Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we
talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally, all about
cricket, and so on, when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I
mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, I'm sure he does,"
said Jo decidedly.
"I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so
I've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes.
He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if
I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful
as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of
his own."
"It's a mercy you didn't, Mother!" laughed Jo, looking at
her boots. "But we'll have another play sometime that he can
see. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly?"
"I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!"
And Meg examined her flowers with great interest.
"They are lovely. But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said
Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.
Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I
could send my bunch to Father. I'm afraid he isn't having such
a merry Christmas as we are."
