that she
didn't wipe her pen on them, and she didn't use them as blotters or to
wash out her ink-well; but, nevertheless, black stains almost always
appeared upon them, and Florence insisted that the family had to buy an
extra pint of milk a day to take out all these ink-stains. Cousin Edith
was too frequent a visitor not to know all the family plans and jokes,
and Dolly, as she laughed and shook out one of the blue-bordered
squares, resolved that "polka-dots" should be conspicuous by their
absence, for Edith would be sure to know.

She entered the breakfast room just as the family were sitting down to
the table.

"Behold the effects of my generosity and fore-thought!" exclaimed Jim
waving his hand toward her. "Our Youngest is in time for breakfast!"

"Many happy returns of the day, small sister," said Anita, just as if it
was her birthday, kissing her good morning and slipping a little hard
package into her hand. "Bob sends you this with his love."

"I don't mind returns of the day when it's like this," said Dorothea,
opening the package and at the same time spying a couple of tissue-paper
parcels lying beside her plate. Inside was a small chamois-skin case out
of which slid a little pearl-handled penknife. The accompanying card
bore the name of her future brother-in-law, and also these words:

I hesitate to offer you
This knife, for I shall be
Afraid that if you cut yourself
You straightway will cut me.

"How long did it take Bob to execute that masterpiece?" inquired Jim as
Dorothea read it aloud.

"You're jealous," she said. "Yours wasn't half so lovely as Cousin
Edith's and Bob's. It wasn't poetry at all."

"I left all the eloquence to my gift itself," answered Jim, helping
himself to an orange.

Dorothea paid no attention to him, for she was opening a small package
fastened by a rubber band. It was a silver-mounted eraser with a tiny
brush at one end. The inclosed note read:

This advice I must repeat;
Spare the rub and spoil the sheet.
If you can't restrain your speed,
This will prove a friend in need.

Dolly joined rather shamefacedly in the general smile, as she thanked
Florence, whose writing she had recognized. She was very apt to postpone
her work until the last minute, and then rush through it as fast as
possible; her compositions suffered from the many careless mistakes that
she was always in too much of a hurry to correct, while her drawings
bel