“While we were still in our callow infancy I should not have ventured,” wrote Kirsty from Cornwall.  “But one must begin some time to measure one’s strength.  After the work we did last season, I certainly think you might risk it.  Nothing improves a team so much as playing plenty of matches; you see in time you get to know the strokes of everybody at the High, and you can calculate what others will do at certain turns of the game; it’s far better for you to meet all sorts and conditions of opponents.”

Winona had been afraid it was rather “cheek” to challenge the “West Rytonshire Club” or “Oatlands College,” but she ascertained that both those august bodies had two teams, Number 1 and Number 2, and that while the first only met foes worthy of their steel (or rather sticks!) the second would graciously condescend to play a yet unknown High School.  The match with Oatlands College was fixed for December 16th, and Winona looked forward to it with some anxiety.  The last practice had not been altogether satisfactory.  The day had been wretchedly cold, and everybody had been cross in consequence.  The team, though proud of its fixture with so celebrated an opponent, was not very sure of itself.

“I hope to goodness Peggie’ll play up!” groaned Marjorie Kemp.  “The way she lost that last goal on Saturday was idiotic.”

“She said she was cold!” commented Gladys Porter, witheringly.  “She wanted to change at half-time.  She said her feet were solid ice, and her nose was blue, and it was no fun watching the whole of the game being played right away at the other end of the field.”

“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.