of
corn," suggested he and thus solved one line over which Jane Potter
was still puzzling.

Thereupon, Monty sprang up and snapped his fingers, schoolroom
fashion:

"Master, Master! Me next! Me! I know one good as his and not near so
long! My turn, please!"

They all laughed. Laughter came easily now, provoked even by
silliness, and again a thankful, happy feeling rose in the young
hostess's heart that her House Party was to be so delightful to
everybody. Helena Montaigne now sat resting shoulder to shoulder with
proud Alfaretta upon a little divan of straw whose back was a row of
grain sheaves; Mabel was radiant amid a trio of admiring lads--Monty,
Mike Martin, and Danny Smith; Herbert was eagerly discussing camp-life
with shy Melvin, who had warmed to enthusiasm over his Nova Scotian
forests; and all the different elements of that young assembly were
proving most harmonious, as even smaller parties, arranged by old
hostesses, do not always prove.

"All right, Master Montmorency. Make it easy, please. A diversion not
a brain tax," answered Seth.

"'If Rider Haggard had been Lew Wallace, what would 'She' have been?'"

"'Ben Hur'!" promptly shouted Frazer, before another had a chance to
speak, and Monty sank back with a well-feigned groan. "I read that in
the Almanac, too. I've read 'Ben Hur,' it's in our school lib'ry, but
not 'She,' though Pa told me that was another book, wrote by the other
feller."

"I'll never try again; I never do try to distinguish myself but I make
a failure of it!" wailed Monty, jestingly.

"But Herbert hasn't failed, nor Melvin. Let's have at least one more
wit-sharpener," coaxed Dorothy.

But Herbert declined, though courteously enough.

"Indeed, Dorothy, I don't know a single riddle and I never could guess
one. Try Melvin, instead, please."

The English boy flushed, as he always did at finding himself observed,
but he remembered that he had heard strangers comment upon the
obligingness of the Canadians and he must maintain the honor of his
beloved Province. So, after a trifling hesitation, he answered:

"I can think of only one, Dorothy, and it's rather long, I fancy. My
mother made me learn it as a punishment, once, when I was a little
tacker, don't you know, and I never forgot it. The one by Lord Byron.
I'll render that, if you wish."

"We do wish, we do!" cried Molly, while the Master nodded approvingly.

So without further prelude Melvin recited:

"'Twas whisper