“I forgot,� Dick confessed. That put him clearly in the wrong, and made him the crosser. He turned on his sister, growling: “What business is it of yours, miss? You please let my affairs alone and attend to your own. What are you doing, Patsy?�
He tried to wriggle near enough to see, but Patsy made a face at him and ran into the yard. Dick was such a tease! She was not going to tell him that she had decided to be a poet and was composing a wonderful ballad. How surprised he would be when it came out in the Atlantic or St. Nicholas, with her name in big black letters—Pocahontas Virginia Osborne, as it was in the family Bible. Or would she have a pen-name, like ‘Marion Harland’? If she could think of a lovely original name—— But perhaps she had better finish the poem first.
She perched herself in the swing and chewed her pencil and read over the four lines she had written:
“Johnny was a sailor,
He was brave and bold;
He thought he would make an adventure
To find the North Pole.�
She could not think of anything else to say, so she read that over again; and then again. While inspiration tarried, an interruption came. It took the shape of her small brother William with two of his followers—Hop-o-hop, a lame duck that he had adopted when its hen mother pecked it and cast it off, and Scalawag, a sand-colored, bob-tailed stray dog that had adopted him.
“Hey, Patsy! I think I’ll give you a kiss,� announced Sweet William, raising his fair, serious face to hers. “I think I might give you two kisses. You are so sweet. Patsy,� he went on coaxingly, “wouldn’t you want to lend me a pencil? Just one little minute, to make you a picture of a horse.�
“Oh, Sweet William, you’re such a nuisance!� said Patsy. “I’m awfully busy. How can I ever finish this, if you bother me?�