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I’m so witty and wise

That I must editrize

Though I’d heaps rather be hearing my dirge.”

The listeners laughed while Babs clapped with her thumbnails only.

“There’s a senorita, named Marguerita

And Oh-a but she’s vera sweeta.

Her prida brought to her a fall

Once in a thronged study hall.

Her prida were her high-heeled feet-a.

There is a young damsel named Babs

With manners most shocking.

She grabs!

Whenever there’s candy

That’s anywhere handy,

The nuttiest pieces she nabs.

There is a fair maiden named Sally

Who lives in our Sweet Pickle Alley.

In front of a mirror

You oftenest see her

Whenever she has time to dally.

There is a most witty young poet

Named Betsy, and I’m sure you know it.

She can tell by your glances,

As you listen in trances,

With a bouquet, just waiting to throw it.”

Betsy ducked just in time for soft pillows snatched from the window seat were hurled at her. Laughingly she gathered them up and replaced them in a prim row, then she sank down among them as though exhausted. “Believe me, that’s the hardest work I’ve done in my short lifetime. I’d heaps rather shovel coal for a living. I thought I could never think of a word to rhyme with Sally. Luckily we call our corridor Sweet Pickle Alley. That helped some!” Then she interrupted herself to point an accusing finger. “Quick! Look! Caught in the act. Wasn’t I right about Babs? It isn’t yet time to pass the fudge and there she is helping herself to the very piece that I had intended to take, because it’s so bulging full of nuts.” Barbara sprang up, passed the plate and insisted that Betsy take the nutty piece. Then, as they munched, Margaret said, “I’ll never forget the day I wore those high-heeled slippers. Wasn’t I embarrassed, it being a reception for patrons and parents? Common sense heels for me.”