room. "And nothing can compensate for such a disappointment. It will
hurt always."

As the door closed behind her the girls exchanged sympathizing glances.
"If there had even been a good reason," sighed Lillian, "but it was only
carelessness. And the trouble of it is, the world is full of Daisy
Averys."




ANN'S OWN WAY


"Ann! Ann! Have you been home yet to feed the chickens?" The call came
from the doorway of a big old farmhouse, where a pleasant-faced woman
stood looking out over the October fields.

The answer floated down from an apple-tree near by, where a ten-year-old
girl sat perched among its gnarled branches. She had a dog-eared book of
fairy tales on her knee, and was poring over it in such blissful
absorption that she had forgotten there were such things in all the
world as chickens to be fed.

"No'm, Aunt Sally, I haven't done it yet, but I'll go in a minute," and
she was deep into the story again.

"But, Ann," came the voice after a moment's waiting, "it is nearly
sundown, and you ought to go right away, dear. Lottie says that you have
been reading ever since you came home from school, and I am afraid that