"Lucy, your tea is delightful," said Mr. Goldthwaite from the other
side of the table-cloth. "I don't know when I enjoyed anything so
well."

"Hunger is good sauce," said the judge;--"here are the truants." Mr.
George Keane and Miss Goldthwaite appeared now, apparently very much
astonished to find themselves behind time. The judge made room for
Carrie beside himself, and after looking blankly at her for a few
minutes, said solemnly, "I thought I heard you say you wanted ferns;
but I must have been mistaken, or possibly they haven't come up in
the glen this year.--Some tea here, Alice.--Miss Goldthwaite, may I
help you to a piece of cake?" The truants joined in the laugh against
themselves, and the rest of the meal was passed in a perfect babel of
talking.

"What shall we do now, papa?" said Alice when they had finished. "We
won't be going home for a little while."

The judge looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes past five: we shall
start at six. Well, I propose that each member of the company
composes, within the space of ten minutes, four lines of verse
descriptive of the scenery. I have brought pencils and paper; and the
best writer shall have my gold pencil-case to him or her self."

There was a general exclamation, and each one declared it impossible
to perform such a feat.

"Try," said the judge briefly; and he passed round the pencils and
the sheets of paper. Then he laid his watch on the cloth, and gave