girls were too
kind to send her to Coventry, but Hazel felt she had lost her former
position in the class. It was a severe wound to her pride, for she had
liked to be considered a leader, and had always been pleased to see
how easily the others had accepted her opinions and suggestions; as
the eldest she had possessed a good deal of influence, and her
greatest punishment was to find it gone.

November crept on fast, and the days seemed to grow rapidly shorter
and shorter. It was chilly now in the mornings, and those whose hard
fate it was to be obliged to practise before breakfast grumbled at
stiff fingers and cold toes.

"I never know whether I like it or not," said Sylvia. "I hate it when
I'm in bed, and feel I'd give all the world not to have to get up so
early; but when it's done it's so nice to think you won't have to do
it at four o'clock. I wish one could learn music without practising."

"And French without verbs," groaned Linda, looking at her exercise,
nearly every line of which showed red-ink corrections in Mademoiselle's
neat foreign handwriting. "I think some people are born bad at
languages, and I'm one of them. I never can understand properly what
Mademoiselle is saying, and then she gets cross and says I don't
attend."

French was a serious trouble to Sylvia also. She had learnt very
little with her governess at home, and found it most difficult to keep
up with Marian, who had rather a pretty accent, and was good at
translation. To encourage her pupils, Mademoiselle had offered a prize
to whichever could write the best letter home in the French language.
Each was to be the unaided work of the competitor, though grammars and
dictionaries might be freely consulted. It was a difficult task to all
the girls, and to some an almost impossible one, but Mademoiselle
insisted upon everybody at least making an attempt, and laughed in
private over the funny efforts which followed.

If the prize had been given for the queerest instead of the best
letter Connie Camden would have gained it. She grew so tired of
looking up words that she wrote anything she thought sounded like
French, and the result would have puzzled a native to decipher. It ran
thus:--

"Heathercliffe Maison.
"Novembre la onzieme.

"Mon cher mere

"Mamzelle a tolde moi que je mustai writer une lettre en
francais. Je le findai tres difficile et je ne likai pas du
tout. Mamzelle a offre une prize mais je suis sur