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290 that women love to receive as long as they live. The bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all the better for them; and, if death, almost the only power that can part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a tender, welcome, and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who has kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for "the best nevvy in the world."

Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this little homily), for, suddenly, Laurie's ghost seemed to stand before her. A substantial, life-like ghost leaning over her, with the very look he used to wear when he felt a good deal, and didn't like to show it. But, like Jenny in the ballad,—

and lay staring up at him, in startled silence, till he stooped and kissed her. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully,—

"Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!"

"Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?"

"Glad! my blessed boy, words can't express my gladness. Where's Amy?"

"Your mother has got her, down at Meg's. We stopped there by the way, and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches."

"Your what?" cried Jo—for Laurie uttered those two words with an unconscious pride and satisfaction, which betrayed him.

"Oh, the dickens! now I've done it;" and he looked so guilty that Jo was down upon him like a flash.

"You've gone and got married?"