I'm going out into the audience to enjoy the effect as the curtain rises." As she passed Miss Casey, the elocutionist, she felt some one catch her sleeve.

"I've left that copy of Tennyson at the house," she gasped.
"What shall I do ?" "I'll run and get it," volunteered Elise in a whisper, and promptly started off.

Mary, standing back in the shadow of a tall lilac bush, clasped her hands in silent admiration of the picture.

It was wonderful how the moonlight transformed everything.

Here was the living, breathing poem itself before her.