his, except for the credit it would give him. But his
father, who was ambitious for him, had promised him twenty-five
dollars if he succeeded, and he had already appropriated this sum in
imagination. He had determined to invest it in a handsome boat which he
had seen for sale in Boston on his last visit to that city.

"After careful consideration," continued the teacher, "I have decided
that the prize should be adjudged to an essay entitled 'The Duties of
Boys on the Present National Crisis,' written by Frank Frost."

There was a general clapping of hands at this announcement. Frank was
a general favorite, and even his disappointed rivals felt a degree of
satisfaction in feeling that he had obtained the prize.

There was one exception, however. John Haynes turned pale, and then red,
with anger and vexation. He scowled darkly while the rest of the boys
were applauding, and persuaded himself that he was the victim of a great
piece of injustice.

Frank's face flushed with pleasure, and his eyes danced with delight. He
had made a great effort to succeed, and he knew that at home they would
be very happy to hear that the prize had been awarded to him.

"Frank Frost will come forward," said Mr. Rathburn.

Frank left his seat, and advanced modestly. Mr. Rathburn placed in his
hand a neat edition of Whittier's Poem's in blue and gold.

"Let this serve as an incentive to renewed effort," he said.

The second prize was awarded to one of the girls. As she has no part in
our story, we need say nothing more on this point.

At recess, Frank's desk was surrounded by his schoolmates, who were
desirous of examining the prize volumes. All expressed hearty good-will,
congratulating him on his success, with the exception of John Haynes.

"You seem mighty proud of your books, Frank Frost," said he with a
sneer. "We all know that you're old Rathburn's favorite. It didn't make
much difference what you wrote, as long as you were sure of the prize."

"For shame, John Haynes!" exclaimed little Harvey Grover impetuously.
"You only say that because you wanted the prize yourself, and you're
disappointed."

"Disappointed!" retorted John scornfully. "I don't want any of old
Rathburn's sixpenny books. I can buy as many as I please. If he'd given
'em to me, I should have asked him to keep 'em for those who needed 'em
more."

Frank was justly indignant at the unfriendly course which John chose
to pursue, but feeling that it proceeded from