woke up and recited some verses he said he had composed the night before, while lying awake in his berth. Some of these ran in this fashion:
"This is the day I love the best—
The day the small boy knows no rest,—
The day when all our banners soar,
The day when all our cannons roar,
The day when all are free from care,
And shouts and music fill the air!"
"Good for Songbird!" cried Sam.
"Go on, please!" came from the girls, and the poet of Putnam Hall continued:
"I love this land of liberty
From mountains down to flowing sea,
I love its cities and its plains,
Its valleys and its rocky chains,
I'm glad to know that we are free,
And so forever may we be!"
"Hurrah, Songbird, you ought to have that set to music," cried Dick.
"Maybe I will, some day," answered the would be poet modestly.
"I dink I make some boetry up, too," remarked Hans, after several minutes of serious thought on his part. "Chust you listen vonce!" And he began:
