miled stiffly. "Are they funny poems?" she asked. "You seem
to find them amusing."

Elsie would have noticed her tone if she had not been so excited and in
such haste.

"They are not meant to be," she said, aloud, as she moved away. "That is
the best part of the whole thing."

Millicent, left alone, felt as if she could cry with pleasure. How
perfectly outrageous it was in that odious Elsie Pearson to talk in such
a way! The only comfort was that Elsie was anything but intellectual,
and would not know good poetry when she saw it. She would probably fail
to see any beauty in Tennyson.

Peggy had watched this conference from across the room; and she now came
quickly over to her cousin. "Look out, Mill," she said in a low tone,
"you will have to be awfully careful that no one catches on. If I were
you I wouldn't stay so near the poetry table."

Peggy, already deeply regretting her joke, wished to spare her cousin as
much as possible. But her good intentions were frustrated by Mrs.
Pearson.

"Millicent," said that lady, "we have had some new wares sent in;
something I never saw before at a fair. Poems, my dear. Just think of
it; and by a member of the congregation! We can't imagine who wrote
them, and of course they are perfect trash" (this in a low voice), "but
we will have to do our best to sell them, so I want you to take charge
of that table. You won't mind changing, I know. And try not to let the
people laugh at the poems. They are absurd, I know, judging from one I
picked up. It was about a moth or an ant or something. I am not sure
that it was not a Croton bug," and with a laugh at her own wit Mrs.
Pearson led Millicent to the poetry table, and established her behind
it.

It was now twelve o'clock, the hour at which the fair was to be opened
to the public.

Two or three hours later the sale was in full swing. A great many people
came, for it was in every respect a fashionable function, and it was
considered quite the thing to be seen there. People bought largely also
of every variety of article--except poetry. That seemed to go a-begging.

There was always a crowd about the table, but no one felt inclined to
purchase. The little booklets were picked up, read, dropped again, with
laughter and comments, until Millicent felt that she would gladly sink
through the floor.

Even her own mother came, criticised, and moved on, with a whispered
question to Millicent as to what member of the congregation could hav