Marion had a correct eye and some knowledge of drawing, but these were hardly required to show that the pictures were the most wretched daubs imaginable. She hastily pushed them back into their original position, and was about to close the window when her eye fell on the books. They might be better, and she took one and opened it at random. The volume was prettily printed on nice paper, and must have cost a good deal. The first poem she lighted on was called "The Rose," and read as follows:
"The rose is a beautiful flower,
It holds up its elegant head
Above all the rest in the bower,
And gives a sweet scent when it's dead.
"A beautiful blue is the violet,
Round and white is the snowball,
But, love, when you send me a bouquet,
Oh, let a sweet rose crown them all!"
and so on for many verses. This elegant poem was a fair sample of the contents of the volume.
Marion threw it down and burst into very pardonable tears of mortification and disgust. Her visions of vindicating the reputation of her dead father were among the least selfish and narrow of her many day-dreams, and it was indeed very hard to have them so rudely dispelled.
"Marie dear, don't cry," said a gentle voice, and Aunt Baby's hand was laid on her head.
"Oh, Aunt Baby, I wish I had taken your advice," sobbed Marion, laying her head on her aunt's shoulder as the latter knelt beside her. "I wish I had never looked at the things. They ought not to have been kept. They ought to be burned up."
"My dear, I have said that to myself a great many times, but it isn't a very easy matter to burn up two or three hundred bound volumes all at once. I might have used them for kindling, but I had a kind of tenderness for the poor things after all. Your father thought them so fine, it seemed almost cruel to treat them in that way. So I e'en piled them all up here, and left them to the mice."
"But they are such—such horrible trash," said Marion, picking up the volume she had dropped. "They are not even good grammar. Just see here:
"'Oh, what an impulsive truant love thou art!
Thou first subdues then inspirates the heart!'
"I don't see how he ever got any one to publish them!"