remember that you are a young lady."

"I'm not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll
wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off
her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. "I hate to think
I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns,
and look as prim as a China Aster! It's bad enough to be a
girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners! I
can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And it's
worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa.
And I can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!"

And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled
like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.

"Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped. So you
must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and
playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough
head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the
world could not make ungentle in its touch.

"As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether
too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now, but you'll
grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care.
I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when
you don't try to be elegant. But your absurd words are as bad
as Jo's slang."

"If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?"
asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.