Jo chuckled.
"I've rather a notion that we shall!" she said.
Jo was right. The friendship between the boys and girls, so oddly begun, ripened with the years into something stronger. Older heads in Woodford began to nod meaningly and matchmaking tongues wagged busily with an old, yet ever new and entrancing subject.
The scene shifts to the pleasant garden at the rear of the Harrison house several years after the opening of this story.
Nan's Aunt Emma, an invalid no longer but a handsome, happy woman in full possession of her health and joy in life, was seated on the garden bench, smiling over a great pile of letters that lay in her lap.
The sound of laughing voices caused her to look up as Jo and Sadie—older now, "practically grown up"—came swinging down the path toward her, arms entwined.
"What a pretty picture," laughed Jo. "Dreaming over a pack of old letters! Why, Aunt Emma—" as her eyes rested on the writing—"those are my letters to you!"
Miss Emma smiled.
"Your journal dear. I brought them out here to read them again—and remember how much I owe the author of them!"