"Oh, that is not a servant who is singing, sir," was the answer. "You
can step to this window and see for yourself."
Bok did so, and there, sitting alone on one of the rustic benches in the
flower-house, was a small, elderly woman. Keeping time with the first
finger of her right hand, as if with a baton, she was slightly swaying
her frail body as she sang, softly yet sweetly, Charles Wesley's hymn,
"Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and Sarah Flower Adams's "Nearer, My God, to
Thee."
But the singer was not a servant. It was Harriet Beecher Stowe!
On another visit to Hartford, shortly afterward, Bok was just turning
into Forrest Street when a little old woman came shambling along toward
him, unconscious, apparently, of people or surroundings. In her hand she
carried a small tree-switch. Bok did not notice her until just as he had
passed her he heard her calling to him: "Young man, young man." Bok
retraced his steps, and then the old lady said: "Young man, you have
been leaning against something white," and taking her tree-switch she
whipped some wall dust from the sleeve of Bok's coat. It was not until
that moment that Bok recognized in his self-appointed "brush" no less a
personage than Harriet Beecher Stowe.
"This is Mrs. Stowe, is it not?" he asked, after tendering his thanks to
her.
Those blue eyes looked strangely into his as she answered:
"That is my name, young man. I live on this street. Are you going to
have me arrested for stopping you?" with which she gathered up her
skirts and quickly ran away, looking furtively over her shoulder at the
amazed young man, sorrowfully watching the running figure!
Speaking of Mrs.
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