One other time in school he was severe with me: I had habitually helped certain girls with their compositions. It was play for me. They were poor stuff, but better than the others could do, and I always made theirs inferior to my own. One week I thought it would be fun to experiment a bit, so, instead of having the girls that I usually aided write a part of their own essays, I told each one that I would write her entire essay, if she would not tell a soul, and, after copying it, would destroy my copy. Each girl jumped at the chance. How the literary ardour possessed me that week! To write four or five essays besides my own, all of which were to be read in one afternoon, I must vary my style so that no one could detect the authorship. I flattered myself I was versatile enough to do this. Glowing with pride I read them to myself before handing them over to the girls. On the momentous afternoon I assumed a calm, indifferent manner while the various essays were being read; and when my turn came, at the last, read in my usual faltering voice, my knees trembling so that I felt I must run from the platform before I was half through. As usual, mine was greeted with applause, and I took my seat with cheeks aflame, a sense of elation all through me. It had been an exciting afternoon, but as I had sworn each girl to secrecy, I could share it with no one. At the close “Prof.” arose and said the exercises, though longer than usual, had been uncommonly interesting; that the choice of subjects had been varied, well chosen, well presented (I glowed more, with scarcely concealed pride); but--and here he paused--he would like to add that it seemed a little selfish, not to say conceited, for one person to be so pleased with her ability that she insisted on being represented five or six times in one afternoon! Instantly every eye was turned upon me. Each girl, knowing her own false position, suspected the others, and his remarks were so pointed that all the others guessed. He rubbed it in by saying that it was a well-laid plan, but was rather unflattering to the instructors to suppose them incapable of detecting it. Were we not aware that our teachers knew what each student was capable of? Then he launched forth in withering scorn of those who had been so helped, not only then, but throughout the year. But of what he said to them I cared little; for my own disgraceful part I felt the deepest chagrin. He made me realize how culpable I had been in helping them to sail under false colours. It was a bitter lesson for all of us, but did not keep me from lending a hand (or pen) when we graduated. It was known then, I’m sure, but winked at. One girl boldly said: “You’ve helped us all along, you can’t leave us in the lurch now.” In fact, I wrote outright the graduating essay of an upper-class girl who graduated the year before I did; and of the fourteen essays in our class, I had a hand in six, two of which (my own and another’s) I wrote outright. My