e principal, Mr.
Jackson, was to give a five-dollar gold piece to the writer of the best
essay, subject to be chosen by the author.

"Well, I sha'n't try for it," announced Tilly on a Saturday afternoon
late in February, as the Hexagon Club were holding their regular meeting
at the parsonage.

"Why not?" asked Elsie.

"Because I don't like defeat well enough," retorted Tilly. "Imagine _me_
winning a prize contest!"

"Oh, I shall try," almost groaned Cordelia. "I shall always try for
things, I suppose, till I die. I think I ought to; but of course I
sha'n't win it. Dear me! How I would love to, though," she cried, almost
under her breath.

Genevieve, looking at her momentarily illumined face, was conscious of
a sudden fierce wish that Cordelia might win that prize.

"Genevieve, of course, will try," she heard Tilly's teasing voice say,
then. "Genevieve loves to write, so!"

Genevieve turned with a laugh, and an uptilted chin.

"I take it, Miss Mack, that your very complimentary remarks refer to my
magazine notes; but just let me assure you that this prize essay is
quite another matter. _That_ isn't _printed_!"

"Then you _are_ going to try?--of course you are," interposed Bertha.

Genevieve laughed lightly as she reached for a piece of fudge.

"I suppose so. I'm afraid everybody will expect me to. Aunt Julia has
already expressed her opinion of the matter."

* * * * *

February passed, and March came. A new topic of conversation now arose,
specially of interest to the Hexagon Club. Miss Sally was to be married
early in April, and the Happy Hexagons were to be bridesmaids.
Naturally, even the new prize contest had to step one side for that
month, in the minds of the six joyously excited girls.

It was on a particularly windy Saturday toward the end of the month,
that Cordelia literally blew up to the Kennedys' front door and rang the
bell.

Genevieve herself, passing through the hall, opened the door.

"Br-r-r!" she laughed, as she banged the door shut after admitting the
whirling draperies from which Cordelia's anxious little face finally
emerged. "Why, Cordelia!"

"Yes, I know; I'm going to be at the club this afternoon, of course,"
panted Cordelia; "but this is for something I wanted to say to you--and
I knew there wouldn't be a chance this afternoon. It--it's private,
Genevieve."

"Good! I love secrets. Come into the sitting room. There's no one there
this morning