"I knew it was a good one," said Mr. Mortis, calmly. "It's one Governor Skyward made ten year ago. There wasn't any use of me trying to get up a better one, so I took his'n. Guess I made everybody on the green hear it."
That was precisely what he had done for the great speech of Governor Skyward, and it was more than anybody else had ever done for that crowd.
As for the boys, they had won the day. That is, they had kept it from the very minute it began—only there was no dead elm-tree left in the middle of the green.
"There'll be heaps of public spirit in Kerim after this," said Squire Garnsey to the other trustees; but they all shook their heads very solemnly, and made no reply.
[CHERRIES.]
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
Who can tell how cherries grow,
From the blossoms' fragrant snow;
From the balls of green that hide
Under glossy leaves, spread wide,
Till they glisten, every one,
Red as rubies in the sun;
Swelling, warming, till they shine,
Filled with summer's rosy wine?
Five little babes in a basket,
Up on a swinging bough:
"Open your mouths," said the mother,
"Here is a feast for you now."
Mother and babies think it prime
That cherries ripen in robin-time.
Five curly heads at a window,
Watching the merry crew:
"Don't you wish we were birds in a nest,
So we could have some too?
Wings are better than legs to climb,
And robins are thickest in cherry-time."