Winona hoped against hope that the difficult page might fall to somebody
else's turn. Miss Huntley took no particular order, but selected girls
at random to construe the lesson. In a Form of twenty it was possible
not to be chosen at all. Winona kept very quiet, so as not to attract
the mistress' attention. Marjorie Kemp and Olave Parry had already
translated half of the fatal page, with tolerable credit. Miss Huntley's
eye was wandering in the direction of Irene Mills. Winona dared to
breathe. Then, alas! alas! Some unlucky star caused the mistress to look
back towards the middle of the room. In a spasm of nervousness, Winona
jerked her elbow, and away went her pencil-box, clattering on to the
floor, and dispersing its collection of pens, pencils, nibs and other
treasures beneath the neighboring desks. There was a dead silence, and
the culprit was instantly the center of attention.

"A clumsy thing to do! Leave those things where they are! You can pick
them up after the lesson," observed Miss Huntley grimly. "Go on now with
the translation."

Winona's hot face had been hidden under Audrey Redfern's desk. She rose
reluctantly. Her confusion made the hard passage seem twice as
difficult. Even the words which she had carefully looked up in the
dictionary and learned by heart escaped her fickle memory. She stumbled
and floundered hopelessly, getting redder and redder with shame. Miss
Huntley preserved an ominous silence, and did not attempt to help her
out.

"That will do!" she said, at the end of about eight lines. "After such a
complete exhibition of incompetence we won't inflict any more of your
bungling upon the form. We must see if we can find a way of sharpening
your wits. Your brain seems to have been lying fallow since you came to