anything for them; I seem to feel their wants, and sympathize with their troubles; and, oh, I should so like to be a mother to them!"
Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it smiling, with tears in her eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way, which they had not seen for a long while.
"I told my plan to Fritz once, and he said it was just what he would like, and agreed to try it when we got rich. Bless his dear heart, he's been doing it all his life,—helping poor boys, I mean,—not getting rich; that he'll never be—money don't stay in his pocket long enough to lay up any. But now, thanks to my good old aunt, who loved me better than I ever deserved, I'm rich—at least I feel so, and we can live at Plumfield, perfectly well, if we have a flourishing school. It's just the place for boys—the house is big, and the furniture strong and plain. There's plenty of room for dozens inside, and splendid grounds outside. They could help in the garden and orchard—such work is healthy, isn't it, sir? Then Fritz can train and teach in his own way, and father will help him. I can feed, and nurse, and pet, and scold them; and mother will be my stand-by. I've always longed for lots of boys, and never had enough; now I can fill the house full, and revel in the little dears to my heart's content. Think what luxury; Plumfield my own, and a wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me!"
As Jo waved her hands, and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went off into a gale of merriment, and Mr. Laurence laughed till they thought he'd have an apoplectic fit.