CHAPTER XXIII

THE SOLACE OF READING

THE EVENING HOUR

The day is done; the clock is striking eight; The children now are snug and safe abed; Still on the pillow lies each little head, Tired out, altho' they begged to sit up late. I cover the fire within the kitchen grate, Mix up a light sponge for the morrow's bread, Wind up the faithful clock; with quiet tread Depart, and leave my kitchen to its fate. The study calls me to my favorite nook Beside the table, underneath the light. Here shall I joy me with a gracious book Until at last I bid my world good-night. O peaceful dreams beneath the homestead roof! Ye straighten out life's tangled warp and woof!

--_Helen Coale Crew._