"'Rome' is unfinished," objected Margery.
"'Millie Maloe,'" said Amy.
"I'll send 'The Knight' and 'Millie Maloe,'" Margery decided, and the next morning's mail contained a thick letter for Mr. Oliver Twist.
"Dear Mr. Twist," this letter ran, "the Lady Griselda of the Castle of the Lonely Lake sends two poems to you, as you asked her to. She hopes you will excuse mistakes in 'Millie Maloe,' because she was only eight years old when she wrote it, and 'The Knight' one she wrote last spring; and I am sorry Jack told you, because I don't like to be silly, but she is glad to do anything to please you because you are so good to us."
MILLIE MALOE.
All alone she is wandering,
All alone in the snow;
Lost in the pathless forest,
Poor little Millie Maloe.
The tall tress shake able her,
And the winds whistle and sigh,
And poor little Millie is shiv'ring,
And she thinks she's going to die;
And she falls asleep on the dry leaves
Covered o'er with snow,
But is waked by darling Rover—
Ah, happy Millie Maloe!
The dog is bending o'er her,
And a sleigh is drawing near,
And soon she's with her father,
Who clasps his baby dear.
THE KNIGHT.