"I sat up last night and wrote a poem for the first page of the first
number," announced Louise earnestly.

"Poems don't go on the first page," observed Patsy; "but they're needed
to fill in with. What's it about, dear?"

"It's called 'Ode to a Mignonette,'" answered Louise. "It begins this
way:

"Wee brown blossom, humble and sweet,
Content on my bosom lying,
Who would guess from your quiet dress
The beauty there is lying
Under the rust?"

"Hm," said Patsy, "I don't see as there's any beauty under the rust, at
all. There's no beauty about a mignonette, anyhow, suspected or
unsuspected."

"She means 'fragrance,'" suggested Beth. "Change it to: 'The fragrance
there is lying under the rust.' That'll fix it all right, Louise."

"It doesn't seem right, even then," remarked Uncle John. "If the
fragrance lies under the rust, it can't be smelt, can it?"

"I did not anticipate all this criticism," said Louise, with an air of
injured dignity. "None of the big publishing houses that returned my
poems ever said anything mean about them; they merely said they were
'not available.' However, as this poem has not made a hit with the