can't see,
And they all are cross as a gallows tree,
These three old maids of Lee.

Now, if any one chanced--'tis a chance remote--
One single charm in these maids to note,
He need not a poet nor handsome be,
For one is deaf, and one can't see;
He need not woo on his bended knee,
For they all are willing as willing can be;
He may take the one or the two or the three,
If he'll only take them away from Lee.

There are three old maids at Lee,
And they are cross as cross can be;
And there they are, and there they'll be,
To the end of the chapter, one, two, three,
These three old maids of Lee!

"THE DAY OF JUDGMENT"[66]

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS

I am thirteen years old and Jill is eleven and a quarter. Jill is my
brother. That isn't his name, you know; his name is Timothy and mine is
George Zacharias; but they call us Jack and Jill.

Well, Jill and I had an invitation to Aunt John's this summer, and that
was how we happened to be there.

I'd rather go to Aunt John's than any place in the world. When I was a
little fellow I used to think I'd rather go to Aunt John's than to
Heaven. But I never dared to tell.

She invited us to come on the twelfth of August. It takes all day to get
there. She lives at Little River in New Hampshire, way up. You have to
wait at South Lawrence in a poky little depot, and you get some played
out--at least I don't, but Jill does. So we bought a paper and Jill sat
up and read it. When he'd sat a minute and read along--

"Look here!" said he.

"Look where?" said I.

"Why, there's going to be a comet," said Jill.

"Who cares?" said I.

Jill laid down the paper, and crunched a pop-corn all up before he
answered that, then said he, "I don't see why father didn't tell us. I
suppose he thought we'd be frightened, or something. Why, s'posing the
world did come to an end? That's what this paper says. 'It is pre--'
where is my place? Oh! I see--'predicted by learned men that a comet
will come into con-conjunction with our plant'--no--'our planet this
night. Whether we shall be plunged into a wild vortex of angry space, or
suffocated with n-o-x--noxious gases, or scorched to a helpless crisp,
or blasted at once, eternal an-ni-hi--'" A gust of wind grabbed the
paper out of Jill's hand just then, and took it out of the window; so I
never heard the rest.

"Father isn't a goose," said I. "He didn't think it w