In the meantime Gamaliel Ives was conducting Miss Lucretia toward, the town hall, and speaking in no measured tones of indignation of the cringing, truckling qualities of that very Mr. Dodd.  The injustice to Miss Wetherell, which Mr. Ives explained as well as he could, made his blood boil:  so he declared.

And note we are back again at the meeting, when the judge, with his hand on his Adam’s apple, is pronouncing the word “gift.”  Mr. Ives is triumphantly marching down the aisle, escorting the celebrity of Brampton to the platform, and quite aware of the heart burnings of his fellow-citizens on the benches.  And Miss Lucretia, with that stern composure with which celebrities accept public situations, follows up the steps as of right and takes the chair he assigns her beside the chairman.  The judge, still grasping his Adam’s apple, stares at the newcomer in amazement, and recognizes her in spite of the years, and trembles.  Miss Lucretia Penniman!  Blucher was not more welcome to Wellington, or Lafayette to Washington, than was Miss Lucretia to Ezra Graves as he turned his back on the audience and bowed to her deferentially.  Then he turned again, cleared his throat once more to collect his senses, and was about to utter the familiar words, “We have with us tonight,” when they were taken out of his mouth—­taken out of his mouth by one who had in all conscience stolen enough thunder for one man,—­Mr. Gamaliel Ives.

“Mr. Chairman,” said Mr. Ives, taking a slight dropping of the judge’s lower jaw for recognition, “and ladies and gentlemen of Brampton.  It is our great good fortune to have with us to-night, most unexpectedly, one of whom Brampton is, and for many years has been, justly proud.”  (Cheers.) “One whose career Brampton has followed with a mother’s eyes and with a mother’s heart.  One who has chosen a broader field for the exercise of those great powers with which Nature endowed her than Brampton could give.  One who has taken her place among the luminaries of literature of her time.” (Cheers.) “One who has done more than any other woman of her generation toward the uplifting of the sex which she honors.” (Cheers and clapping of hands.) “And one who, though her lot has fallen among the great, has not forgotten the home of her childhood.  For has she not written those beautiful lines which we all know by heart?

     ’Ah, Coniston!  Thy lordly form I see
     Before mine eyes in exile drear.’

“Mr. Chairman and fellow-townsmen and women, I have the extreme honor of introducing to you one whom we all love and revere, the author of the ‘Hymn to Coniston,’ the editor of the Woman’s Hour, Miss Lucretia Penniman.’” (Loud and long-continued applause.)