impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up topick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet.If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been moreprickly than ever, fortunately she wasn't thinking about herself, sowhen the time came, down she dropped.

Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, sheought at this period of her life to have become quite saintly,renounced the world, and gone about doing good in a mortifiedbonnet, with tracts in her pocket. But, you see, Jo wasn't aheroine, she was only a struggling human girl like hundreds ofothers, and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless,or energetic, as the mood suggested. It's highly virtuousto say we'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, and it takesa long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together before someof us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so far,she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she didnot, but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing! Shehad often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter howhard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautifulthan to devote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make homeas happy to them as they had to her? And if difficulties werenecessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could beharder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her ownhopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others?

Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, notwhat she had expected, but better because self had no part in it.Now, could she do it? She decided that she would try, and in herfirst attempt she found the helps I have suggested. Still anotherwas given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort,as Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arborwhere he rested, as he climbed the hill called Difficulty.

"Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy,"said her mother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed Jo.

"I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for mythings."

"We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest ofthe world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you good, andplease us very much."

"Don't believe I can." But Jo got out her desk and began tooverhaul her half-finished manuscripts.

An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratchingaway, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, whichcaused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with thesuccess of her suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, butsomething got into that story that went straight to the hearts ofthose who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried overit, her father sent it, much against her will, to one of the popularmagazines, and to her utter surprise, it was not only paid for, butothers requested. Letters from several persons, whose praise washonor, followed the appearance of the little story, newspaperscopied it, and strangers as well as friends admired it. For a smallthing it was a great success, and Jo was more astonished than whenher novel was commended and condemned all at once.

"I don't understand it. What can there be in a simple littlestory like that to make people praise it so?" she said, quite bewildered.

"There is truth in it, Jo, that's the secret. Humor and pathosmake it alive, and you have found your style at last. You wrotewith no thoughts of fame and money, and put your heart into it,my daughter. You have had the bitter, now comes the sweet. Doyour best, and grow as happy as we are in your success."

"If there is anything good or true in what I write, it isn'tmine. I owe it all to you and Mother and Beth," said Jo, moretouched by her father's words than by any amount of praise fromthe world.

So taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories,and sent them away to make friends for themselves and her, findingit a very charitable world to such humble wanderers, for they werekindly welcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother,like dutiful children whom good fortune overtakes.

When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. Marchfeared that Jo would find it difficult to rejoice over it, buther fears were soon set at rest, for though Jo looked grave atfirst, she took it very quietly, and was full of hopes and plansfor 'the children' before she read the letter twice. It was asort of written duet, wherein each glorified the other in loverlikefashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of,for no one had any objection to make.

"You like it, Mother?" said Jo, as they laid down the closelywritten sheets and looked at one another.

"Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that shehad refused Fred. I felt sure then that something better thanwhat you call the 'mercenary spirit' had come over her, and ahint here and there in her letters made me suspect that loveand Laurie would win the day."

"How sharp you are, Marmee, and how silent! You never saida word to me."

"Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues whenthey have girls to manage. I was half afraid to put the ideainto your head, lest you should write and congratulate them beforethe thing was settled."

"I'm not the scatterbrain I was. You may trust me. I'msober and sensible enough for anyone's confidante now."

"So you are, my dear, and I should have made you mine,only I fancied it might pain you to learn that your Teddy lovedsomeone else."

"Now, Mother, did you really think I could be so silly andselfish, after I'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if notbest?"

"I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thoughtthat if he came back, and asked again, you might perhaps, feel likegiving another answer. Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing thatyou are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in youreyes that goes to my heart. So I fancied that your boy might fillthe empty place if he tried now."

"No, Mother, it is better as it is, and I'm glad Amy has learned tolove him. But you are right in one thing. I am lonely, and perhapsif Teddy had tried again, I might have said 'Yes', not because Ilove him any more, but because I care more to be loved than when hewent away."

"I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on.There are plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with Fatherand Mother, sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till thebest lover of all comes to give you your reward."

"Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don't mindwhispering to Marmee that I'd like to try all kinds. It's verycurious, but the more I try to satisfy myself with all sorts ofnatural affections, the more I seem to want. I'd no idea heartscould take in so many. Mine is so elastic, it never seems fullnow, and I used to be quite contented with my family. I don'tunderstand it."

"I do," and Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turnedback the leaves to read what Amy said of Laurie.

"It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me. He isn'tsentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it inall he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble thatI don't seem to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good andgenerous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart,and I find it full of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, andam so proud to know it's mine. He says he feels as if he 'couldmake a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots oflove for ballast'. I pray he may, and try to be all he believesme, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul andmight, and never will desert him, while God lets us be together.Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world could be,when two people love and live for one another!"

"And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy! Truly, lovedoes work miracles. How very, very happy they must be!" and Jolaid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as onemight shut the covers of a lovely romance, which holds the readerfast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the workadayworld again.

By-and-by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and shecould not walk. A restless spirit possessed her, and the oldfeeling came again, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfullypatient wonder why one sister should have all she asked, the othernothing. It was not true, she knew that and tried to put it away,but the natural craving for affection was strong, and Amy's happinesswoke the hungry longing for someone to 'love with heartand soul, and cling to while God let them be together'.Up in the garret, where Jo's unquiet wanderings ended stoodfour little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its ownersname, and each filled with relics of the childhood and girlhoodended now for all. Jo glanced into them, and when she came toher own, leaned her chin on the edge, and stared absently at thechaotic collection, till a bundle of old exercise books caughther eye. She drew them out, turned them over, and relived thatpleasant winter at kind Mrs. Kirke's. She had smiled at first,then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to alittle message written in the Professor's hand, her lips beganto tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat lookingat the friendly words, as they took a new meaning, and toucheda tender spot in her heart.

"Wait for me, my friend. I may be a little late, but I shallsurely come."

"Oh, if he only would! So kind, so good, so patient with mealways, my dear old Fritz. I didn't value him half enough when Ihad him, but now how I should love to see him, for everyone seemsgoing away from me, and I'm all alone."

And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promiseyet to be fulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a comfortable ragbag, and cried, as if in opposition to the rain pattering on theroof.

Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits? Or was itthe waking up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patientlyas its inspirer? Who shall say?