The Luckiest Girl in the School | Page 6

voice--she announced:
"I suppose we're all going in for this same exam.!" It was a trite
commonplace, but it broke the ice. Everybody looked relieved. The
atmosphere seemed to clear.

"Yes, we're all going in--that's right enough," replied a ruddy-haired
girl in spectacles, "but there are only two scholarships, so nineteen of
us are bound to fail--that's logic and mathematics and all the rest of it."
"Whew! A nice cheering prospect. Wish they'd put us out of our misery
at once!" groaned a stout girl with a long fair pigtail.
"I'm all upset!" shivered another.
"It's like a game of musical chairs," suggested a fourth. "We're all
scrambling for the same thing, and some are bound to be out of it."
The ruddy-haired girl laughed nervously.
"Suppose we've got to take our sporting luck!" she murmured.
"If nineteen are sure to lose, two are sure to win at any rate," said
Winona. "That's logic and mathematics and all the rest of it, too!"
"Right you are! That's a more cheering creed! It doesn't do to cry
'Miserere me' too soon!" chirped a jolly-looking dark-eyed girl with a
red hair-ribbon. "'Never say die till you're dead,' is my motto!"
"I'm wearing a swastika for a mascot," said a short, pale girl, exhibiting
her charm, which hung from a chain round her neck. "I never am lucky,
so I thought I'd try what this would do for me for once. I know English
history beautifully down to the end of Queen Anne, and no further, and
if they set any questions on the Georges I'll be stumped."
"I've learnt Africa, but Asia would floor me!" observed another,
looking up from a geography book, in which she was making a last
desperate clutch at likely items of knowledge. "I never can remember
which side of India Madras is on; I get it hopelessly mixed with
Bombay."
"I wish to goodness they'd go ahead and begin," mourned the owner of
the red hair-ribbon. "It's this waiting that knocks the spirit out of me.
Patience isn't my pet virtue. I call it cruelty to animals to leave us on

tenter-hooks."
Almost as if in answer to her pathetic appeal the door opened, and a
teacher appeared. In a brisk, business-like manner she marshaled the
candidates into line, and conducted them to the door of the
head-mistress' study, where one by one they were admitted for a brief
private interview. Winona's turn came about the middle of the row.
"Pass in: as quickly as you can, please!" commanded the teacher,
motioning her onward.
As Winona entered, she gave one hasty comprehensive glance round
the room, taking in a general impression of books, busts and pictures,
then focussed her attention on the figure that sat at the desk. It was only
at a later date that she grasped any details of Miss Bishop's personality;
at that first meeting she realized nothing but the pair of compelling blue
eyes that drew her forward like a magnet.
"Your name?"
"Winona Woodward."
"Age?"
"Fifteen."
"Residence?"
"Highfield, Ashbourne, near Great Marston."
"How long have you lived in the county of Rytonshire?"
"Ever since I was born."
Miss Bishop hastily ticked off these replies on a page of her ledger, and
handed Winona a card.
"This will admit you to the examination room. Remember that instead
of putting your name at the head of your papers, you are to write the

number given you on your card. Any candidate writing her own name
will be disqualified. Next girl!"
It was all over in two minutes. Winona seemed hardly to have entered
the room before she was out again.
"Move on, please!" said the teacher, marshaling the little crowd round
the door. "Will those who have seen Miss Bishop kindly go along the
corridor."
Several girls who had been standing in a knot made a sudden bolt, and
pushed their fellows forward. Somebody jogged Winona's elbow. Her
card slid from her grasp and fell on to the ground. As she bent in the
crush to pick it up, the ruddy-haired girl stooped on a like errand.
"Dropped mine too! Clumsy, isn't it?" she laughed. "Hope we've got
our own! What was your number?"
"I hadn't time to look."
"Well, I'm sure mine was eleven, so that's all right. I wish you luck!
Won't we just be glad when it's over, rather!"
At the further end of the corridor was a door with a notice pinned on to
it. "Examination for County Scholarships." A mistress stood there, and
scrutinized each girl's card as she entered, directing her to a seat in the
room marked with the corresponding number. Winona walked rather
solemnly to the desk labeled 10. The great ordeal was at last about to
begin. She wondered what would be the end of it. Little thrills