Is ever bravely hoping.
Beauty of face and girlish grace
Are theirs, for joy or sorrow;
Jeannette takes brightly every day,
And Jo dreads each to-morrow.
One early morn they watched the dawn—
I saw them stand together;
Their whole day’s sport, ’twas very plain,
Depended on the weather.
“‘Twill storm!” cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low: