joke out of an old Punch came into her head--not at all an esthetic
one. It was a picture of a furious woman brandishing a broom, while
the tips of her husband's boots showed under the bed-foot. The
husband was saying: "Ye may poke at me and ye may threaten me, but
ye canna break my manly sperrit. I willna come out fra under the bed!"

Joy laughed a little, even in her sad state of mind, at the
remembrance. "I willna come out fra under the bed, either," she
decided rather shakily, curling her flowing yellow satin closer
about her, and making herself quite flat against the window-frame.
She tried to stop her ears and not listen, so she wouldn't know
whether the poetry was about her or not. But she had fatally sharp
ears, and Grandfather always practised on her and Grandmother,
adoringly silent at the breakfast table. She would know the poems
apart if she only caught a half word.... And it _was_ about her.

Grandfather's beautiful voice carried as well as it ever had. No
matter how many fingers you had in how many ears, you heard it just
the same. And the poem's name was, "To Joy in Amber Satin."

It was doubtless a very lovely poem, and she'd been as pleased as
anybody when it had sold to the _Century_ for fifty dollars
last week. But it suddenly came over Joy that she wasn't a crisis,
nor yet a sunset, and that people oughtn't to write poetry to their
granddaughters, and then have them wear the clothes that were
written about right in the room with the poem. She knew, too, that
as soon as it was over, purry, nice, prettily dressed ladies would
come and hunt her out and use admiring adjectives on her. She had
never minded it before; she had taken it as a well-behaved little
dog would; as a curious thing people did, which meant that they