"Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one," began Mrs. March, frightening away a big black cricket, that was staring Teddy out of countenance.
"Not half so good as yours, mother. Here it is, and we never can thank you enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done," cried Jo, with the loving impetuosity which she never could outgrow.
"I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year," said Amy, softly.
"A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmee dear," added Meg's tender voice.
Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility,—
"Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!"