idge's poems, handsomely bound in calf, and
emblazoned with the school arms; he smiled pleasantly as he did so,
and added a word of compliment. Gwen murmured "Thank you", and turned
away. Father was clapping his loudest on the platform, and there was a
nervous little applause from the rest of the family and from Netta,
but that was all. Not a single girl in either Gwen's old Form or her
new one gave her the least sign of appreciation. The colour flamed
into her face as she made her way back to her seat. It is hard at any
time to be unpopular, but it is a cruel thing when the lack of favour
is displayed before a public audience. Gwen stuck her nose in the air,
and put on the most defiant, don't care expression she could assume,
but she felt the slight deeply, especially when she heard the hearty
reception given to Iris Watson, who had won the Languages medal.

"Never mind, childie!" said Mr. Gascoyne, when at "good night" time
that evening, in the safe sanctuary of Father's study, she broke down,
and burst out crying; "you did your best, and you deserved your prize.
That's the main thing!"

"I shall hate the prize now!" sobbed Gwen. "I can't bear to look at
it; it will always remind me of this horrid afternoon. Why should they
have been so nasty to me? They clapped Lesbia!"

"Gwen, you're not jealous?" Father's voice was just a trifle anxious.

"No, no!" gulped Gwen emphatically. "Lesbia's a darling; I don't
wonder people are fond of her. But oh, Dad, it is hard sometimes to be
left out in the cold!"

"Very hard. Many older and wiser people than you have felt that. Yet
to bear neglect well is one of the bravest things in life. Don't worry
about not being appreciated; your own self-respect is worth more to
you than the opinion of other people. If you're quite sure you're
doing your duty, you can afford to ignore what the world thinks."

"I don't know why I should be so unpopular," sighed Gwen, squeezing
Father's hand tightly, and rubbing her cheek against his coat sleeve,
as if there were something comforting in the very feel of the cloth.

"You must live it down. It may take a long time, and a great deal of
patience, but I'm sure you'll win, and the girls will be proud of you
yet."

"Proud! They may get to tolerate me, but I don't believe I'll ever
make them like me, Daddy!"

"Courage! We never know what we can do till we try. If you want to be
liked, make yourself wanted. Good night, childie! Cheer up! The
wo