You remember how we tease her about her love for tea, which she
cannot conceal, but which she is ashamed of all the same.

Well! I have printed the poem on a card, and on the other side
Margery has drawn the picture of a cross old maid, surrounded by
seven cats, all frying to get a drink out of her tea-cup. Then Geoff
is going to get a live cat from the milk ranch near here, and box it
up for me to give to her when she receives her presents at the
dinner-table. Won't it be fun?


OWED TO POLLY
BECAUSE OF HER BIRTHDAY.


She camps among the untrodden ways
Forninst the 'Mountain Mill';
A maid whom there are few to praise
And few to wish her ill.

She lives unknown, and few could know
What Pauline is to me;
As dear a joy as are to her
Her frequent cups of tea.

A birthday this dear creature had,
Full many a year ago;
She says she is but just fifteen,
Of course she ought to know.