“Ah, I fancy he has,” Mrs. Lee said. “A little; though for years his was a hand-to-mouth existence. Recently, I know, he was handsomely paid by a wealthy gentleman of title....”
“Title?” Mrs. Witherby interrupted excitably.
“Yes, indeed—if my failing memory serves me—I believe he was almost if not quite a royal personage.”
“Royal?”
“But that reminds me of something that will stir your pride, I know, as it stirred mine. There was a little prose poem of Professor Lee’s, about Roseborough.” She beamed at them all.
“Quite a good subject for a poem, I dare say,” the Judge remarked. “Personally, I never read a poem—though even the Digest prints them, to fill in.”
“I sent it to Jack,” Mrs. Lee hastened on—to forestall any discussion, pro and con poetry—“hoping that it might revivify his memories and lead him home from his wanderings. He showed it to this titled gentleman, who was so charmed with it that he begged for a copy and asked many question, about our dear old town.”
There were pleased and reverent murmurs from every one, and Howard, who had also been listening, said:
“Very flattering.”
Miss Crewe kept her shoulder turned, and refused to let her thoughts leave their main purpose to sympathize with her natal hamlet’s pride.