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Noble's expression took on a coldness; for the word brought to his ht of Newland Sanders "Do I like poetry?" said Noble "No, I don't"

Florence was e people usually possess an invaluable faculty, which they lose later in life; and it is a pity that they do lose it At thirteen--especially the earlier months of thirteen--they are still able to set aside and dismiss from their minds almost any facts, no nition Children superbly allow themselves to become deaf, so to speak, to undesirable circumstances; most frequently, of course, to undesirable circumstances in the way of parental direction; so that fathers,that this enuine, are liable to hoarseness both of throat and teift or talent, one of the ins to impair its helpfulness under theof it In a moether as if it did not exist

She coughed, inclined her head a little to one side, in herher deprecatory laugh, remarked: "Well, of course it's kind of a funny question for me to ask, of course"

"What is, Florence?" Noble inquired absently

"Well--what I was saying was that 'course it's sort of queer me askin' if you liked poetry, of course, on account ofpoetry the way I do now"

She looked up at hiht readiness to respond modestly to whatever exclamation his wonder should dictate; but Noble's attention had straggled again

"Has she written your mother lately?" he asked

Florence's expression denoted a oin' to be printed in The North End Daily Oriole"

"What?"

"My poem It's about a vast auess--and they're goin' to have it out to-morrow, or else they'll have to settle withone over to your house and leave it at the door for you, Mr Dill"

Noble had but a confused notion of what she thus generously prouely

"Of course, I don't know as it's so awful good," Florence admitted insincerely "The fa pretty much; but I don't know if it is or not Really, I don't!"