Judith looked annoyed and Georgia giggled, sympathetically.
"You got to keep your eye on me, and on the ball," she explained good-humouredly, and proceeded to take the ball again in spite of Judith's utmost endeavors to prevent her.
An exhausting half-hour followed. Georgia seemed to be all arms, thought Judith despairingly, trying in vain to check her. Once she did get the coveted ball, and in the excitement of at last outwitting Georgia, she threw it straight into the outstretched arms of Josephine who wore the enemy's Blue scarf. Josephine threw her a kiss of thanks when the ball was safely landed in the net, and Georgia's unfailing giggle helped to heighten the colour in Judith's cheeks.
Up went the ball again and then swiftly it came, passed from one Red scarf to another. "I will have it this time," said Judith fiercely to herself, too engrossed in a desire to win from the Blues to remember the most elementary rules of the game; she caught the ball and ran, yes, just ran to the goal and threw. The proverbial good luck which attends the beginner was hers, but instead of the applause which Judith expected there was a burst of good-natured laughter. She had run with the ball and all in order to throw it into the Blues' goal!
Poor Judith, it was all she could do to smile feebly when Georgia met her with a grin, and, "This ain't football, you know." She hated being laughed at, and when the practice was finally over, left the campus humiliated, cross, and hardly able to bear herself or any one else.
On the way back to the beech tree and the story-book, she consulted her time-table to make sure of the time of the gymnasium class. Yes! thank goodness, she was free until four o'clock—there was just time to finish the chapter.
Four o'clock found Judith in line, a pair of dumb-bells tucked under her arms, ready to march into the gymnasium as the three-thirty class marched out. She had had two lessons already and was beginning to like her class. Last year's instructor had been adored by the girls and consequently their work was excellent. Miss Evans, a young teacher, new to York Hill, busy finding out what her new classes could do, scarcely realized how much she was on trial. This afternoon she called out a last year's girl to lead the class while she stood aside to watch and criticize.
"Wrong, wrong," she cried, and held up her hand as figure five was concluded. Now Miss Evans, as we said, was young and new at her job, and did not count on the adoration which the girls had given her predecessor.
"Quite wrong," she said again.
"That is the way we did last year, Miss Evans," stiffly replied Jane who was leading.