ented, with a scrape, to Aunt
Jo.

'Knowing your fondness for these fine animals, I brought this one to
your pen.'

'Very good, Commodore! Try again,' said Mrs Jo, much pleased with her
gift, which caused the Professor to prophesy 'works of Shakespeare' from
its depths, so great would be the inspiration of the beloved bruin.

'As Aunt Meg will wear caps, in spite of her youth, I got Ludmilla to
get me some bits of lace. Hope you'll like 'em'; and out of a soft paper
came some filmy things, one of which soon lay like a net of snowflakes
on Mrs Meg's pretty hair.

'I couldn't find anything swell enough for Aunt Amy, because she has
everything she wants, so I brought a little picture that always makes
me think of her when Bess was a baby'; and he handed her an oval ivory
locket, on which was painted a goldenhaired Madonna, with a rosy child
folded in her blue mantle.

'How lovely!' cried everyone; and Aunt Amy at once hung it about her
neck on the blue ribbon from Bess's hair, charmed with her gift; for it
recalled the happiest year of her life.

'Now, I flatter myself I've got just the thing for Nan, neat but not
gaudy, a sort of sign you see, and very appropriate for a doctor,' said
Emil, proudly displaying a pair of lava earrings shaped like little
skulls.

'Horrid!' And Bess, who hated ugly things, turned her eyes to her own
pretty shells.

'She won't wear earrings,' said Josie.

'Well, she'll enjoy punching your ears then. She's never so happy as
when she's overhauling her fellow creatures and going for 'em with a
knife,' answered Emil, undisturbed. 'I've got a lot of plunder for you
fellows in my chest, but I knew I should have no peace till my cargo for
the girls was unloaded. Now tell me all the news.' And, seated on Amy's
best marbletopped table, the sailor swung his legs and talked at the
rate of ten knots an hour, till Aunt Jo carried them all off to a grand
family tea in honour of the Commodore.

Chapter 3. JO'S LAST SCRAPE

The March family had enjoyed a great many surprises in the course of
their varied career, but the greatest of all was when the Ugly Duckling
turned out to be, not a swan, but a golden goose, whose literary eggs
found such an unexpected market that in ten years Jo's wildest and most
cherished dream actually came true. How or why it happened she never
clearly understood, but all of a sudden she found herself famous in a
small way, and, better still, with a snug little fortu