hed and chatted all the way home, and little Baptiste, up
behind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in charming
spirits. But both felt ill at ease. The friendly frankness was
disturbed, the sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their
apparent gaiety, there was a secret discontent in the heart of each.

"Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?" asked Amy, as they parted
at her aunt's door.

"Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir, madamoiselle," and
Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion, which
became him better than many men. Something in his face made Amy say
quickly and warmly...

"No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'd
rather have a hearty English handshake than all the sentimental
salutations in France."

"Goodbye, dear," and with these words, uttered in the tone she liked,
Laurie left her, after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness.

Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which made
her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.

My Dear Mentor, Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within
yourself, for 'Lazy Laurence' has gone to his grandpa, like the best of
boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a blissful
honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser.
Tell him so, with my congratulations.

Yours gratefully, Telemachus

"Good boy! I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an approving smile. The
next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding,
with an involuntary sigh, "Yes, I am glad, but how I shall miss him."

CHAPTER FORTY

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable,
and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased
affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of
trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part
toward making that last year a happy one.

The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was
gathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano,
the little worktable, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books
found their way there, Mother's easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest
sketches, and every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage,
to make sunshine for Aunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum,
that he might enjoy the pleasure of kee