She moved her seat, but, after staring at her blankly out of her dull eyes, Carrie moved hers to her side, and the class all laughed at this demonstration of affection; but Miss Palmer, who had taught long enough to know that it might mean something but affection, watched them. She had not long to do so before she discovered Carrie's trick, Marion's knowledge of it, and her embarrassment.

After recitation, she told them to remain, and when they were alone together she said,—

"Marion Parke! how long have you known that Carrie Smyth copied her sums off your slate?"

Poor Marion! She looked at Miss Palmer, then at Carrie; the color came into her face, and the tears into her eyes, but she did not answer a word.

Miss Palmer repeated her question with much asperity. Still no answer, but two large tears on Marion's cheeks.

"You do not choose to answer me" (a little more gently now): "I shall report your behavior to Miss Ashton. Carrie Smyth, how long have you been copying Marion's sums, instead of doing your own?"

"I've—I've never copied them, Miss Palmer," said Carrie, looking Miss Palmer boldly in the face.

"Carrie Smyth, I saw you do so!"

"I—I never did, never, Miss Palmer. Never!"

"Go to your room, Carrie Smyth. I am not surprised at your readiness to tell a falsehood; you have been acting one for weeks, and they are all the same, the acted and the spoken, in God's sight. Go to your room and pray; ask God to forgive you."

Then she opened a Bible which lay on a table near her, and in very solemn tones read these words, "'But the fearful and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers'" (glancing off now in a threatening manner at Carrie), "'and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.'"

Carrie turned very pale. If Miss Palmer had asked her for the truth again, she would have told it, but she did not; she only motioned the girls from the room, and went herself to see Miss Ashton.

Incidents similar to this were not unusual in the school, and Miss Ashton always considered them the most painful and troublesome to deal with. She waited a day or two before taking any notice of it, then she sent for Marion, who went to her room with fear and trembling.

"Marion," said Miss Ashton, beckoning to her to come and sit on the sofa beside her, "I am very sorry on your account that this has happened. It would have been better if you had told Miss Palmer as soon as you knew what Carrie was doing; better for her, for of course she was deceiving, and we know what that means; better for Miss Palmer, for she could form no just estimate of Carrie's scholarship, for which she is responsible; and better for you, because, in a certain way, it made you a partaker in the deception."

"O Miss Ashton! I could not tell on her; I could not, I could not!" exclaimed Marion.

"I understand you perfectly," said wise Miss Ashton; "I only want you to see the situation as it is. If you had thought of it, you might have come to me. Everything of that kind I should know, then your responsibility would have ceased, and, without making a class matter of it, I could have influenced Carrie to do right.

"Now, if you fully understand me, run back to your lessons, only remember, in whatever perplexity for the future you find yourself, I am the house mother, and you are all my children; you would not have hesitated to tell your mother if you had found any of your brothers or sisters doing wrong, should you?"

"No, ma'am; I should have gone to her at once."

"And not felt that you were a tell-tale?"

"Not for a moment."

"Just so, then, it is here; we are all one family, and there is nothing mean in reporting to me, more than to a mother. It's the motive that prompts the telling that gives it its moral character. It is the noblest that can act wisely, and escape the odium of tell-tales; and, my dear Marion, I feel quite sure that for the future I can trust you."

Marion went away with a light heart. "Trust me? of course she can," she said to herself; "but I am so sorry for Carrie Smyth."

Carrie, in truth, even after listening to the terrible denunciations Miss Palmer had read to her, was to be pitied for her moral as well as mental dulness. She went through the ordeal of her talk with Miss Ashton with far less feeling than Marion had shown; and the only punishment she minded was being put back into the class of beginners, and being told that the next time she was found doing anything of the kind, and told a falsehood about it, she would be expelled from school.

This, on the whole, she would have liked, for study was detestable to her, and there was nothing but the ambition of her mother that made it seem necessary in her home surroundings.

Both Miss Palmer and Marion were delighted to have her leave the class. Marion kindly kept the reason for her having done so to herself, though many inquiries were made of her by the other scholars.



CHAPTER XXXI.

MARION'S LETTER FROM HOME.

Soon after the first of January, Marion received the following letter from her mother:—

"We have all been made so happy to-day, my dear child, by a letter from Miss Ashton. She writes us how well you have been doing, and how much attached to you she has become. All this we expected as a matter of course, but what delights and satisfies us most, is what she says of your religious influence in the school. We knew we were sending you into an untried life, that would be full of anxieties and temptations. With all the confidence we felt in you, we should hardly, no matter how great the literary advantages offered, have liked to put you where the character of your surroundings would have been less helpful; and to know that you, in your turn, are proving helpful to others, is indeed a great gratification. God bless, strengthen, and keep you, my darling, through this new year, is your loving mother's prayer.

"It almost seems to me that we miss you more and more as time goes. Phil counts the weeks now until you come home, and I found the little ones busy doing a long sum on their slates, which, when they brought to me to see if it was right, I saw was to ascertain first, how many days before you came, and then, how many hours. Bennie told me that to-morrow they were to calculate the minutes, and then the seconds. I suppose they have, for I see them studying the clock very often, particularly the minute hand.

"So you see how we miss and long for you at home.

"Your father is busier than ever. He is truly a workman of whom his Master need not to be ashamed. He keeps well and happy. Deacon Simonds came in last night to ask him to have some extra meetings, as the Methodists were going to have an evangelist here, and might draw away people from his church; but your father said in his gentle way, 'The parish was not too large as yet for him to do all the work required, and if any of his people could be benefited by the evangelist, and should wish to unite with that church, he should wish them Godspeed.' Then the deacon said something about the difficulty of raising the salary, which I minded more than your father. What a good, trusting man he is! Mrs. Hoppen ran in this noon with a large tin pan full of delicious doughnuts she had fried for us, and Hetty Sprague put two pumpkin-pies into my pantry window. Not a day passes but we are cared for in some way. I laugh, for it looks as if they thought now you are gone there was no one left to prepare goodies for the home. Tim Knowles dumped a load of coal into our cellar when your father was away, then came to the kitchen door and said,—

"'Mis' Parke, you tell the parson if he'll keep up the fire of religion in the church, I'll keep it up in his study stove, and it sha'n't cost him a copper cent. We all d'ought to have ways of sarving the Lord, and this 'ere is mine.' Then he hurried away, without giving me a chance to even say 'Thank you.'

"Sometimes it seems to me as if our whole parish felt as if you belonged to them, and they had sent you away to school, and were to pay your expenses, they are so wonderfully kind and thoughtful of us. Your sabbath-school class sent you their New Year's gift yesterday; I know you will value it. Old Aunt Cutts is knitting you a pair of blue stockings; the dear old lady is taking so much comfort out of the work, that she has made them large enough for you to put both of your little feet into one; and Kate Sanders brought me her white feather to ask me if, now you had to dress stylish, I didn't think you could make use of it. I thanked her, and told her that you were wearing a hat so small I was sure the feather was too large for it. I think it was quite a relief to her, for that soiled and bedraggled feather is to her still, 'the apple of her eye.'

"So, my dear parish child, you have a great burden of responsibility to carry; but your mother knows how easily and how honorably it will be borne."

Marion read this letter with a variety of feelings. It had never been the home way to make her religious character a separate and distinct thing. It dominated the whole home-life. Do right, do right! She had almost never been told, do not do wrong, but always do right, and this meant simply and only, be a Christian. It was such a noble way to step upward from the beginning; not easy, oh, no, far from that, so often doing wrong in spite of precept and example, so often hesitating, until the delay weakened the power of doing right; yet so often, with hope and prayer to aid her, planting her foot firmly on the upper rung, singing as she went.

Since she had been in school her life had been so changed, such different temptations to do wrong, such different helps to do right, that she had thought little of her influence upon her companions. The letter of her mother was almost a shock, as, for the first time, it brought up to her what she felt had been her neglect.

All these months here, and what had she ever done or said that would tell for Jesus? Three room-mates; had she ever tried, from the first of her coming among them, to help them into a Christian life? To be sure they had their set times for private devotions, time required by the rules, when every pupil was expected to read her Bible, if nothing more. That they had all done, and Dorothy had "entered into her closet, and shut her door." There could be no doubt that she had prayed to her Father which is in secret, and her Father which seeth in secret had rewarded her openly; for, often, when she came back among them, her face had been so full of sweet peacefulness. "Dorothy's influence has been the one for good, not mine," Marion thought, with that true humility which is a Christian grace. As for Gladys, why she was Gladys, and there was no one like her. So generous and noble, so true and faithful; I must learn of her surely, not she of me; but Susan! It must be confessed, that in the busy days Marion had almost forgotten Susan's dishonesty. She did not like her, often she found it hard to be even patient, much less kind, to her, and Susan was sometimes very trying. She could, and did, say many unkind words, "spites me," Marion said to herself; but generally bore the ill-humor pityingly, feeling sorry for a girl who could do as Susan had done. The fact was, that while Marion did not have Susan's guilt often in her mind, Susan never forgot it when she saw Marion. Never may be too strong a word to use; but Susan was constantly uneasy in Marion's company, often positively unhappy, wishing over and over again she had never heard of "Storied West Rock," especially never, never been tempted to steal that story, and palm it off for her own.

Not a day of her life but she expected to be found out, to be disgraced before the school, perhaps to be expelled. Poor Susan! she is reaping now the result of her selfish lifetime ambition to be among the noted ones, to be thought of first, and treated like a heroine! Ambition is a very laudable thing; we should all try to do our best, but never should it lead us into doing selfish, mean, dishonorable things; then it becomes a sin and not a virtue.

It was the weakness, nay, something worse, in Susan's character, as we all know, always leading her into trouble, because it was so wholly selfish.

If Marion could have reasoned all this out as we can, she would have had fewer compunctions of conscience as she sat holding her mother's letter in her hand, thinking over its contents.

It was some time before she could fully enjoy all the items of family news it contained. Then they drew her pleasantly back to the dear home, the small parish, and the life-long friends she had left there.

Gladys had been watching her as she read the letter, amused and interested by the different phases of feeling her face showed; when she saw her fold it up, she asked,—

"What's happened, Marion? You've looked as if you had been at a funeral, and then at a wedding, while you were reading it."

"I have—almost," and Marion could laugh now. "Let me read you the last part of it; it is so like home."

Then Marion read them about the children's sum, and the parishioners' kindness; and Gladys, as she listened, planned how she could help Marion without her ever suspecting from whence the help came, and Dorothy thought what a different home it must be from that she had left at Rock Cove.

Marion, instead of studying her next lesson, as it was obviously her duty to do, sat with her book open before her, wondering how she could immediately enter upon a course of conduct that would give her a more enlarged and prominent religious influence. Never once suspecting that this was a way the tempter was taking to lead her from the true self-abnegation which is so vital to a growing Christian character. Single-eyed to God's glory!

Miss Ashton in the recitation looked at her inquiringly several times. What could have happened, she wondered, to make Marion blunder so? She was generally prompt, and, considering how much she had to do to keep up with her class, correct; but to-day she seemed distraught, as if her mind were anywhere but upon her recitation. She stopped her after the lesson was finished, and asked her if she were sick; but Marion was well, nor was she, in her preoccupation, aware that Miss Ashton was not pleased.

She answered her carelessly, which increased the teacher's uneasiness, and made her ask a little sharply, "What is it, Marion? You did badly in your recitation to-day."

"Ma'am!" said Marion, looking at her in surprise.

"I said you made a bad recitation," repeated Miss Ashton. "What has happened?"

Then the color grew deeper and deeper in Marion's face. "My letter from my mother," she said, "O Miss Ashton, I am so sorry!"

"Sorry for what? Is any one sick?"

"No, Miss Ashton; but—but—there was so much to think of in it. I am so sorry I did badly."

Now Miss Ashton smiled. "If that is all," she said, "I will try to forgive you. Can't you tell me something about your home letter? I like to hear of them."

Then Marion poured out her whole heart, thanking her kind teacher simply and winningly for her own kind letter to the Western home, but giving no hint of the seed of evil the letter may have sown.



CHAPTER XXXII.

PENITENT.

Marion's first plan in order to extend her religious influence was to get up a small prayer-meeting in her room.

To be sure, the room was shared by three others, and she had never quite gotten over the uncomfortable feeling that she was an intruder, particularly as Susan so often showed hostility to her; but a prayer-meeting surely was a thing no right-minded girl ought to object to. Of Dorothy's approval she had no doubt. Gladys, if she did not wish to stay, would go away without the least hesitation. Susan! What Susan would do, who could tell? Knowing the need she had of a vital change in character, in order to be a Christian, Marion made no attempt to conceal from herself that her conversion alone was an object worth earnest and constant prayer; really the reward for the conquering of any diffidence she might have to overcome in instituting the meeting. It was not an hour after she had decided upon the twelve girls she would invite, before the tempter had her in his power again. She was planning the order of exercises for the meeting, which was as it should be; but it was not as right that she was leaping forward in her thoughts to the criticisms which the girls would make upon the part she should take, the hope that they would admire her fluency and spirituality, and say to her when they were leaving the room,—

"O Marion! how much good you have done us! We shall be grateful to you as long as we live."

If any one had told her that here, by this same desire for self-aggrandizement, or, to call it by its more common name of popularity, Susan had fallen, she would have been astonished indeed.

Prayer-meetings were by no means uncommon in this academy; but they were under the care of a teacher, and it was not long before the necessity of asking leave for the one in her room occurred to Marion; but here was a difficulty! Would not Miss Ashton ask her questions about this, which she would find difficult to answer; such as, "What made her propose it? What did she expect to accomplish?" If she did ask these, what could she say?

There followed another day of poor recitations, and Marion, for almost the first time since she joined the school, was undeniably cross. By night she was sitting on the penitential stool, ashamed, tired, and full of wonder as to what had happened to her. As is not unusual in such cases, she was inclined to blame every one but herself. Miss Palmer had lost her patience with her because she hesitated over a difficult place in her mathematical lesson, and had snapped her up before the class; Anna Dawson had laughed at her blunder, and the whole class had most unkindly smiled. Dorothy had put her arm around her and asked her if she was sick, when she knew there was nothing the matter with her. Even Gladys had stopped scratching with her slate-pencil, looking at her in a way that said as plainly as words could, "What a nervous thing you are, not to bear the scratching of a pencil without wincing;" and as for Susan, tormenting as she had been on other days, she had been angelic in comparison with this. After all, she had too much good common-sense and true religious feeling to sit upon her stool long without beneficial results. It was nearly time for the lights to be put out before she began to see the first thing to be done was the right one; that is always sure. Do the duty nearest to you, then those more distant fall readily into line and are easily met. This was, to see Miss Ashton, no matter how awkward it would be to tell her that the thought of the prayer-meeting was first put into her head by Miss Ashton's letter home; that before, her religious influence had not been a thing of which she had for a moment thought, but that now she wished to make it tell.

"I'll go at once," she said to herself. "I won't give it up because I'm a coward. I shall not sleep a wink unless it's settled. Life is short; death may come at any unexpected moment. I should not like to have my Judge ask why I had not done my duty, when, perchance, I, even I, might have been a poor, weak instrument, but still an instrument, in saving a soul."

In this spirit Marion went to Miss Ashton's room, quite forgetting the lateness of the hour, and knocked timidly at the door.

Miss Ashton, wearied by her day's anxieties, did not approve of these late calls, and only answered them for fear of sickness, so it was some time before she said, "Come in."

She was not surprised to see Marion, for Miss Palmer had already reported her failure in the mathematical class; but she said kindly,

"What is wrong now, Marion? Have you had another letter from home?"

"No, Miss Ashton; it is—it was—I mean, I wanted to ask you if you had any objection to my having a prayer-meeting in my room?"

"A prayer-meeting in your room?" repeated Miss Ashton. "Why do you ask it?"

This was the question Marion had expected; but now, with Miss Ashton looking straight in her eyes, she hesitated to answer it.

"I thought—I hoped," she blundered at last, "that I might do more good,—might, perhaps, save Susan."

"I see," and Miss Ashton looked very grave now. "Your mother has told you what I wrote her of your religious influence here, and you wish to increase it; but why Susan particularly?"

Now Marion found herself unexpectedly in deep waters. If she attempted to answer this question, what disclosures she would have to make! A tell-tale! A mischief-maker! A character of all others she despised, and so did, she well knew, the whole school. She hung her head, the color coming into her face, and the tears into her eyes.

"There is something wrong here," Miss Ashton thought, but she only said,—

"I know Dorothy is a good girl; I am very fond of Gladys; but why do you select Susan as the one in the whole school to be prayed for, or with?"

If an equivocation had been natural or easy to Marion, she might have been ready with several now, which perhaps would have satisfied Miss Ashton; but she was a straightforward, honest girl, who never in her whole life had been placed before where she hesitated what to answer; if she had been a culprit to-night, she would hardly have looked more utterly discomfited than standing there trying to look Miss Ashton in the face.

"You do not choose to answer me," Miss Ashton said after waiting a moment. "Very well, then, we will go back to the prayer-meetings; I think it would be unwise for you to attempt any such thing. You might at first find a few girls who would be willing to come, but they would soon tire of it, and you would find yourself alone, unless Dorothy's kind heart made her willing to remain. Let me tell you, my dear Marion, the best, in fact the only way for a pupil to exert a strong and lasting religious influence is by living a consistent Christian life. What you are always tells, never what you may appear. If you are truly desirous to exert this influence, you will let your companions see it in your daily walk and conversation. All the prayer-meetings you could have would be useless, if you yourself failed in a Christian grace.

"To be kind, loving, gentle, true, faithful in all your duties, great and small, that is what your parents and I hope for in you. I had almost said, and I am sure you will not misunderstand me, I would rather have the influence of good recitations, strict observance of rules, lady-like behavior in all places and at all times, than a prayer-meeting in your room every night in the week. Now it is late; go back, and if you do not wish to tell me what is wrong with Susan, I must be all the more observant of her myself. Good-night."

Marion said "Good-night" faintly; certainly this was a very different reception from what she had expected. "She wants me to be perfect," she said to herself fretfully, "and she knows that I never can be; then Susan! What have I done? Oh, dear! dear! I wish I had never thought about a prayer-meeting."

So far she had only dimly seen where her motives had been wrong, but she felt their check.

Fraeulein Sausmann met her on her way to her room.

"Why, Marione!" she said, drawing her little self erect, and trying to look very dignified, "I am astonish! I am regret! You am very onright. You am to be gone to Fraeulein Ashton next day and say you regret; I determine on it! Marione, you stand-under?"

"I have just come from Miss Ashton," said Marion gravely.

"You has just come! Very bad. You schlecht Fraeulein! What you for done?"

"Nothing, Fraeulein. At least," correcting herself as she remembered Susan, "I hope nothing schlecht."

"You do not say right, Marione; I shame you German speak so schlecht." Then the Fraeulein laughed merrily, and standing on the tips of her little toes she kissed Marion on both cheeks.

The kisses went right to Marion's heart, cheered and comforted her so her face had a less troubled look as she entered her room.

Susan was sitting at the table studying, and the searching glance she gave her made the color rush into Marion's face.

"She's gone and told of me, the ugly, mean, old thing," thought Susan. "I knew she would sooner or later. Now I'm in for it!"

In vain she tried to fasten her attention on her book again. Over and over the consequences of the disclosure she went with beating heart. "Oh, if I had never, never, never done it!" she said to herself in the helpless, hopeless way that attends a wrong action. The short-lived celebrity the story had given her had all died away, nothing remained but this dreadful regret, and fear of what was to come.

When she saw Marion go into her bedroom, she had almost a mind to follow her and confess the truth. Then she thought Marion knew it already, had perhaps told Miss Ashton, and a better thing to do would be to go to Miss Ashton and make the confession; to go at once, this very night, before she had a chance to tell the whole school: perhaps if she did, Miss Ashton would be merciful, would scold and forgive her. She looked at the clock; if she made haste there would be five minutes before they must put their lights out! Once done, what a relief it would be!

She darted from the room, not daring to trust a moment's delay; but when she reached the corridor the lights were already turned out. All would soon be darkness, and then none were allowed to leave their rooms.

But Susan was desperate now; she knew her way down the long flights of stairs so well that she had no fear: her only thought was to reach Miss Ashton, to confess, to know her punishment, if punishment there were to be.

She flitted softly, like a ghost, through the long corridors, down the long stairs; but when she came to Miss Ashton's door her gas was turned out, and that meant she would not open her door again that night.

"I'll knock! Perhaps, just perhaps, she will let me in;" but there was no response to Susan's knock. She stood waiting until she shivered with nervous dread from head to foot, then she crept back to her room, and tossed restlessly through a weary night.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

SPRING VACATION.

The bright light of a sunny day has a wonderful influence in quieting fears, and the next morning when Susan waked and found her room cheerful, everything looking natural and pleasant, her first feeling was one of shame for all she had suffered the night before. Nothing was easier now than to make herself believe she had been foolish in her suspicion of Marion; indeed, it was not long before she had made herself almost sure that Marion knew nothing about the stolen story, that she had wronged her in suspecting, even if she did, that she would be mean enough to betray her. For the first time since she copied it, she treated Marion not only kindly but affectionately, much to Marion's surprise, for she knew how near she had come to betraying Susan, and remembered Miss Ashton's saying, "If you do not choose to tell me what is the matter with Susan, I must be all the more observant of her myself." Would she watch her? Could she ever in any way find out about "Storied West Rock"? "At any rate," Marion comforted herself by thinking, "it will not be through me; but I wish I had not said even what I did."

She wondered over Susan's advances, and met them coldly, shamefacedly. "If you only knew," she said to herself, "how different you would act!"

Very important as these events seem to those particularly engaged, they make little apparent difference in the life of a large school.

Marion again made faulty recitations, and again her teachers were troubled by them; but Susan, having in a measure, she could hardly understand how, been thrown off her fears, was unusually brilliant in her classes, winning what she valued so much, words of approbation from her teachers.

The school work went on now with much success. The holiday break-up was fairly over. Washington's Birthday was not celebrated other than with an abundance of little hatchets of all designs and colors. Easter was too far away, and the animus of the school was for quiet study. Even the club held meetings less often. The two girls who had been the chief planners of whatever mischief originated from it, Mamie Smythe and Annie Ormond, were on their best behavior, knowing full well that another misdeed, no matter of what character, meant expulsion.

Upon these weeks preceding the Easter vacation, Miss Ashton had learned to rely for the best part of the year's work; so uneventfully, with the exception of now and then some slight escapade on the part of the pupils, the term rolled on to its spring rest.

Easter came in the early part of April this year, but the season was backward, even snowstorms coming now and then; and fierce winds, more like March than April, forbade any hunting for early flowers, or looking, as so many longing eyes did, for the swelling of the bare branches of the trees, or the first shadowing of the green tassels that waited to show themselves to warm sunbeams.

There were no examinations in this school, or marking the grade of scholarship; but for all that, there was never a doubt who were the best scholars, or who would have taken the prizes if any had been given.

A week before Easter, Marion received a letter from her Aunt Betty, inviting her to spend the coming recess with her; but she declined it, asking that the visit might be deferred until the long summer vacation, when, as she was probably not to return home, she should be very glad to come. Evidently Aunt Betty had forgotten whatever was unpleasant in the Thanksgiving visit, and to be among the mountains through some of the hot summer weeks seemed to Marion would be pleasant indeed. But when the vacation came, and she found herself with only a few other girls almost alone in the great desolated building, she more than once regretted her decision.

A pleasant young teacher of gymnastics, Miss Orne, was left in charge, but she was tired, and more anxious to rest than to amuse the girls, so they were left pretty much to themselves, and passed the ten days of vacation in the best way they could.

"Girls will be girls," that was what Miss Ashton said when the pupils who had been at home came back with their summer outfits, and she found the whole attention of the school given for a few days to their examination and comparison.

"If I could hear you talk half as much about any branch of study, or your art lessons, as I hear you talk about your new clothes," she said with a pleasant laugh, "I should be delighted; but I suppose nothing seems more important to you now than the fashions, and, on the whole, I don't know but I am glad of it."

It was this interest in their many-sided life that gave Miss Ashton her great influence over them. The girls would take articles of apparel to her for her inspection, and find them doubly valuable if they met with her approval.

There was one set whose wardrobes were objects of especial interest: those were the graduating class. Next to her bridal dress, there seems to be no other that is thought so much of, not only by the girl, but by her parents.

It would be idle, perhaps out of place here, to say how much display and foolish extravagance there is at such a time. Where it can be well afforded, it is of comparatively little importance, but a great deal of heartache might be avoided, if the simplest costume were decided to be the most suitable. Parents whose means have been tried to the utmost to give their child the advantages of the school, who have never hesitated over any labor or self-denial in order to accomplish it, find themselves at last called to confront the question of dollars, hardly earned or saved, squandered on a dress almost worthless for future use, on pain of seeing their child mortified and unhappy because she cannot, on this eventful occasion, look as well as the others. Even Miss Ashton's influence, great as it was, had failed to accomplish any good result in changing this long-established custom; and for reasons best known to themselves, the present senior class had voted in their class meetings to make their graduation day one long to be remembered in the annals of the school.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

NEMESIS.

Until this year this academy had had a salutatory and a valedictory in the same way they did at Atherton Academy, given for the best scholarship as it was there; but as this was considered a finishing school, differing therefore from the boys' school, which was only preparatory for other and higher education, it had been decided to change the graduating exercises to the four best essays, read by their writers, an address by some distinguished orator, music, and the giving of diplomas.

All the graduating class were expected to write an essay, the Faculty to judge of their merits, and to choose from among them four of the best.

Not only the interest of the class, but of the whole school, was intense on the writing of these essays. The literary merit of the teaching was to be shown by them; and as no graduating class ever comes to its commencement without pride in, and love for its alma mater, so it seemed as if the future reputation of the academy must depend upon the way this class acquitted itself.

If it had been a boys' school, bets would have run high on the supposed best writers; here there was nothing of the kind, only those who had done well whenever compositions had been read to the school were chosen as girls of especial interest, watched, feted, praised, encouraged, in short, prematurely made heroines of.

Among the most conspicuous was Susan Downer. Though so little had been said of late of her success in writing "Storied West Rock," it was now recalled; and, as the weeks flew by before commencement, she was daily, sometimes it seemed to her hourly, reminded of it, and importuned to be sure and do as well now.

Poor Susan! She knew how really unable she would be to do anything that would compare with it. Over and over again she made the attempt; but as writing was not one of her natural gifts, and as now, whenever she tried even to choose a subject, the theft came up before her, and she went through the whole, from the first temptation to the last crowned success, she could think of nothing else but the inevitable punishment that somewhere and at some time was waiting for her.

There was but one hope she thought left for her, to see her brother Jerry, and tease him into giving her one of his essays, that she might use it as it was if possible, if not, with alterations that would make it suit the occasion. She would tell him that she only wanted to read it and get some hints from it, and once in her possession, she could do as she pleased.

When she received his note refusing her invitation to come to the academy, her disappointment and her helplessness may be readily imagined, for she had allowed herself to depend upon him.

To write to him for an essay she knew would be useless; he would only laugh, and say,—

"Nonsense! what does Sue want one for?" but if he were with her, he was so kind and good-natured, he would do almost anything she asked.

But one thing now remained. Miss Randall, their teacher in rhetoric, who had the charge of the essays, gave subjects to those who wished them; she could apply to her, and perhaps find in the library something to help her.

Miss Randall gave her, remembering her former success, and hoping she would do even better now, an historical subject, "The Signal of Paul Revere."

"There have not been more than a hundred poems written on the same subject," she said in a little talk she had with Susan; "but if you can write poetry, and succeed, all the better for Montrose Academy. We will send it to the newspaper, and it may be the beginning of making your name famous."

What a temptation to a girl like Susan!

If—only IF she could find one of those hundred or more poems, find perhaps the whole of them, and make rhymes (easy work that), and be "famous," what a glorious thing it would be!

Here was, alas, no repentance, or even fears of doing wrong. It almost seemed as if the new temptation had obliterated memory of the old theft, and she was about to enter upon what she had always longed for, a career of fame.

She began to haunt the library, particularly the shelves of American poetry; but there was nothing to be found that had special reference to Paul Revere, not one of "the hundred and more pieces."

In this way she wasted a great deal of precious time, until, disappointed and discouraged, she was about asking for another subject, when she came upon a volume of collections of poetry written on the late war, and a sudden thought that this might be made to answer the same purpose unfortunately struck her. She had read this kind of poetry but little; but had enough literary taste to make her choose one of the very best, consequently most popular and well known, for her model. "Model," she said to herself when, delighted, she found how easily she could use it with alterations.

No miser was ever made more happy by a bag of gold than she by this discovery. "Famous! famous! An honor to Montrose Academy!"

In the end, when her poem was ready for Miss Randall's examination, she read it aloud to her room-mates, and their astonishment and delight over her success they were too generous to withhold.

Dorothy had worked very hard on her essay. It was carefully and well done; but Gladys's, short, brilliant, straight to the point, without pause or repetition, was an effort of which an older, more accustomed writer need not have been ashamed.

But neither of these, they decided, could hold any comparison with Susan's. It was Marion who, though she did not recognize the poem, could not forget "Storied West Rock," that listened with a troubled face, and only added a few faint words to those of the others' praise.

"She is an ugly, jealous old thing!" Susan made herself think, as she watched her narrowly; but then would come the thought, "I wonder if she suspects me?" remembering the story, and a cloud fell instantly over the bright sky of her hopes. But she was not to escape so easily; when she carried her poem to Miss Randall, she only glanced at the heading and down over the neatly written page, without reading a line, then said, "Come to me to-morrow afternoon at three, and we will read and correct it together. I hope you have made a success of it."

Susan almost counted the hours until three came; then, proud and happy, she presented herself at Miss Randall's door.

The teacher had the poem on a table before her, and by its side a book, the covers of which Susan recognized at once as being the volume from which she had stolen the poem.

"Sit down, Susan," said Miss Randall gravely.

Then without another word she began to read first a line of Susan's poem, then one from the poem in the book, pausing over the changed words, to substitute the one for the other.

In truth, the changes were very few, how few Susan had not realized until they were thus set before her.

"This is hardly what might be called a parody," Miss Randall said as she ended, looking gravely into Susan's face. "I suppose you had no idea of passing it off as your own work?"

How inevitably one wrong act leads to another! There is an old saying that "one lie takes a hundred to cover it," and it is true.

Susan had confidently expected this to pass for her own; but now, without a moment's hesitation, looking Miss Randall fully in the face, with a pleasant smile she said,—

"Oh, no, Miss Randall! I knew you would recognize it; you are too good a teacher of literature not to suppose you would be familiar with such a fine poem as that. I thought if I made a successful parody, it would be better than any poor thing I could write myself."

Miss Randall was for a moment staggered. Was the girl telling her the truth, or was it only a readily gotten-up excuse? She waited a moment before she answered, then she said coldly,—

"This will not pass at all. I am sorry you have wasted so much time upon it; you will begin at once upon your essay, and, for fear you will be tempted to use some thoughts not your own, I will change the subject. You will write an essay on 'Truth.' Good-afternoon."

"Miss Ashton!" said Miss Randall, presenting herself, a few moments after Susan's departure, in the principal's room. "I am afraid Susan Downer never wrote that excellent story, 'Storied West Rock.' I always have wondered over it, for it was far superior to anything else she has done since she has been in school, and now, I am sure, though she denies it in a very plausible way, that she has copied a poem, with only a few immaterial changes to make it fit her subject, intending to palm it off for her own."

Miss Ashton did not answer at once; she was busy thinking. With the other teachers, her surprise had been great at the ability Susan had shown in the story; and now, instantly, she connected this report of Miss Randall's with Marion's embarrassed mention of Susan's name, and her own intention to discover what was wrong. Perhaps Susan had stolen it, and Marion had become acquainted with the theft. It was not impossible, at any rate she must inquire into it, so she said to Miss Randall.

A day or two was allowed to pass before any further notice was taken of it, then Miss Ashton had decided to spare Marion, and call Susan directly to her. Susan had word sent to her that she was wanted in the principal's room, and obeyed the summons with a heavy heart.

"Susan!" said Miss Ashton, "I am willing to believe that you copied your poem with the innocent intention of passing it off as a parody, and that you really did not know it could not be accepted, but there is one other thing that troubles me. Some time ago you wrote an excellent story called 'Storied West Rock;' was that yours, or another parody?"



Susan! Susan! Tell the truth now; tell it at once, simply, honestly. Do not conceal even how you have suffered from it, not even how unkind and cross you have been to Marion. Own it all at once, quickly, without giving the tempter even a chance to tempt you! Don't you know, don't you see, how much your future depends upon it?

Susan dropped her head upon her chest, the color surging into her face, and the tears dropping from her eyes; but she did not speak a word.

In the silence of the room you could have heard a pin drop.

Miss Ashton was answered. When she spoke there was tenderness and deep feeling in her voice.

"Will you tell me the truth, Susan?" she said. But Susan did not answer; she only burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing, and after waiting a few moments in vain for it to subside, Miss Ashton added, "You had better go to your room now. I hope you will come soon to me, and tell me the whole truth."

Susan rose slowly, lifting her swollen and discolored face up to Miss Ashton with an entreating look the kind principal found it hard to resist; but she did. She held the door open for Susan to pass out, and watched her go down the corridor with a troubled heart.



CHAPTER XXXV.

FAREWELL WORDS.

There was little difficulty when the time came in deciding the four essays to be chosen. Kate Underwood's was in most respects the best, and would take the place usually filled by the valedictory. Dorothy Ottley's was the next strongest, and by far the most thoughtful. To no one's surprise as much as to her own, Gladys Philbrick's was the most brilliant, and Edna Grant's, the best scholar in English literature, the most scholarly.

So the important question was settled a week before commencement, and the young ladies were given their choice, either to read their pieces or to speak them.

Greatly to the surprise of the teachers they all chose to speak them, and the elocution teacher was at once put to drilling them for the occasion.

The choice was pleasantly accepted by the school. Every one of the four were favorites, and whatever disappointment the rejected essayists felt, they kept wisely to themselves.

Susan Downer's essay on "Truth" was a miserable failure, and a disgraced future was the only one she could see opening before her.

She could not summon courage to make a confession to Miss Ashton; she decided, after hours and hours of troubled and vexatious thought, to be silent, trusting to her speedy removal from the school to silence all further questionings.

Such a busy week as this was now at the academy! The mail brought every day piles of letters to teachers and scholars, which must be answered. Invitations were to be sent. All the preliminaries of a great gathering were to be attended to, and both the excitement and the listlessness attendant on a closing year were to be met and combated.

It would be interesting if we could tell the story of each individual during this eventful period, but it would fill a whole volume by itself, so we must be contented by telling simply of those with whom we have had the most to do.

Miss Ashton tried as far as she could, with so much else to attend to, to have a little personal conversation with every pupil who had been under her care for the year. Sometimes she saw them alone, sometimes she took them in classes, according to the importance of what she had to say. Before talking with Marion she sent the following short letter to her mother:—

MY DEAR MRS. PARKE,—I should esteem it a personal favor if you would allow your daughter Marion to remain with me free from expense to you for another year. She has proved in all regards not only an excellent scholar, but, as I wrote you before, the influence of her lovely Christian character has been of great value to me. I shall be glad to do all I can to help her into the influential and well-balanced future I see before her. You need have no fear that a feeling of indebtedness to me will be a burden to her, delicate as her feelings are. I propose, by putting her at the head of my post-office department, to fully repay myself for all she will receive. This will not interfere with her studies or her needed recreation, but will come at hours she can easily spare.

Hoping this will meet with your cordial approbation,

Truly yours, A. S. ASHTON.

It was not until an answer to this had been received that Miss Ashton sent for Marion to come and see her. Marion had in the mean time a letter from her mother, asking if she wished to remain. To which Marion had answered, "Yes! Yes!" So now all Miss Ashton had to do was to tell Marion how satisfied she was both with her and the arrangement, and Marion to tell her kind teacher of her delight in remaining.

Gladys was to return with her father after a pleasant summer spent at Rock Cove, and to her, Miss Ashton had much wise advice to give regarding her future. A motherless child, an indulgent, though wise father, no brothers or sisters, only a crowd of worshipping dependents; probably not to another girl in the whole school was there to come years which would test the character as hers was to be tested.

Excellent advice was given; the question was, Would it be followed?

For Dorothy there was less doubt. Miss Ashton had already found a school for her, where, excellently well-fitted, she could begin in the fall her career as a teacher. Of her success, only Dorothy felt a doubt.

Susan Downer, Miss Ashton had put off seeing until the last, hoping the girl would come herself and confess, if there was anything to confess; but as day after day went by, Susan shunning her when she could, and when she could not, passing her with averted face, Miss Ashton saw she must take the matter into her own hands and settle it one way or other; to ignore was to condone it. It was, therefore, only a few days before the close of the term when Susan, who had grown almost buoyant in her hope of escape, found herself summoned to what she was sure was to be her final trial.

"She can't expel me now," she said to herself triumphantly as she went to the room, "and she can't withhold my diploma, for that is for scholarship, and I stand well there, so I'm safe at any rate."

Still it was a trembling, pale girl that answered Miss Ashton's "Come in."

"I do not want you to leave me uncertain both of your truth and honesty," she said gently. "I have been waiting, hoping you would come to me of yourself, but as you have not, I demand now an answer to my question. Did, or did you not write 'Storied West Rock'?"

"I d—i—d."

Before she had time to finish the answer, Miss Ashton had said emphatically, "not; I know the truth, Susan! I want to spare you the falsehood I see you are about to tell."

"I am not going to ask you where you found the story; I only want you to see, and see so plainly that you can never forget it, how small and mean a thing such a deceit, or any deceit, is, and how sure in the end to turn to the injury of the one who commits it. Of all the class that are to leave me, you, Susan Downer, carry away with you my greatest anxiety for your future. God help and save you, you poor child!"

Miss Ashton's voice had tears in it as she ceased speaking, and those, more than any words she had spoken, reached and moved the girl before her.

"O Miss Ashton! Miss Ashton!" Susan cried, rushing to her, and throwing both arms around her neck. "Do, do, do, please forgive me? It was Marion Parke's book, and I thought no one would ever know. I've been so sorry. I'd have given worlds, worlds, worlds, if I had never seen it! O Miss Ashton, what shall I, shall I do?"

"Ask God to forgive you," Miss Ashton said solemnly. "It is another and a greater judge than I that has the power to do so. If I were only sure," but she did not finish her sentence, she only loosened Susan's arms gently from around her neck, then said "good-by" to her, and watched her once more as she went away down the corridor.

"And Marion Parke knew it all the time, but would not tell on Susan," she said to herself as she turned back into her room. "Marion is a girl to be depended upon, I am glad she is to stay with me."

"Kate Underwood," she said, when Kate's time came for the farewell counsel, taking both of the girl's hands in hers, "I'm proud of you. You have done of late what many older and wiser persons have failed to do,—learned the lesson, which I hope has been learned for your lifetime, that there is no fun in things, however written or spoken, that hurt other's feelings. I have seen you many times thoughtful and tender, when your face was alive with the ridiculous thing you saw or heard. Kate, I feel so much safer to let you go from me now than I should have six, even three months ago. Tell me, will you try not to forget?"

"I'll be good as long as I live. I'll never make fun, no, not even of myself," burst out Kate, "though now I'm dying to get before a mirror and see how I must have looked when you thought me so thoughtful. Was it so, Miss Ashton?" and Kate made up a face which a sterner rebuker than her teacher could not have seen without a smile.

"There's no use, Kate," she said; "go now, only don't forget."

And Kate made a sweeping courtesy and disappeared.

With Mamie Smythe she had a long talk, not one word of which did either divulge. In that hour it would be safe to say Mamie learned some life-lessons which it will be hard for her to forget.

And so the time passed on. Recitations ceased four days before commencement, and the girls, those even who thought themselves over busy before, found every hour brought a fresh claim upon their time.

"Our bee-hive," Miss Ashton called it, and the girls called her the "queen bee," and made many secret plans about the various gifts they were to give her the last night of the term. The ceremony this year was to be a public one, therefore of great importance.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

WOMEN'S WORK.

The night before commencement Miss Ashton had reserved for the reading of notices of woman's work and success. This she did at that time, because she wished her pupils to carry away a full belief not only in their own abilities, but also in the position which, with diligence, these abilities would enable them to reach.

The whole school gathered in the hall. Miss Ashton had requested that the notices should be handed in to her a few days previous. Now she said, "Young ladies, I am both surprised and pleased at the readiness and faithfulness with which you have responded to my request. I have here," lifting a pretty, ribbon-tied basket, "at least one hundred different notices! Just think! one hundred instances in which women have tried, and have succeeded in earning not only a respectable, but a successful livelihood. This fact speaks so well for itself, that all remaining for me to do is to read you some of these notices. I must make a selection from among them, and the first one I will read I am sure will interest you:—

"'Mlle. Sarmisa Bileesco, the first woman admitted to the bar in France, is said to have taken the highest rank in a class of five hundred men at the Ecole du Droit, Paris, where she studied after receiving the degree of Bachelor of Letters and Science in Bucharest. She has begun to practise law in the latter city, where her father is a banker.'

"Here is another one in the same profession:—

"'Mrs. Tel Sone is a leading lawyer in Japan, and has a large and profitable practice.'

"'Miss Jean Gordon of Cincinnati, upon whom will be conferred the degree of Ph.G. at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy, has earned the highest average ever attained by any woman graduate of that institution. Out of one hundred and eighty-four graduates of this year, only six obtained the highest rating of "distinguished." Miss Gordon was one of the six. She was the only woman in her class, and had to contend with bright young men.'

"Miss Gordon, I think," remarked Miss Ashton, "has a distinguished future before her.

"'Female professors and lecturers are to be introduced into the Michigan University at Ann Arbor.'

"'Two female medical graduates have been appointed house surgeons at two English hospitals.'

"'An Ohio girl discovered a way of transforming a barrel of petroleum into ten thousand cubic feet of gas.'

"'Another woman has constructed a machine which will make as many paper bags in a day as thirty men can put together.'

"'An invention which you hardly would have expected from a woman, is a war vessel that is susceptible of being converted off-hand into a fort by simply taking it apart.'

"'Chicago, March 25. Miss Sophia G. Hayden of Boston wins the one thousand-dollar prize offered for the best design for the woman's buildings of the World's Fair.'" (A sensation among the scholars, which pleased Miss Ashton). "'Miss Lois L. Howe, also of Boston, was second, five hundred dollars, and Miss Laura Hayes of Chicago gets the two hundred and fifty dollars offered for the third best design.

"'Miss Hayden is a first-honor graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Miss Howe is from the same institution. Miss Hayes is Mrs. Potter Palmer's private secretary.

"'As soon as the awards were made, Miss Hayden was wired to come to Chicago immediately and elaborate her plans. The design is one of marked simplicity. It is in the Italian renaissance style, with colonnades, broken by centre and end pavilions. The structure is to be 200 x 400 feet, and 50 feet to the cornice. There is no dome. The chief feature of ornamentation is the entrance.'

"I am glad to tell those of you young ladies who feel symptoms of architectural genius only waiting for development, that year by year this institute is opening its door wider and wider to admit women. This last year the ten who are new members of it were for the first time invited to a class supper, going to it matronized by Mrs. Walker, the wife of the president.

"One other thing I want you to remark. These three young ladies, by their ability, and the success which is the fruit only of faithful study, have done more for women's advancement than has been accomplished for years.

"A man who is a successful architect occupies an important and proud position; that a woman can do the same is no small help in the struggle she is now making.

"I recommend them to you as examples, particularly as I know there are a number among you who will not be content to let graduation from this school end your educational life.

"The next I shall read you is a notice of women as journalists:—

"'Let me give you a fact about women as journalists in my own office,' said the editor of one of the largest dailies to me a few days ago.

"'Five years ago I employed one woman on my staff, to-day I have over twenty, and the best work which appears in our papers is from the pen of women writers. Of course you cannot give women all sorts of commissions; but if I want a really conscientious piece of work done nowadays, I give it to one of our women. I find absolutely they do their work more thoroughly than do the men.'

"Young ladies, it has always been complained of women that, though they are quicker, guided by instincts that act promptly and for the greater part correctly, they are not patient or thorough. Now, as I have told you so often that it must sound trite to you to have me repeat it, it is only patient thoroughness that wins. I am glad to have this editor of one of our largest dailies give this indubitable testimony that we can be thorough if we will. For those of you who neither wish nor expect to continue study any further, I will read the opportunity offered for a bucolic life:—

"'Miss Antoinette Knaggs, a young woman with a good collegiate education, owns and manages a farm of two hundred acres in Ohio. She says she made money last year, and expects to make more this year. "I have tried various ways of farming," she says, "but I find I can get along best when I manage my farm myself. I tried employing a manager, but I found he managed chiefly for himself. Then I sub-let to tenants, and they used up my stock and implements, and the returns were unsatisfactory. So I have taken the management into my own hands, planting such crops as I think best, and I find I am a very good farmer, if I do say it myself.'"

"Said the daughter of a New Hampshire farmer to me a few days ago," continued Miss Ashton, "'When my father died my mother took the control of our whole large farm into her own hands. She managed so well that we have sold our farm and moved down to suburban Boston, where we can command the literary advantages she has taught us not only to prize but to love.' The collegiate education fitted Miss Knaggs to be a better, wiser farmer. I hope if it shall be the choice of any of you, you will find yourself abler for your life here."

"I am sure we shall," thought a Dakota young lady, whose father's broad ranch covered many a goodly acre, and whose secret wish had always been to own a ranch of her own.

"There seems to be no profession now from which a woman is shut out, though we hear of fewer among lawyers than in any other profession. I find only one more among all these notices. 'Fourteen women were graduated from the university of New York Law School last night, among the number being Mrs. George B. McClellan, daughter-in-law of the late General McClellan.' But I well know there have been women associated with their husbands in the law. Women also with their own offices, doing a large and important business.

"In England, civil service is open to them; and though it does not correspond of course with our law, still the same strict education is needed for success.

"Here is a paper which states the terms on which ladies enter the civil service.

"'They enter as second-class clerks, receiving $325 a year, rising by fifteen dollars a year to $400. Here the maximum, which is certainly small, is reached; but there is promotion by merit to clerkships, rising to $550 a year, and a few higher places, which go up to $850. Three lady superintendents each receive up to $2,000, and four assistant superintendents each $1,000. The work is not difficult, and the hours are seven a day. An annual holiday of a month is allowed.'

"These wages are no larger than would be paid here for the same services. I know women have no difficulty, if once elected, in filling clerkships and secretaryships, and they even have important places in the treasury department at Washington. A very telling record might be, probably has been, made of their successes there.

"In the medical profession we all know how rapidly they have risen to the front. Stories that sound almost fabulous are told of the income some of the most talented receive; and to show the popularity this new movement has attained, it is only necessary to state that at the present day it would be hard to find a town, north, south, east, or west, which has not its woman doctor. The medical colleges have large classes of them; and in Europe names of many American girls, if they do not lead in number, do at least in ability."

Here there was a resolute stamping and clapping, which pleased Miss Ashton too much for her to attempt to stop it.

"If I had more time I could tell you some wonderful but entirely true stories of difficult surgical operations being performed in foreign hospitals by young American women in so remarkable a way that they excited not only the applause of the fellow-students, but won prizes.

"As this is only one of the professions, I must hurry on to the ministry. We all know that in some of our denominations there are numbers of women who occupy the place of settled minister, and do well. On the whole, however, they may be considered more successful as lecturers, Bible-readers, and elocution teachers; and then there is a wide open field to them as actresses and singers; indeed, no public or private way of earning a livelihood or a reputation is denied them.

"Teaching always has been theirs, and year after year the profession becomes more and more crowded and the requirements for good teachers more strict. Many of you, young ladies, I find are looking forward to this in your immediate future. I need not here urge upon you the necessity of being well prepared when your day for examination comes. I have held it up before you during all the past year.

"This is an incomplete list of the great things which I expect you young ladies of the graduating class to perform. I would not, however, on any account, forget that broad and specially adapted woman's work,—the different philanthropic schemes with which this nineteenth century abounds.

"So many are in women's hands; like women's boards of missions, children's hospitals, homes for little wanderers, young women's Christian homes, young women's industrial union, North End missions, Bible-readers, evangelists, flower committees for supplying the sick in charity hospitals, providing excursions for poor children, providing homes in the country for the destitute and orphan children, society of little wanderers, newspaper boys' home, boot-black boys' home.

"It is possible for me to name but a small part of them, but those of you who have the means of helping any one of these objects named, or any of the many others, will remember, I hope, that wonderful cup of cold water which, given, shall give to the giver the rich reward.

"This will probably be my last opportunity to speak to you alone as my school. Let me thank you heartily for all you have done this year, and some of you for four long years, to make our life together pleasant, and we hope acceptable to our great Taskmaster. I wish you now, for myself and all the other teachers, a pleasant vacation, and a safe return to those of you who are to come back to us."

There were many quiet tears shed among the girls, and Miss Ashton's eyes were not quite dry.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

COMMENCEMENT.

Commencement morning rose upon Montrose clear, bright, and hot. Almost with the first dawn of the early day the hum of busy preparation began. Every hour of the previous day and night had brought parents and friends, some from great distances, to attend the celebration.

The quiet town swarmed with strangers, all with faces turned toward the large brick building which, standing boldly prominent on its hill, had a welcoming look, as if the roses around it, that filled the air with their delicious fragrance, had blossomed that morning in new and charming beauty.

The lawn, plentifully besprinkled with small flower-beds, was elsewhere one broad sheet of velvet green; and the blossoms of every variety and every hue crowded the beds so cheerfully, so merrily, that many parents lingered as they passed them, their hearts warming at the sight of the Eden in which their daughters had lived.

Commencement exercises were to be held in the large hall, to which ushers appointed for that purpose took all the visitors before the entrance of the school, so it really made quite an imposing show when Miss Ashton, arm in arm with the president of the Board of Trustees, came slowly in, the gentlemen composing the board following, then the teachers, and after them the pupils in their gay holiday dresses. The senior class, of course the most prominent, coming onto the stage with the other dignitaries.

There was nothing of peculiar interest in the exercises that followed. Commencements all over the country are much the same. The four young ladies who were to read their essays acquitted themselves well. Gladys, to her father's great delight, with her soft Southern voice, her sparkling face, and her easy, self-possessed, graceful ways, was the undoubted favorite. A storm of applause followed the reading, and bouquets of flowers fell around her in great profusion.

It was the bestowing of the diplomas that attracted the most attention.

There was something touching in the gentle smile of the aged president as, calling each member of the class by her name, he spoke a few Latin words and handed her the parchment that made her for life an alumna of Montrose Academy. It was almost as if he had laid his hand on her head in benediction.

The pleasant dinner that followed was the next marked event of the day. To this all the school, and as many invited guests as could be accommodated, sat down, and the large hall was full of the cheerful voices of those who had come to congratulate and those who were congratulated. Nothing could have made a more fitting ending to the home-life of the busy year; so many kindly, cheering words spoken, so much of hearty encouragement for the coming year.

Pupils and teachers, some of them together for the last time, but hardly among them an exception to the tender affection which bound them together.

Susan Downer had been graduated. She held her diploma in her hand as she went off the stage with the others, but she was far from happy. "Miss Ashton is glad to have me go," she thought. "She neither respects nor loves me."

No one noticed her dejection. Amidst the general happiness she seemed to herself forgotten, almost shunned. "And I had hoped," she thought, "to make this such a triumphal day!"

It would be idle to waste any sympathy on Susan. There is an old adage, "As you make your bed, so must you lie in it." She had done a dishonorable, untrue thing, and had repented only over its consequences.

It is very sad but true, that what we have once done, or left undone, said, or not said, can never be recalled. No repentance can efface its memory; no tears can blot it out; and only one, the great, kind Father, can forgive.

Susan to the last day of her life will have that act clinging to her. She can never forget it.

The moral is obvious, needing no words to make it plainer.

Immediately after dinner the school broke up and the departures began.

The farewells that were spoken, the tears that were shed, the oft-repeated kisses that were given, it would be difficult to tell.

By twilight the large building began to have a desolated look. Miss Ashton, pale and tired, stood bravely in a doorway, kissed and wiped away tears, and silently blessed pupil after pupil in rapid succession.

The Rock Cove party considerately made their farewells brief, and taking Marion with them hurried to the evening train that was to carry them home. Then down over the building settled the beautiful June twilight, and the year of study was over.



A. L. Burt's Catalogue of Books for Young People by Popular Writers, 52-58 Duane Street, New York

BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. By Lewis Carroll. 12mo, cloth, 42 illustrations, price 75 cents.

"From first to last, almost without exception, this story is delightfully droll, humorous and illustrated in harmony with the story."—New York Express.

Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There. By Lewis Carroll. 12mo, cloth, 50 illustrations, price 75 cents.

"A delight alike to the young people and their elders, extremely funny both in text and illustrations."—Boston Express.

Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"This story is unique among tales intended for children, alike for pleasant instruction, quaintness of humor, gentle pathos, and the subtlety with which lessons moral and otherwise are conveyed to children, and perhaps to their seniors as well."—The Spectator.

Joan's Adventures at the North Pole and Elsewhere. By Alice Corkran. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents

"Wonderful as the adventures of Joan are, it must be admitted that they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Altogether this is an excellent story for girls."—Saturday Review.

Count Up the Sunny Days: A Story for Girls and Boys. By C. A. Jones. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"An unusually good children's story."—Glasgow Herald.

The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Among all the modern writers we believe Miss Yonge first, not in genius, but in this, that she employs her great abilities for a high and noble purpose. We know of few modern writers whose works may be so safely commended as hers."—Cleveland Times.

Jan of the Windmill. A Story of the Plains. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Never has Mrs. Ewing published a more charming volume, and that is saying a very great deal. From the first to the last the book overflows with the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely survives childhood: and moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which is never anything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and never clumsy."—Academy.

A Sweet Girl Graduate. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of this popular author's best. The characters are well imagined and drawn. The story moves with plenty of spirit and the interest does not flag until the end too quickly comes."—Providence Journal.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher. A, L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street. New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Six to Sixteen: A Story for Girls. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"There is no doubt as to the good quality and attractiveness of 'Six to Sixteen.' The book is one which would enrich any girl's book shelf."—St. James' Gazette.

The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"A bright and interesting story. The many admirers of Mrs. L. T. Meade in this country will be delighted with the 'Palace Beautiful' for more reasons than one. It is a charming book for girls."—New York Recorder.

A World of Girls: The Story of a School. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of those wholesome stories which it does one good to read. It will afford pure delight to numerous readers. This book should be on every girl's book shelf."—Boston Home Journal.

The Lady of the Forest: A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"This story is written in the author's well-known, fresh and easy style. All girls fond of reading will be charmed by this well-written story. It is told with the author's customary grace and spirit."—Boston Times.

At the Back of the North Wind. By George Macdonald. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"A very pretty story, with much of the freshness and vigor of Mr. Macdonald's earlier work.... It is a sweet, earnest, and wholesome fairy story, and the quaint native humor is delightful. A most delightful volume for young readers."—Philadelphia Times.

The Water Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. By Charles Kingsley. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The strength of his work, as well as its peculiar charms, consist in his description of the experiences of a youth with life under water in the luxuriant wealth of which he revels with all the ardor of a poetical nature."—New York Tribune.

Our Bessie. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of the most entertaining stories of the season, full of vigorous action, and strong in character-painting. Elder girls will be charmed with it, and adults may read its pages with profit."—The Teachers' Aid.

Wild Kitty. A Story of Middleton School. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Kitty is a true heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm of humanity. One of the most attractive gift books of the season."—The Academy.

A Young Mutineer. A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of Mrs. Meade's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first among writers for young people."—The Spectator.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Sue and I. By Mrs. O'Reilly. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"A thoroughly delightful book, full of sound wisdom as well as fun,"—Athenaeum.

The Princess and the Goblin. A Fairy Story. By George Macdonald. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"If a child once begins this book, it will get so deeply interested in it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and will weary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more to see how everything ends."—Saturday Review.

Pythia's Pupils: A Story of a School. By Eva Hartner. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"This story of the doings of several bright school girls is sure to interest girl readers. Among many good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one of the very best."—Teachers' Aid.

A Story of a Short Life. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The book is one we can heartily recommend, for it is not only bright and interesting, but also pure and healthy in tone and teaching."—Courier.

The Sleepy King. A Fairy Tale. By Aubrey Hopwood and Seymour Hicks. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Wonderful as the adventures of Bluebell are, it must be admitted that they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Altogether this is an excellent story for girls."—Saturday Review.

Two Little Waifs. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of 'Two Little Waifs' will charm all the small people who find it in their stockings. It relates the adventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is just wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart."—New York Tribune.

Adventures in Toyland. By Edith King Hall. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"The author is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of the adventures is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect."—Boston Courier.

Adventures in Wallypug Land. By G. E. Farrow. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"These adventures are simply inimitable, and will delight boys and girls of mature age, as well as their juniors. No happier combination of author and artist than this volume presents could be found to furnish healthy amusement to the young folks. The book is an artistic one in every sense."—Toronto Mail.

Fussbudget's Folks. A Story for Young Girls. By Anna F. Burnham. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Mrs. Burnham has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and strong, characters."—Congregationalist.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Mixed Pickles. A Story for Girls. By Mrs. E. M. Field. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"It is, in its way, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people. It is not too much to say of the story that it is perfect of its kind."—Good Literature.

Miss Mouse and Her Boys. A Story for Girls. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Mrs. Molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well adapted to refined life. It is safe to add that she is the best English prose writer for children. A new volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always a treat."—The Beacon.

Gilly Flower. A Story for Girls. By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission." 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Jill is a little guardian angel to three lively brothers who tease and play with her.... Her unconscious goodness brings right thoughts and resolves to several persons who come into contact with her. There is no goodiness in this tale, but its influence is of the best kind."—Literary World.

The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The White and Black Ribaumont. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up readers may enjoy it as much as children. It is one of the best books of the season."—Guardian.

Naughty Miss Bunny: Her Tricks and Troubles. By Clara Mulholland. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"The naughty child is positively delightful. Papas should not omit the book from their list of juvenile presents."—Land and Water.

Meg's Friend. By Alice Corkran. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of Miss Corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first among writers for young people."—The Spectator.

Averil. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"A charming story for young folks. Averil is a delightful creature— piquant, tender, and true—and her varying fortunes are perfectly realistic."—World.

Aunt Diana. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1,00.

"An excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to last. This is, both in its intention and the way the story is told, one of the best books of its kind which has come before us this year."—Saturday Review.

Little Sunshine's Holiday: A Picture from Life. By Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"This is a pretty narrative of child life, describing the simple doings and sayings of a very charming and rather precocious child. This is a delightful book for young people."—Gazette.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Esther's Charge. A Story for Girls. By Ellen Everett Green. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"... This is a story showing in a charming way how one little girl's jealousy and bad temper-were conquered; one of the best, most suggestive and improving of the Christmas juveniles."—New York Tribune.

Fairy Land of Science. By Arabella B. Buckley, 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"We can highly recommend it; not only for the valuable information it gives on the special subjects to which it is dedicated, but also as a book teaching natural sciences in an interesting way. A fascinating little volume, which will make friends in every household in which there are children."—Daily News.

Merle's Crusade. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than this book. Like all of this author's stories it will please young readers by the very attractive and charming style in which it is written."—Journal.

Birdie: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L, Childe-Pemberton. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it that makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of children at play which charmed his earlier years."—New York Express.

The Days of Bruce: A Story from Scottish History. By Grace Aguilar. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00,

"There is a delightful freshness, sincerity and vivacity about all of Grace Aguilar's stories which cannot fail to win the interest and admiration of every lover of good reading."—Boston Beacon.

Three Bright Girls: A Story of Chance and Mischance. By Annie E. Armstrong. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The charm of the story lies in the cheery helpfulness of spirit developed in the girls by their changed circumstances; while the author finds a pleasant ending to all their happy makeshifts. The story is charmingly told, and the book can be warmly recommended as a present for girls."—Standard.

Giannetta: A Girl's Story of Herself. By Rosa Mulholland. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Extremely well told and full of interest. Giannetta is a true heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays are, largely touched with enthusiasm of humanity. The illustrations are unusually good. One of the most attractive gift books of the season."—The Academy.

Margery Merton's Girlhood. By Alice Corkran. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The experiences of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her father to the care of an elderly aunt residing near Paris. The accounts of the various persons who have an after influence on the story are singularly vivid. There is a subtle attraction about the book which will make it a great favorite with thoughtful girls."—Saturday Review.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher. A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Under False Colors: A Story from Two Girls' Lives. By Sarah Doudney. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Sarah Doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories—pure in style, original in conception, and with skillfully wrought out plots; but we have seen nothing equal in dramatic energy to this book."—Christian Leader.

Down the Snow Stairs: or, From Good-night to Good-morning. By Alice Corkran. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Among all the Christmas volumes which the year has brought to our table this one stands out facile princeps—a gem of the first water, bearing upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius.... All is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the dream appears to be a solid reality. It is indeed a Little Pilgrim's Progress." —Christian Leader.

The Tapestry Room: A Child's Romance. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Mrs. Molesworth is a charming painter of the nature and ways of children; and she has done good service in giving us this charming juvenile which will delight the young people."—Athenaeum, London.

Little Miss Peggy: Only a Nursery Story. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Mrs. Molesworth's children are finished studies. A joyous earnest spirit pervades her work, and her sympathy is unbounded. She loves them with her whole heart, while she lays bare their little minds, and expresses their foibles, their faults, their virtues, their inward struggles, their conception of duty, and their instinctive knowledge of the right and wrong of things. She knows their characters, she understands their wants, and she desires to help them."

Polly: A New Fashioned Girl. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Few authors have achieved a popularity equal to Mrs. Meade as a writer of stories for young girls. Her characters are living beings of flesh and blood, not lay figures of conventional type. Into the trials and crosses, and everyday experiences, the reader enters at once with zest and hearty sympathy. While Mrs. Meade always writes with a high moral purpose, her lessons of life, purity and nobility of character are rather inculcated by example than intruded as sermons.

One of a Covey. By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission." 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up readers may enjoy it as much as children. This 'Covey' consists of the twelve children of a hard-pressed Dr. Partridge out of which is chosen a little girl to be adopted by a spoiled, fine lady. We have rarely read a story for boys and girls with greater pleasure. One of the chief characters would not have disgraced Dickens' pen."—Literary World.

The Little Princess of Tower Hill. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"This is one of the prettiest books for children published, as pretty as a pond-lily, and quite as fragrant. Nothing could be imagined more attractive to young people than such a combination of fresh pages and fair pictures: and while children will rejoice over it—which is much better than crying for it—it is a book that can be read with pleasure even by older boys and girls."—Boston Advertiser.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Rosy. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

Mrs. Molesworth, considering the quality and quantity of her labors, is the best story-teller for children England has yet known.

"This is a very pretty story. The writer knows children, and their ways well. The illustrations are exceedingly well drawn."—Spectator.

Esther: A Book for Girls. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"She inspires her readers simply by bringing them in contact with the characters, who are in themselves inspiring. Her simple stories are woven in order to give her an opportunity to describe her characters by their own conduct in seasons of trial."—Chicago Times.

Sweet Content. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success. Our own age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of George Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as Mrs. Molesworth's."—A. C. Swinbourne.

Honor Bright; or, The Four-Leaved Shamrock. By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission." 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"It requires a special talent to describe the sayings and doings of children, and the author of 'Honor Bright,' 'One of a Covey,' possesses that talent in no small degree. A cheery, sensible, and healthy tale."—The Times.

The Cuckoo Clock. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"A beautiful little story. It will be read with delight by every child into whose hands it is placed.... The author deserves all the praise that has been, is, and will be bestowed on 'The Cuckoo Clock.' Children's stories are plentiful, but one like this is not to be met with every day."—Pall Mall Gazette.

The Adventures of a Brownie. As Told to my Child. By Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"The author of this delightful little book leaves it in doubt all through whether there actually is such a creature in existence as a Brownie, but she makes us hope that there might be."—Chicago Standard.

Only a Girl: A Tale of Brittany. From the French by C. A. Jones. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"We can thoroughly recommend this brightly written and homely narrative."—Saturday Review.

Little Rosebud; or, Things Will Take a Turn. By Beatrice Harraden. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"A most delightful little book... Miss Harraden is so bright, so healthy, and so natural withal that the book ought, as a matter of duty, to be added to every girl's library in the land."—Boston Transcript.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

Girl Neighbors; or, The Old Fashion and the New. By Sarah Tytler. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"One of the most effective and quietly humorous of Miss Tytler's stories. 'Girl Neighbors' is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—Spectator.

The Little Lame Prince and His Traveling Cloak. By Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"No sweeter—that is the proper word—-Christmas story for the little folks could easily be found, and it is as delightful for older readers as well. There is a moral to it which the reader can find out for himself, if he chooses to think."—Cleveland Herald.

Little Miss Joy. By Emma Marshall. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"A very pleasant and instructive story, told by a very charming writer in such an attractive way as to win favor among its young readers. The illustrations add to the beauty of the book."—Utica Herald.

The House that Grew. A Girl's Story. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"This is a very pretty story of English life. Mrs. Molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of English story-writers for children. Her child characters are true to life, always natural and attractive, and her stories are wholesome and interesting."—Indianapolis Journal.

The House of Surprises. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"A charming tale of charming children, who are naughty enough to be interesting, and natural enough to be lovable; and very prettily their story is told. The quaintest yet most natural stories of child life. Simply delightful."—Vanity Fair.

The Jolly Ten: and their Year of Stories. By Agnes Carr Sage. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

The story of a band of cousins who were accustomed to meet at the "Pinery," with "Aunt Roxy." At her fireside they play merry games, have suppers flavored with innocent fun, and listen to stories—each with its lesson calculated to make the ten not less jolly, but quickly responsive to the calls of duty and to the needs of others.

Little Miss Dorothy. The Wonderful Adventures of Two Little People. By Martha James. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

"This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. James, detailing the various adventures of a couple of young children. Their many adventures are told in a charming manner, and the book will please young girls and boys."—Montreal Star.

Pen's Venture. A Story for Girls. By Elvirton Wright. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents.

Something Pen saw in the condition of the cash girls in a certain store gave her a thought; the thought became a plan; the plan became a venture—Pen's venture. It is amusing, touching, and instructive to read about it.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



FAIRY BOOKS.

The Blue Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

"The tales are simply delightful. No amount of description can do them justice. The only way is to read the book through from cover to cover."—Book Review.

The Green Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

"The most delightful book of fairy tales, taking form and contents together, ever presented to children."—E. S. Hartland, in Folk-Lore.

The Yellow Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

"As a collection of fairy tales to delight children of all ages, it ranks second to none."—Daily Graphic.

The Red Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

"A gift-book that will charm any child, and all older folk, who have been fortunate enough to retain their taste for the old nursery stories."—Literary World.

Celtic Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"A stock of delightful little narratives gathered chiefly from the Celtic-speaking peasants of Ireland. A perfectly lovely book. And oh! the wonderful pictures inside. Get this book if you can; it is capital, all through."—Pall Mall Budget.

English Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The tales are simply delightful. No amount of description can do them justice. The only way is to read the book through from cover to cover. The book is intended to correspond to 'Grimm's Fairy Tales,' and it must be allowed that its pages fairly rival in interest those of that well-known repository of folk-lore."—Morning Herald.

Indian Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"Mr. Jacobs brings home to us in a clear and intelligible manner the enormous influence which 'Indian Fairy Tales' have had upon European literature of the kind. The present combination will be welcomed not alone by the little ones for whom it is specially combined, but also by children of larger growth and added years."—Daily Telegraph.

Household Fairy Tales. By the Brothers Grimm. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"As a collection of fairy tales to delight children of all ages this work ranks second to none."—Daily Graphic.

Fairy Tales and Stories. By Hans Christian Andersen. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"If I were asked to select a child's library I should name these three volumes, 'English,' 'Celtic,' and 'Indian Fairy Tales,' with Grimm and Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales."—Independent.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



FAIRY BOOKS.

Popular Fairy Tales. By the Brothers Grimm. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"From first to last, almost without exception, these stories are delightful."—Athenaeum.

Icelandic Fairy Tales. By A. W. Hall. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

"The most delightful book of fairy tales, taking form and contents together, ever presented to children. The whole collection is dramatic and humorous. A more desirable child's book has not been seen for many a day."—Daily News.