"I well remember," says Miss Morris, "my first step into theatrical controversy. 'Macbeth' was being rehearsed, and the star had just exclaimed: 'Hang out our banners on the outward walls!' That was enough--argument was on. It grew animated. Some were for: 'Hang out our banners! On the outward walls the cry is still, they come!' while one or two were with the star's reading. "I stood listening, and looking on, and fairly sizzling with hot desire to speak, but dared not take the liberty. Presently an actor, noticing my eagerness, laughingly said: "'Well, what is it, Clara? You'll have a fit if you don't ease your mind with speech.' "'Oh, Uncle Dick,' I answered, my words fairly tripping over one another in my haste, 'I have a picture home, I cut out of a paper; it's a picture of a great castle with towers and moats and things, and on the outer walls are men with spears and shields, and they seem to be looking for the enemy, and, Uncle Dick, the _banner_ is floating over the high tower! So, don't you think it ought to be read: "Hang out our banners! On the outward walls"--the outward wall, you know, is where the lookouts are standing--"the cry is still, they come!"' "A general laugh followed my excited explanation, but Uncle Dick patted me on the shoulder and said: "'Good girl, you stick to your picture--it's right, and so are you. Many people read that line that way, but you have worked it out for yourself, and that's a good plan to follow.' "And," says Miss Morris, "I swelled and swelled, it seemed to me, I was so proud of the gentle old man's approval. But that same night I came woefully to grief. I had been one of the crowd of 'witches.' Later, being off duty, I was, as usual, planted in the entrance, watching the acting of the grown-ups and grown-greats. Lady Macbeth was giving the sleep-walking scene, in a way that jarred upon my feelings. I could not have told why, but it did. I believed myself alone, and when the memory-haunted woman roared out: "'Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much _blood_ in him?' I remarked, under my breath. 'Did you expect to find ink in him?' "A sharp 'ahem' right at my shoulder told me I had been overheard, and I turned to face--oh, horror! the stage-manager. He glared angrily at me and demanded my ideas on the speech, which in sheer desperation at last I gave, saying: "'I thought Lady Macbeth was amazed at the _quantity_ of blood that flowed from the body of such an old man--for when you get old, you know, sir, you don't have so much blood as you used to, and I only thought that, as the "sleeping men were laced, and the knives smeared and her hands bathed with it," she might perhaps have whispered, "Yet who would have thought the old man to have so _much_ blood in him?"' I didn't mean an impertinence. Down fell the tears, for I could not talk and hold them back at the same time.