"If I know I couldn't say, for you are nearly stiffing me," replied Mrs. Grainger, laughing.
At that Dora released her mother from the close clasp of her arms, and, darting across to Lancie—he, not Robert, was on the sofa this evening—gave him a similar embrace, crying—"Oh, Lancie! Who would have thought it? You shall have—yes, I think I may promise you at least a dozen rides in a bath chair. And mother shall have the prettiest, bonniest cap I can find, and I'll buy that little fluffy toy rabbit that Phil saw in a shop yesterday, and cried because he couldn't have it. And I'll write, oh! I'll write heaps of stories, and who knows whether I mayn't have made a fortune before I die?"
Incoherent as her speech was, it gave her mother some idea of the truth.
"You have been writing a story and received that cheque in your hand for payment?" she asked. "My child, I can hardly believe it possible."
"That's not a bad guess, mother mine, but it isn't quite exact." And Dora, who was now somewhat quieted, sat down in front of the fire and took Phil on her knee. "I wouldn't tell you before," she went on, "because I never really thought anything would come of it. But when we all went to Mrs. Armstrong's to tea, she told me of some prizes that were offered for original stories, and showed me the notice in a magazine. Then I thought, 'Why shouldn't I try?' for there was a guinea prize offered for the best tale written by girls of from fourteen to sixteen. I had not very long to do it in, but I got up early and sat up late, and so managed to get it off in time. That's more than six weeks ago, and I had almost forgotten—"
"And you have got the prize?" interrupted Lancie, with glowing cheeks and glistening eyes. "I knew it. Oh, Dora, how proud we all are of you!"
And then Dora did what she afterwards called "a very silly thing." She buried her face on Lancie's shoulder and burst into a fit of weeping. It was not until Phil began to cry for sympathy that she was able to stay her tears, and tell them brokenly "they mustn't take any notice of her. She couldn't help it, for she was just so happy she did not know what she was doing."
Surely very few guineas have given greater pleasure than did that which Dora received as a reward for her story. So many plans were discussed for its expenditure that Mrs. Grainger, thinking it would save much after disappointment, said not half Dora's promises could be carried out.
This remark cast a temporary cloud over Olive and Lottie's faces; they soon cleared again, however, and both little girls declared Lancie should not be robbed of one of his dozen rides, and that they would be content with their fair share of the "lovely plum cake" which Dora declared should celebrate the memorable event.
After that it was impossible for the happy winner of the prize to settle down to her usual evening occupations. The best part for her, she said, was yet to come; for though she was glad enough of the money, it would afford her infinitely more pleasure to see her story in print. The editor had told her it would be published in the next month's number, and there were joyful anticipations of its appearance, and much talk of father's astonishment and delight when he should see it, for it was agreed that the circumstance should be kept a secret until the story could be sent out to him in the magazine.