sofa and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all
sorts of gossip, for she depended on her weekly 'spin', and he never
disappointed her. But that evening Jo fancied that Beth's eyes rested
on the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar pleasure, and that
she listened with intense interest to an account of some exciting
cricket match, though the phrases, 'caught off a tice', 'stumped off
his ground', and 'the leg hit for three', were as intelligible to her
as Sanskrit. She also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it,
that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie's manner, that
he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a
little absent-minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with an
assiduity that was really almost tender.

"Who knows? Stranger things have happened," thought Jo, as she fussed
about the room. "She will make quite an angel of him, and he will make
life delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love
each other. I don't see how he can help it, and I do believe he would
if the rest of us were out of the way."

As everyone was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that she
ought to dispose of herself with all speed. But where should she go?
And burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she
sat down to settle that point.

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 a