gh now to make things as plain as day."

"Suppose you recite something first, then," suggested Gloriana, noting
the wistfulness in the big, black eyes of her new sister.

"Not on your tin-type!" Billiard emphatically declared. "It's ladies
first, you know! We want Tabitha to spiel."

"Well, then, what shall it be?" sighed that young lady resignedly.

"Something with ginger in it," was Toady's prompt reply. "Not a
sissy-girl piece."

"About a battle or a prize-fight," suggested Billiard with amusing
impartiality.

"_Barbara Fritchie_," put in eager Irene.

"No, don't," cried Susie. "We've heard that so often. Speak
_Sheridan's Ride_."

"Or _Driving Home the Cows_," suggested Mercedes. "I think that is so
pretty, and it is a war piece, too."

"But it is too sad," promptly vetoed Susie. "We want something--noisy."

"With cannons and guns," seconded the boys.

So Tabitha obligingly recited the thrilling lines:

"'Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.'"

And her thoughts flew back to that black day in the dingy old town
hall, when she had declaimed those very lines, and of the dire
punishment which had overtaken her; but the sting of it was all gone
now, and she found herself smiling at the recollection of that fateful
encore. Everything was so different these days. She could afford to
forget the old heartaches and longings in the happiness which had come
to her during the past year.

"'Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester, twenty miles away!'"

she finished; and before the enthusiastic audience realized that the
recitation was ended, she began _Horatius at the Bridge_. Then
followed in quick succession all the thrilling wartime pieces at her
tongue's command, while the delighted children held their breath in
wondering admiration.

Breathless at length, she paused, and surveying the circle of faces
about her, said whimsically, "That's a plenty, I reckon. My throat is
as dry as the desert!"

"Just one more!" they pleaded eagerly.

"But I have spoken all I can think of now with guns and cannons in
them."

"Then give us a different kind," wheedled Irene, in her most persuasive
tones.