rd told him he was going to his hotel to think over the day's
events.

The poet laughed and said:

"Now, listen to my plan. Boston is strange to you. Now we're going to
the theatre this evening, and my plan is that you come in now, have a
little supper with us, and then go with us to see the play. It is a
funny play, and a good laugh will do you more good than to sit in a
hotel all by yourself. Now, what do you think?"

Of course the boy thought as Longfellow did, and it was a very happy
boy that evening who, in full view of the large audience in the immense
theatre, sat in that box. It was, as Longfellow had said, a play of
laughter, and just who laughed louder, the poet or the boy, neither
ever knew.

Between the acts there came into the box a man of courtly presence,
dignified and yet gently courteous.

"Ah! Phillips," said the poet, "how are you? You must know my young
friend here. This is Wendell Phillips, my boy. Here is a young man
who told me to-day that he was going to call on you and on Phillips
Brooks to-morrow. Now you know him before he comes to you."

"I shall be glad to see you, my boy," said Mr. Phillips. "And so you
are going to see Phillips Brooks? Let me tell you something about
Brooks. He has a great many books in his library which are full of his
marks and comments. Now, when you go to see him you ask him to let you
see some of those books, and then, when he isn't looking, you put a
couple of them in your pocket. They would make splendid souvenirs, and
he has so many he would never miss them. You do it, and then when you
come to see me tell me all about it."

And he and Longfellow smiled broadly.

An hour later, when Longfellow dropped Edward at his hotel, he had not
only a wonderful day to think over but another wonderful day to look
forward to as well!

He had breakfasted with Oliver Wendell Holmes; dined, supped, and been
to the theatre with Longfellow; and tomorrow he was to spend with
Phillips Brooks.

Boston was a great place, Edward Bok thought, as he fell asleep.

CHAPTER VI

PHILLIPS BROOKS'S BOOKS AND EMERSON'S MENTAL MIST

No one who called at Phillips Brooks's house was ever told that the
master of the house was out when he was in. That was a rule laid down
by Doctor Brooks: a maid was not to perjure herself for her master's
comfort or convenience. Therefore, when Edward was told that Doctor
Brooks was out, he knew he was out. The boy waited, and