Another face peeped over the hedge, but this time it was a saucy one, with bright, brown eyes that fairly danced with merriment.

“Reg’lar ninny, ain’t she?” he asked, with a chuckle.

“Oh, Lester, you mustn’t!” cried Rose.

“Yes, I must!” said the boy.  “She sneaked off into the house when you weren’t looking, so she can’t hear me, and when she’s too far off to hear, I have to call her some kind of a horrid name, ’cause it helps me some!”

“But she’s your own cousin, and you oughtn’t, you know.  If it isn’t wicked, it must be naughty to call her a ninny,” said Rose.

“I wish she wasn’t my cousin, I ain’t fond of her,” said the boy, with a frown on his handsome face.

“She did a mean thing this morning, and I’ll get even with her,” he continued, “and when she wrote one of her everlasting old poems about me, it was more than I could stand.  Just read it and I guess you won’t blame me.”

He thrust a crumpled bit of paper over the hedge.

Rose ran to the hedge, and took the paper.  She was curious to know what kind of a poem Lester had inspired.

Who could blame her that she laughed when she read the ridiculous lines?

“Lester’s a boy, but he’s not brave;
 The cat scratched him, and he cried. 
 He’s not the kind of a boy I like
 Although I’ve often tried.

 His eyes are brown, but I don’t care;
 His freckles are yellow, and so is his hair. 
 He teases, so he has no heart,
 And he runs after the old ice-cart.”

“Could a fellow stand that? said Lester, his cheeks very red.

“It wasn’t nice,” said Rose, “and Lester, wait a moment,” as the boy turned to go.

“This is Polly Sherwood, my best friend.  Polly, this is Lester Jenks.  He’s a nice boy, only he’s provoked this morning.”

Polly offered her little hand over the hedge, and Lester blushed, and took it.

“Are you the little princess?” he asked bluntly.

“Just a make-believe one,” said Polly.

“We all call her ‘Princess Polly’ at home,” Rose explained.

“You look right to be called that anywhere,” said Lester, and it was Polly’s turn to blush.

“I’d like to come over some day,” he said.

“Come now,” said Rose.

“I wish I could, but I can’t,” said the boy.  “I’ve an errand to do for my aunt, and I ought to go now.  I’ll come some other day, perhaps to-morrow.  I’ve some money, and I’d like to treat.”

He looked admiringly at Polly, and Rose was delighted.

“He’s ever so much fun,” she said, when Lester had gone to do the errand that he had spoken of.

“He lives the next house to Evangeline,” she continued, “and he’s awfully tired of her poetry.”

Polly did not wonder at that.

“And I do hope, when he comes, Evangeline won’t come with him,” said Rose.