Digital primer

"I am at your service," said he. "I am only afraid that your
requirements will exceed my ability."
"Very prettily spoken," said Alice, as Quincy led her to a seat by the
fire, and took one himself. "I am going to confess to you," said she,
"one of my criminal acts. I am going to ask you to sit as judge and mete
out what you consider a suitable punishment for my offence."
"What crime have you committed?" asked Quincy gravely.
Alice laughed, shook the papers she held in her hand, and said, "I have
written poetry."
"The crime is a great one," said Quincy. "But if the poetry be good it
may serve to mitigate your sentence. Are those the evidences of your
crime you hold in your hand, Miss Pettingill?"
"Yes," she answered, as she passed a written sheet to him; "I wrote them
before my eyes failed me. Perhaps you will find it hard to read them.
Which one is that?" she asked.
"It is headed, 'On the Banks of the Tallahassee,'" replied Quincy.
"Oh!" cried Alice, "I didn't write that song myself. A gentleman friend,
who is now dead, was the author of it.


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