the March family breakfasted late after an evening
prolonged beyond midnight in spite of half-hourly agreements that now
they must really all go to bed. The children had both to recognize
again and again how well their parents were looking; Tom had to tell his
father about the condition of 'Every Other Week'; Bella had to explain
to her mother how sorry her husband was that he could not come on to
meet them with her, but was coming a week later to take her home,
and then she would know the reason why they could not all, go back to
Chicago with him: it was just the place for her father to live, for
everybody to live. At breakfast she renewed the reasoning with which
she had maintained her position the night before; the travellers entered
into a full expression of their joy at being home again; March asked
what had become of that stray parrot which they had left in the tree-top
the morning they started; and Mrs. March declared that this was the last
Silver Wedding Journey she ever wished to take, and tried to convince
them all that she had been on the verge of nervous collapse when she
reached the ship. They sat at table till she discovered that it was very
nearly eleven o'clock, and said it was disgraceful.

Before they rose, there was a ring at the door, and a card was brought
in to Tom. He glanced at it, and said to his father, "Oh, yes! This man
has been haunting the office for the last three days. He's got to leave
to-day, and as it seemed to be rather a case of life and death with him,
I said he'd probably find you here this morning. But if you don't want
to see him, I can put him off till afternoon, I suppose."

He tossed the card to his father, who looked at it quietly, and then
gave it to his wife. "Perhaps I'd as well see him?"

"See him!" she returned in accents in which all the intensity of her
soul was centred. By an effort of self-control which no words can convey
a just sense of she remained with her children, while her husband with
a laugh more teasing than can be imagined went into the drawing-room to
meet Burnamy.

The poor fellow was in an effect of belated summer as to clothes, and he
looked not merely haggard but shabby. He made an effort for dignity
as well as gayety, however, in stating himself to March, with many
apologies for his persistency. But, he said, he was on his way West,
and he was anxious to know whether there was any chance of his 'Kasper
Hauler' paper being taken if he finished it u