I'll go without. I don't care what people say!" cried Jo,
taking up her book.

"You may have it, you may! Only don't stain it, and do behave
nicely. Don't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say
'Christopher Columbus!' will you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be as prim as I can and not get
into any scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note,
and let me finish this splendid story."

So Meg went away to 'accept with thanks', look over her dress,
and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo
finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with
Scrabble.

On New Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger
girls played dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the
all-important business of 'getting ready for the party'. Simple
as the toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down,
laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair
pervaded the house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo
undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs.

"Ought they to smoke like that?" asked Beth from her perch
on the bed.