remark, even among the most distinguished scholars of Broadwood House Academy, that not one of them could wear the black beaver hat with the purple ribbon and its gold monogram B. H. A., or the blue ulster with gilt buttons, in quite the way that these modish emblems were worn by Mary Kelly.
It greatly annoyed Ethel Cliffe, who lived in The Park, and was a daughter of Sir Joseph, three times Mayor of Laxton, that in looks and popularity she had to yield to the offspring of very much humbler parents, who lived in quite an obscure part of the borough. But it had to be. Year by year the cuckoo that had entered the nest grew in beauty and favor, while the legitimate denizens of Broadwood House could only bite their lips and marvel. In the opinion of Ethel Cliffe and her peers, old Dame Nature must be a perfect idiot not to know her business a bit better.
It was not that Mary Kelly made enemies. Her disposition was open, free, and fearless; her heart was gold. Then, too, in most things, she was amazingly quick. She never made any bones about reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, and so on, she was good at freehand drawing, and the use of the globes, in Swedish drill and ball games, particularly at hockey, she was wonderful, and in music and dancing there was none in the school to compare with her. The only things in which she did not really excel were plain needlework and religious knowledge. These bored her to tears—except that she proudly reserved her tears for matters which seemed of more consequence.
As Mary Kelly's stockings got longer and longer the supremacy of Ethel Cliffe grew even less secure. Even
