quence, being moved thereto by a mingled sense of curiosity, and envy that grew as I lingered.
"Con-trary!" said a voice, as sweet as a silver bell—"That for the third time, you dunce! I'm not going to tell you, again—Recollect, or I pull your hair!"
"Contrary, then," answered another, in deep, but softened tones. And now, kiss me, for minding so well."
"No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake."
The male speaker began to read—he was a young man, respectably dressed, and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention.
Its owner stood behind; her light shining
