There by the stove sat the glaring white kitty, staring at Grace with winking eyelids, and on the mantel stood the clock ticking at her, and in the corner sat Barby clicking needles at her; every tick and every click seeming to go through Grace's ears like percussion caps. "Miss Grace," said Barbara, picking up a stitch, "be you writin' to Susy Parlin?" "No, Barby," replied Grace, frowning at her paper. Barbara went on with her knitting, the clock went on with its ticking, and the cat still stared at Grace. Presently Barbara dropped another stitch. "Miss Grace," said she, "does you write to little Prudy Parlin?" "No, Barby; to Cassy. But seems to me you're amazingly wide awake." "Yes, dear; I doesn't feel sleepy a bit." Sharp words were on Grace's tongue again; but she said gently, after a pause,--"Barby, will you please not talk? It troubles me." "Bless your little white heart," cried Barby, turning about, and putting her feet on the stove hearth, "not a word more will I speak." Grace felt quieted. She had fought against her "nervous system," and conquered a peace. Now, for the first time, she could write, and forget clocks, cats, and knitting-needles in her subject. She told Cassy just what her father said, what her mother said, and how "there never was anything she wanted so much as that splendid prize." Then she spoke of Mahla Linck, and asked Cassy to be sure and write what she thought about her. Would it be a shame to try to get ahead of a poor lame girl? Why need one mind Mahla more than the other princesses? Hadn't one a right to push by all that came in one's way? Somehow Grace did not wish to tell her mother of the strife going on in her mind. "Ma wouldn't care a picayune about my winning," thought she; "she'd say, 'Give it up to the little German.' Ma is almost too good to live. But pa cares about it; O, I can see that pa cares very much." Grace's mind was settling itself. By writing the facts in black and white they had become clearer to her. Now she was fully decided what course to take about Mahla. She wrote till nine o'clock, then signed herself, "Yours, like everything--Gracie." "Now, Barby," said she, "yon may talk as much as you please, for I've no more writing to do. Much obliged to you for keeping so still." Barby laughed in high good humor, and going into the pantry, brought out a funny little table, about a foot and a half long. It was a miniature extension table, of black walnut, freshly polished with sweet oil. Grace clapped her hands, screaming with delight. "Why, where did this come from? Just what I've wanted for my dining-room department, Barby, ever since I had my cabinet!" Barbara took out the inside leaves, making an oval centre-table. "O, so cunning! Whose is it, Barby? I haven't felt like I could give dinner parties for my enormous doll on that tea-poy--it's too tall."