“I hope they haven’t,” observed King; “I could eat most of these things myself. How about letting us try these little cakes, Miss Larkin?”
“Don’t touch those!” was the rejoinder, as King’s fingers hovered dangerously near the dainties; “that basket is filled, ready for the table. Come away from here. If you’ve learned your poems, I’ll hear them, and then it’s time for you to go and dress.”
Miss Larkin pushed the reluctant children out of the fascinating pantry, and they all went to the library.
“Well, King,” she said; “which is your poem?”
“Oh, let me say mine first,” said Kitty, “’fore I forget it.”
“You must have a short memory, child! Well, say yours first, then. Why, what sort of a book is this?”
“It’s our scrap-book,” explained Marjorie. “You didn’t say what sort of poems, ’cept that they must be printed. So we took these. They’re much more interesting than those in reg’lar books.”
“Very well,” said Miss Larkin, whose only intent had been to keep the children quiet for an hour. “Say yours first, then, Kitty.”
So Kitty stood up, and with her hands behind her, recited her little jingle about
ICE CREAM.