id the poems turn out?"

There was a moment's embarrassed silence, and Marjorie's heart began to
beat very fast; then Elsie spoke.

"They were all very silly," she said, indifferently. "I told Lulu it was
nonsense having all the girls write poems."

"Whose poem was the best?" Mr. Carleton asked.

"They made me president of the Club," said Elsie, her eyes bent on her
plate; "my poem got the most votes."

"I was sure it would," murmured Mrs. Carleton, with an adoring glance at
her clever daughter. "Why didn't you tell us about it before,
darling--you knew how interested we would be?"

"Let me see the poem," said Mr. Carleton, good-naturedly; "I should like
to judge its merits for myself."

"I can't; I've torn it up." Elsie tried to speak in a tone of complete
indifference, but her cheeks were crimson, and her father watched her
curiously.

"My darling child, how very foolish!" remonstrated Mrs. Carleton. "You
know your father and I always want to see everything you write. Why in
the world did you tear it up?"

"Oh, it wasn't any good," said Elsie, with an uneasy glance at Marjorie;
"some of the girls thought Lulu's poem was better."

"I don't believe it was, though," Mrs. Carleton maintained with
conviction. "Wasn't Elsie's poem much the best, Marjorie?"

It was a dreadful moment for poor Marjorie. She had never told a lie in
her life, and yet how could she offend her uncle and aunt, who were
doing so much for her, and who both adored Elsie? She cast an appealing
glance at her cousin, and remained silent.

"Oh, you needn't ask Marjorie," remarked Elsie, with a disagreeable
laugh; "she doesn't like my poem. She only got five votes herself, so I
suppose it's rather hard for her to judge of other people's poetry."

Mr. Carleton frowned, and Mrs. Carleton looked distressed, but no more
was said on the subject, for which Marjorie felt sincerely thankful.

The next day was Sunday, and the most unhappy, homesick day Marjorie had
spent in New York. Her uncle was the only member of the family who
continued to treat her as usual. Elsie scarcely spoke to her, and Aunt
Julia, though evidently making an effort to be kind, showed so plainly
by her manner that she was both hurt and displeased, that poor
Marjorie's heart grew heavier and heavier. They all went to church in
the morning, and in the afternoon Elsie went for a drive with her
mother, and Mr. Carleton retired to his own room to read and write
letters. Marjorie