Ed chose a blue one, and Merry filled it with the rosiest may-flowers, knowing that it was to hang on Mabel's door-handle.
The others did the same, and the pretty work went on, with much fun, till all were filled, and ready for the names or notes.
“Let us have poetry, as we can't get wild flowers. That will be rather fine,” proposed Jill, who liked jingles.
All had had some practice at the game parties, and pencils went briskly for a few minutes, while silence reigned, as the poets racked their brains for rhymes, and stared at the blooming array before them for inspiration.
“Oh, dear! I can't find a word to rhyme to 'geranium,'” sighed Molly, pulling her braid, as if to pump the well of her fancy dry.
“Cranium,” said Frank, who was getting on bravely with “Annette” and “violet.”
“That is elegant!” and Molly scribbled away in great glee, for her poems were always funny ones.
“How do you spell anemoly—the wild flower, I mean?” asked Jill, who was trying to compose a very appropriate piece for her best basket, and found it easier to feel love and gratitude than to put them into verse.
“Anemone; do spell it properly, or you'll get laughed at,” answered Gus, wildly struggling to make his lines express great ardor, without being “too spoony,” as he expressed it.
“No, I shouldn't. This person never laughs at other persons' mistakes, as some persons do,” replied Jill, with dignity.