, till Mr. March mildly observed,
"salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn..."
Here a general explosion of laughter cut short the 'history of salads',
to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels. Germans
like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this, and there's no reason you
should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy,
wiping her eyes.

"I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about
in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big
nutshell, and Mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed
Jo, quite spent with laughter.

"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to
satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.

"I am satisfied. I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault
that it failed. I comfort myself with that," said Amy with a little
quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and
I'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at
least."

No one did for several months, but the word 'fete' always produced a
general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral
lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch guard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LITERARY LESSONS

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good luck penny in her
path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would
have given more real happiness then did the little sum that came to her
in this wise.

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her
scribbling suit, and 'fall into a vortex', as she expressed it, writing
away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was
finished she could find no peace. Her 'scribbling suit' consisted of a
black woolen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a
cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which
she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap
was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these
periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads
semi-occasionally to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They
did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an
observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive
article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that
ha