47. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
For a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped
and loved, met occasionally, and wrote such voluminous letters
that the rise in the price of paper was accounted for, Laurie
said. The second year began rather soberly, for their prospects
did not brighten, and Aunt March died suddenly. But when their
first sorrow was over--for they loved the old lady in spite
of her sharp tongue--they found they had cause for rejoicing,
for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of joyful
"It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, for
of course you intend to sell it," said Laurie, as they were all
talking the matter over some weeks later.
"No, I don't," was Jo's decided answer, as she petted the
fat poodle, whom she had adopted, out of respect to his former
"You don't mean to live there?"
"Yes, I do."
"But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a
power of money to keep it in order. The garden and orchard alone
need two or three men, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I take
"He'll try his hand at it there, if I propose it."
"And you expect to live on the produce of the place? Well,
that sounds paradisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work."
"The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one," And
"Of what is this fine crop to consist, ma'am?"
"Boys. I want to open a school for little lads--a good,
happy, homelike school, with me to take care of them and Fritz
to teach them."
"That's a truly Joian plan for you! Isn't that just like
her?" cried Laurie, appealing to the family, who looked as much
surprised as he.