The Argosy — page 118: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

106 Gwen. and that if we only do what we like in life, our characters will be worthless ?” ‘‘T never meant to waste my life in doing only what I like,” said Gwen, hotly. ‘I mean to try and make the best of it for others. But I thought you allowed that our tastes were given us for guides = and that it is better to make the most of what talents we have than to be trying to force ourselves into other people’s places. Only you never wild give me the least bit of encouragement. I can’t think why the boys say you are such a good coach!” exclaimed Gwen, angry tears starting to her eyes, which she hurried away to hide. Mr. Dallas’s impulse was to follow her, and plead for forgiveness. He had not seen the starting tears, or at all risks he would have done so; but something kept him back, and with a suppressed sigh, and a very tender, pitiful look on his kind, clever face, he went his way. As for Gwen, she hurried into her room, and sitting down before her crimson-covered table, leant her arms upon it and her head upon her arms, and let the tears flow. What had come over her ? IV. Tue school had re-assembled again after the summer vacation, and the whole place was alive once more with the cheerful stir of brisk boy-life. The long vacation had somehow seemed especially long to Gwen this year, and the regular ringings of the school bell for chapel and call-over, and the sight of the cricket-field alive with white- flannelled cricketers, was especially welcome to her. She was eager too for tidings of the result of her examination, which might come any day now, and her pulses beat more quickly at each knock of the postman. The meeting between herself and Mr. Dallas had been very friendly. He had described his Swiss tour, and they had had one of their old friendly chats, though not in Gwen’s den, and with- out any arithmetical interludes. This was on the first day of term, and on the next afternoon poor Gwen learnt her fate. Alas! her worst fears were realised. In one of the preliminary subjects, arithmetic, she had failed utterly, and in one only, composition, had she attained any extra marks. On hearing the postman’s knock, she had fled to her den, and shut herself in, in a fever of expectancy. Presently she heard her father’s step without, and the next moment he opened the door and stood there radiant, with the letter in his hand. “I thought we would read it together, Gwen,” he said, cheerily ; and then noticing her white cheeks, he added hastily :; ‘‘ What is it child ? are you ill?” “Ob, papa, suppose I have failed?” gasped Gwen. * Failed ? Nonsense, that is out of the question! Let us see rather, what honours you have won.” ss ~ comicbooks.com