ody in it, if they want to be. Of course she will be
elected--there isn't a doubt--and I'll be as glad as any one."

"Yes!" Berta's voice veered from sarcasm to genuine anxiety. "You'll be
glad--but you'll be glad at home. You can't come back to college--you
told me so yourself--unless you are elected editor. That's why I called
you out just now. Did your uncle really say that he was disappointed in
your career here?"

Laura cleared her throat. "He doesn't like it because I haven't won any
honors yet. Don't you know how almost every girl here came from a school
where she was the brightest star and carried off all the prizes and
things like that? My uncle doesn't understand. He thinks it is the fault
of the college because I haven't done anything great. Oh, you know,
Berta. I--I do hate to talk in such a conceited way. He doesn't realize
that I am not brighter than the rest and can't dazzle. He wants me to win
an honor that he can put in the papers at home. He says if I don't
distinguish myself this year, I might as well stop and go to the Normal
next fall. He thinks college is too expensive. This editorship is the
only chance, because--because there isn't anything else for our class now
that the offices are filled and committees appointed. He didn't like it
because my articles in the magazine were signed with initials and not the
whole name. He said, 'Well, niece Laura, let me see your name printed
plain in that list of editors, and then we'll decide about next year.'
He--he's disappointed."

"And yet," Berta spoke slowly, "you are going to help Lucine Brett with
that essay. And you know how much my little sister cares about being at
college with you."

Laura gave a startled jump and turned to run. "Oh, Berta, I had
forgotten. She's waiting. I've stayed too long. She'll be so angry!"

"Let her," growled Berta; but Laura had fled.

Meanwhile Lucine when left alone had dropped the sheets of her essay in
her lap and planting her elbows on the sill crouched forward, staring
miserably out at the brown soaked lawn flecked with sodden snowdrifts in
the shadows of the evergreens that were bending before a rollicking March
wind.

"Nobody cares," she mourned, "even Laura doesn't care whether I succeed
or not. I want the girls to like me, but they won't."

Tears of self-pity dimmed her lashes when Laura slipped timidly into the
room and after a worried glance at the scattered papers resumed her
former seat.

"Now, Lucin