He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. I could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the breadandmilk breakfast. He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own. How pretty it is! March, smelling the halfdead posy in her belt. Jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hear the news. Gardiner for tomorrow night! The front is all right. I like to fly about and cut capers. Now go and answer your note, and let me finish this splendid story. 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. 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. What have you done? My hair, oh, my hair! I always spoil everything. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion. Jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. March, as the sisters went daintily down the walk. Have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?