"I like that!" said Ben, emphatically, when he had read the little hymn. "I understand it, and I'll learn it right away. Don't see how she could make it all come out so nice and pretty."
"Celia can do any thing!" and Thorny gave an all-embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly expressed his firm belief in his sister's boundless powers.
"I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought it was first-rate, I didn't," said Ben, moved to confidence by the discovery of Miss Celia's poetic skill.
"Say it," commanded Thorny, adding with tact, "I can't make any to save my life,—never could but I'm fond of it."
"Chevalita,
Pretty cretr,
I do love her
Like a brother;
Just to ride
Is my delight,
For she does not
Kick or bite,"
recited Ben, with modest pride, for his first attempt had been inspired by sincere affection, and pronounced "lovely" by the admiring girls.
"Very good! You must say them to Celia, too. She likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that little Barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets did in Athens. I'll tell you all about it some time. Now, you peg away at your hymn."
Cheered by Thorny's commendation, Ben fell to work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as if the process of getting words into his memory was a very painful one. But he had quick wits, and had often learned comic songs; so he soon was able to repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his own and Thorny's satisfaction.
"Now we'll talk," said the well-pleased preceptor; and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the other rolling about on the pine-needles, as they related their experiences boy fashion. Ben's were the most exciting; but Thorny's were not without interest, for he had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen.
Busied with friends, Miss Celia could not help wondering how the lads got on; and, when the tea-bell rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed themselves.