Bardlock, Town Marshal.
From far up Main Street came the cry "She's a-comin'! She's a-comin'!"
and, this announcement of the parade proving only one of a dozen false
alarms, a thousand discussions took place over old-fashioned silver
timepieces as to when "she" was really due. Schofields' Henry was much
appealed to as an arbiter in these discussions, from a sense of his having
a good deal to do with time in a general sort of way; and thus Schofields'
came to be reminded that it was getting on toward ten o'clock, whereas, in
the excitement of festival, he had not yet struck nine. This, rushing
forthwith to do, he did; and, in the elation of the moment, seven or eight
besides. Miss Helen Sherwood was looking down on the mass of shifting
color from a second-story window--whither many an eye was upturned in
wonder--and she had the pleasure of seeing Schofields' emerge on the steps
beneath her, when the bells had done, and heard the cheers (led by Mr.
Martin) with which the laughing crowd greeted his appearance after the
performance of his feat.
She turned beamingly to Harkless. "What a family it is!" she laughed.
"Just one big, jolly family. I didn't know people could be like this until
I came to Plattville."
"That is the word for it," he answered, resting his hand on the casement
beside her. "I used to think it was desolate, but that was long ago.
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