lightly murmured exclamations, indicated that the person who had said "Ah!" was joined by friends—two of them, Ogle thought—on her side of the gallery. There were some moments of silence, and then a woman's voice, softened by emotion, and at the same time a little elocutionary, repeated not quite accurately a quotation with which Ogle at one time in his life had been familiar:
Falls from the wings of night
Like a feather is wafted downward
By an eagle in its flight."
The person who had said "Ah!" was not pleased. "Oh, dear!" she said. "Mother, that's perfectly terrible! It isn't getting dark in the first place; and in the second it isn't 'like' a feather; and in the third it isn't 'by' an eagle. How on earth could an eagle waft a feather?"
Mrs. Tinker laughed. "You needn't be so particular, Libby." Then evidently she turned to a third person. "You'll have to get used to my daughter's agonies over her poor father and mother, Mrs. Shuler. She's doing her best to educate us; but she's a great deal more patient with us lately, since we've been
