"Mrs. Dempster—Miss Phœmie Frost."
I say, sisters, did you ever see a cage full of canary-birds flutter when a cat was looking through the wires? If you have, that can give you some idea of the buzz, hum, and rustle that was going on when we came up to the front of that round sofa, and gave Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Morton one of those sliding curtsies that set off a long-trailed dress so well.
Mrs. President Grant smiled sweetly, and held our her hand. I took that hand, I pressed it kindly—for I like that woman, whom poverty could not daunt, and sudden prosperity could not spoil. She's a good, motherly, nice woman, and my heart warmed to her as I took her hand in mine.
"Miss Frost, I am delighted to see you back in Washington," says she; "especially as the weather promises to be so pleasant."
"In some places we are apt to forget the weather, finding everything bright and pleasant without regard to it," says I.
When I spoke, the ladies around crowded up to listen, and looked at each other, smiling. One or two gentlemen came up, too, and when I bowed my head and walked on, giving common people a chance, one of them came up to me, and says he:
"Miss Frost, I think I have the pleasure of claiming you as a constituent," says he.
"A what?" says I.
"A constituent," says he, a-smiling softly.
"No," says I; "I don't remember being connected with any family of that name."