arrival. Both petitions were granted; June 18th
would fall on Thursday, and Monday night there came a good, thorough,
and refreshing shower that washed the vegetation clean and laid the
dust. The morning of the 18th was bright and sunny and cool. Clemens was
up and shaved by six o'clock in order to be in time, though the train
did not leave until four in the afternoon--an express newly timed to
stop at Redding--its first trip scheduled for the day of Mark Twain's
arrival.

We were still playing billiards when word was brought up that the cab
was waiting. My daughter, Louise, whose school on Long Island had closed
that day, was with us. Clemens wore his white flannels and a Panama hat,
and at the station a group quickly collected, reporters and others,
to interview him and speed him to his new home. He was cordial and
talkative, and quite evidently full of pleasant anticipation. A reporter
or two and a special photographer came along, to be present at his
arrival.

The new, quick train, the green, flying landscape, with glimpses of the
Sound and white sails, the hillsides and clear streams becoming rapidly
steeper and dearer as we turned northward: all seemed to gratify
him, and when he spoke at all it was approvingly. The hour and a half
required to cover the sixty miles of distance seemed very short. As the
train slowed down for the Redding station, he said:

"We'll leave this box of candy"--he had bought a large box on the
way--"those colored porters sometimes like candy, and we can get some
more."

He drew out a great handful of silver.

"Give them something--give everybody liberally that does any service."

There was a sort of open-air reception in waiting. Redding had
recognized the occasion as historic. A varied assemblage of vehicles
festooned with flowers had gathered to offer a gallant country welcome.

It was now a little before six o'clock of that long June day, still and
dreamlike; and to the people assembled there may have been something
which was not quite reality in the scene. There was a tendency to be
very still. They nodded, waved their hands to him, smiled, and looked
their fill; but a spell lay upon them, and they did not cheer. It would
have been a pity if they had done so. A noise, and the illusion would
have been shattered.

His carriage led away on the three-mile drive to the house on the
hilltop, and the floral turnout fell in behind. No first impression of
a fair land could have come