'----perhaps because her tresses beat
A froth of gold about her throat, and poured
In splendour to the feet that ever seemed
Afloat.'

Isn't that it?"

"Yes! How did you know?" Patty's startled eyes were wide in amazement.

"You dear little goose. I hate to give you a shock, Posy-girl, but
those lines were written by a not altogether obscure poet,--one James
Whitcomb Riley."

"What! It's no such thing! Mr. Blaney wrote them about me! They
begin----"

"Wait! Don't break your promise of confidence. They begin:

"'I loved her.--Why? I never knew.' Don't they?"

"Yes, that's the poem Sam Blaney wrote for me----

"But he chanced to write it after Riley did--not before. Strange they
were so similarly inspired, wasn't it?"

"William Farnsworth, do you mean to tell me that that is a poem of
Riley's,--and Sam Blaney palmed it off on me as his own!"

"It looks that way, Patty. At any rate, those are Riley's lines. I've
known the thing for years. It's a favourite of mine."

"But I've a book of Riley's,--it isn't in that."

"My child, you mustn't get annoyed with me, when I tell you you're not
deeply versed in book-lore,--or deeply booked in verse-lore! For it's
true. I admit that is not one of the poet's best known bits,--it's in
'Flying Islands of the Night,'--but it is so exquisite that it ought to
be better known. And, by the way, Patty, if you thought Blaney did
that gem, I don't wonder you admired him. But, dear little girl, do
you see now that the man is capable of deception?"

Patty looked deeply troubled. "You're sure, Billee,--you're _positive_
about this?"

"As sure as I am of my own name."

"Then I want nothing more to do with Sam Blaney or any of his crowd.
I'll never forgive it. Why, he wrote the poem while I sat looking at
him,--just as fast as he could scribble."

"Doesn't that seem to prove it? He knew Riley's lines, and wrote them
down. I doubt if the greatest poet that ever lived scribbled lines
like that, offhand."

"Of course they couldn't! You've done it, Little Billee. You've
smashed my idols, blown up my air castles, knocked the pedestals from
under my heroes----"

"I'm sorry, dear,--but when they are unworthy idols and heroes----"

"And they are! I see it all now. I banked on Mr. Blaney's genius
mostly on account of that poem. But, as you say, the very fact that he
made me promise not to show it to anybody--but I don't need to prove
it. You tell me