“If any of you muff the ball or do anything stupid, I’ll never forgive you!” she assured her Eleven.  “The Sixth are A1 at fielding, so for goodness’ sake don’t disgrace our Form.  Beware of Patricia’s bowling.  It looks simple, but it’s the nastiest I know.  I’d rather have Kirsty’s any day, because at least you know what to expect from her, and you’re on your guard.  Don’t try to be clever too soon; it’s better not to score at all during the first over than to run any risks.  Evelyn, you were a mascot to-day!  I hope you’ll play up equally well on Saturday.  By the by, Joyce, I really can’t compliment you on your innings.  What were you thinking of to make that idiotic blind swipe?”

“I don’t know!” returned Joyce dolefully. (She was sitting on the fence looking decidedly crestfallen.) “I’m afraid I’m rather rocky to-day, somehow.”

“Got nerves?  Girl alive!  Do brace up!”

“No, it’s not nerves.  My head’s been aching all the week, and I’ve a pain across my chest, and I keep shivering.  I suppose I must have caught cold.  It’ll be a grizzly nuisance if I can’t play on Saturday!”

“You must play!” urged Winona.  “We’ve got to beat the Sixth or perish in the attempt!  You go home at once, and get some hot tea, and go to bed afterwards if you don’t feel better.  You may stop in bed all to-morrow if it’ll do you good!”

“Thank you, Grannie!  Perhaps I will go home now.  I really am feeling rather queer.”

“She looks queer, too,” said Bessie Kirk to Winona, as they stood watching Joyce’s retreating figure.  “I thought she was going to faint a while ago.  It’ll be a hideous nuisance if she has to be out of it.”

“Our best bowler!  It’s unthinkable!” groaned Winona.

“It’s hard luck, but I’m certain Joyce won’t play on Saturday,” said Mary Payne.

The team was feeling rather down at the prospect.

“We may throw up the sponge if Joyce is off!” mourned Olave Parry.

“Shut up, you bluebottle!” snapped Winona, decidedly out of temper.  “Joyce may be absolutely well again by Saturday, and if she isn’t Marjorie Kemp must take her place.  Do be sporting!  You’ll never win if you make up your mind beforehand that you’re going to lose!”

When Winona walked into V.a. on the following morning she looked anxiously in the direction of Joyce’s desk, but the familiar check dress and amber pigtail were not to be seen.  Little groups of girls were standing in clusters, talking in apparent consternation.

“Well!  Have you heard the news?” asked Garnet, stepping forward to meet her friend.

“No.  What’s the damage?  You’re looking very down in the dumps!”

“Joyce Newton has developed small-pox!”

“Nonsense!” exploded Winona.

“It’s perfectly true,” said Garnet, with severe dignity in her voice.  “One only wishes for Joyce’s sake that it wasn’t!  The news has only just come.  Helena Maitland knows about it.  She lives next door, and saw the doctor’s car at the Newtons’ gate this morning.”