The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1908-10-23

@OSo w e3AAONC ACA LII eLAG
student was called home. Almost at
a days notice she left college and her
own work to take charge of a stricken
house and two newly orphaned nieces,
and Lizzie Wetherell, who had come
to depend on her companionship, es-
pecially at the hour of the little sup
per, missed her cruelty.
But Betty scarcely needed the 60
ing of the graduate student. She felt
that she was no favorite of hers. Be-
sides, she was now giving all her in
terest to the outcome of Eversham's
competition. Every time that she
heard the postman's ring she would
herself go flying to the door.
On such an errand she had run one
gray December afternoon, and she
was longer about it than usual. Then
her voice rang jubilant through the
house, and she ran into the living
room, just as she had used to run to
her mother.
"The prize!" she cried. 1--WE won
Eversham's prize! For Love of
Chloris,' by Elizabeth Wetherell, is
to come out in the March number. 1
didn't tell you at the time. l wanted
to surprise you. But l sent story
to Eversham's-theo one l read you
and they've taken it. And they're
sending me the check. Five hundred
dollars! Think of it, mother!"
When she thought of it Lizzie
Wetherell thought it the most nat
Iral and beautiful thing that could
have happened. If she remembered
her own poor little story that the
graduate student had so praised, it
was only to be glad that she had
never told Betty that she, too, had
entered the contest. And she re-
joiced intellectually in Betty's
triumph, not only for Betty's sake,
but for her own. For it seemed to
her that in this eager girl, who
wanted her sympathy and her praise,
she had at last her own daughter
friend again.
But all too quickly Betty was once
more her recent self. She must tell
her mates about her success, she said,
with the implication that in them
alone could she find true apprecia-
ton. And as she turned away, she
added, with laugh that was more
i'll natured than she guessed:
"You see, mother, Eversham's
thought my Lady Chloris was truer
to life than you did"
OF the weeks that followed too
much need not be said. If Betty had
been offensive in her patronage of her
mother when she was merely an ear
nest student, she was fairly intolera-
BILE now that she was successful au-
thor and wage Garner. Five hun
dred dollars at one stroke! 1t was
more than her mother could clear by
months of labor. So she patronized
her stupid mother, till the graduate
student, had she been there, would
surely have lost the last of her pa
thence and shaken her.
The marked copy of Eversham's
came one February afternoon, along
with some letters for Mrs. Wetherell.
Betty, who had just come in from col
lege, tore the wrappings from the
magazine. For Love of Chloris, by
Elizabeth Wetherell," she read the
title. She read the name of the IA
nous artist who had done the illus
trations. Then she turned to look at
the story in its glorious dress.
In after life Betty could laugh, re-
membering the dismay with which
she saw, instead of the full page pic
turer of her dainty Lady Chloris, a
gnarled old woman, leading a spotted
heifer. But at the moment she did
not laugh.
Mother" she said, in a dry voice,
look here! It's my title. It's my
name. And I've received the check.
But it's not my story. l can't under
stand."
Then she saw that her mothers
face was startled and that she was
holding out to her a newly opened
letter, written in the graduate stu
dents hand. Betty read the opening
sentences:
Am ! not true prophet, dear
Mrs. Wetherell? I've only just had
time, so busy these sad weeks have
been, to glance at the magazines
again. And see, in the current num-
Der of Eversham's, that your story,
For Love of Chloris,' has won the
prize, as it deserved to do. Congrat-
ulations and"
Betty dropped the letter. She
grew aware that her mother was
speaking.
Il wrote the story" Lizzie Wether-
ell was saying. And the graduate
student persuaded me to send it to
Evershams."
"She did it on purpose!" Betty's
voice rang harsh. "She always dis
liked me. She"
Betty" her mother interposed,
you must be fair! We did not know
that you were entering the contest"
Il know! I know" cried Betty.
She's not to blame to NEEDLE like
that! You're not to blame to take
my title-and not to tell me. I'm to
blame for it all, perhaps, because l
didn't stamp that envelope-because
they threw my story into the waste
basket instead of sending it back
because l didn't know it was reject
ed! I'm to blame that l thought I'd
won the prize-that I've told every
body-that I've made fool of my
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