So Meg went away to ` accept with thanks ' , look over her dress , and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill , while Jo finished her story , her four apples , and had a game of romps with Scrabble . On New Year 's Eve the parlor was deserted , for the two younger girls played dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the all-important business of ` getting ready for the party ' . Simple as the toilets were , there was a great deal of running up and down , laughing and talking , and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded the house . Meg wanted a few curls about her face , and Jo undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs . `` Ought they to smoke like that ? '' asked Beth from her perch on the bed . `` It 's the dampness drying , '' replied Jo . `` What a queer smell ! It 's like burned feathers , '' observed Amy , smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air . `` There , now I 'll take off the papers and you 'll see a cloud of little ringlets , '' said Jo , putting down the tongs . She did take off the papers , but no cloud of ringlets appeared , for the hair came with the papers , and the horrified hairdresser laid a row of little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim . `` Oh , oh , oh ! What have you done ? I 'm spoiled ! I ca n't go ! My hair , oh , my hair ! '' wailed Meg , looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her forehead . `` Just my luck ! You should n't have asked me to do it . I always spoil everything .
I 'm so sorry , but the tongs were too hot , and so I 've made a mess , '' groaned poor XXXXX , regarding the little black pancakes with tears of regret .
Amy Beth Jo Meg Scrabble air frill frizzle hairdresser perch