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She
drew
them
out
,
turned
them
over
,
and
relived
that
pleasant
winter
at
kind
Mrs
.
Kirke
’
s
.
She
had
smiled
at
first
,
then
she
looked
thoughtful
,
next
sad
,
and
when
she
came
to
a
little
message
written
in
the
Professor
’
s
hand
,
her
lips
began
to
tremble
,
the
books
slid
out
of
her
lap
,
and
she
sat
looking
at
the
friendly
words
,
as
they
took
a
new
meaning
,
and
touched
a
tender
spot
in
her
heart
.
"
Wait
for
me
,
my
friend
.
I
may
be
a
little
late
,
but
I
shall
surely
come
.
"
"
Oh
,
if
he
only
would
!
So
kind
,
so
good
,
so
patient
with
me
always
,
my
dear
old
Fritz
.
I
didn
’
t
value
him
half
enough
when
I
had
him
,
but
now
how
I
should
love
to
see
him
,
for
everyone
seems
going
away
from
me
,
and
I
’
m
all
alone
.
"
And
holding
the
little
paper
fast
,
as
if
it
were
a
promise
yet
to
be
fulfilled
,
Jo
laid
her
head
down
on
a
comfortable
rag
bag
,
and
cried
,
as
if
in
opposition
to
the
rain
pattering
on
the
roof
.
Was
it
all
self
-
pity
,
loneliness
,
or
low
spirits
?
Or
was
it
the
waking
up
of
a
sentiment
which
had
bided
its
time
as
patiently
as
its
inspirer
?
Who
shall
say
?
Jo
was
alone
in
the
twilight
,
lying
on
the
old
sofa
,
looking
at
the
fire
,
and
thinking
.
It
was
her
favorite
way
of
spending
the
hour
of
dusk
.
No
one
disturbed
her
,
and
she
used
to
lie
there
on
Beth
’
s
little
red
pillow
,
planning
stories
,
dreaming
dreams
,
or
thinking
tender
thoughts
of
the
sister
who
never
seemed
far
away
.
Her
face
looked
tired
,
grave
,
and
rather
sad
,
for
tomorrow
was
her
birthday
,
and
she
was
thinking
how
fast
the
years
went
by
,
how
old
she
was
getting
,
and
how
little
she
seemed
to
have
accomplished
.
Almost
twenty
-
five
,
and
nothing
to
show
for
it
.
Jo
was
mistaken
in
that
.
There
was
a
good
deal
to
show
,
and
by
-
and
-
by
she
saw
,
and
was
grateful
for
it
.
"
An
old
maid
,
that
’
s
what
I
’
m
to
be
.
A
literary
spinster
,
with
a
pen
for
a
spouse
,
a
family
of
stories
for
children
,
and
twenty
years
hence
a
morsel
of
fame
,
perhaps
,
when
,
like
poor
Johnson
,
I
’
m
old
and
can
’
t
enjoy
it
,
solitary
,
and
can
’
t
share
it
,
independent
,
and
don
’
t
need
it
.
Well
,
I
needn
’
t
be
a
sour
saint
nor
a
selfish
sinner
,
and
,
I
dare
say
,
old
maids
are
very
comfortable
when
they
get
used
to
it
,
but
.
.
.
"
and
there
Jo
sighed
,
as
if
the
prospect
was
not
inviting
.
It
seldom
is
,
at
first
,
and
thirty
seems
the
end
of
all
things
to
five
-
and
-
twenty
.
But
it
’
s
not
as
bad
as
it
looks
,
and
one
can
get
on
quite
happily
if
one
has
something
in
one
’
s
self
to
fall
back
upon
.
At
twenty
-
five
,
girls
begin
to
talk
about
being
old
maids
,
but
secretly
resolve
that
they
never
will
be
.
At
thirty
they
say
nothing
about
it
,
but
quietly
accept
the
fact
,
and
if
sensible
,
console
themselves
by
remembering
that
they
have
twenty
more
useful
,
happy
years
,
in
which
they
may
be
learning
to
grow
old
gracefully
.
Don
’
t
laugh
at
the
spinsters
,
dear
girls
,
for
often
very
tender
,
tragic
romances
are
hidden
away
in
the
hearts
that
beat
so
quietly
under
the
sober
gowns
,
and
many
silent
sacrifices
of
youth
,
health
,
ambition
,
love
itself
,
make
the
faded
faces
beautiful
in
God
’
s
sight
.
Even
the
sad
,
sour
sisters
should
be
kindly
dealt
with
,
because
they
have
missed
the
sweetest
part
of
life
,
if
for
no
other
reason
.
And
looking
at
them
with
compassion
,
not
contempt
,
girls
in
their
bloom
should
remember
that
they
too
may
miss
the
blossom
time
.
That
rosy
cheeks
don
’
t
last
forever
,
that
silver
threads
will
come
in
the
bonnie
brown
hair
,
and
that
,
by
-
and
-
by
,
kindness
and
respect
will
be
as
sweet
as
love
and
admiration
now
.
Gentlemen
,
which
means
boys
,
be
courteous
to
the
old
maids
,
no
matter
how
poor
and
plain
and
prim
,
for
the
only
chivalry
worth
having
is
that
which
is
the
readiest
to
pay
deference
to
the
old
,
protect
the
feeble
,
and
serve
womankind
,
regardless
of
rank
,
age
,
or
color
.
