C-R-A-C-K!  A sound rang out on the still air that startled Migwan like the report of a pistol, followed immediately by another.  She came to her senses with a rush.  With hardly a moment’s warning the ice on which she was standing broke away from the main mass and began to move.  Struck motionless by fright, she had not the presence of mind to jump back to the larger field.  A wave washed in between, separating her by several feet from the solid ice.  The cake she was on began to heave and fall sickeningly.  There was another cracking sound and the edge of the solid body of ice broke up into dozens of floating cakes, that ground and pounded each other as the waves set them in motion.  Every drop of blood receded from Migwan’s heart as she realized what had happened.  She screamed aloud, once, and then knew the futility of it.  Her voice could not reach to the shore.  Lake and sky and horizon line now mocked her with their silence.  The cake of ice, lurching and tipping, began floating out to sea.

On this wintry afternoon Sahwah left the house in a far different mood from that which had carried Migwan blindly over the ground.  Her eyes were sparkling with the joy of life and her cheeks were glowing in the cold.  She wore a heavy reefer sweater and a knitted cap.  Under her arm was her latest plaything—­a pair of skis.  By her side walked Dick Albright, one of the boys in her class, whom she considered especially good fun.  Dick also had a pair of skis.  The two of them were bound for the park to practice “making descents” from the hillsides.  Sahwah was absolutely happy, and chattered like one of the sparrows that were flocking on the lawns and streets.  Her chief interest in life just now was the school basketball team, of which she was a member.  Soon, very soon, would come the big game with the Carnegie Mechanics, which would decide the championship of the city.  Sahwah was the star forward for the Washington High team, and it was no secret that the winning of that game depended upon her to a great extent.  Sahwah was the idol of the athletically inclined portion of the school.  Dick thought there never was such a player—­for a girl.

Sahwah was full of basketball talk now, and made shrewd comments on the good and bad points of both teams, weighing the chances of each with great care.  “Mechanicals’ center is shorter than ours; we have the advantage there.  One of their forwards is good and the other isn’t, and one of our guards is weak.  On the whole, we’re about evenly matched.”

“Fine chance Mechanicals’ll have with you in the game,” said Dick.

“The only thing I’m afraid of,” said Sahwah, with a thoughtful pucker, “is Marie Lanning; you know, Joe Lanning’s cousin.  She’s to guard me and she’s a head taller.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll manage all right,” said Dick.  Sahwah laughed.  It was pleasant to be looked up to as the hope of the school.  “If you only don’t get sick,” said Dick.