"Spring is comen back again, (Daisy buds for my dearie!) Gone is winter's snow and rain, (Cherry lips for my dearie!) Blossom clothes the orchards now, (Apple cheeks for my dearie!) Nests of birds on every bough, (And kisses for my dearie!) "It's one of those old-fashioned sort of things--I believe you call them madrigals," she ventured. Nobody else knew what a madrigal was, so they took Noreen's word for it, and allowed her to retire in favor of Edith, who had also been trying to cultivate the muse of poetry. Her effort at verse was entitled: "MIRANDA'S MUSIC "Miranda had learnt the piano to play, And when seated one day on the stool, At her latest new piece she was strumming away, For old Thomas, who sweeps out the school. "Thought she: ''T will impress him if anything will, For the left hand goes over the right. He will surely admire my exquisite skill, And perhaps will express his delight.' "But ah! fondest hopes may be dashed to the ground, Despite what ambition can raise. Ill pleased by this banquet of beautiful sound, Old Thomas was scant in his praise. "'Ay, ay, yes, I hear. 'T is not bad, to be sure! They may teach you in time!' so he grumbled. But 'twas plain that he thought the performance but poor, And Miranda felt terribly humbled. "One morn when six months had swift glided away, Again at the instrument seated, Miranda a nocturne had just ceased to play, When old Thomas desired it repeated. "'Why, Miss,' he declared, 'I can hardly believe That you've made such improvement so soon! The last time you played, you'd to jump your hand o'er Before you could pick out the tune! "'You'd humpety lump in the treble at top, Then same hand would return to the bass. But now I can see they have taught you to keep Each hand in its own proper place!' "It's a really true story!" persisted Edith, as the girls giggled. "It happened to my sister. She always plays at the Band of Hope concerts in our village at home, and she goes down to the school to practise her solos on the piano there. Old Thomas is the verger, and he's such a queer old character. He really _did_ think she didn't know how to play properly when she crossed her hands over, and he told her so. It was a tremendous joke in our family, because Maisie considers herself musical. She was squashed absolutely flat!" Neither Lilias, Gowan, Bertha, Prissie, nor Phillida had written anything very original or outstanding in their manuscripts, so we will pass them over, and only record that of Dulcie, who came last of all. She took the honored seat with a great air of _empressement_, nodded triumphantly to Gowan, cleared her throat, commanded strict silence, and began: "CHILCOMBE HALL. "MY DEAR EVERARD,