disappointed rivalry, he
wisely said nothing to increase his exasperation. He put the two books
carefully away in his desk, and settled himself quietly to his day's
lessons.

It was not until evening that John and his father met. Both had been
chafed--the first by his disappointment, the second by the failure
of his effort to prevent the town's voting bounties to volunteers.
In particular he was incensed with Mr. Frost, for his imputation
of interested motives, although it was only in return for a similar
imputation brought against himself.

"Well, father, I didn't get the prize," commenced John, in a
discontented voice.

"So much the worse for you," said his father coldly. "You might have
gained it if you had made an effort."

"No, I couldn't. Rathburn was sure to give it to his favorite."

"And who is his favorite?" questioned Squire Haynes, not yet siding with
his son.

"Frank Frost, to be sure."

"Frank Frost!" repeated the squire, rapidly wheeling round to his son's
view of the matter. His dislike of the father was so great that it
readily included the son. "What makes you think he is the teacher's
favorite?"

"Oh, Rathburn is always praising him for something or other. All the
boys know Frank Frost is his pet. You won't catch him praising me, if I
work ever so hard."

John did not choose to mention that he had not yet tried this method of
securing the teacher's approval.

"Teachers should never have favorites," said the squire dogmatically.
"It is highly detrimental to a teacher's influence, and subversive of
the principles of justice. Have you got your essay with you, John?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may sit down and read it to me, and if I think it deserving, I will
take care that you sha'n't lose by the teacher's injustice."

John readily obeyed. He hurried up to his chamber, and, opening his
writing-desk, took out a sheet of foolscap, three sides of which were
written over. This he brought down-stairs with him. He began to hope
that he might get the boat after all.

The squire, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in a comfortable
armchair, while John in a consequential manner read his rejected
essay. It was superficial and commonplace, and abundantly marked with
pretension, but to the squire's warped judgment it seemed to have
remarkable merit.

"It does you great credit, John," said he emphatically. "I don't know
what sort of an essay young Frost wrote, but I venture to say it was
not as good. I