thy; "but I hate such romantic stuff.
It could have been written with more propriety in prose." And she added,
in a malicious aside, loud enough to reach the ears of the fond father:

"Now his vanity's pleased with this nonsense, there will be no end to
his admiration of Juliet's verses."

"Dorothy, don't be envious of that of which you are incapable."

"Me envious! Of whom, pray? A whining, half-grown chit, who, if she have
anything worthy of commendation about her, first received it from me.
Envious, indeed! Captain Whitmore, I am astonished at your impudence!"

What answer the Captain would have given to this was very doubtful, for
his brow clouded up with the disrespectful manner in which Aunt Dorothy
spoke of his child, had not that child herself appeared, and all the
sunshine of the father's heart burst forth at her presence.

"Dear papa, what are you about?" she cried, flinging her arms about the
old veteran's neck, and trying, at the same moment, to twitch the paper
out of his hand.

"Avast heavin'! my girl. The old commodore is not to be robbed so easily
of his prize."

"Indeed, you must give the portfolio to me!" said Juliet, her eyes full
of tears at finding her secret discovered.

"Indeed, indeed, I shall do no such thing, you saucy little minx! So,
sit still whilst the father reads."

"But that--that is not worth reading."

"I dare say you are right, Miss Juliet," said the old maid,
sarcastically. "The rhymes of young ladies are seldom worth reading. You
had better mend your stockings, and mind your embroidery, than waste
your time in such useless trash."

"It does not take up much of my time, aunt."

"How do you make it up out of your little head, Julee?" said the
Captain. "Come and sit upon my knee, and tell the father all about it. I
am sure I could sooner board a French man-of-war than tack two rhymes
together."

"I don't know, papa," said Juliet, laughing, and accepting the proffered
seat. "It comes into my head when it likes, and passes through my brain
with the rapidity of lightning. I find it without seeking, and often,
when I seek it, I cannot find it. The thing is a great mystery to
myself; but the possession of it makes me very happy."

"Weak minds, I have often been told, are amused by trifles," sneered
Aunt Dorothy.

"Then I must be very weak, aunt, for I am easily amused. Dear papa, give
me that paper."

"I must read it."

"'Tis silly stuff."

"Let me be the best judge