Ida. Oh, please, Miss Sommerfield, go now, there's a dear, and speak English, so that you can report what he says.
Miss Sommerfield. All right. I go. There's no time like the present. [Exit.]
Grace. Madge, she's a darling.
Madge. I knew you would like her.
Charlotte. Girls, let's go on with our rehearsal. Has any one found a poem, or written one, for this occasion?
Olive. I have found a dainty thing on sea-weeds. Will you hear it?
Madge. Please, dear.
Olive (reads):
The violet gems the forest,
The daisy stars the field,
And every wayside bank and brook
Their fragrant treasures yield.
Oh, sweet the air of summer,
With thoughts of God in flowers!
For bloom and beauty hand in hand
Walk down the passing hours.
But naught, dear child, is fairer,
Nor lovelier tinting shows,
Than those fair things which cradled are
Where oft the storm-wind blows.
The sea-weed's hues are rarer
Than painter's art can trace;
And only fairy looms can weave
The sea-weed's floating lace.
Helen. Why, Olive, that's just sweet. Where did you find it?