he handwriting on the book,
and would not believe his own sight until it was vouched for by sundry
citizens who had followed the lady from the station--on foot. And then
there was a to-do.

Send for Mr. Gamaliel Ives; send for Miss Bruce, the librarian; send for
Mr. Page, editor of the Clarion, and notify the first citizen. He,
indeed, could not be sent for, but had he known of her coming he would
undoubtedly have had her met at the portals and presented with the keys
in gold. Up and down the street flew the news which overshadowed and
blotted out all other, and the poor little school-teacher was forgotten.

One of these notables was at hand, though he did not deserve to be. Mr.
Gamaliel Ives sent up his card to Miss Lucretia, and was shown
deferentially into the parlor, where he sat mopping his brow and growing
hot and cold by turns. How would the celebrity treat him? The celebrity
herself answered the question by entering the room in such stately manner
as he had expected, to the rustle of the bombazine. Whereupon Mr. Ives
bounced out of his chair and bowed, though his body was not formed to
bend that way.

"Miss Penniman," he exclaimed, "what an honor for Brampton! And what a
pleasure, the greater because so unexpected! How cruel not to have given
us warning, and we could have greeted you as your great fame deserves!
You could never take time from your great duties to accept the
invitations of our literary committee, alas! But now that you are here,
you will find a warm welcome, Miss Penniman. How long it has been--thirty
years,--you see I know it to a day, thirty years since you left us.
Thirty years, I may say, we have kept burning the vestal fire in your
worship, hoping for this hour."

Miss Lucretia may have had her own ideas about the propriety of the
reference to the vestal fire.

"Gamaliel," she said sharply, "straighten up and don't talk nonsense to
me. I've had you on my knee, and I knew your mother and father."

Gamaliel did straighten up, as though Miss Lucretia had applied a lump of
ice to the small of his back. So it is when the literary deities, vestal
or otherwise, return to their Stratfords. There are generally surprises
in store for the people they have had on their knees, and for others.

"Gamaliel," said Miss Lucretia, "I want to see the prudential committee
for the village district."

"The prudential committee!" Mr. Ives fairly shrieked the words in his
astonishment.

"I tried to speak