He dropped an arm about her shoulders.
"Oh!—when I can scarcely bear my own weight!" She sank into her favorite chair and turned away from his regrets, sighing,
"Oh, no, youth and health never do think."
The son sat down and leaned thoughtfully on the centre-table.
"That's so! They don't think; they're too busy feeling."
"Ah, John, you don't feel! I wish you could."
"Humph! I wish I couldn't." He smoothed off a frown and let his palm fall so flat upon the bare mahogany that a woman of less fortitude than Mrs. March would certainly have squeaked. "Mother, dear, I believe I'll try to see how little I can feel and how much I can think."
"Providence permitting, my reckless boy."
"Oh, bless your dear soul, mother, Providence'll be only too glad! yes, I've a notion to try thinking. Fact is, I've begun already. Now, you love solitude——"
"Ah, John!"