is equal to the best girl
that ever breathed."

"Yes, but mother, you cannot quite understand. There's Kitty Sharston,
for instance."

"Kitty Sharston," said Mrs. Aylmer; "what about her?"

"Well, she is really clever, and everyone seems to wish her to win."

"I call that shocking unfair," said Mrs. Aylmer.

"It is, mother, but we cannot get over the fact. She is a favorite
with the school, and I must own she is a jolly girl. Now, what do you
think she did for me?"

"What, my darling?"

"You know the Cherry Feast?"

"Of course I do--have not you described it to me so often? You would
make a wonderful writer, I believe, you would make a lot of money
writing stories, Florence."

"No, I wouldn't, Mummy, not really. It takes a good deal to be a good
story-writer."

"Well, go on, pet, I am all agog to hear."

So Florence related also the story of the cherry ribbons.

"Wasn't it like Aunt Susan?" she said.

"Just," exclaimed the mother; "the stingiest old cat in existence."

"And wasn't it nice of Kitty, and didn't she do it well?" said
Florence. "Oh, she is a splendid girl, and I ought not to hate her."

"But you do hate her?"

"I am afraid I do sometimes."

"And I'm not a bit surprised, dear, coming between you and this great
chance. But, oh, Florry, you must win, it is all-important; I'll tell
you why to-morrow. There is a letter from your Aunt Susan which will
take some of the pleasure out of this little visit, but it makes the
Scholarship absolutely essential. I'll tell you all about it
to-morrow."

CHAPTER X.

AUNT SUSAN.

Florence slept soundly that night, and awoke the next morning in the
highest of spirits and the best of health.

"It is wonderful, Mummy," she said, "how you and I can squeeze into
this camp bed, but there, I never moved all night; it was delicious to
have you so close to me. I cannot understand why I love you as I do,
for you are a very plain, ordinary sort of woman."

"I never was anything else," replied Mrs. Aylmer, by no means offended
by Florence's frank remarks. "Your poor father always said, 'It's your
heart, not your face, that has won me, Mabel.' Your poor father had a
great deal of pretty sentiment about him, but I am matter-of-fact to
the backbone. There, child, jump up now and get dressed, and I'll go
down and prepare the breakfast. Sukey is rather cross this morning,
and I always make the coffee myself."

Mrs. Aylmer bustled out of the