“Harriet,” I said, calling through the open doorway, “I think the Honourable Arthur Caldwell is coming here.”

“Mercy me!” exclaimed Harriet, appearing in the doorway, and as quickly disappearing.  I did not see her, of course, but I knew instinctively that she was slipping off her apron, moving our most celebrated rocking-chair two inches nearer the door, and whisking a few invisible particles of dust from the centre table.  Every time any one of importance comes our way, or is distantly likely to come our way.  Harriet resolves herself into an amiable whirlwind of good order, subsiding into placidity at the first sound of a step on the porch.

As for me I remain in my shirt sleeves, sitting on my porch resting a moment after my dinner.  No sir, I will positively not go in and get my coat.  I am an American citizen, at home in my house with the sceptre of my dominion—­my favourite daily newspaper—­in my hand.  Let all kings, queens, and other potentates approach!

And besides, though I am really much afraid that the Honourable Arthur Caldwell will not stop at my gate but will pass on towards Horace’s, I am nursing a somewhat light opinion of Mr. Caldwell.  When he spoke at the School House on Tuesday, I did not go to hear him, nor was my opinion greatly changed by what I learned afterward of the meeting.  I take both of our weekly county papers.  This is necessary.  I add the news of both together, divide by two to strike a fair average, and then ask Horace, or Charles Baxter, or the Scotch Preacher what really happened.  The Republican county paper said of the meeting: 

“The Honourable Arthur Caldwell, member of Congress, who is seeking a reelection, was accorded a most enthusiastic reception by a large and sympathetic audience of the citizens of Blandford township on Tuesday evening.”

Strangely enough the Democratic paper, observing exactly the same historic events, took this jaundiced view of the matter: 

“Arty Caldwell, Republican boss of the Sixth District, who is out mending his political fences, spellbound a handful of his henchmen at the School House near Blandford Crossing on Tuesday evening.”

And here was Mr. Caldwell himself, Member of Congress, Leader of the Sixth District, Favourably Mentioned for Governor, drawing up at my gate, deliberately descending from his buggy, with dignity stopping to take the tie-rein from under the seat, carefully tying his horse to my hitching-post.

I confess I could not help feeling a thrill of excitement.  Here was a veritable Celebrity come to my house to explain himself!  I would not have it known, of course, outside of our select circle of friends, but I confess that although I am a pretty independent person (when I talk) in reality there are few things in this world I would rather see than a new person coming up the walk to my door.  We cannot, of course, let the celebrities know it, lest they grow intolerable