eringly. It was
not everyone in Oakdale who was familiar with the little, dark-haired
girl.

"My dear," said Miss Thompson, very handsome and imposing in a gray silk
dress, "I am happy to be the one to hand you these two prizes. You have
worked hard and richly deserve them both. I am sure everyone in this
house to-night is glad that your winter's unceasing labors are crowned
with success, and I now recommend you to take a good rest, for such
prizes are only earned by earnest and hard application, and hard work
carries with it, sometimes, its own penalty." (She placed special
emphasis on these last words.) "You have indeed earned the right to a
happy vacation."

Two bouquets were handed over the footlights at this point, one a
beautiful bunch of pink roses and the other of lilies of the valley.

Mrs. Gray had sent the roses Grace felt sure. It was her custom always
to send such a bouquet to the one who carried off the prize. But who had
sent the lilies of the valley?

"Very likely David," Grace said to herself, watching the boy's face as
Anne took the flowers from the usher.

Had he known then that his sister had lost the prize, or was his faith
in Anne so great?

But something had happened.

Suddenly the waves, which for the last half hour had been roaring and
tossing about Anne, seemed to submerge her completely. She felt a horrid
sensation of sickness for a moment; and then down, down she sank to the
bottom of nothing, carrying her flowers and prizes with her.

"She's fainted!" cried some one. "The poor, little, tired girl has
fainted!"

A tall young graduate picked up the small, limp figure and carried her
off the stage as easily as if she had been a child. The closing
exercises were then resumed, the benediction pronounced and the audience
filed out somewhat silently.

Grace and her friends hurried around behind the scenes, where they found
Mrs. Gray in the act of placing a smelling-salts bottle to Anne's
nostrils, while Tom Gray and David Nesbit were cooling her temples with
lumps of ice. "She is conscious at last!" exclaimed the old lady, as
Anne opened her eyes. "It was entirely too much excitement for this
delicate, worn-out child. Tom, order the carriage. I mean to take her
straight to my own house and nurse her myself. I am the only person in
this town who has time to give her all the care and attention she needs.
I feel like such a lazy, good-for-nothing old woman when I see all these
bright you