ook a hand of each. "I hope you'll overlook a
little wildness in us this evening, my dear." They turned into a front
room. "I wonder he restrains himself so well, when he knows I've brought
him a present--not expensive, my deah, I assho' you, nor anything you
can possible disapprove; only a B-double-O-K, in fact. Still, son, you
ought always to remember yo' dear mother's apt to be ti-ud."

Mrs. March sank into the best rocking-chair, and, while her son kissed
her diligently, said to her husband, with a smile of sad reproach:

"John can never know a woman's fatigue."

"No, Daphne, deah, an' that's what I try to teach him."

"Yes, Powhatan, but there's a difference between teaching and
terrifying."

"Oh! Oh! I was fah fum intend'n' to be harsh."

"Ah! Judge March, you little realize how harsh your words sometimes
are." She showed the back of her head, although John plucked her sleeves
with vehement whispers. "What _is_ it child?"

Her irritation turned to mild remonstrance. "You shouldn't interrupt
your father, no matter how long you have to wait."

"Oh, I'd finished, my deah," cried the Judge, beaming upon wife and son.
"And now," he gathered up the saddle-bags, "now faw the present!"

John leaped--his mother cringed.

"Oh, Judge March--before supper?"

"Why, of co'se not, my love, if you----"

"Ah, Powhatan, please! Please don't say if I." The speaker smiled
lovingly--"I don't deserve such a rebuke!" She rose.

"Why, my deah!"

"No, I was not thinking of I, but of others. There's the tea-bell.
Servants have rights, Powhatan, and we shouldn't increase their burdens
by heartless delays. That may not be the law, Judge March, but it's the
gospel."

"Oh, I quite agree with you, Daphne, deah!" But the father could not
help seeing the child's tearful eyes and quivering mouth. "I'll tell you
mother, son--There's no need faw anybody to be kep' wait'n'. We'll go to
suppeh, but the gift shall grace the feast!" He combed one soft hand
through his long hair. John danced and gave a triple nod.

Mrs. March's fatigue increased. "Please yourself," she said. "John and I
can always make your pleasure ours. Only, I hope he'll not inherit a
frivolous impatience."

"Daphne, I----" The Judge made a gesture of sad capitulation.

"Oh, Judge March, it's too late to draw back now. That were cruel!"

John clambered into his high chair--said grace in a pretty rhyme of his
mother's production--she was a poetess--and ended with