Jersey, brought in upon the boots of New Jersey farmers, who always
bore about with them a goodly portion of their native soil. On the
left, was the City Hall. This was vacant except upon the first Monday
of every month, when the janitor of the Dutch Reformed Church, who
eked out a scanty salary with divers other tasks, got himself to
work, and slopped pails of water over the floor, then swept, and
built a fire, if in winter.

Upon the evenings of these first Mondays the Mayor and city officials
met and made great talk over small matters, and with the labouring of
a mountain, brought forth mice. The City Hall was closed upon other
occasions, unless the village talent gave a play for some local
benefit. Fairbridge was intensely dramatic, and it was popularly
considered that great, natural, histrionic gifts were squandered upon
the Fairbridge audiences, appreciative though they were. Outside
talent was never in evidence in Fairbridge. No theatrical company had
ever essayed to rent that City Hall. People in Fairbridge put that
somewhat humiliating fact from their minds. Nothing would have
induced a loyal citizen to admit that Fairbridge was too small game
for such purposes. There was a tiny theatre in the neighbouring city
of Axminister, which had really some claims to being called a city,
from tradition and usage, aside from size. Axminister was an ancient
Dutch city, horribly uncomfortable, but exceedingly picturesque.
Fairbridge looked down upon it, and seldom patronised the shows (they
never said "plays") staged in its miniature theatre. When they did
not resort to their own City Hall for entertainment by local talent,
they arrayed themselves in their best and patronised New York itself.

New York did not know that it was patronised, but Fairbridge knew.
When Mr. and Mrs. George B. Slade boarded the seven o'clock train,