gh: "That sounds like what the girls call fishing
for compliments. Zaidee will be the family beauty."

"And you have a voice, that with the proper training, may be very fine,
indeed. I noticed it this morning in the hymn."

"Oh, do you think so? I love to sing," and her face was a-light with
pleasure. "But it seems to me that it isn't, well--neither alto nor
soprano; I can't keep it to a true sound."

"It is a contralto and has some most expressive notes in it. Of course,
you will be trained in music."

"Mrs. Barrington spoke of it in the next term. Some of the girls sing
beautifully. I was to take up several new studies. Oh, there are so many
splendid things to learn."

Her face was aglow with enthusiasm and gave promise of something finer
than mere beauty. There had been a good deal of repression in her life
since she had come to understand, in a measure, her own desires. She had
held them back because she did not want to make Mrs. Boyd unhappy with
the difference between them, when she saw that the elder woman was
making any effort to indulge her fancies, and during these months at
school had settled to a grave deportment, that she might better sustain
her authority. The lack of spontaneity had puzzled Mrs. Barrington, when
in some moments she caught the ardor and glow of an inward possibility.

"I think you will be in the right place now," remarked Edith with a
smile. "One with a strong individuality at times surmounts adverse
circumstances, but when there are so many events to hamper, one does
lose courage and begins to question whether the effort and sacrifice
will pay for the late reward."

"Oh, let me have Miss Lilian awhile," besought Claire. "I want her to
inspect my playhouse, while you and mother put away the dishes and
things."

The playhouse was an old time cabinet with the doors taken off. One
shelf, the highest, was full of curiosities, the next of books, the
third left out and the dolls had it to themselves. There was a parlor in
one end, a sleeping room in the other and three pretty dolls were in
their chairs, ranged round a table, inspecting their Christmas gifts.

"I wouldn't have any new dolls this time," she began, with a touch of
weariness in her voice. "For after all you can't make them real. I play
school with them. I read them stories. I dress them and take them out
riding, but I have to do the talking for them and sometimes it gets so
dull. There's too much make-believe. I shall be g