ed
up the pen, and writing the single letter "R" stopped, followed his
finger until it reached the "W" of Waldo, and studiously copied letter
by letter! At the word "Concord" he seemed to hesitate, as if the task
were too great, but finally copied again, letter by letter, until the
second "c" was reached. "Another 'o,'" he said, and interpolated an
extra letter in the name of the town which he had done so much to make
famous the world over. When he had finished he handed back the book, in
which there was written:

R. Waldo Emerson
Concord
November 22, 1881

The boy put the book into his pocket; and as he did so Emerson's eye
caught the slip on his desk, in the boy's handwriting, and, with a smile
of absolute enlightenment, he turned and said:

"You wish me to write my name? With pleasure. Have you a book with you?"

Overcome with astonishment, Edward mechanically handed him the album
once more from his pocket. Quickly turning over the leaves, Emerson
picked up the pen, and pushing aside the slip, wrote without a moment's
hesitation:

Ralph Waldo Emerson
Concord

The boy was almost dazed at the instantaneous transformation in the man!

Miss Alcott now grasped this moment to say: "Well, we must be going!"

"So soon?" said Emerson, rising and smiling. Then turning to Miss Alcott
he said: "It was very kind of you, Louisa, to run over this morning and
bring your young friend."

Then turning to the boy he said: "Thank you so much for coming to see
me. You must come over again while you are with the Alcotts. Good
morning! Isn't it a beautiful day out?" he said, and as he shook the
boy's hand there was a warm grasp in it, the fingers closed around those
of the boy, and as Edward looked into those deep eyes they twinkled and
smiled back.

The going was all so different from the coming. The boy was grateful
that his last impression was of a moment when the eye kindled and the
hand pulsated.

The two walked back to the Alcott home in an almost unbroken silence.
Once Edward ventured to remark:

"You can have no idea, Miss Alcott, how grateful I am to you."

"Well, my boy," she answered, "Phillips Brooks may be right: that it is
something to have seen him even so, than not to have seen him at all.
But to us it is so sad, so very sad. The twilight is gently closing in."

And so it proved--just five months afterward.

Eventful day after eventful day followed in Edward's Boston visit. The
following morni