"It's poetry, you know.

I'll put it in Our Magazine." "But you can't write poetry, Peter," I protested.
"I'm going to try," said Peter stoutly.

"That is, if you think she won't be offended at me." "She ought to feel flattered," I replied.
"You never can tell how she'll take things," said Peter gloomily.

"Of course I ain't going to sign my name, and if she ain't pleased I won't tell her I wrote it.

Don't you let on." I promised I wouldn't and Peter went off with a light heart.