stale, flat and unprofitable. The house was not yet rented, as the
repairs had been delayed again and again. It would be another month at
least before that would be a paying proposition. Hearing the other girls
talk about Gladys's party all the time filled her with desperation. She
began to shun the Winnebagos. The keen zest went out of her studying and
even her beloved Latin lost its savor.

Nyoda finally noticed it. Migwan failed to recite in English class for
two days in succession, which was an unheard-of thing. Nyoda thought
that Migwan had her head so full of the coming party that she was
neglecting her lessons, and said so, half banteringly, as Migwan
lingered after class to pick up some papers she had dropped on the
floor. That was the last straw, and Migwan burst into tears. Nyoda was
all sympathy in a moment. Now Nyoda happened to have the "seeing eye,"
with which some people are blessed, and had surmised, from certain
little signs she had observed, that Migwan had written something or
other, and sent it away to a magazine. She knew only too well what the
outcome would be, and her heart ached when she thought of Migwan's
coming disappointment. Therefore, when Migwan, quickly recovering her
composure, said calmly, "It's nothing, Nyoda; I simply tried to do
something and failed," Nyoda asked quietly, "Did your story come back?"

Migwan looked at her in amazement. "How did you know I had written any
story?" she asked.

"Oh, a little bird told me," replied Nyoda lightly. "Cheer up. All the
famous authors had their first work rejected. You have achieved the
first mark of fame." Migwan smiled wanly. Her tragedies always seemed to
lose their sting in the light of Nyoda's optimism. She told her about
the necessity for a typewriter. "I could have told you that to begin