Walnut Valley remembers that final charge yet. Steady, swift,
invincible, it drove its strong foe down the white-crossed sod--
so like a whirlwind, that the watching crowds gazed in bewilderment.
Almost before they could comprehend the truth, the enemy's goal was
just before the Sunrise warriors, and half a minute of time remained
in which to play. One more line plunge with Burleigh holding the ball!
A film came before his eyes. A sudden blankness of failure and
despair seized him. In the grandstand, Elinor Wream stood clutching
a pennant in both hands, her dark eyes luminous with proud hope.
Amid all the yells and cheers, her sweet voice rang out:

"Victor, Victor! Don't forget the name your mother gave you!"

Vic neither saw nor heard. Yet in that moment, strength and
pride and indomitable will power came sweeping back to him.
One last plunge against this wall of defense upreared before him,
and Burleigh, with half the enemy's eleven clinched to drag
him back, had hurled himself across the goal line and lay
half-conscious under a perfect shower of fragrant crimson roses,
while the song of victory in swelling chorus pealed out on
the November air. Half a minute later, Trench had kicked goal.
The bleachers chanted eleven counts, the referee's whistle blew,
and the game was done!



SACRIFICE

_The air for the wing of the sparrow,
The bush for the robin and wren,