ay.

"Beloved--"

That sounded better.

"When first I--"

The door opened suddenly. Mrs. Fletcher gazed down at him in
astonishment.

"Haven't you gone to school yet? It's five minutes of nine, now. What on
earth have you been doing?"

The book dropped to the floor. A scant five minutes later, he stumbled
breathlessly into the school room, only to find that roll call had been
finished and that "B" class was holding its English recitation. Miss
Brown frowned and made a mark in the record book on her desk, and went
on with the class work. Out came his theme pad and pencil. The fifteen
minute study period was his for the composition of that letter and he
set to work.

What did a fellow usually say to a girl, anyway? He'd never written one
before. He twisted in his seat and caught a glimpse of the adored one's
graceful curls, but even with this inspiration, ideas refused to come.

"B" division closed its composition books and began to recite under Miss
Brown's guidance,

And she, kissing back, could not know
That _my_ kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

For two long weeks they had been memorizing "The First Snow-Fall," but
were not as yet, letter-perfect in the verses. The teacher encouraged
them. Twenty odd juvenile voices resumed the choppy, monotonous chant.
John gripped his pencil with new life.

Poetry! That was the only way to express your sentiments! Why hadn't he
thought of it before? Once, in third grade, he had composed a
masterpiece:

Think, think, what do you think?
A mouse ran under the kitchen sink.
The old maid chased it
With dustpan and broom
And kicked it and knocked it
Right out of the room.

The slip of paper had been passed to a chum for appreciation, only to
have Miss O'Rourke pounce upon the effort and read it to an uproarious
class. His ears burned, even now, at that memory.

But there would be no second disaster. He began on the ruled sheet
boldly,

"Beloved Louise!"

Then came a pause. Oh for a first line! You couldn't start out with "I
love you." That would make further words unnecessary. What did people
usually put in poems? All about stars, and the warm south wind and
roses. A fugitive bit of verse echoed in his brain. "The rose--" He had
it now!

The rose is red,
The violet's blue,
This will tell you
I love you.

To be sure, the bit of doggerel had been inscribed on a card sent him b