"I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied.
"You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have
bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime."

They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately
it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw
them, and no one laughed at the queer party.

A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no
fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group
of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to
keep warm.

How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls
went in.

"Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!" said the poor
woman, crying for joy.

"Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and set them to
laughing.

In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been
at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and
stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs.
March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises
of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had
been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children
round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing,
talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.