"I need no sun or moon;
I'll be a poet soon.
I write every day
Some kind of a lay-
Somewhere."
"What DOES she mean?" whispered Polly.
"I don't think it means ANYTHING, but she enjoys making up verses
whether they mean anything or not," Rose whispered in reply.
Polly was anxious to see what the little girl looked like who felt that
she was to be a poet, but Evangeline Longfellow Jenks did not intend to
be seen in an ordinary frock.
She felt that her position as a future poet demanded that she be finely
dressed.
On this especial morning she had been doing a very unpoetic thing--she
had been trying to drink from the hose!
Her skirts were completely soaked, and her shoes were covered with mud
that the dripping hose had splashed up from the garden bed.
"A person like ME ought not to drink from a horrid old hose. My mama
read about some one, I've forgotten who, who drank from a crystal
chalice. I don't know what that is, but it sounds grand, and I wish I
had one," murmured the small girl behind the hedge.
Aunt Rose repeated her invitation, but the poetic child seldom thought
it necessary to be polite, and never replied unless she chose to. This
time she remained silent, and Aunt Rose, with an odd little smile
returned to the house.
Then a strange thing happened.
Another face peeped over the hedge, but this time it was a saucy one,
with bright, brown eyes that fairly danced with merriment.
"Reg'lar ninny, ain't she?" he asked, with a chuckle.
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