Next day was very wet and stormy, therefore Minnie could not go down to see Mabel as she had intended, and the whole family were at home after church.

"I say, Min," said Archie looking in at the parlour door, where Minnie, Seymour, and Ned were each engaged in staring out at the rain as it poured, and whirled, and beat upon the glass, as if in glorious enjoyment of some long-meditated revenge. "I say, they are all out down-stairs, and there's a jolly fire there. Let's go down into the kitchen and eat apples."

"Will any of you come?" asked Minnie, turning to Ned and Seymour, who hailed the prospect of such an advantageous exchange with delight, and thither they repaired forthwith.

It was a great stone kitchen, with an immense fire-place, in which blazed what Archie had with justice described as a jolly fire.

"Why, this is the idea!" exclaimed Ned, as he settled himself comfortably in his chair, and began on the apples which Archie piled upon the table. "I never imagined a kitchen was such a jolly place before—upon my word, I didn't. It fairly beats anything in the way of drawing-rooms, dining-rooms, or parlours that ever occurred in my experience, at least. Why did not we think of this before?" he demanded, as he stretched out his long legs before the fire with an air of intense satisfaction.

"O, we've often thought of it before, and done it too," answered Minnie laughing. "Only you see it isn't always possible, as we can only do it when the servants are out."

"Ah—um—just so," remarked Ned in a ruminating voice, "that's it, is it? Well, couldn't we have another kitchen for them, and keep this one for ourselves? I don't see any good reason why the best apartment in the house should be expressly constructed and designed for the particular delectation of the servants. I say it's a shame.'"

"You'd better enjoy it while you may," advised Seymour amid the laughter of the other two. "And not spoil your digestion by grumbling. When you have a house I have no doubt you will sit in the kitchen, and allow the servants to occupy the drawing-room."

Ned viewed this new proposition with grave and philosophic aspect, for the space of two minutes, and then gave it as the result of his cogitation that he "didn't know but he should prefer that arrangement after all."

Just then Charlie, guided by their laughter, came blundering down the stairs, and not being familiar with the way, took a wrong turning, and much to his astonishment found himself in an apartment, which was evidently a store-room of some description. Hastily groping his way back, he made an essay in another direction, and dived into a passage which ultimately landed him in a coal-cellar. On returning from this second unsuccessful expedition he discovered a door in the passage which he opened. Merely pausing to assure himself that it wasn't a cupboard, he stepped confidently out, and was precipitated into the kitchen, in a manner more expeditious than dignified, or even comfortable.

"Good gracious! Whatever can that be!" exclaimed Minnie, starting up, and running to the rescue, while the others followed with various appropriate and characteristic remarks of an ejaculatory description.

"O, don't disturb yourselves for the world—it isn't worth your while—now!" they were assured in the familiar tones of Charlie. "A nice set of people, you," he continued, when he had seated himself in the chair Ned had vacated in his astonishment. "To sit here comfortably and listen to a fellow searching about for the kitchen till it might as well be in the North West Passage for all the chance he has of finding it."

"We heard you come down stairs," explained Minnie when she could speak again, the rest were too much overcome with amusement to offer any observations whatever. "But we thought you had changed your mind and gone back when you didn't make your appearance." And she went off into another fit of merriment.

"Well, now that I am here at last—my dangers and perils at an end—won't any of you show your charity to a poor shipwrecked and tempest-tossed mariner, by pitching over half-a-dozen of those apples? Remarkably snug quarters these, to be sure! Quite worth the trouble I had in finding them."

"No doubt," returned Ned, finding himself deprived of his comfortable position, "when you manage to usurp another fellow's place. Remarkably snug, indeed!"

"Glad to find you're of the same opinion, old fellow, I rather imagined you wouldn't be so enthusiastic for a minute or so," and he settled himself down in a still more comfortable position yet, and seemed to enjoy himself greatly.

Ned, seeing that remonstrance was altogether useless, was forced to hold his tongue, and hunt up another chair with the best grace he could assume, after which Charlie gave an interesting account of his adventures.

Then they conversed on different subjects, and soon their conversation turned on the miner's dispute, and the scene their father had described to them on the preceding evening.

"I'm sure I said Min was a brick all along. I said they were all bricks, didn't I?" exclaimed Archie, appealing to Minnie.

"To be sure you did," she corroborated. "But I don't know that they would have regarded it as any great compliment, if indeed they would have understood it as such at all, so I didn't apprise them of your delicate attention—the girls, I mean." Archie pondered over this for several minutes, and seemed to come to the conclusion that perhaps it was better as it was, at any rate, he did not pursue the subject further.

"Well, I must confess," remarked Ned, "that I never half believed there was any practical use in Christianity till now."

"Practical use of Christianity," repeated Seymour, disdainfully, "the commonest charity would have had the same result."

"And what is the commonest charity but the essence of Christianity?" asked Minnie.

"Fiddlestick!" replied Seymour, irreverently. "Religion is based upon the difference, in an ecclesiastical sense, 'twixt tweedledum and tweedledee."

"Not the true religion of Christ," asserted Minnie, "not my religion."

"Then what is your definition of religion?" asked Charlie, who had been silent hitherto on the subject. "It deserves a voice, you know, since it has 'justified its existence by its success' in the words of father's favourite maxim."

"The religion of Christ does not justify itself by success," corrected Minnie, "since it is in itself the fountain of justice as well as of mercy, it requires no justification, but its adoption justifies all who receive it."

"Well, but tell us what it is, according to your interpretation?"

"According to my interpretation, which is also that of the New Testament," answered Minnie, "Pure religion and undefiled, is to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep one's self unspotted from the world."

"Well, that's simple enough at any rate. Is that your whole confession of Faith?"

"Yes, those are what I consider the duties of religion, but no one who has really felt its power, could ever think of them merely as duties."

"You have shown us beyond dispute that you are capable of acting up to the first proposition. Even I, who know little about it, can see that is the easier of the two, how about the second?"

"There is only one way I know of fulfilling that requisition—I can't help it if it seems absurd to you—to me it is the true and only one, and that is by following closely the footsteps of that One who alone trod the world without being corrupted by its evil."

Charlie considered a minute.

"Well, after all," he said, "there must be something in it. No amount of reasoning, however sound, would have moved the turgid intellects of those miners. I suppose that as long as minds of that calibre exist, there must also exist a means of influencing them for good, which must of necessity be the extreme antipodes of their own inclinations."

"I think I don't understand you very clearly," returned she, "but if you mean, as I think you do, that Christianity is only to be tolerated for what it can do in the way of working on the emotions of those who are altogether governed by them, you are wrong. Its purpose is a far higher one, that of awakening the conscience, and enlightening the darkened understanding of such as these."

"And of what use is it to those who are already freed by other means from that benighted condition?"

Minnie looked perplexed, and the tears began to gather slowly in her eyes. It pained her to find her knowledge on the subject so limited.

"Charlie," she said tremulously, "I am but newly awakened myself out of what you call 'that benighted condition,' through the influence of the Gospel of Christ, and I don't know anything of the other means you talk about. You know I am not much given to thinking, and I have never tried to argue out these matters. I only know what it has done for me."

"And what is that?" asked Charlie.

"It has saved me from a frivolous, unprofitable life on earth, and a death beyond the grave," replied Minnie, solemnly, "and what it has done for me, it can do for all who are willing."

She paused a moment, but as nobody spoke, went on: "I don't imagine that it has the same effect on everybody, it can't, of course, as everybody isn't alike, but it must make a change of some kind, even in people who live the best lives outwardly, before they realize the power of religion, live only half-filled lives, however much work they may do—as Mrs. Browning says—'Nor man, nor nature satisfies whom only God created.'"

"That's just where Minnie has us, I think," put in Seymour at this juncture, "If you all feel as I do, you must acknowledge that there is something within us which isn't of a piece with the corruptible part of our nature—something that craves for an object to worship and pour itself out to, and yet nothing on earth is perfect enough to satisfy."

"I suppose you mean the soul," observed Ned.

"Nay," replied Seymour, "that is what I would call the spirit, and if so, it cannot be of the earth—it must be supernatural. It cannot be a substance, and therefore it cannot be killed or subjected to any of the forms of corruption or extinction to which mundane objects are liable."

Just at this point they were interrupted by the entrance of two of the servants, and they were obliged to exchange their quarters for the drawing-room, where the conversation was not resumed. On the next afternoon, however, as Minnie was alone in the parlour, Archie came in, and leaning on the back of her chair with one arm round her neck, began in his usual impulsive fashion. "I say Minnie, Ned and I were talking it over—you know, what we were talking about last night—well, we had a long talk after we went to bed and we both came to the conclusion that since we always intended to go in for it some time, and knew that we could not face death without it, it would be a mean and cowardly thing to make a rush for it just at the end, and so we're determined to try for it at once."

Minnie's heart gave a great throb of joy at these words, and a torrent of thanksgiving went out from it for this answer to her unceasing prayers on her brothers' behalf; nevertheless, she was a good deal perplexed about the queer ideas he seemed to entertain on the subject, especially as he did not seem to have the ghost of a notion as to how he was to "make a try for it," as he expressed it.

Just at this point Mabel came in, and Minnie, for the first time in her life, regretted her friend's presence, fully expecting Archie to disappear as he usually did when any of her friends visited her. But this time Archie did not move, and after a minute he said "Does not Miss Chartres go down to Hollowmell with you? I think Seymour said she was with you the night you went with Charlie?"

"Yes," answered Minnie, wondering what was coming next.

"Then she won't be annoyed if we go on with what we were talking about. You see," he said turning to Mabel, "I can't bear to leave anything half done, and I don't see how I'm to get through this without Minnie's help."

Mabel apologised for interrupting them, and begged that they would not mind her presence at all.

"O, but we shall," said Archie smiling, "for perhaps you may help us—me, at any rate, to understand what Minnie is trying to teach me."

"And what may that be?" enquired Mabel, "I am afraid there is little hope for my success if Minnie fails."

"The way to Heaven," replied Archie without a moment's hesitation. To an ordinary observer her face would not have displayed any emotion, but the boy's keen eyes noticed how the shadows deepened in hers, and that her voice trembled a little as she answered that no one was better able to do that than Minnie.

"Well, I'm not so sure of that," he remarked, "Minnie has not had any difficulties herself, you see, and she can't understand how any one else can have any either. As she says herself she just took the salvation when it was offered her and God did the rest. That's easy enough—or looks so at the first glance, but when you come to try it, why, there's nothing more difficult in the whole world. It's just like Columbus and his friends turned the other way. They said it was impossible at first, and when he showed them they cried 'How easy!' we think, 'How easy!' But when we come to try we find it almost impossible."

"And soon," interrupted Minnie, "you will be wondering at yourself because you did not see it immediately."

After this the three had a long and earnest conversation, but Archie did not seem to get any nearer a solution of his difficulties, and at last decided to go in search of Edward Laurence, who might help him he thought.

Minnie was a good deal disappointed that she could not make things clear to Archie, but feeling assured by his earnestness that he would not long remain in the dark, she brightened up, and gave Mabel an account of how the strike had been averted.

Mabel's delight at this good news was in no way less than Minnie's had been, and for the first time since its occurrence, Minnie allowed herself to taste the fruit of her labour.

"And O, Mabel!" she exclaimed when they had talked about it till she felt it was too dangerously pleasant. "I didn't think of it before, but now the hall won't be needed for any more miner's meetings, so I suppose we may have it now."

"I should think we shall be able to get it easily enough," agreed Mabel, "What a deal of good has grown out of our little venture."

"Yes, is it not splendid to think of—and oh, don't you think we might go round to Rowson's to-night and secure the hall?"

"I think we might, the sooner it's settled the better."

They were soon ready, and walked slowly along, enjoying the sweetness of the lovely evening. Not far from the door they met Archie coming at a terrible pace, his face as bright and glowing as the sunset sky; without stopping to consider that he was on the public road, or regarding the amused look of passers-by, he caught Minnie round the neck and kissed her, and would in all probability have done the same to Mabel, if Seymour had not come up at that moment, and demanded of him what he meant by "making such an ass of himself."

Unabashed by Seymour's description of his conduct, Archie replied that Minnie understood him, and did not object, which statement she instantly corroborated.

He next enquired where they were going, and on their errand being explained both boys volunteered to accompany them, being of opinion that they were better fitted to carry out arrangements of such a nature than young ladies in general—a view which Mabel and Minnie both warmly protested against.

"But I think you had better go home, Archie," said Minnie with a look which he was not slow to interpret and respond to.

"All right!" he replied cheerfully. Then in an undertone as Seymour and Mabel walked on, "you understand, Min, it is all right."

"Yes dear, I understand, and I am so glad," she returned in such an affectionate voice, that Archie was moved to kiss her again, and then she ran off after the other two, feeling that her heart was almost too full of happiness.

When the trio arrived at Mr. Rowson's he was out, but they were desired to wait for his coming as he had left word that if any of the young ladies from the Hollow called, he wished particularly to see them. Accordingly, they sat down as requested, and in the course of ten minutes the gentleman himself appeared.

"I suppose you have come about the hall," he observed, addressing Minnie, after they had exchanged greetings.

"Exactly," she replied, "we guessed it would be vacant now, as the miners' dispute is settled."

"Thanks to you and your kind-hearted friends," put in the little man, smiling at the two girls who blushed violently.

"I am sure," he continued, turning to Seymour, "it would be quite a pleasure to let the hall to these young ladies for any purpose, but most of all for the purpose they have in view, and not to be behind hand in doing a good turn when I can, I must beg of you to accept the use of the hall for that day as a present." And he stopped breathless and perspiring from his unwonted exertion.

At first neither Mabel nor Minnie would hear of Mr. Rowson's proposal, and protested that they would rather pay for the hall, till Seymour, who had until now been a mere spectator of the proceedings, came to Mr. Rowson's aid who was by this time in a state of hopeless perspiration.

"Come, come, young ladies!" he said. "Do try to reduce yourselves to an ordinary level. Be a little more sensible, and a little less quixotic. Does it not occur to you that it is perhaps a little selfish, trying to secure the monopoly of charity to yourselves, and leaving others who too would like to do something in that way out in the cold?"

"But—" Minnie began, and then she came to a standstill, quite overcome by the last most ingenious argument.

Seymour laughed, so did Mr. Rowson, so did Mabel, and finally so did Minnie herself, and thus the matter was amicably settled.

Seymour and Minnie walked home with Mabel, and when they had left her at her own door, as they strolled slowly home, Seymour remarked, "What a quiet, sensible little woman your friend is—as different as possible from you; how comes it that two such extremes manage to get on so well?"

"Thanks for your good opinion! It's quite flattering to be classed as the extreme opposite of quiet and sensible," was the only reply vouchsafed by Minnie with a great show of offended dignity.

Seymour laughed, and remarked that often "people with a great deal more sense didn't put it to nearly such a good use."

Whereat Minnie assumed a slightly molified air, and observed that now he was disparaging himself—a piece of humility which he altogether repudiated.

Next morning there was a great deal of rejoicing among the girls, who were in early enough to hear Minnie's news, and some few, who had hitherto held back fearing public ridicule, were now eager to join them, finding they were regarded, not only with toleration, but even with approbation by the general public.

Mona Cameron was not among the number, though in her heart she would gladly have been there. She had many times longed to join them, and was even now only kept back by her pride, and the conviction that it would degrade her to place herself in the ranks and acknowledge Minnie Kimberly as her head and leader as the other girls cheerfully did, although Minnie herself had placed Mabel in the position of command, and loyally insisted on her approval being necessary to the most trivial arrangement.

On this morning it happened that Mona was in early, and was obliged to listen to the happy chatter of the girls as they discussed their plans with a zest and good-humour such as seldom prevails when a company of girls have under discussion a subject on which each has her individual and separate ideas, and is anxious to see them carried out.

Mona sat apart, feeling very much annoyed with herself for caring at all about "charity organizations," and yet caring all the more, listening eagerly to every different suggestion—rejecting this one in her own mind, and approving that, or improving it, as the case might be, by tacking on some neat little amendment evolved from her own clever brain.

All of a sudden, these several proceedings were brought to a standstill by the entrance of the Principal and teachers rather sharper to the minute than was the usual custom of the school.

Immediately after the opening exercises, Miss Marsden produced from an envelope in her hand, a large blue paper, and announced that she had that morning received the result of the examination, and would now read it to the school, as it was probably a matter of interest to all, though only two of their number had taken part in it, and might possibly act as a stimulus to others to follow their example.

She then proceeded to read the list at the head of which stood Mona Cameron, followed by Minnie Kimberly—a circumstance which was simply the fulfilment of the general expectation; but the announcement of Mona's name as the taker of the Latin prize was a matter of astonishment to all, and rather a blow to most of them, as it had been confidently expected that Minnie would take it, and to no one did it afford greater surprise than to Mona herself. The flush of triumph on her face deepened for a moment on hearing this second piece of news, but it faded quickly as she remembered Minnie's translation.

"Prize-taker or no prize-taker," she muttered to herself, "Minnie's translation was worth a dozen of mine." And her sense of justice revolted against the decision, whosever it might be; moreover, Mona did not care much about the prize she did not care to have the name of being first merely, her ambition was to be first, and feel herself first. She knew in her own heart that in this matter she was far behind Minnie, and was therefore far from being satisfied, although any of the girls would have said she certainly ought to be.

She received her music lesson from Miss Marsden herself so when the hour arrived she resolved to speak to her on the subject, and did so.

"I can't make anything of Minnie," replied Miss Marsden to her query, "she showed me her translation—one which would have been no shame to a graduate in Classics, and forgive me, Miss Cameron, greatly superior to yours.

"She said that she showed me it simply to assure me that it was not through idleness she declined to enter the Latin competition. I was naturally anxious to know what motives influenced her in this course, but she would give me no satisfaction on that point. She merely said she did not intend to send it, that was all.

"I reasoned with her," continued the Principal, "and used every argument I could think of to induce her to change her mind, and finally represented to her that it was her duty to consider the interests of the school as well as her own feelings. She became quite distressed at this, and assured me she had made every effort in her power to make a creditable appearance, but she could not alter her determination in this case.

"I saw that further remonstrance would only pain her and could not effect my purpose, so I said no more, but allowed her to have her way."

Mona looked almost incredulous for a moment, and then without a word went on with her music. She thought she had discovered Minnie's motive.

When she entered the schoolroom again, she secured a seat beside Mabel, and launched at once into the subject uppermost in her mind.

"Well, Mabel," she began, "what do you think of the result of the examination?"

"I don't know that I have thought much about it at all but I do not see how the result could have been different."

"Ah, then, I was right in supposing you to be aware of Minnie's intention not to send that Latin translation?"

"Yes, I did know of it," replied Mabel.

"And why then, in the name of justice, did you not prevent her carrying out that intention?" demanded Mona, impatiently, almost forgetting her object. "Surely you might have used your well-known influence better!"

"Nothing would have induced her to give up her determination," replied Mabel, quietly, "and I would have been the last to advise her to do so, seeing she made it a matter between herself and her conscience."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mona, recollecting herself, "That is just what I want to know about. What was her real reason? you know she did not give any to Miss Marsden. Don't be afraid to tell me, I have no sinister motive in asking it, I merely wish to do Minnie justice."

Mabel glanced at her in some astonishment before she replied. "I am not sure that the reason she gave to me was her real one," she said, "at least, I think it was only a part of it. However, I will tell you what she gave to me as such. She said that she had studied Latin so long with her brothers, that she would be able to place any one at a disadvantage who was obliged to study it alone. She considered that she occupied a rather unfair position with regard to you particularly, and probably also to many of the others who would take part in the examination.

"I think she was pretty sorry about it, for I can assure you, she spared no pains on that translation, and was very proud of it. I remember how regretfully she looked at it, when she told me she was not going to send it after all, and then laughed and said she should be satisfied with the power to do it, even if no one knew about it but herself."

"I am sure I would if I had been Minnie," remarked Mona. "No, I wouldn't either—I would have liked it to be known and appreciated—but I wouldn't have cared for the prize in comparison with the translation itself. But have you no idea about the rest of her reason? That isn't the whole of it, as you say."

"Well, I have my own ideas," admitted Mabel, "but I don't consider myself at liberty to give expression to them, even as conjectures."

"Then I am right!" exclaimed Mona, triumphantly, "I have got on to the right track at last, and you will see what I shall make of it. Mabel," she continued earnestly, "you can't think how miserable I have been all this while about my conduct to Minnie. Often I have been on the point of giving in and acknowledging how wrong it was, but my pride has always stood in the way and dared me to do it. I don't think I am a coward in most things, but I am a perfect dastard before that, my worst enemy. I think he is down now, though, and if I can help it, he'll never recover from the defeat Minnie has administered to him this morning."

Mabel did not know very well what to say in reply to this confession. She felt very much inclined to get up and embrace Mona on the spot, a most uncommon circumstance with our calm, quiet, undemonstrative Mabel, but it being within school hours, and consequently such an exhibition being altogether out of the question, she merely slipped her hand into Mona's and gave it a hearty squeeze which was cordially returned by Mona, at the same time furtively wiping some imperceptible spots of dust off her cheek, while she narrowly examined the points of her compasses which she still held in her hand.

"Don't say anything," whispered Mona, after a long pause, "I'll manage it myself."

"Very well," agreed Mabel, as she rolled up her work and went out.

Mona was determined to do what she had made up her mind to do, thoroughly, and to do it at once, before her purpose began to cool, and perhaps die out all together. Accordingly, she watched diligently for an opportunity to speak to Minnie, which seemed to be a particularly difficult matter to obtain that afternoon; but at last her perseverance was rewarded by the sight of Minnie alone in the dressing-room.

She was rummaging about in her jacket-pocket for something, and started slightly when she became aware of Mona's presence. She did not speak, but continued her search, and Mona looked at her wistfully for a moment, not knowing how to begin—her carefully prepared appeal having vanished as if by magic.

"Minnie," was all she could falter out, "I—have been so—so—unjust to you—always. Can you forgive me?"

For the space of a minute Minnie stood gazing at her in sheer amazement, and then with impulsive swiftness flung her arms round her neck, whispering, "Oh, Mona, I am so glad we may be friends at last."

Mona forgot all about the Latin translation, and Minnie's motive in connection with it—forgot everything in her new friendship, and not till many days after did she recur to the subject.

The girls were all dying of curiosity to know the history of the wonderful alliance between the quondam enemies and rivals, but neither Mona, nor Minnie, nor Mabel, who alone knew any of the circumstances connected with it, uttered a word of explanation, so they were fain to accept it as it stood.

Mona entered heart and soul into the arrangements for the floral entertainment, and won the admiration as well as the gratitude of all, by the remarkable genius she displayed in the creation of novel devices, and before unheard-of improvements in their plans.

She had evidently made good use of her time during her self-imposed banishment from their councils; she had listened to all their plans and revised and improved them in her own mind, using up every little atom of good suggestion till she had perfected and rounded them to her own satisfaction, which was a much harder matter to gain than the satisfaction of the young ladies to whom she had now the opportunity of propounding them, indeed, it was a matter of such universal congratulation when Mona Cameron joined them that, had Minnie been just a little less anxious for the good of others, and a little more desirous of her own glorification, she would certainly have become jealous of Mona's new-found popularity. But Mona was at this time a good deal softened by the ordeal of humiliation through which she had passed, albeit, the ceremony was performed before only one witness, and did not feel any great inclination for the applause with which her efforts were invariably greeted.