and should have been the ally of the deluded instructor, was too much
amused to say a word. "By the way, Sahwah," she said when the laughter
had died down, "how are you coming on in Latin? The last time I saw you
your Cicero had a strangle hold on you." Sahwah made a fearful grimace,
and recited sarcastically:

"Not showers to larks more pleasing,
Not sunshine to the bee,
Not sleep to toil more easing,
Than Latin prose to me!

"The flocks shall leave the mountains,
The dew shall flee the rose,
The nymphs forsake the fountains,
Ere I forsake my prose!"

Nyoda laughed and shook her head at Sahwah, and "Migwan," otherwise
Elsie Gardiner, looked up at the despiser of prose composition in mild
wonderment. "I don't see how you can make such a fuss about learning
Latin," she said, "it's the least of my troubles."

"But I'm not such a genius as you," answered Sahwah, "and my head won't
stand the strain." Her mental limitations did not seem to cause her any
anxiety, however, for she hummed a merry tune as she drew her tatting
shuttle in and out.

Migwan leaned back in her chair and looked around the tastefully
furnished room with quiet enjoyment. This library in the Bradford house
was a never-ending delight to her. It was finished in dark oak and the
walls were hung with a rich brown paper. The floor was polished and