ughed nervously.

"Suppose we've got to take our sporting luck!" she murmured.

"If nineteen are sure to lose, two are sure to win at any rate," said
Winona. "That's logic and mathematics and all the rest of it, too!"

"Right you are! That's a more cheering creed! It doesn't do to cry
'Miserere me' too soon!" chirped a jolly-looking dark-eyed girl with a
red hair-ribbon. "'Never say die till you're dead,' is my motto!"

"I'm wearing a swastika for a mascot," said a short, pale girl,
exhibiting her charm, which hung from a chain round her neck. "I never
am lucky, so I thought I'd try what this would do for me for once. I
know English history beautifully down to the end of Queen Anne, and no
further, and if they set any questions on the Georges I'll be stumped."

"I've learnt Africa, but Asia would floor me!" observed another, looking
up from a geography book, in which she was making a last desperate
clutch at likely items of knowledge. "I never can remember which side of
India Madras is on; I get it hopelessly mixed with Bombay."

"I wish to goodness they'd go ahead and begin," mourned the owner of the
red hair-ribbon. "It's this waiting that knocks the spirit out of me.
Patience isn't my pet virtue. I call it cruelty to animals to leave us
on tenter-hooks."

Almost as if in answer to her pathetic appeal the door opened, and a
teacher appeared. In a brisk, business-like manner she marshaled the
candidates into line, and conducted them to the door of the
head-mistress' study, where one by one they were admitted for a brief
private interview. Winona's turn came about the middle of the row.

"Pass in: as quickly as you can, please!" commanded the teacher,
motioning her onward.

As Winona entered, she gave one hasty comprehensive glance round the
room, taking in a general impression of books, busts and pictures, then
focussed her attention on the figure that sat at the desk. It was only
at a later date that she grasped any details of Miss Bishop's
personality; at that first meeting she realized nothing but the pair of
compelling blue eyes that drew her forward like a magnet.

"Your name?"

"Winona Woodward."

"Age?"

"Fifteen."

"Residence?"

"Highfield, Ashbourne, near Great Marston."

"How long have you lived in the county of Rytonshire?"

"Ever since I was born."

Miss Bishop hastily ticked off these replies on a page of her ledger,
and handed Winona a card.

"This will admit you to the examinatio