"It's positive cruelty to animals," agreed Sadie. "I think I'll sit right down when I get home and write out a resignation to Miss Jane Romaine. I shan't stir a step if you don't, Jo, and that settles it!"
"I'm not a dog in the manger," said Jo, with a mirthless smile. "It won't help me any to have your good time spoiled."
"Our good time!" cried Nan. "As if it wasn't spoiled already if you can't go with us! I can't believe the awful truth yet. I simply can't!"
The three girls had been for a hike out into the country. Now they realized suddenly that it was getting late, and they turned their steps toward home.
They walked on for a considerable distance in silence, each busy with her own thoughts. Suddenly Nan spoke.
"We've got troubles at home, too, though of course they are nothing like yours, Jo," she said. "Dad has money enough yet, thank goodness! But poor Aunt Emma—" she paused and a shadow clouded her face.
Jo and Sadie knew of Nan's Aunt Emma, although they had seen very little of the maiden lady who lived with the Harrisons. The latter was half-paralyzed, an all but helpless invalid. Week after week, month after month, she sat in her wheeled chair near the window of her room, reading, sewing, or sitting idle, hands clasped in her lap looking out upon a scene of which she could never again hope to be an active part. So now when Nan spoke the invalid's name Jo and Sadie were all sympathy.
"Why, what's the matter with your Aunt Emma—worse than usual, I mean?" asked Jo.
"You look so dreadfully sad, Nan," added Sadie.
Nan shook her head.