:

"Amen, double-O-K. I wish double-O-K would mean firecrackers;
firecrackers and cinnamon candy!" He patted his wrists together and
glanced triumphantly upon the frowsy, barefooted waitress while Mrs.
March poured the coffee.

The Judge's wife, at thirty-two, was still fair. Her face was thin, but
her languorous eyes were expressive and her mouth delicate. A certain
shadow about its corners may have meant rigidity of will or only a habit
of introspection, but it was always there.

She passed her husband's coffee, and the hungry child, though still all
eyes, was taking his first gulp of milk, when over the top of his mug he
saw his father reach stealthily down to his saddle-bags and straighten
again.

"Son."

"Suh!"

"Go on with yo' suppeh, son." Under the table the paper was coming off
something. John filled both cheeks dutifully, but kept them so,
unchanged, while the present came forth. Then he looked confused and
turned to his mother. Her eyes were on her husband in deep dejection, as
her hand rose to receive the book from the servant. She took it, read
the title, and moaned:

"Oh! Judge March, what is your child to do with 'Lord Chesterfield's
Letters to his Son?'"

John waited only for her pitying glance. Then the tears burst from his
eyes and the bread and milk from his mouth, and he cried with a great
and continuous voice, "I don't like presents! I want to go to bed!"

Even when the waitress got him there his mother could not quiet him. She
demanded explanations and he could not explain, for by that time he had
persuaded himself he was crying because his mother was not happy. But he
hushed when the Judge, sinking down upon the bedside, said, as the
despairing wife left the room,

"I'm sorry I've disappointed you so powerful, son. I know just how you
feel. I made--" he glanced round to be sure she was gone--"just as bad a
mistake one time, trying to make a present to myself."

The child lay quite still, vaguely considering whether that was any good
reason why he should stop crying.

"But 'evomind, son, the ve'y next time we go to town we'll buy some
cinnamon candy."

The son's eyes met the father's in a smile of love, the lids declined,
the lashes folded, and his spirit circled softly down into the
fathomless under-heaven of dreamless sleep.

III.

TWO FRIENDS

It was nearly four o'clock of a day in early June. The sun shone
exceptionally hot on the meagre waters of Turkey Creek, wh