"Most unsporting!" moralized Marjorie. "Besides, when she got her chance, she hit the air! It will be very humiliating if the Oatlands team walk over us!" "Oh, don't be a Jeremiah! We're not beaten yet! If anybody can pull us through, our Captain will!" "Winona's a jewel!" agreed Marjorie. "And yet the best captain in the world can't make up for an only moderately good team. I feel my own deficiencies!" Practically the whole of the High School assembled as spectators on the great day of the match. Things were very different now from the old times when a mere handful collected to cheer the Seaton team. Mistresses and girls were alike keen, and most desirous of witnessing the combat. They followed the game breathlesly. "Oatlands isn't worth a toss!" commented Garnet exultantly. "Don't make too sure!" replied Linda, looking with apprehension as the red jerseys of their rivals massed round the ball. A familiar figure dashed forward, a hockey stick struck, and the ball swept out to safety. Linda heaved a long sigh of relief. "Winona is just A1," she murmured. "Hello! Good gracious! what's that idiot doing?" For Ellinor Cooper, whose arm was the strongest in the school, wielding her hockey stick with all her force, had hit Winona across the shin. Instantly there was a commotion. Winona, white with the agony of the blow, leaned hard against Bessie Kirk, and clenched her fists to avoid crying out. "Are you hurt?" "What's happened?" "You've had a nasty knock!" There was quite a crowd round Winona, and a chorus of sympathy. "Put in a substitute!" urged Bessie. "You're not fit to go on!" "No, no! I'm better now," panted their captain, with a wan little smile. "I'll manage, thanks! Yes, really! Please don't worry yourselves about me!" The game recommenced and Winona, with a supreme effort, continued to play. The pain was still acute, but she realized that on her presence or absence depended victory or defeat. Without her, the courage of the team would collapse. How she lived through the time she never knew. Inspired by the heroic example of their captain, the girls were playing for all they were worth. The score, which had been against them, was now even. Time was almost up. Winona set her teeth. The ball seemed a kind of star which she was following--Following anyhow. As the French say, she "did her possible." The ball went spinning. Next minute she was leaning against a goal-post, trembling with the violence of her effort, while the High School hoorayed itself hoarse in the joy of the hard-won victory. "I say, old girl, were you really hurt?" asked Bessie anxiously. "You're looking the color of chalk!" "Never mind, it's over now! Yes, I am hurt. Give me your arm, and I'll go back to the hostel." "You're an absolute Joan of Arc to-day!" purred Bessie. Winona, with a barked shin and bad bruises, limped for more than a week, but she was the heroine of the school.