ind in the least," declared Ruth; "in fact, I'm rather
flattered than otherwise."

"Make one about Maisie or me," implored Lettice. "You can say as nasty
things as you want."

"Nothing could possibly rhyme with Lettice," announced Honor after a
moment's cogitation, "or with Salad either. I might do better with
Maisie. Let me see--crazy, hazy, daisy, lazy--I think those are all.
Will this suit you?--

"There's a girl in this garden called Maisie;
At lessons she's horribly lazy,
But she's splendid at sports,
And at games of all sorts,
While o'er cricket she waxes quite crazy."

"What are you all laughing at?" enquired Flossie Taylor, sauntering up
to join the group, and taking a seat on the grass.

"Limericks. Honor is winding them off by the yard. Now, Paddy, let us
have one about Flossie! Quick, while your genius is burning!"

"It's only flickering," laughed Honor, "but I'll try:

"There's a girl at St. Chad's who's named Flossie;
She tries to be terribly 'bossy',
She sets us all straight
(Which is just what we hate),
And makes us exceedingly cross(y)."

"Oh, what a fearfully lame rhyme!" said Lettice.

"I know it is, but I couldn't think of any other word. If you're
offended, Flossie, you can go away."

"I'm not silly enough to care about such trifles," replied Flossie
loftily.

"You've quite left out Janie," said Lettice, "and there she is sewing
all the time, and as usual never offering a single remark. Janie
Henderson, why don't you talk?"

"You don't give me a chance to put in a word," protested Janie.
"Perhaps I'm like the proverbial parrot, which couldn't talk, but
thought all the more."

"You mean that I do the talking, and not the thinking?"

"I didn't say so."

"But you implied it. You deserve a horrid Limerick, and I shall make
one myself. Wait a moment, while I rack my brains. Oh, now I've got
it!--

"Miss Henderson, otherwise Jane,
May think very hard with her brain,
But it never comes out,
So she leaves us in doubt
If there are any thoughts to explain.

"There! You can't retaliate, because, as Honor says, there isn't a rhyme
for Lettice."

"It's a good thing, for we might get too personal," interposed Chatty.
"I think we've been over the margin of politeness as it is. Suppose we
change the subject. Do you know, the honey dew is dropping from this
lime tree overhead and making my knitting needle