"I will go now. I am glad you will help me. Could you have your poem or whatever you decide upon ready by Monday?"
"I shall have it ready to give you when we go into chapel. I shall have something. Do not fear."
Scarcely had the door closed upon the caller, when Hester was at her study-table with pencil and writing-pad. Inspiration had seized her. She would write a poem that would be worthy the name. It would appear in the "Mirror" with her name below, "Hester Alden." On second thought, decided to write it Hester Palmer Alden. The Palmer gave an added dignity to her name. How pleased Aunt Debby would be! What a pleasure it would be to write! Perhaps in time she might be editor-in-chief. Then when she left school—at that instant a part of Hester Alden which had been dormant awoke. The desire for expression came to her. What beautiful glorious things she would write—some day! Just what they would be or when she would write them, she knew not. But they were so beautiful that the tears came to her eyes as she dreamed of them.
Helen did not come back to her rooms until barely time to dress for dinner. She found Hester with her head on the table, and a huge tablet before her.
"Sick, little roommate?" asked Helen, bending over her.
"No; I have been writing a poem—that is, I have begun to write one. I have sat here for an hour and all I have written is the first line. It was easy."
"First lines usually are," said Helen smiling. In many ways, she was more years older than Hester than the calendar gave her credit for.
"What is the first line? May I read it?"
"'Doc Dixon had a Freshman Class.' It begins fairly well; but you will startle your leaders with such a sudden burst into facts. Why not lead up to the subject and break the news gently?"
"You may all ridicule; but I intend writing a poem. All the ridicule you cast upon me will make me but the more determined."