"But I could listen to a poem," he said, and he winked at a tree-trunk.
"It's really too warm even to speak of 'The Little Fires,' isn't it? Oh,
I know! Do you remember the camp we made?"
"Where?"
"Oh, silly!"
"Well, I ain't had time to remember this one yet—and this is the first for us."
"Lorry, you're awfully practical."
"I got to be."
"And I don't believe you know a poem when you see one."
"I reckon you're right. But I can tell one when I hear it."
"Very well, then. Shut your eyes tight and listen:—