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Page 14
She felt that her position as a future poet demanded that she be finely
dressed.
On this especial morning she had been doing a very unpoetic thing--she
had been trying to drink from the hose!
Her skirts were completely soaked, and her shoes were covered with mud
that the dripping hose had splashed up from the garden bed.
"A person like ME ought not to drink from a horrid old hose. My mama
read about some one, I've forgotten who, who drank from a crystal
chalice. I don't know what that is, but it sounds grand, and I wish I
had one," murmured the small girl behind the hedge.
Aunt Rose repeated her invitation, but the poetic child seldom thought
it necessary to be polite, and never replied unless she chose to. This
time she remained silent, and Aunt Rose, with an odd little smile
returned to the house.
Then a strange thing happened.
Another face peeped over the hedge, but this time it was a saucy one,
with bright, brown eyes that fairly danced with merriment.
"Reg'lar ninny, ain't she?" he asked, with a chuckle.
"Oh, Lester, you MUSTN'T!" cried Rose.
"Yes, I must!" said the boy. "She sneaked off into the house when you
weren't looking, so she can't hear me, and when she's too far off to
hear, I have to call her some kind of a horrid name, 'cause it helps me
some!"
"But she's your own cousin, and you oughtn't, you know. If it isn't
wicked, it MUST be naughty to call her a ninny," said Rose.
"I wish she wasn't my cousin, I ain't fond of her," said the boy, with a
frown on his handsome face.
"She did a mean thing this morning, and I'll get even with her," he
continued, "and when she wrote one of her everlasting old poems about
me, it was more than I could stand. Just read it and I guess you won't
blame me."
He thrust a crumpled bit of paper over the hedge.
Rose ran to the hedge, and took the paper. She was curious to know what
kind of a poem Lester had inspired.
Who could blame her that she laughed when she read the ridiculous lines?
"Lester's a boy, but he's not brave;
The cat scratched him, and he cried.
He's not the kind of a boy I like
Although I've often tried.
His eyes are brown, but I don't care;
His freckles are yellow, and so is his hair.
He teases, so he has no heart,
And he runs after the old ice-cart."
"Could a fellow stand THAT? said Lester, his cheeks very red.
"It wasn't nice," said Rose, "and Lester, wait a moment," as the boy
turned to go.
"This is Polly Sherwood, my best friend. Polly, this is Lester Jenks.
He's a nice boy, only he's provoked this morning."
Polly offered her little hand over the hedge, and Lester blushed, and
took it.
"Are you the little princess?" he asked bluntly.
"Just a make-believe one," said Polly.
"We all call her 'Princess Polly' at home," Rose explained.
"You look right to be called that anywhere," said Lester, and it was
Polly's turn to blush.
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