professor would take leave of one another amid a sort of éclat and enthusiasm unknown on former occasions. He had planned it all beforehand, and he received us with a beaming face, marshalling us into our places as we arrived, and at the same time keeping up a running flow of conversation with our accompanying parents and guardians. In the centre of the room stood a table, on which were a magnificently bound copy of Lafontaine's Fables,' a wreath of laurels, and a bouquet of roses; in front of this were ranged eight chairs, for the number of eligible competitors had proved not to exceed that number; behind these were forms, on which the non-competing pupils were accommodated, while the grown-up people were seated on sofas and arm-chairs, in a sort of circle round the room. Meg arrived rather late, and took her seat on the last of the eight front chairs, just as M. Lerou was clearing his throat for the little introductory speech with which proceedings were to commence. With many smiles and gestures he explained to us the nature of the ceremony in which we were about to take part. It was not, he said, that he felt that we needed any incentive to diligence in our studies, for he knew well that our enthusiasm for the noble language in which it was his privilege to instruct us was in no wise inferior to his own. (I saw Leonard Moss wink at David, and the corners of Meg's mouth twitched.) He was ravi to remark in most of us une vraie passion pour l'étude, but that made him all the more anxious to foster and encourage by every means in his power the excellent dispositions that we had shown. And, moreover, he thought that l'émulation was not without its good effects on les jeunes personnes.

Therefore it was that he had arranged this little séance, and he knew well that his dearly-loved pupils would rejoice to do him honour by displaying their proficiency in the presence of those dear parents, to please and satisfy whom was their highest wish, as it was his own. It might, perhaps, be thought that he was trop dur in one regulation which he had made-he referred to that which excluded from the competition those who had missed more than one class during the term. He regretted immensely the necessity for this, but he had felt it to be necessary, as he was convinced that a little more enthusiasm for their studies-much enthusiasm existed, as he had said beforebut he must permit himself to say that a little more would in some cases produce that regularity without which the most brilliant talents sometimes missed their effect. And so he had

thought that this little disability to compete for the prize would, perhaps, be of some little assistance towards producing that enthusiasm and that regularity in the future. He then proceeded to explain that he should begin with a little examination in grammar, that he should then recite an English anecdote, which the competitors were to write down in French upon their slates, that a fable of Lafontaine would then be repeated by heart, and that finally, while the whole class, including non-competitors, sang a little song which he had composed for the occasion, and which began:

'Adieu, notre maître les vacances vont commencer;

Adieu, les autres! adieu, notre classe si chère !
Adieu, nos livres ! nous aimons tous le Français ;

Adieu, notre maître! adieu, notre presque père!'

he should look over and correct the six compositions, after which the prize would be awarded, the crown of laurels placed on the winner's head, and the bouquet of roses handed to him or her, with the request that it might be presented to ‘sa maman de la part de son maître enchanté."'

There were also various rubans d'honneur to be awarded to those who might distinguish themselves in minor degrees.

'Maintenant, Messieurs et Mesdemoiselles,' finally concluded M. Lerou, turning to his eight victims, Meg and Cyril Dacre, the two Moss boys, Aline West, and three children who did not belong to the gardens. They sat there in various stages of shyness and sheepishness, all very far removed from the enthusiasm his speech had been calculated to evoke. 'Maintenant, faites attention, s'il vous plaît: l'examen aura lieu tout-de-suite.'

It looked as though the professor's confidence in his pupils had been somewhat overstated; at all events, he guarded against a catastrophe at the outset by putting a question about the answer to which there could be no doubt in the mind of any one who has ever opened a French grammar.

'Monsieur!' he said, with great majesty, making a kind of bow to David Moss, whose face immediately became suffused with blushes, while he wriggled uncomfortably on his chair. 'Monsieur!' (debout, s'il vous plaît) faites-moi le plaisir de me répéter, ainsi qu'à vos compagnons, et à ces dames, faites-moi le plaisir de répéter le présent de l'indicatif du verbe aimer-to love. To love-aimer. Le présent de l'indicatif, M. David!' And when David had mumbled it out in a semi-audible voice there was an enthusiastic exclamation of Bien, Monsieur; mais c'est

très bien! vous allez être décoré. Fe pari que vous allez être décoré, mon ami.

Encouraged by this brilliant success, M. Lerou turned to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and requested her to favour him with the passé défini of the same verb. Then came a downfall of his hopes, and a look of blank consternation on his kindly, expectant face; for Meg, turning very white, stood up and looked him straight in the eyes, with a Je ne sais pas,' uttered in a low and faltering tone. Mais, mon enfant, mais réfléchissez donc un peu,' began the poor man, in a voice of the deepest disappointment, while Meg's Mademoiselle was heard to say in the background, Elle est égarée, la petite. What would have happened next I cannot say, but Cyril Dacre, with a laudable desire to help his sister, began prompting her in such a loud whisper that M. Lerou had no choice but to make her sit down and Cyril stand up and repeat the unlucky tense. When poor Cyril realised that he had by this means become entitled to the mark that should have fallen to Meg's share, he was much distressed, and his sincere and audible apologies had to be stopped.

But it was the same all through the grammar examination. With not one question did Meg succeed; to each she gave either a wrong answer, or that melancholy 'Je ne sais pas ;' poor Mademoiselle being heard after each failure to ejaculate 'La malheureuse!' or 'L'étourdie! elle m'avait répété cela sans faute What could have happened to Meg? It was very strange, for nervousness was the last fault to which she was liable, and yet what but nervousness could make her fail to answer the very simplest questions that even Cyril knew quite well? However, inexplicable as it was, and disappointed as we were, it was, after all, not in grammar that we had expected Meg most to shine. Translation was her strong point, and it was the turn for translation now. A slate was handed to each competitor, and M. Lerou slowly repeated his English anedote. I do not remember what the point of it was, but I know that it began with, 'A dog was coursing along by the side of a river,' and that M. Lerou's pronunciation of the word coursing led David Moss to cover himself with glory by translating thus: Un chien courait en jurant auprès d'un fleuve.' The translations were, however, not to be looked over until the end, and there was the recitation of poetry to come first. Meg was rather a favourite with M. Lerou, and I think he meant to give her a chance of retrieving her character and winning the prize, after all; for he called on her to begin first

of all, and chose a fable which she knew, or had known very perfectly. Mrs. Dacre had come into the room only a few seconds before, and Meg, gaining confidence, as we thought, from her mother's presence, began swimmingly, and was soon reciting with all her old spirit and energy. She had got about half-way through, when there was a slight disturbance in the room, caused by the arrival of two new comers, whose passage from the door was blocked up by the chairs of some of the audience. Meg turned quickly round, caught sight of Winnie Mainwaring and her German governess, Fräulein Schmit, and stopped dead.

'Continues!

Continuez, mon enfant,' exclaimed M. Lerou. But Meg's mouth was closed, and at the same moment Fräulein Schmit made her way quickly to the front, holding Winnie by the hand.

'I beg your pardon, M. Lerou,' she said, in her strong foreign accent; I beg your pardon, but there is a litil explanation which I think should in fairness be made.'

M. Lerou looked very much surprised and annoyed, but spoke with his usual politeness.

'Mais certainement-without doubt; but perhaps Mademoiselle will wait until the conclusion of the examination.'

Last

'It is not possible, sir,' said the Fräulein; 'es thut mir leid— it gives me pain. But, in fairness to my pupil, I must speak at once. I will be short. You said, sir, that no one was to compete for the prize who had missed coming to your class more than once. Until last week my pupil, Winifred, had missed once only, and then because she was not well. week she was to come, like the others. I took her to the Park gardens for a little refreshment, and when the time for the class. arrived I called her; I called and called, and she did not come. I thought she had been so foolish as to go home alone. I follow her. She is not there. I do not wish to alarm her mamma. I return to the gardens. I call and call. It is past one, sir; your class is over. All at once I hear a cry at the end of the garden. I listen; it is Winifred's voice. I say, "Here I am, my child; call again." She calls, and I find her shut up, a prisoner, in the tool-house. The poor child is cold and hungry, for it is past her dinner-hour. The key is not to find. I call the gardener, and he fetch another key, and let her out. I say, "My child, who have done this?" and she will not say. But last night she was not well; I go to see her in bed, and in her sleep she say, "Let me out; Meg, Meg, let me out; you'll make

me lose the prize!" Then I ask her this morning, and she cannot say no, that it was not Miss Margaret Dacre who have played her this trick. Sir, she did not want to come, but I have made her ; and, sir, I say that Miss Margaret Dacre have behaved abominably, and she do not deserve the prize.'

Meg stood there, scarlet, shame-faced, miserable, yet looking perhaps just one degree less wretched than Winnie, who never raised her eyes from the ground, but during the Fräulein's voluble harangue had sometimes half-raised her hand, as if to stop her from saying any more. Meg's Mademoiselle now rose from her seat, as if to take part in the discussion, and Mrs. Dacre also came forward. M. Lerou's kind old face wore an expression of the deepest distress as he turned towards her with a profound bow. Madame, je vous demande pardon: vous permettrez Will you allow me to arrange this sad affair?'.

'I need not say how grieved I am,' said Mrs. Dacre; but I feel that, as you say, M. Lerou, it is for you to arrange matters, and I will say no more at present.' She went back to her place, as did the Fräulein and Mademoiselle, and M. Lerou was left confronting his two pupils.

Poor old kind-hearted man! he was sincerely sorry for them, as also for the disturbance in the harmony of the day's proceedings; but still, there was a sort of gratification in holding a court of inquiry, and perhaps, with his love for the dramatic, it was the next best thing to an uninterrupted and triumphant distribution of prizes. The two little girls stood before him with downcast eyes, and he surveyed them gravely through his spectacles, every now and then raising his shoulders and his white eyebrows, and uttering an expressive, though semi-audible, hélas ! Then he appeared to gather himself together, as though for a great effort, and clasping his hands behind his back, and fixing his eyes on Meg, he asked, with all the sternness of which he was capable, 'Est-ce bien vrai, Mademoiselle, que vous avez enfermé votre compagnon?'

And Meg answered 'oui,' very low.

'Et ceci, sachant qu'elle n'avait manqué qu'une fois à la classe?' And Meg again said, ' oui,' but this time with more hesitation, and as though she would have added something more if she had dared.

M. Lerou, however, went on: Sachant aussi que la leçon devait avoir lieu ce jour-là, et voulant en priver Mademoiselle Winnie, afin qu'elle ne gagnât point le prix ?