"When does he speak, Father?"
And when Aunt Hattie pooh-poohed some more, and asked how _could_ she
do such a thing, Mother answered:
"Because Charles Anderson is the father of my little girl, and I think
she should hear him speak. Therefore, Hattie, I intend to take her."
And then she asked Grandfather again when Father was going to speak.
I'm so excited! Only think of seeing my father up on a big platform
with a lot of big men, and hearing him speak! And he'll be the very
smartest and handsomest one there, too. You see if he isn't!
* * * * *
_Two weeks and one day later_.
Oh, I've got a lot to write this time--I mean, a lot has happened.
Still, I don't know as it's going to take so very long to tell it.
Besides, I'm almost too excited to write, anyway. But I'm going to do
the best I can to tell it, just as it happened.
Father's here--right here in Boston. I don't know when he came. But
the first day of the meeting was day before yesterday, and he was here
then. The paper said he was, and his picture was there, too. There
were a lot of pictures, but his was away ahead of the others. It was
the very best one on the page. (I told you it would be that way.)
Mother saw it first.
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