“There once was a Debating Club, exceeding wise and great;
    On grave and abstruse questions it would eagerly debate. 
    Its members said:  ’We are so wise, ourselves we’ll herewith dub
    The Great Aristophelean Pythagoristic Club.’ 
    And every night these bigwigs met, and strove with utmost pains
    To solve recondite problems that would baffle lesser brains. 
    They argued and debated till the hours were small and wee;
    And weren’t much discouraged if they didn’t then agree. 
    They said their say, and went their way, these cheerful,
        pleasant men,
    And then came round next evening, and said it all again. 
    Well, possibly, you’ll be surprised; but all the winter through
    The questions they debated on numbered exactly two. 
    For as they said:  ’Of course we can’t take up another one,
    Till we have solved conclusively the two that we’ve begun.’ 
    They reasoned and they argued, as the evenings wore along;
    And each one thought that he was right, and deemed the others wrong. 
    They wrangled and contended, they disputed and discussed,
    They retorted and rebutted, they refuted and they fussed;
    But though their wisdom was profound, and erudite their speech,
    A definite conclusion those men could never reach. 
    And so the club disbanded, and they read their last report,
    Which told the whole sad story, though it was exceeding short: 
    ’Resolved—­We are not able to solve these problems two: 
    “Does Polly want a cracker?” and “What did Katy do?"’”

“Well, isn’t that fine!” cried Marjorie.  “Why, Hester, your mother is more a poet than ours.”

“She does write lovely poetry,” said Hester, “but I like your mother’s poem, too, because it,—­well, you know what I mean.”

Somehow the children all understood that tempestuous Hester appreciated the lines that so gently advised the ruling and subduing of an unruly temper and will, but nobody knew just how to express it.

So King broke a somewhat awkward silence by saying, heartily, “Yep, we know!” and all the others said “Yep” in chorus.

“I think, O Royal Court,” the Queen began, “that our first paper is fine.  How often shall we issue The Jolly Sandboy?”

“’Bout once a week, I think,” said Tom.

“All right,” agreed King; “and you fellows get your stuff in a little earlier next week so’s I can typewrite it in time.”

“And now, my beloved court,” resumed Midget, “I think we have sat still long enough, and I decree that we have a game of Prisoner’s Base.  And what I say goes!”

There was no dissenting voice.  The Queen unpinned her court train from her shoulders, the Sand Witch laid aside her tall, peaked hat, and the courtiers discarded such details of their costumes as seemed likely to impede progress in the game.  Prisoner’s Base was followed by Hide and Seek, and then it was time for the court to repair to its several homes.