endly girls? They never seemed to see it, and if either
looked or spoke, a quick smile came like a sunburst through the clouds
to answer them. So Mrs Jo went on watching, wondering, and discovering,
till accident confirmed her fears.

Josie was called away one day, and Bess, tired of working, offered to
take her place if he cared for more reading.

'I do; your reading suits me better than Jo's. She goes so fast my
stupid head gets in a muddle and soon begins to ache. Don't tell her;
she's a dear little soul, and so good to sit here with a bear like me.'

The smile was ready as Bess went to the table for a new book, the last
story being finished.

'You are not a bear, but very good and patient, we think. It is always
hard for a man to be shut up, mamma says, and must be terrible for you,
who have always been so free.'

If Bess had not been reading titles she would have seen Dan shrink as
if her last words hurt him. He made no answer; but other eyes saw and
understood why he looked as if he would have liked to spring up and rush
away for one of his long races up the hill, as he used to do when the
longing for liberty grew uncontrollable. Moved by a sudden impulse, Mrs
Jo caught up her work-basket and went to join her neighbours, feeling
that a non-conductor might be needed; for Dan looked like a thundercloud
full of electricity.

'What shall we read, Aunty? Dan doesn't seem to care. You know his
taste; tell me something quiet and pleasant and short. Josie will
be back soon,' said Bess, still turning over the books piled on the
centre-table.

Before Mrs Jo could answer, Dan pulled a shabby little volume from under
his pillow, and handing it to her said: 'Please read the third one; it's
short and pretty--I'm fond of it.' The book opened at the right place,
as if the third story had been often read, and Bess smiled as she saw
the name.

'Why, Dan, I shouldn't think you'd care for this romantic German tale.
There is fighting in it; but it is very sentimental, if I remember
rightly.'

'I know it; but I've read so few stories, I like the simple ones best.
Had nothing else to read sometimes; I guess I know it all by heart, and
never seem to be tired of those fighting fellows, and the fiends and
angels and lovely ladies. You read "Aslauga's Knight", and see if you
don't like it. Edwald was rather too soft for my fancy; but Froda was
first-rate and the spirit with the golden hair always reminded me of
you.'

As Dan s