ore the Cambridge.
We had preliminary examinations at school, and had worked so hard that
we were perfectly dazed and muddled. Then one day `Magister,' as we
called him, marched into the room to read the result of the arithmetic
paper. I can see him now, standing up with the list in his hands, and
all the girls' faces turned towards him. Then he began to read: `Total
number of marks, one hundred. Kate Evans, eighty-nine; Sybil Bruce,
eighty-two; Hilda Green, seventy-one;' so on and so on--down, and down
and down until it came to thirties and twenties, and still no mention of
Mary or of me! The girls' faces were a study to behold. As for the
`Magister' he put on the most exaggerated expression of horror, and just
hissed out the last few words--`Laura Everett, _twelve_! Ma-ry Mac-gre-
gor, _ten_!' We sat dumb, petrified, frozen with dismay, and then
suddenly he banged his book on the table and called out, `No more
lessons! No more work! I forbid any girl to open a book again before
Monday morning. Off you go, and give your brains a rest, if you don't
wish to disgrace yourselves and me. Give my compliments to your
mothers, and say I wish you _all_ to be taken to the Circus this
evening.' He nodded at us quite cheerfully, and marched out of the room
there and then, leaving us to pack up our books and go home, Mary and I
cried a little, I remember, in a feeble, helpless sort of way; but we
were too tired to care very much. I slept like a log all the afternoon,
and went to the Circus at night, and the next day I skated, and on
Saturday spent the day in town, buying Christmas presents, and by Monday
I was quite brisk again, and my mind as clear as ever. I have often
thought how differently that examination might have turned out for Mary
and for me if we had had a less wise teacher, who had worked himself
into a panic of alarm, and made us work harder than ever, instead of
stopping altogether! I am convinced that it was only those few days of
rest which saved me."

"There!" cried Rhoda, irritably; "I knew it! I _knew_ there was a
moral. I knew perfectly well the moment you began, that it was a
roundabout way of preaching to me. If I am to have a sermon, I would
rather have it straight out, not wrapped up in jam like a powder. I
suppose you think my brain is getting muddled, but it would go
altogether if I tried to do nothing but laze about. I should go stark,
staring mad. I must say, Evie, you talk in a ve