Nancy sat down on the bed, and pressed the little fair head to her heart.
"I will tell you about that to-morrow," she said. "And you must not listen to what is said in another room. It is not honourable." After a long explanation of what "honourable" meant, Nancy rose and kissed her.
"You had better shut the door," said Anne-Marie. "One can't be honourable if one can be not."
So the door was closed.
Early next morning Anne-Marie inquired about the poets.
"Well," said Nancy, who had forgotten about it, and was taken unawares. She spoke slowly, making up her story as she went on, and trying to put another picture in the little book of Anne-Marie's mind. "Once the world was full of roses, and poets lived for ever."
"Yes," said Anne-Marie.
"Then one day some people said to God: 'There are too many useless things in the world. Roses, for instance. We could do without them, and have vegetables instead.' So God took away the roses. And all the poets died."
"What of?"
"Of silence," said Nancy. "They died because they had nothing more to say."