did not come; and, after an anxious
delay, some of his friends went in search of him. They found him a
short distance away, engaged in settling a dispute that had arisen
among some street gamins over a game of marbles. There he was, down on
his knees in the mud, listening to the various accounts of the origin
of the quarrel; and it was only on the arrival of his friends that he
suddenly recollected his more pressing and more pleasant duties.

One day, as was often happening, Field received a letter written in
the scrawling hand of a child, which told him how the writer, a little
girl, had read most of his poems, spoke of the pleasure they had given
her, and said that when she grew up she intended to be just such a
writer as he was. Following his usual kindly custom, Field answered
this letter, telling the child of the beauties of nature that
surrounded him, of the twittering birds, and the lovely flowers he had
in sight from his window, and concluding: "Now I must go out and shoot
a buffalo for breakfast."

Dr. Gunsaulus of Chicago, who was one of Mr. Field's most intimate
friends, tells a story of Field's first visit to his house that shows
how quick the poet was to make himself at home with children. For
years the little ones in the Doctor's household had heard of Eugene
Field as a wonderful person; and when they were told that he had
come to see them their delight knew no bounds, and they ran into the
library to pay him homage. It was in the evening, and, presumably,
Field had already dined; but he told the children with his first
breath that he wanted to know where the cookery was. They, overjoyed
at being asked a service they were able to render, trooped out into
the kitchen with Field following. The store of eatables was duly
exposed, and Field seized upon a turkey, or what remained of one from
dinner, and carried it into the dining-room. There he seated himself
at table, with the children on his knees and about him, and fell to
with a good appetite, talking to the little ones all the time, telling
them quaint stories, and making them listen with all their eyes and
ears. Having thus become good friends and put them quite at their
ease, he spent the rest of the evening singing lullabies to them, and
reciting his verses. Naturally, before he went away the children
had given him their whole hearts. And this was his way with all the
children with whom he came in contact.

One day on the cars Mr. Field chanced to si