o be done, Mary? Are we to give it up?"

"Give it up?" said Mary, with a laugh; "not quite. Kitty, for
goodness' sake, don't allow Florence's words to trouble you. You have
got to fight with all your might and main. You will fight honorably
and so will I, and if you mean to give it up there will be the greater
chance for me, but of course you won't give it up."

"No, I shan't give it up," said Kitty, "but all the same, Florence's
words pain me."

At that moment a clear ringing little voice was heard in the passage
outside, the door of the oak parlor was burst open, and Dolly Fairfax
rushed in. Dolly's eyes were shining and her cheeks were crimson.
"Here are two letters," she said, "both for you, Kitty Sharston; it
isn't fair that you should get all the letters."

"Come and sit on my knee while I read them," said Kitty, stretching out
her arms to Dolly.

Dolly sprang into Kitty's lap, twined her soft arms round her neck, and
laughed into her face.

"I do so love you, Kitty," she said; "I do so hope you will win the
Scholarship. I don't want you to get it, ugly Mary, and I don't want
nasty Florence to get it; but I want you, sweet, dear, darling Kitty,
to get it. You shall--you shall!"

"You are a very rude little thing, but I don't mind," said Mary,
laughing good-humoredly. "I know I am plain, and I don't care a bit;
I'll win the Scholarship if I never win anything else, so you may as
well make up your mind, Kitty Sharston."

But Kitty never heard her, she was deep in her father's letter. Yes,
it had come, and it was a long letter closely written on foreign paper,
and Kitty took a very long time reading it, so long that little Dolly
slipped off her lap and wandered restlessly to the window and stood
there gazing out into the court, and then back again into the
softly-shaded room, with the slanting rays of the afternoon sun making
bars of light across the oak.

At last Kitty finished; she heaved a long sigh and looked up. "I had
forgotten you were here, Mary," she said, "and as to you, Dolly--but
there, it is beautiful, good news. Father has arrived and has begun
his work, and he says he has every chance of going up into the hills
about the time that I shall have finished my education here. Oh, it is
such a relief to read his letter. If you are very good indeed, Mary,
and if you are very good, Dolly, you shall both hear some of my
letter--not the private part, of course--but the public part, which