I recited the first eight lines, and stopped there feeling that Imust not exact too much from the boy at first. "Now, Freddy," Isaid, "try if you can speak the poetry as I have spoken it.""Don't do anything of the kind, Freddy," said a voice from the garden; "it's all spoken wrong."Who was this insolent person? A man unquestionably--and, strange to say, there was something not entirely unfamiliar to me in his voice. The girls began to giggle. Their brother was more explicit. "Oh," says Freddy, "it's only Mr. Sax."The one becoming course to pursue was to take no notice of the interruption. "Go on," I said. Freddy recited the lines, like a dear good boy, with as near an imitation of my style of elocution as could be expected from him.
"Poor devil!" cried the voice from the garden, insolently pitying my attentive pupil.
