Isn't that it?"
"Yes! How did you know?" Patty's startled eyes were wide in amazement.
"You dear little goose. I hate to give you a shock, Posy-girl, but those lines were written by a not altogether obscure poet,—one James Whitcomb Riley."
"What! It's no such thing! Mr. Blaney wrote them about me! They begin——"
"Wait! Don't break your promise of confidence. They begin:
"'I loved her.—Why? I never knew.' Don't they?"
"Yes, that's the poem Sam Blaney wrote for me——
"But he chanced to write it after Riley did—not before. Strange they were so similarly inspired, wasn't it?"
"William Farnsworth, do you mean to tell me that that is a poem of
Riley's,—and Sam Blaney palmed it off on me as his own!"
"It looks that way, Patty. At any rate, those are Riley's lines. I've known the thing for years. It's a favourite of mine."