And then, while shadows ’round them gathered faster,
And as the firelight fell,
He read aloud the book wherein the Master
Had writ of “Little Nell.”
Perhaps ’twas boyish fancy,—for the reader
Was the youngest of them all,—
But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar
A silence seemed to fall.
The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows,
Listened in every spray,