ot a creature but herself
knew what she had done, and it would be easy enough to continue to hide
it.

"Cousin Appolina," said Millicent, finding her voice at last, "I am so
sorry! You see, I hadn't worn the slippers, for the ones you gave me
before are still as good as new, and I had nothing to send to the fair,
for I don't do any fancy-work, and I thought--perhaps--you wouldn't
mind. I didn't notice the paper."

"Evidently not; but what if the shoes had fallen into other hands than
mine? What if-- But all this amounts to nothing compared with your
positive outrageousness in writing those lines about me and sending them
to be sold."

"Cousin Appolina, what do you mean?" cried Millicent. "I didn't mean
you."

"Mean me?" repeated Miss Briggs, in wrath. "To whom, then, were you
referring? Is there _another_ Miss Appolina B.?"

"I can't imagine what you are talking about, honestly, Cousin Appolina,
but I really did not mean that you were the pearl in the oyster-shell. I
wrote it about some one else."

"Pearl in the oyster-shell! Do not dare to mention that pearl or that
oyster-shell again. I am tired of hearing of them both. And do not
pretend that you do not understand me, Millicent. You are not so stupid
as all that, though I must say you were extraordinarily dull of
comprehension when you sent those verses to the fair, and it was
astonishingly like you to do it, too. No, this is what I am referring
to. Now, what have you to say for yourself?"

She thrust the unlucky booklet at her cousin, and began to walk the
floor.

Millicent read the verses:

"Who is a dame of high degree?
Who's always scolded little me?
Who is a sight strange for to see?
Miss Appolina B.

"Who cannot with her friends agree?
Who loves to feed on cakes and tea?
Who prides herself on her pedigree?
Miss Appolina B.

"Who'll soon set sail across the sea?
Who will not take her cousins three?
Who is an ancient, awful she?
Miss Appolina B."

"Who else would have written that about the 'cousins three'" thundered
Miss Briggs, as she walked. "And, besides, you have already confessed
that you are the author of the rhymes. What more is needed? As for my
pedigree, is there a better one in all New York? I may be ancient and I
may be awful, but at least I am aristocratic. Cakes and tea forsooth!
You have had the last cakes and tea you will ever have in my house.