Festus. Let me hear you read: that will give me courage to make the attempt myself.
Stella. Oh, very well! Remembering your partiality for juvenile literature, you will pardon me if I read a very short but sweet poem. (Produces a printed handkerchief from her pocket.)
Festus. Ah, a pocket edition!
Stella. (Reads from the handkerchief.)
“Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle-bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sang sweet lullaby,