Josie swung furiously and missed. “Strike one,” called the umpire. Again the ball came, and again and again. “Ball one. Ball two. Strike two. Ball three.” Only one more chance! Josie ’s courage came at last; she refused to be afraid. She swung the bat. There was a loud crack, and away the ball soared, high-higher-highest. As the ball flew, so flew Josie. Like frightened little rabbits were her feet, barely touching the ground. You would never dream that fat little legs could cover so much ground in so short a time.

First base! From the corner of her eye Josie saw Sam run in home. The score was even, 15 to 15. On she sped; the ball had landed in a patch of weeds, and the Whittier fielders were frantically hunting it. Second base, and Willie had gone home—now the game was won. On she went to third base, reaching there just as Jack touched the home plate. Josie, on third, saw the fielder pick up the ball. Could she make a home run? Wouldn’t that be something to tell Joe? Breathless, panting, she ran on. The fielder threw the ball. “Go it, Joe!” cried the spectators. “Beat the ball! Good boy! Run!”