incoln School. Uncle Johnny, that afternoon in the Westley
library, had said very truly that it was usually some unexpected little
thing that set a style or made a leader. He had not, of course, foreseen
this episode of Haskin's Hill, but he had known that Jerry had
determination with her sunniness and a faith in herself that could never
be daunted.

"Come on, fellows, let's _us_ try it. We can't let little Miss Travis
beat us," challenged one of the boys.

There was general assent to this. Half a dozen picked up their skis. But
Jerry lifted an authoritative hand--Jerry, who, until this moment, had
been like a little mouse among them all!

"Oh, boys, _don't_ try it. Unless you can ski _very_ well, a jump like
that's awfully dangerous. I've skied all my life and I've jumped, too,
but never any jump as high as that and--and _I_ was a little
scared--too!" And, because Jerry was a "person" now, they listened. She
had spoken with appealing modesty, too, not at all with the arrogance
that comes often with success and can never be tolerated by
fellow-students.

"Miss Travis is right, fellows," broke in Dana King. "Let's learn to ski
a little better before we try that jump. This very minute we'll begin
practice for the everlasting defeat of South High! You can use my skis,
Jerry. Come on, Ginny--the All-Lincoln Ski Team!" He led the way up the
hill followed by a number of the boys and Ginny Cox and Jerry--Jerry
with a glow on her cheeks that did not come entirely from the wintry
air; she "belonged" now, she was not just a humble student, struggling
along the obscure paths--she was one of those elected ones, like Ginny
and Dana King, to whom is given the precious privilege of guarding the
laurels of the school at Highacres!

CHAPTER XIV

THE PRIZE

"Good-morning, Mr. Westley!"

Barbara Lee's demure voice halted John Westley in a headlong rush
through the school corridor.

"Oh--good-morning, Miss Lee." If a stray sunbeam had not slanted at just
that moment across Miss Lee's upturned face, turning the curly ends of
her fair hair to threads of sheen, John Westley might have passed right
on. Instead, he stopped abruptly and stared at Miss Lee.

"I declare--it's hard to believe you're grown-up! And a teacher! Why, I
could almost chuck you under the chin--the way I used to do. I suppose
I'd get into no end of trouble if I ever tried it----"

"Well," her face dimpled roguishly, "I don't think it's ever been done