Emerson if it is at all possible."
In a few minutes Miss Alcott returned, her eyes moistened, and simply
said: "Come."
The boy followed her through two rooms, and at the threshold of the
third, Miss Emerson stood, also with moistened eyes.
"Father," she said simply, and there, at his desk, sat Emerson--the man
whose words had already won Edward Bok's boyish interest, and who was
destined to impress himself upon his life more deeply than any other
writer.
Slowly, at the daughter's spoken word, Emerson rose with a wonderful
quiet dignity, extended his hand, and as the boy's hand rested in his,
looked him full in the eyes.
No light of welcome came from those sad yet tender eyes. The boy
closed upon the hand in his with a loving pressure, and for a single
moment the eyelids rose, a different look came into those eyes, and
Edward felt a slight, perceptible response of the hand. But that was
all!
Quietly he motioned the boy to a chair beside the desk. Edward sat
down and was about to say something, when, instead of seating himself,
Emerson walked away to the window and stood there softly whistling and
looking out as if there were no one in the room.
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