The June days sped so rapidly that Genevieve wondered where they went, sometimes. School was to close the twenty-third. Mr. Hartley was to arrive on the twentieth. Meanwhile examinations and the prize contest were uppermost in every one's thoughts. Graduation exercises were to come in the evening. The winner of the prize was to be announced at that time, also.  
"And really, you know, the announcement of the prize-winner is all we care about ," Elsie said one day, in the presence of a group of her friends on the schoolhouse steps.
 
"Just you wait till you graduate," laughed back Bertha's brother, Charlie, "and then I guess the evening exercises will be of some consequence."
 
"Of course—but that won't be till two years from now," cried Genevieve.
 
"Then you girls will be thinking more of frills and furbelows than you will of prizes," laughed Harold Day.
 
"I've got a new white dress for Graduation night," said Elsie in a low voice to Genevieve, "and I don't believe I could have a prettier one, even then."
 
"Another new white dress?" demanded Tilly, who had heard the aside. "Why, Elsie Martin, you had one for Miss Sally's wedding!"
 
Elsie laughed happily.
 
"I know—but this is a muslin. Aunt Kate seemed to want me to have it—and of course I'd love to have it, myself!"
 
Genevieve, for some reason, looked suddenly very happy, so much so that Harold, watching her, said quietly a minute later:
 
"Well, young lady, what's gone specially right with your world to-day?"
 
Genevieve laughed and blushed. She shook her head roguishly. Then suddenly she rejoined:
 
"I reckon one of my bad things has turned out all good—that's all!"
 
True to his word, Mr. Hartley came on the twentieth. He was to be Mrs. Kennedy's guest until the start for Texas after school had closed.
 
"My, dearie! how fine and tall we are growing," he greeted his daughter affectionately. "Looks like Mr. Tim and the boys won't know you, I'm thinking!"
 
"Nonsense! Of course they will—and I can't hardly wait to see them, either," cried Genevieve.
 
It is doubtful if, on Graduation night, Cordelia Wilson herself listened to the announcement of the prize-winner any more anxiously than did Genevieve. It seemed as if she could not bear it—after what had happened—if Cordelia did not get the prize. And Cordelia got it.
 
"'When Sunbridge went to Texas,'" read Mr. Jackson, "Cordelia Wilson." And it was Genevieve who clapped the loudest.
 
Cordelia, certainly, was happy. And when Genevieve saw her amazed, but happy face, she wondered why she should suddenly want to cry—for, surely, she had never felt happier in her ............