was impossible to maintain a monologue, and she soon dropped the futile
attempt. Merle, after eating half a piece of bread and butter and
declining a chocolate biscuit, begged suddenly to be excused, and with
two big unruly tears splashing down her cheeks fled from the room.

"Poor child! I'm afraid she's terribly disappointed," commented Aunt
Nellie sympathetically.

"It seems a pity she wasn't chosen. I suppose she would have made a
splendid monitress. It's half the battle to be keen about anything."

Mavis agreed, passed the cake, finished her tea, picked up the dropped
stitches in Aunt Nellie's piece of knitting, carried a message to the
cook, then went out into the garden. She wanted to be alone for a little
while. There was a retired corner among the bushes by the wall
overlooking the river. She had placed a box here for a seat, and called
it her hermitage. Even Merle had not so far discovered it. It was a
retreat where she could withdraw from everybody, and be absolutely
uninterrupted and by herself. There was something about which she wished
to think in quiet. The idea had been pressing upon her, clamouring in her
brain ever since Miss Mitchell's announcement, but she must consider it
carefully before she acted upon it. Sitting in her green nook, watching
the golden light sparkling upon the river below, she faced her problem:

"_Merle would really make a far better monitress than I should. Oughtn't
I to give the post up to her?_"

It was a struggle, and a very difficult one, for Mavis, quiet though she
was, had her ambitions, and it would be hard to yield place to her
younger sister. It is only those who are accustomed to practise self-