But an event soon occurred which caused the Ruby Seal to sink into comparative insignificance. The graduating class walked home from school one evening, looking, one and all, as if they had something on their minds. They were talking of a prize which had been promised to the best scholar at close of school. Judith Pitcher, the girl with long features and melancholy eyes, looked discouraged. Diademia Jones, who usually wore a Berlin iron breastpin, which looked like an ink-blot, pouted, and said she wouldn't try: what did she care? Weak little Lucy Lane was nervous, and declared, if she hadn't staid home and got behind in her lessons, she might try; but, as it was, she didn't call it quite fair. All agreed it was a pity that Cassy Hallock should be away; they wondered her ma would allow her to go visiting in the midst of the term. One little girl, with bright and animated face, listened to all these remarks, but said nothing herself. Grace Clifford and Isabel Harrington were walking together, hand in hand. This was not quite to Grace's fancy. If she might have had her way, she would hardly have joined hands with any one but Cassy, certainly not with Isa, who was not a particular favorite of hers. They happened to be walking directly behind Mahla Linck and Diademia Jones. Diademia, or Di, as she was called, was saying, "I reckon you'll get the prize, Mahla, dear. I'm sure I hope so." A pink color flushed Mahla's pale cheeks, and she looked very eager, but said, sadly,-- "No use, Di. I could, perhaps, if it wasn't for Gracie Clifford; but she's so smart in arithmetic she'll get it. O, I'm sure she will." And as Mahla spoke she seemed to lean more helplessly on her crutch, and to limp more painfully than ever. She little knew that every word she spoke was overheard by Grace Clifford, and was sinking deep into her heart. Mahla was a gentle, studious girl, pitied by every one for her incurable lameness, and beloved for the sweet patience with which she bore her great sufferings. It was certainly Grace's intention, and had been ever since the promise of a prize, to try for it; but when she heard Mahla's hopeless words she was grieved, and felt an impulse to rush forward and throw her arms about the poor girl's neck, and say, "Now don't be afraid of me, Mahla. I'll not stand in your way." But this impulse Grace checked at once. In the first place, it would have been a silly parade of sentiment, she thought; and, in the second place, ambition was a strong feature in Grace's character; she could not, without a struggle, give up the hope of a prize. By this time she and Isabel had crossed the street, and heard nothing more that passed between Mahla and her companion. "Well, Gracie, dear," said Isa, "I'd be ashamed, if I was Di Jones, to talk about Mahla Linck's getting this prize, when Di knows well enough Mahla isn't half so good a scholar as you are." "O, but she is, though, Isa," said Grace, faintly. "Mahla's very studious, very, indeed."