"Oh, I don't know. I thought it was just poetry. I never think poetry has any meaning in it. It seems to me such silly stuff, all about nothing."
"I suppose even poetry must be about something," said Dan sarcastically.
"I don't think so," said Anna. She, the prize-winner of her class, was not going to be snubbed by her cousins. "As long as the words rhyme, it doesn't matter what the rest is like."
To Kitty that seemed neither the time nor the place to argue with Anna, so she let the subject drop. "Now then, Betty."
"I know so many," said Betty very anxiously, "that they seem to be all jumbled up in my head, and I can't get one quite right. Let me see now—"
"Do let me say mine while you are finking. Shall I?" pleaded Tony eagerly.
"Little Robin Redbreast
Perched upon a tree,
Up went Pussy Cat
And down went he.'"
By the time he reached the end of the second verse he was almost breathless. "I was afraid you would say it before me," he gasped as he concluded the last line; "that's why I hurried so."
"Oh, I was trying to think of something much more—more, well, not so babyish; more like what Kitty said than what you and Dan said."
"Perhaps you had better compose something yourself," said Dan, "and we will go on and light the fire and get the dinner ready while you are about it."