Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married lifewith the determination to be a model housekeeper. John shouldfind home a paradise, he should always see a smiling face,should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss ofa button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulnessto the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of someobstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the littlewoman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about likea true Martha, cumbered with many cares. She was too tired, sometimes,even to smile, John grew dyspeptic after a course of daintydishes and ungratefully demanded plain fare. As for buttons,she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head overthe carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew themon himself, and see if his work would stand impatient and clumsyfingers any better than hers.

They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn'tlive on love alone. John did not find Meg's beauty diminished,though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot. Nordid Meg miss any of the romance from the daily parting, when herhusband followed up his kiss with the tender inquiry, "Shall I sendsome veal or mutton for dinner, darling?" The little house ceased tobe a glorified bower, but it became a home, and the young couplesoon felt that it was a change for the better. At first they playedkeep-house, and frolicked over it like children. Then John tooksteadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family uponhis shoulders, and Meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a bigapron, and fell to work, as before said, with more energy thandiscretion.

While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius'sReceipt Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out theproblems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invitedin to help eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty wouldbe privately dispatched with a batch of failures, which were to beconcealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the littleHummels. An evening with John over the account books usually produceda temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fitwould ensue, during which the poor man was put through a course ofbread pudding, hash, and warmed-over coffee, which tried his soul,although he bore it with praiseworthy fortitude. Before the goldenmean was found, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions whatyoung couples seldom get on long without, a family jar.

Fired a with housewifely wish to see her storeroom stocked withhomemade preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly.John was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and anextra quantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe and wereto be attended to at once. As John firmly believed that 'my wife'was equal to anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, heresolved that she should be gratified, and their only crop of fruitlaid by in a most pleasing form for winter use. Home came fourdozen delightful little pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a smallboy to pick the currants for her. With her pretty hair tucked intoa little cap, arms bared to the elbow, and a checked apron whichhad a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the young housewife fellto work, feeling no doubts about her success, for hadn't she seenHannah do it hundreds of times? The array of pots rather amazed herat first, but John was so fond of jelly, and the nice little jarswould look so well on the top shelf, that Meg resolved to fill themall, and spent a long day picking, boiling, straining, and fussingover her jelly. She did her best, she asked advice of Mrs. Cornelius,she racked her brain to remember what Hannah did that she leftundone, she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, but that dreadfulstuff wouldn't 'jell'.

She longed to run home, bib and all, and ask Mother to lend hera hand, but John and she had agreed that they would never annoy anyonewith their private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They hadlaughed over that last word as if the idea it suggested was a mostpreposterous one, but they had held to their resolve, and wheneverthey could get on without help they did so, and no one interfered,for Mrs. March had advised the plan. So Meg wrestled alone with therefractory sweetmeats all that hot summer day, and at five o'clocksat down in her topsy-turvey kitchen, wrung her bedaubed hands,lifted up her voice and wept.

Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said,"My husband shall always feel free to bring a friend home wheneverhe likes. I shall always be prepared. There shall be no flurry, noscolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and agood dinner. John, dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whomyou please, and be sure of a welcome from me."

How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed withpride to hear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was tohave a superior wife. But, although they had had company from timeto time, it never happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never hadan opportunity to distinguish herself till now. It always happensso in this vale of tears, there is an inevitability about such thingswhich we can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can.

If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really wouldhave been unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days inthe year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulatinghimself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning,feeling sure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging inpleasant anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, whenhis pretty wife came running out to meet him, he escorted his friendto his mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a younghost and husband.

It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when hereached the Dovecote. The front door usually stood hospitably open.Now it was not only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud stilladorned the steps. The parlor windows were closed and curtained,no picture of the pretty wife sewing on the piazza, in white, witha distracting little bow in her hair, or a bright-eyed hostess,smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest. Nothing of the sort,for not a soul appeared but a sanginary-looking boy asleep under thecurrent bushes.

"I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott,while I look up Mrs. Brooke," said John, alarmed at the silence andsolitude.

Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burnedsugar, and Mr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on hisface. He paused discreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared,but he could both see and hear, and being a bachelor, enjoyed theprospect mightily.

In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair. One edition ofjelly was trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor,and a third was burning gaily on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonicphlegm, was calmly eating bread and currant wine, for the jelly wasstill in a hopelessly liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apronover her head, sat sobbing dismally.

"My dearest girl, what is the matter?" cried John, rushing in,with awful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, andsecret consternation at the thought of the guest in the garden.

"Oh, John, I am so tired and hot and cross and worried! I'vebeen at it till I'm all worn out. Do come and help me or I shalldie!" and the exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast,giving him a sweet welcome in every sense of the word, for herpinafore had been baptized at the same time as the floor.

"What worries you dear? Has anything dreadful happened?"asked the anxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the littlecap, which was all askew.

"Yes," sobbed Meg despairingly.

"Tell me quick, then. Don't cry. I can bear anything betterthan that. Out with it, love."

"The . . . The jelly won't jell and I don't know what to do!"

John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward,and the derisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the heartypeal, which put the finishing stroke to poor Meg's woe.

"Is that all? Fling it out of the window, and don't bother anymore about it. I'll buy you quarts if you want it, but for heaven'ssake don't have hysterics, for I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner,and . . ."

John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her handswith a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a toneof mingled indignation, reproach, and dismay . . .

"A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, howcould you do such a thing?"

"Hush, he's in the garden! I forgot the confounded jelly, butit can't be helped now," said John, surveying the prospect with ananxious eye.

"You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and youought to have remembered how busy I was," continued Meg petulantly,for even turtledoves will peck when ruffled.

"I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to sendword, for I met him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave,when you have always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before,and hang me if I ever do again!" added John, with an aggrieved air.

"I should hope not! Take him away at once. I can't see him,and there isn't any dinner."

"Well, I like that! Where's the beef and vegetables I senthome, and the pudding you promised?" cried John, rushing to thelarder.

"I hadn't time to cook anything. I meant to dine at Mother's.I'm sorry, but I was so busy," and Meg's tears began again.

John was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day'swork to come home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotichouse, an empty table, and a cross wife was not exactly conductiveto repose of mind or manner. He restrained himself however, and thelittle squall would have blown over, but for one unlucky word.

"It's a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand,we'll pull through and have a good time yet. Don't cry, dear, butjust exert yourself a bit, and fix us up something to eat. We'reboth as hungry as hunters, so we shan't mind what it is. Give usthe cold meat, and bread and cheese. We won't ask for jelly."

He meant it to be a good-natured joke, but that one word sealedhis fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure,and the last atom of patience vanished as he spoke.

"You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can. I'm tooused up to 'exert' myself for anyone. It's like a man to proposea bone and vulgar bread and cheese for company. I won't have anythingof the sort in my house. Take that Scott up to Mother's, andtell him I'm away, sick, dead, anything. I won't see him, and youtwo can laugh at me and my jelly as much as you like. You won'thave anything else here." and having delivered her defiance allon one breath, Meg cast away her pinafore and precipitately left thefield to bemoan herself in her own room.

What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but Mr.Scott was not taken 'up to Mother's', and when Meg descended, afterthey had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuouslunch which filled her with horror. Lotty reported that they hadeaten "a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throwaway all the sweet stuff, and hide the pots."

Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her ownshort-comings, of loyalty to John, "who might be cruel, but nobodyshould know it," restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up,she dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John tocome and be forgiven.

Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in thatlight. He had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused hislittle wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitablythat his friend enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to comeagain, but John was angry, though he did not show it, he felt thatMeg had deserted him in his hour of need. "It wasn't fair to tella man to bring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and whenhe took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave himin the lurch, to be laughed at or pitied. No, by George, it wasn't!And Meg must know it."

He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry wasover and he strolled home after seeing Scott off, a milder mood cameover him. "Poor little thing! It was hard upon her when she tried soheartily to please me. She was wrong, of course, but then she wasyoung. I must be patient and teach her." He hoped she had not gonehome - he hated gossip and interference. For a minute he was ruffledagain at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that Meg would cryherself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace,resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show herwhere she had failed in her duty to her spouse.

Meg likewise resolved to be 'calm and kind, but firm', and showhim his duty. She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and bekissed and comforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, shedid nothing of the sort, and when she saw John coming, began to humquite naturally, as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure inher best parlor.

John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe, butfeeling that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none,only came leisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with thesingularly relevant remark, "We are going to have a new moon,my dear."

"I've no objection," was Meg's equally soothing remark. A fewother topics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke andwet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. Johnwent to one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it,figuratively speaking. Meg went to the other window, and sewed asif new rosettes for slippers were among the necessaries of life.Neither spoke. Both looked quite 'calm and firm', and both feltdesperately uncomfortable.

"Oh, dear," thought Meg, "married life is very trying, anddoes need infinite patience as well as love, as Mother says." Theword 'Mother' suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, andreceived with unbelieving protests.

"John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn tosee and bear with them, remembering your own. He is very decided,but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not opposeimpatiently. He is very accurate, and particular about the truth - agood trait, though you call him 'fussy'. Never deceive him by lookor word, Meg, and he will give you the confidence you deserve, thesupport you need. He has a temper, not like ours - one flash and thenall over - but the white, still anger that is seldom stirred, butonce kindled is hard to quench. Be careful, be very careful, not towake his anger against yourself, for peace and happiness depend onkeeping his respect. Watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon ifyou both err, and guard against the little piques,misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way forbitter sorrow and regret."

These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset,especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement, herown hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalledthem, her own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor Johncoming home to such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced athim with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them. She put downher work and got up, thinking, "I will be the first to say,'Forgive me'", but he did not seem to hear her. She went very slowlyacross the room, for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him,but he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if shereally couldn't do it, then came the thought, "This is the beginning.I'll do my part, and have nothing to reproach myself with,"and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead.Of course that settled it. The penitent kiss was better than aworld of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, sayingtenderly . . .

"It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots.Forgive me, dear. I never will again!"

But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so didMeg, both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made,for family peace was preserved in that little family jar.

After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, andserved him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the firstcourse, on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and madeeverything go off so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was alucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhoodall the way home.

In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. SallieMoffat renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish ofgossip at the little house, or inviting 'that poor dear' to come inand spend the day at the big house. It was pleasant, for in dullweather Meg often felt lonely. All were busy at home, John absenttill night, and nothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about. Soit naturally fell out that Meg got into the way of gadding andgossiping with her friend. Seeing Sallie's pretty things made herlong for such, and pity herself because she had not got them. Salliewas very kind, and often offered her the coveted trifles, but Megdeclined them, knowing that John wouldn't like it, and then thisfoolish little woman went and did what John disliked even worse.

She knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trustedher, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to valuemore - his money. She knew where it was, was free to take what sheliked, and all he asked was that she should keep account of everypenny, pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poorman's wife. Till now she had done well, been prudent and exact, kepther little account books neatly, and showed them to him monthlywithout fear. But that autumn the serpent got into Meg's paradise,and tempted her like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but withdress. Meg didn't like to be pitied and made to feel poor. Itirritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and thenshe tried to console herself by buying something pretty, so thatSallie needn't think she had to economize. She always felt wickedafter it, for the pretty things were seldom necessaries, but thenthey cost so little, it wasn't worth worrying about, so the triflesincreased unconsciously, and in the shopping excursions she was nolonger a passive looker-on.

But the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when shecast up her accounts at the end of the month the sum total ratherscared her. John was busy that month and left the bills to her, thenext month he was absent, but the third he had a grand quarterlysettling up, and Meg never forgot it. A few days before she had donea dreadful thing, and it weighed upon her conscience. Sallie hadbeen buying silks, and Meg longed for a new one, just a handsome lightone for parties, her black silk was so common, and thin things forevening wear were only proper for girls. Aunt March usually gave thesisters a present of twenty-five dollars apiece at New Year's. Thatwas only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silk going ata bargain, and she had the money, if she only dared to take it. Johnalways said what was his was hers, but would he think it right tospend not only the prospective five-and-twenty, but anotherfive-and-twenty out of the household fund? That was the question.Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to lend the money, and withthe best intentions in life had tempted Meg beyond her strength.In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely, shimmering folds,and said, "A bargain, I assure, you, ma'am." She answered, "I'll takeit," and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie had exulted, and shehad laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven away,feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police were after her.

When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorseby spreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked less silvery now,didn't become her, after all, and the words 'fifty dollars' seemedstamped like a pattern down each breadth. She put it away, but ithaunted her, not delightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfullylike the ghost of a folly that was not easily laid. When John gotout his books that night, Meg's heart sank, and for the first timein her married life, she was afraid of her husband. The kind, browneyes looked as if they could be stern, and though he was unusuallymerry, she fancied he had found her out, but didn't mean to let herknow it. The house bills were all paid, the books all in order.John had praised her, and was undoing the old pocketbook which theycalled the 'bank', when Meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stoppedhis hand, saying nervously . . .

"You haven't seen my private expense book yet."

John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so,and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things womenwanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely themeaning of a hug-me-tight, or wonder how a little thing composed ofthree rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, couldpossibly be a bonnet, and cost six dollars. That night he looked asif he would like the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending tobe horrified at her extravagance, as he often did, beingparticularly proud of his prudent wife.

The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him.Meg got behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinklesout of his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with herpanic increasing with every word . . .

"John, dear, I'm ashamed to show you my book, for I've reallybeen dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must havethings, you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did, andmy New Year's money will partly pay for it, but I was sorry afterI had done it, for I knew you'd think it wrong in me."

John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly,"Don't go and hide. I won't beat you if you have gota pair of killing boots. I'm rather proud of my wife's feet, anddon't mind if she does pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, ifthey are good ones."

That had been one of her last 'trifles', and John's eye hadfallen on it as he spoke. "Oh, what will he say when he comes tothat awful fifty dollars!" thought Meg, with a shiver.

"It's worse than boots, it's a silk dress," she said, with thecalmness of desperation, for she wanted the worst over.

"Well, dear, what is the 'dem'd total', as Mr. Mantalini says?"

That didn't sound like John, and she knew he was looking up ather with the straightforward look that she had always been ready tomeet and answer with one as frank till now. She turned the page andher head at the same time, pointing to the sum which would have beenbad enough without the fifty, but which was appalling to her withthat added. For a minute the room was very still, then John saidslowly - but she could feel it cost him an effort to express nodispleasure - . . .

"Well, I don't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all thefurbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days."

"It isn't made or trimmed," sighed Meg, faintly, for a suddenrecollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her.

"Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one smallwoman, but I've no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat'swhen she gets it on," said John dryly.

"I know you are angry, John, but I can't help it. I don't meanto waste your money, and I didn't think those little things wouldcount up so. I can't resist them when I see Sallie buying all shewants, and pitying me because I don't. I try to be contented, butit is hard, and I'm tired of being poor."

The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hearthem, but he did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had deniedhimself many pleasures for Meg's sake. She could have bitten hertongue out the minute she had said it, for John pushed the booksaway and got up, saying with a little quiver in his voice, "I wasafraid of this. I do my best, Meg." If he had scolded her, oreven shaken her, it would not have broken her heart like those fewwords. She ran to him and held him close, crying, with repentanttears, "Oh, John, my dear, kind, hard-working boy. I didn't meanit! It was so wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could I say it!Oh, how could I say it!"

He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter onereproach, but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing whichwould not be forgotten soon, although he might never allude to itagain. She had promised to love him for better or worse, and thenshe, his wife, had reproached him with his poverty, after spendinghis earnings recklessly. It was dreadful, and the worst of it wasJohn went on so quietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened,except that he stayed in town later, and worked at night when shehad gone to cry herself to sleep. A week of remorse nearly madeMeg sick, and the discovery that John had countermanded the orderfor his new greatcoat reduced her to a state of despair which waspathetic to behold. He had simply said, in answer to her surprisedinquiries as to the change, "I can't afford it, my dear."

Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in thehall with her face buried in the old greatcoat, crying as if herheart would break.

They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love herhusband better for his poverty, because it seemed to have made aman of him, given him the strength and courage to fight his own way,and taught him a tender patience with which to bear and comfortthe natural longings and failures of those he loved.

Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, toldthe truth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor. The good-natured Mrs. Moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not tomake her a present of it immediately afterward. Then Meg orderedhome the greatcoat, and when John arrived, she put it on, and askedhim how he liked her new silk gown. One can imagine what answer hemade, how he received his present, and what a blissful state ofthings ensued. John came home early, Meg gadded no more, and thatgreatcoat was put on in the morning by a very happy husband, andtaken off at night by a most devoted little wife. So the yearrolled round, and at midsummer there came to Meg a new experience,the deepest and tenderest of a woman's life.

Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dovecote oneSaturday, with an excited face, and was received with the clashof cymbals, for Hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in oneand the cover in the other.

"How's the little mamma? Where is everybody? Why didn'tyou tell me before I came home?" began Laurie in a loud whisper.

"Happy as a queen, the dear! Every soul of 'em is upstairsa worshipin'. We didn't want no hurrycanes round. Now you gointo the parlor, and I'll send 'em down to you," with whichsomewhat involved reply Hannah vanished, chuckling ecstatically.

Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laidforth upon a large pillow. Jo's face was very sober, but her eyestwinkled, and there was an odd sound in her voice of repressedemotion of some sort.

"Shut your eyes and hold out your arms," she said invitingly.

Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his handsbehind him with an imploring gesture. "No, thank you. I'd rathernot. I shall drop it or smash it, as sure as fate."

"Then you shan't see your nevvy," said Jo decidedly, turningas if to go.

"I will, I will! Only you must be responsible for damages."and obeying orders, Laurie heroically shut his eyes while somethingwas put into his arms. A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy,Mrs. March, Hannah, and John caused him to open them the nextminute, to find himself invested with two babies instead of one.

No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face wasdroll enough to convulse a Quaker, as he stood and stared wildlyfrom the unconscious innocents to the hilarious spectators withsuch dismay that Jo sat down on the floor and screamed.

"Twins, by Jupiter!" was all he said for a minute, thenturning to the women with an appealing look that was comicallypiteous, he added, "Take 'em quick, somebody! I'm going tolaugh, and I shall drop 'em."

Jo rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on eacharm, as if already initiated into the mysteries of babytending,while Laurie laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.

"It's the best joke of the season, isn't it? I wouldn't havetold you, for I set my heart on surprising you, and I flattermyself I've done it," said Jo, when she got her breath.

"I never was more staggered in my life. Isn't it fun? Are theyboys? What are you going to name them? Let's have another look. Holdme up, Jo, for upon my life it's one too many for me," returnedLaurie, regarding the infants with the air of a big, benevolentNewfoundland looking at a pair of infantile kittens.

"Boy and girl. Aren't they beauties?" said the proud papa,beaming upon the little red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels.

"Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which?" andLaurie bent like a well-sweep to examine the prodigies.

"Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl,French fashion, so you can always tell. Besides, one has blueeyes and one brown. Kiss them, Uncle Teddy," said wicked Jo.

"I'm afraid they mightn't like it," began Laurie, with unusualtimidity in such matters.

"Of course they will, they are used to it now. Do it thisminute, sir!" commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy.

Laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peckat each little cheek that produced another laugh, and made thebabies squeal.

"There, I knew they didn't like it! That's the boy, seehim kick, he hits out with his fists like a good one. Now then,young Brooke, pitch into a man of your own size, will you?" criedLaurie, delighted with a poke in the face from a tiny fist, flappingaimlessly about.

"He's to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, aftermother and grandmother. We shall call her Daisey, so as not tohave two Megs, and I suppose the mannie will be Jack, unless wefind a better name," said Amy, with aunt-like interest.

"Name him Demijohn, and call him Demi for short," said Laurie

"Daisy and Demi, just the thing! I knew Teddy would do it,"cried Jo clapping her hands.

Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were'Daisy' and 'Demi' to the end of the chapter.