It was easy to hear the conversation that passed between the young lady and the editor, whom they could not see.
"Good-morning, Mr. Houghton," she said.
"Good-morning. Take a seat, please," said the editor, pleasantly.
"Are you one of our contributors?"
"No, sir, not yet," answered the young lady, "but I would become so."
"We are not engaging any new contributors at present, but still if you have brought anything for examination you may leave it."
"I am not wholly unknown to fame," said the young lady, with an air of consequence. "You have probably heard of Prunella Prune."
"Possibly, but I don't at present recall it. We editors meet with so many names, you know. What is the character of your articles?"
"I am a poetess, sir, and I also write stories."
"Poetry is a drug in the market. We have twice as much offered us as we can accept. Still we are always glad to welcome really meritorious poems."
"I trust my humble efforts will please you," said Prunella. "I have here some lines to a nightingale, which have been very much praised in our village. Shall I read them?"