Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it wasconsidered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood tobe invited to take a table, and everyone was much interested in thematter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for allparties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of herlife, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get oneasily. The 'haughty, uninteresting creature' was let severelyalone, but Amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by theoffer of the art table, and she exerted herself to prepare andsecure appropriate and valuable contributions to it.

Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fairopened, then there occurred one of the little skirmishes whichit is almost impossible to avoid, when some five-and-twentywomen, old and young, with all their private piques and prejudices,try to work together.

May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was agreater favorite than herself, and just at this time severaltrifling circumstances occurred to increase the feeling. Amy'sdainty pen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed May's painted vases - thatwas one thorn. Then the all conquering Tudor had danced four timeswith Amy at a late party and only once with May - that was thornnumber two. But the chief grievance that rankled in her soul, andgave an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which someobliging gossip had whispered to her, that the March girls had madefun of her at the Lambs'. All the blame of this should have fallenupon Jo, for her naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escapedetection, and the frolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke toescape. No hint of this had reached the culprits, however, and Amy'sdismay can be imagined, when, the very evening before the fair, asshe was putting the last touches to her pretty table, Mrs. Chester,who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter,said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look . . .

"I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the youngladies about my giving this table to anyone but my girls. Asthis is the most prominent, and some say the most attractivetable of all, and they are the chief getters-up of the fair, itis thought best for them to take this place. I'm sorry, but Iknow you are too sincerely interested in the cause to mind alittle personal disappointment, and you shall have another tableif you like."

Mrs. Chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy todeliver this little speech, but when the time came, she foundit rather difficult to utter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspiciouseyes looking straight at her full of surprise and trouble.

Amy felt that there was something behind this, but couldnot guess what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing thatshe did, "Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?"

"Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg. It's merely amatter of expediency, you see, my girls will naturally take thelead, and this table is considered their proper place. I think itvery appropriate to you, and feel very grateful for your efforts tomake it so pretty, but we must give up our private wishes, ofcourse, and I will see that you have a good place elsewhere.Wouldn't you like the flower table? The little girls undertook it,but they are discouraged. You could make a charming thing of it, andthe flower table is always attractive you know."

"Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which enlightenedAmy as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She coloredangrily, but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm,and answered with unexpected amiability . . .

"It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up myplace here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like."

"You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer,"began May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked atthe pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amyhad so carefully made and so gracefully arranged. She meant itkindly, but Amy mistook her meaning, and said quickly . . .

"Oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping hercontributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feelingthat herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness.

"Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak, Mama,"said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table.

"Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feelinga trifle ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.

The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight,which cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, andshe fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could notartistically. But everything seemed against her. It was late, andshe was tired. Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to helpher, and the little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussedand chattered like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusionin their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order. Theevergreen arch wouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggledand threatened to tumble down on her head when the hanging basketswere filled. Her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sepiatear on the Cupid's cheek. She bruised her hands with hammering, andgot cold working in a draft, which last affliction filled her withapprehensions for the morrow. Any girl reader who has suffered likeafflictions will sympathize with poor Amy and wish her well throughher task.

There was great indignation at home when she told her storythat evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her shehad done right. Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all,and Jo demanded why she didn't take all her pretty things and leavethose mean people to get on without her.

"Because they are mean is no reason why I should be. I hatesuch things, and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don'tintend to show it. They will feel that more than angry speechesor huffy actions, won't they, Marmee?"

"That's the right spirit, my dear. A kiss for a blow is alwaysbest, though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said hermother, with the air of one who had learned the difference betweenpreaching and practicing.

In spite of various very natural temptations to resent andretaliate, Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, benton conquering her enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to asilent reminder that came to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely.As she arranged her table that morning, while the little girls werein the anteroom filling the baskets, she took up her pet production,a little book, the antique cover of which her father had found amonghis treasures, and in which on leaves of vellum she had beautifullyilluminated different texts. As she turned the pages rich in daintydevices with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon one verse thatmade her stop and think. Framed in a brilliant scrollwork of scarlet,blue and gold, with little spirits of good will helping one anotherup and down among the thorns and flowers, were the words, "Thou shaltlove thy neighbor as thyself."

"I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from thebright page to May's discontented face behind the big vases, thatcould not hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amystood a minute, turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each somesweet rebuke for all heartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit.Many wise and true sermons are preached us every day by unconsciousministers in street, school, office, or home. Even a fair tablemay become a pulpit, if it can offer the good and helpful wordswhich are never out of season. Amy's conscience preached her alittle sermon from that text, then and there, and she did what manyof us do not always do, took the sermon to heart, and straightwayput it in practice.

A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiringthe pretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. Theydropped their voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearingone side of the story and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant,but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chanceoffered for proving it. She heard May say sorrowfully . . .

"It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, andI don't want to fill up with odds and ends. The table was justcomplete then. Now it's spoiled."

"I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggestedsomeone.

"How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did notfinish, for Amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly . . .

"You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you wantthem. I was just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for theybelong to your table rather than mine. Here they are, please takethem, and forgive me if I was hasty in carrying them away last night."

As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and asmile, and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do afriendly thing than it was to stay and be thanked for it.

"Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?" cried one girl.

May's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whosetemper was evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added,with a disagreeable laugh, "Very lovely, for she knew she wouldn'tsell them at her own table."

Now, that was hard. When we make little sacrifices we liketo have them appreciated, at least, and for a minute Amy was sorryshe had done it, feeling that virtue was not always its own reward.But it is, as she presently discovered, for her spirits began torise, and her table to blossom under her skillful hands, the girlswere very kind, and that one little act seemed to have cleared theatmosphere amazingly.

It was a very long day and a hard one for Amy, as she sat behindher table, often quite alone, for the little girls desertedvery soon. Few cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquetsbegan to droop long before night.

The art table was the most attractive in the room. There wasa crowd about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flyingto and fro with important faces and rattling money boxes. Amyoften looked wistfully across, longing to be there, where she feltat home and happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do. Itmight seem no hardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe younggirl, it was not only tedious, but very trying, and the thought ofLaurie and his friends made it a real martyrdom.

She did not go home till night, and then she looked so paleand quiet that they knew the day had been a hard one, though shemade no complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Hermother gave her an extra cordial cup of tea. Beth helped her dress,and made a charming little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonishedher family by getting herself up with unusual care, and hintingdarkly that the tables were about to be turned.

"Don't do anything rude, pray Jo; I won't have any fuss made,so let it all pass and behave yourself," begged Amy, as she departedearly, hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poorlittle table.

"I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to everyone I know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible.Teddy and his boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet."returned Jo, leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie. Presentlythe familiar tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him.

"Is that my boy?"

"As sure as this is my girl!" and Laurie tucked her hand underhis arm with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified.

"Oh, Teddy, such doings!" and Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal.

"A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, andI'll be hanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, andcamp down before her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing hercause with warmth.

"The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh onesmay not arrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, butI shouldn't wonder if they never came at all. When people do onemean thing they are very likely to do another," observed Jo in adisgusted tone.

"Didn't Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to."

"I didn't know that, he forgot, I suppose, and, as your grandpa waspoorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did want some."

"Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking?They are just as much yours as mine. Don't we always go halvesin everything?" began Laurie, in the tone that always made Joturn thorny.

"Gracious, I hope not! Half of some of your things wouldn'tsuit me at all. But we mustn't stand philandering here. I've gotto help Amy, so you go and make yourself splendid, and if you'llbe so very kind as to let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to theHall, I'll bless you forever."

"Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively thatJo shut the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and calledthrough the bars, "Go away, Teddy, I'm busy."

Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night,for Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a loverly basketarranged in his best manner for a centerpiece. Then the March familyturned out en masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, forpeople not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiringAmy's taste, and apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurieand his friends gallantly threw themselves into the breach, boughtup the bouquets, encamped before the table, and made that cornerthe liveliest spot in the room. Amy was in her element now, and outof gratitude, if nothing more, was as spritely and gracious as possible,coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue wasit's own reward, after all.

Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when Amy washappily surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about theHall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her uponthe subject of the Chester change of base. She reproached herselffor her share of the ill feeling and resolved to exonerate Amy assoon as possible. She also discovered what Amy had done about thethings in the morning, and considered her a model of magnanimity. Asshe passed the art table, she glanced over it for her sister'sthings, but saw no sign of them. "Tucked away out of sight, I daresay," thought Jo, who could forgive her own wrongs, but hotly resentedany insult offered her family.

"Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?" asked May witha conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could begenerous.

"She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now sheis enjoying herself. The flower table is always attractive, youknow, 'especially to gentlemen'." Jo couldn't resist giving thatlittle slap, but May took it so meekly she regretted it a minuteafter, and fell to praising the great vases, which still remainedunsold.

"Is Amy's illumination anywhere about? I took a fancy tobuy that for Father," said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate ofher sister's work.

"Everything of Amy's sold long ago. I took care that theright people saw them, and they made a nice little sum of moneyfor us," returned May, who had overcome sundry small temptations,as well as Amy had, that day.

Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news, andAmy looked both touched and surprised by the report of May'sword and manner.

"Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by theother tables as generously as you have by mine, especially theart table," she said, ordering out 'Teddy's own', as the girlscalled the college friends.

"'Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table, butdo your duty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of artin every sense of the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as thedevoted phalanx prepared to take the field.

"To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," saidlittle Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender,and getting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said . . .

"Very well, my son, for a small boy!" and walked him off, witha paternal pat on the head.

"Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heapingof coals of fire on her enemy's head.

To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases,but pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemenspeculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, andwandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers,painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriatepurchases.

Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, andsaid something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latterlady beam with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full ofmingled pride and anxiety, though she did not betray the causeof her pleasure till several days later.

The fair was pronounced a success, and when May bade Amygoodnight, she did not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionatekiss, and a look which said 'forgive and forget'. That satisfiedAmy, and when she got home she found the vases paraded onthe parlor chimney piece with a great bouquet in each. "Thereward of merit for a magnanimous March," as Laurie announcedwith a flourish.

"You've a deal more principle and generosity and noblenessof character than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You've behavedsweetly, and I respect you with all my heart," said Jowarmly, as they brushed their hair together late that night.

"Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It musthave been dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting yourheart on selling your own pretty things. I don't believe I couldhave done it as kindly as you did," added Beth from her pillow.

"Why, girls, you needn't praise me so. I only did as I'dbe done by. You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, butI mean a true gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to doit as far as I know how. I can't explain exactly, but I want tobe above the little meannesses and follies and faults that spoilso many women. I'm far from it now, but I do my best, and hope intime to be what Mother is."

Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug, "Iunderstand now what you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again.You are getting on faster than you think, and I'll take lessonsof you in true politeness, for you've learned the secret, I believe.Try away, deary, you'll get your reward some day, andno one will be more delighted than I shall."

A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found ithard to be delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs.March's face was illuminated to such a degree when she read itthat Jo and Beth, who were with her, demanded what the gladtidings were.

"Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants . . ."

"Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chairin an uncontrollable rapture.

"No, dear, not you. It's Amy."

"Oh, Mother! She's too young, it's my turn first. I'vewanted it so long. It would do me so much good, and be so altogethersplendid. I must go!"

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly,and it is not for us to dictate when she offers such a favor."

"It's always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work.It isn't fair, oh, it isn't fair!" cried Jo passionately.

"I'm afraid it's partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoketo me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and tooindependent spirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something youhad said - 'I planned at first to ask Jo, but as 'favors burden her',and she 'hates French', I think I won't venture to invite her. Amyis more docile, will make a good companion for Flo, and receivegratefully any help the trip may give her."

"Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! Why can't I learn tokeep it quiet?" groaned Jo, remembering words which had beenher undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quotedphrases, Mrs. March said sorrowfully . . .

"I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it thistime, so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasureby reproaches or regrets."

"I'll try," said Jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pickup the basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf out ofher book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and notgrudge her one minute of happiness. But it won't be easy, forit is a dreadful disappointment," and poor Jo bedewed the littlefat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears.

"Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, andI'm glad you are not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracingher, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving facethat Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made herwant to box her own ears, and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burdenher with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it.

By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part inthe family jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps,but without repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young ladyherself received the news as tidings of great joy, went aboutin a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors andpack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes,money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of artthan herself.

"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively,as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my career,for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome,and will do something to prove it."

"Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes,at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.

"Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,"replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure.But she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched awayat her palette as if bent on vigorous measures before shegave up her hopes.

"No, you won't. You hate hard work, and you'll marry somerich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all yourdays," said Jo.

"Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believethat one will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't bean artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are,"said Amy, smiling, as if the part of Lady Bountiful would suither better than that of a poor drawing teacher.

"Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh. "If you wish it you'll have it,for your wishes are always granted - mine never."

"Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting hernose with her knife.

"Rather!"

"Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig inthe Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made somany times."

"Thank you. I'll remind you of your promise when that joyfulday comes, if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague butmagnificent offer as gratefully as she could.

There was not much time for preparation, and the house wasin a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till thelast flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to herrefuge, the garret, and cried till she couldn't cry any more.Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed. Thenjust as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly cameover her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her andthose who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the lastlingerer, saying with a sob . . .

"Oh, take care of them for me, and if anything shouldhappen . . ."

"I will, dear, I will, and if anything happens, I'll comeand comfort you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he wouldbe called upon to keep his word.

So Amy sailed away to find the Old World, which is alwaysnew and beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friendwatched her from the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentlefortunes would befall the happy-hearted girl, who waved her handto them till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine dazzlingon the sea.