y 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,

"I must write at once and tell you of the terrible things that have
been happening at this school. On Monday last the cook made a
mistake, and used a packet of rat poison instead of sugar in our
pudding. It