"Why should all blame and anger dread Fall straight upon my luckless head?" he murmured. "John Thomas, I see you drew a prize. What is it?" John Thomas had been examining his parcel, and his face was very red. He held up two scarlet hearts impaled on a long tin arrow. "I don't want to read the po'try," he said bashfully. "Oh, yes," begged Miss Billy. "Go on, John Thomas. What do _you_ care? It's all in fun." The boy unfolded the paper obediently. "He lives next door to Billy Lee, He smiles at her incessantly, His name they say is Hennes-sy, And John. "He little knows her temper bad, He's never seen her when she's mad. Misguided youth! His lot is sad,---- Poor John." "Nonsense," said Miss Billy. "Your sentiments are as bad as your poetry, Ted. What's yours, Bea?" Beatrice had a pair of huge scarlet carpet slippers, ornamented with a large bow of ribbon. Theodore read the verses: "A pair of red slippers hung high in a shop, Sing hey for the slippers so red! And a maid passed that way and I saw the maid stop, 'I'll buy me the slippers,' she said. "The pair of red slippers came down from the shelf, Sing hey for the slippers so small! And the maiden remarked, undertone, to herself, 'They'll look awful swell at a ball.' "The pair of red slippers were jaunty and low, Sing hey for the slippers so gay! 'But I don't want buckles, I wanted a bow,' I heard the maid woefully say. "The pair of red slippers were wrapped up and tied, Sing hey for the pocketbook low! And a youth who was near sauntered home at her side, So the maid got the slippers and beau." Marie Jean unwrapped her package with an expectant expression. A large beet, cut in half, and carefully stuck together with toothpicks surrounded the following verse: "There's a secret in my heart, Sweet Marie, A tale I would impart, love, to thee. Every lad in Cherry Street Kneels in ardour at thy feet, You've a face that can't be beet, Sweet Marie." "I never heard such wretched puns," declared Margaret. "There's one consolation,--there _can't_ be anything worse than that. What's yours, Mr. Francis?" Francis bowed gallantly to Miss Billy. "Ladies first," he said. A small green watering pot was unrolled from a newspaper, and several verses tumbled out. "Mistress Billy, Pray don't be chilly! How does your garden grow? With beautiful posies And lilies and roses, And sunflowers all in a row. "Mistress Billy I must rhyme--willy nilly,-- How does your garden grow? With small smiling faces All found in their places And little ones all in a row. "Mistress Billy, Don't think me silly Thus does your garden grow, With hard work and duty And sweetness and beauty, And faith, hope, and love in a row."