still larger circle of admirers. Her researches for
TRUTH were met halfway by people that were supposed to deal in that
article, abstractly considered; such as poets, painters, sculptors,
reformers, inventors. Anybody with a new idea was sure to be understood
and encouraged by her. Her fondness for new ideas was as keen as an
entomologist's for new bugs or butterflies.

Mrs. Slapman had not made the mistake of neglecting her physical and
perishable charms in deference to her intellectual and immortal nature.
She was twenty-four years old, and had clear, sparkling eyes, a fresh
complexion, good teeth, rich, heavy hair, and a substantial figure. The
pursuit of TRUTH did not disagree with her health.

Mrs. Slapman bustled out of the little knot of persons about her, and
advanced in a frank, hearty way to meet her visitors. To Mr. Quigg she
nodded patronizingly, as to one whom she had long known to be guiltless
of new ideas; but to the strangers who sought her society, she addressed
a cordial smile.

Mr. Quigg, having performed his office, judiciously stepped aside, and
left the honors and burdens of conversation with the three friends.

Matthew Maltboy, with the rashness of youth, opened the verbal
engagement, by remarking that it was a fine day.

This wretched conventionalism was met by a "Very," so obviously
sarcastic, that Marcus Wilkeson decided not to utter a remark which was
at that moment on his lips.

At this embarrassing juncture, Fayette Overtop came to the rescue. "As
we alighted from our sleigh, Mrs. Slapman, I noticed how firmly the snow
at the edge of the street was pressed down by the feet of the hundreds
who have called on you; and I could not but think how truly that white
surface, upon which the prints of so many boots were beautifully
blended, typified the purity of the motives which brought the owners of
those boots to your door."

"A most original and charming remark!" said Mrs. Slapman. "I must repeat
it to Chickson. The author of 'A Snowflake's Lament' will appreciate
that felicitous observation. You have heard of Chickson?"

Mr. Overtop read new books, magazines, literary papers, in considerable
quantities, but did not remember to have ever met with the name.
Speaking upon impulse, and to avoid explanation, however, he said:

"Oh, yes--certainly, but have not the pleasure of his acquaintance."

"You should know each other," said Mrs. Slapman. "Excuse me a minute."
She ran with girlish ha