, the one whose Sunday hat I squashed. She used to
say that I was sent to her as wholesome discipline, to prevent her being
too happy as a hard-worked teacher in a ladies' school, but she wept
bucketfuls when I came away. I liked Buns! This is from Marjorie
Riggs, my chum. She had a squint, but a most engaging disposition.
This is from Kate Strong: now if there is a girl in the world for whom I
cherish an aversion, it is Katie Strong! She is what I call a specious
pig, and why she wanted to send me a Christmas card I simply can't
imagine. We were on terms of undying hatred. This is from Miss Moss,
the pupil teacher. She had chilblains, poor dear, and spoke through her
dose. `You busn't do it, Peggy, you really busn't. It's bost adoying!'
Then I did it again, you know, and she sniggered and tried to look
cross. This is--I don't know who this is from! It's a man's writing.
It looks like a business letter--London postmark--and something printed
in white on the seal. What is it? `The Pic-Pic-Piccadilly'--Robert!"
Peggy's voice grew shrill with excitement. "_The Piccadilly Magazine_."

"Wh-at!" Robert grabbed at the envelope, read the words himself, and
stared at her with sparkling eyes. "It is! It's the prize, Mariquita!
It must be. What else would they write about? Open it and see. Quick!
Shall I do it for you?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Peggy breathlessly. She craned her head forward as
Rob tore open the envelope, and grasped his arm with both hands.
Together they read the typewritten words, together they gasped and
panted, and shrieked aloud in joy. "We've done it! We have! We've won
the prize! Thirty pounds! Bravo, Rob! Now you can buy your
microscope!"--"Good old Mariquita, it's all your doing. Don't speak to
us; we are literary people, far above ordinary commonplace creatures
like you. Thir-ty pounds! made by our own honest toil. What do you
think of that, I'd like to know?"

Each member of the audience thought something different, and said it
amid a scene of wild excitement. The elders were pleased and proud,
though not above improving the occasion by warnings against secret work,
over-anxiety, midnight journeys, etcetera. Mellicent exclaimed, "How
jolly! Now you will be able to give presents for the New Year as well
as Christmas;" and Arthur said, "Dear Peggums! I always loved you; I
took the `will,' you know, without any grumbling, and now you can follow
up with the deed as quickly as