r. "I'm getting too old to be drenched like that" He muttered and turning met face to face, The woman whose genius, an hour before, Like a mighty power had filled the place.
"Yes, much too old," with a smile, she said, And she laid her hand on his silver hair; "You shall ride with me to your home to-night, For that is my carriage standing there." The old door-tender stood, doffing his hat And holding the door, but she would not stir, Though he said it was not for the "likes of him To ride in a kerridge with such as her."
"Come, put out your lights," she said to him, "I've something important I wish to say, And I can't stand here in the draught you know-- I can tell you much better while on the way." So into the carriage the old man crept, Thanking her gratefully, o'er and o'er, Till she bade him listen while she would tell A story, concerning that old stage door.
"It was raining in torrents, ten years ago This very night, and a friendless child Stood, shivering there, by that old stage do