old town--so soon to be familiar no more--thinking anxiously, in
spite of herself, upon those two or three years, and what they might
bring.

It happened to be a notable day--that sunshiny 28th of June--when the
little, round-cheeked damsel, who is a grandmother now, had the crown
of three kingdoms first set upon her youthful head; and Stowbury,
like every other town in the land, was a perfect bower of green
arches, garlands, banners; white covered tables were spread in the
open air down almost every street, where poor men dined, or poor
women drank tea; and every body was out and abroad, looking at or
sharing in the holiday' making, wild with merriment, and brimming
over with passionate loyalty to the Maiden Queen.

That day is now twenty-four years ago; but all those who remember it
must own there never has been a day like it, when, all over the
country, every man's heart throbbed with chivalrous devotion, every
woman's with womanly tenderness, toward this one royal girl, who, God
bless her! has lived to retain and deserve it all.

Hilary called for, and protected through the crowd, the little,
timid, widow lady who had taken off the Misses Leaf's hands their
house and furniture, and whom they had made very happy--as the poor
often can make those still poorer than themselves--by refusing to
accept any thing for the "good will" of the school. Then she was
fetched by Elizabeth, who had been given a whole afternoon's holiday;
and mistress and maid went together home, watching the last of the
festivities, the chattering groups that still lingered in the
twilight streets, and listening to the merry notes of the "Triumph"
which came down through the lighted windows of the Town Hall, where