id, to our shame be it said. And when
Mr. Dickens went down the Ohio, early in the '40's, he complained of the
men and women he met; who, bent with care, bolted through silent meals,
and retired within their cabins. Mr. Dickens saw our ancestors bowed in a
task that had been too great for other blood,--the task of bringing into
civilization in the compass of a century a wilderness three thousand
miles it breadth. And when his Royal Highness came to St. Louis and
beheld one hundred thousand people at the Fair, we are sure that he knew
how recently the ground he stood upon had been conquered from the forest.

A strange thing had happened, indeed. For, while the Prince lingered in
front of the booth of Dr. Posthelwaite's church and chatted with
Virginia, a crowd had gathered without. They stood peering over the
barricade into the covered way, proud of the self-possession of their
young countrywoman. And here, by a twist of fate, Mr. Stephen Brice found
himself perched on a barrel beside his friend Richter. It was Richter who
discovered her first.

"Himmel! It is Miss Carvel herself, Stephen," he cried, impatient at the
impassive face of his companion. "Look, Stephen, look there."

"Yes," said Stephen, "I see."

"Ach!" exclaimed the disgusted German, "will nothing move you? I have
seen German princesses that are peasant women beside her. How she carries
it off! See, the Prince is laughing!"

Stephen saw, and horror held him in a tremor. His one thought was of
escape. What if she should raise her eyes, and amid those vulgar stares
discern his own? And yet that was within him which told him that she
would look up. It was only a question of moments, and then,--and then she
would in truth despise him! Wedged tightly between the people, to move
was to be betrayed. He groaned.

Suddenly he rallied, ashamed of his own false shame. This was because of
one whom he had known for the short, space of a day--whom he was to
remember for a lifetime. The man he worshipped, and she detested. Abraham
Lincoln would not have blushed between honest clerks and farmers Why
should Stephen Brice? And what, after all, was this girl to him? He could
not tell. Almost the first day he had come to St. Louis the wires of
their lives had crossed, and since then had crossed many times again,
always with a spark. By the might of generations she was one thing, and
he another. They were separated by a vast and ever-widening breach only
to be closed by t