CHAPTER VII.
AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.
THAT boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy, one day, as Laurie clattered by on horse-back, with a flourish of his whip as he passed.
"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? and very handsome ones they are, too;" cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend.
"I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire up when I admire his riding."
"Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she called him a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter.
"You needn't be so rude, it's only a 'lapse of lingy,' as Mr. Davis says," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin. "I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
"Why?" asked Meg, kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder.
"I need it so much; I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to have the rag-money for a month."
"In debt, Amy; what do you mean?" and Meg looked sober.
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