Mr. Rathburn placed
in his hand a neat edition of Whittier's Poem's in blue and gold.
"Let this serve as an incentive to renewed effort," he said.
The second prize was awarded to one of the girls. As she has no
part in our story, we need say nothing more on this point.
At recess, Frank's desk was surrounded by his schoolmates, who
were desirous of examining the prize volumes. All expressed
hearty good-will, congratulating him on his success, with the
exception of John Haynes.
"You seem mighty proud of your books, Frank Frost," said he with
a sneer. "We all know that you're old Rathburn's favorite. It
didn't make much difference what you wrote, as long as you were
sure of the prize."
"For shame, John Haynes!" exclaimed little Harvey Grover
impetuously. "You only say that because you wanted the prize
yourself, and you're disappointed."
"Disappointed!" retorted John scornfully. "I don't want any of
old Rathburn's sixpenny books. I can buy as many as I please. If
he'd given 'em to me, I should have asked him to keep 'em for
those who needed 'em more.
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