Camp Laurence

           Bethwaspostmistress,for,beingmostathome,shecouldattendtoitregularly,anddearlylikedthedailytaskofunlockingthelittledooranddistributingthemail.OneJulydayshecameinwithherhandsfull,andwentaboutthehouseleavinglettersandparcelslikethepennypost.

           "Here’syourposy,Mother!Laurieneverforgetsthat,"shesaid,puttingthefreshnosegayinthevasethatstoodin‘Marmee’scorner’,andwaskeptsuppliedbytheaffectionateboy.

           "MissMegMarch,oneletterandaglove,"continuedBeth,deliveringthearticlestohersister,whosatnearhermother,stitchingwristbands.

           "Why,Ileftapairoverthere,andhereisonlyone,"saidMeg,lookingatthegraycottonglove."Didn’tyoudroptheotherinthegarden?"

           "No,I’msureIdidn’t,fortherewasonlyoneintheoffice."

           "Ihatetohaveoddgloves!Nevermind,theothermaybefound.MyletterisonlyatranslationoftheGermansongIwanted.IthinkMr.Brookedidit,forthisisn’tLaurie’swriting."

           Mrs.MarchglancedatMeg,whowaslookingveryprettyinherginghammorninggown,withthelittlecurlsblowingaboutherforehead,andverywomanly,asshesatsewingatherlittleworktable,fulloftidywhiterolls,sounconsciousofthethoughtinhermother’smindasshesewedandsang,whileherfingersflewandherthoughtswerebusiedwithgirlishfanciesasinnocentandfreshasthepansiesinherbelt,thatMrs.Marchsmiledandwassatisfied.