or two they need
spend in looking up a furnished flat. They were used to staying at this
hotel when they came on for a little outing in New York, after some
rigid winter in Boston, at the time of the spring exhibitions. They were
remembered there from year to year; the colored call-boys, who never
seemed to get any older, smiled upon them, and the clerk called March
by name even before he registered. He asked if Mrs. March were with him,
and said then he supposed they would want their usual quarters; and in a
moment they were domesticated in a far interior that seemed to have been
waiting for them in a clean, quiet, patient disoccupation ever since
they left it two years before. The little parlor, with its gilt paper
and ebonized furniture, was the lightest of the rooms, but it was not
very light at noonday without the gas, which the bell-boy now flared up
for them. The uproar of the city came to it in a soothing murmur, and
they took possession of its peace and comfort with open celebration.
After all, they agreed, there was no place in the world so delightful as
a hotel apartment like that; the boasted charms of home were nothing
to it; and then the magic of its being always there, ready for any
one, every one, just as if it were for some one alone: it was like the
experience of an Arabian Nights hero come true for all the race.

"Oh, why can't we always stay here, just we two!" Mrs. March sighed to
her husband, as he came out of his room rubbing his face red with the
towel, while she studied a new arrangement of her bonnet and handbag on
the mantel.

"And ignore the past? I'm willing. I've no doubt that the children could
get on perfectly well without us, and could find some lot in the scheme
of Providence that would really be just as well for them."

"Yes; or could contrive somehow never to have existed. I should insist
upon that. If they are, don't you see that we couldn't wish them not to
be?"

"Oh yes; I see your point; it's simply incontrovertible."

She laughed and said: "Well, at any rate, if we can't find a flat to
suit us we can all crowd into these three rooms somehow, for the winter,
and then browse about for meals. By the week we could get them much
cheaper; and we could save on the eating, as they do in Europe. Or on
something else."

"Something else, probably," said March. "But we won't take this
apartment till the ideal furnished flat winks out altogether. We shall
not have any trouble. We can e