before she had gathered up all the prizes and diplomas and things she
had earned in the world of reverie, where her dream self had been
roving.

And now came the approach of her thirteenth birthday, and her plea
that she might be made more useful in the world. And then, came this:

In the boarding-house where she and her mother were living, the
mother acting as assistant to the manager, the young person occupied
with enduring her monotonous existence and with watching the boarders,
there were two actresses, a mother and daughter. The daughter, whose
name was Blanche, was only a year or two older than the young person
whose eyes followed her so eagerly, because Blanche was one of those
marvelous creatures whose real life was lived behind the foot-lights.

Something in the silent, keen-eyed girl who was so near her own age
attracted Blanche, and the two became good friends, spending many an
hour together when the young person was not in school. In exchange for
her thrilling stories of stage life, Blanche's new friend would tell
vivid tales which she had read in books, to all of which good-natured
Blanche would listen with lazy interest, and at the finish of the
narrative often exclaimed:

"You ought to be in a theater. You could act!"

Although this assertion was always met by determined silence, as her
friend thought she was being made fun of, yet the young person did not
fail to brood over the statement when she was alone. Could there be
any truth in the statement, she wondered? Then came a marvelous event.
Blanche hurried home from the theater one day to tell her young friend
that extra ballet girls were wanted in their company. She must go at
once and get engaged.

"But," gasped the young person, "maybe they won't take me!"

"Well," answered Blanche, "I've coaxed your mother, and my mother says
she'll look out for you--so at any rate, go and see. I'll take you
to-morrow."

To-morrow! "Dimly the agitated and awed young person seemed to see a
way opening out before her, and again behind her locked door she knelt
down and said 'Dear God! Dear God!' and got no further, because grief
has so many words, and joy has so few."

That was Friday, and the school term had closed that day. The next
morning, with a heart beating almost to suffocation, the young person
found herself on the way to the theater, with self-possessed Blanche,
who led the way to the old Academy of Music. Entering the building,
the girls went up