ur poetry!" cried the girl, enthusiastically.

"If everybody were only like you now! Isn't it too bad you've got to
grow up and grow wiser? But here's the refrain. There are six stanzas,
but I won't trouble you with all of them, my dear. One mustn't drive a
willing horse, or a willing auditor."

And in a voice he endeavored to render melodious, with her rapt glance
fixed upon him, Straws read:

"Sing, my Muse, the lay of the prodigal host!
Who enters here leaveth behind not hope.
Course follows course; entree, releve, ragout,
Ambrosial sauces, pungent, after luscious soup.
The landlord spurs his guests to fresh attack,
With fricassee, rechauffe and omelets;
A toothsome feast that Apicius would fain have served,
While wine, divine, new zeal in all begets.
Who is this host, my Muse, pray say?
Who but that prodigal, Tortier!

"There, my dear," concluded Straws, "those feet are pretty wobbly to
walk, but flattery moves on lame legs faster than truth will travel
on two good ones. Besides, I haven't time to polish them properly, or
the mess in the frying-pan will spoil. Better spoil the poem than the
contents of the flesh pots! Now if--dear me, Celestina, if you haven't
let the coffee pot boil over!"

"Oh, Monsieur," cried the child, almost weeping again. "I forgot to
watch it! I just couldn't while you were writing poetry."

"The excuse more than condones the offense," continued the other. "But
as I was about to say, you take this poem to Monsieur Tortier, make
your prettiest bow and courtesy--let me see you make a courtesy."

The girl bowed as dainty as a little duchess.

"That should melt a heart of stone in itself," commented Straws. "But
Tortier's is flint! After that charming bow, you will give him my
compliments; Mr. Straws' compliments, remember; and, would he be kind
enough just to glance over this poem which Mr. Straws, with much
mental effort, has prepared, and which, if it be acceptable to
Monsieur Tortier, will appear in Mr. Straws' famous and much-talked-of
column in the paper?"

"Oh, Monsieur, I can't remember all that!" said the girl.

"Do it your own way then. Besides, it will be better than mine."

With the poem hugged to her breast, the child fairly flew out of the
room, leaving Straws a prey to conflicting emotions. He experienced
in those moments of suspense all the doubts and fears of the nestlin