Here are your flowers
Sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped
Laurie threw himself down on the turf
A rough sketch of Laurie taming a horse
Turning the ring thoughtfully upon his finger
O Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come
Jo laid her head on a comfortable rag-bag and cried
A substantial lifelike ghost leaning over her
The tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew
Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap
They began to pace up and down
What makes my legs go, dranpa?
Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades
Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?
Leaving Mrs. March and her daughters under the festival tree
"Go then, my little Book, and show to all
That entertain and bid thee welcome shall,
What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast;
And wish what thou dost show them may be blest
To them for good, may make them choose to be
Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me.
Tell them of Mercy; she is one
Who early hath her pilgrimage begun.
Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize
The world which is to come, and so be wise;
For little tripping maids may follow God
Along the ways which saintly feet have trod."
Adapted from John Bunyan.
Part First.
CHAPTER I.
PLAYING PILGRIMS.
Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.
"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.
"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and
