er. With the
little hollow this side, with the short upward slope that would give
her a natural take-off, she would make it help her.

She would strike this low up-sloping mound in a moment when she swept
down upon it from the crest of the ridge upon which she now stood; she
would take the tiny dip in a fraction of a second too brief to have a
name; she would rise, leaping as she rose--

The supreme moment came.

She loosened the band about her waist, breathing deeply. She bent her
slender body this way and that, straightening up, stooping, twisting
from side to side. She felt that every individual muscle must be made
ready, keyed up to the work that was to be done in a flying moment.
She must be steady, she must be sure. Not a fibre of her being must
weaken or tremble or be uncertain.

"Dear God," she whispered, "make me strong and worthy and unafraid."

Then she lifted her hands a little, holding them out from her sides,
her fingers outstretched, her arms taking the place of the pole she had
tossed away. Her skis clung to the snow. She slipped the right foot
back and forth, making sure that it had gathered none of the feathery
stuff that lay just under the thin crust. When it ran smoothly she
tested the left ski. And then slowly she stooped forward, her hands
still out. She felt a little stir, knew that she was moving, just
barely moving. She stooped further forward now, quickly. The shifting
of her weight had its instantaneous effect. The slow, scarcely
perceptible moving was changed into a smooth glide that grew in a yard
to a swiftly accelerating speed. Then she straightened up, balancing
with taut muscles, rushing downward.

Now she was flying as a bird flies that skims the snow. Only the
little whine of the ski song over the crust, the flying particles from
before the upturned ends, a dust of diamonds, told that the speeding
body was not in reality defying gravity, scorning the earth beneath.
The pitch steepened before her, the skis rose and dipped over the
little uneven places, the air cut at her face, stung her eyes. Half
way down, when the skis struck a little mound from which she dared not
try to swerve, she in sober truth flew, not touching the crust again
for five or six feet. She landed easily, crouching a little, tensing
her already taut muscles, steadying herself, plunging onward at a speed
that was like an eagle's dip. And then another second, another and she
heard the whine of t