of arms and legs and find Helen underneath, bruised and scratched, but not at all excited. Grace maintained that Helen could not walk through the middle of an empty room without skinning her elbows on the walls. But Grace was her room-mate.

The game ended in a decided victory for the I team, and, as Helen was dressing, she thought, with a vague regret, that Grace would be disappointed. But disappointment was too mild a word to apply to Grace's state of mind. Helen found her lying on the bed and weeping bitterly.

"What are you crying for?" asked Helen. "Because the I team is going to win the match game!" sobbed Grace.

"Well," soothed Helen, "it 's only a"Helen!" shrieked Grace, sitting up, "if you tell me it's only a game, I'll throw a pillow at you! It's all your fault, anyway. You won't practise, or try, or do anything but get in the way. If it were not for you, we 'd have a chance. But the I's will win. And the University boys will be there, too. And, oh," she wailed, "I won't get to Cousin Margaret's wedding!"

"Who is she?" asked Helen.

"My dearest cousin that lives near Thornton. And if our team went to Thornton, I could go to the wedding. But the I's will go, and all because you are so lazy and selfish!" And she flung herself out of the room.

Helen sat in the window for a long time and gazed out at the darkening field. At first she thought only of Grace's disappointment. In spite of Grace's open scorn, Helen was fond of her pretty room-mate, and liked to see her happy.

Helen turned over in her mind the things that Grace had said. "You are lazy." Perhaps that was true. "It 's all your fault." Helen admitted to herself that she was the one weak point of the U team. "You won't practise." Ah! Helen looked out at the field and sighed. She could practise. But she did n't want to. She hated all exercise, and particularly she disliked standing on a chilly field and trying to put a ball into a basket. For what was the use of it? If, by any chance, the ball landed in the basket, some one took a long pole and poked it out again, and there you were!

Then there came another vision of Grace's sparkling eyes all dimmed with tears.

"I'll do it," decided Helen. "I'll practise." But she heaved a mighty sigh.

She did not tell any one of her resolve, but late every afternoon, when the teams were gathered in the captains' rooms to discuss the decorations and "yells" for the match game, Helen stood on the deserted field and patiently threw

the ball at the basket. At first her arms ached from the unaccustomed exercise, but she was slow to waver when she had once made up her mind. And gradually her muscles hardened and the ball began to slide into the basket with surprising regularity. In the daily practice games she stood around as usual and did not display her new-found skill which she was saving for the match game.

The day of the game was clear and cold: a day of golden sunlight, of rollicking winds, of fluttering pennants and high excitement. The field was bright with color. One pole was wound with white and blue, the other with red and black, and flags were flying from every available place on the improvised grand stands.

At half-past one the seats began to fill with freshmen, day pupils, teachers, townspeople, and a goodly sprinkling of University boys who came with flags and megaphones and brazen lungs to "root" for their favorite teams.

At three minutes to two appeared Miss Carr, as excited as any girl among them, and impartially adorned with a red and black ribbon on one shoulder and a blue and white one on the other.

At one minute to two she blew the whistle and the grand stands rose and cheered as the teams trotted out on the field.

At two precisely Miss Carr gave the signal and the game was on.

For a breathless five minutes the ball flew wildly back and forth-now with the captains in the center of the field, now tossed about by the guards, now grazing the baskets.

It dropped at last into the I basket, and scored one point for I. Whereupon the I "rooters" burst forth with a paraphrase of a popular song and proclaimed lustily: "I Can Win Any Game in the World from U."

To which the U's retorted with the Chocolate Soldier's song: "We Love U Only, We Love but U."

Once more the ball was tossed to the captains, and Grace sent it flying over the heads of the guards and into the arms of the U fieldsman. It was a brilliant play. But the U fieldsman, taking the three steps permitted, stumbled over Helen, and the two rolled over the line, capsizing an innocent linesman and making two fouls for U.

Again the I rooters lifted up their voices in song: "The Goblins Will Get U, If U Don't Watch Out!"

And now the rooters settled down to confuse the players by comment, criticism, and suggestion. Once, when the I captain caught the ball, the U rooters cried with one voice: "Drop that ball!" And the captain dropped it.

Again, when the two captains were racing after the ball, the I rooters shouted: "Grace! Don't go over the line!" And, though Grace knew she was not near the line, she glanced nervously over her shoulder and lost the ball.

In like manner they advised the struggling guards to pick up their feet when they ran, and asked nervous fieldsmen why they left their aim up-stairs. Except for the brief flurry with the fieldsman, Helen had taken no part in the game, and was several times entreated not to exert herself so much. And loud above the turmoil the megaphones bellowed the team yells:

and

"Hoop-la, hoop-la, sis-cum-bi! Give three cheers for I! I! I!"

I's magnanimously forbore to cheer, for Grace was universally popular.

But they made no effort to restrain their joy when by chance the ball fell into Helen's hands. "Oh, look who 's got it!" they shrieked. "Watch it hit the pole and bounce!"

But it went into the basket.

If one of the poles had walked off the field, there would hardly have been a greater sensation. As in the poem of Horatius:

"No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either side.
But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing,"-

Then the U's shouted encouragement, and the I's proclaimed: "An accident! Send for an ambulance!"

Meanwhile Helen quietly waited till the ball came into her hands again. In vain the I's used her own phrase and urged her to "wait a minute"; in vain they cried in horrified tones: "Oh, don't put the ball into the basket!"

Unhurried and unruffled, Helen stood and calmly caught the ball and calmly put it into the basket.

Then the U's realized that what had seemed a lucky accident was really a permanent miracle, and played with renewed vigor. On the other hand, the I's, appalled by this unexpected strengthening of their opponents' weak point, grew nervous and played wildly. The U players began to score; the U rooters began to sing: "I Cannot Win the Game Now, I Lost It Long Ago."

A few more minutes of brisk playing, and then, in a tense silence which included even the rooters, Helen put the ball into the basket and the game was won for U.

The players cheered, the megaphones bellowed, the spectators shrieked, and, rising, poured down into the field and mingled with the teams. And in the general uproar Helen oozed quietly out of the crowd, as placid as usual, and proceeded upstairs to her room.

But before she had time to change her dress, she heard the sound of flying footsteps. The next minute Grace was embracing her violently, and crying and laughing and talking all at once in happy excitement.

"Oh, Helen! you 're a darling, and I'm horrid, and you 're not lazy and selfish!" Grace took one breath and raced on. "Miss Carr has just told us how she 's seen you practise every day, and you won the game when I 'd lost it-and I'm awfully sorry I 've been so mean-and now I can go to the wedding-but I forgot! The president is going to give us the new ball, and the team wants you to receive it; and all the people, and the president, and the entire faculty, are waiting! Oh, hurry! hurry!"

But Helen was re-tying her hair-ribbon. "Wait a minute," said Helen.

AWAY down in the heart of the jungle where the trees are the thickest and the shade so dense that the rays of the sun seldom find their way through, there lived an immense family of elephants. There were grandfathers and grandmothers, fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, and elephant children of all ages and sizes, from those almost grown, eight or nine feet in height, to the smallest babies not over three feet in height. They all roamed about in one band led by an elephant cow. She would wander on in advance in scent of impending danger, rolling her little round eyes about cautiously, flapping her huge ears, and sniffing the ground with her sensitive trunk. The others would stroll along after her, leisurely plucking grass and tender boughs.

They were very happy here in their vast green jungle home with its cool rivers and shady retreats. The children would romp and play together as all children love to do, whether colts, kittens, puppies, or boys and girls. They would roll on their backs in the soft earth kicking their heels in the air, or run and frisk about among the trees. Their mothers would warn them not to play in the sun, for elephants always shun the

sun.

Sometimes a grandfather would get tired of family life and stalk off alone on a tour of exploration into the jungle, remaining often two or three months. But he would always come sauntering back home, sooner or later, ready to resume his family cares.

All elephants love to bathe, and the whole band were fine swimmers. They used to plunge into the water whenever they came to a river or lake, and swim far out beyond their depth. Sometimes they would lie in the water for hours, shutting their eyes in pure ecstasy as they felt the cool waves creeping up over their huge sides. Then they would turn their trunks into a hose and spout water over their backs and heads.

On the whole, this huge family got on very well together, although there were sometimes disputes. Even the old grandfathers used to fight sometimes, and they surely should have known better. However, if one of the band got into trouble-fell into a hole or anything of that sort -the others were always ready to help him. They were, like all elephants, by nature very gentle, timid even, and feared everything that was new and strange.

One day, when they were strolling quietly along in search of tender leaves and grass for their dinner, the elephant cow in the lead suddenly trumpeted an alarm so loud and fierce that it was heard by the farthest members of the band. They all hurried to see what was the matter, flapping their great ears and flourishing their trunks wildly as they ran. They found her cautiously examining two long parallel rails of white shining steel that crossed their path and extended as far as the eye could see in both directions.

"Now whose work can this be?" she asked them, sniffing at the shining rails with distrust. "Not the tiger's," answered one, in turn sniffing at the rails.

"Nor the monkey's," "Nor the panther's," "Nor the chetah's," "Nor the deer's," "Nor the python's," "Nor the jackal's," began the others, naming over all the jungle creatures one by one. "Then it must be man's!" said a wise old grandfather.

At this, a chill ran right down the spine of every one of those huge creatures. Not one of them had ever seen a man, but they had heard rumors of him, of how he killed the jungle creatures for the pleasure of killing, or captured them, making them work for him or shutting them up in cages.

So they set to work furiously tearing up the rails and throwing them away. They had no sooner begun than there sounded throughout the jungle a shriek, shrill and piercing, and a great