Alanna, calmly this time.

"Well, did you EVER," said Mrs. Costello to the Bishop. She had gone up
to claim a mirror she had won, a mirror with a gold frame, and lilacs
and roses painted lavishly on its surface.

"Gee, I bet Alanna was pleased about the desk!" said Dan in the
carriage.

"Mrs. Church nearly cried," Teresa said. "But where'd Alanna go to? I
couldn't find her until just a few minutes ago, and then she was so
queer!"

"It's my opinion she was dead tired," said her mother. "Look how sound
she's asleep! Carry her up, Frank. I'll keep her in bed in the morning."

They kept Alanna in bed for many mornings, for her secret weighed on
her soul, and she failed suddenly in color, strength, and appetite. She
grew weak and nervous, and one afternoon, when the Bishop came to see
her, worked herself into such a frenzy that Mrs. Costello wonderingly
consented to her entreaty that he should not come up.

She would not see Mrs. Church, nor go to see the desk in its new house,
nor speak of the fair in any way. But she did ask her mother who swept
out the hall after the fair.

"I did a good deal meself," said Mrs. Costello, dashing one hope to the
ground. Alanna leaned back in her chair, sick with disappointment.

One afternoon, about a week after the fair, she was brooding over the
fire. The other children were at the matinee, Mrs. Costello was out,
and a violent storm was whirling about the nursery windows.

Presently, Annie, the laundress, put her frowsy head in at the door.
She was a queer, warm-hearted Irish girl; her big arms were still
streaming from the tub, and her apron was wet.

"Ahl alone?" said Annie, with a broad smile.

"Yes; come in, won't you, Annie?" said little Alanna.

"I cahn't. I'm at the toobs," said Annie, coming in, nevertheless. "I
was doin' all the tableclot's and napkins, an' out drops your little
buke!"

"My--what did you say?" said Alanna, very white.

"Your little buke," said Annie. She laid the chance book on the table,
and proceeded to mend the fire.

Alanna sank back in her chair. She twisted her fingers together, and
tried to think of an appropriate prayer.

"Thank you, Annie," she said weakly, when the laundress went out. Then
she sprang for the book. It slipped twice from her cold little fingers
before she could open it.

"Eighty-three!" she said hoarsely. "Sixty--seventy--eighty-three!"

She looked and looked and looked. She shut the book and opened it
again, and l