would ever be printed. He
was very quiet. Finally he said: "It seems so odd, so very odd, to
hear something you know so well sound so strange."

"It's a great compliment, though, isn't it, sir?" asked the boy.

"Ye-es," said the poet slowly. "Yes, yes," he added quickly. "It is,
my boy, a very great compliment."

"Ah," he said, rousing himself, as a maid appeared, "that means
luncheon, or rather, it means dinner, for we have dinner in the old New
England fashion, in the middle of the day. I am all alone to-day, and
you must keep me company, will you? Then afterward we'll go and take a
walk, and I'll show you Cambridge. It is such a beautiful old town,
even more beautiful, I sometimes think, when the leaves are off the
trees."

[Illustration: Edward Bok's birthplace at Helder, Netherlands. In the
foreground is one of the typical Dutch canals; at the end of the garden
in the rear is one of the famous Dutch dykes and just beyond is the
North Sea. The house now belongs to the Dutch Government.]

"Come," he said, "I'll take you up-stairs, and you can wash your hands
in the room where George Washington slept. And comb your hair, too, if
you want to," he added; "only it isn't the same comb that he used."

To the boyish mind it was an historic breaking of bread, that midday
meal with Longfellow.

"Can you say grace in Dutch?" he asked, as they sat down; and the boy
did.

"Well," the poet declared, "I never expected to hear that at my table.
I like the sound of it."

Then while the boy told all that he knew about the Netherlands, the
poet told the boy all about his poems. Edward said he liked "Hiawatha."

"So do I," he said. "But I think I like 'Evangeline' better. Still,
neither one is as good as it should be. But those are the things you
see afterward so much better than you do at the time."

It was a great event for Edward when, with the poet nodding and smiling
to every boy and man he met, and lifting his hat to every woman and
little girl, he walked through the fine old streets of Cambridge with
Longfellow. At one point of the walk they came to a theatrical
billboard announcing an attraction that evening at the Boston Theatre.
Skilfully the old poet drew out from Edward that sometimes he went to
the theatre with his parents. As they returned to the gate of "Craigie
House" Edward said he thought he would go back to Boston.

"And what have you on hand for this evening?" asked Longfellow.

Edwa