"Mine last, please," pleaded Lucy.
So the judge took the paper from Minnie's hand and read,—
"Papa, you know I can't make verse,
And it was very bad
Of you to make us play at this,—
I tell you I'm real mad."
There was another shout at Minnie's performance, and then Lucy timidly slipped her paper into the judge's hand, and drew back behind Minnie. The judge read very slowly this time, and every beautiful word was distinctly heard.
"The calm, still brightness on the hills,
The beauty on the plain,
Fill all my heart with strange sweet joy,
That is akin to pain.
"We stand upon a stepping-stone
Up to the Better Land;
I seem to see the glory there,
And feel my Father's hand.
"And hovering near me seem to be
The loved ones gone before;
One day we'll mount God's stepping-stones,
And weep earth's tears no more."
There was a moment's surprised silence. All eyes were turned to Lucy, who shrank further back with a very distressed face.
"The prize is yours, Lucy," said Judge Keane at length.—"Who would have thought this shy little maiden was the poet of the company?"
There were many other remarks made, which seemed to distress Lucy so much that they held their peace at length, and the judge remembered Tom's contribution had not been called for.
"You thought you were to escape, young man," said he, as he received the paper from Tom's reluctant hand. "Perhaps the last may be best yet, who knows? Well, I never—ha! ha!"
He held up the paper, and lo, a sketch of the circle of anxious faces, with paper and pencil before them, and every expression true to the life. It was wonderfully well done, and created much amusement as it was handed round the company.