s own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat
very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that
of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed,
yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very
genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now.

"Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to
give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me
to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should
be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry
to speak strongly--shocks me!"

Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times.

"It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he
said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you."

"I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a
few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If
you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of
such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you
would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries."

"But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him
with a wave of her hand.

"Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions,
that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is
considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age
without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the
most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for
ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so,
let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your
poem."

CHAPTER III.

INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER

"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes.

"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and
she laid down her book with an expectant air.

"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him,
but he's there."

"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here
and make your manners."

The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking
child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes
that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own.

The gray eyes and the black excha