“I don’t mind,” said Maud, with unruffled composure. “I think perhaps Miss Leslie would like it just as much if I wrote a nice piece of poetry for her wedding present.”
This suggestion was greeted by a peal of laughter from the other three, but Maud remained quite grave.
“I made up one this morning in bed,” she said. “I think it’s rather pretty.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Dulcie, and Maud, nothing loth, sat up on the grass and began to recite in a very sing-song tone:
“Oh, the little birds are singing.
Oh, the little flowers are blooming.
Oh, the little calves are happy.
Oh, the little——
I can’t remember the rest, but don’t you think it’s nice poetry?”
“It isn’t bad, considering your age,” said Dulcie, indulgently, and Molly added, with real admiration: