story contest offer. It was a most alluring one. The prizes were large and numerous. The conditions were set forth in glowing terms. To read it, one would think that to win out were the easiest thing in the world. It contained even a special appeal that might have been framed for Pollyanna herself.
"This is for you—you who read this," it ran. "What if you never have written a story before! That is no sign you cannot write one. Try it. That's all. Wouldn't you like three thousand dollars? Two thousand? One thousand? Five hundred, or even one hundred? Then why not go after it?"
"The very thing!" cried Pollyanna, clapping her hands. "I'm so glad I saw it! And it says I can do it, too. I thought I could, if I'd just try. I'll go tell auntie, so she needn't worry any more."
Pollyanna was on her feet and half way to the door when a second thought brought her steps to a pause.
"Come to think of it, I reckon I won't, after all. It'll be all the nicer to surprise her; and if I should get the first one—!"
Pollyanna went to sleep that night planning what she could do with that three thousand dollars.
Pollyanna began her story the next day. That is, she, with a very important air, got out a quantity of paper, sharpened up half-a-dozen pencils, and established herself at the big old-fashioned Harrington desk in the living-room. After biting restlessly at the ends of two of her pencils, she wrote down three words on the fair white page before her. Then she drew a long sigh, threw aside the second ruined pen-
