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yourself."

      "Oh, Miss Morton don't mind, do you?" said Ethelyn, who was really only careless, and had no wish to be unkind, "and it's true. I will have her sent away if she preaches at us, 'cause I hate it; but she won't preach any more, will you, Morty?" and Ethelyn smiled at her governess in a wheedlesome way.

      "Go on with your lessons," said Miss Morton, in a quiet tone, though she was with difficulty repressing a desire to tell her pupil what she thought of her.

      "Yes, do," growled Reginald; "how can a fellow study when you're chattering away with your shrill voice?"

      "I haven't got a shrill voice," retorted Ethelyn, "have I, Patricia? Mamma says a soft, low voice is very stylish,—correct, I mean, and I'm sure mine is low and soft."

      Ethelyn said this in such an affected whisper that Patty had to smile.

      But Reginald said:

      "Pooh, of course you have when you put on airs like that, but naturally your voice is a cross between a locomotive whistle and scratching on a slate."

      "It isn't!"

      "It is!"

      "Well, yours isn't a bit better, anyway."

      "I didn't say it was, did I?"

      "I didn't say you did say so, did I?"

      "I didn't say you said I said so, did I?"

      "I didn't say you said, I said—you said,—"

      "Children, stop quarreling," said Miss Morton, half laughing at the angry combatants whose flushed faces showed signs of coming tears.

      But Patty laughed outright. "What sillies you are," she said, "to squabble so over nothing."

      When school was over, it was time for luncheon, and after that Ethelyn told

      Patty that it was the afternoon for dancing-class and they were all to go.

      "You must wear your blue crape, Patricia," she said, "and make yourself look as pretty as you can, and put on all your jewelry."

      "But I haven't any jewelry," said Patty; "papa says little girls oughtn't to wear any."

      "No jewelry? Why, how funny. I have loads of it. Well, no matter, I'll lend you some of mine; or we'll crib some out of mamma's jewel-case; I know where she hides the key."

      "Thank you, Ethelyn, but I wouldn't wear borrowed ornaments, and I don't want to wear jewelry anyway. I'm not old enough."

      "Oh, you are too! what silly, old-fashioned notions you have. And besides, while you're with us, mamma said you must do whatever we want you to."

      So Patty reluctantly allowed Ethelyn to clasp a necklace round her throat, and slip several jingling bangles on her wrists.

      "There!" said Ethelyn, adding an emerald brooch, which she had selected from her mother's collection, "now you don't look like a pauper anyhow."

      "But I don't feel comfortable, Ethelyn, and besides, suppose I should lose these things."

      "Oh, you won't lose them; and if you should, I don't believe mamma would scold much. She'd like it better than if I let you go looking like a nobody, and have the Mahoneys think our cousin was poor."

      Ethelyn herself was resplendent in red silk trimmed with spangled lace. She wore shining slippers with high French heels, and all the jewelry she could cram on to her small person.

      Florelle looked like a fairy in a short little white frock, all fine muslin and lace, with ruffles and frills that stood out in every direction. The overdressed little midget was delighted with her appearance, and pranced around in front of the mirror admiring herself. Reginald too, considered himself very fine in his black velvet suit, with a great white collar and immense white silk tie.

      Miss Morton accompanied the children, and the St. Clair carriage carried them away to the dancing class. When they arrived, all was bustle and excitement. About forty gaily dressed children were assembled in a large hall, prettily decorated with flags and flowers.

      Patty was fond of dancing, and danced very gracefully in her slow, Southern way, but she was utterly unfamiliar with the mincing steps and elaborate contortions attempted by the Elmbridge young people. However, she enjoyed it all from its very novelty, and she was pleasantly impressed with some of the boys and girls to whom she was introduced.

      But she was amazed and almost angry at the way her cousin talked about her.

      "Mabel," said Ethelyn, as she presented Patty to Mabel Miller, "this is my cousin, Patricia Fairfield. She is from Richmond, Virginia, and is visiting us for the winter. Her father is a millionaire, and he has lots of great plantations of,—of magnolias."

      "Oh, no, Ethelyn," began Patty.

      "Well, sweet potatoes, then, or something," went on Ethelyn, nudging her cousin to keep still. "You must excuse her dress, she couldn't get anything very nice in Virginia so mamma has gone to New York to-day to buy her some decent clothes."

      Patty raged inwardly at this slighting and unjust remark about her native state, but she was a truly polite little girl and said nothing unkind in reply.

      "Do you like to dance?" said Mabel Miller to Patty later, as they took places in a quadrille just forming.

      "Yes," said Patty, "and I know these quadrilles, but I never saw fancy dances like those you have here."

      "Oh, they're the latest thing," replied Mabel. "Professor Dodson comes from

      New York, and he teaches us the newest and swellest steps."

      As that day was the last of the quarter the professor had arranged a little exhibition of his best pupils, and a good-sized audience was gathered in the galleries above the dancing floor to witness it.

      But it was a surprise to all present when he announced that a friend whose name he was not privileged to mention, had offered a prize to the child who should dance most gracefully, either alone or with a partner.

      "You can't get it, Ethelyn," said Reginald, "for you're as awkward as a lame elephant."

      "I am not," snapped Ethelyn, "and you'd better not try for it, 'cause you'd only make a spectacle of yourself."

      "So would you," retorted Reginald, "and then we'd be a pair of spectacles."

      Ethelyn said no more, for the dances were beginning.

      Some of the pupils danced very prettily, others affectedly, and others cleverly, but the dances were of a kicking, romping nature that required much practice and skill to perform gracefully.

      After all had taken part, Professor Dodson turned politely to Patty, and invited her, if she would, to dance also.

      "Oh, I couldn't, thank you," she answered "I don't know any of these flings. I only know an old-fashioned minuet."

      "Try that," urged Ethelyn, who delighted to have her cousin made conspicuous, as that attracted attention towards herself.

      The professor insisted upon it, so Patty obligingly consented, and saying, "I couldn't dance with these things jingling," she gave Ethelyn the heavy necklace and bangles.

      Then she stepped out on the floor, and as the orchestra played the slow, stately music of the minuet, Patty bowed and swayed like a veritable old-time maiden. Graceful as a reed, she took the pretty steps, smiling and curtseying, her fair little face calm and unflushed.

      It was such a pretty dance and such a contrast to the acrobatic, out-of-breath performances of the other dancers, that, without a dissenting voice, the committee of judges awarded the prize to Miss Patricia Fairfield.

      Patty was delighted, for she had no idea that her dancing was specially meritorious and she accepted the gold medal with a few words of real gratitude, thinking the while how pleased her father would be, when she should write him all about it. On the way home she said to Ethelyn:

      "But it doesn't seem right for me to have this prize, as I'm not a member of the dancing class."

      "Oh bother," said Ethelyn, "that doesn't matter; they're always giving out prizes, and I'm awfully glad you got this one. People will think you're something wonderful.

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