Daphne was the next up, after two more new wing girls had made
creditable scores.
"She looks like Diana herself," Miss Hull said, to the old gentleman who
was sitting beside her, and indeed Daphne's beauty never showed to such
advantage, as when she stood beside her bow. But alas! looks are not
everything. Although the beautiful curve of Daphne's arm, covered by its
sheer angel sleeve, was grace itself, the refractory arrows fell almost
anywhere but on the target. Only one struck home, and marked the red.
"Three," Prue wrote the number down slowly.
"What a pity!" Miss Hull said, but she noted Daphne's cheerful little
smile, and nodded to herself. "Sally Ladd has very good taste in
friends," she said, as her eyes traveled to the Twins, and then back to
Daphne.
"Can't say I made a very brilliant success," Daphne was saying, and she
threw herself down on the grass beside Janet.
"Well, one landed, and it was a red anyway," Janet tried to be
consoling.
"And that's more than many of the new girls have made," Sally added.
"I'll be with you in a minute, Taffy," Phyllis laughed. "Just wait until
the Red Twins have had their turn."
"Hush, here they come now," Gladys cautioned.
A silence fell on the spectators as they awaited the victory of the new
wing. Even the faculty felt it, and though they tried to be happy, they
were conscious of a persistent little feeling of disappointment.
Bess Ward was the first one up. She shrugged her shoulders just to show
she was not in the least nervous, then she strung her bow, struck a
rather extravagant attitude, and loosed her first arrow.
She made a red. A faint cheer followed it.
The Red Twins were far from popular with their own wing, but anything or
anybody that could enlarge the score was welcome.
"Not so good," Ann said critically, as the second arrow glanced off and
hit the white.
A slow red mounted to Bess's cheek. She was angry, that unpardonable sin
in any sport, and she showed it. The third arrow went to the blue. Bess
forgot to shrug her shoulders. Her anger was steadily mounting, and the
next two arrows followed each other to the red, making a total score of
twelve.
Prue marked it down on the board very slowly, and very deliberately.
"Hope her twin does no better," Gladys said. "But I suppose she will."
"One of them has got to make a bulls-eye, after all their boasting," Ann
laughed. "Look, there she comes."
May took her place at the tape. She was considerably sobered by her
sister's failure. She did not shrug her shoulders, but went to her bow
with a dark scowl.
Her first arrow hit the blue. She stopped to readjust her bow, before
fitting in the second arrow, but the blue claimed that as well. Really
angry now, she shot the third with such a vicious whang, that the arrow
glanced off to the white.
"Take your time," her sister cautioned from the side line. Her tone held
a note of resentment.
May pulled herself together, and took deliberate aim. Two blues were her
award.
"Making a total of nine," Prue said as she drew an extra long stem to
the figure.
"Jan, if you go in, and get a half-way decent score, and Phyl does, too,
we won't be so badly licked after all," Gladys said.
Janet nodded. There was a lump in her throat and she could not trust
herself to speak.
"If I don't stop trembling, my arrows will land over there among the
faculty," Phyl pointed to the right of the target, where the faculty sat
out of range of any but the wildest shot.
Daphne looked at her, and saw that she really was trembling.
"Well, goodness knows I love all the faculty at Hilltop," she said in
her peculiar drawl. "But if you must shoot one of them, please choose
Miss Jenks, for I haven't my history prepared for tomorrow."
The one thing that Phyllis needed was to laugh, and she did heartily,
with the result that when she took her place at the tape, her nerves
were steadied, and her thoughts were on Daphne's last remark. She could
see Miss Jenks out of the corner of her right eye. She hardly gave the
target a thought, until her arrow was in her bow.
Her total score was five, for though she did some fancy shooting, around
the legs of the target, only two of her arrows scored.
She came back to the girls, a little crestfallen.
"You mean thing!" Daphne said, "you made two more than I did."
Phyllis smiled in spite of herself.
"It's a secret, Taffy, but I'll tell you," she whispered. "That last one
was a mistake."
"Good luck, Jan!" Sally called softly, as Janet went out to take her
place. Her silence seemed to envelope her as she stood facing the
target, and the bow felt strange to her touch.
She had practiced a good deal during the past few weeks, but mindful of
her brother Tom and the wisdom of her boy friends, she had rested for
the past two days, content only to keep her hand in. In this she had the
advantage of the Red Twins, who had practiced for two hours, before
breakfast.
She felt as though she were taking a very long time, as she strung her
bow, and fitted her first arrow, and then she shot.
She had aimed for the bulls-eye, but the grass under her feet, worn by
so many tennis shoes, was slippery. Her heel twisted ever so slightly,
and the arrow scored a red.
The girls shouted their appreciation, but before they could stop,
another arrow had hit this time, just below the bulls-eye, making one
above, and one below. Janet shifted her position ever so slightly, and a
third arrow almost touched the bulls-eye on another side.
The fourth completed the square; then Janet did the most spectacular
thing, done that afternoon. She scored a perfect bulls-eye. The school,
united in its admiration, went wild with joy, and the old man, sitting
beside Miss Hull, shouted, "Well done, little lady, well done!"
[Illustration: _Then Janet did the most spectacular thing done that
afternoon_]
Janet was born high on the shoulders of the delighted girls, a happy,
triumphant, but very much bewildered heroine.