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THE little, old-fashioned square "stand" was drawn up in front of the stove, which last was opened to let a glow of brightness reach across the room, and beside it were Lewis and Louise Morgan, seated for an evening of good cheer. She had a bit of needle-work, in which she was taking careful stitches; and her husband held in his hand, open to a previously set mark, a handsomely bound copy of Shakespeare. He was one of those rare persons-a good reader of Shakespeare; and, in the old days at home, Louise had delighted to sit, work in hand, and listen to the music of his voice in the rendering.
He had not commenced the regular reading, but was dipping into bits here and there, while he waited for her to "settle," as he called the bringing of her small work-basket, and the searching out her work. Now, although she was "settled," and looking apparently thoughtful enough for the saddest scenes from the great writer, he still continued his glancings from page to page, breaking out presently with-