“What shall we do with that girl? She never will behave like a young lady,” sighed Meg, as she watched the race with a disapproving face.
“I hope she won’t. She is so funny and dear as she is,” said Beth, who had never betrayed that she was a little hurt at Jo’s having secrets with anyone but her.
“It’s very trying, but we never can make her commy la fo,” added Amy, who sat making some new frills for herself, with her curls tied up in a very becoming way, two agreeable things that made her feel unusually elegant and ladylike.
In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected to read.
“Have you anything interesting there?” asked Meg, with condescension.
“Nothing but a story, won’t amount to much, I guess,” returned Jo, carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight.
“You’d better read it aloud. That will amuse us and keep you out of mischief,” said Amy in her most grown-up tone.
“What’s the name?” asked Beth, wondering why Jo kept her face behind the sheet.
“The Rival Painters.”
“That sounds well. Read it,” said Meg.