e directed me
up-stairs; and up the steep narrow stairs I went, nearly stumbling over a
great black dog (which she assured me would not bite) that lay stretched
at the threshold of a dreary kind of room which had one occupant--a man
with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows at work near one of the
windows at the farther end. And now I remembered that we had seen him at
his bench there as we sat in the depot, and wondered what he was doing.

[Illustration: A GAY CAVALCADE.]

No indications of fruit; but there were four machines and a stack of
brooms, and the litter of shreds and waste, and I was about to retreat
with an apology after making known my errand. He said I had made no
mistake, but he was out of everything except confectionery; peanuts,
dates and figs. So as there were no apples, no pears, no peaches, no
grapes, after all my perseverance, _dates_ I would have, and he went to a
closet where he said he kept them, holding his hands out before him in
such a way that I knew he could not see even before he said, "I am
blind."

After he had weighed them and received his pay, there were a few words
about his business, which he seemed delighted to talk about, and because
I put a question or two, he asked if I was a reporter, and said "that
used to be my business. I was on the reportorial staff of the
Pennsylvania legislature, when from overtasking my eyes, and other
causes, I became blind. I went to the Institution at South Boston, and
learned to make brooms so that I could earn my living."

He was full of interest in the work he had been compelled to fall back
upon, and invited me to come in with my companion and see how it was
done.

"Now I wish," said he, "that I had some stuff ready. I have to soak it
before I use it. But your train does not go till four o'clock. I will put
some to soak immediately, and if you will come in about three I will
begin at the beginning and make a broom, so that you can then see the
whole process."

To be sure we were glad to go, and he did as he said he would, and
explained every particular, even to the cost.

"The broom-corn comes from the West," he said, "though a good deal grows
in the Mohawk valley, and the largest broom establishment in the United
States is at Schenectady.

"It often grows, if thriving stalks, ten or twelve feet tall; it can be
cultivated here, but not so profitably. It comes in large bales, weighing
anywhere from one hundred and fifty to five hundred