The poet's face suddenly became the colour of his hair. He dropped his napkin, and swiftly whispered to Elaine, while he was picking it up, that she herself was the subject of the poem. "How perfectly charming," said Elaine, clearly. "Did you hear, Mrs. Carr? Poor little, insignificant me has actually inspired a great poem. Oh, do read it, Mr. Perkins? We are all dying to hear it!" Fairly cornered, the poet muttered that he had lost it--some other time--wait until to-morrow--and so on. "No need to wait," said Dick, with an ironical smile. "It was lost, but now is found. I came upon it myself, blowing around unheeded under the library window, quite like a common bit of paper." Mr. Perkins was transfixed with amazement, for his cherished poem was at that minute in his breast pocket. He clutched at it spasmodically, to be sure it was still safe. Very different emotions possessed Harlan, who choked on his food. He instinctively guessed the worst, and saw his home in lurid ruin about him, but was powerless to avert the catastrophe. "Read it, Dick," said Mrs. Dodd, kindly. "We are all a-perishin' to hear it. I can't eat another bite until I do. I reckon it'll sound like a valentine," she concluded, with a malicious glance at Mr. Perkins. "I have taken the liberty," chuckled Dick, "of changing a word or two occasionally, to make better sense of it, and of leaving out some lines altogether. Every one is privileged to vary an established form." Without further preliminary, he read the improved version. "The little doggie sheds his coat, Elaine, have you forgotten? What is it goes around a button? I thought you knew that simple thing, But ideas in your head take wing. Elaine, have you forgotten? The answer is a goat. "How much is three times humpty-steen? Elaine, have you forgotten? Why does a chicken cross the road? Who carries home a toper's load? You are so very stupid, dear! Elaine, have you forgotten? "You think a mop of scarlet hair And pale green eyes----" "That will do," said Miss St. Clair, crisply. "Mr. Perkins, may I ask as a favour that you will not speak to me again?" She marched out with her head high, and Mr. Perkins, wholly unstrung, buried his face in his napkin. Harlan laughed--a loud, ringing laugh, such as Dorothy had not heard from him for months, and striding around the table, he grasped Dick's hand in tremendous relief. "Let me have it," he cried, eagerly. "Give me all of it!" "Sure," said Dick, readily, passing over both sheets of paper. Harlan went into the library with the composition, and presently, when Dick was walking around the house and saw bits of torn paper fluttering out of the open window, a light broke through his usual density.