Katy suspected Louisa, and Rose suspected Katy.
The sixth slip was a very brief one.
WORD.—When?
QUESTION.—Are you willing?
If I wasn't willing, I would tell you;
But when— Oh, dear, I can't!
"What an extraordinary rhyme!" began Clover, but Rose spied poor Mary blushing and looking distressed, and hastily interposed,—
"It's very good, I'm sure.
I wish I'd written it.
Go on, Katy."
So Katy went on.
WORD.—Unfeeling.
QUESTION.—Which would you rather do, or go fishing?
I don't feel up to fishing or such;
And so, if you please, I'd rather do—which?
"I don't seem to see the word in that poem," said Rose.
"The distinguished author will please write another."
"The distinguished author" made no reply to this suggestion; but, after a minute or two, Esther Dearborn, "quite disinterestedly," as she stated, remarked that, after all, to "don't feel" was pretty much the same as unfeeling.
There was a little chorus of groans at this, and Katy said she should certainly impose a fine if such dodges and evasions were practised again.
This was the first meeting, however, and she would be merciful.
After this speech she unfolded another paper. It ran,—
WORD.—Flea.
QUESTION.—What would you do, love?
What would I do, love?
Well, I do not know.
How can I tell till you are more explicit? If 'twere a rose you held me, I would smell it; If 'twere a mouth you held me, I would kiss it; If 'twere a frog, I'd scream than furies louder' If 'twere a flea, I'd fetch the Lyons Powder.
Only two slips remained.
One was Katy's own.
She knew it by the way in which it was folded, and had almost instinctively avoided and left it for the last.
Now, however, she took courage and opened it.
The word was "Measles," and the question,
"Who was the grandmother of Invention?"
These were the lines:—
The night was horribly dark,
The measles broke out in the Ark:
Little Japher, and Shem, and all the young Hams,
Were screaming at once for potatoes and clams.
And
"What shall I do," said poor Mrs. Noah, "All alone by myself in this terrible shower:
I know what I'll do: I'll step down in the hold,
And wake up a lioness grim and old,
And tie her close to the children's door,
And giver her a ginger-cake to roar At the top of her voice for an hour or more;
And I'll tell the children to cease their din,
Or I'll let that grim old party in,
To stop their squeazles and likewise their measles."—
She practised this with the greatest success. She was every one's grandmother, I guess.
"That's much the best of all!" pronounced Alice Gibbons.
"I wonder who wrote it?"
"Dear me! did you like it so much?" said Rose, simpering, and doing her best to blush.