For days afterwards at mail-time Jane, who loved to ride a joke--"till it died of sheer exhaustion," as Peggy said--could always raise a laugh at Genevieve's expense. "Any a-non-y-mous letters for me?" she would inquire plaintively. "No? I really must see about it. I suppose I must attend to it myself." CHAPTER XI FRIENDS EASTER examinations, although a month away, were already looming darkly on the horizon and Judith settled down to a long and hard pull. "So much to learn and so little time," she groaned to Nancy. "I'd like to spend all my time on my essay for Miss Marlowe, but there are French and geometry tests next week, which need every minute of study time I have. Why can't the days be forty hours long?" However, most of the school thought the days quite long enough, and in fact some happy souls had already counted up the number of hours until the holidays began and were ticking them off with great glee. Judith's delight in lesson hours was steadily increasing. Even in mathematics classes which she disliked, she was beginning to feel the joy of triumphing over difficulties, and she looked forward to her literature lessons as the happiest hours of the week. Loving Nancy as she did, Judith was always trying to share her enjoyment of some beautiful lines of poetry or an interesting scene in the play they were studying, and not always with pronounced success. Nancy's mind was of a practical turn; she was very lukewarm about poetry. "Listen to this," Judith had commanded one day as she sat waiting for Nancy to finish dressing for dinner: "How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank: Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims; "Isn't that beautiful?" "Y-e-s," said Nancy, "I suppose it is. The words sound nice when you read them, but I'm sure I haven't a ghost of an idea what it means. Why does he put his ideas into poetry? Why doesn't he say it out plainly so we could all understand it without studying? It's an interesting play, though I believe it is Miss Marlowe who has made it so interesting," she added shrewdly; "I mean if any one had given me the 'Merchant of Venice' to read just like any other book, I'd never have gotten through it. Why can't Shakespeare say things right out plain?" This was a poser for Judith. "But," she stammered, "it's like--like music. Music isn't right out plain; it's _meant_ to be beautiful." "Nancy must be joking," thought Judith as she tried to decide why the cherubims were "young-eyed." But no; a few days later Nancy was quite pettish about the preparation Miss Marlowe had set them.