His first day in his new shop is impressed upon his memory by an incident that is the seed of a considerable part of this story.
He always remembers that day, because, when he got to the Thayer House, he found John there in the buggy waiting for him, and a crowd of men sitting around smoking cigars.

In the seat by Barclay was a cigar-box, and Lycurgus cut in, before John could speak, with, "Well, which is it ?" And John returned, "A girl--get in; Mother Mason needs you." Lycurgus fumbled under the box lid for a cigar as he got into the buggy, and repeated: "Mother needs me, eh?
Well, now, ain't that just like a woman, taking a man from his work in the middle of the day?
What are you going to name her ?" "How do you like Jeanette ?" asked Barclay, as he turned the horse.
"You know we can't have two Janes," he explained.
"Well," asked the elder man, tentatively, "how does mother stand on Jeanette ?" "Mother Mason," answered Barclay, "is against it." "All right," replied Lycurgus, "I vote aye.

What does she want ?" he asked.
"Susan B.," returned Barclay.
"Susan B.Anthony ?" queried the new grandfather.
"Exactly," replied the new father.
The two rode down the street in silence; as they turned into the Barclay driveway Lycurgus chuckled, "Well--well--Susan B.Wants to put breeches on that child before she gets her eyes open." Then he turned on Barclay with a broad grin of fellowship, as he pinched the young man's leg and laughed, "Say--John--honest, ain't that just like a woman ?" And so Jeanette Thatcher Barclay came into this world, and what with her Grandmother Barclay uncovering her to look at the Thatcher nose, and her Grandmother Mason taking her to the attic so that she could go upstairs before she went down, that she might never come down in the world, and what with her Grandfather Mason rubbing her almost raw with his fuzzy beard before the women could scream at him, and what with her father trying to jostle her on his knee, and what with all the different things Mrs.Ward, the mother of six, would have done to her, and all the things Mrs.Culpepper, mother of three, would have done to her, and Mrs.McHurdie, mother of none, prevented the others from doing, Jeanette had rather an exciting birthday.

And Jeanette Barclay as a young woman often looks at the scrap-book with its crinkly leaves and reads this item from the _Daily Banner_: "The angels visited our prosperous city again last Thursday, June 12, and left a little one named Jeanette at the home of our honoured townsman, John Barclay.
Mother and child progressing nicely." But under this item is a long poem clipped from a paper printed a week later,--Jeanette has counted the stanzas many times and knows there are seventeen, and each one ends with "when the angels brought Jeanette." Her father used to read the verses to her to tease her when she was in her teens, and once when she was in her twenties, and Jeanette had the lonely poet out to dinner one Sunday, she sat with him on the sofa in the library, looking at the old scrap-book.

Their eyes fell upon the verses about the angels bringing Jeanette, and the girl noticed the old man mumming it over and smiling.
"Tell me, Uncle Watts," she asked, "why did you make such a long poem about such a short girl ?" The poet ran his fingers through his rough gray beard, and went on droning off the lines, and grinning as he read.