"Could you find it convenient not to rock, Cousin Homer?" said Miss Phoebe. "By all means, Cousin Phoebe. I beg your pardon. 'Thoughts'--but I need not repeat the title. "I asked the Muse if she had one Thrice-favored son, Or if some one poetic brother Appealed to her more than another. She gazed on me with aspect high, And tear in eye, While musically she repeats, 'Keats!' "She gave me then to understand, And smilèd bland, On Helicon the sacred Nine Occasionally ask bards to dine. 'For most,' she said, 'we do not move, Though we approve; For one alone we leave our seats: "Keats!"'" There was a silence after the reading of the poem. Mr. Homer, slightly flushed with his own emotions, gazed eagerly at Miss Phoebe, who sat very erect, the tips of her fingers pressed together, her whole air that of a judge about to give sentence. Miss Vesta looked somewhat disturbed, yet she was the first to speak, murmuring softly, "The feeling is very genuine, I am sure, Cousin Homer!" But Miss Phoebe was ready now. "Cousin Homer," she said, "since you ask for criticism, I feel bound to give it. You speak of the 'sacred' Nine. The word sacred appears to me to belong distinctly to religious matters; I cannot think that it should be employed in speaking of pagan divinities. The expression--I am sorry to speak strongly--shocks me!" Mr. Homer looked pained, and opened and shut his mouth several times. "It is an expression that is frequently used, Cousin Phoebe," he said. "All the poets make use of it, I assure you." "I do not doubt it in the least," said Miss Phoebe. "The poets--with a few notable exceptions--are apt to be deplorably lax in such matters. If you would confine your reading of poetry, Cousin Homer, to the works of such poets as Mrs. Hemans, Archbishop Trench, and the saintly Keble, you would not incur the danger of being led away into unsuitable vagaries." "But Keats, Cousin Phoebe," began Mr. Homer; Miss Phoebe checked him with a wave of her hand. "Cousin Homer, I have already intimated to you, on several occasions, that I cannot discuss the poet Keats with you. I am aware that he is considered an eminent poet, but I have not reached my present age without realizing that many works may commend themselves to even the most refined of the masculine sex which are wholly unsuitable for ladies. We will change the subject, if you please; but before doing so, let me earnestly entreat you to remove the word 'sacred' from your poem." CHAPTER III. INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER "Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes. "What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and she laid down her book with an expectant air. "Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him, but he's there." "Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here and make your manners."