THE CINDERELLA FROCK. 37

It was a glorious Saturday afternoon, school
was out, and Alice was ferreting about by
herself among brakes and brambles by the
roadside for a grand bouquet that was to sur-
prise her father upon her going home, when,
who should she find sitting in the shadow of
a shelving rock poring over a ragged picture
book, but Miss Rovina Gove.

‘Why, Rovina!’”’ was Alice’s joyful
exclamation, ‘‘ You here, and reading,—
reading Cinderella, I declare! Is it not
beautiful ? ”’ |

Rovina looked up as though she could have
bitten the intruder.

‘¢ No, Jdon’t call it beautiful,’’ she snarled
out, ‘‘ I shouldn’t have been Aere with the
thing, I promise you, if I’d not been ashamed
to be seen with it among people.’’

‘‘ Why, Rovina! what fault can you find
In it ?”’