if you don't speak good and loud."

So Andy said the first verse again good and loud. He made the phrase
"Just for the P. T. A." sound like a football yell.

"Good! That ought to wow 'em. Now say the next verse."

Again Andy's eyes sought the ceiling.

You may have heard the story
Of this girl with golden hair,
Who lost her way in a dark wood--

Andy could not remember what came next.

"Belonging to a bear," Jerry prompted. "I don't remember that the
story said anything about Papa Bear owning the woods, but maybe he
did. Go on, Andy."

Andy could not remember any of the last verse, so Jerry read it to him
slowly.

I won't go on with the story,
For our play will now portray
What happened to little Goldilocks
The day she lost her way.

"Say it, Andy," urged Jerry.

Andy pouted. "I don't want to. I hate my log piece," he said fiercely.
"I wanted to be the great big bear. I wanted to say, 'Who's been
eating my porridge?' I can talk the loudest. But Ned Brooks is going
to be the great big bear." Andy's lower lip quivered. He looked ready
to bawl.

"Want to hear some keen poetry?" asked Jerry, hoping to cheer Andy.

Andy showed no sign of wanting to but Jerry did not wait for
encouragement. With a lilt of enjoyment in his voice he said a rhyme
he had learned sometime--he could not remember when or where.

Gene, Gene--had a machine.
Joe, Joe--made it go.
Frank, Frank--turned the crank.
His mother came out and gave him a spank,
And threw him over a sandbank.

The last two lines Jerry said very rapidly, coming out good and strong
on the word _sandbank_.

Like April weather Andy's stormy face turned sunny. "Say it again," he
said delightedly.

Jerry obliged.

"Say it again," Andy begged when Jerry had finished the second time.

"Say, what do you think I am, a phonograph record?" asked Jerry. But
he good-naturedly recited the rhyme a third time.

"I can say it," cried Andy. And he recited the rhyme without
forgetting a word.

"Say, you can learn like a shot when you really want to," said Jerry
admiringly.

"I don't think that's a nice poem to teach to Andy," said Cathy, who
had come in and listened to her small brother.

"I'd like to know why not?" asked Jerry.

"Poetry should be beautiful," said Cathy dreamily. "Like that poem
Miss Kitteridge read us day before yesterday.

"Life has loveliness to sell," quoted Cathy.

[Illustration]

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