arship even if
it had been offered to her. Could Mary have written that brilliant
essay? Could it by any possibility be the work of Florence? But
whoever had written it deserved the Scholarship, deserved it by every
rule which had been laid upon the young competitors.

So she thought, and Florence, who did not dare to meet Bertha's eyes,
who did not dare at this moment even to look at her mother, wished with
all her heart that the ground might open and swallow her up.

Could she take this undeserved honor? The words were crowding to her
lips, "Oh, don't, for heaven's sake, give it to me; I could never have
written it," but she did not speak the words.

Just then there was a pause amongst the crowd of spectators, and Sir
John and the other judges returned. The judges sat down in their seats
and Sir John came slowly forward. His face was very white.

"The examination for the Cherry Court School Scholarship is over," he
began. "With one accord we have adjudged the prize. The three young
competitors have all done admirably. The questions have been so
universally well answered that there would have been a difficulty in
giving the prize to any one when all three so very nearly had earned
it, were it not for the trial essay; but the trial essay has removed
all doubt. The Scholarship, by every test of learning, of high
endeavor, of noble thought, belongs to the girl whose motto on her
paper has been 'The Hills for Ever.' She has indeed gone to the hills
for her breezy thoughts, for her noble and winged words. May she to
the longest day she lives retain all that she now feels, and go on
truly from strength to strength. The names of the competitors are not
attached to the essays, therefore I must request the girl who has
adopted the motto, 'The Hills for Ever,' to come forward, for she is
the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John paused and looked down the room. He did not dare to glance at
Kitty, for he knew only too well that, clever and sweet as she was, she
had not written those words.

There was a dead silence. Mary Bateman looked at Florence--Kitty also
looked at her. They felt sure she had written the splendid essay, and
they wondered at her silence. She remained quite still for a moment.

"Miss Bateman, is this your essay?" said Sir John, holding up the paper
to Mary.

Mary shook her head and fell back.

"Catherine Sharston, is this yours?" again said Sir John.

Kitty bent her head low in deni