I'm sure it's much
nicer than Shakespeare--he's too dry. Why, I've been reading to daddy
for the last hour, and I can't remember one word."

The professor was most anxious to discuss his book, but Nan insisted on
checkers first.

"I have a right to my own way for once," she insisted. "You promised
me long ago that I could have Mr. Handyman to myself the next time he
came. But, no, it was Shakespeare and Church matters, and so I was
pushed aside."

They all laughed heartily at her words and gestures, and the professor
at last agreed that they should play two games. Then he had something
important to say.

With Nan's animated face beaming over the board, and Nell sitting
quietly sewing by the table, it was a most enjoyable evening to
Douglas. But the professor was not so happy. The minutes dragged
heavily, so when the players had won a game each, he gave a sigh of
relief and claimed Douglas' special attention.

"I wish to discuss several points in the tragedy of Hamlet," he began.
"I am not altogether sure in my own mind, and would like to have your
opinion."

Though Douglas had studied Hamlet at college, yet he felt very
diffident about discussing the "several points," which he felt sure
would be difficult ones. But as the professor began to talk, he knew
that his opinion would not be necessary. Once launched upon his
subject, the old man seemed to imagine that he was once more in the
class room. Several times he asked Nell to read certain extracts from
his notes, and upon these he always enlarged. It was pathetic to
observe his intense eagerness, and he was certain that his visitor was
keenly interested in his subject.

It was well for him that he could not see into the hearts and minds of
the others in the room. Nan was lost in a story book she had borrowed
from a girl friend that very afternoon; while Nell's thoughts were not
upon the wonders of Shakespeare, but upon the events of the day.
Douglas tried to pay strict attention to what was being said, though
his eyes would often wander to the young woman sewing just in front of
him. He noted the varying expressions upon her face, and he
intuitively surmised something of what she was thinking. How he longed
to be talking with her and listening to her as it had been his
privilege that afternoon. Could she ever care for him? he asked
himself just at the very instant when the professor was waxing eloquent
about Shakespeare as an artist. He tried t