young and lively. I've a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so."
The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things, and was always scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of "going over" was not forgotten; and, when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Laurence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused, and took a survey. All quiet; curtains down at the lower windows; servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand, at the upper window.
"There he is," thought Jo; "poor boy! all alone, and sick, this dismal day! It's a shame! I'll toss up a snow-ball, and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him."
Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened, and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded, and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called out,—
"How do you do? Are you sick?"
Laurie opened the window and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven,—
"Better, thank you. I've had a horrid cold, and been shut up a week."
"I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?"
"Nothing; it's as dull as tombs up here."
"Don't you read?"
"Not much; they won't let me."
"Can't somebody read to you?"
