She was all a-tingle at the thought of her godmother seeing her verses.

She wanted her to see them, and yet,--she _couldn't_ take down her old ledger for them all to read and criticise.
Not for worlds would she have Eugenia read her verses on "Friendship," and there was one about "Dead Hopes" that she felt none of them would understand.

They might even laugh at it.
Several minutes went by before she could make up her mind.

When she went down-stairs she had put the old ledger back into her trunk and carried only one of the loose leaves in her hands.
"I'll show the others to godmother sometime when we are alone," she said to herself, as she went shyly up to the group waiting for her, "Here is one I called 'Night,'" she said, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
"There are four verses." Mrs.Sherman took it, and, glancing down the lines, read aloud the little poem, commencing: "Oh, peaceful Night, thou shadowy Queen Who rules the realms of shade, Thy throne is on the heaven's arch, Thy crown of stars is made." "Oh, Betty, that's splendid!" cried the girls, in chorus.

"How could you think of it ?" "It is remarkably good for a little girl of twelve," said Mrs.Sherman, glancing over the last verses again.