Sahwah smiled modestly as one of the old campers started a cheer for her, and turned to watch Undine Girelle, who was mounting the diving tower.  When Undine also went off the highest springboard backward, and in addition turned a complete somersault before she touched the water, Sahwah realized that she had met her match, if not her master.  Heretofore, Sahwah’s swimming prowess had been unrivalled in whatever group she found herself, and it was a matter of course with the Winnebagos that Sahwah should carry off all honors in aquatics.  Now they had to admit that in Undine Girelle Sahwah had a formidable rival and would have to look sharply to her laurels.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” came in exclamations from all around, as Undine sported in the water like a dolphin.  “But then,” someone added, “she’s used to bathing in the surf in Hawaii.  No wonder.”

There were about fifteen put in the Shark class in the first try-out, of whom Sahwah and Undine were acknowledged to be the best.  Hinpoha and Gladys and Migwan also qualified as Sharks; Katherine went voluntarily into the Perch class, and Agony failed to pass her diving test, although she accomplished her distance swim and the demonstration of the strokes.

Agony felt somewhat humiliated at having to go into the second class; she would much rather have been in the more conspicuous Shark group.  Sahwah had already made a reputation for herself; Hinpoha drew admiring attention when she let her glorious red curls down her back to dry them in the sun; but she herself had so far made no special impression upon the camp.  Why hadn’t she distinguished herself like Sahwah, or Undine Girelle, Agony thought enviously.  Others were already fast on their way to becoming prominent, but so far she was still going unnoticed.  Her spirit chafed within her at her obscurity.

Oh-Pshaw, alas, was only a Minnow.  The fear of water which had lurked in her ever since the accident in her early childhood had kept her from any attempt to learn to swim.  It was only since she had become a Winnebago and had once conquered her fear on that memorable night beside the Devil’s Punch Bowl that she began to entertain the idea that some day she, too, might be at home in the water like the others.  It was still a decided ordeal for her to go in; to feel the water flowing over her feet and to hear it splash against the piles of the dock and gurgle over the stones along the shore; but she resolutely steeled her nerves against the sound and the feel of the water, forcing back the terror that gripped her like an icy hand, and courageously tried to follow the director’s instructions to put her face down under the surface.  It was no use; she could not quite bring herself to do it; the moment the water struck her chin wild panic seized her and she would straighten up with a choking cry.  She looked with envy at the other novices around her who fearlessly threw themselves into the water face downward, learning “Dead Man’s Float” inside of ten minutes.  She would never be able to do that, she reflected sorrowfully, as she climbed up on the dock before the period was half over, utterly worn out and discouraged by her repeated failures to bring her head under water.