I said I remembered those books, and had studied Olney's Geography in school when I was a boy. Then Twichell said, "That reminds me--our landlady's name was a name that was associated with school-books of some kind or other fifty or sixty years ago. I wonder what it was. I believe it began with K." Association did the rest, and did it instantly. I said, "Kirkham's Grammar!" That settled it. Kirkham was the name; and we went out to seek for the owner of it. There was no trouble about that, for Bermuda is not large, and is like the earlier Garden of Eden, in that everybody in it knows everybody else, just as it was in the serpent's headquarters in Adam's time. We easily found Miss Kirkham--she that had been the blooming girl of a generation before--and she was still keeping boarders; but her mother had passed from this life. She settled the date for us, and did it with certainty, by help of a couple of uncommon circumstances, events of that ancient time. She said we had sailed from Bermuda on the 24th of May, 1877, which was the day on which her only nephew was born--and he is now thirty years of age. The other unusual circumstance--she called it an unusual circumstance, and I didn't say anything--was that on that day the Rev. Mr. Twichell (bearing the assumed name of Peters) had made a statement to her which she regarded as a fiction. I remembered the circumstance very well. We had bidden the young girl good-by and had gone fifty yards, perhaps, when Twichell said he had forgotten something (I doubted it) and must go back. When he rejoined me he was silent, and this alarmed me, because I had not seen an example of it before. He seemed quite uncomfortable, and I asked him what the trouble was. He said he had been inspired to give the girl a pleasant surprise, and so had gone back and said to her-- "That young fellow's name is not Wilkinson--that's Mark Twain." She did not lose her mind; she did not exhibit any excitement at all, but said quite simply, quite tranquilly, "Tell it to the marines, Mr. Peters--if that should happen to be _your_ name." It was very pleasant to meet her again. We were white-headed, but she was not; in the sweet and unvexed spiritual atmosphere of the Bermudas one does not achieve gray hairs at forty-eight.