faces before her. "That's the great thing I miss at college,
don't you, Bea? There aren't any babies here. We ought to borrow some
once in a while to vary the monotony of books. I have three little nieces
at home, you know. Such darlings! I wish I had one here now this minute."

"Which do you choose--the baby or the book? Oh, Berta! Would you
sacrifice this book for a mere child? This beautiful, splendid, green
book with gilt lettering and your name scrawled everywhere?"

"The oldest baby looks a good deal like that photograph of me," continued
Berta softly, "she is named after me, too. I wish you could see her. The
way she holds up her little arms and clings to you! I haven't seen her
since last September."

"Hark!" Bea sprang from her perch on a desk-arm. "There are the girls now
clamoring for admission. It must be the hour for the sale to begin. Isn't
it fun! Fly, Berta Abbott, flee and bury your blushes. The play is now
on."

Berta fled. She felt an impulse to creep away into some dark corner till
all the excitement--and criticism--had subsided. Of course, it was rather
pleasant, she acknowledged reluctantly to her candid self. There was
something down underneath tingling and glowing. Very likely it was
gratified vanity. Everybody liked to be praised and admired, but not too
much, for that was uncomfortable. It was like being set upon a pinnacle
and stared at. And she did care. She had worked hard and long for
success. She had proved that she could work. Now if she should be granted
the foreign fellowship, she could go on and on, step by step, till some
day perhaps she might become a famous college professor or maybe the
president of a university. That would be accomplishing a career worth
while.

Berta never quite remembered how she screwed up resolution enough to
enter the dining-room that night and face the storm of congratulations,
affectionate jests, and laughing taunts over her eminence. The last copy
of the Annual had been sold before the gong whirred out its summons to
dinner; and dozens of dilatory students were already besieging the
chairman for an extra edition. After dinner Berta was captured for a
dance in parlor J till chapel time. The lilt of the music was still
echoing in her ears, her heart beating in happy rhythm to its harmony,
when at last she slipped into the back pew and leaned her head against
the wall, her lips relaxing in happy curves, her hands lying idle in her
lap.

Prexie's voice