ver wanted to make you care for me so, and I went away
to keep you from it if I could."

"I thought so. It was like you, but it was no use. I only loved you
all the more, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards
and everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I
hoped you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough..." Here there was
a choke that couldn't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups while
he cleared his 'confounded throat'.

"You, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and I'm so grateful
to you, and so proud and fond of you, I don't know why I can't love you
as you want me to. I've tried, but I can't change the feeling, and it
would be a lie to say I do when I don't."

"Really, truly, Jo?"

He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question with
a look that she did not soon forget.

"Really, truly, dear."

They were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when the last words
fell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie dropped her hands and turned as
if to go on, but for once in his life the fence was too much for him.
So he just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still
that Jo was frightened.

"Oh, Teddy, I'm sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if it
would do any good! I wish you wouldn't take it so hard, I can't help
it. You know it's impossible for people to make themselves love other
people if they don't," cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she
softly patted his shoulder, remembering the time when he had comforted
her so long ago.

"They do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post. "I don't
believe it's the right sort of love, and I'd rather not try it," was
the decided answer.

There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow
by the river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Presently Jo said
very soberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile, "Laurie, I want
to tell you something."

He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out in
a fierce tone, "Don't tell me that, Jo, I can't bear it now!"

"Tell what?" she asked, wondering at his violence.

"That you love that old man."

"What old man?" demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather.

"That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say you
love him, I know I shall do something desperate;" and he looked as if
he would keep his word, as he clenched his hands w