reach the standard of the Sixth, and who went by the nickname of "owls"
or "stupids." The prospect of being relegated to such an intellectual
backwater spread palpable dismay over Winona's face. Miss Bishop smiled
rather grimly.

"We can't win honors without paying the price! You must know that
already by experience. I conclude that you studied hard for the
Scholarship examination? Well, your Form work requires equally close
application. Here is Miss Huntley's report: 'French, weak; Latin,
beneath criticism; mathematics, extremely bad.' Yet in all these three
subjects you gained a high percentage in the entrance examination. I
have your papers here--yes, Latin 85, French 87, mathematics 92"
(rapidly turning over the pages), "it is simply incredible how you have
fallen off."

Winona was gazing at the sheets of foolscap in the Principal's hand.

"Those aren't my papers," she faltered.

"Certainly they are. They're marked with your number, 11."

"But I wasn't number 11, I was number 10."

Miss Bishop stooped, opened a drawer in her bureau, and took out a book.

"Here it is in black and white," she replied. "No. 11, Winona Woodward."

Winona's shaking hands clutched the edge of the bureau. In a flash the
whole horrible truth was suddenly revealed to her. Until that moment she
had almost forgotten how she and the ruddy-haired girl had collided at