th."

Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke, at whom
Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy chairs
stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her
father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank
healths, told stories, sang songs, 'reminisced', as the old folks say,
and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh ride had been planned, but the
girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and
as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.

"Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected
to have. Do you remember?" asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had
followed a long conversation about many things.

"Rather a pleasant year on the whole!" said Meg, smiling at the fire,
and congratulating herself on having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity.

"I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed Amy, watching the light
shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.

"I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, who
sat on her father's knee.

"Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially
the latter part of it. But you have got on bravely, and I think the
burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March,
looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered
round him.

"How do you know? Did Mother tell you?" asked Jo.

"Not much. Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several
discoveries today."

"Oh, tell us what they are!" cried Meg, who sat beside him.

"Here is one." And taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his
chair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and
two or three little hard spots on the palm. "I remember a time when
this hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so.
It was very pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now, for in this
seeming blemishes I read a little history. A burnt offering has been
made to vanity, this hardened palm has earned something better than
blisters, and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will
last a long time, so much good will went into the stitches. Meg, my
dear, I value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white
hands or fashionable accomplishments. I'm proud to shake this good,
industrious little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it
away."