Shakespeare, Milton, Emerson, Arnold, and Whittier were always ready to his hand; and he kept a supply of slender volumes of Sill's "Poems" in a cupboard in the hall and handed them out discriminatingly to his callers.

The house was the resort of many young people, some of them children of Ware's former parishioners, and he was much given to discussing books with them; or he would read aloud--"Sohrab and Rustum," Lowell's essay on Lincoln, or favorite chapters from "Old Curiosity Shop"; or again, it might be a review article on the social trend or a fresh view of an old economic topic.
The Wares' was the pleasantest of small houses and after Mrs.Owen's the place sought oftenest by Sylvia.
"There's a gentleman with Mr.Ware: he's been here a long time," said the maid, lingering to lay a fresh stick of wood on the grate fire.
Sylvia, warming her hands at the blaze, heard the faint blur of voices from the parlor.

She surveyed the room with the indifference of familiarity, glanced at a new magazine, and then sat down at the desk and picked up a book she had never noticed before.

She was surprised to find it a copy of "Society and Solitude" that did not match the well-thumbed set of Emerson--one of the few "sets" Ware owned.

She passed her hand over the green covers, that were well worn and scratched in places.