I think I like poetry when it's got a story in
it, and the rhymes are not too far away from one another, and the lines
jog along without your having to bother about them,' remarked Babs.

'Oh, that kind isn't bad,' admitted Jean. 'I didn't mean Macaulay and
Longfellow and all the _real_ poets. But the stuff they gave you at my
school was horribly dull, and it never had any sort of story in it, and
the lines didn't seem to belong to one another at all; and there was
generally a thing called a glossary at the end, which only showed that
it wasn't fit for any one to read.'

'I know that kind of poetry; we have lots of it at home,' put in Angela.
'There's a chap called Browning who's rather like that. Have you ever read
any Browning, you two?'

'No,' said Jean, flatly. 'Don't believe you have either. My father says
Browning didn't understand himself, and I'm sure _you_ don't know more
than Browning. So there!'

'Never mind about the poetry,' interposed Barbara. 'I want to hear about
the gym prize. Who do you think is going to get it, Jean?'

'Well, Margaret is awfully good, of course, but we shall know better after
the trial on Monday afternoon,' said Jean, cautiously.

'What trial?' asked Barbara.

'Why,' exclaimed Jean, in surprise, 'didn't you hear Finny give out that
we were all to do the show exercises before her on Monday afternoon, so
that she could decide who was to go in for the prize?'

'Of course she didn't hear; the Babe's always asleep!' said Angela, with
scorn. 'I watched her all the time Finny was speaking, and she was smiling
away to herself as if some one was having a conversation with her.'

'Never mind, she's getting better,' said Jean, approvingly. 'She doesn't
gape half so much as she did, and she doesn't jump when you go up and
speak to her suddenly. By the way, you've got as good a chance as any
one, Babe, of getting the gym prize.'

Barbara, who had taken their frank criticisms of her without a murmur,
could not allow this last assertion to pass. She pulled up suddenly in
the middle of the field, and looked first at one and then at the other
of her two companions. 'What do you mean?' she gasped.

[Illustration: 'Hullo! said Jean. What's the matter?']

'Oh, you're putting it on; don't be affected,' scoffed Angela.

'No, she isn't putting it on; she never does,' objected Jean. 'Look at
home, Angela, before you talk about affectation.'

'All the same,' continued Angela, undisturbed, 'you