ver the ground that
she had lost meant studying the textbooks by herself, and trying to
assimilate endless pages of arrears.

"Yet I must," she thought. "If I leave out the least scrap, that's sure
to be the very piece I shall get in the exam. I'm going over every
single line--though it's cruel translating Virgil and learning Racine in
such big doses. Never mind, Dorothy Greenfield, you've got to do it. I
shan't let you off, however much you hate it."

Faithful to her determination, Dorothy set the alarum in her bedroom for
a quarter to six, and had nearly an hour and a half's study each morning
before Martha called her at 7.15. It was very tempting sometimes to turn
over and go to sleep again; but she soon began to grow quite used to her
early rising, and it seemed almost a shame to stay in bed when the sun
was up, and the thrush was singing cheerily in the elder bush outside.

[Illustration: A NURSING EXPERIENCE]

The aim that Dorothy had in view was so ambitious that she hardly dared
confess it even to herself. Every year a prize was given at Avondale
called the William Scott Memorial. It was thus named after the founder
of the College, who had left a sum of money in his will for the purpose.
It was awarded annually to the girl in any form who obtained the highest
percentage of marks in the examinations. Though it was generally gained
by members of the Sixth, it did not of necessity fall to them; every
girl had an equal opportunity, for it went entirely by their relative
scores, the object being to distinguish the pupil who had worked the
best, irrespective of age.

"I believe it fell once to the Second; but the Sixth have had it for
four years now," thought Dorothy. "Time for a new departure. I don't
suppose I've the slightest ghost of a chance, but it's worth trying. I
shan't mention my hopes to anybody, though--not even to Aunt
Barbara--they're so remote."

Her increased efforts could not fail to win notice, however, at the
College.

"Dorothy Greenfield, you're just swatting!" said Mavie Morris one day.
"I don't believe you'd a fault in your last German exercise, and you
recited all that Virgil without one single slip. What's come over you?"

"Nothing," replied Dorothy, turning a little red. "You talk as if I'd
been committing a crime."

"So you have. You're raising the general average of the standard, and
that's not fair to the rest of the Form. When Pittie sees you with three
'excellents' to your name