her head down on a comfortable rag bag, and cried,
as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof.

Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits? Or was it the waking
up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its
inspirer? Who shall say?

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SURPRISES

Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the
fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of
dusk. No one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little
red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender
thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face looked
tired, grave, and rather sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and she
was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and
how little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twenty-five, and
nothing to show for it. Jo was mistaken in that. There was a good
deal to show, and by-and-by she saw, and was grateful for it.

"An old maid, that's what I'm to be. A literary spinster, with a pen
for a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence
a morsel of fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I'm old and can't
enjoy it, solitary, and can't share it, independent, and don't need it.
Well, I needn't be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say,
old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it, but..." and
there Jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting.

It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to
five-and-twenty. But it's not as bad as it looks, and one can get on
quite happily if one has something in one's self to fall back upon. At
twenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly
resolve that they never will be. At thirty they say nothing about it,
but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves by
remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which
they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don't laugh at the
spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are
hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns,
and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself,
make the faded faces beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad, sour
sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the
sweetest part of life, if for no other reason. And looking at them
with compassion, not contempt, girls