“Here lies one who young in years,
    Left this mortal vale of tears;
    Cruel fate hath knocked her down,
    Tom from her the laurel crown,
    To win the gym display she sighed,
    But as she might not jump, she died!”

“Look here!” said Marjorie.  “I suppose the medal lies fairly well between us four.  I vote that we make a compact—­whoever wins treats the other three to ices!  It would be some compensation for losing!”

“Good for you, Jumbo!  I’m game!” agreed Bessie.

“If you’ll undertake they’ll be strawberry ices!” stipulated Winona.

“I mayn’t eat ices, they disagree with me!” wailed Joyce, “but if you’ll make it chocolates.”

“Done!  I won’t forget.  Ices for Bessie and Winona, and a packet of Cadbury’s for Joyce.  I’ll go and be ordering them!” chirruped Marjorie, dancing away.

“Cheek!  Don’t make so sure.”

“It’s my medal, so be getting your handkerchiefs ready,” maintained Winona.

Though Winona, just for the fun of teasing her friends, had pretended to appropriate the prize, she had really no anticipation of winning.  She was fairly good at gymnasium work, but could not be considered a champion.  She knew her success or failure would depend very much on luck.  If she happened to feel in the right mood she might achieve something, but it was an even chance that at the critical moment her courage might fail her.  In a match she was generally swept away by the intense feeling of cooperation, the knowledge that all her team were striving for a common cause buoyed her up, but in a competition where each was for herself, the element of nervousness would have greater scope.  When she thought about it, she felt that she would probably be shaking with fright.

The great day came at last.  The Gymnasium was decorated with flags in honor of the occasion, and pots of palms were placed upon the platform where the Governors and a few of the most distinguished visitors were accommodated with seats.  Winona, marching in to take part in the senior drill, gave one glance round the building, and grasped the fact that Aunt Harriet was sitting on the platform next to Councillor Jackson, and only a few places away from the expert who was to act as judge.  She was chatting affably with her august companions.  Think of chatting with a Governor!  Winona felt that it was some credit to have such a relation!  She had not always been very sure how much she valued Aunt Harriet’s opinion, but this afternoon she longed to shine before her.  Yet the very wish to do so made her nervous.  She glanced at her companions.  Bessie was looking stolidity itself, Marjorie’s usually high color had reached peony point, Joyce was palpably in the throes of stage fright.  All were soon marching and countermarching, swinging Indian clubs, and performing the intricate maneuvers of Swedish drill.  Fortunately they had practiced well, and it went without a hitch.  They breathed more freely as they retired to the ante-room to make way for the babies who were to do skipping exercises to music.