“All right,” said Marjorie. “I’ll choose ‘The Merry Prince.’ It has fourteen lines, but they’re so gay and jolly, I think I can learn it pretty easy. What’s yours, Kit?”
“I’ll choose ‘Ice Cream.’ Partly ’cause I love it, and partly ’cause it’s just ten lines.”
“All right; now we’ll fix the book,” said King. “We’ll put it on the floor, so. Now, Kit, your piece comes first, so you lie down, and stick your feet out that way, toward the window. Mops, your piece is ’most at the end of the book, so you sprawl out the other way. Mine is between, so I’ll sneak in here, and I’ll hold up the leaves for you girls.”
The plan was not as complicated as it sounds, for the Maynards’ favorite position for reading was lying prone, with the book open on the floor, and their heads supported by their hands.
But the three made a funny picture, as, quite oblivious of each other, they studied hard to learn the rhymes they had selected.
“Don’t gabble out loud, Kit,” begged her brother. “How can I study, when you’re sissing ‘Ice Cream, Ice Cream,’ all the time?”
“All right, I’ll study to myself,” said Kitty, agreeably, and went on hissing her sibilant syllables in a whisper.
Marjorie stared into space, and studied without moving her lips, and King silently read his lines over and over, trusting to his “photographic memory” to retain them.
Miss Larkin peeped in, and seeing the absorbed students, kicking their heels or tapping their toes, went away again, unnoticed, but rejoicing that at least they were out of mischief.
“Hooray!” cried King, at last; “I know mine! I’ve said it over three times without looking.”