In charge of half a dozen sturdy boys;
Though these I saw not then; but all alone,
Much flush’d and flurried, sweeping up the street,
She stopp’d, and cried abruptly, “Why, my friend,
Are you here, Norman?—you?—where from?—how long?
Not heard of you for years! That Elbert, drone,
Will never write the news. How glad I am
To see a man on hand when needed once!
Two girls, young friends of mine, just come to town,
Have lost their trunks,—and I my husband too,—