he had her father's handsome nose and mouth, cast in a feminine
mould. The severe simplicity of a long linen pinafore suited her;
and she worked away with the entire absorption of the true artist,
unconscious of the loving eyes upon her, till Aunt Jo came in exclaiming
eagerly:

'My dear girls, stop your mud-pies and hear the news!'

Both artists dropped their tools and greeted the irrepressible woman
cordially, though genius had been burning splendidly and her coming
spoilt a precious hour. They were in the full tide of gossip when
Laurie, who had been summoned by Meg, arrived, and sitting down between
the sisters, with no barricade anywhere, listened with interest to the
news of Franz and Emil.

'The epidemic has broke out, and now it will rage and ravage your flock.
Be prepared for every sort of romance and rashness for the next ten
years, Jo. Your boys are growing up and will plunge headlong into a sea
of worse scrapes than any you have had yet,' said Laurie, enjoying her
look of mingled delight and despair.

'I know it, and I hope I shall be able to pull them through and land
them safely; but it's an awful responsibility, for they will come to me
and insist that I can make their poor little loves run smoothly. I
like it, though, and Meg is such a mush of sentiment she revels in the
prospect,' answered Jo, feeling pretty easy about her own boys, whose
youth made them safe for the present.

'I'm afraid she won't revel when our Nat begins to buzz too near her
Daisy. Of course you see what all that means? As musical director I am
also his confidante, and would like to know what advice to give,' said
Laurie soberly. 'Hush! you forget that child,' began Jo, nodding towards
Bess, who was at work again.

'Bless you! she's in Athens, and doesn't hear a word. She ought to leave
off, though, and go out. My darling, put the baby to sleep, and go for
a run. Aunt Meg is in the parlour; go and show her the new pictures till
we come,' added Laurie, looking at his tall girl as Pygmalion might have
looked at Galatea; for he considered her the finest statue in the house.

'Yes, papa; but please tell me if it is good'; and Bess obediently put
down her tools, with a lingering glance at the bust.

'My cherished daughter, truth compels me to confess that one cheek is
plumper than the other; and the curls upon its infant brow are rather
too much like horns for perfect grace; otherwise it rivals Raphael's
Chanting Cherubs, and I'm