Now , the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa -- long , broad , well-cushioned , and low , a trifle shabby , as well it might be , for the girls had slept and sprawled on it as babies , fished over the back , rode on the arms , and had menageries under it as children , and rested tired heads , dreamed dreams , and listened to tender talk on it as young women . They all loved it , for it was a family refuge , and one corner had always been Jo 's favorite lounging place . Among the many pillows that adorned the venerable couch was one , hard , round , covered with prickly horsehair , and furnished with a knobby button at each end . This repulsive pillow was her especial property , being used as a weapon of defense , a barricade , or a stern preventive of too much slumber . Laurie knew this pillow well , and had cause to regard it with deep aversion , having been unmercifully pummeled with it in former days when romping was allowed , and now frequently debarred by it from the seat he most coveted next to Jo in the sofa corner . If ` the sausage ' as they called it , stood on end , it was a sign that he might approach and repose , but if it lay flat across the sofa , woe to man , woman , or child who dared disturb it ! That evening Jo forgot to barricade her corner , and had not been in her seat five minutes , before a massive form appeared beside her , and with both arms spread over the sofa back , both long legs stretched out before him , Laurie exclaimed , with a sigh of satisfaction ... `` Now , this is filling at the price . '' `` No slang , '' snapped Jo , slamming down the pillow . But it was too late , there was no room for it , and coasting onto the floor , it disappeared in a most mysterious manner . `` Come , Jo , do n't be thorny . After studying himself to a skeleton all the week , a fellow deserves petting and ought to get it . '' `` Beth will pet you . I 'm busy . '' `` No , she 's not to be bothered with me , but you like that sort of thing , unless you 've suddenly lost your taste for it . Have you ? Do you hate your boy , and want to fire pillows at him ? '' Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard , but Jo quenched ` her boy ' by turning on him with a stern query , `` How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week ? '' `` Not one , upon my word . She 's engaged . Now then . ''
`` I 'm glad of it , that 's one of your foolish extravagances , sending flowers and things to girls for whom you do n't care two pins , '' continued XXXXX reprovingly .
Beth Jo Laurie Randal children days fire menageries minutes petting