The papers were handed in, and school was dismissed. On Monday, after the
morning exercises, Miss Brooks gave out the prizes to the three grades
under her care. "I have now to award the prize for the highest average to
the seventh grade," she said. "But first I wish to say a few words on your
conduct during the recent examination in spelling. I shall censure no one
in particular, although there is one boy who must set no more bad examples.
No one spelled the words correctly--Clinton Stevens the least of
any--making his average quite low; yet the prize goes to him. I will tell
you why--" as a chorus of O! O's! greeted her ears. "Spelling is Clinton's
hardest subject, but he could easily have spelled more words right had he
not possessed sufficient strength to prevent him from falling into the way
followed by some of you."

As Clinton went up the aisle for his prize, he felt like crying, but he
managed to smile instead. A few days before, Harry Meyers had ridiculed him
because he was not strong enough to throw a snowball from the schoolhouse
to the road; now the teacher had said he was strong!

Clinton's Aunt Jennie came to visit the family in December, bringing her
little daughter Grace with her. Now Grace had a mania for pulling other
people's hair, but there was no one in the Stevens family upon whom she
dared operate except Clinton. She began on him cautiously, then
aggressively. Clinton stood it for a while, and then asked her, politely
but firmly, to stop. She stopped for half a day.

One night Clinton came home from school pale and tired. Some of the boys
had been taunting him on his spare frame, and imitating his cough, which
had grown worse as the winter advanced. Sitting down by the window, he
looked out at the falling snow. Grace slipped up behind him, and gave his