“No, ’m; I s’pose not. But I’d love to hear it.”
“Tell her ‘The Sunset Star,’ sister,” said Miss Dorinda.
Miss Priscilla simpered a little; then, folding her hands, she recited:
“The sunset star is shining
Across the meadow green;
The woodbine vines are twining
The trellises between;
“And every pleasant evening
I watch it from afar,
Romantic fancies weaving