utiful and
winning.

"And with SUCH a voice," said the minister's wife enthusiastically,
adding with a sigh, "It's such a shame she can't have it properly
trained. She would certainly become a great singer--competent critics
have told her so. But she is so poor she doesn't think she can ever
possibly manage it--unless she can get one of the Cameron scholarships,
as they are called; and she has very little hope of that, although the
professor of music who taught her has sent her name in."

"What are the Cameron scholarships?" asked the Old Lady.

"Well, I suppose you have heard of Andrew Cameron, the millionaire?"
said the minister's wife, serenely unconscious that she was causing the
very bones of the Old Lady's family skeleton to jangle in their closet.

Into the Old Lady's white face came a sudden faint stain of colour, as
if a rough hand had struck her cheek.

"Yes, I've heard of him," she said.

"Well, it seems that he had a daughter, who was a very beautiful girl,
and whom he idolized. She had a fine voice, and he was going to send her
abroad to have it trained. And she died. It nearly broke his heart, I
understand. But ever since, he sends one young girl away to Europe every
year for a thorough musical education under the best teachers--in memory
of his daughter. He has sent nine or ten already; but I fear there isn't
much chance for Sylvia Gray, and she doesn't think there is herself."

"Why not?" asked the Old Lady spiritedly. "I am sure that there can be
few voices equal to Miss Gray's."

"Very true. But you see, these so-called scholarships are private
affairs, dependent solely on the whim and choice of Andrew Cameron
himself. Of course, when a girl has friends who use their influence with
him, he will often send her on their recommendation. They say he sent a
girl last year who hadn't much of a voice at all just because her father
had been an old business crony of his. But Sylvia doesn't know anyone at
all who would, to use a slang term, have any 'pull' with Andrew Cameron,
and she is not acquainted with him herself. Well, I must be going; we'll
see you at the Manse on Saturday, I hope, Miss Lloyd. The Circle meets
there, you know."

"Yes, I know," said the Old Lady absently. When the minister's wife had
gone, she dropped her sweetgrass basket and sat for a long, long time
with her hands lying idly in her lap, and her big black eyes staring
unseeingly at the wall before her.

Old Lady Lloyd, so pi