o
herself.

The much-talked-of Queen's centre was as wonderful as gossip had
reported. She seemed like a veritable spider, all arms and legs; try as
she would Althea could not prevent her getting the ball. And there was a
fair-haired girl--Pamela by name--who was the best shot Judith had ever
seen.

The score mounted rapidly for Queen's and at half-time, when Judith
distributed her slices of lemon, things looked rather dark for York
Hill.

But Patricia had been using her brains while she played, and Judith and
Nancy ministering to the team heard her final injunctions.

"We'll beat 'em yet. Watch that right centre and Pamela Price on the
left guard; they're both dandy shots, and they both want a chance to
show off. Mark my words, we'll get some fine shots the last half. Their
weak point is team-work, and I'm glad to say we're playing
together--watch your passing--we're bound to win!"

Judith and Nancy went back to their posts in a state of great
excitement. There was an infectious courage and cheeriness about
Patricia's words. Certainly Queen's had five points to their favour, but
just as certainly York Hill would win!

Up went the ball again and up went the spider-like centre's long arms,
and away went the coveted ball in the wrong direction. Judith's heart
sank--this half was going to be just like the other--how terrible!

Thirteen-eight--Fourteen-eight.

The whistle blew. Judith couldn't see what had happened, but evidently
there had been a foul, for Catherine had a free throw.

York Hill let themselves go for a minute. Good for Cathy! Seconds were
precious now and the play was swift.

Again the whistle.

This time Patricia took the ball.

York Hill held its breath.

Fourteen-ten.

Nothing succeeds like success!

The York Hill team quickened and became tense during those last few
seconds like a great orchestra for the finale of a symphony, in answer
to the conductor's baton. Patricia felt a thrill of pride. How
magnificently the team was responding--they were playing like one
person--and that person meant to win--there could be no doubt of it.

"Fifteen-fifteen," said the umpire calmly.

Judith standing quietly beside Nancy wanted to shriek and shout like a
young savage--"We're going to beat you! We're going to beat you--yah!"

Fifteen-seventeen! Good for Althea!

Ah, Pamela Price has scored!

"Good play," said York, generously applauding a neat shot.

Seventeen-all--and a minute more to p