“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” said Mrs. Carlton; “pray let Harriet have her own way about it. It would be far better to lose the prize, than to gain it thus dishonestly.”
Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have her own way; but she said no more then, and Harriet pursued her employment without further interruption.
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CHAPTER III.
THE PRIZE.
The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had finished her story several days before, and read it to her mother. It was a simple, graceful, childlike effusion, with less of pretension and ornament, and more of spirit and originality than the compositions of most children of the same age contain.
Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt Eloise had criticised it without mercy. At the same time she was observed to smile frequently with a cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself—an expression which she always wore when she had a secret, and secrets she had, in abundance—a new one almost every day—trivial, petty secrets, which no one cared about but herself; but which she guarded as jealously as if they had been apples of gold.
The exhibition day had arrived.
“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, glancing for a moment into the breakfast-room.
She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful dress, made for the occasion. She held the story in her hand, neatly enclosed in an envelope, and her eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of childhood.