“O, his brother—” exclaimed Kittie.
“No,” said Pet decisively, “that won’t do. We’ll give you just twenty minutes to write one, Randolph. If your brother can do it, of course you can. One, two, three, begin!”
Fortunately for the boy, who was extremely confused by the sudden request and the six bright eyes bent upon him, he had been in the habit of scribbling in a note book such bits of verse as occurred to him when he was by himself; and this very spring had suggested itself as a pretty subject for a poem. When the time was up, accordingly, he came forward with the following, handing it with a low bow to Miss Pet, who read it aloud:
DOLLIE’S SPRING.
Deep within a mountain forest
Breezes soft are whispering
Through the dark-robed firs and hemlocks,
Over Dollie’s Spring.
Swiftly glides the tiny streamlet,
While its laughing waters sing