"It means
altogether--it is a lesson against ambition," said she.

"True," said her mother, "the love of eminence for its own sake."

"And in so many different ways!" said Margaret.

"Ay, worldly greatness, riches, rank, beauty," said Flora.

"All sorts of false flash and nonsense, and liking to be higher than one
ought to be," said Norman. "I am sure there is nothing lower, or more
mean and shabby, than getting places and praise a fellow does not
deserve."

"Oh, yes!" cried Ethel, "but no one fit to speak to would do that!"

"Plenty of people do, I can tell you," said Norman.

"Then I hope I shall never know who they are!" exclaimed Ethel. "But
I'll tell you what I was thinking of, mamma. Caring to be clever, and
get on, only for the sake of beating people."

"I think that might be better expressed."

"I know," said Ethel, bending her brow, with the fullness of her
thought--"I mean caring to do a thing only because nobody else can do
it--wanting to be first more than wanting to do one's best."

"You are quite right, my dear Ethel," said her mother; "and I am glad
you have found in the Gospel a practical lesson, that should be useful
to you both. I had rather you did so than that you read it in Greek,
though that is very nice too," she added, smiling, as she put her hand
on a little Greek Testament, in which Ethel had been reading it, within
her English Bible. "Now, go and mend that deplorable frock, and if you
don't dream over it, you won't waste too much of your holiday."

"I'll get it done in no time!" cried Ethel, rushing headlong upstairs,
twice tripping in it before she reached the attic, where she slept, as
well as Flora and Mary--a large room in the roof, the windows gay with
bird-cages and flowers, a canary singing loud enough to deafen any one
but girls to whom headaches were unknown, plenty of books and treasures,
and a very fine view, from the dormer window, of the town sloping
downwards, and the river winding away, with some heathy hills in the
distance. Poking and peering about with her short-sighted eyes, Ethel
lighted on a work-basket in rare disorder, pulled off her frock, threw
on a shawl, and sat down cross-legged on her bed, stitching vigorously,
while meantime she spouted with great emphasis an ode of Horace, which
Norman having learned by heart, she had followed his example; it being
her great desire to be even with him in all his studies, and though
eleven months younger, she had neve