with pieces of
different coloured ribbon. These she distributed to the ten tiniest
little children she could find, and, advancing five from either side,
they formed in a line and curtsied to the Bishop. One little dot, whose
hair hung about her head like a golden mist, nearly lost her balance;
she was, however, saved from falling by a companion, and then, like a
group of kittens, they tripped down the strip of blue carpet and handed
the programmes to the guests, who leaned forward as if anxious to touch
their hands, to stroke their shining hair.

The play was now ready to begin, and Alice felt she was going from hot
to cold, for when the announcement printed on the programme, that she
was the author of the comedy of _King Cophetua_ had been read, all eyes
were fixed upon her; the Bishop, after eyeing her intently, bent towards
the Reverend Mother and whispered to her. Cecilia clasped Alice's hand
and said: 'You must not be afraid, dear; I know it will be all right.'

And the little play was as charming as it was guileless. The old legend
had been arranged--as might have been expected from a schoolgirl--simply
and unaffectedly. The scene opened in a room in the palace of the King,
and when a chorus, supposed to be sung by the townspeople, was over, a
Minister entered hurriedly. The little children uttered a cry of
delight; they did not recognize their companion in her strange disguise.
A large wig, with brown curls hanging over the shoulders, almost hid the
face, that had been made to look quite aged by a few clever touches of
the pencil about the eyes and mouth. She was dressed in a long garment,
something between an ulster and a dressing-gown. It fell just below her
knees, for it had been decided by the Reverend Mother that it were
better that there should be a slight display of ankles than the least
suspicion of trousers. The subject was a delicate one, and for some
weeks past a look of alarm had not left the face of the nun in charge of
the wardrobe. But these considerations only amused the girls, and now,
delighted at the novelty of her garments, the Minister strutted about
the stage complaining of the temper of the Dowager Queen. 'Who could
help it if the King wouldn't marry? Who could make him leave his poetry
and music for a pretty face if he didn't care to do so? He had already
refused blue eyes, black eyes, brown eyes. However, the new Princess was
a very beautiful person, and ought, all things considered, to b