me of mind in which she disapproved of her
sisters, yet she was terrified lest, if she gave him time, her father
might draw the same inference that she had.

"Perhaps you'll let me read aloud for a while, father. Mr. Garvan often
has me read things to the class," she suggested quickly, when she saw he
was about to close the book.

Madigan hesitated. A succession of infuriating trifles had beat upon
his temper till it was worn thin. But Sissy's outstretched hand
conquered merely by suggestion. He put the book before her, pointed to
the place, got to his feet, and began pacing to and fro.

"'Carthage burned seventeen days before it was entirely consumed,'" read
Sissy. "'Then the plow was passed over the soil to put an end in legal
form to the existence of the city. House might never be built, corn
might never be sown, upon the ground where it had stood.'"

She read well, did Sissy, as she did most things. Little by little
Madigan's sharp, quick steps became less and less the bodily expression
of exasperated nerves, and tuned themselves to the meter of that pretty,
childish voice, intelligently giving utterance to the thoughtful
philosophy that had always soothed him. It lost some of its familiarity
and gained a new charm, coming from that small, round mouth which had an
almost faultless instinct for pronunciation. A feeble germ of fatherly
pride began to sprout beneath the soil upon which the child's
intelligent reading fell like a warm, spring rain.

"One moment, Cecilia." Madigan stopped in his walk, lifting an
apologetic hand to excuse the interruption. "You read just now of 'the
Britons of Cornwall gathering on high places and straining their eyes
toward the west; the ships which had brought them beads and purple cloth
would come again no more.' Now, to what does that refer?"

Sissy's hands flew to her breast; and before she had time to conceal, to
pretend, to affect, he had seen the blank expression of her face. You
see, she had been merely reading; not thinking. The sound of her own
voice had drowned the sense. To read intelligently a thing the
comprehension of which was far over her head was the utmost this
eleven-year-old could do. She had not the vaguest idea what she had been
reading. It was all a blank!

Madigan stood petrified; and the last little martyred ox, stuffing her
apron into her mouth, that she might not weep aloud, hurried from the
room.

A moment longer Madigan stood. Then he looked at Miss