"You mean you copied them?"
"I composed them," Bessy replied coolly. Her blue eyes fearlessly met Miss Hill's gaze.
"Bessy Bell!" ejaculated the teacher.
The girl stood before her desk and from the tip of her dainty boot to the crown of her golden hair breathed forth a strange, wilful and rebellious fire.
Miss Hill's lips framed to ask a certain question of Bessy, but she refrained and substituted another.
"Bessy, how old are you?"
"Fifteen last April."
"Have you any intelligent idea of—do you know—Bessy, how did you write those verses?" asked Miss Hill, in bewilderment.
"I know a good deal and I've imagination," replied Bessy, candidly.
"That's evident," returned the teacher. "How long has this note-and verse-writing been going on?"