.
There's a demand for socks just now," added Jo, waving hers like a big
blue worsted banner as they parted at the gate.

That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight, Laurie,
standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David,
whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old
man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts
of the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of
the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the
sacrifice cheerfully, "I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear
old gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SECRETS

Jo was very busy in the garret, for the October days began to grow
chilly, and the afternoons were short. For two or three hours the sun
lay warmly in the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa,
writing busily, with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her,
while Scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied
by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of
his whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the
last page was filled, when she signed her name with a flourish and
threw down her pen, exclaiming...

"There, I've done my best! If this won't suit I shall have to wait
till I can do better."

Lying back on the sofa, she read the manuscript carefully through,
making dashes here and there, and putting in many exclamation points,
which looked like little balloons. Then she tied it up with a smart
red ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistful
expression, which plainly showed how earnest her work had been. Jo's
desk up here was an old tin kitchen which hung against the wall. In it
she kept her papers, and a few books, safely shut away from Scrabble,
who, being likewise of a literary turn, was fond of making a
circulating library of such books as were left in his way by eating the
leaves. From this tin receptacle Jo produced another manuscript, and
putting both in her pocket, crept quietly downstairs, leaving her
friends to nibble on her pens and taste her ink.

She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going to
the back entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swung
herself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road.
Once there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and