"But the others have no punching bag," said Tom in an injured tone, "and
Jim brought George over especially to-day to practice."

"Can't you take the punching bag over to Jim's?" suggested Migwan
desperately.

"Sure," said Jim good-naturedly; "that's a good idea." So the boys
unscrewed the object of attraction and departed with it, their pockets
bulging with ginger cookies which Migwan gave them as a reward for their
trouble. Silence fell on the house and Migwan returned to the mastering
of the sum of the angles. Geometry was the bane of her existence and she
was only cheered into digging away at it by the thought of the money
lying in her name in the bank, which she had received for giving the
clew leading to little Raymond Bartlett's discovery the summer before,
and which would pay her way to college for one year at least.

The theorem was learned at last so that she could make a recitation on
it, even if she did not understand it perfectly, and Migwan left it to
take up a piece of work which gave her as much pleasure as the other did
pain. This was the writing of a story which she intended to send away to
a magazine. She wrote it in the back of an old notebook, and when she
was not working at it she kept it carefully in the bottom of her
shirtwaist box, where the prying eyes of her younger sister would not
find it. She had all the golden dreams and aspirations of a young
authoress writing her first story, and her days were filled with a
secret delight when she thought of the riches that would soon be hers
when the story was accepted, as it of course would be. If she had known
then of the long years of cruel disillusionment that would drag their
weary length along until her efforts were finally crowned with success
it is doubtful whether she would have stayed in out of the October