Meanwhile Peggy had tossed about the poems with no result. She had only succeeded in bringing to the top those that had hitherto lain in safe insignificance at the bottom. Now she stood by the table as if turned into stone, and awaited the approach of an avenging fate. The day of practical jokes was over for her. She knew, she felt absolutely confident, that just as surely as Cousin Appolina had chosen the slippers of her own make, just so surely would she pounce upon the poem that Peggy had written about her. Miss Briggs drew near. "Well, girls!" she said, in her great deep voice, the gold lorgnette raised to her eyes--"well, girls, you did not expect to see me back so soon, did you? Washington became insupportable. Too many odious-looking people. I could not endure it. What have we here?" staring at the sign, "'Poems by Pearl Proctor, a member of the congregation'? And who may she be? Proctor--Proctor? I don't remember the name in New York. Proctor is a Boston name. Who is it, Millicent?" Millicent trembled. "I--I--" she faltered. "You!" thundered her cousin. "Never! What do you mean?" "Milly didn't mean to say that," interposed Peggy. "She was probably going to say she couldn't tell who it is. It is an assumed name, we suppose, Cousin Appolina." [Illustration: "IS NOT MILLICENT CAPABLE OF SPEAKING FOR HERSELF?"] "Is not Millicent capable of speaking for herself?" inquired Miss Briggs, severely. "Since when did she lose the power of speech?" The girls shook in their shoes, and held their peace. "What are these things?" continued this terrible person, picking up the poems disdainfully, and again putting her lorgnette to her eyes: "'Ode to a Firefly,' 'Sonnet on the Caterpiller,' 'Some Lines to a Beggar Child.' Faugh! Who is the fool that is guilty of all this? But--but--what have we here?" It had come, then! For this is what Miss Appolina read, but not aloud: "Who is a dame of high degree? Who's always scolded little me? Who is a sight strange for to see? Miss Appolina B. "Who cannot with her friends agree? Who loves to feed on cakes and tea? Who prides herself on her pedigree? Miss Appolina B. "Who'll soon set sail across the sea? Who will not take her cousins three? Who is an ancient, awful she? Miss Appolina B." Miss Briggs looked from one to the other of the girls. The hum of the fair went on. "I will buy all of these poems," she said in a voice which filled their souls with terror; "count them, and tell me the amount. And I wish to see you both to-morrow morning at ten o'clock." Wondering, Millicent obeyed. Peggy turned and fled. [TO BE CONTINUED.] SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES. BY KIRK MUNROE. CHAPTER XIX. A BATTLE WITH WOLVES.