She was coming at last. The boys whooped in the middle of the street; some tossed their arms to heaven, others expressed their emotion by somersaults; those most deeply moved walked on their hands. In the distance one saw, over the heads of the multitude, tossing banners and the moving crests of triumphal cars, where “cohorts were shining in purple and gold.” She _was_ coming. After all the false alarms and disappointments, she was coming! There was another flourish of music. Immediately all the band gave sound, and then, with blare of brass and the crash of drums, the glory of the parade burst upon Plattville. Glory in the utmost! The resistless impetus of the march-time music; the flare of royal banners, of pennons on the breeze; the smiling of beautiful Court Ladies and great, silken Nobles; the swaying of howdahs on camel and elephant, and the awesome shaking of the earth beneath the elephant's feet, and the gleam of his small but devastating eye (every one declared he looked the alarmed Mr. Snoddy full in the face as he passed, and Mr. Snoddy felt not at all reassured when Tom Martin severely hinted that it was with the threatening glance of a rival); then the badinage of the clown, creaking along in his donkey cart; the terrific recklessness of the spangled hero who was drawn by in a cage with two striped tigers; the spirit of the prancing steeds that drew the rumbling chariots, and the grace of the helmeted charioteers; the splendor of the cars and the magnificence of the paintings with which they were adorned; the ecstasy of all this glittering, shining, gorgeous pageantry needed even more than walking on your hands to express. Last of all came the tooting calliope, followed by swarms of boys as it executed, “Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie” with infinite dash and gusto. When it was gone, Miss Sherwood's intent gaze relaxed--she had been looking on as eagerly as any child,--and she turned to speak to Harkless and discovered that he was no longer in the room; instead, she found Minnie and Mr. Willetts, whom he had summoned from another window. “He was called away,” explained Lige. “He thought he'd be back before the parade was over, and said you were enjoying it so much he didn't want to speak to you.” “Called away?” she said, inquiringly. Minnie laughed. “Oh, everybody sends for Mr. Harkless.” “It was a farmer, name of Bowlder,” added Mr. Willetts. “His son Hartley's drinking again, and there ain't any one but Harkless can do anything with him. You let him tackle a sick man to nurse, or a tipsy one to handle, and I tell you,” Mr. Willetts went on with enthusiasm, “he is at home. It beats me,--and lots of people don't think college does a man any good! Why, the way he cured old Fis----” “See!” cried Minnie, loudly, pointing out of the window. “Look down there. Something's happened.”