Elizabeth made another attempt to regain the poem, but without effect, and Anne recalled the attention of all to Helen's verses. 'What is a pennant?' said Elizabeth; 'I do not like words to be twisted for the sake of the rhyme.' A flag,' said Helen. 'I never doubted that you intended it for a flag,' said Elizabeth; 'but what I complain of is, that it is a transmogrified pennon.' 'I believe a pennant to be a kind of flag,' said Helen. 'Let us refer the question to Papa,' said Anne, 'as soon as he has finished that interminable conversation with Uncle Woodbourne.' 'Really, in spite of that slight blemish,' said Elizabeth, 'your poem is the best we have heard, Helen.' 'And I can testify,' said Rupert, 'that the description of the cart-horses at Dykelands is perfectly correct. But, Helen, is it true that your friend Dicky has been seized with a fit of martial ardour such as you describe?' 'Yes,' said Helen, 'he was very near enlisting, but it made his mother very unhappy, and Mrs. Staunton--' 'Went down upon her knees to beseech him to remain, and let her roast beef be food for him, not himself be food for powder,' said Rupert, 'never considering how glad the parish would be to get rid of him.' 'No,' said Helen, 'her powder became food for him; she made him under-gamekeeper.' 'Excellent, Helen, you shine to-night,' cried Elizabeth; 'such a bit of wit never was heard from you before.' 'Your poem is a proof that the best way of being original is to describe things as you actually see them,' said Anne. 'Is not mine original? I do not think it was taken from any book,' said Harriet, willing to pick up a little more praise. 'Not perhaps from any book,' said Elizabeth, with a very grave face; 'but I am afraid we must convict you of having borrowed from the mother of books, Oral tradition.' 'Oral tradition!' repeated Harriet, opening her mouth very wide. 'Yes,' said Elizabeth; 'for I cannot help imagining that the former part of your ode is a parody upon "I'll tell you a story About Jack A'Nory, And now my story's begun; I'll tell you another About Jack and his brother, And now my story is done." And that your friend Francis must have been the hero who complains so grievously of Taffy the Welshman, whose house was doubtless situated in a field of barley, while his making a dreadful racket is quite according to the ancient notions of what he did with the marrow-bone.' 'Oh! there is Papa looking in at us,' said Anne; 'now for the question of pennon and pennant.' 'Oh! Anne, it is all nonsense,' cried Helen; 'do not shew it.' But Anne, with Helen's paper in her hand, had already attacked Sir Edward, who, to the author's great surprise, actually read the poem all through, smiling very kindly, and finished by saying, 'Ah ha! Helen, it is plain enough that your friends are naval. I can see where your pennant came from.'