seemed among them, a peaceful presence,
invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the
household league that love made disoluble. The little chair stood in
its old place. The tidy basket, with the bit of work she left
unfinished when the needle grew 'so heavy', was still on its accustomed
shelf. The beloved instrument, seldom touched now had not been moved,
and above it Beth's face, serene and smiling, as in the early days,
looked down upon them, seeming to say, "Be happy. I am here."

"Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved," said
Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.

But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, "Not
tonight, dear. I can't show off tonight."

But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she
sang Beth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the best
master could not have taught, and touched the listener's hearts with a
sweeter power than any other inspiration could have given her. The
room was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last
line of Beth's favorite hymn. It was hard to say...

Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;

and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that
her welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth's kiss.

"Now, we must finish with Mignon's song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that,"
said Jo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his
throat with a gratified "Hem!" as he stepped into the corner where Jo
stood, saying...

"You will sing with me? We go excellently well together."

A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than a
grasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a
whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune.
It didn't much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily
and well, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might
listen to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.

Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms,

used to be the Professor's favorite line, for 'das land' meant Germany
to him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody,
upon the words...

There, oh there, might I with thee,
O, my beloved, go

and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she
longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither
wh