noon
And I envy the rapture of the child in books , rapture not yet spoiled by the intellectual conceit of the grown-up . But I 'm not the only reader about this ranch . I 'm afraid the copy of Burns which Santa Claus brought to Whinstane Sandy last Christmas is not adding to his matrimonial tendencies as love-plaints of that nature should . At noon , as soon as dinner is over , he sits on the back step , poring over his beloved Tammas . And at night , now that the evenings are chillier , he retreats to the bunk-house stove , where he smokes and reads aloud . His own mother , he tells me , used to say many of those pieces to him when he was a wee laddie . He both outraged and angered poor Struthers , last Sunday , by reading _ Tam O'Shanter _ aloud to her .