In the meanwhile, I must tell you, dear, of a clever way that Meg has devised to thank Sallie Moffat for all of her generosity. You know how she is always giving Meg little gifts of clothes and pretty trifles, and last week she took her into Boston to hear Mr. Verdi’s Ballo in Maschera—no performance near so fine, you may be sure, as you will hear when you at last descend from your mountains to reach Milan, but Meg was in her delight, and has been singing like a lark ever since of witches, doomed lovers, and assignations in gallows places. Marmee frowns at the unsuitability of this for the children’s ears; but she need not trouble herself, for, happily, the twins’ understanding of Italian is so far even more limited than that of their English, so they both lie contentedly cooing in their cradles as their mama warbles away, enjoying the sound of her sweet voice, and blissfully unaware of the import of the words attached to the music.

Meg’s despair was in finding a way to thank Sallie. You know how proud she is, and how she abhors to receive charity with no way to return it, but the truth is that she don’t have much money and Sallie does, and prettily homemade gifts are all very fine, but what is the purpose of taking a nicely made blancmange to a house whose cook has served in the finest houses in Boston, or working a pair of slippers for someone who orders her shoes from Paris?

The answer came when Meg and I paid a call upon Sallie last Tuesday. She welcomed us into that great splendid house as heartily as she always does, for she is a kindly person and quite without airs, and I’ve always thought well of her for all that you think her so vulgar. Ned has bought her a new writing bureau for the drawing room which is her particular pride, and nothing would serve Sallie when we arrived but that we must go directly into the drawing room to see and admire. In we marched, and, Amy, such a monstrous thing I never saw, with drawers and carvings and cupids and garlands and I know not what else besides, but Sallie had ordered that it be set in pride of place against the great wall, where it jumbled between a velvet sofa to one side and a great Indian teak cabinet to the other, all of them set higgledy-piggledy against each other so the sunshine hadn’t a chance of entering and all looked gloomy as a robbers’ den. At first, I couldn’t understand why the room was so dark, and looking around said before I could stop myself, “But such a great room as this is, why does it seem as poky and dismal as my little garret at home?”

Meg’s eyebrows shot up so far they near vanished into her hair. But Sallie, good-natured soul that she is, only laughed and said, “Why, because I lack your sister’s good taste, of course. If I could arrange my rooms to look as pretty and peaceful as the rooms at Meg’s little house, I’d do so with a relish; but since she has heaps of taste and I have little to none, I am condemned to live my life in a fine big house but one that will never please the eye, no matter what I do to it.”