"Nancy must not be endangered."
"Edith must not be hurt."
"Mother," pipes up Nancy's treble voice suddenly, "do you think May is a girl?"
"Who is May, dear?"
"Why, the month of May. Do you think it is a girl with roses in her arms, dancing across the lands, and touching the hedges into flower?"
"Yes, dear; I think so."
"Or do you think it is a boy, with curls falling over his eyes, wilful and naughty, who drags the little leaves out from the trees, and tosses the birds across the sky, whirling and piping?"
"Yes, I think so, dear."
"Oh, mother, you are not listening!" cries Nancy, and scampers off, improvising as she goes:
"Says May: 'I am a girl!
May is short for Margaret,
Margaret or Daisy.
The petals of a jessamine
No boy's hand could unfurl!'
Says May: 'I am a girl.'