opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune. It didn't much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily and well; and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.
"Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms,"
used to be the Professor's favorite line; for "das land" meant Germany to him; but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, upon the words,—
"There, oh there, might I with thee,
Oh my beloved, go";
and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation, that she longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither, whenever he liked.
The song was considered a great success, and the singer bashfully retired, covered with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet—for she had been introduced simply as "my sister," and no one had called her by her new name since he came. He forgot himself still farther, when Laurie said, in his most gracious manner, at parting,—
"My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir; please remember that there is always a welcome waiting for you, over the way."
Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most delightfully-demonstrative old fellow he ever met.