et woollen-loving moth!
We crush thee, cast the atoms to the wind,
Stamp underfoot, and tread thee with the heel.
Oh, tell me! Dost thou really truly mind?
Can little frail white creatures like thee feel?
What are thy thoughts, and what emotions thine?
To know thy feelings, dear white moth, I pine!"

When Millicent's pathetic voice ceased there was silence in the room,
and then from the table upon which Peggy's head was resting came peal
after peal of laughter.

[Illustration: PEGGY FAIRLY SHRIEKED WITH LAUGHTER OVER THE POEM.]

"Oh, do excuse me, Milly!" she cried, as soon as she could speak. "I
didn't mean to laugh, but it struck me as so awfully funny, don't you
know. 'About your closet door,' and bringing the--the--camphor forth.
Oh, oh, moth-balls are better, and you might have put in something about
the smell! Ha, ha, ha!" and Peggy fairly shrieked with laughter as she
held her side and rocked to and fro. "Oh, do excuse me! But--but-- I
can't h--help it! It's--the funniest thing I ever heard! At least it
isn't really, but it just struck me so. And--and--if you can tread a
moth under your--your heel, you're terribly smart. Oh, Mill, Mill!"

"There!" said Millicent, rising, and thrusting her papers into a drawer
in her desk, and turning the key with an angry snap. "I knew just how it
would be. I believe you would laugh at my funeral."

"Oh no, indeed, I wouldn't. Milly--not at your funeral. But really, you
know, it just struck me. I think the rhymes are perfectly splendid.
Don't you, Joan?"

"Indeed I do," cried Joanna; "and I don't see what you saw to laugh at.
I think they are beautiful, Millicent. Aren't you going to read some
more?"

"No, indeed. Never!"

"I wish you would write a poem about Cousin Appolina," said Peggy.
"Hateful thing! She might take at least one of us abroad with her, if
not all three. She has such loads of money, and no one to spend it on
but herself."

"Probably she _will_ take one of us," observed Joan.

"It won't be me, then," said her cousin, positively, but
ungrammatically; "she hates me like fury. It will be one of you. Well,
it wouldn't be much fun to dance attendance on Cousin Appolina if she
should happen to have a cranky fit. Mill, I know you are mad, for you
haven't spoken a word since I laughed. Do forgive me. And, tell me, what
are you going to send to the fair?"

"I have nothing to send," replied Millicent, rather shortly.

"Send your poems! Br