THE CHAPTER THAT TROTTY DID N’T PRINT. 155

inhabitants all dine on hashed novels, with poetical obituaries
for dessert. Or—”

“ Lill,” said I, “any one of those stories would be an im-
position on the intellect of my readers. What is that stick-
ing out of your pocket ?”

“Gerty’s notes, I suppose. Gerty writes to me, and I
write to Gerty, a note every day. Gerty’s SPLENDID! Why,
no, they ’re Trotty’s compositions.”

“Trotty’s compositions ! ”’

“O yes, tobe sure. Didn’t you know? Trotty writes a
composition every week. We all write a composition every
week.”

“ But Trotty could n’t write, the last I saw of him, which
was at half past eight this morning.”

“ Only to print — no — and such letters! When he prints
his name on the blackboard, I can’t think of anything but a
spider fighting a duel with a puppy. But then he dictates,
you see, and Miss Pumpkin or I write them out. Isn’t it
funny in Miss Pumpkin to make him? But he’s got used to it
now, and talks as fast as fun. Want to see them? They ’re
allnumbered. The first one will kill you! He fretted a week,
and cried an hour, before he got that off.”

When Lill went to school she left the compositions all in
a little crumpled heap in my lap. On reading them over, I
decided to copy them out for you, for three reasons. First,
. because I found them entertaining ; second, because I thought
it was a bright idea in Miss Pumpkin to make her little peo-