pale Hexagons,
What lit your eyes with tearful power,
Like moonlight on a falling shower?
Why sent you, loves, so full and free,
Your letter sweet to little me?'

That's just the first, you know," smiled Quentina, engagingly, "and of
course when I wrote it I didn't know you weren't really 'pale,' at all;
but then, we can just call that part poetic license."

Genevieve laughed frankly. Tilly giggled. Cordelia looked nervously from
them to Quentina.

"I'm sure, that--that's very pretty," she faltered.

Mrs. Jones smiled.

"I'm afraid, for a little, you won't know just what to make of
Quentina," she explained laughingly. "We're used to her turning
everything into jingles, but strangers are not."

"Oh, mother, I don't," cried Quentina, reproachfully. "There's heaps and
heaps of things that I never wrote a line of poetry about. But how could
I help it?--that beautiful letter, and the Happy Hexagons, and all! It
just wrote itself. I sent it East, too, to a magazine, two or three
times--but they didn't put it in," she added, as an afterthought.

"Why, what a shame!" murmured Tilly.

Genevieve looked up quickly. Tilly was wearing her most innocent, most
angelic expression, but Genevieve knew very well the naughtiness behind
it. Quentina, however, accepted it as pure gold.

"Yes, wasn't it?" she rejoined cheerfully. "I felt right bad,
particularly as I was going to send you all a copy when it was
published."

"You can give us a manuscript copy, Quentina. We would love that,"
interposed Genevieve, hurriedly. Behind Quentina's back she gave Tilly
then a frowning shake of the head--though it must be confessed that her
dancing eyes rather spoiled the effect of it.

"Maybe it's because her name rhymes--'Clorinda Dorinda,'" suggested
Tilly, interestedly; "maybe that's why she likes to write poetry so
well."

Mrs. Jones laughed.

"That's what her father says. But Clorinda herself changed her own name
about as soon as she could talk. She couldn't manage the hard 'Clorinda'
very well, and I had a Mexican nurse girl, Quentina, whose name she much
preferred. So very soon she was calling herself 'Quentina,' and
insisting that every one else should do the same."

"But it's so much prettier," declared the minister's daughter,
fervently. "Of course 'Clorinda Dorinda' are some pretty, because they
rhyme so, but I like 'Quentina' better. Besides, there are lots more
pretty words to make