g interrupted her, and a minute after Hannah came in with a
letter.

"It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said, handling it
as if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage.

At the word 'telegraph', Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines it
contained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the little
paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed downstairs for
water, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo read aloud, in a
frightened voice...

Mrs. March:
Your husband is very ill. Come at once.
S. HALE
Blank Hospital, Washington.

How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely the
day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed to
change, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all the
happiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them.

Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over, and
stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they never
forgot, "I shall go at once, but it may be too late. Oh, children,
children, help me to bear it!"

For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in the
room, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help,
and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was the
first to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a
good example, for with her, work was panacea for most afflictions.

"The Lord keep the dear man! I won't waste no time a-cryin', but git
your things ready right away, mum," she said heartily, as she wiped her
face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her
own hard one, and went away to work like three women in one.

"She's right, there's no time for tears now. Be calm, girls, and let
me think."

They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking
pale but steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them.

"Where's Laurie?" she asked presently, when she had collected her
thoughts and decided on the first duties to be done.

"Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy, hurrying from
the next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow
was too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see.

"Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next train goes early
in the morning. I'll take that."

"What else? The horses are ready. I can go anywhere, do anything,"