e written at all," said
Florence.

"That would be bad," remarked Bertha; "you want to get that
Scholarship, don't you?"

"I must get it; my whole life turns on it."

Bertha smiled, sighed very gently, lowered her eyes once more, and
proceeded with her darning.

"I don't believe you have a bit of sympathy for me," said Florence, in
an aggrieved voice.

"Yes, but I have; I pity you terribly. I see plainly that you are
doomed to the most awful disappointment."

"What do you mean? I tell you I will get the Scholarship."

"You won't unless you write a decent essay."

"Oh, Bertha, you drive me nearly mad; I tell you I will get it."

"All the willing and the wishing in the world won't make the impossible
come to pass," retorted Bertha, and now she once more threaded her
darning-needle and took out another stocking from the basket.

"Then what is to be done?" said Florence. "Do you know what will
happen if I fail?"

"No; tell me," said Bertha, and now she put down her stocking and
looked full into the face of her young companion.

"Aunt Susan will give me up. I have told you about Aunt Susan."

"Ah, yes, have you not? I can picture her, the rich aunt with the
generous heart, the aunt who is devoted to the niece, and small wonder,
for you are a most attractive girl, Florence. The aunt who provides
all the pretty dresses, and the pocket-money, and the good things, and
who has promised to take you into society by and by, to make you a
great woman, who will leave you her riches eventually. It is a large
stake, my dear Florence, and worth sacrificing a great deal to win."

"And you have not touched on the most important point of all," said
Florence. "It is this: I hate that rich aunt who all the time means so
much to me, and I love, I adore, I worship my mother. You would think
nothing of my mother, Bertha, for she is not beautiful, and she is not
great; she is perhaps what you would call commonplace, and she has
very, very little to live on, and that very little she owes to my aunt,
but all the same I would almost give my life for my mother, and if I
fail in the Scholarship my mother will suffer as much as I. Oh, dear!
oh, dear! I am an unhappy girl!"

Bertha rose abruptly, walked over to Florence, and laid her hand on her
shoulder.

"Now, look here," she said, "you can win that Scholarship if you like."

"How so? What do you mean?"

"Are you willing to make a great sacrifice to win it?"

"A gre