“It would be so lovely that I don’t believe it will ever happen,” said Dulcie, sceptically. “I’m very sorry, Maudie, but I’m afraid I shall have to rip this all out and start over again.” “I don’t mind,” said Maud, with unruffled composure. “I think perhaps Miss Leslie would like it just as much if I wrote a nice piece of poetry for her wedding present.” This suggestion was greeted by a peal of laughter from the other three, but Maud remained quite grave. “I made up one this morning in bed,” she said. “I think it’s rather pretty.” “Let’s hear it,” said Dulcie, and Maud, nothing loth, sat up on the grass and began to recite in a very sing-song tone: “Oh, the little birds are singing. Oh, the little flowers are blooming. Oh, the little calves are happy. Oh, the little---- I can’t remember the rest, but don’t you think it’s nice poetry?” “It isn’t bad, considering your age,” said Dulcie, indulgently, and Molly added, with real admiration: “It doesn’t exactly rhyme, but it sounds a little like ‘Hiawatha.’” “I think I shall be a poet like Mr. Longfellow when I grow up,” announced Maud, “and all my poems will be about the country, because I love it so much. Miss Polly loves the country, too. Her letter made me feel so nice and comfortable inside.” “It’s lovely to think of Miss Polly being so happy,” said Daisy. “I can’t ever feel sorry I wrote that letter to her brother, though I don’t believe I should ever dare do such a thing again.” “I’m so glad it’s only June,” reflected Molly, “and we can stay here till September. It’s so much pleasanter than being in New York, especially now that Miss Polly’s gone away.” “I should like to be going to Europe with Aunt Julia and Paul,” said Dulcie. “It must be wonderful to see different countries, and all the places you’ve read about in history.” “Paul doesn’t care about that part of it,” said Molly, and taking from her pocket a crumpled letter, she read aloud: “It will be fun on the ship, and Father says I can go to the zoo in London, but Mother says travelling all summer will be as good as studying history, and I always hated history worse than all the other lessons, so I don’t believe I shall like Europe much, and I wish we were going to Nahant instead.” “People don’t always appreciate their advantages, as Miss Hammond says,” quoted Dulcie. “If I were in Paul’s place, I should want to see every single thing I possibly could. Oh, here comes the telegraph boy. I wonder what’s happened.” Dulcie’s tone had changed to one of excitement, not unmixed with anxiety. The arrival of a telegram was rather an unusual event in the Winslow family, and Dulcie and Maud both sprang to their feet, and ran to meet the small boy from the village, who was seen crossing the lawn, with a yellow envelope in his hand. “It’s for Grandma,” announced Dulcie, when she had taken the envelope from the messenger. “I’ll take it in to her. The boy says there’s ten cents to collect.”