Quick , quick ! '' How she did it , she never knew , but for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed , blindly obeying Laurie , who was quite self-possessed , and lying flat , held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Jo dragged a rail from the fence , and together they got the child out , more frightened than hurt . `` Now then , we must walk her home as fast as we can . Pile our things on her , while I get off these confounded skates , '' cried Laurie , wrapping his coat round Amy , and tugging away at the straps which never seemed so intricate before . Shivering , dripping , and crying , they got Amy home , and after an exciting time of it , she fell asleep , rolled in blankets before a hot fire . During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown about , looking pale and wild , with her things half off , her dress torn , and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles . When Amy was comfortably asleep , the house quiet , and Mrs. March sitting by the bed , she called Jo to her and began to bind up the hurt hands . `` Are you sure she is safe ? '' whispered Jo , looking remorsefully at the golden head , which might have been swept away from her sight forever under the treacherous ice . `` Quite safe , dear . She is not hurt , and wo n't even take cold , I think , you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly , '' replied her mother cheerfully . `` Laurie did it all . I only let her go . Mother , if she should die , it would be my fault . '' And Jo dropped down beside the bed in a passion of penitent tears , telling all that had happened , bitterly condemning her hardness of heart , and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her . `` It 's my dreadful temper ! I try to cure it , I think I have , and then it breaks out worse than ever . Oh , Mother , what shall I do ? What shall I do ? '' cried poor Jo , in despair .
`` Watch and pray , dear , never get tired of trying , and never think it is impossible to conquer your XXXXX , '' said Mrs. March , drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried even harder .
arm bed despair dress fault head house mother tears things