Chapter: Jo's face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her,
and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important.  Meg
observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had
learned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so
she felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask.  She was
rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo
assumed a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in turn
assumed an air of dignified reserve and devoted herself to her mother.
This left Jo to her own devices, for Mrs. March had taken her place as
nurse, and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long
confinement.  Amy being gone, Laurie was her only refuge, and much as
she enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he was
an incorrigible tease, and she feared he would coax the secret from her.

She was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected a
mystery than he set himself to find it out, and led Jo a trying life of
it.  He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected
indifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared he
knew, then that he didn't care; and at last, by dint of perseverance,
he satisfied himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke.  Feeling
indignant that he was not taken into his tutor's confidence, he set his
wits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the slight.

Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter and was absorbed in
preparations for her father's return, but all of a sudden a change
seemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike
herself.  She started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very
quiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on her
face.  To her mother's inquiries she answered that she was quite well,
and Jo's she silenced by begging to be let alone.

"She feels it in the air--love, I mean--and she's going very fast.
She's got most of the symptoms--is twittery and cross, doesn't eat,
lies awake, and mopes in corners.  I caught her singing that song he
gave her, and once she said 'John', as you do, and then turned as red
as a poppy.  Whatever shall we do?" said Jo, looking ready for any
measures, however violent.

"Nothing but wait.  Let her alone, be kind and patient, and Father's
coming will settle everything," replied her mother.

"Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up.  How odd! Teddy never seals
mine," said Jo next day, as she distributed the contents of the little
post office.

Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from Meg
made them look up to see her staring at her note with a frightened face.

"My child, what is it?" cried her mother, running to her, while Jo
tried to take the paper which had done the mischief.

"It's all a mistake, he didn't send it.  Oh, Jo, how could you do it?"
and Meg hid her face in her hands, crying as if her heart were quite
broken.

"Me!  I've done nothing!  What's she talking about?" cried Jo,
bewildered.

Meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note from
her pocket and threw it at Jo, saying reproachfully, "You wrote it, and
that bad boy helped you.  How could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel
to us both?"

Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note,
which was written in a peculiar hand.


"My Dearest Margaret,

"I can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate before I
return.  I dare not tell your parents yet, but I think they would
consent if they knew that we adored one another.  Mr. Laurence will
help me to some good place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make me
happy.  I implore you to say nothing to your family yet, but to send
one word of hope through Laurie to,

"Your devoted John."


"Oh, the little villain!  That's the way he meant to pay me for keeping
my word to Mother.  I'll give him a hearty scolding and bring him over
to beg pardon," cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice.  But
her mother held her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore...

"Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first.  You have played so many
pranks that I am afraid you have had a hand in this."

"On my word, Mother, I haven't!  I never saw that note before, and
don't know anything about it, as true as I live!" said Jo, so earnestly
that they believed her.  "If I had taken part in it I'd have done it
better than this, and have written a sensible note.  I should think
you'd have known Mr. Brooke wouldn't write such stuff as that," she
added, scornfully tossing down the paper.

"It's like his writing," faltered Meg, comparing it with the note in
her hand.

"Oh, Meg, you didn't answer it?" cried Mrs. March quickly.

"Yes, I did!" and Meg hid her face again, overcome with shame.

"Here's a scrape!  Do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain and
be lectured.  I can't rest till I get hold of him." And Jo made for the
door again.

"Hush!  Let me handle this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret,
tell me the whole story," commanded Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg,
yet keeping hold of Jo, lest she should fly off.

"I received the first letter from Laurie, who didn't look as if he knew
anything about it," began Meg, without looking up. "I was worried at
first and meant to tell you, then I remembered how you liked Mr.
Brooke, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I kept my little secret for a
few days.  I'm so silly that I liked to think no one knew, and while I
was deciding what to say, I felt like the girls in books, who have such
things to do.  Forgive me, Mother, I'm paid for my silliness now.  I
never can look him in the face again."

"What did you say to him?" asked Mrs. March.

"I only said I was too young to do anything about it yet, that I didn't
wish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father.  I was very
grateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more,
for a long while."

Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped her hands,
exclaiming, with a laugh, "You are almost equal to Caroline Percy, who
was a pattern of prudence!  Tell on, Meg. What did he say to that?"

"He writes in a different way entirely, telling me that he never sent
any love letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, Jo,
should take liberties with our names.  It's very kind and respectful,
but think how dreadful for me!"

Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jo
tramped about the room, calling Laurie names.  All of a sudden she
stopped, caught up the two notes, and after looking at them closely,
said decidedly, "I don't believe Brooke ever saw either of these
letters.  Teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me with
because I wouldn't tell him my secret."

"Don't have any secrets, Jo.  Tell it to Mother and keep out of
trouble, as I should have done," said Meg warningly.

"Bless you, child!  Mother told me."

"That will do, Jo.  I'll comfort Meg while you go and get Laurie.  I
shall sift the matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks at
once."

Away ran Jo, and Mrs. March gently told Meg Mr. Brooke's real feelings.
"Now, dear, what are your own?  Do you love him enough to wait till he
can make a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for the
present?"

"I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to have anything to do
with lovers for a long while, perhaps never," answered Meg petulantly.
"If John doesn't know anything about this nonsense, don't tell him, and
make Jo and Laurie hold their tongues.  I won't be deceived and plagued
and made a fool of. It's a shame!"

Seeing Meg's usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt by
this mischievous joke, Mrs. March soothed her by promises of entire
silence and great discretion for the future.  The instant Laurie's step
was heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March received
the culprit alone. Jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing he
wouldn't come, but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March's face, and
stood twirling his hat with a guilty air which convicted him at once.
Jo was dismissed, but chose to march up and down the hall like a
sentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt.  The sound of
voices in the parlor rose and fell for half an hour, but what happened
during that interview the girls never knew.

When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother with such
a penitent face that Jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think it
wise to betray the fact.  Meg received his humble apology, and was much
comforted by the assurance that Brooke knew nothing of the joke.

"I'll never tell him to my dying day, wild horses shan't drag it out of
me, so you'll forgive me, Meg, and I'll do anything to show how
out-and-out sorry I am," he added, looking very much ashamed of himself.

"I'll try, but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do, I didn't think
you could be so sly and malicious, Laurie," replied Meg, trying to hide
her maidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air.

"It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve to be spoken to for
a month, but you will, though, won't you?" And Laurie folded his hands
together with such and imploring gesture, as he spoke in his
irresistibly persuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him
in spite of his scandalous behavior.

Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face relaxed, in spite of her
efforts to keep sober, when she heard him declare that he would atone
for his sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a worm
before the injured damsel.

Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, and
succeeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entire
disapprobation.  Laurie looked at her once or twice, but as she showed
no sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till
the others were done with him, when he made her a low bow and walked
off without a word.

As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving, and
when Meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely and longed for
Teddy.  After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, and
armed with a book to return, went over to the big house.

"Is Mr. Laurence in?" asked Jo, of a housemaid, who was coming
downstairs.

"Yes, Miss, but I don't believe he's seeable just yet."

"Why not?  Is he ill?"

"La, no Miss, but he's had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one of
his tantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so I
dursn't go nigh him."

"Where is Laurie?"

"Shut up in his room, and he won't answer, though I've been a-tapping.
I don't know what's to become of the dinner, for it's ready, and
there's no one to eat it."

"I'll go and see what the matter is.  I'm not afraid of either of them."

Up went Jo, and knocked smartly on the door of Laurie's little study.

"Stop that, or I'll open the door and make you!" called out the young
gentleman in a threatening tone.

Jo immediately knocked again.  The door flew open, and in she bounced
before Laurie could recover from his surprise.  Seeing that he really
was out of temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contrite
expression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly,
"Please forgive me for being so cross.  I came to make it up, and can't
go away till I have."

"It's all right.  Get up, and don't be a goose, Jo," was the cavalier
reply to her petition.

"Thank you, I will.  Could I ask what's the matter?  You don't look
exactly easy in your mind."

"I've been shaken, and I won't bear it!" growled Laurie indignantly.

"Who did it?" demanded Jo.

"Grandfather.  If it had been anyone else I'd have..." And the injured
youth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm.

"That's nothing.  I often shake you, and you don't mind," said Jo
soothingly.

"Pooh!  You're a girl, and it's fun, but I'll allow no man to shake me!"

"I don't think anyone would care to try it, if you looked as much like
a thundercloud as you do now.  Why were you treated so?"

"Just because I wouldn't say what your mother wanted me for. I'd
promised not to tell, and of course I wasn't going to break my word."

"Couldn't you satisfy your grandpa in any other way?"

"No, he would have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth.  I'd have told my part of the scrape, if I could without
bringing Meg in.  As I couldn't, I held my tongue, and bore the
scolding till the old gentleman collared me.  Then I bolted, for fear I
should forget myself."

"It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know, so go down and make up.  I'll
help you."

"Hanged if I do!  I'm not going to be lectured and pummelled by
everyone, just for a bit of a frolic.  I was sorry about Meg, and
begged pardon like a man, but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in the
wrong."

"He didn't know that."

"He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a baby.  It's no use,
Jo, he's got to learn that I'm able to take care of myself, and don't
need anyone's apron string to hold on by."

"What pepper pots you are!" sighed Jo.  "How do you mean to settle this
affair?"

"Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can't tell
him what the fuss's about."

"Bless you!  He won't do that."

"I won't go down till he does."

"Now, Teddy, be sensible.  Let it pass, and I'll explain what I can.
You can't stay here, so what's the use of being melodramatic?"

"I don't intend to stay here long, anyway.  I'll slip off and take a
journey somewhere, and when Grandpa misses me he'll come round fast
enough."

"I dare say, but you ought not to go and worry him."

"Don't preach.  I'll go to Washington and see Brooke.  It's gay there,
and I'll enjoy myself after the troubles."

"What fun you'd have!  I wish I could run off too," said Jo, forgetting
her part of mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital.

"Come on, then!  Why not?  You go and surprise your father, and I'll
stir up old Brooke.  It would be a glorious joke.  Let's do it, Jo.
We'll leave a letter saying we are all right, and trot off at once.
I've got money enough.  It will do you good, and no harm, as you go to
your father."

For a moment Jo looked as if she would agree, for wild as the plan was,
it just suited her.  She was tired of care and confinement, longed for
change, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novel
charms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun.  Her eyes kindled as
they turned wistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old house
opposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision.

"If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time, but
as I'm a miserable girl, I must be proper and stop at home. Don't tempt
me, Teddy, it's a crazy plan."

"That's the fun of it," began Laurie, who had got a willful fit on him
and was possessed to break out of bounds in some way.

"Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears.  "'Prunes and prisms'
are my doom, and I may as well make up my mind to it.  I came here to
moralize, not to hear things that make me skip to think of."

"I know Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but I thought you had
more spirit," began Laurie insinuatingly.

"Bad boy, be quiet!  Sit down and think of your own sins, don't go
making me add to mine.  If I get your grandpa to apologize for the
shaking, will you give up running away?" asked Jo seriously.

"Yes, but you won't do it," answered Laurie, who wished to make up, but
felt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first.

"If I can manage the young one, I can the old one," muttered Jo, as she
walked away, leaving Laurie bent over a railroad map with his head
propped up on both hands.

"Come in!" and Mr. Laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, as
Jo tapped at his door.

"It's only me, Sir, come to return a book," she said blandly, as she
entered.

"Want any more?" asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but
trying not to show it.

"Yes, please.  I like old Sam so well, I think I'll try the second
volume," returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second
dose of Boswell's Johnson, as he had recommended that lively work.

The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward the
shelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed.  Jo skipped up, and
sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was
really wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her
visit.  Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in
her mind, for after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced
round on her, speaking so abruptly that Rasselas tumbled face downward
on the floor.

"What has that boy been about?  Don't try to shield him.  I know he has
been in mischief by the way he acted when he came home.  I can't get a
word from him, and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him he
bolted upstairs and locked himself into his room."

"He did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a word
to anyone," began Jo reluctantly.

"That won't do.  He shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you
softhearted girls.  If he's done anything amiss, he shall confess, beg
pardon, and be punished.  Out with it, Jo. I won't be kept in the dark."

Mr. Laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that Jo would have
gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps,
and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and
brave it out.

"Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell.  Mother forbade it.  Laurie has confessed,
asked pardon, and been punished quite enough.  We don't keep silence to
shield him, but someone else, and it will make more trouble if you
interfere.  Please don't.  It was partly my fault, but it's all right
now.  So let's forget it, and talk about the _Rambler_ or something
pleasant."

"Hang the _Rambler!_  Come down and give me your word that this
harum-scarum boy of mine hasn't done anything ungrateful or
impertinent.  If he has, after all your kindness to him, I'll thrash
him with my own hands."

The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew the
irascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson,
whatever he might say to the contrary.  She obediently descended, and
made as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg or
forgetting the truth.

"Hum... ha... well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and
not from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. He's a stubborn fellow and hard
to manage," said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if
he had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with
an air of relief.

"So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses and
all the king's men couldn't," said Jo, trying to say a kind word for
her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into
another.

"You think I'm not kind to him, hey?" was the sharp answer.

"Oh, dear no, Sir.  You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a
trifle hasty when he tries your patience.  Don't you think you are?"

Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid,
though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief
and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the
table with a rattle and exclaimed frankly, "You're right, girl, I am!
I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and I know how
it will end, if we go on so."

"I'll tell you, he'll run away." Jo was sorry for that speech the
minute it was made.  She meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear
much restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad.

Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a
troubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over his
table.  It was Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and
married against the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied he remembered
and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue.

"He won't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it
sometimes, when he gets tired of studying.  I often think I should like
to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may
advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India."

She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently
taking the whole as a joke.

"You hussy, how dare you talk in that way?  Where's your respect for
me, and your proper bringing up?  Bless the boys and girls!  What
torments they are, yet we can't do without them," he said, pinching her
cheeks good-humoredly.  "Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell
him it's all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his
grandfather.  I won't bear it."

"He won't come, Sir.  He feels badly because you didn't believe him
when he said he couldn't tell.  I think the shaking hurt his feelings
very much."

Jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began
to laugh, and she knew the day was won.

"I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, I
suppose.  What the dickens does the fellow expect?" and the old
gentleman looked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness.

"If I were you, I'd write him an apology, Sir.  He says he won't come
down till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in an
absurd way.  A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and
bring him down quite amiable.  Try it.  He likes fun, and this way is
better than talking.  I'll carry it up, and teach him his duty."

Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying
slowly, "You're a sly puss, but I don't mind being managed by you and
Beth.  Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this
nonsense."

The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to
another after offering some deep insult.  Jo dropped a kiss on the top
of Mr. Laurence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under
Laurie's door, advising him through the keyhole to be submissive,
decorous, and a few other agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door
locked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly
away, when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for
her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of
countenance, "What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?" he
added, laughing.

"No, he was pretty mild, on the whole."

"Ah!  I got it all round.  Even you cast me off over there, and I felt
just ready to go to the deuce," he began apologetically.

"Don't talk that way, turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, my
son."

"I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil
my copybooks, and I make so many beginnings there never will be an
end," he said dolefully.

"Go and eat your dinner, you'll feel better after it.  Men always croak
when they are hungry," and Jo whisked out at the front door after that.

"That's a 'label' on my 'sect'," answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he
went to partake of humble pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was
quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the
rest of the day.

Everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, but
the mischief was done, for though others forgot it, Meg remembered.
She never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good
deal, dreamed dreams more than ever, and once Jo, rummaging her
sister's desk for stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with the
words, 'Mrs. John Brooke', whereat she groaned tragically and cast it
into the fire, feeling that Laurie's prank had hastened the evil day
for her.

 Laurie Makes Mischief, and Jo Makes Peace Jo has trouble keeping secret the potential courtship between Meg and Mr. Brooke. Laurie tries to get the secret out of Jo and grows annoyed when he cannot. In the meantime, Meg receives a letter allegedly from Mr. Brooke declaring his love. She answers it before Jo gets a chance to tell her that Laurie probably wrote it. The reply from Mr. Brooke says that he has never written a love letter. Jo says that she thinks Laurie wrote this letter and the earlier one with the glove. Sure enough, Laurie comes over, confesses, and apologizes. Meg and Jo tell him never to reveal the story to anyone. Laurie leaves, and Jo decides to let him know that she is not angry with him. She goes over to the Laurence house, where Laurie is in a terrible mood. His grandfather has demanded to know what is bothering Laurie; Laurie has refused to tell him, and they have quarreled. Upset, Laurie tells Jo he wants to run away. In order to help, Jo explains Laurie's actions to his grandfather, who writes a note of apology to his grandson

