Next came Jamie, lame Jamie, who hobbled bravely forward on his crutches, his little white face pinched by pain, full for once with happy glow, and, as he placed them against the table, irresistibly Mary Cary's hand went out to his and she held it tight. "An original poem by Master James Jernigan," announced Mrs. McDougal, half rising from her seat and waving her hand in Jamie's direction. "Made up and writ by himself." Jamie's head bowed, then he looked at his mother, flushed and eager, whose lips were already making the movements of the words he was to utter, then at the girl by his side, and, with another bow, began: "I'm just a little boy who's lame, And couldn't used to walk a step. But now I can, and I will tell How me and my fine crutches met. 'Twas on a clear day and the bells they were ringing, And I in my bed could hear the birds singing. But I couldn't to church or to anywhere go, For my legs couldn't walk, not to save my life. And then Miss Mary she came in, And said, 'Why, Jamie, 'tis a sin You can't go out like other boys. I'll go and get you some new toys.' And when she came back the toys they were crutches And a chair I could wheel myself in. And now maybe I can play like other boys some day. 'Cause the pain is near 'bout well, and I can holler when they play. And for all little children who ain't here to say They think she's just grand and a dear, I will just say for all, if she marries at all, We'll kill him if of her he don't take good care." A stamping of feet and loud clapping of hands greeted this first effort of a youthful poet, and, as he started to go back to his seat, Mary Cary drew him to her and made him share her chair. "Oh, Jamie, Jamie," she whispered, her face hidden behind the tumbled brown curls, "how could you write such fairy tales! They were beautiful verses, Jamie, but you know they were not true. They--" "Yes'm, they was." Jamie's head nodded affirmatively. "They was true as truth. Look there--that little Minna Haskins is goin' to speak." Minna's time had come at last. In Peggy's lap she had been wriggling through the other speeches, shutting her eyes at intervals and repeating under her breath the words she was to say, and when her name was called she ran forward joyously, holding tight in her hands the precious document with which she had been intrusted. Arms at her sides and heels together, she bowed, then shook the paper in the air. "It's on here," she said, "what I'm going to say. A committee wrote it. Three of the girls they learned it to me. And it's to be yours, Miss Mary, forever and ever, because it's res'lutions." She held out the paper, then drew it back. "I forgot--I wasn't to give it to you till I was through. I'll begin." And like water out of a pitcher the words poured forth: