n.

"Has she written your mother lately?" he asked.

Florence's expression denoted a mental condition slightly disturbed.
"No," she said. "It's goin' to be printed in _The North End Daily
Oriole_."

"What?"

"My poem. It's about a vast amen--anyhow, that's proba'ly the best thing
in it, I guess--and they're goin' to have it out to-morrow, or else
they'll have to settle with _me_; that's one thing certain! I'll bring
one over to your house and leave it at the door for you, Mr. Dill."

Noble had but a confused notion of what she thus generously promised.
However, he said, "Thank you," and nodded vaguely.

"Of course, I don't know as it's so awful good," Florence admitted
insincerely. "The family all seem to think it's something pretty much;
but I don't know if it is or not. _Really_, I don't!"

"No," said Noble, still confused. "I suppose not."

"I'm half way through another one I think myself'll be a good deal
better. I'm not goin' as fast with it as I did with the other one, and I
expect it'll be quite a ways ahead of this one." She again employed the
deprecatory little laugh. "I don't know how I do it, myself. The family
all think it's sort of funny I don't know how I do it, myself; but
that's the way it is. They all say if they could do it they're sure
they'd know how they did it; but I guess they're wrong. I presume if you
can do it, why, it just _comes_ to you. Don't you presume that's the way
it is, Mr. Dill?"

"I--guess so." They had reached his gate, and he stopped. "You're sure
none of your family have heard anything to-day?" he asked anxiously.

"From Aunt Julia? I don't think they have."

He sighed, and opened the gate. "Well, good evening, Florence."

"Good evening." Her eyes followed him wistfully as he passed within the
enclosure; then she turned and walked quickly toward her own home; but
at the corner of the next fence she called back over her shoulder, "I'll
leave it with your mother for you, if you're not home when I bring it."

"What?" he shouted, from his front door.

"I'll leave it with your _mother_."

"Leave what?"

"The _poem_!"

"Oh!" said Noble. "Thanks!"

But when his mother handed him a copy of the first issue of _The North
End Daily Oriole_, the next day, when he came home to lunch, he read it
without edification; there was nothing about Julia in it.

THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLE

Atwater & Rooter Owners & Propreitors