en Edward told her what Phillips Brooks had said.

"Well," she said, "I'll see."

She had scarcely left the room when Miss Alcott rose and followed her,
saying to the boy: "You shall see Mr. Emerson if it is at all possible."

In a few minutes Miss Alcott returned, her eyes moistened, and simply
said: "Come."

The boy followed her through two rooms, and at the threshold of the
third Miss Emerson stood, also with moistened eyes.

"Father," she said simply, and there, at his desk, sat Emerson--the man
whose words had already won Edward Bok's boyish interest, and who was
destined to impress himself upon his life more deeply than any other
writer.

Slowly, at the daughter's spoken word, Emerson rose with a wonderful
quiet dignity, extended his hand, and as the boy's hand rested in his,
looked him full in the eyes.

No light of welcome came from those sad yet tender eyes. The boy closed
upon the hand in his with a loving pressure, and for a single moment the
eyelids rose, a different look came into those eyes, and Edward felt a
slight, perceptible response of the hand. But that was all!

Quietly he motioned the boy to a chair beside the desk. Edward sat down
and was about to say something, when, instead of seating himself,
Emerson walked away to the window and stood there softly whistling and
looking out as if there were no one in the room. Edward's eyes had
followed Emerson's every footstep, when the boy was aroused by hearing a
suppressed sob, and as he looked around he saw that it came from Miss
Emerson. Slowly she walked out of the room. The boy looked at Miss
Alcott, and she put her finger to her mouth, indicating silence. He was
nonplussed.

Edward looked toward Emerson standing in that window, and wondered what
it all meant. Presently Emerson left the window and, crossing the room,
came to his desk, bowing to the boy as he passed, and seated himself,
not speaking a word and ignoring the presence of the two persons in the
room.

Suddenly the boy heard Miss Alcott say: "Have you read this new book by
Ruskin yet?"

Slowly the great master of thought lifted his eyes from his desk, turned
toward the speaker, rose with stately courtesy from his chair, and,
bowing to Miss Alcott, said with great deliberation: "Did you speak to
me, madam?"

The boy was dumfounded! Louisa Alcott, his Louisa! And he did not know
her! Suddenly the whole sad truth flashed upon the boy. Tears sprang
into Miss Alcott's eyes, and she