O, Dotty, don't you let me forget to put that into poetry! I can jingle it off, and make it sound beautiful!" "I should think you might put my verse into poetry, too.

Can't you say 'a pill rolled down hill ?'" said Dotty.
"O, I can make poetry of it easier than that.

You don't need to change but one word:-- 'There was a little boy going down hill, He leaped, he foamed, he struggled;--and all was _still_.'" Dotty repeated it several times with much delight.

"That's beautiful," said she, "now honest; and I did almost the whole of it myself!" After this she began to grow drowsy, and, forgetting her troubles, fell asleep, to the great relief of poor sister Prudy, who was not long in following her.
Next morning Prudy awoke at nearly the usual time; but her sister was still in the land of dreams, and she stole out of the room without disturbing her.
"Grandmamma," said she, "Dotty has had an awful night! I've had to be up with her, and trying to pacify her, most of the time." "A whole hour," said grandma, smiling.
"O, grandma, it was nearly all night, but there didn't anybody know it; we talked low, so we needn't disturb you." Grandmother and Aunt Maria smiled at each other across the table.
"I dare say, my dear," said Aunt Maria, "you thought you were as quiet as two little mice; but I assure you you kept everybody awake, except grandpa and Susy." "Why, Aunt 'Ria!" "But we learned a lesson in poetry-making," said Aunt Louise, "which was worth lying awake to hear.

Don't you suppose, Maria, that even prosy people, like you and me, might jingle poetry till in time it would become as easy as knitting-work ?" Prudy blushed painfully.
"I thought," said Grace, "the sun must look very jolly in his red silk night-cap, only I was sorry you forgot to tell what he had for breakfast." "Nothing but cold potatoes out of the cupboard," said Horace; "he keeps bachelor's hall.