ames appealed to Winona more than any other part of the school
curriculum. She did fairly well now in her Form work, but she knew she
could never be clever like Garnet, and that it was extremely unlikely
that she would win laurels on her books. She had promised Miss Bishop
that she would try to do credit to the school in return for her
scholarship, and to help to raise its athletic reputation seemed her
most feasible method of success.

"I could never get a College Scholarship, however I tried," she thought,
"but--I won't say it's probable, but it's just possible that I might do
something some day in the way of winning matches. Miss Bishop would be
pleased at that!"

The early summer was delightful at Seaton. The park opposite the school
was full of tulips and hyacinths, and the long avenue of trees in the
Abbey Close had burst into tender green foliage. Winona studied her
home lessons sitting by her open bedroom window with a leafy bower
outside, and an accompaniment of jackdaws cawing in the old towers of
the Minster. She loved this window and the prospect from it. There was a
romantic, old-world flavor about the gray pile opposite, its carvings
and cloisters and chiming bells seemed so peaceful and so far removed
from modern trouble. Sometimes indeed the whirr of a biplane would
disturb the quiet as an airman flittered like a great dragon-fly over
the city, reminding her that medieval times were past; while a bugle
call from the neighboring barracks emphasized the fact that the world
was at war. Not that Winona was likely to forget that! Every day in
school the Peace Bell prayer was read at noon, and she might see
regiments of recruits marching up or down the High Street on their way
to their training grounds. Nearly every girl in V.a. had some
relation at the front, and though Winona could not boast of anybody
nearer than a third cousin serving "somewhere in France," she looked for
news as eagerly as the rest.

"It must be glorious to get letters from the trenches," she said half
wistfully one day to Beatrice Howell, who was exulting over a pencil
scrawl written by her brother in a dug-out. "I half wish----"

"No, you don't!" snapped Beatrice. "It's a nightmare to have them in the
firing line! Be thankful your brother's still safe at school."

On the subject of Percy, Winona was far from easy. He had let fall one
or two hints during the Easter holidays which confirmed her previous
suspicion that he had got into