l of your country's enemies."
She rose to leave the room. The son slapped his thigh.

"'Pon my soul, mother, you must excuse me. Here's a letter.

"Has Jeff-Jack accepted another poem?" he asked, as she read. "I wish
he'd pay for it."

She did not say, though the missive must have ended very kindly, for in
spite of herself she smiled.

"Ah, John! your vanity is so large it can include even your mother. I
wish I had some of it; I might believe what my friends tell me. But
maybe it's vanity in me not to think they know best." She let John press
her hand upon his forehead.

"I wish I could know," she continued. "I yearn for wise counsel. O son!
why do we, both of us, so distrust and shun our one only common friend?
He could tell us what to do, son; and, oh, how we need some one to tell
us!"

John dropped the hand. "I don't need Jeff-Jack. He's got to need me."

"Oh, presumptuous boy! John, you might say Mr. Ravenel. He's old enough
to be your father."

"No, he's not! At any rate, that's one thing he'll never be!"

The widow flared up. "I can say that, sir, without your prompting."

"Why, mother! Why, I no more intended----"

"John, spare me! Oh, no, you were brutal merely by accident! I thank
you! I _must_ thank you for pointing your unfeeling hints at the most
invincib--I mean inveterate--bachelor in the three counties."

"Inveterate lover, you'd better say. He marries Fannie Halliday next
March. The General's telling every Tom, Dick and Harry to-day."

"John, I don't believe it! It can't be! I know better!"

"I wish you did, but they told me themselves, away last July, standing
hand in hand. Mother, he's got no more right to marry her----"

"Than you have! And he knows it! For John, John! There never was a more
pitiful or needless mismatch! Why, he could have--but it's none of my
business, only--" she choked.

"No, of course not," said the son, emotionally, "and it's none of mine,
either, only--humph!" He rose and strode about. "Why she could just as
easily----Oh, me!" He jostled a chair. Mrs. March flinched and burst
into tears.

"Oh, good heavens! mother, what have I done now? I know I'm coarse and
irreverent and wilful and surly and healthy, and have got the big-head
and the Lord knows what! But I swear I'll stop everything bad and be
everything good if you'll just quit off sniv--weeping!"

Strange to say, this reasonable and practicable proposition did not calm
either of them.

"I'll even go w