the youngest daughter had only one arm, because her left arm was hidden
behind her sister. It is to be hoped that Longfellow never heard of this,
for if he did it must have caused him a good deal of pain, in return for
his kindness; but that is what one gets. Fortunately the photographs have
long since faded out.

Much in the same line was his interest in the children of the poor. A
ragged urchin seemed to attract him much more than one that was nicely
dressed. Perhaps they seemed more poetic to him, and he could see more
deeply into the joys and sorrows of their lives.

Where the Episcopal Theological School now stands on Brattle Street there
was formerly a sort of tenement-house; and one day, as we were taking a
stroll before dinner, we noticed three small boys with dirty faces
standing at the corner of the building; and just then one of them cried
out: "Oh, see; here he comes!" And immediately Longfellow appeared
leaving the gate of Craigie House. We passed him before he reached the
children, but on looking back we saw that he had stopped to speak with
them. They evidently knew him very well.

It is remarkable how the impression should have been circulated that
Longfellow was not much of a pedestrian. On the contrary, there was no
one who was seen more frequently on the streets of Cambridge. He walked
with a springy step and a very slight swing of the shoulders, which
showed that he enjoyed it. He may not have walked such long distances as
Hawthorne, or so rapidly as Dickens, but he was a good walker.

His sister, Mrs. Greenleaf, built a memorial chapel in North Cambridge
for the Episcopal society there, and from this Longfellow formed the
habit of walking in that direction by way of the Botanic Garden.