"November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year,"said Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon,looking out at the frostbitten garden.

"That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively,quite unconscious of the blot on her nose.

"If something very pleasant should happen now, we shouldthink it a delightful month," said Beth, who took a hopeful viewof everything, even November.

"I dare say, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in thisfamily," said Meg, who was out of sorts. "We go grubbing alongday after day, without a bit of change, and very little fun. Wemight as well be in a treadmill."

"My patience, how blue we are!" cried Jo. "I don't muchwonder, poor dear, for you see other girls having splendid times,while you grind, grind, year in and year out. Oh, don't I wishI could manage things for you as I do for my heroines! You'repretty enough and good enough already, so I'd have some rich relationleave you a fortune unexpectedly. Then you'd dash out as an heiress,scorn everyone who has slighted you, go abroad, and come home my LadySomething in a blaze of splendor and elegance."

"People don't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays,men have to work and women marry for money. It's a dreadfully unjustworld," said Meg bitterly.

"Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all. Just wait tenyears, and see if we don't," said Amy, who sat in a corner making mudpies, as Hannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, andfaces.

"Can't wait, and I'm afraid I haven't much faith in ink and dirt,though I'm grateful for your good intentions."

Meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again. Jogroaned and leaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude,but Amy spatted away energetically, and Beth, who sat at the otherwindow, said, smiling, "Two pleasant things are going to happenright away. Marmee is coming down the street, and Laurie is trampingthrough the garden as if he had something nice to tell."

In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, "Any letterfrom Father, girls?" and Laurie to say in his persuasive way, "Won'tsome of you come for a drive? I've been working away at mathematicstill my head is in a muddle, and I'm going to freshen my wits by abrisk turn. It's a dull day, but the air isn't bad, and I'm going totake Brooke home, so it will be gay inside, if it isn't out. Come,Jo, you and Beth will go, won't you?"

"Of course we will."

"Much obliged, but I'm busy." And Meg whisked out her workbasket,for she had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least,not to drive too often with the young gentleman.

"We three will be ready in a minute," cried Amy, running away towash her hands.

"Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?" asked Laurie, leaningover Mrs. March's chair with the affectionate look and tone he alwaysgave her.

"No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind,dear. It's our day for a letter, and the postman hasn't been. Fatheris as regular as the sun, but there's some delay on the way, perhaps."

A sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after Hannah came inwith a letter.

"It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said,handling it as if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage.

At the word 'telegraph', Mrs. March snatched it, read the twolines it contained, and dropped back into her chair as white as ifthe little paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dasheddownstairs for water, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo readaloud, in a frightened voice . . .

How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, howstrangely the day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole worldseemed to change, as the girls gathered about their mother, feelingas if all the happiness and support of their lives was about to betaken from them.

Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over,and stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone theynever forgot, "I shall go at once, but it may be too late. Oh,children, children, help me to bear it!"

For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbingin the room, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurancesof help, and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannahwas the first to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all therest a good example, for with her, work was panacea for mostafflictions.

"The Lord keep the dear man! I won't waste no time a-cryin',but git your things ready right away, mum," she said heartily, as shewiped her face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of thehand with her own hard one, and went away to work like three womenin one.

"She's right, there's no time for tears now. Be calm, girls,and let me think."

They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up,looking pale but steady, and put away her grief to think and planfor them.

"Where's Laurie?" she asked presently, when she had collectedher thoughts and decided on the first duties to be done.

"Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy,hurrying from the next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling thattheir first sorrow was too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see.

"Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next traingoes early in the morning. I'll take that."

"What else? The horses are ready. I can go anywhere, doanything," he said, looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth.

"Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that pen and paper."

Tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages,Jo drew the table before her mother, well knowing that money for thelong, sad journey must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could doanything to add a little to the sum for her father.

"Now go, dear, but don't kill yourself driving at a desperatepace. There is no need of that."

Mrs. March's warning was evidently thrown away, for five minuteslater Laurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as iffor his life.

"Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can't come.On the way get these things. I'll put them down, they'll be neededand I must go prepared for nursing. Hospital stores are not alwaysgood. Beth, go and ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles of oldwine. I'm not too proud to beg for Father. He shall have the bestof everything. Amy, tell Hannah to get down the black trunk, andMeg, come and help me find my things, for I'm half bewildered."

Writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilderthe poor lady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her roomfor a little while, and let them work. Everyone scatteredlike leaves before a gust of wind, and the quiet, happy householdwas broken up as suddenly as if the paper had been an evil spell.

Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing everycomfort the kind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, andfriendliest promises of protection for the girls during the mother'sabsence, which comforted her very much. There was nothing he didn'toffer, from his own dressing gown to himself as escort. But thelast was impossible. Mrs. March would not hear of the oldgentleman's undertaking the long journey, yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it, for anxiety ill fits one for traveling.He saw the look, knit his heavy eyebrows, rubbed his hands, andmarched abruptly away, saying he'd be back directly. No one hadtime to think of him again till, as Meg ran through the entry, witha pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, shecame suddenly upon Mr. Brooke.

"I'm very sorry to hear of this, Miss March," he said, in thekind, quiet tone which sounded very pleasantly to her perturbedspirit. "I came to offer myself as escort to your mother. Mr.Laurence has commissions for me in Washington, and it will give mereal satisfaction to be of service to her there."

Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following,as Meg put out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude that Mr.Brooke would have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice thanthe trifling one of time and comfort which he was about to take.

"How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I'm sure, and itwill be such a relief to know that she has someone to take care ofher. Thank you very, very much!"

Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till somethingin the brown eyes looking down at her made her remember thecooling tea, and lead the way into the parlor, saying she wouldcall her mother.

Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with anote from Aunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few linesrepeating what she had often said before, that she had always toldthem it was absurd for March to go into the army, always predictedthat no good would come of it, and she hoped they would take heradvice the next time. Mrs. March put the note in the fire, themoney in her purse, and went on with her preparations, with herlips folded tightly in a way which Jo would have understood if shehad been there.

The short afternoon wore away. All other errands were done,and Meg and her mother busy at some necessary needlework, whileBeth and Amy got tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with whatshe called a 'slap and a bang', but still Jo did not come. Theybegan to get anxious, and Laurie went off to find her, for no oneknew what freak Jo might take into her head. He missed her,however, and she came walking in with a very queer expression ofcountenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear, satisfactionand regret in it, which puzzled the family as much as did the rollof bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little choke inher voice, "That's my contribution toward making Father comfortableand bringing him home!"

"My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars! Jo, Ihope you haven't done anything rash?"

"No, it's mine honestly. I didn't beg, borrow, or steal it. Iearned it, and I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold whatwas my own."

As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose,for all her abundant hair was cut short.

"Your hair! Your beautiful hair!" "Oh, Jo, how could you? Yourone beauty." "My dear girl, there was no need of this." "She doesn'tlook like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!"

As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly,Jo assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle,and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she likedit, "It doesn't affect the fate of the nation, so don't wail, Beth. Itwill be good for my vanity, I was getting too proud of my wig. It will domy brains good to have that mop taken off. My head feels deliciouslylight and cool, and the barber said I could soon have a curly crop,which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order. I'm satisfied, so please take the money and let's have supper."

"Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can'tblame you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, asyou call it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, andI'm afraid you will regret it one of these days," said Mrs. March.

"No, I won't!" returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved thather prank was not entirely condemned.

"What made you do it?" asked Amy, who would as soon have thoughtof cutting off her head as her pretty hair.

"Well, I was wild to do something for Father," replied Jo, asthey gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat evenin the midst of trouble. "I hate to borrow as much as Mother does,and I knew Aunt March would croak, she always does, if you ask fora ninepence. Meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, andI only got some clothes with mine, so I felt wicked, and was boundto have some money, if I sold the nose off my face to get it."

"You needn't feel wicked, my child! You had no winter things andgot the simplest with your own hard earnings," said Mrs. March with alook that warmed Jo's heart.

"I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as Iwent along I kept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I'dlike to dive into some of the rich stores and help myself. In abarber's window I saw tails of hair with the prices marked, and oneblack tail, not so thick as mine, was forty dollars. It came to meall of a sudden that I had one thing to make money out of, andwithout stopping to think, I walked in, asked if they bought hair,and what they would give for mine."

"I don't see how you dared to do it," said Beth in a tone of awe.

"Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oilhis hair. He rather stared at first, as if he wasn't used to havinggirls bounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair. He said hedidn't care about mine, it wasn't the fashionable color, and he neverpaid much for it in the first place. The work put into it madeit dear, and so on. It was getting late, and I was afraid if itwasn't done right away that I shouldn't have it done at all, and youknow when I start to do a thing, I hate to give it up. So I beggedhim to take it, and told him why I was in such a hurry. It wassilly, I dare say, but it changed his mind, for I got rather excited,and told the story in my topsy-turvy way, and his wife heard, andsaid so kindly, 'Take it, Thomas, and oblige the young lady. I'd doas much for our Jimmy any day if I had a spire of hair worth selling."

"Who was Jimmy?" asked Amy, who liked to have things explainedas they went along.

"Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly suchthings make strangers feel, don't they? She talked away all thetime the man clipped, and diverted my mind nicely."

"Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?" askedMeg, with a shiver.

"I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things,and that was the end of it. I never snivel over trifles like that.I will confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hairlaid out on the table, and felt only the short rough ends of my head.It almost seemed as if I'd an arm or leg off. The woman saw me lookat it, and picked out a long lock for me to keep. I'll give it toyou, Marmee, just to remember past glories by, for a crop is socomfortable I don't think I shall ever have a mane again."

Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away witha short gray one in her desk. She only said, "Thank you, deary,"but something in her face made the girls change the subject, andtalk as cheerfully as they could about Mr. Brooke's kindness, theprospect of a fine day tomorrow, and the happy times they would havewhen Father came home to be nursed.

No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o'clock Mrs. March putby the last finished job, and said, "Come girls." Beth went to thepiano and played the father's favorite hymn. All began bravely, butbroke down one by one till Beth was left alone, singing with all herheart, for to her music was always a sweet consoler.

"Go to bed and don't talk, for we must be up early and shallneed all the sleep we can get. Good night, my darlings," said Mrs.March, as the hymn ended, for no one cared to try another.

They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if thedear invalid lay in the next room. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep inspite of the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the mostserious thoughts she had ever known in her short life. Jo laymotionless, and her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifledsob made her exclaim, as she touched a wet cheek . . .

"Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about father?"

"No, not now."

"What then?"

"My . . . My hair!" burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smotherher emotion in the pillow.

It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressedthe afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner.

"I'm not sorry," protested Jo, with a choke. "I'd do it againtomorrow, if I could. It's only the vain part of me that goes andcries in this silly way. Don't tell anyone, it's all over now. Ithought you were asleep, so I just made a little private moan for myone beauty. How came you to be awake?"

"I can't sleep, I'm so anxious," said Meg.

"Think about something pleasant, and you'll soon drop off."

"I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever."

"What did you think of?"

"Handsome faces - eyes particularly," answered Meg, smiling toherself in the dark.

"What color do you like best?"

"Brown, that is, sometimes. Blue are lovely."

Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, thenamiably promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream ofliving in her castle in the air.

The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very stillas a figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here,settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at eachunconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and topray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted thecurtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenlyfrom behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignantface, which seemed to whisper in the silence, "Be comforted, dearsoul! There is always light behind the clouds."