“Yes,” interrupted mamma; “this statement is another of the usual exaggerations current about brother.  As you say, he had not the manners of a dancing-master, and when importuned and annoyed by shallow people, may often have been abrupt with them; but when in society, I have always seen his company as much or more courted than that of any other person present, and have never known him to shrink or be embarrassed in the presence of people of distinction or rank.  Few men have, I think, been more misrepresented, though often with the kindest intentions, than my dear brother.”

“You spoke of papa’s lameness while at Poultney, Aunt Esther,” said Ida, looking up from a letter that she was reading; “pray how did he become lame?  Was it serious?  I do not remember hearing him mention it.”

“It occurred, I believe, in this way,” said mamma.  “Whilst your papa was in the Spectator office, he chanced one day to step upon a rough box, which turned over, and hitting him upon the leg, inflicted a cut below his knee.  At first, brother thought it a mere scratch not worth noticing; but when he subsequently took cold in it, he found it very troublesome, and although he then consulted several medical men, they were unable to cure it, I do not remember hearing that he was ever confined to the house with it—­probably because he could not afford to give up his work long enough to have it properly treated; but for two or perhaps three years he limped to and from the office.  When he went subsequently to Erie, Pennsylvania, to work as a journeyman printer, the wound, which had partially healed, had again opened, and was very painful.  Some old woman residing there, however, gave him a simple remedy which soon cured it permanently.”

“From whom is the letter that you are reading, Ida?” inquired Gabrielle, putting up her father’s biography in a bookcase; “does it contain a request for a loan of $500, or is it an offer of a home in a Christian family?”

“Neither, for once,” answered Ida.  “It is from The Tribune office, and contains a slip cut from the Omaha Bee, headed, ’Horace Greeley upon Girls.’  It appears that a lady, Miss Hewes, who did not know papa personally, wrote to him to ask if he recollected his first school-house, and a former playmate of his, named Reuben Nichols, whose acquaintance Miss Hewes had just made.  Here is papa’s answer, dated Washington, 1856.  Let me read it to you, Aunt Esther, and tell me if you think it is genuine.”

“’MISS HEWES:—­As I do not know you, and am little interested in any but a part of your letter, you will allow me, in my terrible hurry—­having two days’ work that ought to be done to-day, while I must leave at evening for a journey to our Pittsburg Convention—­to speak only of that.