“I wish you would try to win the prize in your class, dear Lilias,” said Victorine.

“I, Victorine!  It would be impossible.”

“Why, impossible, Lilias?  You have lately made great progress in the study of French, and if I may judge by your last translation, you will stand as good a chance as any of the class.”

“But, you know, I have your assistance, Victorine, and if I were writing for the prize I should be obliged to do it all myself.”

“I gave you little aid in your last exercises, Lilias, and there are yet two months before the time fixed for awarding the premiums, so you will have opportunity enough to try your skill.”

“But if I should not succeed, the whole school will laugh at me for making the attempt.”

“No, Lilias; those who possess proper feelings will never laugh at an attempt to do right, and for those who can indulge an ill-natured jest at the expense of a schoolfellow’s feelings, you need not care.  I am very anxious you should make the attempt.”

“Well, if you wish it, Victorine, I will do my best; but I know I shall fail.”

“Do you know how I generally succeed in such tasks, Lilias?  It is never by thinking of the possibility of failure.  I have almost forgotten to say, I can’t, and have substituted, upon every occasion, I’ll try.”

“Well, then, to please you, Victorine, ‘I’ll try,’” said Lilias, smiling.

“Poor child,” thought Victorine, “with your affectionate nature, and noble principles, it is a pity you should be regarded only as a dull and sullen little dunce, whom no one cares to waste a thought upon.”

For a long time, Lilias’ project in regard to the medal was concealed from the school.  To tell the truth, Victorine, herself, had many doubts as to the success of her little friend, but she knew if she failed to obtain the prize, the exertion would be of service to herself.

Long before the day arrived, Lilias had twenty times determined to withdraw from all competition; but she never broke a promise, and as she had pledged herself to Victorine, she resolved to persevere.

In the sequel, Victorine was surprised at the beauty of the thoughts in Lilias’ exercise, as well as the correctness of the language.  She was satisfied that Lilias had done well; her only fear was lest others should do better.

At the head of the class to which Lilias belonged was Laura Graham; and a mutual dislike had always existed between them.  Laura was a selfish, as well as an avaricious girl; and she had often looked with a covetous eye upon the costly trifles which Lilias’ father had bestowed upon his daughter.  To her narrow mind it seemed impossible that Victorine should not have an interested motive in her kindness to Lilias, and she thought an opportunity was now offered her of sharing some of her spoils.