his lips the name "Sargon." She understood it
perfectly. Then came a mental struggle which matched Sahwah's terrific
physical one that day in camp. On one side college stood with its doors
wide open to welcome her; she heard the plaudits of her friends who
expected and wanted her to win the prize; she saw the joy in her
mother's face when she heard the news; she heard the heartfelt
congratulations of Nyoda and the Winnebagos who would share in her
glory. On the other hand she heard just five ugly words echoing in her
ears. "_You didn't win it honestly!"_ She tried to stifle the voice of
science. "I knew it perfectly all the time," she said to herself, "and
it only slipped my mind for an instant." "But you forgot," said the
voice, "and if he hadn't told you you wouldn't have known."

Miserably she argued the question back and forth. It she didn't win the
prize Abraham would, and he could well afford to go to college without
the money. "He'd cheat if he had the chance," she told herself. "That
doesn't help you any," pricked the accuser. "You talk about the honor of
the Winnebagos. If you use that information you would be dishonoring the
Winnebagos! You're a cheat, you're a cheat," it said tauntingly, and a
little sparrow on the window sill outside took up the mocking refrain,
"Cheat! Cheat!" Stung as though some one had pointed an accusing finger
at her, Migwan flung down her pen in despair and resolutely blotted her
paper. She handed in her examination with the last half of the last
question unanswered, and fled from the room with unseeing eyes. And in
the instant when George was trying to tell Migwan the answer, Abraham,
who had also forgotten the name of Sargon, glanced over toward George's
paper and saw it written out in his easily readable hand. Without a
qualm he wrote it down on his own paper with a triumphant flourish.

There was great surprise throughout the school a few days later when the
grades of the examination were made public: Elsie Gardiner, 95; Abraham
Goldstein, 98, winner of the Parsons cash prize of $100.

Migwan felt like a wanderer on the face of the earth after losing that
history prize. She shrank from meeting the friends who had so
confidently expected her to win it, and her own thoughts were too
painful to be left alone with. If Hinpoha had been wandering in the
Desert of Waiting for the past few months, Migwan was sunk deep in the
Slough of Despond. She was at the age when death seemed prefera