then began to write rapidly. For some minutes not a word was spoken.
"I've done!" said Esther Dearborn at last, flinging her paper into the basket-lid.
"So have I!" said Katy.
One by one the papers were collected and jumbled into a heap. Then Katy, giving all a final shake, drew out one, opened it, and read.
Word.—Radishes.
Question.—How do you like your clergymen done?
How do I like them done? Well, that depends.
I like them done on sleepy, drowsy Sundays;
I like them under-done on other days;
Perhaps a little over-done on Mondays.
But always I prefer them old as pa,
And not like radishes, all red and raw.
"Oh, what a rhyme!" cried Clover.
"Well,—what is one to do?" said Ellen Gray. Then she stopped and bit her lip, remembering that no one was supposed to know who wrote the separate papers.
"Aha! it's yours, is it, Ellen?" said Rose. "You're an awfully clever girl, and an ornament to the S. S. U. C. Go on, Katy."
Katy opened the second slip.
