"Is it all right to sign a poem?
I believe that poets sign their works, don't they, Uncle Philip ?" "Certainly.

Drina, I'll give you a dollar for that poem." "You may have it, anyway," said Drina, generously; and, as an after-thought: "My birthday is next Wednesday." "What a hint!" jeered Billy, casting a morsel at the dogs.
"It isn't a hint.

It had nothing to do with my poem, and I'll write you several more, Uncle Philip," protested the child, cuddling against him, spoon in hand, and inadvertently decorating his sleeve with cranberry sauce.
Cat hairs and cranberry are a great deal for a man to endure, but he gave Drina a reassuring hug and a whisper, and leaned back to remove traces of the affectionate encounter just as Miss Erroll entered.
"Oh, Eileen! Eileen!" cried the children; "are you coming to luncheon with us ?" As Selwyn rose, she nodded, amused.
"I am rather hurt," she said.

"I went down to luncheon, but as soon as I heard where you all were I marched straight up here to demand the reason of my ostracism." "We thought you had gone with mother," explained Drina, looking about for a chair.
Selwyn brought it.

"I was commissioned to say that Nina couldn't wait--dowagers and cakes and all that, you know.