She wanted the poet to put his autograph at the bottom of a blank sheet of paper, that something might be written over it. She most carefully specified what this was to be. There had been a joke about something that had taken place in the summer when both had been at the mountains, and, not herself, but some one else, was to write this page. But she vouched for exactly what it should be. Mr. Whittier laughingly turned her from the point. Until at last she rose to leave. He accompanied her to the door. The writer seems still to see the girl standing on the doorstep and looking with a laugh, and yet a coaxing, into the face of the poet as she reiterated her plea--and to see him from the threshold gazing down upon her, enjoying the light in her clear brown eyes and the saucy tilt of her head, and answering with exceeding gravity of tone: “My name is not worth anything, now that the Eastern Railroad stocks have gone so low.” Then both laughed. And the visitor departed--without the autograph. * * * * * In Amesbury lived also the “Jettie” at whose challenge that he had never written a love poem, Whittier wrote “The Henchman.” It was of her the poet sang: “To Jettie for her dancing nights, Slippers dropped from Northern lights.” Young friends in his own town, and some of them members of his party in summer places, with their merry young voices and laughter helped the poet to many a pleasant hour--although it is safe to say that he always did his share in securing these. * * * * * He questioned laughingly a young girl giving an account of a lecture upon “Chivalry” to which she had just been listening. “How would thee like,” he said, “to have a knight roaming around the world doing exploits in thy name?” She retorted that unless he went to serve his country she would prefer to have him stay at home. To this he responded at once: “Thy father [in service of his fellow-men] is a better knight-errant than any in those days.” * * * * * A child of ten years whose home was on the beautiful Merrimac River, a mile from the poet’s house, one day shyly left her tribute of loving reverence for him at his door. To her came the following note: “John G. Whittier is greatly indebted to his young friend, Grace M----, for her beautiful gift of flowers. It is doubly welcome at this inclement season and she has his thanks and best wishes. Amesbury, 3rd mo, 29, 1883.” XIV The poet had the happiest way of making people feel at ease with themselves, and so of bringing out their best. A man often left his presence feeling himself a more worthy fellow than he had done when he had entered it. And so he ought to have been. But there were times when peculiar exhibitions of character roused Whittier to keen comment.