sider would make the best
class president this year, Molly," began Katherine. "It's rather hard to
choose one among so many who could fill the place with distinction----"

"But I think Margaret should be chosen," interrupted Molly. "She was a
good one last year. Why change?"

"Don't you think it looks rather like favoritism?" put in Mabel. "Some
of the other girls should have a chance. There's you, for instance."

"Me?" cried Molly. "Why, I wouldn't know how to act in a president's
chair. I'd be embarrassed to death."

"You'd soon learn," said Katherine. "It's very easy to become accustomed
to an exalted state."

"But why not one of you?" began Molly.

"It's a question," here remarked the silent Edith, "whether a class
president should be the most popular girl or the best executive."

"Margaret is both," exclaimed Molly loyally; "but, after all, why not
leave it to the vote at the class meeting?"

"Oh, it will be finally decided in that way, of course," said Katherine,
"but such things are really decided beforehand by a little
electioneering, and I was proposing to do some stump speaking in your
behalf, Molly, if you cared to take the place."

"Oh, no," cried Molly, flushing with embarrassment; "it's awfully nice
of you, but I wouldn't for anything interfere with Margaret. She is the
one to have it. Besides, as Queen's girls, we ought to vote for her.
She belongs to the family."

"But some of the girls are kicking. They say we are running the class,
and are sure to ring in one of our own crowd just to have things our
way."

"How absurd!" ejaculated Molly. "I'm sure I never thought of such a
thing. But if that's the case, why vote for me, then?"

"Because," replied Mabel, "the Caroline Brinton faction proposed you.
They say, if they must have a Queen's girl, they'll take you."

"'Must' is a ridiculous word to use at an honest election," broke in
Molly hotly. "Let them choose their candidate and vote as they like.
We'll choose ours and vote as we like."

"That's exactly the point," said Katherine. "They are something like
Kipling's monkey tribe, the 'banderlog.' They do a lot of chattering,
but they can't come to any agreement. They need a head, and I propose to
be that head and tell them whom to vote for. Shall it be Molly or
Margaret?"

"Margaret," cried Molly; "a thousand times, Margaret. I wouldn't usurp
her place for worlds. She's perfectly equipped in every possible way for
the position."

Nance