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                         A Girl of The Limberlost
                          By Gene Stratton Porter


TO ALL GIRLS OF THE LIMBERLOST IN GENERAL
AND ONE JEANETTE HELEN PORTER IN PARTICULAR



CHARACTERS

ELNORA, who collects moths to pay for her education,
        and lives the Golden Rule.

PHILIP AMMON, who assists in moth hunting,
              and gains a new conception of love.

MRS. COMSTOCK, who lost a delusion and found a treasure.

WESLEY SINTON, who always did his best.

MARGARET SINTON, who "mothers" Elnora.

BILLY, a boy from real life.

EDITH CARR, who discovers herself.

HART HENDERSON, to whom love means all things.

POLLY AMMON, who pays an old score.

TOM LEVERING, engaged to Polly.

TERENCE O'MORE, Freckles grown tall.

MRS. O'MORE, who remained the Angel.

TERENCE, ALICE and LITTLE BROTHER, the O'MORE children.



A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST





CHAPTER I


WHEREIN ELNORA GOES TO HIGH SCHOOL
AND LEARNS MANY LESSONS NOT FOUND IN HER BOOKS


Elnora Comstock, have you lost your senses?"
demanded the angry voice of Katharine Comstock
while she glared at her daughter.

"Why mother!" faltered the girl.

"Don't you `why mother' me!" cried Mrs. Comstock.
"You know very well what I mean.  You've given me
no peace until you've had your way about this going to
school business; I've fixed you good enough, and you're
ready to start.  But no child of mine walks the streets
of Onabasha looking like a play-actress woman.  You wet
your hair and comb it down modest and decent and then
be off, or you'll have no time to find where you belong."

Elnora gave one despairing glance at the white face,
framed in a most becoming riot of reddish-brown hair,
which she saw in the little kitchen mirror.  Then she
untied the narrow black ribbon, wet the comb and plastered
the waving curls close to her head, bound them fast, pinned
on the skimpy black hat and opened the back door.

"You've gone so plumb daffy you are forgetting your
dinner," jeered her mother.

"I don't want anything to eat," replied Elnora.

"You'll take your dinner or you'll not go one step.
Are you crazy?  Walk almost three miles and no food
from six in the morning until six at night.  A pretty
figure you'd cut if you had your way!  And after I've
gone and bought you this nice new pail and filled it
especial to start on!"

Elnora came back with a face still whiter and picked
up the lunch.  "Thank you, mother!  Good-bye!" she
said.  Mrs. Comstock did not reply.  She watched the
girl follow the long walk to the gate and go from sight
on the road, in the bright sunshine of the first Monday
of September.

"I bet a dollar she gets enough of it by night!"
commented Mrs. Comstock.

Elnora walked by instinct, for her eyes were blinded
with tears.  She left the road where it turned south, at
the corner of the Limberlost, climbed a snake fence and
entered a path worn by her own feet.  Dodging under
willow and scrub oak branches she came at last to the
faint outline of an old trail made in the days when the
precious timber of the swamp was guarded by armed
men.  This path she followed until she reached a thick
clump of bushes.  From the debris in the end of a hollow
log she took a key that unlocked the padlock of a large
weatherbeaten old box, inside of which lay several books,
a butterfly apparatus, and a small cracked mirror.  The walls
were lined thickly with gaudy butterflies, dragonflies,
and moths.  She set up the mirror and once more
pulling the ribbon from her hair, she shook the bright
mass over her shoulders, tossing it dry in the sunshine.
Then she straightened it, bound it loosely, and replaced
her hat.  She tugged vainly at the low brown calico
collar and gazed despairingly at the generous length of
the narrow skirt.  She lifted it as she would have cut
it if possible.  That disclosed the heavy high leather
shoes, at sight of which she seemed positively ill, and
hastily dropped the skirt.  She opened the pail, removed
the lunch, wrapped it in the napkin, and placed it in a
small pasteboard box.  Locking the case again she hid
the key and hurried down the trail.

She followed it around the north end of the swamp
and then entered a footpath crossing a farm leading in
the direction of the spires of the city to the northeast.
Again she climbed a fence and was on the open road.  For
an instant she leaned against the fence staring before
her, then turned and looked back.  Behind her lay the
land on which she had been born to drudgery and a
mother who made no pretence of loving her; before her
lay the city through whose schools she hoped to find
means of escape and the way to reach the things for
which she cared.  When she thought of how she appeared
she leaned more heavily against the fence and groaned;
when she thought of turning back and wearing such
clothing in ignorance all the days of her life she set her
teeth firmly and went hastily toward Onabasha.

On the bridge crossing a deep culvert at the suburbs
she glanced around, and then kneeling she thrust the
lunch box between the foundation and the flooring.
This left her empty-handed as she approached the big stone
high school building.  She entered bravely and inquired
her way to the office of the superintendent.  There she
learned that she should have come the previous week
and arranged about her classes.  There were many things
incident to the opening of school, and one man unable to
cope with all of them.

"Where have you been attending school?" he asked,
while he advised the teacher of Domestic Science not to
telephone for groceries until she knew how many she
would have in her classes; wrote an order for chemicals
for the students of science; and advised the leader of
the orchestra to hire a professional to take the place of
the bass violist, reported suddenly ill.

"I finished last spring at Brushwood school, district
number nine," said Elnora.  "I have been studying all summer.
I am quite sure I can do the first year work, if I have
a few days to get started."

"Of course, of course," assented the superintendent.
"Almost invariably country pupils do good work.  You may
enter first year, and if it is too difficult, we will find
it out speedily.  Your teachers will tell you the list of
books you must have, and if you will come with me I will
show you the way to the auditorium.  It is now time
for opening exercises.  Take any seat you find vacant."

Elnora stood before the entrance and stared into the
largest room she ever had seen.  The floor sloped to a
yawning stage on which a band of musicians, grouped
around a grand piano, were tuning their instruments.
She had two fleeting impressions.  That it was all a
mistake; this was no school, but a grand display of
enormous ribbon bows; and the second, that she was sinking,
and had forgotten how to walk.  Then a burst from the
orchestra nerved her while a bevy of daintily clad, sweet-
smelling things that might have been birds, or flowers,
or possibly gaily dressed, happy young girls, pushed
her forward.  She found herself plodding across the back of
the auditorium, praying for guidance, to an empty seat.

As the girls passed her, vacancies seemed to open to
meet them.  Their friends were moving over, beckoning
and whispering invitations.  Every one else was seated,
but no one paid any attention to the white-faced girl
stumbling half-blindly down the aisle next the farthest wall.
So she went on to the very end facing the stage.
No one moved, and she could not summon courage to
crowd past others to several empty seats she saw.
At the end of the aisle she paused in desperation, while
she stared back at the whole forest of faces most of which
were now turned upon her.

In a flash came the full realization of her scanty dress,
her pitiful little hat and ribbon, her big, heavy shoes,
her ignorance of where to go or what to do; and from a
sickening wave which crept over her, she felt she was
going to become very ill.  Then out of the mass she saw
a pair of big, brown boy eyes, three seats from her, and
there was a message in them.  Without moving his body
he reached forward and with a pencil touched the back of
the seat before him.  Instantly Elnora took another step
which brought her to a row of vacant front seats.

She heard laughter behind her; the knowledge that
she wore the only hat in the room burned her; every
matter of moment, and some of none at all, cut and stung.
She had no books.  Where should she go when this
was over?  What would she give to be on the trail
going home!  She was shaking with a nervous chill when
the music ceased, and the superintendent arose, and
coming down to the front of the flower-decked platform,
opened a Bible and began to read.  Elnora did not know
what he was reading, and she felt that she did not care.
Wildly she was racking her brain to decide whether she
should sit still when the others left the room or follow,
and ask some one where the Freshmen went first.

In the midst of the struggle one sentence fell on her ear.
"Hide me under the shadow of Thy wings."

Elnora began to pray frantically.  "Hide me, O God,
hide me, under the shadow of Thy wings."

Again and again she implored that prayer, and before
she realized what was coming, every one had arisen and
the room was emptying rapidly.  Elnora hurried after the
nearest girl and in the press at the door touched her
sleeve timidly.

"Will you please tell me where the Freshmen go?" she
asked huskily.

The girl gave her one surprised glance, and drew away.

"Same place as the fresh women," she answered, and
those nearest her laughed.

Elnora stopped praying suddenly and the colour crept
into her face.  "I'll wager you are the first person I meet
when I find it," she said and stopped short.  "Not that!
Oh, I must not do that!" she thought in dismay.  "Make an
enemy the first thing I do.  Oh, not that!"

She followed with her eyes as the young people separated
in the hall, some climbing stairs, some disappearing
down side halls, some entering adjoining doors.  She saw
the girl overtake the brown-eyed boy and speak to him.
He glanced back at Elnora with a scowl on his face.
Then she stood alone in the hall.

Presently a door opened and a young woman came out
and entered another room.  Elnora waited until she
returned, and hurried to her.  "Would you tell me where
the Freshmen are?" she panted.

"Straight down the hall, three doors to your left,"
was the answer, as the girl passed.

"One minute please, oh please," begged Elnora:
"Should I knock or just open the door?"

"Go in and take a seat," replied the teacher.

"What if there aren't any seats?" gasped Elnora.

"Classrooms are never half-filled, there will be plenty,"
was the answer.

Elnora removed her hat.  There was no place to put
it, so she carried it in her hand.  She looked infinitely
better without it.  After several efforts she at last opened
the door and stepping inside faced a smaller and more
concentrated battery of eyes.

"The superintendent sent me.  He thinks I belong
here," she said to the professor in charge of the class,
but she never before heard the voice with which she spoke.
As she stood waiting, the girl of the hall passed
on her way to the blackboard, and suppressed laughter
told Elnora that her thrust had been repeated.

"Be seated," said the professor, and then because he
saw Elnora was desperately embarrassed he proceeded
to lend her a book and to ask her if she had studied algebra.
She said she had a little, but not the same book they were using.
He asked her if she felt that she could do the work they were
beginning, and she said she did.

That was how it happened, that three minutes after
entering the room she was told to take her place beside the
girl who had gone last to the board, and whose flushed face
and angry eyes avoided meeting Elnora's.  Being compelled
to concentrate on her proposition she forgot herself.
When the professor asked that all pupils sign their work
she firmly wrote "Elnora Comstock" under her demonstration.
Then she took her seat and waited with white lips and
trembling limbs, as one after another professor called
the names on the board, while their owners arose and
explained their propositions, or "flunked" if they had
not found a correct solution.  She was so eager to catch
their forms of expression and prepare herself for her
recitation, that she never looked from the work on the
board, until clearly and distinctly, "Elnora Comstock,"
called the professor.

The dazed girl stared at the board.  One tiny curl
added to the top of the first curve of the m in her name,
had transformed it from a good old English patronymic
that any girl might bear proudly, to Cornstock.
Elnora sat speechless.  When and how did it happen?
She could feel the wave of smothered laughter in the air
around her.  A rush of anger turned her face scarlet and
her soul sick.  The voice of the professor addressed her directly.

"This proposition seems to be beautifully demonstrated,
Miss Cornstalk," he said.  "Surely, you can tell us how
you did it."

That word of praise saved her.  She could do good work.
They might wear their pretty clothes, have their friends
and make life a greater misery than it ever before
had been for her, but not one of them should do better
work or be more womanly.  That lay with her.  She was
tall, straight, and handsome as she arose.

"Of course I can explain my work," she said in natural tones.
"What I can't explain is how I happened to be so stupid
as to make a mistake in writing my own name.  I must
have been a little nervous.  Please excuse me."

She went to the board, swept off the signature with one
stroke,then rewrote it plainly.  "My name is Comstock,"
she said distinctly.  She returned to her seat and following the
formula used by the others made her first high school recitation.

As Elnora resumed her seat Professor Henley looked at
her steadily.  "It puzzles me," he said deliberately,
how you can write as beautiful a demonstration, and explain
it as clearly as ever has been done in any of my classes and
still be so disturbed as to make a mistake in your own name.
Are you very sure you did that yourself, Miss Comstock?"

"It is impossible that any one else should have done it,"
answered Elnora.

"I am very glad you think so," said the professor.
"Being Freshmen, all of you are strangers to me.
I should dislike to begin the year with you feeling there
was one among you small enough to do a trick like that.
The next proposition, please."

When the hour had gone the class filed back to the study
room and Elnora followed in desperation, because she did
not know where else to go.  She could not study as she had
no books, and when the class again left the room to go to
another professor for the next recitation, she went also.
At least they could put her out if she did not belong there.
Noon came at last, and she kept with the others until they
dispersed on the sidewalk.  She was so abnormally self-
conscious she fancied all the hundreds of that laughing,
throng saw and jested at her.  When she passed the
brown-eyed boy walking with the girl of her encounter,
she knew, for she heard him say:  "Did you really let that
gawky piece of calico get ahead of you?"  The answer
was indistinct.

Elnora hurried from the city.  She intended to get her
lunch, eat it in the shade of the first tree, and then decide
whether she would go back or go home.  She knelt on the
bridge and reached for her box, but it was so very light that
she was prepared for the fact that it was empty, before
opening it.  There was one thing for which to be thankful.
The boy or tramp who had seen her hide it, had left the napkin.
She would not have to face her mother and account for
its loss.  She put it in her pocket, and threw the box
into the ditch.  Then she sat on the bridge and tried
to think, but her brain was confused.

"Perhaps the worst is over," she said at last.  "I will
go back.  What would mother say to me if I came home now?"

So she returned to the high school, followed some other
pupils to the coat room, hung her hat, and found her way
to the study where she had been in the morning.  Twice
that afternoon, with aching head and empty stomach, she
faced strange professors, in different branches.  Once she
escaped notice; the second time the worst happened.  She was
asked a question she could not answer.

"Have you not decided on your course, and secured your books?"
inquired the professor.

"I have decided on my course," replied Elnora, "I
do not know where to ask for my books."

"Ask?" the professor was bewildered.

"I understood the books were furnished," faltered Elnora.

"Only to those bringing an order from the township
trustee," replied the Professor.

"No!  Oh no!" cried Elnora.  "I will have them to-
morrow," and gripped her desk for support for she knew
that was not true.  Four books, ranging perhaps at a
dollar and a half apiece; would her mother buy them?
Of course she would not--could not.

Did not Elnora know the story of old.  There was
enough land, but no one to do clearing and farm.  Tax on
all those acres, recently the new gravel road tax added,
the expense of living and only the work of two women to
meet all of it.  She was insane to think she could come to
the city to school.  Her mother had been right.  The girl
decided that if only she lived to reach home, she would
stay there and lead any sort of life to avoid more of
this torture.  Bad as what she wished to escape had been,
it was nothing like this.  She never could live down the
movement that went through the class when she inadvertently
revealed the fact that she had expected books to
be furnished.  Her mother would not secure them; that
settled the question.

But the end of misery is never in a hurry to come; before
the day was over the superintendent entered the room and
explained that pupils from the country were charged a
tuition of twenty dollars a year.  That really was the end.
Previously Elnora had canvassed a dozen methods for
securing the money for books, ranging all the way from
offering to wash the superintendent's dishes to breaking
into the bank.  This additional expense made her plans
so wildly impossible, there was nothing to do but hold up
her head until she was from sight.

Down the long corridor alone among hundreds, down the
long street alone among thousands, out into the country
she came at last.  Across the fence and field, along the old
trail once trodden by a boy's bitter agony, now stumbled a
white-faced girl, sick at heart.  She sat on a log and began
to sob in spite of her efforts at self-control.  At first it
wasphysical breakdown, later, thought came crowding.

Oh the shame, the mortification!  Why had she not
known of the tuition?  How did she happen to think that
in the city books were furnished?  Perhaps it was because
she had read they were in several states.  But why did she
not know?  Why did not her mother go with her?  Other mothers--
but when had her mother ever been or done anything at all
like other mothers?  Because she never had been it was
useless to blame her now.  Elnora realized she should have
gone to town the week before, called on some one and
learned all these things herself.  She should have remembered
how her clothing would look, before she wore it in
public places.  Now she knew, and her dreams were over.
She must go home to feed chickens, calves, and pigs,
wear calico and coarse shoes, and with averted head,
pass a library all her life.  She sobbed again.

"For pity's sake, honey, what's the matter?" asked the
voice of the nearest neighbour, Wesley Sinton, as he
seated himself beside Elnora.  "There, there," he continued,
smearing tears all over her face in an effort to dry them.
"Was it as bad as that, now?  Maggie has been just wild
over you all day.  She's got nervouser every minute.
She said we were foolish to let you go.  She said your
clothes were not right, you ought not to carry that tin
pail, and that they would laugh at you.  By gum, I see
they did!"

"Oh, Uncle Wesley," sobbed the girl, "why didn't she
tell me? "

"Well, you see, Elnora, she didn't like to.  You got
such a way of holding up your head, and going through
with things.  She thought some way that you'd make it,
till you got started, and then she begun to see a hundred
things we should have done.  I reckon you hadn't reached
that building before she remembered that your skirt
should have been pleated instead of gathered, your shoes
been low, and lighter for hot September weather, and a
new hat.  Were your clothes right, Elnora?"

The girl broke into hysterical laughter.  "Right!" she cried.
"Right!  Uncle Wesley, you should have seen me among them!
I was a picture!  They'll never forget me.  No, they won't
get the chance, for they'll see me again to-morrow!

"Now that is what I call spunk, Elnora!  Downright grit,"
said Wesley Sinton.  "Don't you let them laugh you out.
You've helped Margaret and me for years at harvest and
busy times, what you've earned must amount to quite a sum.
You can get yourself a good many clothes with it."

"Don't mention clothes, Uncle Wesley," sobbed Elnora,
"I don't care now how I look.  If I don't go back all of them
will know it's because I am so poor I can't buy my books."

"Oh, I don't know as you are so dratted poor," said
Sinton meditatively.  "There are three hundred acres
of good land, with fine timber as ever grew on it."

"It takes all we can earn to pay the tax, and mother
wouldn't cut a tree for her life."

"Well then, maybe, I'll be compelled to cut one for her,"
suggested Sinton.  "Anyway, stop tearing yourself to
pieces and tell me.  If it isn't clothes, what is it?"

"It's books and tuition.  Over twenty dollars in all."

"Humph!  First time I ever knew you to be stumped by
twenty dollars, Elnora," said Sinton, patting her hand.

"It's the first time you ever knew me to want money,"
answered Elnora.  "This is different from anything that ever
happened to me.  Oh, how can I get it, Uncle Wesley?"

"Drive to town with me in the morning and I'll draw it
from the bank for you.  I owe you every cent of it."

"You know you don't owe me a penny, and I wouldn't
touch one from you, unless I really could earn it.
For anything that's past I owe you and Aunt Margaret for
all the home life and love I've ever known.  I know how
you work, and I'll not take your money."

"Just a loan, Elnora, just a loan for a little while
until you can earn it.  You can be proud with all the
rest of the world, but there are no secrets between us,
are there, Elnora?"

"No," said Elnora, "there are none.  You and Aunt
Margaret have given me all the love there has been
in my life.  That is the one reason above all others why
you shall not give me charity.  Hand me money because
you find me crying for it!  This isn't the first time this
old trail has known tears and heartache.  All of us know
that story.  Freckles stuck to what he undertook and
won out.  I stick, too.  When Duncan moved away he
gave me all Freckles left in the swamp, and as I have
inherited his property maybe his luck will come with it.
I won't touch your money, but I'll win some way.  First, I'm
going home and try mother.  It's just possible I could
find second-hand books, and perhaps all the tuition need
not be paid at once.  Maybe they would accept it quarterly.
But oh, Uncle Wesley, you and Aunt Margaret keep on loving me!
I'm so lonely, and no one else cares!"

Wesley Sinton's jaws met with a click.  He swallowed
hard on bitter words and changed what he would have
liked to say three times before it became articulate.

"Elnora," he said at last, "if it hadn't been for one
thing I'd have tried to take legal steps to make you
ours when you were three years old.  Maggie said then
it wasn't any use, but I've always held on.  You see,
I was the first man there, honey, and there are things
you see, that you can't ever make anybody else understand.
She loved him Elnora, she just made an idol of him.
There was that oozy green hole, with the thick
scum broke, and two or three big bubbles slowly rising
that were the breath of his body.  There she was in
spasms of agony, and beside her the great heavy log she'd
tried to throw him.  I can't ever forgive her for turning
against you, and spoiling your childhood as she has,
but I couldn't forgive anybody else for abusing her.
Maggie has got no mercy on her, but Maggie didn't see what
I did, and I've never tried to make it very clear to her.
It's been a little too plain for me ever since.  Whenever I
look at your mother's face, I see what she saw, so
I hold my tongue and say, in my heart, `Give her a mite
more time.'  Some day it will come.  She does love you,
Elnora.  Everybody does, honey.  It's just that she's
feeling so much, she can't express herself.  You be a
patient girl and wait a little longer.  After all, she's
your mother, and you're all she's got, but a memory, and
it might do her good to let her know that she was fooled
in that."

"It would kill her!" cried the girl swiftly.  "Uncle Wesley,
it would kill her!  What do you mean?"

"Nothing," said Wesley Sinton soothingly.  "Nothing, honey.
That was just one of them fool things a man says,
when he is trying his best to be wise.  You see,
she loved him mightily, and they'd been married only
a year, and what she was loving was what she thought
he was.  She hadn't really got acquainted with the man yet.
If it had been even one more year, she could have
borne it, and you'd have got justice.  Having been
a teacher she was better educated and smarter than
the rest of us, and so she was more sensitive like.
She can't understand she was loving a dream.  So I say
it might do her good if somebody that knew, could tell
her, but I swear to gracious, I never could.  I've heard
her out at the edge of that quagmire calling in them
wild spells of hers off and on for the last sixteen years,
and imploring the swamp to give him back to her, and
I've got out of bed when I was pretty tired, and come
down to see she didn't go in herself, or harm you.  What
she feels is too deep for me.  I've got to respectin' her
grief, and I can't get over it.  Go home and tell your
ma, honey, and ask her nice and kind to help you.  If she
won't, then you got to swallow that little lump of
pride in your neck, and come to Aunt Maggie, like you
been a-coming all your life."

"I'll ask mother, but I can't take your money, Uncle
Wesley, indeed I can't.  I'll wait a year, and earn some,
and enter next year."

"There's one thing you don't consider, Elnora," said
the man earnestly.  "And that's what you are to Maggie.
She's a little like your ma.  She hasn't given up to it,
and she's struggling on brave, but when we buried our
second little girl the light went out of Maggie's eyes, and
it's not come back.  The only time I ever see a hint of
it is when she thinks she's done something that makes you
happy, Elnora.  Now, you go easy about refusing her
anything she wants to do for you.  There's times in this
world when it's our bounden duty to forget ourselves, and
think what will help other people.  Young woman, you
owe me and Maggie all the comfort we can get out of you.
There's the two of our own we can't ever do anything for.
Don't you get the idea into your head that a fool thing
you call pride is going to cut us out of all the pleasure
we have in life beside ourselves."

"Uncle Wesley, you are a dear," said Elnora.  "Just a dear!
If I can't possibly get that money any way else on earth,
I'll come and borrow it of you, and then I'll pay it
back if I must dig ferns from the swamp and sell them
from door to door in the city.  I'll even plant them,
so that they will be sure to come up in the spring.  I have
been sort of panic stricken all day and couldn't think.
I can gather nuts and sell them.  Freckles sold moths
and butterflies, and I've a lot collected.  Of course,
I am going back to-morrow!  I can find a way to get the books.
Don't you worry about me.  I am all right!

"Now, what do you think of that?" inquired Wesley
Sinton of the swamp in general.  "Here's our Elnora
come back to stay.  Head high and right as a trivet!
You've named three ways in three minutes that you
could earn ten dollars, which I figure would be enough,
to start you.  Let's go to supper and stop worrying!"

Elnora unlocked the case, took out the pail, put the
napkin in it, pulled the ribbon from her hair, binding it
down tightly again and followed to the road.  From afar
she could see her mother in the doorway.  She blinked
her eyes, and tried to smile as she answered Wesley
Sinton, and indeed she did feel better.  She knew now
what she had to expect, where to go, and what to do.
Get the books she must; when she had them, she would show
those city girls and boys how to prepare and recite lessons,
how to walk with a brave heart; and they could show her
how to wear pretty clothes and have good times.

As she neared the door her mother reached for the pail.
"I forgot to tell you to bring home your scraps for
the chickens," she said.

Elnora entered.  "There weren't any scraps, and I'm
hungry again as I ever was in my life."

"I thought likely you would be," said Mrs. Comstock,
"and so I got supper ready.  We can eat first, and do the
work afterward.  What kept you so?  I expected you an
hour ago."

Elnora looked into her mother's face and smiled.  It was
a queer sort of a little smile, and would have reached
the depths with any normal mother.

"I see you've been bawling," said Mrs. Comstock.
"I thought you'd get your fill in a hurry.  That's why
I wouldn't go to any expense.  If we keep out of the poor-
house we have to cut the corners close.  It's likely this
Brushwood road tax will eat up all we've saved in years.
Where the land tax is to come from I don't know.  It gets
bigger every year.  If they are going to dredge the swamp
ditch again they'll just have to take the land to pay for it.
I can't, that's all!  We'll get up early in the morning and
gather and hull the beans for winter, and put in the rest
of the day hoeing the turnips."

Elnora again smiled that pitiful smile.

"Do you think I didn't know that I was funny and
would be laughed at?" she asked.

"Funny?" cried Mrs. Comstock hotly.

"Yes, funny!  A regular caricature," answered Elnora.
"No one else wore calico, not even one other.  No one
else wore high heavy shoes, not even one.  No one
else had such a funny little old hat; my hair was not
right, my ribbon invisible compared with the others,
I did not know where to go, or what to do, and I had
no books.  What a spectacle I made for them!"
Elnora laughed nervously at her own picture.  "But there
are always two sides!  The professor said in the algebra
class that he never had a better solution and explanation
than mine of the proposition he gave me, which scored
one for me in spite of my clothes."

"Well, I wouldn't brag on myself!"

"That was poor taste," admitted Elnora.  "But, you see,
it is a case of whistling to keep up my courage.
I honestly could see that I would have looked just as
well as the rest of them if I had been dressed as
they were.  We can't afford that, so I have to find
something else to brace me.  It was rather bad, mother!"

"Well, I'm glad you got enough of it!"

"Oh, but I haven't" hurried in Elnora.  "I just got
a start.  The hardest is over.  To-morrow they won't
be surprised.  They will know what to expect.  I am
sorry to hear about the dredge.  Is it really going through?"

"Yes.  I got my notification today.  The tax will
be something enormous.  I don't know as I can spare
you, even if you are willing to be a laughing-stock for
the town."

With every bite Elnora's courage returned, for she was
a healthy young thing.

"You've heard about doing evil that good might come
from it," she said.  "Well, mother mine, it's something
like that with me.  I'm willing to bear the hard part
to pay for what I'll learn.  Already I have selected the
ward building in which I shall teach in about four years.
I am going to ask for a room with a south exposure so
that the flowers and moths I take in from the swamp
to show the children will do well."

"You little idiot!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "How are
you going to pay your expenses?"

"Now that is just what I was going to ask you!" said Elnora.
"You see, I have had two startling pieces of news to-day.
I did not know I would need any money.  I thought the city
furnished the books, and there is an out-of-town tuition, also.
I need ten dollars in the morning.  Will you please let me have it?"

"Ten dollars!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "Ten dollars!
Why don't you say a hundred and be done with it!  I could
get one as easy as the other.  I told you!  I told you
I couldn't raise a cent.  Every year expenses grow bigger
and bigger.  I told you not to ask for money!"

"I never meant to," replied Elnora.  "I thought
clothes were all I needed and I could bear them.
I never knew about buying books and tuition."

"Well, I did!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "I knew what
you would run into!  But you are so bull-dog stubborn,
and so set in your way, I thought I would just let you
try the world a little and see how you liked it!"

Elnora pushed back her chair and looked at her mother.

"Do you mean to say," she demanded, "that you knew,
when you let me go into a city classroom and reveal the
fact before all of them that I expected to have my books
handed out to me; do you mean to say that you knew I had
to pay for them?"

Mrs. Comstock evaded the direct question.

"Anybody but an idiot mooning over a book or wasting
time prowling the woods would have known you had
to pay.  Everybody has to pay for everything.  Life is
made up of pay, pay, pay!  It's always and forever pay!
If you don't pay one way you do another!  Of course,
I knew you had to pay.  Of course, I knew you would come
home blubbering!  But you don't get a penny!  I haven't
one cent, and can't get one!  Have your way if you are
determined, but I think you will find the road somewhat rocky."

"Swampy, you mean, mother," corrected Elnora.  She arose
white and trembling.  "Perhaps some day God will teach
me how to understand you.  He knows I do not now.
You can't possibly realize just what you let me go
through to-day, or how you let me go, but I'll tell you this:
You understand enough that if you had the money, and
would offer it to me, I wouldn't touch it now.  And I'll
tell you this much more.  I'll get it myself.  I'll raise it,
and do it some honest way.  I am going back to-morrow,
the next day, and the next.  You need not come out, I'll do
the night work, and hoe the turnips."

It was ten o'clock when the chickens, pigs, and cattle
were fed, the turnips hoed, and a heap of bean vines was
stacked beside the back door.




CHAPTER II


WHEREIN WESLEY AND MARGARET GO SHOPPING,
AND ELNORA'S WARDROBE IS REPLENISHED


Wesley Sinton walked down the road half a
mile and turned at the lane leading to his home.
His heart was hot and filled with indignation.
He had told Elnora he did not blame her mother,
but he did.  His wife met him at the door.

"Did you see anything of Elnora?" she questioned.

"Most too much, Maggie," he answered.  "What do
you say to going to town?  There's a few things has
to be got right away."

"Where did you see her, Wesley?"

"Along the old Limberlost trail, my girl, torn to
pieces sobbing.  Her courage always has been fine, but the
thing she met to-day was too much for her.  We ought to have
known better than to let her go that way.  It wasn't only
clothes; there were books, and entrance fees for out-of-
town people, that she didn't know about; while there must
have been jeers, whispers, and laughing.  Maggie, I feel
as if I'd been a traitor to those girls of ours.  I ought to
have gone in and seen about this school business.
Don't cry, Maggie.  Get me some supper, and I'll hitch up
and see what we can do now."

"What can we do, Wesley?

"I don't just know.  But we've got to do something.
Kate Comstock will be a handful, while Elnora will be
two, but between us we must see that the girl is not too
hard pressed about money, and that she is dressed so she
is not ridiculous.  She's saved us the wages of a woman
many a day, can't you make her some decent dresses?"

"Well, I'm not just what you call expert, but I could
beat Kate Comstock all to pieces.  I know that skirts
should be pleated to the band instead of gathered, and full
enough to sit in, and short enough to walk in.  I could try.
There are patterns for sale.  Let's go right away, Wesley."

"Set me a bit of supper, while I hitch up."

Margaret built a fire, made coffee, and fried ham and eggs.
She set out pie and cake and had enough for a hungry
man by the time the carriage was at the door, but she
had no appetite.  She dressed while Wesley ate, put away
the food while he dressed, and then they drove toward
the city through the beautiful September evening,
and as they went they planned for Elnora.  The trouble
was, not whether they were generous enough to buy what
she needed, but whether she would accept their purchases,
and what her mother would say.

They went to a drygoods store and when a clerk asked
what they wanted to see neither of them knew, so they
stepped aside and held a whispered consultation.

"What had we better get, Wesley?"

"Dresses," said Wesley promptly,

"But how many dresses, and what kind?"

"Blest if I know!" exclaimed Wesley.  "I thought you
would manage that.  I know about some things I'm going
to get."

At that instant several high school girls came into the
store and approached them.

"There!" exclaimed Wesley breathlessly.  "There, Maggie!
Like them!  That's what she needs!  Buy like they have!"

Margaret stared.  What did they wear?  They were
rapidly passing; they seemed to have so much, and she
could not decide so quickly.  Before she knew it she was
among them.

"I beg your pardon, but won't you wait one minute?"
she asked.

The girls stopped with wondering faces.

"It's your clothes," explained Mrs. Sinton.  "You look
just beautiful to me.  You look exactly as I should have
wanted to see my girls.  They both died of diphtheria
when they were little, but they had yellow hair, dark eyes
and pink cheeks, and everybody thought they were lovely.
If they had lived, they'd been near your age now, and I'd
want them to look like you."

There was sympathy on every girl face.

"Why thank you!" said one of them.  "We are very
sorry for you."

"Of course you are," said Margaret.  "Everybody always
has been.  And because I can't ever have the joy of
a mother in thinking for my girls and buying pretty things
for them, there is nothing left for me, but to do what I can
for some one who has no mother to care for her.  I know
a girl, who would be just as pretty as any of you, if she had
the clothes, but her mother does not think about her, so I
mother her some myself."

"She must be a lucky girl," said another.

"Oh, she loves me," said Margaret, "and I love her.
I want her to look just like you do.  Please tell me
about your clothes.  Are these the dresses and hats you
wear to school?  What kind of goods are they, and where
do you buy them?"

The girls began to laugh and cluster around Margaret.
Wesley strode down the store with his head high through
pride in her, but his heart was sore over the memory of two
little faces under Brushwood sod.  He inquired his way to
the shoe department.

"Why, every one of us have on gingham or linen
dresses," they said, "and they are our school clothes."

For a few moments there was a babel of laughing voices
explaining to the delighted Margaret that school dresses
should be bright and pretty, but simple and plain, and
until cold weather they should wash.

"I'll tell you," said Ellen Brownlee, "my father owns
this store, I know all the clerks.  I'll take you to Miss
Hartley.  You tell her just how much you want to spend,
and what you want to buy, and she will know how to get
the most for your money.  I've heard papa say she was
the best clerk in the store for people who didn't know
precisely what they wanted."

"That's the very thing," agreed Margaret.  "But before
you go, tell me about your hair.  Elnora's hair is
bright and wavy, but yours is silky as hackled flax.
How do you do it?"

"Elnora?" asked four girls in concert.

"Yes, Elnora is the name of the girl I want these things for."

"Did she come to the high school to-day?" questioned
one of them.

"Was she in your classes?" demanded Margaret without reply.

Four girls stood silent and thought fast.  Had there
been a strange girl among them, and had she been overlooked
and passed by with indifference, because she was so
very shabby?  If she had appeared as much better than
they, as she had looked worse, would her reception have
been the same?

"There was a strange girl from the country in the Freshman
class to-day," said Ellen Brownlee, "and her name was Elnora."

"That was the girl," said Margaret.

"Are her people so very poor?" questioned Ellen.

"No, not poor at all, come to think of it," answered Margaret.
"It's a peculiar case.  Mrs. Comstock had a great trouble
and she let it change her whole life and make a different
woman of her.  She used to be lovely; now she is forever
saving and scared to death for fear they will go to the
poorhouse; but there is a big farm, covered with lots
of good timber.  The taxes are high for women who can't
manage to clear and work the land.  There ought to be
enough to keep two of them in good shape all their lives,
if they only knew how to do it.  But no one ever told
Kate Comstock anything, and never will, for she won't listen.
All she does is droop all day, and walk the edge of the
swamp half the night, and neglect Elnora.  If you girls
would make life just a little easier for her it would
be the finest thing you ever did."

All of them promised they would.

"Now tell me about your hair," persisted Margaret Sinton.

So they took her to a toilet counter, and she bought the
proper hair soap, also a nail file, and cold cream, for use
after windy days.  Then they left her with the experienced
clerk, and when at last Wesley found her she was loaded with
bundles and the light of other days was in her beautiful eyes.
Wesley also carried some packages.

"Did you get any stockings?" he whispered.

"No, I didn't," she said.  "I was so interested in dresses
and hair ribbons and a--a hat----" she hesitated and
glanced at Wesley.  "Of course, a hat!" prompted
Wesley.  "That I forgot all about those horrible shoes.
She's got to have decent shoes, Wesley."

"Sure!" said Wesley.  "She's got decent shoes.  But
the man said some brown stockings ought to go with them.
Take a peep, will you!"

Wesley opened a box and displayed a pair of thick-
soled, beautifully shaped brown walking shoes of low
cut.  Margaret cried out with pleasure.

"But do you suppose they are the right size, Wesley?
What did you get?"

"I just said for a girl of sixteen with a slender foot."

"Well, that's about as near as I could come.  If they
don't fit when she tries them, we will drive straight in
and change them.  Come on now, let's get home."

All the way they discussed how they should give Elnora
their purchases and what Mrs. Comstock would say.

"I am afraid she will be awful mad," said Margaret.

"She'll just rip!" replied Wesley graphically.  "But if
she wants to leave the raising of her girl to the neighbours,
she needn't get fractious if they take some pride in doing
a good job.  From now on I calculate Elnora shall go
to school; and she shall have all the clothes and books
she needs, if I go around on the back of Kate Comstock's
land and cut a tree, or drive off a calf to pay for them.
Why I know one tree she owns that would put Elnora in
heaven for a year.  Just think of it, Margaret!  It's not
fair.  One-third of what is there belongs to Elnora by
law, and if Kate Comstock raises a row I'll tell her so,
and see that the girl gets it.  You go to see Kate in the
morning, and I'll go with you.  Tell her you want Elnora's
pattern, that you are going to make her a dress, for
helping us.  And sort of hint at a few more things.
If Kate balks, I'll take a hand and settle her.  I'll go
to law for Elnora's share of that land and sell enough to
educate her."

"Why, Wesley Sinton, you're perfectly wild."

"I'm not!  Did you ever stop to think that such cases are
so frequent there have been laws made to provide for them?
I can bring it up in court and force Kate to educate
Elnora, and board and clothe her till she's of age,
and then she can take her share."

"Wesley, Kate would go crazy!"

"She's crazy now.  The idea of any mother living with as
sweet a girl as Elnora. and letting her suffer till I find
her crying like a funeral.  It makes me fighting mad.
All uncalled for.  Not a grain of sense in it.  I've offered
and offered to oversee clearing her land and working
her fields.  Let her sell a good tree, or a few acres.
Something is going to be done, right now.  Elnora's been
fairly happy up to this, but to spoil the school life she's
planned, is to ruin all her life.  I won't have it! If Elnora
won't take these things, so help me, I'll tell her
what she is worth, and loan her the money and she can
pay me back when she comes of age.  I am going to have
it out with Kate Comstock in the morning.  Here we are!
You open up what you got while I put away the horses,
and then I'll show you."

When Wesley came from the barn Margaret had four
pieces of crisp gingham, a pale blue, a pink, a gray with
green stripes and a rich brown and blue plaid.  On each
of them lay a yard and a half of wide ribbon to match.
There were handkerchiefs and a brown leather belt.  In her
hands she held a wide-brimmed tan straw hat, having a
high crown banded with velvet strips each of which fastened
with a tiny gold buckle.

"It looks kind of bare now," she explained.  "It had
three quills on it here."

"Did you have them taken off?" asked Wesley.

"Yes, I did.  The price was two and a half for the
hat, and those things were a dollar and a half apiece.
I couldn't pay that."

"It does seem considerable," admitted Wesley, "but
will it look right without them?"

"No, it won't!" said Margaret.  "It's going to have
quills on it.  Do you remember those beautiful peacock
wing feathers that Phoebe Simms gave me?  Three of
them go on just where those came off, and nobody will
ever know the difference.  They match the hat to a
moral, and they are just a little longer and richer than
the ones that I had taken off.  I was wondering whether
I better sew them on to-night while I remember how they
set, or wait till morning."

"Don't risk it!" exclaimed Wesley anxiously.  "Don't you
risk it!  Sew them on right now!"

"Open your bundles, while I get the thread," said Margaret.

Wesley unwrapped the shoes.  Margaret took them up
and pinched the leather and stroked them.

"My, but they are fine!" she cried.

Wesley picked up one and slowly turned it in his big hands.
He glanced at his foot and back to the shoe.

"It's a little bit of a thing, Margaret," he said softly.
"Like as not I'll have to take it back.  It seems as if it
couldn't fit."

"It seems as if it didn't dare do anything else," said Margaret.
"That's a happy little shoe to get the chance to carry as
fine a girl as Elnora to high school.  Now what's in the
other box?"

Wesley looked at Margaret doubtfully.

"Why," he said, "you know there's going to be rainy
days, and those things she has now ain't fit for anything
but to drive up the cows----"

"Wesley, did you get high shoes, too?"

"Well, she ought to have them!  The man said he
would make them cheaper if I took both pairs at once."

Margaret laughed aloud.  "Those will do her past
Christmas," she exulted.  "What else did you buy?"

"Well sir," said Wesley, "I saw something to-day.
You told me about Kate getting that tin pail for Elnora
to carry to high school and you said you told her it was
a shame.  I guess Elnora was ashamed all right, for
to-night she stopped at the old case Duncan gave her,
and took out that pail, where it had been all day, and
put a napkin inside it.  Coming home she confessed
she was half starved because she hid her dinner under
a culvert, and a tramp took it.  She hadn't had a bite
to eat the whole day.  But she never complained at all,
she was pleased that she hadn't lost the napkin.  So I
just inquired around till I found this, and I think it's
about the ticket."

Wesley opened the package and laid a brown leather
lunch box on the table.  "Might be a couple of books,
or drawing tools or most anything that's neat and genteel.
You see, it opens this way."

It did open, and inside was a space for sandwiches,
a little porcelain box for cold meat or fried chicken,
another for salad, a glass with a lid which screwed on, held
by a ring in a corner, for custard or jelly, a flask for tea or
milk, a beautiful little knife, fork, and spoon fastened in
holders, and a place for a napkin.

Margaret was almost crying over it.

"How I'd love to fill it!" she exclaimed.

"Do it the first time, just to show Kate Comstock
what love is!" said Wesley.  "Get up early in the morning
and make one of those dresses to-morrow.  Can't you
make a plain gingham dress in a day?  I'll pick a chicken,
and you fry it and fix a little custard for the cup,
and do it up brown.  Go on, Maggie, you do it!"

"I never can," said Margaret.  "I am slow as the
itch about sewing, and these are not going to be plain
dresses when it comes to making them.  There are going
to be edgings of plain green, pink, and brown to the bias
strips, and tucks and pleats around the hips, fancy belts
and collars, and all of it takes time."

"Then Kate Comstock's got to help," said Wesley.  "Can the
two of you make one, and get that lunch to-morrow?"

"Easy, but she'll never do it!"

"You see if she doesn't!" said Wesley.  "You get
up and cut it out, and soon as Elnora is gone I'll go after
Kate myself.  She'll take what I'll say better alone.
But she'll come, and she'll help make the dress.  These other
things are our Christmas gifts to Elnora.  She'll no doubt
need them more now than she will then, and we can give
them just as well.  That's yours, and this is mine, or
whichever way you choose."

Wesley untied a good brown umbrella and shook out
the folds of a long, brown raincoat.  Margaret dropped
the hat, arose and took the coat.  She tried it on, felt it,
cooed over it and matched it with the umbrella.

"Did it look anything like rain to-night?" she inquired
so anxiously that Wesley laughed.

"And this last bundle?" she said, dropping back in her
chair, the coat still over her shoulders.

"I couldn't buy this much stuff for any other woman
and nothing for my own," said Wesley.  "It's Christmas
for you, too, Margaret!"  He shook out fold after fold
of soft gray satiny goods that would look lovely against
Margaret's pink cheeks and whitening hair.

"Oh, you old darling!" she exclaimed, and fled sobbing
into his arms.

But she soon dried her eyes, raked together the coals
in the cooking stove and boiled one of the dress patterns
in salt water for half an hour.  Wesley held the lamp
while she hung the goods on the line to dry.  Then she
set the irons on the stove so they would be hot the first
thing in the morning.




CHAPTER III


WHEREIN ELNORA VISITS THE BIRD WOMAN,
AND OPENS A BANK ACCOUNT


Four o'clock the following morning Elnora
was shelling beans.  At six she fed the chickens
and pigs, swept two of the rooms of the cabin,
built a fire, and put on the kettle for breakfast.  Then she
climbed the narrow stairs to the attic she had occupied since
a very small child, and dressed in the hated shoes and
brown calico, plastered down her crisp curls, ate what
breakfast she could, and pinning on her hat started for town.

"There is no sense in your going for an hour yet,"
said her mother.

"I must try to discover some way to earn those books,"
replied Elnora.  "I am perfectly positive I shall not
find them lying beside the road wrapped in tissue paper,
and tagged with my name."

She went toward the city as on yesterday.  Her perplexity
as to where tuition and books were to come from was
worse but she did not feel quite so badly.  She never
again would have to face all of it for the first time.
There had been times yesterday when she had prayed to
be hidden, or to drop dead, and neither had happened.
"I believe the best way to get an answer to prayer is
to work for it," muttered Elnora grimly.

Again she followed the trail to the swamp, rearranged
her hair and left the tin pail.  This time she folded a couple
of sandwiches in the napkin, and tied them in a neat light
paper parcel which she carried in her hand.  Then she
hurried along the road to Onabasha and found a book-store.
There she asked the prices of the list of books that
she needed, and learned that six dollars would not quite
supply them.  She anxiously inquired for second-hand
books, but was told that the only way to secure them was
from the last year's Freshmen.  Just then Elnora felt that
she positively could not approach any of those she supposed
to be Sophomores and ask to buy their old books.
The only balm the girl could see for the humiliation of
yesterday was to appear that day with a set of new books.

"Do you wish these?" asked the clerk hurriedly, for the
store was rapidly filling with school children wanting
anything from a dictionary to a pen.

"Yes," gasped Elnora, "Oh, yes!  But I cannot pay for
them just now.  Please let me take them, and I will pay
for them on Friday, or return them as perfect as they are.
Please trust me for them a few days."

"I'll ask the proprietor," he said.  When he came back
Elnora knew the answer before he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but Mr. Hann doesn't recognize
your name.  You are not a customer of ours, and he feels
that he can't take the risk."

Elnora clumped out of the store, the thump of her heavy,
shoes beating as a hammer on her brain.  She tried two
other dealers with the same result, and then in sick despair
came into the street.  What could she  do?  She was too
frightened to think.  Should she stay from school that
day and canvass the homes appearing to belong to the
wealthy, and try to sell beds of wild ferns, as she had
suggested to Wesley Sinton?  What would she dare ask for
bringing in and planting a clump of ferns?  How could she
carry them?  Would people buy them?  She slowly moved
past the hotel and then glanced around to see if there
were a clock anywhere, for she felt sure the young people
passing her constantly were on their way to school.

There it stood in a bank window in big black letters
staring straight at her:


WANTED:  CATERPILLARS, COCOONS, CHRYSALIDES,
PUPAE CASES, BUTTERFLIES, MOTHS, INDIAN RELICS
OF ALL KINDS.  HIGHEST SCALE OF PRICES PAID IN CASH


Elnora caught the wicket at the cashier's desk with both
hands to brace herself against disappointment.

"Who is it wants to buy cocoons, butterflies, and
moths?" she panted.

"The Bird Woman," answered the cashier.  "Have you
some for sale?"

"I have some, I do not know if they are what she would want."

"Well, you had better see her," said the cashier.  "Do you
know where she lives?"

"Yes," said Elnora.  "Would you tell me the time?"

"Twenty-one after eight," was the answer.

She had nine minutes to reach the auditorium or be late.
Should she go to school, or to the Bird Woman?  Several girls
passed her walking swiftly and she remembered their faces.
They were hurrying to school.  Elnora caught the infection.
She would see the Bird Woman at noon.  Algebra came first,
and that professor was kind.  Perhaps she could slip to the
superintendent and ask him for a book for the next lesson,
and at noon--"Oh, dear Lord make it come true," prayed Elnora,
at noon possibly she could sell some of those wonderful
shining-winged things she had been collecting all her life
around the outskirts of the Limberlost.

As she went down the long hall she noticed the professor
of mathematics standing in the door of his recitation room.
When she passed him he smiled and spoke to her.

"I have been watching for you," he said, and Elnora
stopped bewildered.

"For me?" she questioned.

"Yes," said Professor Henley.  "Step inside."

Elnora followed him into the room and closed the door
behind them.

"At teachers' meeting last evening, one of the professors
mentioned that a pupil had betrayed in class that she had
expected her books to be furnished by the city.  I thought
possibly it was you.  Was it?"

"Yes," breathed Elnora.

"That being the case," said Professor Henley, "it just
occurred to me as you had expected that, you might require
a little time to secure them, and you are too fine a
mathematician to fall behind for want of supplies.  So I
telephoned one of our Sophomores to bring her last year's
books this morning.  I am sorry to say they are somewhat
abused, but the text is all here.  You can have them for
two dollars, and pay when you are ready.  Would you
care to take them?"

Elnora sat suddenly, because she could not stand another instant.
She reached both hands for the books, and said never a word.
The professor was silent also.  At last Eleanor arose,
hugging those books to her heart as a mother clasps a baby.

"One thing more," said the professor.  "You may pay
your tuition quarterly.  You need not bother about the
first instalment this month.  Any time in October will do."

It seemed as if Elnora's gasp of relief must have reached
the soles of her brogans.

"Did any one ever tell you how beautiful you are!" she cried.

As the professor was lank, tow-haired and so near-
sighted, that he peered at his pupils through spectacles,
no one ever had.

"No," said Professor Henley, "I've waited some time
for that; for which reason I shall appreciate it all the more.
Come now, or we shall be late for opening exercises."

So Elnora entered the auditorium a second time.  Her face was
like the brightest dawn that ever broke over the Limberlost.
No matter about the lumbering shoes and skimpy dress.
No matter about anything, she had the books.  She could
take them home.  In her garret she could commit them to
memory, if need be.  She could prove that clothes were
not all.  If the Bird Woman did not want any of the many
different kinds of specimens she had collected, she was
quite sure now she could sell ferns, nuts, and a great
many things.  Then, too, a girl made a place for her
that morning, and several smiled and bowed.  Elnora forgot
everything save her books, and that she was where she
could use them intelligently--everything except one
little thing away back in her head.  Her mother had
known about the books and the tuition, and had not told
her when she agreed to her coming.

At noon Elnora took her little parcel of lunch and started
to the home of the Bird Woman.  She must know about
the specimens first and then she would walk to the suburbs
somewhere and eat a few bites.  She dropped the heavy
iron knocker on the door of a big red log cabin, and
her heart thumped at the resounding stroke.

"Is the Bird Woman at home?" she asked of the maid.

"She is at lunch," was the answer.

"Please ask her if she will see a girl from the Limberlost
about some moths?" inquired Elnora.

"I never need ask, if it's moths," laughed the girl.
"Orders are to bring any one with specimens right in.
Come this way."

Elnora followed down the hall and entered a long room with
high panelled wainscoting, old English fireplace with an
overmantel and closets of peculiar china filling the corners.
At a bare table of oak, yellow as gold, sat a woman Elnora
often had watched and followed covertly around the Limberlost.
The Bird Woman was holding out a hand of welcome.

I heard!" she laughed.  "A little pasteboard box, or
just the mere word `specimen,' passes you at my door.
If it is moths I hope you have hundreds.  I've been very
busy all summer and unable to collect, and I need so many.
Sit down and lunch with me, while we talk it over.
From the Limberlost, did you say?"

"I live near the swamp," replied Elnora.  "Since it's
so cleared I dare go around the edge in daytime, though
we are all afraid at night."

"What have you collected?" asked the Bird Woman,
as she helped Elnora to sandwiches unlike any she ever
before had tasted, salad that seemed to be made of many
familiar things, and a cup of hot chocolate that would have
delighted any hungry schoolgirl.

"I am afraid I am bothering you for nothing, and imposing
on you," she said.  "That 'collected' frightens me.
I've only gathered.  I always loved everything outdoors,
so I made friends and playmates of them.  When I learned
that the moths die so soon, I saved them especially,
because there seemed no wickedness in it."

"I have thought the same thing," said the Bird
Woman encouragingly.  Then because the girl could
not eat until she learned about the moths, the Bird
Woman asked Elnora if she knew what kinds she had.

"Not all of them," answered Elnora.  "Before Mr.
Duncan moved away he often saw me near the edge of
the swamp and he showed me the box he had fixed for
Freckles, and gave me the key.  There were some books
and things, so from that time on I studied and tried to
take moths right, but I am afraid they are not what you want."

"Are they the big ones that fly mostly in June nights?"
asked the Bird Woman.

"Yes," said Elnora.  "Big gray ones with reddish
markings, pale blue-green, yellow with lavender, and red
and yellow."

"What do you mean by `red and yellow?'" asked the
Bird Woman so quickly that the girl almost jumped

"Not exactly red," explained Elnora, with tremulous voice.
"A reddish, yellowish brown, with canary-coloured spots
and gray lines on their wings."

"How many of them?"  It was the same quick question.

"I had over two hundred eggs," said Elnora, "but
some of them didn't hatch, and some of the caterpillars
died, but there must be at least a hundred perfect ones."

"Perfect!  How perfect?" cried the Bird Woman.

"I mean whole wings, no down gone, and all their legs
and antennae," faltered Elnora.

"Young woman, that's the rarest moth in America,"
said the Bird Woman solemnly.  "If you have a hundred
of them, they are worth a hundred dollars according to
my list.  I can use all that are not damaged."

"What if they are not pinned right," quavered Elnora.

"If they are perfect, that does not make the
slightest difference.  I know how to soften them so
that I can put them into any shape I choose.
Where are they?  When may I see them?"

"They are in Freckles's old case in the Limberlost,"
said Elnora.  "I couldn't carry many for fear of breaking
them, but I could bring a few after school."

"You come here at four," said the Bird Woman, "and
we will drive out with some specimen boxes, and a price
list, and see what you have to sell.  Are they your very own?
Are you free to part with them?"

"They are mine," said Elnora.  "No one but God
knows I have them.  Mr. Duncan gave me the books
and the box.  He told Freckles about me, and Freckles
told him to give me all he left.  He said for me to stick
to the swamp and be brave, and my hour would come, and
it has!  I know most of them are all right, and oh, I
do need the money!"

"Could you tell me?" asked the Bird Woman softly.

"You see the swamp and all the fields around it are so
full," explained Elnora.  "Every day I felt smaller and
smaller, and I wanted to know more and more, and pretty
soon I grew desperate, just as Freckles did.  But I am
better off than he was, for I have his books, and I have a
mother; even if she doesn't care for me as other girls'
mothers do for them, it's better than no one."

The Bird Woman's glance fell, for the girl was not
conscious of how much she was revealing.  Her eyes
were fixed on a black pitcher filled with goldenrod in
the centre of the table and she was saying what she thought.

"As long as I could go to the Brushwood school I was
happy, but I couldn't go further just when things were
the most interesting, so I was determined I'd come to
high school and mother wouldn't consent.  You see
there's plenty of land, but father was drowned when I
was a baby, and mother and I can't make money as men do.
The taxes are higher every year, and she said it was
too expensive.  I wouldn't give her any rest, until at
last she bought me this dress, and these shoes and I came.
It was awful!"

"Do you live in that beautiful cabin at the northwest
end of the swamp?" asked the Bird Woman.

"Yes," said Elnora.

"I remember the place and a story about it, now.
You entered the high school yesterday?"

"Yes."

"It was rather bad?"

"Rather bad!" echoed Elnora.

The Bird Woman laughed.

"You can't tell me anything about that," she said.
"I once entered a city school straight from the country.
My dress was brown calico, and my shoes were heavy."

The tears began to roll down Elnora's cheeks.

"Did they----?" she faltered.

"They did!" said the Bird Woman.  "All of it.  I am
sure they did not miss one least little thing."

Then she wiped away some tears that began coursing
her cheeks, and laughed at the same time.

"Where are they now?" asked Elnora suddenly.

"They are widely scattered, but none of them have
attained heights out of range.  Some of the rich are
poor, and some of the poor are rich.  Some of the brightest
died insane, and some of the dullest worked out high
positions; some of the very worst to bear have gone out,
and I frequently hear from others.  Now I am here,
able to remember it, and mingle laughter with what
used to be all tears; for every day I have my beautiful
work, and almost every day God sends some one like you
to help me.  What is your name, my girl?"

"Elnora Comstock," answered Elnora.  "Yesterday on the
board it changed to Cornstock, and for a minute I
thought I'd die, but I can laugh over that already."

The Bird Woman arose and kissed her.  "Finish your
lunch," she said, "and I will bring my price lists, and
make a memorandum of what you think you have, so I
will know how many boxes to prepare.  And remember this:
What you are lies with you.  If you are lazy, and
accept your lot, you may live in it.  If you are willing
to work, you can write your name anywhere you choose,
among the only ones who live beyond the grave in this
world, the people who write books that help, make exquisite
music, carve statues, paint pictures, and work for others.
Never mind the calico dress, and the coarse shoes.
Work at your books, and before long you will hear
yesterday's tormentors boasting that they were once
classmates of yours.  `I could a tale unfold'----!"

She laughingly left the room and Elnora sat thinking,
until she remembered how hungry she was, so she ate the
food, drank the hot chocolate and began to feel better.

Then the Bird Woman came back and showed Elnora a
long printed slip giving a list of graduated prices for
moths, butterflies, and dragonflies.

"Oh, do you want them!" exulted Elnora.  "I have
a few and I can get more by the thousand, with every
colour in the world on their wings."

"Yes," said the Bird Woman, "I will buy them, also the
big moth caterpillars that are creeping everywhere now,
and the cocoons that they will spin just about this time.
I have a sneaking impression that the mystery, wonder,
and the urge of their pure beauty, are going to force me
to picture and paint our moths and put them into a book
for all the world to see and know.  We Limberlost people
must not be selfish with the wonders God has given to us.
We must share with those poor cooped-up city people the
best we can.  To send them a beautiful book, that is the
way, is it not, little new friend of mine?"

"Yes, oh yes!" cried Elnora.  "And please God they
find a way to earn the money to buy the books, as I have
those I need so badly."

"I will pay good prices for all the moths you can find,"
said the Bird Woman, "because you see I exchange them
with foreign collectors.  I want a complete series of the
moths of America to trade with a German scientist,
another with a man in India, and another in Brazil.
Others I can exchange with home collectors for those of
California and Canada, so you see I can use all you can
raise, or find.  The banker will buy stone axes, arrow
points, and Indian pipes.  There was a teacher from the
city grade schools here to-day for specimens.  There is
a fund to supply the ward buildings.  I'll help you get
in touch with that.  They want leaves of different trees,
flowers, grasses, moths, insects, birds' nests and anything
about birds."

Elnora's eyes were blazing.  "Had I better go back to
school or open a bank account and begin being a millionaire?
Uncle Wesley and I have a bushel of arrow points gathered,
a stack of axes, pipes, skin-dressing tools, tubes and mortars.
I don't know how I ever shall wait three hours."

"You must go, or you will be late," said the Bird Woman.
"I will be ready at four."

After school closed Elnora, seated beside the Bird
Woman, drove to Freckles's room in the Limberlost.  One at
a time the beautiful big moths were taken from the
interior of the old black case.  Not a fourth of them could
be moved that night and it was almost dark when the last
box was closed, the list figured, and into Elnora's trembling
fingers were paid fifty-nine dollars and sixteen cents.
Elnora clasped the money closely.

"Oh you beautiful stuff!" she cried.  "You are going to
buy the books, pay the tuition, and take me to high school."

Then because she was a woman, she sat on a log and
looked at her shoes.  Long after the Bird Woman drove
away Elnora remained.  She had her problem, and it was
a big one.  If she told her mother, would she take the
money to pay the taxes?  If she did not tell her, how could
she account for the books, and things for which she would
spend it.  At last she counted out what she needed for
the next day, placed the remainder in the farthest corner
of the case, and locked the door.  She then filled the front
of her skirt from a heap of arrow points beneath the case
and started home.




CHAPTER IV


WHEREIN THE SINTONS ARE DISAPPOINTED,
AND MRS. COMSTOCK LEARNS THAT SHE CAN LAUGH


With the first streak of red above the Limberlost
Margaret Sinton was busy with the gingham and the
intricate paper pattern she had purchased.
Wesley cooked the breakfast and worked until he thought
Elnora would be gone, then he started to bring her mother.

"Now you be mighty careful," cautioned Margaret.
"I don't know how she will take it."

"I don't either," said Wesley philosophically, "but
she's got to take it some way.  That dress has to be
finished by school time in the morning."

Wesley had not slept well that night.  He had been so
busy framing diplomatic speeches to make to Mrs. Comstock
that sleep had little chance with him.  Every step nearer
to her he approached his position seemed less enviable.
By the time he reached the front gate and started down
the walk between the rows of asters and lady slippers
he was perspiring, and every plausible and convincing
speech had fled his brain.  Mrs. Comstock helped him.
She met him at the door.

"Good morning," she said.  "Did Margaret send you
for something?"

"Yes," said Wesley.  "She's got a job that's too big
for her, and she wants you to help."

"Of course I will," said Mrs. Comstock.  It was no
one's affair how lonely the previous day had been, or
how the endless hours of the present would drag.
"What is she doing in such a rush?"

Now was his chance.

"She's making a dress for Elnora," answered, Wesley.
He saw Mrs. Comstock's form straighten, and her face
harden, so he continued hastily.  "You see Elnora has
been helping us at harvest time, butchering, and with
unexpected visitors for years.  We've made out that
she's saved us a considerable sum, and as she wouldn't
ever touch any pay for anything, we just went to town
and got a few clothes we thought would fix her up a little
for the high school.  We want to get a dress done to-day
mighty bad, but Margaret is slow about sewing, and she
never can finish alone, so I came after you."

"And it's such a simple little matter, so dead easy;
and all so between old friends like, that you can't look
above your boots while you explain it," sneered Mrs. Comstock.
"Wesley Sinton, what put the idea into your head that
Elnora would take things bought with money, when she
wouldn't take the money?

Then Sinton's eyes came up straightly.

"Finding her on the trail last night sobbing as hard as
I ever saw any one at a funeral.  She wasn't complaining
at all, but she's come to me all her life with her little hurts,
and she couldn't hide how she'd been laughed at, twitted,
and run face to face against the fact that there were books
and tuition, unexpected, and nothing will ever make me
believe you didn't know that, Kate Comstock."

"If any doubts are troubling you on that subject, sure
I knew it!  She was so anxious to try the world, I thought
I'd just let her take a few knocks and see how she liked them."

"As if she'd ever taken anything but knocks all her life!"
cried Wesley Sinton.  "Kate Comstock, you are a heartless,
selfish woman.  You've never shown Elnora any real love in
her life.  If ever she finds out that thing you'll lose her,
and it will serve you right."

"She knows it now," said Mrs. Comstock icily, "and
she'll be home to-night just as usual."

"Well, you are a brave woman if you dared put a girl of
Elnora's make through what she suffered yesterday, and will
suffer again to-day, and let her know you did it on purpose.
I admire your nerve.  But I've watched this since Elnora
was born, and I got enough.  Things have come to a pass
where they go better for her, or I interfere."

"As if you'd ever done anything but interfere all her life!
Think I haven't watched you?  Think I, with my heart raw
in my breast, and too numb to resent it openly,
haven't seen you and Mag Sinton trying to turn Elnora
against me day after day?  When did you ever tell her
what her father meant to me?  When did you ever try to
make her see the wreck of my life, and what I've suffered?
No indeed!  Always it's been poor little abused Elnora,
and cakes, kissing, extra clothes, and encouraging her
to run to you with a pitiful mouth every time I tried to
make a woman of her."

"Kate Comstock, that's unjust," cried Sinton.  "Only last
night I tried to show her the picture I saw the day she
was born.  I begged her to come to you and tell you
pleasant what she needed, and ask you for what I happen
to know you can well afford to give her."

"I can't!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "You know I can't!"

"Then get so you can!" said Wesley Sinton.  "Any day
you say the word you can sell six thousand worth of
rare timber off this place easy.  I'll see to clearing and
working the fields cheap as dirt, for Elnora's sake.
I'll buy you more cattle to fatten.  All you've got to do
is sign a lease, to pull thousands from the ground in oil,
as the rest of us are doing all around you!"

"Cut down Robert's trees!" shrieked Mrs. Comstock.
"Tear up his land!  Cover everything with horrid,
greasy oil!  I'll die first."

"You mean you'll let Elnora go like a beggar, and hurt
and mortify her past bearing.  I've got to the place where
I tell you plain what I am going to do.  Maggie and I
went to town last night, and we bought what things Elnora
needs most urgent to make her look a little like the rest of
the high school girls.  Now here it is in plain English.
You can help get these things ready, and let us give them to
her as we want----"

"She won't touch them!" cried Mrs. Comstock.

"Then you can pay us, and she can take them as her right----"

"I won't!"

"Then I will tell Elnora just what you are worth, what
you can afford, and how much of this she owns.  I'll loan
her the money to buy books and decent clothes, and
when she is of age she can sell her share and pay me."

Mrs. Comstock gripped a chair-back and opened her
lips, but no words came.

"And," Sinton continued, "if she is so much like you
that she won't do that, I'll go to the county seat and lay
complaint against you as her guardian before the judge.
I'll swear to what you are worth, and how you are raising
her, and have you discharged, or have the judge appoint
some man who will see that she is comfortable, educated,
and decent looking!"

"You--you wouldn't!" gasped Kate Comstock.

"I won't need to, Kate!" said Sinton, his heart softening
the instant the hard words were said.  "You won't
show it, but you do love Elnora!  You can't help it!
You must see how she needs things; come help us fix them,
and be friends.  Maggie and I couldn't live without her,
and you couldn't either.  You've got to love such a fine
girl as she is; let it show a little!"

"You can hardly expect me to love her," said Mrs.
Comstock coldly.  "But for her a man would stand back
of me now, who would beat the breath out of your sneaking
body for the cowardly thing with which you threaten me.
After all I've suffered you'd drag me to court and
compel me to tear up Robert's property.  If I ever go they
carry me.  If they touch one tree, or put down one greasy
old oil well, it will be over all I can shoot, before they
begin.  Now, see how quick you can clear out of here!"

"You won't come and help Maggie with the dress?"

For answer Mrs. Comstock looked around swiftly for
some object on which to lay her hands.  Knowing her
temper, Wesley Sinton left with all the haste consistent
with dignity.  But he did not go home.  He crossed a
field, and in an hour brought another neighbour who was
skilful with her needle.  With sinking heart Margaret saw
them coming.

"Kate is too busy to help to-day, she can't sew before
to-morrow," said Wesley cheerfully as they entered.

That quieted Margaret's apprehension a little, though
she had some doubts.  Wesley prepared the lunch, and
by four o'clock the dress was finished as far as it possibly
could be until it was fitted on Elnora.  If that did not
entail too much work, it could be completed in two hours.

Then Margaret packed their purchases into the big
market basket.  Wesley took the hat, umbrella, and raincoat,
and they went to Mrs. Comstock's.  As they reached
the step, Margaret spoke pleasantly to Mrs. Comstock,
who sat reading just inside the door, but she did not
answer and deliberately turned a leaf without looking up.

Wesley Sinton opened the door and went in followed by Margaret.

"Kate," he said, "you needn't take out your mad over
our little racket on Maggie.  I ain't told her a word I said
to you, or you said to me.  She's not so very strong, and
she's sewed since four o'clock this morning to get this dress
ready for to-morrow.  It's done and we came down to try
it on Elnora."

"Is that the truth, Mag Sinton?" demanded Mrs. Comstock.

"You heard Wesley say so," proudly affirmed Mrs. Sinton.

"I want to make you a proposition," said Wesley.
"Wait till Elnora comes.  Then we'll show her the things
and see what she says."

"How would it do to see what she says without bribing
her," sneered Mrs. Comstock.

"If she can stand what she did yesterday, and will to-
day, she can bear 'most anything," said Wesley.  "Put away
the clothes if you want to, till we tell her."

"Well, you don't take this waist I'm working on,"
said Margaret, "for I have to baste in the sleeves and set
the collar.  Put the rest out of sight if you like."

Mrs. Comstock picked up the basket and bundles,
placed them inside her room and closed the door.

Margaret threaded her needle and began to sew.
Mrs. Comstock returned to her book, while Wesley fidgeted
and raged inwardly.  He could see that Margaret was
nervous and almost in tears, but the lines in Mrs.
Comstock's impassive face were set and cold.  So they
sat while the clock ticked off the time--one hour, two,
dusk, and no Elnora.  Just when Margaret and Wesley were
discussing whether he had not better go to town to meet
Elnora, they heard her coming up the walk.  Wesley dropped
his tilted chair and squared himself.  Margaret gripped
her sewing, and turned pleading eyes toward the door.
Mrs. Comstock closed her book and grimly smiled.

"Mother, please open the door," called Elnora.

Mrs. Comstock arose, and swung back the screen.
Elnora stepped in beside her, bent half double, the whole
front of her dress gathered into a sort of bag filled with a
heavy load, and one arm stacked high with books.  In the
dim light she did not see the Sintons.

 "Please hand me the empty bucket in the kitchen,
mother," she said.  "I just had to bring these arrow
points home, but I'm scared for fear I've spoiled my dress
and will have to wash it.  I'm to clean them, and take
them to the banker in the morning, and oh, mother, I've
sold enough stuff to pay for my books, my tuition, and
maybe a dress and some lighter shoes besides.  Oh, mother
I'm so happy!  Take the books and bring the bucket!"

Then she saw Margaret and Wesley.  "Oh, glory!"
she exulted.  "I was just wondering how I'd ever wait to
tell you, and here you are!  It's too perfectly splendid to
be true!"

"Tell us, Elnora," said Sinton.

"Well sir," said Elnora, doubling down on the floor and
spreading out her skirt, "set the bucket here, mother.
These points are brittle, and should be put in one at a time.
If they are chipped I can't sell them.  Well sir!  I've had
a time!  You know I just had to have books.  I tried three
stores, and they wouldn't trust me, not even three days,
I didn't know what in this world I could do quickly enough.
Just when I was almost frantic I saw a sign in a bank window
asking for caterpillars, cocoons, butterflies, arrow points,
and everything.  I went in, and it was this Bird Woman who
wants the insects, and the banker wants the stones.  I had
to go to school then, but, if you'll believe it"--Elnora
beamed on all of them in turn as she talked and slipped
the arrow points from her dress to the pail--"if you'll
believe it--but you won't, hardly, until you look at the
books--there was the mathematics teacher, waiting at his
door, and he had a set of books for me that he had
telephoned a Sophomore to bring."

"How did he happen to do that, Elnora?" interrupted Sinton.

Elnora blushed.

"It was a fool mistake I made yesterday in thinking
books were just handed out to one.  There was a teachers'
meeting last night and the history teacher told about that.
Professor Henley thought of me.  You know I told you what
he said about my algebra, mother.  Ain't I glad I studied
out some of it myself this summer!  So he telephoned and
a girl brought the books.  Because they are marked and
abused some I get the whole outfit for two dollars.
I can erase most of the marks, paste down the covers,
and fix them so they look better.  But I must hurry to
the joy part.  I didn't stop to eat, at noon, I just
ran to the Bird Woman's, and I had lunch with her.  It was
salad, hot chocolate, and lovely things, and she wants
to buy most every old scrap I ever gathered.  She wants
dragonflies, moths, butterflies, and he--the banker, I
mean--wants everything Indian.  This very night she
came to the swamp with me and took away enough stuff to
pay for the books and tuition, and to-morrow she is going
to buy some more."

Elnora laid the last arrow point in the pail and arose,
shaking leaves and bits of baked earth from her dress.
She reached into her pocket, produced her money and
waved it before their wondering eyes.

"And that's the joy part!" she exulted.  "Put it up in
the clock till morning, mother.  That pays for the books
and tuition and--" Elnora hesitated, for she saw the
nervous grasp with which her mother's fingers closed on
the bills.  Then she continued, but more slowly and
thinking before she spoke.

"What I get to-morrow pays for more books and tuition,
and maybe a few, just a few, things to wear.  These shoes
are so dreadfully heavy and hot, and they make such a
noise on the floor.  There isn't another calico dress in
the whole building, not among hundreds of us.  Why, what
is that?  Aunt Margaret, what are you hiding in your lap?"

She snatched the waist and shook it out, and her face
was beaming.  "Have you taken to waists all fancy and
buttoned in the back?  I bet you this is mine!"

"I bet you so too," said Margaret Sinton.  "You undress
right away and try it on, and if it fits, it will be
done for morning.  There are some low shoes, too!"

Elnora began to dance.  "Oh, you dear people!"
she cried.  "I can pay for them to-morrow night!
Isn't it too splendid!  I was just thinking on the
way home that I certainly would be compelled to
have cooler shoes until later, and I was wondering
what I'd do when the fall rains begin."

"I meant to get you some heavy dress skirts and a
coat then," said Mrs. Comstock.

"I know you said so!" cried Elnora.  "But you needn't, now!
I can buy every single stitch I need myself.  Next summer
I can gather up a lot more stuff, and all winter on the
way to school.  I am sure I can sell ferns, I know
I can nuts, and the Bird Woman says the grade rooms
want leaves, grasses, birds' nests, and cocoons.  Oh, isn't
this world lovely!  I'll be helping with the tax, next, mother!"

Elnora waved the waist and started for the bedroom.
When she opened the door she gave a little cry.

"What have you people been doing?" she demanded.
"I never saw so many interesting bundles in all my life.
I'm `skeered' to death for fear I can't pay for them, and
will have to give up something."

"Wouldn't you take them, if you could not pay for
them, Elnora?" asked her mother instantly.

"Why, not unless you did," answered Elnora.  "People have
no right to wear things they can't afford, have they?"

"But from such old friends as Maggie and Wesley!"
Mrs. Comstock's voice was oily with triumph.

"From them least of all," cried Elnora stoutly.  "From a
stranger sooner than from them, to whom I owe so much more
than I ever can pay now."

"Well, you don't have to," said Mrs. Comstock.
"Maggie just selected these things, because she is more
in touch with the world, and has got such good taste.
You can pay as long as your money holds out, and if
there's more necessary, maybe I can sell the butcher a
calf, or if things are too costly for us, of course,
they can take them back.  Put on the waist now, and then
you can look over the rest and see if they are suitable,
and what you want."

Elnora stepped into the adjoining room and closed the door.
Mrs. Comstock picked up the bucket and started for the well
with it.  At the bedroom she paused.

"Elnora, were you going to wash these arrow points?"

"Yes.  The Bird Woman says they sell better if they are clean,
so it can be seen that there are no defects in them."

"Of course," said Mrs. Comstock.  "Some of them
seem quite baked.  Shall I put them to soak?  Do you
want to take them in the morning?"

"Yes, I do," answered Elnora.  "If you would just
fill the pail with water."

Mrs. Comstock left the room.  Wesley Sinton sat
with his back to the window in the west end of the cabin
which overlooked the well.  A suppressed sound behind
him caused him to turn quickly.  Then he arose and
leaned over Margaret.

"She's out there laughing like a blamed monkey!"
he whispered indignantly.

"Well, she can't help it!" exclaimed Margaret.

"I'm going home!" said Wesley.

"Oh no, you are not!" retorted Margaret.  "You are
missing the point.  The point is not how you look,
or feel.  It is to get these things in Elnora's possession
past dispute.  You go now, and to-morrow Elnora will
wear calico, and Kate Comstock will return these goods.
Right here I stay until everything we bought is Elnora's."

"What are you going to do?" asked Wesley.

"I don't know yet, myself," said Margaret.

Then she arose and peered from the window.  At the
well curb stood Katharine Comstock.  The strain
of the day was finding reaction.  Her chin was in the
air, she was heaving, shaking and strangling to suppress
any sound.  The word that slipped between Margaret
Sinton's lips shocked Wesley until he dropped on his
chair, and recalled her to her senses.  She was fairly
composed as she turned to Elnora, and began the fitting.
When she had pinched, pulled, and patted she called,
"Come see if you think this fits, Kate."

Mrs. Comstock had gone around to the back door and
answered from the kitchen.  "You know more about
it than I do.  Go ahead!  I'm getting supper.
Don't forget to allow for what it will shrink in washing!"

"I set the colours and washed the goods last night;
it can be made to fit right now," answered Margaret.

When she could find nothing more to alter she told
Elnora to heat some water.  After she had done that the
girl began opening packages.

The hat came first.

"Mother!" cried Elnora.  "Mother, of course, you
have seen this, but you haven't seen it on me.  I must
try it on."

"Don't you dare put that on your head until your hair
is washed and properly combed," said Margaret.

"Oh!" cried Elnora.  "Is that water to wash my hair?
I thought it was to set the colour in another dress."

"Well, you thought wrong," said Margaret simply.
"Your hair is going to be washed and brushed until
it shines like copper.  While it dries you can eat your
supper, and this dress will be finished.  Then you can
put on your new ribbon, and your hat.  You can try
your shoes now, and if they don't fit, you and Wesley
can drive to town and change them.  That little round
bundle on the top of the basket is your stockings."

Margaret sat down and began sewing swiftly, and a little
later opened the machine, and ran several long seams.

Elnora returned in a few minutes holding up her skirts
and stepping daintily in the new shoes.

"Don't soil them, honey, else you're sure they fit,"
cautioned Wesley.

"They seem just a trifle large, maybe," said Elnora
dubiously, and Wesley knelt to feel.  He and Margaret
thought them a fit, and then Elnora appealed to
her mother.  Mrs. Comstock appeared wiping her hands
on her apron.  She examined the shoes critically.

"They seem to fit," she said, "but they are away too
fine to walk country roads."

"I think so, too," said Elnora instantly.  "We had
better take these back and get a cheaper pair."

"Oh, let them go for this time," said Mrs. Comstock.
"They are so pretty, I hate to part with them.  You can
get cheaper ones after this."

Wesley and Margaret scarcely breathed for a long time.

When Wesley went to do the feeding.  Elnora set
the table.  When the water was hot, Margaret pinned a
big towel around Elnora's shoulders and washed and
dried the lovely hair according to the instructions she
had been given the previous night.  As the hair began
to dry it billowed out in a sparkling sheen that caught the
light and gleamed and flashed.

"Now, the idea is to let it stand naturally, just as the
curl will make it.  Don't you do any of that nasty, untidy
snarling, Elnora," cautioned Margaret.  "Wash it this
way every two weeks while you are in school, shake it
out, and dry it.  Then part it in the middle and turn a
front quarter on each side from your face.  You tie the
back at your neck with a string--so, and the ribbon goes
in a big, loose bow.  I'll show you."  One after another
Margaret Sinton tied the ribbons, creasing each of them
so they could not be returned, as she explained that she
was trying to find the colour most becoming.  Then she
produced the raincoat which carried Elnora into transports.

Mrs. Comstock objected.  "That won't be warm enough for
cold weather, and you can't afford it and a coat, too."

"I'll tell you what I thought," said Elnora.  "I was
planning on the way home.  These coats are fine because
they keep you dry.  I thought I would get one, and a
warm sweater to wear under it cold days.  Then I always
would be dry, and warm.  The sweater only costs three
dollars, so I could get it and the raincoat both for half
the price of a heavy cloth coat."

"You are right about that," said Mrs. Comstock.
"You can change more with the weather, too.  Keep the
raincoat, Elnora."

"Wear it until you try the hat," said Margaret.  "It will
have to do until the dress is finished."

Elnora picked up the hat dubiously.  "Mother, may
I wear my hair as it is now?" she asked.

"Let me take a good look," said Katharine Comstock.

Heaven only knows what she saw.  To Wesley and
to Margaret the bright young face of Elnora, with its
pink tints, its heavy dark brows, its bright blue-gray
eyes, and its frame of curling reddish-brown hair was
the sweetest sight on earth, and at that instant Elnora
was radiant.

"So long as it's your own hair, and combed back as plain
as it will go, I don't suppose it cuts much ice whether
it's tied a little tighter or looser," conceded Mrs. Comstock.
"If you stop right there, you may let it go at that."

Elnora set the hat on her head.  It was only a wide
tan straw with three exquisite peacock quills at one side.
Margaret Sinton cried out, Wesley slapped his knee and
sighed deeply while Mrs. Comstock stood speechless
for a second.

"I wish you had asked the price before you put that
on," she said impatiently.  "We never can afford it."

"It's not so much as you think," said Margaret.
"Don't you see what I did?  I had them take off the
quills, and put on some of those Phoebe Simms gave me
from her peacocks.  The hat will only cost you a dollar
and a half."

She avoided Wesley's eyes, and looked straight at
Mrs. Comstock.  Elnora removed the hat to examine it.

"Why, they are those reddish-tan quills of yours!"
she cried.  "Mother, look how beautifully they are
set on!  I'd much rather have them than those from
the store."

"So would I," said Mrs. Comstock.  "If Margaret
wants to spare them, that will make you a beautiful
hat; dirt cheap, too!  You must go past Mrs. Simms
and show her.  She would be pleased to see them."

Elnora sank into a chair and contemplated her toe.
"Landy, ain't I a queen?" she murmured.  "What else
have I got?"

"Just a belt, some handkerchiefs, and a pair of top
shoes for rainy days and colder weather," said Margaret.

"About those high shoes, that was my idea," said Wesley.
"Soon as it rains, low shoes won't do, and by taking
two pairs at once I could get them some cheaper.  The low
ones are two and the high ones two fifty, together three
seventy-five.  Ain't that cheap?"

"That's a real bargain," said Mrs. Comstock, "if they
are good shoes, and they look it."

"This" said Wesley, producing the last package, "is
your Christmas present from your Aunt Maggie.  I got
mine, too, but it's at the house.  I'll bring it up in
the morning."

He handed Margaret the umbrella, and she passed it
over to Elnora who opened it and sat laughing under
its shelter.  Then she kissed both of them.  She brought a
pencil and a slip of paper to set down the prices they gave
her of everything they had brought except the umbrella,
added the sum, and said laughingly:  "Will you please wait
till to-morrow for the money?  I will have it then, sure."

"Elnora," said Wesley Sinton.  "Wouldn't you----"

"Elnora, hustle here a minute!" called Mrs. Comstock
from the kitchen.  "I need you!"

"One second, mother," answered Elnora, throwing off
the coat and hat, and closing the umbrella as she ran.
There were several errands to do in a hurry, and then supper.
Elnora chattered incessantly, Wesley and Margaret talked
all they could, while Mrs. Comstock said a word now and then,
which was all she ever did.  But Wesley Sinton was watching
her, and time and again he saw a peculiar little twist
around her mouth.  He knew that for the first time in
sixteen years she really was laughing over something.
She had all she could do to preserve her usually sober face.
Wesley knew what she was thinking.

After supper the dress was finished, the pattern for
the next one discussed, and then the Sintons went home.
Elnora gathered her treasures.  When she started upstairs
she stopped.  "May I kiss you good-night, mother?"
she asked lightly.

"Never mind any slobbering," said Mrs. Comstock.
"I should think you'd lived with me long enough to know
that I don't care for it."

"Well, I'd love to show you in some way how happy I
am, and how I thank you."

"I wonder what for?" said Mrs. Comstock.  "Mag Sinton
chose that stuff and brought it here and you pay for it."

"Yes, but you seemed willing for me to have it, and
you said you would help me if I couldn't pay all."

"Maybe I did," said Mrs. Comstock.  "Maybe I did.
I meant to get you some heavy dress skirts about
Thanksgiving, and I still can get them.  Go to bed,
and for any sake don't begin mooning before a mirror,
and make a dunce of yourself."

Mrs. Comstock picked up several papers and blew out
the kitchen light.  She stood in the middle of the sitting-
room floor for a time and then went into her room and
closed the door.  Sitting on the edge of the bed she thought
for a few minutes and then suddenly buried her face in the
pillow and again heaved with laughter.

Down the road plodded Margaret and Wesley Sinton.
Neither of them had words to utter their united thought.

"Done!" hissed Wesley at last.  "Done brown!  Did you
ever feel like a bloomin', confounded donkey?  How did
the woman do it?"

"She didn't do it!" gulped Margaret through her tears.
"She didn't do anything.  She trusted to Elnora's great
big soul to bring her out right, and really she was right,
and so it had to bring her.  She's a darling, Wesley!
But she's got a time before her.  Did you see Kate Comstock
grab that money?  Before six months she'll be out combing
the Limberlost for bugs and arrow points to help pay the tax.
I know her."

"Well, I don't!" exclaimed Sinton, "she's too many for me.
But there is a laugh left in her yet!  I didn't s'pose
there was.  Bet you a dollar, if we could see her this
minute, she'd be chuckling over the way we got left."

Both of them stopped in the road and looked back.

"There's Elnora's light in her room," said Margaret.
"The poor child will feel those clothes, and pore over
her books till morning, but she'll look decent to go to
school, anyway.  Nothing is too big a price to pay for that."

"Yes, if Kate lets her wear them.  Ten to one, she
makes her finish the week with that old stuff!"

"No, she won't," said Margaret.  "She'll hardly dare.
Kate made some concessions, all right; big ones for her--
if she did get her way in the main.  She bent some, and
if Elnora proves that she can walk out barehanded in the
morning and come back with that much money in her
pocket, an armful of books, and buy a turnout like that,
she proves that she is of some consideration, and Kate's
smart enough.  She'll think twice before she'll do that.
Elnora won't wear a calico dress to high school again.
You watch and see if she does.  She may have the best
clothes she'll get for a time, for the least money, but she
won't know it until she tries to buy goods herself at the
same rates.  Wesley, what about those prices?  Didn't they
shrink considerable?"

"You began it," said Wesley.  "Those prices were all right.
We didn't say what the goods cost us, we said what they
would cost her.  Surely, she's mistaken about being able
to pay all that.  Can she pick up stuff of that value
around the Limberlost?  Didn't the Bird Woman see her
trouble, and just give her the money?"

"I don't think so," said Margaret.  "Seems to me
I've heard of her paying, or offering to pay those who
would take the money, for bugs and butterflies, and I've
known people who sold that banker Indian stuff.  Once I
heard that his pipe collection beat that of the Government
at the Philadelphia Centennial.  Those things have come
to have a value."

"Well, there's about a bushel of that kind of valuables
piled up in the woodshed, that belongs to Elnora.  At least,
I picked them up because she said she wanted them.
Ain't it queer that she'd take to stones, bugs, and
butterflies, and save them.  Now they are going to bring her
the very thing she wants the worst.  Lord, but this is a funny
world when you get to studying!  Looks like things didn't
all come by accident.  Looks as if there was a plan back
of it, and somebody driving that knows the road, and how
to handle the lines.  Anyhow, Elnora's in the wagon, and
when I get out in the night and the dark closes around me,
and I see the stars, I don't feel so cheap.  Maggie, how the
nation did Kate Comstock do that?"

"You will keep on harping, Wesley.  I told you she
didn't do it.  Elnora did it!  She walked in and took
things right out of our hands.  All Kate had to do was to
enjoy having it go her way, and she was cute enough to
put in a few questions that sort of guided Elnora.  But I
don't know, Wesley.  This thing makes me think, too.
S'pose we'd taken Elnora when she was a baby, and we'd
heaped on her all the love we can't on our own, and we'd
coddled, petted, and shielded her, would she have made
the woman that living alone, learning to think for herself,
and taking all the knocks Kate Comstock could give, have
made of her?"

"You bet your life!" cried Wesley, warmly.  "Loving anybody
don't hurt them.  We wouldn't have done anything but love her.
You can't hurt a child loving it.  She'd have learned to work,
to study, and grown into a woman with us, without suffering
like a poor homeless dog."

"But you don't see the point, Wesley.  She would have
grown into a fine woman with us; but as we would have
raised her, would her heart ever have known the world as it
does now?  Where's the anguish, Wesley, that child can't
comprehend?  Seeing what she's seen of her mother hasn't
hardened her.  She can understand any mother's sorrow.
Living life from the rough side has only broadened her.
Where's the girl or boy burning with shame, or struggling
to find a way, that will cross Elnora's path and not get
a lift from her?  She's had the knocks, but there'll never
be any of the thing you call `false pride' in her.  I guess
we better keep out.  Maybe Kate Comstock knows what she's doing.
Sure as you live, Elnora has grown bigger on knocks than she
would on love."

"I don't s'pose there ever was a very fine point to
anything but I missed it," said Wesley, "because I am
blunt, rough, and have no book learning to speak of.
Since you put it into words I see what you mean, but it's
dinged hard on Elnora, just the same.  And I don't keep out.
I keep watching closer than ever.  I got my slap in the
face, but if I don't miss my guess, Kate Comstock learned
her lesson, same as I did.  She learned that I was in
earnest, that I would haul her to court if she didn't
loosen up a bit, and she'll loosen.  You see if she doesn't.
It may come hard, and the hinges creak, but she'll fix
Elnora decent after this, if Elnora doesn't prove that she
can fix herself.  As for me, I found out that what I was
doing was as much for myself as for Elnora.  I wanted her
to take those things from us, and love us for giving them.
It didn't work, and but for you, I'd messed the whole
thing and stuck like a pig in crossing a bridge.  But you
helped me out; Elnora's got the clothes, and by morning,
maybe I won't grudge Kate the only laugh she's had in
sixteen years.  You been showing me the way quite a
spell now, ain't you, Maggie?"

In her attic Elnora lighted two candles, set them on her
little table, stacked the books, and put away the
precious clothes.  How lovingly she hung the hat and umbrella,
folded the raincoat, and spread the new dress over a chair.
She fingered the ribbons, and tried to smooth the creases
from them.  She put away the hose neatly folded, touched
the handkerchiefs, and tried the belt.  Then she slipped
into her white nightdress, shook down her hair that it
might become thoroughly dry, set a chair before the table,
and reverently opened one of the books.  A stiff draught
swept the attic, for it stretched the length of the cabin,
and had a window in each end.  Elnora arose and going to the
east window closed it.  She stood for a minute looking at
the stars, the sky, and the dark outline of the straggling
trees of the rapidly dismantling Limberlost.  In the region
of her case a tiny point of light flashed and disappeared.
Elnora straightened and wondered.  Was it wise to leave
her precious money there?  The light flashed once more,
wavered a few seconds, and died out.  The girl waited.
She did not see it again, so she turned to her books.

In the Limberlost the hulking figure of a man sneaked
down the trail.

"The Bird Woman was at Freckles's room this evening,"
he muttered.  "Wonder what for?"

He left the trail, entered the enclosure still distinctly
outlined, and approached the case.  The first point of light
flashed from the tiny electric lamp on his vest.  He took
a duplicate key from his pocket, felt for the padlock and
opened it.  The door swung wide.  The light flashed the
second time.  Swiftly his glance swept the interior.

"'Bout a fourth of her moths gone.  Elnora must
have been with the Bird Woman and given them to her."
Then he stood tense.  His keen eyes discovered the
roll of bills hastily thrust back in the bottom of the case.
He snatched them up, shut off the light, relocked the
case by touch, and swiftly went down the trail.  Every few
seconds he paused and listened intently.  Just as he
reached the road, a second figure approached him.

"Is it you, Pete?" came the whispered question.

"Yes," said the first man.

"I was coming down to take a peep, when I saw your
flash," he said.  "I heard the Bird Woman had been at
the case to-day.  Anything doing?"

"Not a thing," said Pete.  "She just took away about
a fourth of the moths.  Probably had the Comstock girl
getting them for her.  Heard they were together.
Likely she'll get the rest to-morrow.  Ain't picking
gettin' bare these days?"

"Well, I should say so," said the second man, turning
back in disgust.  "Coming home, now?"

"No, I am going down this way," answered Pete,
for his eyes caught the gleam from the window of the
Comstock cabin, and he had a desire to learn why Elnora's
attic was lighted at that hour.

He slouched down the road, occasionally feeling the
size of the roll he had not taken time to count.

The attic was too long, the light too near the other
end, and the cabin stood much too far back from the road.
He could see nothing although he climbed the fence
and walked back opposite the window.  He knew
Mrs. Comstock was probably awake, and that she
sometimes went to the swamp behind her home at night.
At times a cry went up from that locality that paralyzed
any one near, or sent them fleeing as if for life.  He did
not care to cross behind the cabin.  He returned to the
road, passed, and again climbed the fence.  Opposite the
west window he could see Elnora.  She sat before
a small table reading from a book between two candles.
Her hair fell in a bright sheen around her, and with one
hand she lightly shook, and tossed it as she studied.
The man stood out in the night and watched.

For a long time a leaf turned at intervals and the
hair-drying went on.  The man drew nearer.  The picture
grew more beautiful as he approached.  He could not
see so well as he desired, for the screen was of white
mosquito netting, and it angered him.  He cautiously
crept closer.  The elevation shut off his view.  Then he
remembered the large willow tree shading the well and
branching across the window fit the west end of the cabin.
From childhood Elnora had stepped from the sill to a limb
and slid down the slanting trunk of the tree.  He reached
it and noiselessly swung himself up.  Three steps out
on the big limb the man shuddered.  He was within a
few feet of the girl.

He could see the throb of her breast under its thin
covering and smell the fragrance of the tossing hair.
He could see the narrow bed with its pieced calico cover,
the whitewashed walls with gay lithographs, and every
crevice stuck full of twigs with dangling cocoons.
There were pegs for the few clothes, the old chest,
the little table, the two chairs, the uneven floor covered
with rag rugs and braided corn husk.  But nothing was worth
a glance except the perfect face and form within reach by
one spring through the rotten mosquito bar.  He gripped
the limb above that on which he stood, licked his lips,
and breathed through his throat to be sure he was making
no sound.  Elnora closed the book and laid it aside.
She picked up a towel, and turning the gathered ends of
her hair rubbed them across it, and dropping the towel on
her lap, tossed the hair again.  Then she sat in deep thought.
By and by words began to come softly.  Near as he was
the man could not hear at first.  He bent closer and
listened intently.

"--ever could be so happy," murmured the soft voice.
"The dress is so pretty, such shoes, the coat, and everything.
I won't have to be ashamed again, not ever again,
for the Limberlost is full of precious moths, and
I always can collect them.  The Bird Woman will buy
more to-morrow, and the next day, and the next.  When they
are all gone, I can spend every minute gathering
cocoons, and hunting other things I can sell.  Oh, thank
God, for my precious, precious money.  Why, I didn't
pray in vain after all!  I thought when I asked the Lord
to hide me, there in that big hall, that He wasn't doing
it, because I wasn't covered from sight that instant.
But I'm hidden now, I feel that."  Elnora lifted her eyes
to the beams above her.  "I don't know much about praying
properly," she muttered, "but I do thank you, Lord, for
hiding me in your own time and way."

Her face was so bright that it shone with a white radiance.
Two big tears welled from her eyes, and rolled down her
smiling cheeks.  "Oh, I do feel that you have hidden me,"
she breathed.  Then she blew out the lights, and the little
wooden bed creaked under her weight.

Pete Corson dropped from the limb and found his way
to the road.  He stood still a long time, then started back
to the Limberlost.  A tiny point of light flashed in the
region of the case.  He stopped with an oath.

"Another hound trying to steal from a girl," he exclaimed.
"But it's likely he thinks if he gets anything it will be
from a woman who can afford it, as I did."

He went on, but beside the fences, and very cautiously.

"Swamp seems to be alive to-night," he muttered.
"That's three of us out."

He entered a deep place at the northwest corner, sat
on the ground and taking a pencil from his pocket, he
tore a leaf from a little notebook, and laboriously wrote
a few lines by the light he carried.  Then he went back
to the region of the case and waited.  Before his eyes
swept the vision of the slender white creature with
tossing hair.  He smiled, and worshipped it, until a
distant rooster faintly announced dawn.

Then he unlocked the case again, and replaced the
money, laid the note upon it, and went back to
concealment, where he remained until Elnora came down the
trail in the morning, appearing very lovely in her new
dress and hat.




CHAPTER V


WHEREIN ELNORA RECEIVES A WARNING,
AND BILLY APPEARS ON THE SCENE


It would be difficult to describe how happy Elnora
was that morning as she hurried through her work,
bathed and put on the neat, dainty gingham dress,
and the tan shoes.  She had a struggle with her hair.
It crinkled, billowed, and shone, and she could
not avoid seeing the becoming frame it made around
her face.  But in deference to her mother's feelings the
girl set her teeth, and bound her hair closely to her head
with a shoe-string.  "Not to be changed at the case,"
she told herself.

That her mother was watching she was unaware.  Just as
she picked up the beautiful brown ribbon Mrs. Comstock spoke.

"You had better let me tie that.  You can't reach
behind yourself and do it right."

Elnora gave a little gasp.  Her mother never before
had proposed to do anything for the girl that by any
possibility she could do herself.  Her heart quaked at
the thought of how her mother would arrange that bow,
but Elnora dared not refuse.  The offer was too precious.
It might never be made again.

"Oh thank you!" said the girl, and sitting down she
held out the ribbon.

Her mother stood back and looked at her critically.

"You haven't got that like Mag Sinton had it last
night," she announced.  "You little idiot!  You've tried
to plaster it down to suit me, and you missed it.  I liked
it away better as Mag fixed it, after I saw it.  You didn't
look so peeled."

"Oh mother, mother!" laughed Elnora, with a half
sob in her voice.

"Hold still, will you?" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "You'll be
late, and I haven't packed your dinner yet."

She untied the string and shook out the hair.  It rose
with electricity and clung to her fingers and hands.  Mrs.
Comstock jumped back as if bitten.  She knew that touch.
Her face grew white, and her eyes angry.

"Tie it yourself," she said shortly, "and then I'll put
on the ribbon.  But roll it back loose like Mag did.
It looked so pretty that way."

Almost fainting Elnora stood before the glass, divided
off the front parts of her hair, and rolled them as Mrs.
Sinton had done; tied it at the nape of her neck, then sat
while her mother arranged the ribbon.

"If I pull it down till it comes tight in these creases
where she had it, it will be just right, won't it?" queried
Mrs. Comstock, and the amazed Elnora stammered

"Yes."

When she looked in the glass the bow was perfectly
tied, and how the gold tone of the brown did match the
lustre of the shining hair!  "That's pretty," commented
Mrs. Comstock's soul, but her stiff lips had said all that
could be forced from them for once.  Just then Wesley
Sinton came to the door.

"Good morning," he cried heartily.  "Elnora, you
look a picture!  My, but you're sweet!  If any of the
city boys get sassy you tell your Uncle Wesley, and
he'll horsewhip them.  Here's your Christmas present
from me."  He handed Elnora the leather lunch box, with
her name carved across the strap in artistic lettering.

"Oh Uncle Wesley!" was all Elnora could say.

"Your Aunt Maggie filled it for me for a starter," he said.
"Now, if you are ready, I'm going to drive past your way
and you can ride almost to Onabasha with me, and save
the new shoes that much."

Elnora was staring at the box.  "Oh I hope it isn't
impolite to open it before you," she said.  "I just feel
as if I must see inside."

"Don't you stand on formality with the neighbours,"
laughed Sinton.  "Look in your box if you want to!"

Elnora slipped the strap and turned back the lid.

This disclosed the knife, fork, napkin, and spoon, the
milk flask, and the interior packed with dainty sandwiches
wrapped in tissue paper, and the little compartments for
meat, salad, and the custard cup.

"Oh mother!" cried Elnora.  "Oh mother, isn't it fine?
What made you think of it, Uncle Wesley?  How will I ever
thank you?  No one will have a finer lunch box than I.
Oh I do thank you!  That's the nicest gift I ever had.
How I love Christmas in September!"

"It's a mighty handy thing," assented Mrs. Comstock,
taking in every detail with sharp eyes.  "I guess you are
glad now you went and helped Mag and Wesley when you
could, Elnora?"

"Deedy, yes," laughed Elnora, "and I'm going again first
time they have a big day if I stay from school to do it."

"You'll do no such thing!" said the delighted Sinton.
"Come now, if you're going!"

"If I ride, can you spare me time to run into the swamp
to my box a minute?" asked Elnora.

The light she had seen the previous night troubled her.

"Sure," said Wesley largely.  So they drove away and
left a white-faced woman watching them from the door,
her heart a little sorer than usual.

"I'd give a pretty to hear what he'll say to her!" she
commented bitterly.  "Always sticking in, always doing
things I can't ever afford.  Where on earth did he get that
thing and what did it cost?"

Then she entered the cabin and began the day's work,
but mingled with the brooding bitterness of her soul was
the vision of a sweet young face, glad with a gladness
never before seen on it, and over and over she repeated:
"I wonder what he'll say to her!"

What he said was that she looked as fresh and sweet as a
posy, and to be careful not to step in the mud or scratch
her shoes when she went to the case.

Elnora found her key and opened the door.  Not where
she had placed it, but conspicuously in front lay her little
heap of bills, and a crude scrawl of writing beside it.
Elnora picked up the note in astonishment.


DERE ELNORY,

the lord amighty is hiding you all right done you ever dout it this
money of yourn was took for some time las nite but it is returned with
intres for god sake done ever come to the swamp at nite or late evnin
or mornin or far in any time sompin worse an you know could git you

                                                  A FREND.


Elnora began to tremble.  She hastily glanced around.
The damp earth before the case had been trodden by
large, roughly shod feet.  She caught up the money and
the note, thrust them into her guimpe, locked the case,
and ran to the road.

She was so breathless and her face so white Sinton noticed it.

"What in the world's the matter, Elnora?" he asked.

"I am half afraid!" she panted.

"Tut, tut, child!" said Wesley Sinton.  "Nothing in
the world to be afraid of.  What happened?"

"Uncle Wesley," said Elnora, "I had more money than I
brought home last night, and I put it in my case.  Some one
has been there.  The ground is all trampled, and they
left this note."

"And took your money, I'll wager," said Sinton angrily.

"No," answered Elnora.  "Read the note, and oh
Uncle Wesley, tell me what it means!"

Sinton's face was a study.  "I don't know what it
means,"  he said.  "Only one thing is clear.  It means
some beast who doesn't really want to harm you has got
his eye on you, and he is telling you plain as he can, not
to give him a chance.  You got to keep along the roads,
in the open, and not let the biggest moth that ever flew
toll you out of hearing of us, or your mother.  It means
that, plain and distinct."

"Just when I can sell them!  Just when everything is so
lovely on account of them!  I can't!  I can't stay away
from the swamp.  The Limberlost is going to buy the books,
the clothes, pay the tuition, and even start a college fund.
I just can't!"

"You've got to," said Sinton.  "This is plain enough.
You go far in the swamp at your own risk, even in daytime."

"Uncle Wesley," said the girl, "last night before I went
to bed, I was so happy I tried to pray, and I thanked God
for hiding me `under the shadow of His wing.'  But how
in the world could any one know it?"

Wesley Sinton's heart leaped in his breast.  His face
was whiter than the girl's now.

"Were you praying out loud, honey?" he almost whispered.

"I might have said words," answered Elnora.  "I know
I do sometimes.  I've never had any one to talk with,
and I've played with and talked to myself all my life.
You've caught me at it often, but it always makes mother
angry when she does.  She says it's silly.  I forget
and do it, when I'm alone.  But Uncle Wesley, if I said
anything last night, you know it was the merest whisper,
because I'd have been so afraid of waking mother.
Don't you see?  I sat up late, and studied two lessons."

Sinton was steadying himself "I'll stop and examine
the case as I come back," he said.  "Maybe I can find
some clue.  That other--that was just accidental.  It's a
common expression.  All the preachers use it.  If I tried
to pray, that would be the very first thing I'd say."

The colour returned to Elnora's face.

"Did you tell your mother about this money, Elnora?"
he asked.

"No, I didn't," said Elnora.  "It's dreadful not to, but
I was afraid.  You see they are clearing the swamp so fast.
Every year it grows more difficult to find things, and
Indian stuff becomes scarcer.  I want to graduate, and
that's four years unless I can double on the course.
That means twenty dollars tuition each year, and new books,
and clothes.  There won't ever be so much at one time
again, that I know.  I just got to hang to my money.  I was
afraid to tell her, for fear she would want it for taxes,
and she really must sell a tree or some cattle for that,
mustn't she, Uncle Wesley?"

"On your life, she must!" said Wesley.  "You put your
little wad in the bank all safe, and never mention it
to a living soul.  It doesn't seem right, but your case
is peculiar.  Every word you say is a true word.  Each year
you will find less in the swamp, and things everywhere will
be scarcer.  If you ever get a few dollars ahead, that can start
your college fund.  You know you are going to college, Elnora!"

"Of course I am," said Elnora.  "I settled that as soon
as I knew what a college was.  I will put all my money in
the bank, except what I owe you.  I'll pay that now."

"If your arrows are heavy," said Wesley, "I'll drive on
to Onabasha with you."

"But they are not.  Half of them were nicked, and this
little box held all the good ones.  It's so surprising how
many are spoiled when you wash them."

"What does he pay?"

"Ten cents for any common perfect one, fifty for revolvers,
a dollar for obsidian, and whatever is right for enormous
big ones."

"Well, that sounds fair," said Sinton.  "You can come
down Saturday and wash the stuff at our house, and I'll
take it in when we go marketing in the afternoon."

Elnora jumped from the carriage.  She soon found that
with her books, her lunch box, and the points she had a
heavy load.  She had almost reached the bridge crossing
the culvert when she heard distressed screams of a child.
Across an orchard of the suburbs came a small boy, after
him a big dog, urged by a man in the background.
Elnora's heart was with the small fleeing figure in any
event whatever.  She dropped her load on the bridge,
and with practised hand flung a stone at the dog.
The beast curled double with a howl.  The boy reached
the fence, and Elnora was there to help him over.  As he
touched the top she swung him to the ground, but he clung
to her, clasping her tightly, sobbing with fear.
Elnora helped him to the bridge, and sat with him in her arms.
For a time his replies to her questions were indistinct, but
at last he became quieter and she could understand.

He was a mite of a boy, nothing but skin-covered bones,
his burned, freckled face in a mortar of tears and dust, his
clothing unspeakably dirty, one great toe in a festering
mass from a broken nail, and sores all over the visible
portions of the small body.

"You won't let the mean old thing make his dog get me!" he wailed.

"Indeed no," said Elnora, holding him closely.

"You wouldn't set a dog on a boy for just taking a few
old apples when you fed 'em to pigs with a shovel every
day, would you?"

"No, I would not," said Elnora hotly.

"You'd give a boy all the apples he wanted, if he hadn't
any breakfast, and was so hungry he was all twisty inside,
wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would," said Elnora.

"If you had anything to eat you would give me something
right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," said Elnora.  "There's nothing but just stones in
the package.  But my dinner is in that case.  I'll gladly divide."

She opened the box.  The famished child gave a little
cry and reached both hands.  Elnora caught them back.

"Did you have any supper?"

"No."

"Any dinner yesterday?"

"An apple and some grapes I stole."

"Whose boy are you?"

"Old Tom Billings's."

"Why doesn't your father get you something to eat?"

"He does most days, but he's drunk now."

"Hush, you must not!" said Elnora.  "He's your father!"

"He's spent all the money to get drunk, too," said the
boy, "and Jimmy and Belle are both crying for breakfast.
I'd a got out all right with an apple for myself, but I tried
to get some for them and the dog got too close.  Say, you
can throw, can't you?"

"Yes," admitted Elnora.  She poured half the milk
into the cup.  "Drink this," she said, holding it to him.

The boy gulped the milk and swore joyously, gripping
the cup with shaking fingers.

"Hush!" cried Elnora.  "That's dreadful!"

"What's dreadful?"

"To say such awful words."

"Huh! pa says worser 'an that every breath he draws."

Elnora saw that the child was older than she had thought.
He might have been forty judging by his hard, unchildish expression.

"Do you want to be like your father?"

"No, I want to be like you.  Couldn't a angel be
prettier 'an you.  Can I have more milk?"

Elnora emptied the flask.  The boy drained the cup.
He drew a breath of satisfaction as he gazed into her face.

"You wouldn't go off and leave your little boy, would
you?" he asked.

"Did some one go away and leave you?"

"Yes, my mother went off and left me, and left Jimmy
and Belle, too," said the boy.  "You wouldn't leave
your little boy, would you?"

"No."

The boy looked eagerly at the box.  Elnora lifted a
sandwich and uncovered the fried chicken.  The boy
gasped with delight.

"Say, I could eat the stuff in the glass and the other
box and carry the bread and the chicken to Jimmy and
Belle," he offered.

Elnora silently uncovered the custard with preserved
cherries on top and handed it and the spoon to the child.
Never did food disappear faster.  The salad went next,
and a sandwich and half a chicken breast followed.

"I better leave the rest for Jimmy and Belle," he
said, "they're 'ist fightin' hungry."

Elnora gave him the remainder of the carefully prepared lunch.
The boy clutched it and ran with a sidewise hop like a
wild thing.  She covered the dishes and cup, polished the
spoon, replaced it, and closed the case.  She caught her
breath in a tremulous laugh.

"If Aunt Margaret knew that, she'd never forgive me,"
she said.  "It seems as if secrecy is literally forced upon
me, and I hate it.  What shall I do for lunch?  I'll have to
sell my arrows and keep enough money for a restaurant sandwich."

So she walked hurriedly into town, sold her points at a
good price, deposited her funds, and went away with a
neat little bank book and the note from the Limberlost
carefully folded inside.  Elnora passed down the hall that
morning, and no one paid the slightest attention to her.
The truth was she looked so like every one else that she
was perfectly inconspicuous.  But in the coat room there
were members of her class.  Surely no one intended it,
but the whisper was too loud.

"Look at the girl from the Limberlost in the clothes that
woman gave her!"

Elnora turned on them.  "I beg your pardon," she said
unsteadily, "I couldn't help hearing that!  No one gave
me these clothes.  I paid for them myself."

Some one muttered, "Pardon me," but incredulous faces
greeted her.

Elnora felt driven.  "Aunt Margaret selected them, and she
meant to give them to me," she explained, "but I wouldn't
take them.  I paid for them myself."  There was silence.

"Don't you believe me?" panted Elnora.

"Really, it is none of our affair," said another girl.
"Come on, let's go."

Elnora stepped before the girl who had spoken.  "You have
made this your affair," she said, "because you told a
thing which was not true.  No one gave me what I am wearing.
I paid for my clothes myself with money I earned selling
moths to the Bird Woman.  I just came from the bank where
I deposited what I did not use.  Here is my credit."
Elnora drew out and offered the little red book.
"Surely you will believe that," she said.

"Why of course," said the girl who first had spoken.
"We met such a lovely woman in Brownlee's store, and she
said she wanted our help to buy some things for a girl,
and that's how we came to know."

"Dear Aunt Margaret," said Elnora, "it was like her to
ask you.  Isn't she splendid?"

"She is indeed," chorused the girls.  Elnora set down her
lunch box and books, unpinned her hat, hanging it beside
the others, and taking up the books she reached to set the
box in its place and dropped it.  With a little cry she
snatched at it and caught the strap on top.  That pulled
from the fastening, the cover unrolled, the box fell away
as far as it could, two porcelain lids rattled on the floor,
and the one sandwich rolled like a cartwheel across the room.
Elnora lifted a ghastly face.  For once no one laughed.
She stood an instant staring.

"It seems to be my luck to be crucified at every point of
the compass," she said at last.  "First two days you
thought I was a pauper, now you will think I'm a fraud.
All of you will believe I bought an expensive box, and then
was too poor to put anything but a restaurant sandwich in it.
You must stop till I prove to you that I'm not."

Elnora gathered up the lids, and kicked the sandwich
into a corner.

"I had milk in that bottle, see!  And custard in the cup.
There was salad in the little box, fried chicken in the large
one, and nut sandwiches in the tray.  You can see the
crumbs of all of them.  A man set a dog on a child who was
so starved he was stealing apples.  I talked with him, and
I thought I could bear hunger better, he was such a little boy,
so I gave him my lunch, and got the sandwich at the restaurant."

Elnora held out the box.  The girls were laughing by
that time.  "You goose," said one, "why didn't you give
him the money, and save your lunch?"

"He was such a little fellow, and he really was hungry,"
said Elnora.  "I often go without anything to eat at noon
in the fields and woods, and never think of it."

She closed the box and set it beside the lunches of other
country pupils.  While her back was turned, into the
room came the girl of her encounter on the first day,
walked to the rack, and with an exclamation of approval
took down Elnora's hat.

"Just the thing I have been wanting!" she said.  "I never
saw such beautiful quills in all my life.  They match
my new broadcloth to perfection.  I've got to have that
kind of quills for my hat.  I never saw the like!  Whose is
it, and where did it come from?"

No one said a word, for Elnora's question, the reply, and
her answer, had been repeated.  Every one knew that the
Limberlost girl had come out ahead and Sadie Reed had
not been amiable, when the little flourish had been added
to Elnora's name in the algebra class.  Elnora's swift
glance was pathetic, but no one helped her.  Sadie Reed
glanced from the hat to the faces around her and wondered.

"Why, this is the Freshman section, whose hat is it?"
she asked again, this time impatiently.

"That's the tassel of the cornstock," said Elnora with a
forced laugh.

The response was genuine.  Every one shouted.  Sadie Reed
blushed, but she laughed also.

"Well, it's beautiful," she said, "especially the quills.
They are exactly what I want.  I know I don't deserve
any kindness from you, but I do wish you would tell me
at whose store you found those quills."

"Gladly!" said Elnora.  You can't buy quills like those
at a store.  They are from a living bird.  Phoebe Simms
gathers them in her orchard as her peacocks shed them.
They are wing quills from the males."

Then there was perfect silence.  How was Elnora to
know that not a girl there would have told that?

"I haven't a doubt but I can get you some," she offered.
"She gave Aunt Margaret a large bunch, and those are part
of them.  I am quite sure she has more, and would spare some."

Sadie Reed laughed shortly.  "You needn't trouble,"
she said, "I was fooled.  I thought they were expensive quills.
I wanted them for a twenty-dollar velvet toque to match my
new suit.  If they are gathered from the ground, really,
I couldn't use them."

"Only in spots!" said Elnora.  "They don't just cover
the earth.  Phoebe Simms's peacocks are the only ones
within miles of Onabasha, and they moult but once a year.
If your hat cost only twenty dollars, it's scarcely good
enough for those quills.  You see, the Almighty made and
coloured those Himself; and He puts the same kind on
Phoebe Simms's peacocks that He put on the head of the
family in the forests of Ceylon, away back in the beginning.
Any old manufactured quill from New York or Chicago
will do for your little twenty-dollar hat.  You should have
something infinitely better than that to be worthy of quills
that are made by the Creator."

How those girls did laugh!  One of them walked with
Elnora to the auditorium, sat beside her during exercises,
and tried to talk whenever she dared, to keep Elnora
from seeing the curious and admiring looks bent upon her.

For the brown-eyed boy whistled, and there was pantomime
of all sorts going on behind Elnora's back that day.
Happy with her books, no one knew how much she saw,
and from her absorption in her studies it was evident she
cared too little to notice.

After school she went again to the home of the Bird
Woman, and together they visited the swamp and carried
away more specimens.  This time Elnora asked the Bird
Woman to keep the money until noon of the next day,
when she would call for it and have it added to her
bank account.  She slowly walked home, for the visit to
the swamp had brought back full force the experience of
the morning.  Again and again she examined the crude little
note, for she did not know what it meant, yet it bred
vague fear.  The only thing of which Elnora knew herself
afraid was her mother; when with wild eyes and ears deaf to
childish pleading, she sometimes lost control of herself in
the night and visited the pool where her husband had sunk
before her, calling his name in unearthly tones and begging
of the swamp to give back its dead.




CHAPTER VI


WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK INDULGES IN "FRILLS,"
AND BILLY REAPPEARS


It was Wesley Sinton who really wrestled with
Elnora's problem while he drove about his business.
He was not forced to ask himself what it meant; he knew.
The old Corson gang was still holding together.
Elder members who had escaped the law had been joined by
a younger brother of Jack's, and they met in the thickest
of the few remaining fast places of the swamp to drink,
gamble, and loaf.  Then suddenly, there would be a
robbery in some country house where a farmer that day had
sold his wheat or corn and not paid a visit to the bank;
or in some neighbouring village.

The home of Mrs. Comstock and Elnora adjoined the swamp.
Sinton's land lay next, and not another residence or man
easy to reach in case of trouble.  Whoever wrote that
note had some human kindness in his breast, but the fact
stood revealed that he feared his strength if Elnora were
delivered into his hands.  Where had he been the previous
night when he heard that prayer?  Was that the first time
he had been in such proximity?  Sinton drove fast,
for he wished to reach the swamp before Elnora and the
Bird Woman would go there.

At almost four he came to the case, and dropping on his
knees studied the ground, every sense alert.  He found
two or three little heel prints.  Those were made by
Elnora or the Bird Woman.  What Sinton wanted to learn
was whether all the remainder were the footprints of
one man.  It was easily seen, they were not.  There were
deep, even tracks made by fairly new shoes, and others
where a well-worn heel cut deeper on the inside of
the print than at the outer edge.  Undoubtedly some of
Corson's old gang were watching the case, and the visits
of the women to it.  There was no danger that any one
would attack the Bird Woman.  She never went to the
swamp at night, and on her trips in the daytime, every one
knew that she carried a revolver, understood how to use it,
and pursued her work in a fearless manner.

Elnora, prowling around the swamp and lured into the
interior by the flight of moths and butterflies; Elnora,
without father, money, or friends save himself, to defend
her--Elnora was a different proposition.  For this to
happen just when the Limberlost was bringing the very
desire of her heart to the girl, it was too bad.

Sinton was afraid for her, yet he did not want to add
the burden of fear to Katharine Comstock's trouble, or to
disturb the joy of Elnora in her work.  He stopped at the
cabin and slowly went up the walk.  Mrs. Comstock was
sitting on the front steps with some sewing.  The work
seemed to Sinton as if she might be engaged in putting a
tuck in a petticoat.  He thought of how Margaret had
shortened Elnora's dress to the accepted length for girls of
her age, and made a mental note of Mrs. Comstock's occupation.

She dropped her work on her lap, laid her hands on it
and looked into his face with a sneer.

"You didn't let any grass grow under your feet," she said.

Sinton saw her white, drawn face and comprehended.

"I went to pay a debt and see about this opening of the
ditch, Kate."

"You said you were going to prosecute me."

"Good gracious, Kate!" cried Sinton.  "Is that what
you have been thinking all day?  I told you before I left
yesterday that I would not need do that.  And I won't!
We can't afford to quarrel over Elnora.  She's all we've got.
Now that she has proved that if you don't do just
what I think you ought by way of clothes and schooling,
she can take care of herself, I put that out of my head.
What I came to see you about is a kind of scare I've
had to-day.  I want to ask you if you ever see anything
about the swamp that makes you think the old Corson gang
is still at work?"

"Can't say that I do," said Mrs. Comstock.  "There's kind
of dancing lights there sometimes, but I supposed it
was just people passing along the road with lanterns.
Folks hereabout are none too fond of the swamp.  I hate
it like death.  I've never stayed here a night in my
life without Robert's revolver, clean and loaded, under
my pillow, and the shotgun, same condition, by the bed.
I can't say that I'm afraid here at home.  I'm not.  I can
take care of myself.  But none of the swamp for me!"

"Well, I'm glad you are not afraid, Kate, because I
must tell you something.  Elnora stopped at the case
this morning, and somebody had been into it in the night."

"Broke the lock?"

"No.  Used a duplicate key.  To-day I heard there was
a man here last night.  I want to nose around a little."

Sinton went to the east end of the cabin and looked
up at the window.  There was no way any one could
have reached it without a ladder, for the logs were hewed
and mortar filled the cracks even.  Then he went to the
west end, the willow faced him as he turned the corner.
He examined the trunk carefully.  There was no mistake
about small particles of black swamp muck adhering to
the sides of the tree.  He reached the low branches and
climbed the willow.  There was earth on the large limb
crossing Elnora's window.  He stood on it, holding the
branch as had been done the night before, and looked into
the room.  He could see very little, but he knew that if
it had been dark outside and sufficiently light for Elnora
to study inside he could have seen vividly.  He brought
his face close to the netting, and he could see the bed with
its head to the east, at its foot the table with the candles
and the chair before it, and then he knew where the man
had been who had heard Elnora's prayer.

Mrs. Comstock had followed around the corner and stood
watching him.  "Do you think some slinking hulk was up
there peekin' in at Elnora?" she demanded indignantly.

"There is muck on the trunk, and plenty on the limb,"
said Sinton.  "Hadn't you better get a saw and let me
take this branch off?"

"No, I hadn't," said Mrs. Comstock.  "First place,
Elnora's climbed from that window on that limb all her
life, and it's hers.  Second place, no one gets ahead of me
after I've had warning.  Any crow that perches on that
roost again will get its feathers somewhat scattered.
Look along the fence, there, and see if you can find
where he came in."

The place was easy to find as was a trail leading for
some distance west of the cabin.

"You just go home, and don't fret yourself," said
Mrs. Comstock.  "I'll take care of this.  If you should
hear the dinner bell at any time in the night you come down.
But I wouldn't say anything to Elnora.  She better
keep her mind on her studies, if she's going to school."

When the work was finished that night Elnora took
her books and went to her room to prepare some lessons,
but every few minutes she looked toward the swamp to
see if there were lights near the case.  Mrs. Comstock
raked together the coals in the cooking stove, got out
the lunch box, and sitting down she studied it grimly.
At last she arose.

"Wonder how it would do to show Mag Sinton a frill
or two," she murmured.

She went to her room, knelt before a big black-walnut
chest and hunted through its contents until she found
an old-fashioned cook book.  She tended the fire as she
read and presently was in action.  She first sawed an
end from a fragrant, juicy, sugar-cured ham and put
it to cook.  Then she set a couple of eggs boiling, and
after long hesitation began creaming butter and sugar
in a crock.  An hour later the odour of the ham, mingled
with some of the richest spices of "happy Araby," in a
combination that could mean nothing save spice cake,
crept up to Elnora so strongly that she lifted her head
and sniffed amazedly.  She would have given all her
precious money to have gone down and thrown her arms
around her mother's neck, but she did not dare move.

Mrs. Comstock was up early, and without a word
handed Elnora the case as she left the next morning.

"Thank you, mother," said Elnora, and went on her way.

She walked down the road looking straight ahead until
she came to the corner, where she usually entered
the swamp.  She paused, glanced that way and smiled.
Then she turned and looked back.  There was no one
coming in any direction.  She followed the road until
well around the corner, then she stopped and sat on a
grassy spot, laid her books beside her and opened the
lunch box.  Last night's odours had in a measure prepared
her for what she would see, but not quite.  She scarcely
could believe her senses.  Half the bread compartment
was filled with dainty sandwiches of bread and butter
sprinkled with the yolk of egg and the remainder with three
large slices of the most fragrant spice cake imaginable.
The meat dish contained shaved cold ham, of which she
knew the quality, the salad was tomatoes and celery,
and the cup held preserved pear, clear as amber.
There was milk in the bottle, two tissue-wrapped cucumber
pickles in the folding drinking-cup, and a fresh napkin in
the ring.  No lunch was ever daintier or more palatable;
of that Elnora was perfectly sure.  And her mother had
prepared it for her!  "She does love me!" cried the happy girl.
"Sure as you're born she loves me; only she hasn't found
it out yet!"

She touched the papers daintily, and smiled at the
box as if it were a living thing.  As she began closing
it a breath of air swept by, lifting the covering of
the cake.  It was like an invitation, and breakfast was
several hours away.  Elnora picked up a piece and ate it.
That cake tasted even better than it looked.  Then she
tried a sandwich.  How did her mother come to think of
making them that way.  They never had any at home.
She slipped out the fork, sampled the salad, and one-quarter
of pear.  Then she closed the box and started down the
road nibbling one of the pickles and trying to decide
exactly how happy she was, but she could find no standard
high enough for a measure.

She was to go to the Bird Woman's after school for
the last load from the case.  Saturday she would take
the arrow points and specimens to the bank.  That would
exhaust her present supplies and give her enough money
ahead to pay for books, tuition, and clothes for at
least two years.  She would work early and late
gathering nuts.  In October she would sell all the ferns
she could find.  She must collect specimens of all tree
leaves before they fell, gather nests and cocoons later,
and keep her eyes wide open for anything the grades could use.
She would see the superintendent that night about selling
specimens to the ward buildings.  She must be ahead of
any one else if she wanted to furnish these things.  So she
approached the bridge.

That it was occupied could be seen from a distance.
As she came up she found the small boy of yesterday
awaiting her with a confident smile.

"We brought you something!" he announced without greeting.
"This is Jimmy and Belle--and we brought you a present."

He offered a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"Why, how lovely of you!" said Elnora.  "I supposed
you had forgotten me when you ran away so fast yesterday."

"Naw, I didn't forget you," said the boy.  "I wouldn't
forget you, not ever!  Why, I was ist a-hurrying to take
them things to Jimmy and Belle.  My they was glad!"

Elnora glanced at the children.  They sat on the edge
of the bridge, obviously clad in a garment each, very dirty
and unkept, a little boy and a girl of about seven and nine.
Elnora's heart began to ache.

"Say," said the boy.  "Ain't you going to look what
we have gave you?"

"I thought it wasn't polite to look before people,"
answered Elnora.  "Of course, I will, if you would like
to have me."

Elnora opened the package.  She had been presented
with a quarter of a stale loaf of baker's bread, and a
big piece of ancient bologna.

"But don't you want this yourselves?" she asked in surprise.

"Gosh, no!  I mean ist no," said the boy.  "We always
have it.  We got stacks this morning.  Pa's come out
of it now, and he's so sorry he got more 'an ever we
can eat.  Have you had any before?"

"No," said Elnora, "I never did!"

The boy's eyes brightened and the girl moved restlessly.

"We thought maybe you hadn't," said the boy.  "First you
ever have, you like it real well; but when you don't
have anything else for a long time, years an' years, you
git so tired."  He hitched at the string which held his
trousers and watched Elnora speculatively.

"I don't s'pose you'd trade what you got in that box
for ist old bread and bologna now, would you?  Mebby you'd
like it!  And I know, I ist know, what you got would
taste like heaven to Jimmy and Belle.  They never had
nothing like that!  Not even Belle, and she's most ten!
No, sir-ee, they never tasted things like you got!"

It was in Elnora's heart to be thankful for even a taste
in time, as she knelt on the bridge, opened the box and
divided her lunch into three equal parts, the smaller boy
getting most of the milk.  Then she told them it was
school time and she must go.

"Why don't you put your bread and bologna in the nice box?"
asked the boy.

"Of course," said Elnora.  "I didn't think."

When the box was arranged to the children's satisfaction
all of them accompanied Elnora to the corner where she
turned toward the high school.

"Billy," said Elnora, "I would like you much better if
you were cleaner.  Surely, you have water!  Can't you
children get some soap and wash yourselves?  Gentlemen are
never dirty.  You want to be a gentleman, don't you?"

"Is being clean all you have to do to be a gentleman?"

"No," said Elnora.  "You must not say bad words, and
you must be kind and polite to your sister."

"Must Belle be kind and polite to me, else she ain't a lady?"

"Yes."

"Then Belle's no lady!" said Billy succinctly.

Elnora could say nothing more just then, and she bade
them good-bye and started them home.

"The poor little souls!" she mused.  "I think the Almighty
put them in my way to show me real trouble.  I won't be
likely to spend much time pitying myself while I can
see them."   She glanced at the lunchbox.  "What on
earth do I carry this for?  I never had anything that was
so strictly ornamental!  One sure thing!  I can't take
this stuff to the high school.  You never seem to know
exactly what is going to happen to you while you are there."

As if to provide a way out of her difficulty a big dog
arose from a lawn, and came toward the gate wagging his tail.
"If those children ate the stuff, it can't possibly kill him!"
thought Elnora, so she offered the bologna.  The dog
accepted it graciously, and being a beast of pedigree
he trotted around to a side porch and laid the bologna
before his mistress.  The woman snatched it, screaming:
"Come, quick!  Some one is trying to poison Pedro!"
Her daughter came running from the house.  "Go see
who is on the street.  Hurry!" cried the excited mother.

Ellen Brownlee ran and looked.  Elnora was half a
block away, and no one nearer.  Ellen called loudly, and
Elnora stopped.  Ellen came running toward her.

"Did you see any one give our dog something?" she
cried as she approached.

Elnora saw no escape.

"I gave it a piece of bologna myself," she said.  "It was
fit to eat.  It wouldn't hurt the dog."

Ellen stood and looked at her.  "Of course, I didn't
know it was your dog," explained Elnora.  "I had something
I wanted to throw to some dog, and that one looked big
enough to manage it."

Ellen had arrived at her conclusions.  "Pass over that
lunch box," she demanded.

"I will not!" said Elnora.

"Then I will have you arrested for trying to poison our
dog," laughed the girl as she took the box.

"One chunk of stale bread, one half mile of antique
bologna contributed for dog feed; the remains of cake, salad
and preserves in an otherwise empty lunch box.  One ham
sandwich yesterday.  I think it's lovely you have the box.
Who ate your lunch to-day?"

"Same," confessed Elnora, "but there were three of
them this time."

"Wait, until I run back and tell mother about the dog,
and get my books."

Elnora waited.  That morning she walked down the
hall and into the auditorium beside one of the very nicest
girls in Onabasha, and it was the fourth day.  But the
surprise came at noon when Ellen insisted upon Elnora
lunching at the Brownlee home, and convulsed her parents
and family, and overwhelmed Elnora with a greatly magnified,
but moderately accurate history of her lunch box.

"Gee! but it's a box, daddy!" cried the laughing girl.
"It's carved leather and fastens with a strap that has her
name on it.  Inside are trays for things all complete, and
it bears evidence of having enclosed delicious food, but
Elnora never gets any.  She's carried it two days now, and
both times it has been empty before she reached school.
Isn't that killing?"

"It is, Ellen, in more ways than one.  No girl is going
to eat breakfast at six o'clock, walk three miles, and do
good work without her lunch.  You can't tell me anything
about that box.  I sold it last Monday night to Wesley
Sinton, one of my good country customers.  He told me it
was a present for a girl who was worthy of it, and I see he
was right."

"He's so good to me," said Elnora.  "Sometimes I look
at him and wonder if a neighbour can be so kind to one,
what a real father would be like.  I envy a girl with a
father unspeakably."

"You have cause," said Ellen Brownlee.  "A father is
the very dearest person in the whole round world, except a
mother, who is just a dear."  The girl, starting to pay
tribute to her father, saw that she must include her mother,
and said the thing before she remembered what Mrs. Sinton
had told the girls in the store.  She stopped in dismay.
Elnora's face paled a trifle, but she smiled bravely.

"Then I'm fortunate in having a mother," she said.

Mr. Brownlee lingered at the table after the girls had
excused themselves and returned to school.

"There's a girl Ellen can't see too much of, in my
opinion," he said.  "She is every inch a lady, and not a
foolish notion or action about her.  I can't understand
just what combination of circumstances produced her in
this day."

"It has been an unusual case of repression, for one thing.
She waits on her elders and thinks before she speaks,"
said Mrs. Brownlee.

"She's mighty pretty.  She looks so sound and wholesome,
and she's neatly dressed."

"Ellen says she was a fright the first two days.  Long brown
calico dress almost touching the floor, and big,
lumbering shoes.  Those Sinton people bought her clothes.
Ellen was in the store, and the woman stopped her crowd
and asked them about their dresses.  She said the girl
was not poor, but her mother was selfish and didn't
care for her.  But Elnora showed a bank book the next
day, and declared that she paid for the things herself,
so the Sinton people must just have selected them.
There's something peculiar about it, but nothing wrong
I am sure.  I'll encourage Ellen to ask her again."

"I should say so, especially if she is going to keep on
giving away her lunch."

"She lunched with the Bird Woman one day this week."

"She did!"

"Yes, she lives out by the Limberlost.  You know the
Bird Woman works there a great deal, and probably
knows her that way.  I think the girl gathers specimens
for her.  Ellen says she knows more than the teachers
about any nature question that comes up, and she is going
to lead all of them in mathematics, and make them work
in any branch."

When Elnora entered the coat room after having had
luncheon with Ellen Brownlee there was such a difference
in the atmosphere that she could feel it.

"I am almost sorry I have these clothes," she said to Ellen.

"In the name of sense, why?" cried the astonished girl.

"Every one is so nice to me in them, it sets me to
wondering if in time I could have made them be equally
friendly in the others."

Ellen looked at her introspectively.  "I believe you
could," she announced at last.  "But it would have taken
time and heartache, and your mind would have been less
free to work on your studies.  No one is happy without
friends, and I just simply can't study when I am unhappy."

That night the Bird Woman made the last trip to the swamp.
Every specimen she possibly could use had been purchased
at a fair price, and three additions had been made to the
bank book, carrying the total a little past two hundred dollars.
There remained the Indian relics to sell on Saturday,
and Elnora had secured the order to furnish material for
nature work for the grades.  Life suddenly grew very full.
There was the most excitingly interesting work for every hour,
and that work was to pay high school expenses and start the
college fund.  There was one little rift in her joy.
All of it would have been so much better if she could have
told her mother, and given the money into her keeping;
but the struggle to get a start had been so terrible,
Elnora was afraid to take the risk.  When she reached home,
she only told her mother that the last of the things had
been sold that evening.

"I think," said Mrs. Comstock, "that we will ask Wesley
to move that box over here back of the garden for you.
There you are apt to get tolled farther into the swamp
than you intend to go, and you might mire or something.
There ought to be just the same things in our woods,
and along our swampy places, as there are in the Limberlost.
Can't you hunt your stuff here?"

"I can try," said Elnora.  "I don't know what I can
find until I do.  Our woods are undisturbed, and there
is a possibility they might be even better hunting than
the swamp.  But I wouldn't have Freckles's case moved for
the world.  He might come back some day, and not like it.
I've tried to keep his room the best I could, and taking out
the box would make a big hole in one side of it.  Store boxes
don't cost much.  I will have Uncle Wesley buy me one,
and set it up wherever hunting looks the best, early in
the spring.  I would feel safer at home."

"Shall we do the work or have supper first?"

"Let's do the work," said Elnora.  "I can't say that
I'm hungry now.  Doesn't seem as if I ever could be
hungry again with such a lunch.  I am quite sure no one
carried more delicious things to eat than I."

Mrs. Comstock was pleased.  "I put in a pretty good
hunk of cake.  Did you divide it with any one?"

"Why, yes, I did," admitted Elnora.

"Who?"

This was becoming uncomfortable.  "I ate the biggest
piece myself," said Elnora, "and gave the rest to a couple
of boys named Jimmy and Billy and a girl named Belle.
They said it was the very best cake they ever tasted in all
their lives."

Mrs. Comstock sat straight.  "I used to be a master
hand at spice cake," she boasted.  "But I'm a little out
of practice.  I must get to work again.  With the very
weeds growing higher than our heads, we should raise
plenty of good stuff to eat on this land, if we can't afford
anything else but taxes."

Elnora laughed and hurried up stairs to change her dress.
Margaret Sinton came that night bringing a beautiful blue
one in its place, and carried away the other to launder.

"Do you mean to say those dresses are to be washed
every two days?" questioned Mrs. Comstock.

"They have to be, to look fresh," replied Margaret.
"We want our girl sweet as a rose."

"Well, of all things!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "Every two days!
Any girl who can't keep a dress clean longer than that is a
dirty girl.  You'll wear the goods out and fade the colours
with so much washing."

"We'll have a clean girl, anyway."

"Well, if you like the job you can have it," said Mrs. Comstock.
"I don't mind the washing, but I'm so inconvenient with an iron."

Elnora sat late that night working over her lessons.
The next morning she put on her blue dress and ribbon
and in those she was a picture.  Mrs. Comstock caught
her breath with a queer stirring around her heart, and
looked twice to be sure of what she saw.  As Elnora
gathered her books her mother silently gave her the lunch box.

"Feels heavy," said Elnora gaily.  "And smelly!  Like as not
I'll be called upon to divide again."

"Then you divide!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "Eating is
the one thing we don't have to economize on, Elnora.
Spite of all I can do food goes to waste in this soil
every day.  If you can give some of those city children
a taste of the real thing, why, don't be selfish."

Elnora went down the road thinking of the city children
with whom she probably would divide.  Of course,
the bridge would be occupied again.  So she stopped and
opened the box.

"I don't want to be selfish," murmured Elnora, "but
it really seems as if I can't give away this lunch.
If mother did not put love into it, she's substituted
something that's likely to fool me."

She almost felt her steps lagging as she approached
the bridge.  A very hungry dog had been added to the trio
of children.  Elnora loved all dogs, and as usual, this one
came to her in friendliness.  The children said "Good morning!"
with alacrity, and another paper parcel layconspicuous.

"How are you this morning?" inquired Elnora.

"All right!" cried the three, while the dog sniffed ravenously
at the lunch box, and beat a perfect tattoo with his tail.

"How did you like the bologna?" questioned Billy eagerly.

"One of the girls took me to lunch at her home yesterday,"
answered Elnora.

Dawn broke beautifully over Billy's streaked face.
He caught the package and thrust it toward Elnora.

"Then maybe you'd like to try the bologna to-day!"

The dog leaped in glad apprehension of something, and
Belle scrambled to her feet and took a step forward.
The look of famished greed in her eyes was more than Elnora
could endure.  It was not that she cared for the food
so much.  Good things to eat had been in abundance all
her life.  She wanted with this lunch to try to absorb
what she felt must be an expression of some sort from her
mother, and if it were not a manifestation of love, she
did not know what to think it.  But it was her mother
who had said "be generous."  She knelt on the bridge.
"Keep back the dog!" she warned the elder boy.

She opened the box and divided the milk between Billy
and the girl.  She gave each a piece of cake leaving
one and a sandwich.  Billy pressed forward eagerly, bitter
disappointment on his face, and the elder boy forgot his charge.

"Aw, I thought they'd be meat!" lamented Billy.

Elnora could not endure that.

"There is!" she said gladly.  "There is a little pigeon bird.
I want a teeny piece of the breast, for a sort of keepsake,
just one bite, and you can have the rest among you".

Elnora drew the knife from its holder and cut off
the wishbone.  Then she held the bird toward the girl.

"You can divide it," she said.  The dog made a bound
and seizing the squab sprang from the bridge and ran
for life.  The girl and boy hurried after him.  With awful
eyes Billy stared and swore tempestuously.  Elnora caught
him and clapped her hand over the little mouth.
A delivery wagon came tearing down the street, the horse
running full speed, passed the fleeing dog with the girl
and boy in pursuit, and stopped at the bridge.  High school
girls began to roll from all sides of it.

"A rescue!  A rescue!" they shouted.

It was Ellen Brownlee and her crowd, and every girl
of them carried a big parcel.  They took in the scene
as they approached.  The fleeing dog with something
in its mouth, the half-naked girl and boy chasing it told
the story.  Those girls screamed with laughter as they
watched the pursuit.

"Thank goodness, I saved the wishbone!" said Elnora.
"As usual, I can prove that there was a bird."
She turned toward the box.  Billy had improved the time.
He had the last piece of cake in one hand, and the last
bite of salad disappeared in one great gulp.  Then the
girls shouted again.

"Let's have a sample ourselves," suggested one.  She caught
up the box and handed out the remaining sandwich.  Another girl
divided it into bites each little over an inch square, and
then she lifted the cup lid and deposited a preserved
strawberry on each bite.  "One, two, three, altogether now!"
she cried.

"You old mean things!" screamed Billy.

In an instant he was down in the road and handfuls of dust
began to fly among them.  The girls scattered before him.

"Billy!" cried Elnora.  "Billy!  I'll never give you
another bite, if you throw dust on any one!"

Then Billy dropped the dust, bored both fists into his
eyes, and fled sobbing into Elnora's new blue skirt.
She stooped to meet him and consolation began.  Those girls
laughed on.  They screamed and shouted until the little
bridge shook.

"To-morrow might as well be a clear day," said Ellen,
passing around and feeding the remaining berries to the
girls as they could compose themselves enough to take them.
"Billy, I admire your taste more than your temper."

Elnora looked up.  "The little soul is nothing but skin
and bones," she said.  "I never was really hungry myself;
were any of you?"

"Well, I should say so," cried a plump, rosy girl.
"I'm famished right now.  Let's have breakfast immediate!"

"We got to refill this box first!" said Ellen Brownlee.
"Who's got the butter?"  A girl advanced with a wooden tray.

"Put it in the preserve cup, a little strawberry flavour
won't hurt it.  Next!" called Ellen.

A loaf of bread was produced and Ellen cut off a piece
which filled the sandwich box.

"Next!"  A bottle of olives was unwrapped.  The grocer's
boy who was waiting opened that, and Ellen filled the
salad dish.

"Next!"

A bag of macaroons was produced and the cake compartment filled.

"Next!"

"I don't suppose this will make quite as good dog feed
as a bird," laughed a girl holding open a bag of sliced
ham while Ellen filled the meat dish.

"Next!"

A box of candy was handed her and she stuffed every
corner of the lunch box with chocolates and nougat.
Then it was closed and formally presented to Elnora.
The girls each helped themselves to candy and olives,
and gave Billy the remainder of the food.  Billy took
one bite of ham, and approved.  Belle and Jimmy had
given up chasing the dog, and angry and ashamed, stood
waiting half a block away.

"Come back!" cried Billy.  "You great big dunces,
come back!  They's a new kind of meat, and cake and candy."

The boy delayed, but the girl joined Billy.  Ellen wiped
her fingers, stepped to the cement abutment and began
reciting "Horatio at the Bridge!" substituting Elnora
wherever the hero appeared in the lines.

Elnora gathered up the sacks, and gave them to Belle,
telling her to take the food home, cut and spread the
bread, set things on the table, and eat nicely.

Then Elnora was taken into the wagon with the girls,
and driven on the run to the high school.  They sang a
song beginning--

               "Elnora, please give me a sandwich.
                I'm ashamed to ask for cake"

as they went.  Elnora did not know it, but that was
her initiation.  She belonged to "the crowd."  She only
knew that she was happy, and vaguely wondered what
her mother and Aunt Margaret would have said about
the proceedings.




CHAPTER VII


WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK MANIPULATES MARGARET
AND BILLY ACQUIRES A RESIDENCE


Saturday morning Elnora helped her mother with the work.
When she had finished Mrs. Comstock told her to go to
Sintons' and wash her Indian relics, so that she would
be ready to accompany Wesley to town in the afternoon.
Elnora hurried down the road and was soon at the cistern
with a tub busily washing arrow points, stone axes, tubes,
pipes, and skin-cleaning implements.

Then she went home, dressed and was waiting when the
carriage reached the gate.  She stopped at the bank with
the box, and Sinton went to do his marketing and some
shopping for his wife.

At the dry goods store Mr. Brownlee called to him,
"Hello, Sinton!  How do you like the fate of your lunch
box?" Then he began to laugh--

"I always hate to see a man laughing alone," said Sinton.
It looks so selfish!  Tell me the fun, and let me
help you."

Mr. Brownlee wiped his eyes.

"I supposed you knew, but I see she hasn't told."

Then the three days' history of the lunch box was
repeated with particulars which included the dog.

"Now laugh!" concluded Mr. Brownlee.

"Blest if I see anything funny!" replied Wesley Sinton.
"And if you had bought that box and furnished one of
those lunches yourself, you wouldn't either.  I call such
a work a shame!  I'll have it stopped."

"Some one must see to that, all right.  They are
little leeches.  Their father earns enough to support them,
but they have no mother, and they run wild.  I suppose
they are crazy for cooked food.  But it is funny, and
when you think it over you will see it, if you don't now."

"About where would a body find that father?" inquired
Wesley Sinton grimly.  Mr. Brownlee told him and he
started, locating the house with little difficulty.
House was the proper word, for of home there was no sign.
Just a small empty house with three unkept little children
racing through and around it.  The girl and the elder
boy hung back, but dirty little Billy greeted Sinton with:
"What you want here?"

"I want to see your father," said Sinton.)

"Well, he's asleep," said Billy.

"Where?" asked Sinton.

"In the house," answered Billy, "and you can't wake him."

"Well, I'll try," said Wesley.

Billy led the way.  "There he is!" he said.  "He is
drunk again."

On a dirty mattress in a corner lay a man who appeared
to be strong and well.  Billy was right.  You could not
awake him.  He had gone the limit, and a little beyond.

He was now facing eternity.  Sinton went out and closed
the door.

"Your father is sick and needs help," he said.
"You stay here, and I will send a man to see him."

"If you just let him 'lone, he'll sleep it off,"
volunteered Billy.  "He's that way all the time,
but he wakes up and gets us something to eat after awhile.
Only waitin' twists you up inside pretty bad."

The boy wore no air of complaint.  He was merely
stating facts.

Wesley Sinton looked intently at Billy.  "Are you
twisted up inside now?" he asked.

Billy laid a grimy hand on the region of his stomach and
the filthy little waist sank close to the backbone.
"Bet yer life, boss," he said cheerfully.

"How long have you been twisted?" asked Sinton.

Billy appealed to the others.  "When was it we had the
stuff on the bridge?"

"Yesterday morning," said the girl.

"Is that all gone?" asked Sinton.

"She went and told us to take it home," said Billy ruefully,
"and 'cos she said to, we took it.  Pa had come back,
he was drinking some more, and he ate a lot of it--
almost the whole thing, and it made him sick as a dog, and
he went and wasted all of it.  Then he got drunk some
more, and now he's asleep again.  We didn't get hardly none."

"You children sit on the steps until the man comes,"
said Sinton.  "I'll send you some things to eat with him.
What's your name, sonny?"

"Billy," said the boy.

"Well, Billy, I guess you better come with me.  I'll take
care of him," Sinton promised the others.  He reached a
hand to Billy.

"I ain't no baby, I'm a boy!" said Billy, as he shuffled
along beside Sinton, taking a kick at every movable object
without regard to his battered toes.

Once they passed a Great Dane dog lolling after its master,
and Billy ascended Sinton as if he were a tree, and
clung to him with trembling hot hands.

"I ain't afraid of that dog," scoffed Billy, as he was
again placed on the walk, "but onc't he took me for a rat
or somepin' and his teeth cut into my back.  If I'd a done
right, I'd a took the law on him."

Sinton looked down into the indignant little face.  The child
was bright enough, he had a good head, but oh, such a body!

"I 'bout got enough of dogs," said Billy.  "I used to
like 'em, but I'm getting pretty tired.  You ought to seen
the lickin' Jimmy and Belle and me give our dog when we
caught him, for taking a little bird she gave us.  We waited
'till he was asleep 'nen laid a board on him and all of us
jumped on it to onc't.  You could a heard him yell a mile.
Belle said mebbe we could squeeze the bird out of him.
But, squeeze nothing!  He was holler as us, and that bird
was lost long 'fore it got to his stummick.  It was ist a
little one, anyway.  Belle said it wouldn't 'a' made a bite
apiece for three of us nohow, and the dog got one good swaller.
We didn't get much of the meat, either.  Pa took most
of that.  Seems like pas and dogs gets everything."

Billy laughed dolefully.  Involuntarily Wesley Sinton
reached his hand.  They were coming into the business part
of Onabasha and the streets were crowded.  Billy understood
it to mean that he might lose his companion and took a grip.
That little hot hand clinging tight to his, the sore feet
recklessly scouring the walk, the hungry child panting for
breath as he tried to keep even, the brave soul jesting in
the face of hard luck, caught Sinton in a tender, empty spot.

"Say, son," he said.  "How would you like to be
washed clean, and have all the supper your skin could
hold, and sleep in a good bed?"

"Aw, gee!" said Billy.  "I ain't dead yet!  Them things
is in heaven!  Poor folks can't have them.  Pa said so."

"Well, you can have them if you want to go with me and
get them," promised Sinton.

"Honest?"

"Yes, honest."

"Crost yer heart?"

"Yes," said Sinton.

"Kin I take some to Jimmy and Belle?"

"If you'll come with me and be my boy, I'll see that they
have plenty."

"What will pa say?"

"Your pa is in that kind of sleep now where he won't
wake up, Billy," said Sinton.  "I am pretty sure the law
will give you to me, if you want to come."

"When people don't ever wake up they're dead,"
announced Billy.  "Is my pa dead?"

"Yes, he is," answered Sinton.

"And you'll take care of Jimmy and Belle, too?"

"I can't adopt all three of you," said Sinton.  "I'll take
you, and see that they are well provided for.  Will you come?"

"Yep, I'll come," said Billy.  "Let's eat, first thing we do."

"All right," agreed Sinton.  "Come into this restaurant."
He lifted Billy to the lunch counter and ordered the clerk
to give him as many glasses of milk as he wanted, and a biscuit.
"I think there's going to be fried chicken when we get home,
Billy," he said, "so you just take the edge off now, and fill
up later."

While Billy lunched Sinton called up the different departments
and notified the proper authorities ending with the Women's
Relief Association.  He sent a basket of food to Belle and Jimmy,
bought Billy a pair of trousers, and a shirt, and went to
bring Elnora.

"Why, Uncle Wesley!" cried the girl.  "Where did you
find Billy?"

"I've adopted him for the time being, if not longer,"
replied Wesley Sinton.

"Where did you get him?"

"Well, young woman," said Wesley Sinton, "Mr. Brownlee
told me the history of your lunch box.  It didn't
seem so funny to me as it does to the rest of them; so I
went to look up the father of Billy's family, and make him
take care of them, or allow the law to do it for him.
It will have to be the law."

"He's deader than anything!" broke in Billy.  "He can't
ever take all the meat any more."

"Billy!" gasped Elnora.

"Never you mind!" said Sinton.  "A child doesn't say
such things about a father who loved and raised him right.
When it happens, the father alone is to blame.  You won't
hear Billy talk like that about me when I cross over."

"You don't mean you are going to take him to keep!"

"I'll soon need help," said Wesley.  "Billy will come
in just about right ten years from now, and if I raise him
I'll have him the way I want him."

"But Aunt Margaret doesn't like boys," objected Elnora.

"Well, she likes me, and I used to be a boy.  Anyway, as
I remember she has had her way about everything at our
house ever since we were married.  I am going to please
myself about Billy.  Hasn't she always done just as she
chose so far as you know?  Honest, Elnora!"

"Honest!" replied Elnora.  "You are beautiful to all of
us, Uncle Wesley; but Aunt Margaret won't like Billy.
She won't want him in her home."

"In our home," corrected Wesley.

"What makes you want him?" marvelled Elnora.

"God only knows," said Sinton.  "Billy ain't so beautiful,
and he ain't so smart, I guess it's because he's so human.
My heart goes out to him."

"So did mine," said Elnora.  "I love him.  I'd rather
see him eat my lunch than have it myself any time."

"What makes you like him?" asked Wesley.

"Why, I don't know," pondered Elnora.  "He's so little,
he needs so much, he's got such splendid grit, and
he's perfectly unselfish with his brother and sister.
But we must wash him before Aunt Margaret sees him.
I wonder if mother----"

"You needn't bother.  I'm going to take him home the
way he is," said Sinton.  "I want Maggie to see the
worst of it."

"I'm afraid----" began Elnora.

"So am I," said Wesley, "but I won't give him up.
He's taken a sort of grip on my heart.  I've always
been crazy for a boy.  Don't let him hear us."

"Don't let him be killed!" cried Elnora.  During their
talk Billy had wandered to the edge of the walk and
barely escaped the wheels of a passing automobile in an
effort to catch a stray kitten that seemed in danger.

Wesley drew Billy back to the walk, and held his hand closely.
"Are you ready, Elnora?"

"Yes; you were gone a long time," she said.

Wesley glanced at a package she carried.  "Have to
have another book?" he asked.

"No, I bought this for mother.  I've had such splendid
luck selling my specimens, I didn't feel right about keeping
all the money for myself, so I saved enough from the
Indian relics to get a few things I wanted.  I would have
liked to have gotten her a dress, but I didn't dare, so I
compromised on a book."

"What did you select, Elnora?" asked Wesley wonderingly.

"Well," said she, "I have noticed mother always seemed
interested in anything Mark Twain wrote in the newspapers,
and I thought it would cheer her up a little, so I just
got his `Innocents Abroad.'  I haven't read it myself,
but I've seen mention made of it all my life, and the
critics say it's genuine fun."

"Good!" cried Sinton.  "Good!  You've made a
splendid choice.  It will take her mind off herself
a lot.  But she will scold you."

"Of course," assented Elnora.  "But, possibly she will
read it, and feel better.  I'm going to serve her a trick.
I am going to hide it until Monday, and set it on her little
shelf of books the last thing before I go away.  She must
have all of them by heart.  When, she sees a new one she
can't help being glad, for she loves to read, and if she has
all day to become interested, maybe she'll like it so she
won't scold so much."

"We are both in for it, but I guess we are prepared.
I don't know what Margaret will say, but I'm going to take
Billy home and see.  Maybe he can win with her, as he
did with us."

Elnora had doubts, but she did not say anything more.
When they started home Billy sat on the front seat.
He drove with the hitching strap tied to the railing of
the dash-board, flourished the whip, and yelled
with delight.  At first Sinton laughed with him, but
by the time he left Elnora with several packages at her
gate, he was looking serious enough.

Margaret was at the door as they drove up the lane.
Wesley left Billy in the carriage, hitched the horses and
went to explain to her.  He had not reached her before she
cried, "Look, Wesley, that child!  You'll have a runaway!"

Wesley looked and ran.  Billy was standing in the
carriage slashing the mettlesome horses with the whip.

"See me make 'em go!" he shouted as the whip fell a
second time.

He did make them go.  They took the hitching post
and a few fence palings, which scraped the paint from
a wheel.  Sinton missed the lines at the first effort,
but the dragging post impeded the horses, and he soon
caught them.  He led them to the barn, and ordered Billy
to remain in the carriage while he unhitched.  Then leading
Billy and carrying his packages he entered the yard.

"You run play a few minutes, Billy," he said.  "I want
to talk to the nice lady."

The nice lady was looking rather stupefied as Wesley
approached her.

"Where in the name of sense did you get that awful
child?" she demanded.

"He is a young gentleman who has been stopping Elnora
and eating her lunch every day, part of the time
with the assistance of his brother and sister, while our
girl went hungry.  Brownlee told me about it at the store.
It's happened three days running.  The first time she
went without anything, the second time Brownlee's girl
took her to lunch, and the third a crowd of high school
girls bought a lot of stuff and met them at the bridge.
The youngsters seemed to think they could rob her every
day, so I went to see their father about having it stopped."

"Well, I should think so!" cried Margaret.

"There were three of them, Margaret," said Wesley,
"that little fellow----"

"Hyena, you mean," interpolated Margaret.

"Hyena," corrected Wesley gravely, "and another
boy and a girl, all equally dirty and hungry.  The man
was dead.  They thought he was in a drunken sleep,
but he was stone dead.  I brought the little boy with
me, and sent the officers and other help to the house.
He's half starved.  I want to wash him, and put clean
clothes on him, and give him some supper."

"Have you got anything to put on him?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"Bought it.  It ain't much.  All I got didn't cost a dollar."

"A dollar is a  good deal when you work and save for
it the way we do."

"Well, I don't know a better place to put it.  Have you
got any hot water?  I'll use this tub at the cistern.
Please give me some soap and towels."

Instead Margaret pushed by him with a shriek.  Billy had
played by producing a cord from his pocket, and having
tied the tails of Margaret's white kittens together, he had
climbed on a box and hung them across the clothes line.
Wild with fright the kittens were clawing each other
to death, and the air was white with fur.  The string
had twisted and the frightened creatures could not
recognize friends.  Margaret stepped back with bleeding hands.
Sinton cut the cord with his knife and the poor little cats
raced under the house bleeding and disfigured.
Margaret white with wrath faced Wesley.

"If you don't hitch up and take that animal back to
town," she said, "I will."

Billy threw himself on the grass and began to scream.

"You said I could have fried chicken for supper,"
he wailed.  "You said she was a nice lady!"

Wesley lifted him and something in his manner of
handling the child infuriated Margaret.  His touch was
so gentle.  She reached for Billy and gripped his shirt
collar in the back.  Wesley's hand closed over hers.

"Gently, girl!" he said.  "This little body is covered
with sores."

"Sores!" she ejaculated.  "Sores?  What kind of sores?"

"Oh, they might be from bruises made by fists or boot
toes, or they might be bad blood, from wrong eating,
or they might be pure filth.  Will you hand me some towels?"

"No, I won't!" said Margaret.

"Well, give me some rags, then."

Margaret compromised on pieces of old tablecloth.
Wesley led Billy to the cistern, pumped cold water into
the tub, poured in a kettle of hot, and beginning at the
head scoured him.  The boy shut his little teeth, and
said never a word though he twisted occasionally when
the soap struck a raw spot.  Margaret watched the process
from the window in amazed and ever-increasing anger.
Where did Wesley learn it?  How could his big hands be
so gentle?  He came to the door.

"Have you got any peroxide?" he asked.

"A little," she answered stiffly.

"Well, I need about a pint, but I'll begin on what you have."

Margaret handed him the bottle.  Wesley took a cup,
weakened the drug and said to Billy:  "Man, these sores
on you must be healed.  Then you must eat the kind of
food that's fit for little men.  I am going to put some
medicine on you, and it is going to sting like fire.  If it
just runs off, I won't use any more.  If it boils, there is
poison in these places, and they must be tied up, dosed
every day, and you must be washed, and kept mighty clean.
Now, hold still, because I am going to put it on."

"I think the one on my leg is the worst," said the undaunted
Billy, holding out a raw place.  Sinton poured on the drug.
Billy's body twisted and writhed, but he did not run.

"Gee, look at it boil!" he cried.  "I guess they's poison.
You'll have to do it to all of them."

Wesley's teeth were set, as he watched the boy's face.
He poured the drug, strong enough to do effective work,
on a dozen places over that little body and bandaged all
he could.  Billy's lips quivered at times, and his chin
jumped, but he did not shed a tear or utter a sound other
than to take a deep interest in the boiling.  As Wesley
put the small shirt on the boy, and fastened the trousers,
he was ready to reset the hitching post and mend the fence
without a word.

"Now am I clean?" asked Billy.

"Yes, you are clean outside," said Wesley.  "There is
some dirty blood in your body, and some bad words in
your mouth, that we have to get out, but that takes time.
If we put right things to eat into your stomach
that will do away with the sores, and if you know that
I don't like bad words you won't say them any oftener
than you can help, will you Billy?"

Billy leaned against Wesley in apparent indifference.

"I want to see me!" he demanded.

Wesley led the boy into the house, and lifted him to a mirror.

"My, I'm purty good-looking, ain't I?" bragged Billy.
Then as Wesley stooped to set him on the floor Billy's
lips passed close to the big man's ear and hastily
whispered a vehement "No!" as he ran for the door.

"How long until supper, Margaret?" asked Wesley
as he followed.

"You are going to keep him for supper?" she asked

"Sure!" said Wesley.  "That's what I brought him for.
It's likely he never had a good square meal of decent
food in his life.  He's starved to the bone."

Margaret arose deliberately, removed the white cloth
from the supper table and substituted an old red one
she used to wrap the bread.  She put away the pretty
dishes they commonly used and set the table with old
plates for pies and kitchen utensils.  But she fried the
chicken, and was generous with milk and honey, snowy
bread, gravy, potatoes, and fruit.

Wesley repainted the scratched wheel.  He mended the
fence, with Billy holding the nails and handing the pickets.
Then he filled the old hole, digged a new one and set the
hitching post.

Billy hopped on one foot at his task of holding the post
steady as the earth was packed around it.  There was
not the shadow of a trouble on his little freckled face.

Sinton threw in stones and pounded the earth solid around
the post.  The sound of a gulping sob attracted him to Billy.
The tears were rolling down his cheeks.  "If I'd a knowed
you'd have to get down in a hole, and work so hard I
wouldn't 'a' hit the horses," he said.

"Never you mind, Billy," said Wesley.  "You will
know next time, so you can think over it, and make up
your mind whether you really want to before you strike."

Wesley went to the barn to put away the tools.  He
thought Billy was at his heels, but the boy lagged on
the way.  A big snowy turkey gobbler resented the small
intruder in his especial preserves, and with spread tail
and dragging wings came toward him threateningly.  If that
turkey gobbler had known the sort of things with which
Billy was accustomed to holding his own, he never would
have issued the challenge.  Billy accepted instantly.
He danced around with stiff arms at his sides and imitated
the gobbler.  Then came his opportunity, and he jumped
on the big turkey's back.  Wesley heard Margaret's scream
in time to see the flying leap and admire its dexterity.
The turkey tucked its tail and scampered.  Billy slid from
its back and as he fell he clutched wildly, caught the
folded tail, and instinctively clung to it.  The turkey
gave one scream and relaxed its muscles.  Then it fled
in disfigured defeat to the haystack.  Billy scrambled
to his feet holding the tail, while his eyes were bulging.

"Why, the blasted old thing came off!" he said to
Wesley, holding out the tail in amazed wonder.

The man, caught suddenly, forgot everything and roared.
Seeing which, Billy thought a turkey tail of no
account and flung that one high above him shouting in
wild childish laughter, when the feathers scattered and fell.

Margaret, watching, began to cry.  Wesley had gone mad.
For the first time in her married life she wanted
to tell her mother.  When Wesley had waited until he
was so hungry he could wait no longer he invaded the
kitchen to find a cooked supper baking on the back of the
stove, while Margaret with red eyes nursed a pair of
demoralized white kittens.

"Is supper ready?" he asked.

"It has been for an hour," answered Margaret.

"Why didn't you call us?"

That "us" had too much comradeship in it.  It irritated Margaret.

"I supposed it would take you even longer than this to
fix things decent again.  As for my turkey, and my poor
little kittens, they don't matter."

"I am mighty sorry about them, Margaret, you know that.
Billy is very bright, and he will soon learn----"

"Soon learn!" cried Margaret.  "Wesley Sinton, you
don't mean to say that you think of keeping that creature
here for some time?"

"No, I think of keeping a well-behaved little boy."

Margaret set the supper on the table.  Seeing the old
red cloth Wesley stared in amazement.  Then he understood.
Billy capered around in delight.

"Ain't that pretty?" he exulted.  "I wish Jimmy and
Belle could see.  We, why we ist eat out of our hands or
off a old dry goods box, and when we fix up a lot, we
have newspaper.  We ain't ever had a nice red cloth like this."

Wesley looked straight at Margaret, so intently that she
turned away, her face flushing.  He stacked the dictionary
and the geography of the world on a chair, and lifted Billy
beside him.  He heaped a plate generously, cut the food,
put a fork into Billy's little fist, and made him eat slowly
and properly.  Billy did his best.  Occasionally greed
overcame him, and he used his left hand to pop a bite into
his mouth with his fingers.  These lapses Wesley patiently
overlooked, and went on with his general instructions.
Luckily Billy did not spill anything on his clothing or
the cloth.  After supper Wesley took him to the barn while
he finished the night work.  Then he went and sat beside
Margaret on the front porch.  Billy appropriated the
hammock, and swung by pulling a rope tied around a tree.
The very energy with which he went at the work of
swinging himself appealed to Wesley.

"Mercy, but he's an active little body," he said.
"There isn't a lazy bone in him.  See how he works
to pay for his fun."

"There goes his foot through it!" cried Margaret.
"Wesley, he shall not ruin my hammock."

"Of course he shan't!" said Wesley.  "Wait, Billy, let
me show you."

Thereupon he explained to Billy that ladies wearing
beautiful white dresses sat in hammocks, so little boys
must not put their dusty feet in them.  Billy immediately
sat, and allowed his feet to swing.

"Margaret," said Wesley after a long silence on the
porch, "isn't it true that if Billy had been a half-starved
sore cat, dog, or animal of any sort, that you would have
pitied, and helped care for it, and been glad to see me get
any pleasure out of it I could?"

"Yes," said Margaret coldly.

"But because I brought a child with an immortal soul,
there is no welcome."

"That isn't a child, it's an animal."

"You just said you would have welcomed an animal."

"Not a wild one.  I meant a tame beast."

"Billy is not a beast!" said Wesley hotly.  "He is a
very dear little boy.  Margaret, you've always done the
church-going and Bible reading for this family.  How do
you reconcile that `Suffer little children to come unto Me'
with the way you are treating Billy?"

Margaret arose.  "I haven't treated that child.  I have
only let him alone.  I can barely hold myself.  He needs
the hide tanned about off him!"

"If you'd cared to look at his body, you'd know that you
couldn't find a place to strike without cutting into a raw
spot," said Wesley.  "Besides, Billy has not done a
thing for which a child should be punished.  He is only
full of life, no training, and with a boy's love of mischief.
He did abuse your kittens, but an hour before I saw him
risk his life to save one from being run over.  He minds
what you tell him, and doesn't do anything he is told not to.
He thinks of his brother and sister right away when
anything pleases him.  He took that stinging medicine
with the grit of a bulldog.  He is just a bully little chap,
and I love him."

"Oh good heavens!" cried Margaret, going into the
house as she spoke.

Sinton sat still.  At last Billy tired of the swing, came
to him and leaned his slight body against the big knee.

"Am I going to sleep here?" he asked.

"Sure you are!" said Sinton.

Billy swung his feet as he laid across Wesley's knee.
"Come on," said Wesley, "I must clean you up for bed."

"You have to be just awful clean here," announced Billy.
"I like to be clean, you feel so good, after the hurt is over."

Sinton registered that remark, and worked with especial
tenderness as he redressed the ailing places and
washed the dust from Billy's feet and hands.

"Where can he sleep?" he asked Margaret.

"I'm sure I don't know," she answered.

"Oh, I can sleep ist any place," said Billy.  "On the
floor or anywhere.  Home, I sleep on pa's coat on a store-
box, and Jimmy and Belle they sleep on the storebox, too.
"I sleep between them, so's I don't roll off and crack
my head.  Ain't you got a storebox and a old coat?"

Wesley arose and opened a folding lounge.  Then he
brought an armload of clean horse blankets from a closet.

"These don't look like the nice white bed a little boy
should have, Billy," he said, "but we'll make them do.
This will beat a storebox all hollow."

Billy took a long leap for the lounge.  When he found
it bounced, he proceeded to bounce, until he was tired.
By that time the blankets had to be refolded.  Wesley had
Billy take one end and help, while both of them seemed to
enjoy the job.  Then Billy lay down and curled up in his
clothes like a small dog.  But sleep would not come.

Finally he sat up.  He stared around restlessly.  Then he
arose, went to Wesley, and leaned against his knee.  He picked
up the boy and folded his arms around him.  Billy sighed
in rapturous content.

"That bed feels so lost like," he said.  "Jimmy always
jabbed me on one side, and Belle on the other, and so I
knew I was there.  Do you know where they are?"

"They are with kind people who gave them a fine supper,
a clean bed, and will always take good care of them."

"I wisht I was--"  Billy hesitated and looked earnestly
at Wesley.  "I mean I wish they was here."

"You are about all I can manage, Billy," said Wesley.

Billy sat up.  "Can't she manage anything?" he asked,
waving toward Margaret.

"Indeed, yes," said Wesley.  "She has managed me
for twenty years."

"My, but she made you nice!" said Billy.  "I just love you.
I wisht she'd take Jimmy and Belle and make them nice as you."

"She isn't strong enough to do that, Billy.  They will
grow into a good boy and girl where they are."

Billy slid from Wesley's arms and walked toward
Margaret until he reached the middle of the room.  Then he
stopped, and at last sat on the floor.  Finally he lay
down and closed his eyes.  "This feels more like my bed;
if only Jimmy and Belle was here to crowd up a little, so it
wasn't so alone like."

"Won't I do, Billy?" asked Wesley in a husky voice.

Billy moved restlessly.  "Seems like--seems like
toward night as if a body got kind o' lonesome for a
woman person--like her."

Billy indicated Margaret and then closed his eyes so
tight his small face wrinkled.

Soon he was up again.  "Wisht I had Snap," he said.
"Oh, I ist wisht I had Snap!"

"I thought you laid a board on Snap and jumped on
it," said Wesley.

"We did!" cried Billy--"oh, you ought to heard him
squeal!" Billy laughed loudly, then his face clouded.

"But I want Snap to lay beside me so bad now--that if he
was here I'd give him a piece of my chicken, 'for, I ate any.
Do you like dogs?"

"Yes, I do," said Wesley.

Billy was up instantly.  "Would you like Snap?"

"I am sure I would," said Wesley.

"Would she?" Billy indicated Margaret.  And then
he answered his own question.  "But of course, she
wouldn't, cos she likes cats, and dogs chases cats.
Oh, dear, I thought for a minute maybe Snap could
come here."  Billy lay down and closed his eyes resolutely.

Suddenly they flew open.  "Does it hurt to be dead?"
he demanded.

"Nothing hurts you after you are dead, Billy," said Wesley.

"Yes, but I mean does it hurt getting to be dead?"

"Sometimes it does.  It did not hurt your father, Billy.
It came softly while he was asleep."

"It ist came softly?"

"Yes."

"I kind o' wisht he wasn't dead!" said Billy.  "'Course I
like to stay with you, and the fried chicken, and the nice
soft bed, and--and everything, and I like to be clean, but
he took us to the show, and he got us gum, and he never
hurt us when he wasn't drunk."

Billy drew a deep breath, and tightly closed his eyes.
But very soon they opened.  Then he sat up.  He looked
at Wesley pitifully, and then he glanced at Margaret.
"You don't like boys, do you?" he questioned.

"I like good boys," said Margaret.

Billy was at her knee instantly.  "Well say, I'm a good
boy!" he announced joyously.

"I do not think boys who hurt helpless kittens and pull
out turkeys' tails are good boys."

"Yes, but I didn't hurt the kittens," explained Billy.
"They got mad 'bout ist a little fun and scratched each other.
I didn't s'pose they'd act like that.  And I didn't pull
the turkey's tail.  I ist held on to the first thing I
grabbed, and the turkey pulled.  Honest, it was the
turkey pulled."  He turned to Wesley.  "You tell her!
Didn't the turkey pull?  I didn't know its tail was loose,
did I?"

"I don't think you did, Billy," said Wesley.

Billy stared into Margaret's cold face.  "Sometimes at night,
Belle sits on the floor, and I lay my head in her lap.
I could pull up a chair and lay my head in your lap.
Like this, I mean."  Billy pulled up a chair, climbed
on it and laid his head on Margaret's lap.  Then he shut
his eyes again.  Margaret could have looked little more
repulsed if he had been a snake.  Billy was soon up.

"My, but your lap is hard," he said.  "And you are
a good deal fatter 'an Belle, too!"  He slid from the
chair and came back to the middle of the room.

"Oh but I wisht he wasn't dead!" he cried.  The flood
broke and Billy screamed in desperation.

Out of the night a soft, warm young figure flashed
through the door and with a swoop caught him in her arms.
She dropped into a chair, nestled him closely, drooped
her fragrant brown head over his little bullet-eyed
red one, and rocked softly while she crooned over him--


     "Billy, boy, where have you been?
      Oh, I have been to seek a wife,
      She's the joy of my life,
      But then she's a young thing and she can't leave her mammy!"


Billy clung to her frantically.  Elnora wiped his eyes,
kissed his face, swayed and sang.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asked at last.

"I don't know," said Billy.  "I tried.  I tried awful
hard cos I thought he wanted me to, but it ist wouldn't come.
Please tell her I tried."  He appealed to Margaret.

"He did try to go to sleep," admitted Margaret.

"Maybe he can't sleep in his clothes," suggested Elnora.
"Haven't you an old dressing sacque?  I could roll
the sleeves."

Margaret got an old sacque, and Elnora put it on Billy.
Then she brought a basin of water and bathed his face
and head.  She gathered him up and began to rock again.

"Have you got a pa?" asked Billy.

"No," said Elnora.

"Is he dead like mine?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt him to die?"

"I don't know."

Billy was wide awake again.  "It didn't hurt my pa,"
he boasted; "he ist died while he was asleep.  He didn't
even know it was coming."

"I am glad of that," said Elnora, pressing the small
head against her breast again.

Billy escaped her hand and sat up.  "I guess I won't go
to sleep," he said.  "It might `come softly' and get me."

"It won't get you, Billy," said Elnora, rocking and
singing between sentences.  "It doesn't get little boys.
It just takes big people who are sick."

"Was my pa sick?"

"Yes," said Elnora.  "He had a dreadful sickness
inside him that burned, and made him drink things.
That was why he would forget his little boys and girl.
If he had been well, he would have gotten you good things
to eat, clean clothes, and had the most fun with you."

Billy leaned against her and closed his eyes, and Elnora
rocked hopefully.

"If I was dead would you cry?" he was up again.

"Yes, I would," said Elnora, gripping him closer until
Billy almost squealed with the embrace.

"Do you love me tight as that?" he questioned blissfully.

"Yes, bushels and bushels," said Elnora.  "Better than
any little boy in the whole world."

Billy looked at Margaret.  "She don't!" he said.
"She'd be glad if it would get me `softly,' right now.
She don't want me here 't all."

Elnora smothered his face against her breast and rocked.

"You love me, don't you?"

"I will, if you will go to sleep."

"Every single day you will give me your dinner for
the bologna, won't you," said Billy.

"Yes, I will," replied Elnora.  "But you will have as
good lunch as I do after this.  You will have milk, eggs,
chicken, all kinds of good things, little pies, and cakes, maybe."

Billy shook his head.  "I am going back home soon as
it is light," he said, "she don't want me.  She thinks
I'm a bad boy.  She's going to whip me--if he lets her.
She said so.  I heard her.  Oh, I wish he hadn't died!
I want to go home." Billy shrieked again.

Mrs. Comstock had started to walk slowly to meet Elnora.
The girl had been so late that her mother reached the
Sinton gate and followed the path until the picture inside
became visible.  Elnora had told her about Wesley
taking Billy home.  Mrs. Comstock had some curiosity
to see how Margaret bore the unexpected addition to
her family.  Billy's voice, raised with excitement, was
plainly audible.  She could see Elnora holding him, and
hear his excited wail.  Wesley's face was drawn and haggard,
and Margaret's set and defiant.  A very imp of perversity
entered the breast of Mrs. Comstock.

"Hoity, toity!" she said as she suddenly appeared
in the door.  "Blest if I ever heard a man making sounds
like that before!"

Billy ceased suddenly.  Mrs. Comstock was tall, angular,
and her hair was prematurely white.  She was only
thirty-six, although she appeared fifty.  But there
was an expression on her usually cold face that was
attractive just then, and Billy was in search of attractions.

"Have I stayed too late, mother?" asked Elnora anxiously.
"I truly intended to come straight back, but I thought
I could rock Billy to sleep first.  Everything is strange,
and he's so nervous."

"Is that your ma?" demanded Billy.

"Yes."

"Does she love you?"

"Of course!"

"My mother didn't love me," said Billy.  "She went
away and left me, and never came back.  She don't care
what happens to me.  You wouldn't go away and leave
your little girl, would you?" questioned Billy.

"No," said Katharine Comstock, "and I wouldn't
leave a little boy, either."

Billy began sliding from Elnora's knees.

"Do you like boys?" he questioned.

"If there is anything I love it is a boy," said Mrs.
Comstock assuringly.  Billy was on the floor.

"Do you like dogs?"

"Yes.  Almost as well as boys.  I am going to buy a
dog as soon as I can find a good one."

Billy swept toward her with a whoop.

"Do you want a boy?" he shouted.

Katharine Comstock stretched out her arms, and
gathered him in.

"Of course, I want a boy!" she rejoiced.

"Maybe you'd like to have me?" offered Billy.

"Sure I would," triumphed Mrs. Comstock.  "Any one
would like to have you.  You are just a real boy, Billy."

"Will you take Snap?"

"I'd like to have Snap almost as well as you."

"Mother!" breathed Elnora imploringly.  "Don't! Oh, don't!
He thinks you mean it!"

"And so I do mean it," said Mrs. Comstock.  "I'll take
him in a jiffy.  I throw away enough to feed a little
tyke like him every day.  His chatter would be great
company while you are gone.  Blood soon can be purified
with right food and baths, and as for Snap, I meant to
buy a bulldog, but possibly Snap will serve just as well.
All I ask of a dog is to bark at the right time.  I'll do
the rest.  Would you like to come and be my boy, Billy?"

Billy leaned against Mrs. Comstock, reached his arms
around her neck and gripped her with all his puny might.
"You can whip me all you want to," he said.  "I won't
make a sound."

Mrs. Comstock held him closely and her hard face was
softening; of that there could be no doubt.

"Now, why would any one whip a nice little boy like
you?" she asked wonderingly.

"She"--Billy from his refuge waved toward Margaret
--"she was going to whip me 'cause her cats fought,
when I tied their tails together and hung them over the
line to dry.  How did I know her old cats would fight?"

Mrs. Comstock began to laugh suddenly, and try as
she would she could not stop so soon as she desired.
Billy studied her.

"Have you got turkeys?" he demanded.

"Yes, flocks of them," said Mrs. Comstock, vainly
struggling to suppress her mirth, and settle her face in
its accustomed lines.

"Are their tails fast?" demanded Billy.

"Why, I think so," marvelled Mrs. Comstock.

"Hers ain't!" said Billy with the wave toward Margaret
that was becoming familiar.  "Her turkey pulled,
and its tail comed right off.  She's going to whip me if he
lets her.  I didn't know the turkey would pull.  I didn't
know its tail would come off.  I won't ever touch one
again, will I?"

"Of course, you won't," said Mrs. Comstock.  "And what's
more, I don't care if you do!  I'd rather have a fine
little man like you than all the turkeys in the country.
Let them lose their old tails if they want to, and let
the cats fight.  Cats and turkeys don't compare with boys,
who are going to be fine big men some of these days."

Then Billy and Mrs. Comstock hugged each other
rapturously, while their audience stared in silent amazement.

"You like boys!" exulted Billy, and his head dropped
against Mrs. Comstock in unspeakable content.

"Yes, and if I don't have to carry you the whole way
home, we must start right now," said Mrs. Comstock.
"You are going to be asleep before you know it."

Billy opened his eyes and braced himself.  "I can
walk," he said proudly.

"All right, we must start.  Come, Elnora!  Good-night, folks!"
Mrs. Comstock set Billy on the floor, and arose gripping
his hand.  "You take the other side, Elnora, and we will
help him as much as we can," she said.

Elnora stared piteously at Margaret, then at Wesley,
and arose in white-faced bewilderment.

"Billy, are you going to leave without even saying good-
bye to me?" asked Wesley, with a gulp.

Billy held tight to Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.

"Good-bye!" he said casually.  "I'll come and see you
some time."

Wesley Sinton gave a smothered sob, and strode from
the room.

Mrs. Comstock started toward the door, dragging at
Billy while Elnora pulled back, but Mrs. Sinton was before
them, her eyes flashing.

"Kate Comstock, you think you are mighty smart,
don't you?" she cried.

"I ain't in the lunatic asylum, where you belong,
anyway,"said Mrs. Comstock.  "I am smart enough to tell
a dandy boy when I see him, and I'm good and glad to
get him.  I'll love to have him!"

"Well, you won't have him!" exclaimed Margaret Sinton.
"That boy is Wesley's!  He found him, and brought him here.
You can't come in and take him like that!  Let go of him!"

"Not much, I won't!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "Leave the
poor sick little soul here for you to beat, because he
didn't know just how to handle things!  Of course, he'll
make mistakes.  He must have a lot of teaching, but not
the kind he'll get from you!  Clear out of my way!"

"You let go of our boy," ordered Margaret.

"Why?  Do you want to whip him, before he can go
to sleep?" jeered Mrs. Comstock.

"No, I don't!" said Margaret.  "He's Wesley's, and
nobody shall touch him.  Wesley!"

Wesley Sinton appeared behind Margaret in the doorway,
and she turned to him.  "Make Kate Comstock let go of
our boy!" she demanded.

"Billy, she wants you now," said Wesley Sinton.  "She won't
whip you, and she won't let any one else.  You can have
stacks of good things to eat, ride in the carriage, and have
a great time.  Won't you stay with us?"

Billy drew away from Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.

He faced Margaret, his eyes shrewd with unchildish wisdom.
Necessity had taught him to strike the hot iron, to
drive the hard bargain.

"Can I have Snap to live here always?" he demanded.

"Yes, you can have all the dogs you want," said Margaret Sinton.

"Can I sleep close enough so's I can touch you?"

"Yes, you can move your lounge up so that you can
hold my hand," said Margaret.

"Do you love me now?" questioned Billy.

"I'll try to love you, if you are a good boy," said Margaret.

"Then I guess I'll stay," said Billy, walking over to her.

Out in the night Elnora and her mother went down the
road in the moonlight; every few rods Mrs. Comstock
laughed aloud.

"Mother, I don't understand you," sobbed Elnora.

"Well, maybe when you have gone to high school longer
you will," said Mrs. Comstock.  "Anyway, you saw me
bring Mag Sinton to her senses, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," answered Elnora, "but I thought you
were in earnest.  So did Billy, and Uncle Wesley, and
Aunt Margaret."

"Well, wasn't I?" inquired Mrs. Comstock.

"But you just said you brought Aunt Margaret to!"

"Well, didn't I?"

"I don't understand you."

"That's the reason I am recommending more schooling!"

Elnora took her candle and went to bed.  Mrs. Comstock
was feeling too good to sleep.  Twice of late she
really had enjoyed herself for the first in sixteen years,
and greediness for more of the same feeling crept into her
blood like intoxication.  As she sat brooding alone she
knew the truth.  She would have loved to have taken Billy.
She would not have minded his mischief, his chatter, or his dog.
He would have meant a distraction from herself that she
greatly needed; she was even sincere about the dog.
She had intended to tell Wesley to buy her one at the very
first opportunity.  Her last thought was of Billy.
She chuckled softly, for she was not saintly, and now she
knew how she could even a long score with Margaret and Wesley
in a manner that would fill her soul with grim satisfaction.




CHAPTER VIII


WHEREIN THE LIMBERLOST TEMPTS ELNORA, AND BILLY
BURIES HIS FATHER


Immediately after dinner on Sunday Wesley Sinton
stopped at the Comstock gate to ask if Elnora wanted
to go to town with them.  Billy sat beside him and he
did not appear as if he were on his way to a funeral.
Elnora said she had to study and could not go, but she
suggested that her mother take her place.  Mrs. Comstock
put on her hat and went at once, which surprised Elnora.
She did not know that her mother was anxious for an
opportunity to speak with Sinton alone.  Elnora knew
why she was repeatedly cautioned not to leave their land,
if she went specimen hunting.

She studied two hours and was several lessons ahead of
her classes.  There was no use to go further.  She would
take a walk and see if she could gather any caterpillars or
find any freshly spun cocoons.  She searched the bushes
and low trees behind the garden and all around the edge of
the woods on their land, and having little success, at
last came to the road.  Almost the first thorn bush she
examined yielded a Polyphemus cocoon.  Elnora lifted
her head with the instinct of a hunter on the chase, and
began work.  She reached the swamp before she knew it,
carrying five fine cocoons of different species as her reward.
She pushed back her hair and gazed around longingly.  A few
rods inside she thought she saw cocoons on a bush, to
which she went, and found several.  Sense of caution was
rapidly vanishing; she was in a fair way to forget everything
and plunge into the swamp when she thought she heard
footsteps coming down the trail.  She went back, and came
out almost facing Pete Corson.

That ended her difficulty.  She had known him since childhood.
When she sat on the front bench of the Brushwood schoolhouse,
Pete had been one of the big boys at the back of the room.
He had been rough and wild, but she never had been afraid of
him, and often he had given her pretty things from the swamp.

"What luck!" she cried.  "I promised mother I would
not go inside the swamp alone, and will you look at the
cocoons I've found!  There are more just screaming for
me to come get them, because the leaves will fall with the
first frost, and then the jays and crows will begin to tear
them open.  I haven't much time, since I'm going to school.
You will go with me, Pete!  Please say yes!  Just a little way!"

"What are those things?" asked the man, his keen
black eyes staring at her.

"They are the cases these big caterpillars spin for
winter, and in the spring they come out great night moths,
and I can sell them.  Oh, Pete, I can sell them for enough
to take me through high school and dress me so like the
others that I don't look different, and if I have very good
luck I can save some for college.  Pete, please go with me?"

"Why don't you go like you always have?"

"Well, the truth is, I had a little scare," said Elnora.
"I never did mean to go alone; sometimes I sort of wandered
inside farther than I intended, chasing things.  You know
Duncan gave me Freckles's books, and I have been gathering
moths like he did.  Lately I found I could sell them.
If I can make a complete collection, I can get three
hundred dollars for it.  Three such collections would
take me almost through college, and I've four years in the
high school yet.  That's a long time.  I might collect them."

"Can every kind there is be found here?"

"No, not all of them, but when I get more than I need
of one kind, I can trade them with collectors farther north
and west, so I can complete sets.  It's the only way I see
to earn the money.  Look what I have already.  Big gray
Cecropias come from this kind; brown Polyphemus from that,
and green Lunas from these.  You aren't working on Sunday.
Go with me only an hour, Pete!"

The man looked at her narrowly.  She was young,
wholesome, and beautiful.  She was innocent, intensely in
earnest, and she needed the money, he knew that.

"You didn't tell me what scared you," he said.

"Oh, I thought I did!  Why you know I had Freckles's
box packed full of moths and specimens, and one evening
I sold some to the Bird Woman.  Next morning I found
a note telling me it wasn't safe to go inside the swamp.
That sort of scared me.  I think I'll go alone, rather than
miss the chance, but I'd be so happy if you would take
care of me.  Then I could go anywhere I chose, because if
I mired you could pull me out.  You will take care of me, Pete?"

"Yes, I'll take care of you," promised Pete Corson.

"Goody!" said Elnora.  "Let's start quick!  And Pete,
you look at these closely, and when you are hunting or
going along the road, if one dangles under your nose, you
cut off the little twig and save it for me, will you?"

"Yes, I'll save you all I see," promised Pete.  He pushed
back his hat and followed Elnora.  She plunged fearlessly
among bushes, over underbrush, and across dead logs.
One minute she was crying wildly, that here was a
big one, the next she was reaching for a limb above her
head or on her knees overturning dead leaves under a
hickory or oak tree, or working aside black muck with her
bare hands as she searched for buried pupae cases.  For the
first hour Pete bent back bushes and followed, carrying
what Elnora discovered.  Then he found one.

"Is this the kind of thing you are looking for?" he asked
bashfully, as he presented a wild cherry twig.

"Oh Pete, that's a Promethea!  I didn't even hope to
find one."

"What's the bird like?" asked Pete.

"Almost black wings," said Elnora, "with clay-coloured
edges, and the most wonderful wine-coloured flush over the
under side if it's a male, and stronger wine above and below
if it's a female.  Oh, aren't I happy!"

"How would it do to make what you have into a bunch
that we could leave here, and come back for them?"

"That would be all right."

Relieved of his load Pete began work.  First, he narrowly
examined the cocoons Elnora had found.  He questioned
her as to what other kinds would be like.  He began to
use the eyes of a trained woodman and hunter in her behalf.
He saw several so easily, and moved through the forest
so softly, that Elnora forgot the moths in watching him.
Presently she was carrying the specimens, and he was
making the trips of investigation to see which was a
cocoon and which a curled leaf, or he was on his knees
digging around stumps.  As he worked he kept asking questions.
What kind of logs were best to look beside, what trees were
pupae cases most likely to be under; on what bushes did
caterpillars spin most frequently?  Time passed, as it
always does when one's occupation is absorbing.

When the Sintons took Mrs. Comstock home, they stopped
to see Elnora.  She was not there.  Mrs. Comstock called
at the edge of her woods and received no reply.
Then Wesley turned and drove back to the Limberlost.
He left Margaret and Mrs. Comstock holding the team and
entertaining Billy, while he entered the swamp.

Elnora and Pete had made a wide trail behind them.
Before Sinton had thought of calling, he heard voices
and approached with some caution.  Soon he saw Elnora,
her flushed face beaming as she bent with an armload of
twigs and branches and talked to a kneeling man.

"Now go cautiously!" she was saying.  "I am just sure
we will find an Imperialis here.  It's their very kind of
a place.  There!  What did I tell you! Isn't that splendid?
Oh, I am so glad you came with me!"

Wesley stood staring in speechless astonishment, for
the man had arisen, brushed the dirt from his hands, and
held out to Elnora a small shining dark pupa case.
As his face came into view Sinton almost cried out, for he
was the one man of all others Wesley knew with whom he
most feared for Elnora's safety.  She had him on his
knees digging pupae cases for her from the swamp.

"Elnora!" called Sinton.  "Elnora!"

"Oh, Uncle Wesley!" cried the girl.  "See what luck
we've had!  I know we have a dozen and a half cocoons
and we have three pupae cases.  It's much harder to get
the cases because you have to dig for them, and you can't
see where to look.  But Pete is fine at it!  He's found
three, and he says he will keep watch beside the roads,
and through the woods while he hunts.  Isn't that splendid
of him?  Uncle Wesley, there is a college over there
on the western edge of the swamp.  Look closely, and
you can see the great dome up among the clouds."

"I should say you have had luck," said Wesley, striving
to make his voice natural.  "But I thought you were not
coming to the swamp?"

"Well, I wasn't," said Elnora, "but I couldn't find
many anywhere else, honest, I couldn't, and just as soon
as I came to the edge I began to see them here.  I kept
my promise.  I didn't come in alone.  Pete came with me.
He's so strong, he isn't afraid of anything, and
he's perfectly splendid to locate cocoons!  He's found
half of these.  Come on, Pete, it's getting dark now, and
we must go."

They started toward the trail, Pete carrying the cocoons.
He left them at the case, while Elnora and Wesley went
on to the carriage together.

"Elnora Comstock, what does this mean?" demanded
her mother.

"It's all right, one of the neighbours was with her, and
she got several dollars' worth of stuff," interposed Wesley.

"You oughter seen my pa," shouted Billy.  "He was ist
all whited out, and he laid as still as anything.
They put him away deep in the ground."

"Billy!" breathed Margaret in a prolonged groan.

"Jimmy and Belle are going to be together in a nice place.
They are coming to see me, and Snap is right down here
by the wheel.  Here, Snap!  My, but he'll be tickled
to get something to eat!  He's 'most twisted as me.
They get new clothes, and all they want to eat, too,
but they'll miss me.  They couldn't have got along
without me.  I took care of them.  I had a lot of things
give to me 'cause I was the littlest, and I always divided
with them.  But they won't need me now."

When she left the carriage Mrs. Comstock gravely
shook hands with Billy.  "Remember," she said to him,
"I love boys, and I love dogs.  Whenever you don't
have a good time up there, take your dog and come right
down and be my little boy.  We will just have loads of fun.
You should hear the whistles I can make.  If you
aren't treated right you come straight to me."

Billy wagged his head sagely.  "You ist bet I will!"
he said.

"Mother, how could you?" asked Elnora as they walked
up the path.

"How could I, missy?  You better ask how couldn't I?
I just couldn't!  Not for enough to pay, my road tax!
Not for enough to pay the road tax, and the dredge tax, too!"

"Aunt Margaret always has been lovely to me, and I
don't think it's fair to worry her."

"I choose to be lovely to Billy, and let her sweat out
her own worries just as she has me, these sixteen years.
There is nothing in all this world so good for people as
taking a dose of their own medicine.  The difference is
that I am honest.  I just say in plain English, `if they
don't treat you right, come to me.'  They have only
said it in actions and inferences.  I want to teach Mag
Sinton how her own doses taste, but she begins to sputter
before I fairly get the spoon to her lips.  Just you wait!"

"When I think what I owe her----" began Elnora.

"Well, thank goodness, I don't owe her anything, and
so I'm perfectly free to do what I choose.  Come on,
and help me get supper.  I'm hungry as Billy!"

Margaret Sinton rocked slowly back and forth in her chair.
On her breast lay Billy's red head, one hand clutched her
dress front with spasmodic grip, even after he was unconscious.

"You mustn't begin that, Margaret," said Sinton.
"He's too heavy.  And it's bad for him.  He's better
off to lie down and go to sleep alone."

"He's very light, Wesley.  He jumps and quivers so.
He has to be stronger than he is now, before he will
sleep soundly."




CHAPTER IX


WHEREIN ELNORA DISCOVERS A VIOLIN,
AND BILLY DISCIPLINES MARGARET


Elnora missed the little figure at the bridge the
following morning.  She slowly walked up the
street and turned in at the wide entrance to the
school grounds.  She scarcely could comprehend that
only a week ago she had gone there friendless, alone, and
so sick at heart that she was physically ill.  To-day she
had decent clothing, books, friends, and her mind was at
ease to work on her studies.

As she approached home that night the girl paused
in amazement.  Her mother had company, and she was laughing.
Elnora entered the kitchen softly and peeped into the
sitting-room.  Mrs. Comstock sat in her chair holding
a book and every few seconds a soft chuckle broke into
a real laugh.  Mark Twain was doing his work; while
Mrs. Comstock was not lacking in a sense of humour.
Elnora entered the room before her mother saw her.
Mrs. Comstock looked up with flushed face.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"I bought it," said Elnora.

"Bought it!  With all the taxes due!"

"I paid for it out of my Indian money, mother," said Elnora.
"I couldn't bear to spend so much on myself and nothing
at all on you.  I was afraid to buy the dress I should
have liked to, and I thought the book would be company,
while I was gone.  I haven't read it, but I do hope it's good."

"Good!  It's the biggest piece of foolishness I have
read in all my life.  I've laughed all day, ever since I
found it.  I had a notion to go out and read some of it
to the cows and see if they wouldn't laugh."

"If it made you laugh, it's a wise book," said Elnora.

"Wise!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "You can stake your life
it's a wise book.  It takes the smartest man there is
to do this kind of fooling," and she began laughing again.

Elnora, highly satisfied with her purchase, went to her
room and put on her working clothes.  Thereafter she
made a point of bringing a book that she thought would
interest her mother, from the library every week, and
leaving it on the sitting-room table.  Each night she
carried home at least two school books and studied until
she had mastered the points of her lessons.  She did
her share of the work faithfully, and every available
minute she was in the fields searching for cocoons, for
the moths promised to become her largest source of income.

She gathered baskets of nests, flowers, mosses, insects,
and all sorts of natural history specimens and sold them
to the grade teachers.  At first she tried to tell these
instructors what to teach their pupils about the specimens;
but recognizing how much more she knew than they, one after
another begged her to study at home, and use her spare hours
in school to exhibit and explain nature subjects to
their pupils.  Elnora loved the work, and she needed the
money, for every few days some matter of expense arose
that she had not expected.

From the first week she had been received and invited
with the crowd of girls in her class, and it was their
custom in passing through the business part of the city
to stop at the confectioners' and take turns in treating
to expensive candies, ice cream sodas, hot chocolate, or
whatever they fancied.  When first Elnora was asked she
accepted without understanding.  The second time she
went because she seldom had tasted these things, and
they were so delicious she could not resist.  After that
she went because she knew all about it, and had decided
to go.

She had spent half an hour on the log beside the trail
in deep thought and had arrived at her conclusions.
She worked harder than usual for the next week, but she
seemed to thrive on work.  It was October and the red
leaves were falling when her first time came to treat.
As the crowd flocked down the broad walk that night
Elnora called, "Girls, it's my treat to-night!  Come on!"

She led the way through the city to the grocery they
patronized when they had a small spread, and entering
came out with a basket, which she carried to the bridge
on her home road.  There she arranged the girls in two
rows on the cement abutments and opening her basket
she gravely offered each girl an exquisite little basket of
bark, lined with red leaves, in one end of which nestled a
juicy big red apple and in the other a spicy doughnut not
an hour from Margaret Sinton's frying basket.

Another time she offered big balls of popped corn stuck
together with maple sugar, and liberally sprinkled with
beechnut kernels.  Again it was hickory-nut kernels
glazed with sugar, another time maple candy, and once
a basket of warm pumpkin pies.  She never made any
apology, or offered any excuse.  She simply gave what
she could afford, and the change was as welcome to those
city girls accustomed to sodas and French candy, as were
these same things to Elnora surfeited on popcorn and pie.
In her room was a little slip containing a record of the
number of weeks in the school year, the times it would be
her turn to treat and the dates on which such occasions
would fall, with a number of suggestions beside each.
Once the girls almost fought over a basket lined with
yellow leaves, and filled with fat, very ripe red haws.
In late October there was a riot over one which was lined
with red leaves and contained big fragrant pawpaws
frost-bitten to a perfect degree.  Then hazel nuts were
ripe, and once they served.  One day Elnora at her wits'
end, explained to her mother that the girls had given her
things and she wanted to treat them.  Mrs. Comstock,
with characteristic stubbornness, had said she would leave
a basket at the grocery for her, but firmly declined to say
what would be in it.  All day Elnora struggled to keep
her mind on her books.  For hours she wavered in tense
uncertainty.  What would her mother do?  Should she
take the girls to the confectioner's that night or risk
the basket?  Mrs. Comstock could make delicious things to
eat, but would she?

As they left the building Elnora made a final rapid
mental calculation.  She could not see her way clear to
a decent treat for ten people for less than two dollars and
if the basket proved to be nice, then the money would
be wasted.  She decided to risk it.  As they went to the
bridge the girls were betting on what the treat would be,
and crowding near Elnora like spoiled small children.
Elnora set down the basket.

"Girls," she said, "I don't know what this is myself, so
all of us are going to be surprised.  Here goes!"

She lifted the cover and perfumes from the land of spices
rolled up.  In one end of the basket lay ten enormous
sugar cakes the tops of which had been liberally dotted
with circles cut from stick candy.  The candy had melted
in baking and made small transparent wells of waxy sweetness
and in the centre of each cake was a fat turtle made from
a raisin with cloves for head and feet.  The remainder
of the basket was filled with big spiced pears that could
be held by their stems while they were eaten.  The girls
shrieked and attacked the cookies, and of all the treats
Elnora offered perhaps none was quite so long remembered
as that.

When Elnora took her basket, placed her books in it,
and started home, all the girls went with her as far as the
fence where she crossed the field to the swamp.  At parting
they kissed her good-bye.  Elnora was a happy girl as she
hurried home to thank her mother.  She was happy over her
books that night, and happy all the way to school the
following morning.

When the music swelled from the orchestra her heart
almost broke with throbbing joy.  For music always had
affected her strangely, and since she had been comfortable
enough in her surroundings to notice things, she had
listened to every note to find what it was that literally hurt
her heart, and at last she knew.  It was the talking of
the violins.  They were human voices, and they spoke a
language Elnora understood.  It seemed to her that she
must climb up on the stage, take the instruments from the
fingers of the players and make them speak what was in
her heart.

That night she said to her mother, "I am perfectly crazy
for a violin.  I am sure I could play one, sure as I live.
Did any one----"  Elnora never completed that sentence.

"Hush!" thundered Mrs. Comstock.  "Be quiet!
Never mention those things before me again--never as
long as you live!  I loathe them!  They are a snare of the
very devil himself!  They were made to lure men and
women from their homes and their honour.  If ever I see
you with one in your fingers I will smash it in pieces."

Naturally Elnora hushed, but she thought of nothing else
after she had finished her lessons.  At last there came
a day when for some reason the leader of the orchestra
left his violin on the grand piano.  That morning Elnora
made her first mistake in algebra.  At noon, as soon as the
building was empty, she slipped into the auditorium, found
the side door which led to the stage, and going through the
musicians' entrance she took the violin.  She carried it back
into the little side room where the orchestra assembled, closed
all the doors, opened the case and lifted out the instrument.

She laid it on her breast, dropped her chin on it and
drew the bow softly across the strings.  One after another
she tested the open notes.  Gradually her stroke ceased to
tremble and she drew the bow firmly.  Then her fingers
began to fall and softly, slowly she searched up and down
those strings for sounds she knew.  Standing in the middle
of the floor, she tried over and over.  It seemed scarcely a
minute before the hall was filled with the sound of hurrying
feet, and she was forced to put away the violin and go
to her classes.  The next day she prayed that the violin
would be left again, but her petition was not answered.
That night when she returned from the school she made an
excuse to go down to see Billy.  He was engaged in hulling
walnuts by driving them through holes in a board.  His
hands were protected by a pair of Margaret's old gloves,
but he had speckled his face generously.  He appeared
well, and greeted Elnora hilariously.

"Me an' the squirrels are laying up our winter stores,"
he shouted.  "Cos the cold is coming, an' the snow an'
if we have any nuts we have to fix 'em now.  But I'm
ahead, cos Uncle Wesley made me this board, and I can
hull a big pile while the old squirrel does only ist one
with his teeth."

Elnora picked him up and kissed him.  "Billy, are you
happy?" she asked.

"Yes, and so's Snap," answered Billy.  "You ought to
see him make the dirt fly when he gets after a chipmunk.
I bet you he could dig up pa, if anybody wanted him to."

"Billy!" gasped Margaret as she came out to them.

"Well, me and Snap don't want him up, and I bet you
Jimmy and Belle don't, either.  I ain't been twisty
inside once since I been here, and I don't want to go away,
and Snap don't, either.  He told me so."

"Billy!  That is not true.  Dogs can't talk,"
cautioned Margaret.

"Then what makes you open the door when he asks you to?"
demanded Billy.

"Scratching and whining isn't talking."

"Anyway, it's the best Snap can talk, and you get up
and do things he wants done.  Chipmunks can talk too.
You ought to hear them damn things holler when Snap
gets them!"

"Billy!  When you want a cooky for supper and I don't
give it to you it is because you said a wrong word."

"Well, for----"   Billy clapped his hand over his mouth
and stained his face in swipes.  "Well, for--anything!
Did I go an' forget again!  The cookies will get all
hard, won't they?  I bet you ten dollars I don't say that
any more."

He espied Wesley and ran to show him a walnut too big
to go through the holes, and Elnora and Margaret entered
the house.

They talked of many things for a time and then Elnora
said suddenly:  "Aunt Margaret, I like music."

"I've noticed that in you all your life," answered Margaret.

"If dogs can't talk, I can make a violin talk," announced
Elnora, and then in amazement watched the face of
Margaret Sinton grow pale.

"A violin!" she wavered.  "Where did you get a violin?"

"They fairly seemed to speak to me in the orchestra.
One day the conductor left his in the auditorium, and I
took it, and Aunt Margaret, I can make it do the wind in
the swamp, the birds, and the animals.  I can make any
sound I ever heard on it.  If I had a chance to practise
a little, I could make it do the orchestra music, too.
I don't know how I know, but I do."

"Did--did you ever mention it to your mother?"
faltered Margaret.

"Yes, and she seems prejudiced against them.  But oh,
Aunt Margaret, I never felt so about anything, not even
going to school.  I just feel as if I'd die if I didn't
have one.  I could keep it at school, and practise at noon
a whole hour.  Soon they'd ask me to play in the orchestra.
I could keep it in the case and practise in the woods
in summer.  You'd let me play over here Sunday.
Oh, Aunt Margaret, what does one cost?  Would it be wicked
for me to take of my money, and buy a very cheap one?
I could play on the least expensive one made."

"Oh, no you couldn't!  A cheap machine makes cheap music.
You got to have a fine fiddle to make it sing.  But there's
no sense in your buying one.  There isn't a decent reason
on earth why you shouldn't have your fa----"

"My father's!" cried Elnora.  She caught Margaret
Sinton by the arm.  "My father had a violin!  He played it.
That's why I can!  Where is it!  Is it in our house?
Is it in mother's room?"

"Elnora!" panted Margaret.  "Your mother will kill me!
She always hated it."

"Mother dearly loves music," said Elnora.

"Not when it took the man she loved away from her to
make it!"

"Where is my father's violin?"

"Elnora!"

"I've never seen a picture of my father.  I've never
heard his name mentioned.  I've never had a scrap that
belonged to him.  Was he my father, or am I a charity
child like Billy, and so she hates me?"

"She has good pictures of him.  Seems she just can't bear
to hear him talked about.  Of course, he was your father.
They lived right there when you were born.  She doesn't
dislike you; she merely tries to make herself think
she does.  There's no sense in the world in you not
having his violin.  I've a great notion----"

"Has mother got it?"

"No.  I've never heard her mention it.  It was not at
home when he--when he died."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yes.  I'm the only person on earth who does, except
the one who has it."

"Who is that?"

"I can't tell you, but I will see if they have it yet, and get
it if I can.  But if your mother finds it out she will never
forgive me."

"I can't help it," said Elnora.  I want that violin."

"I'll go to-morrow, and see if it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed!  Oh, Aunt Margaret!  Would any one dare?"

"I hardly think so.  It was a good instrument.  He played
it like a master."

"Tell me!" breathed Elnora.

"His hair was red and curled more than yours, and his
eyes were blue.  He was tall, slim, and the very imp
of mischief.  He joked and teased all day until he picked
up that violin.  Then his head bent over it, and his eyes
got big and earnest.  He seemed to listen as if he first
heard the notes, and then copied them.  Sometimes he
drew the bow trembly, like he wasn't sure it was right, and
he might have to try again.  He could almost drive you
crazy when he wanted to, and no man that ever lived could
make you dance as he could.  He made it all up as he went.
He seemed to listen for his dancing music, too.  It appeared
to come to him; he'd begin to play and you had to keep time.
You couldn't be still; he loved to sweep a crowd around with
that bow of his.  I think it was the thing you call inspiration.
I can see him now, his handsome head bent, his cheeks red,
his eyes snapping, and that bow going across the strings,
and driving us like sheep.  He always kept his body swinging,
and he loved to play.  He often slighted his work shamefully,
and sometimes her a little; that is why she hated it--Elnora,
what are you making me do?"

The tears were rolling down Elnora's cheeks.  "Oh, Aunt
Margaret," she sobbed.  "Why haven't you told me about
him sooner?  I feel as if you had given my father to me
living, so that I could touch him.  I can see him, too!
Why didn't you ever tell me before?  Go on!  Go on!"

"I can't, Elnora! I'm scared silly.  I never meant to
say anything.  If I hadn't promised her not to talk of
him to you she wouldn't have let you come here.
She made me swear it."

"But why?  Why?  Was he a shame?  Was he disgraced?"

"Maybe it was that unjust feeling that took possession
of her when she couldn't help him from the swamp.  She had
to blame some one, or go crazy, so she took it out on you.
At times, those first ten years, if I had talked to you,
and you had repeated anything to her, she might have
struck you too hard.  She was not master of herself.
You must be patient with her, Elnora.  God only knows
what she has gone through, but I think she is a little
better, lately."

"So do I," said Elnora.  "She seems more interested in
my clothes, and she fixes me such delicious lunches that the
girls bring fine candies and cake and beg to trade.  I gave
half my lunch for a box of candy one day, brought it
home to her, and told her.  Since, she has wanted me to
carry a market basket and treat the crowd every day, she
was so pleased.  Life has been too monotonous for her.
I think she enjoys even the little change made by my going
and coming.  She sits up half the night to read the library
books I bring, but she is so stubborn she won't even admit
that she touches them.  Tell me more about my father."

"Wait until I see if I can find the violin."

So Elnora went home in suspense, and that night she
added to her prayers:  "Dear Lord, be merciful to my
father, and oh, do help Aunt Margaret to get his violin."

Wesley and Billy came in to supper tired and hungry.
Billy ate heartily, but his eyes often rested on a plate of
tempting cookies, and when Wesley offered them to the
boy he reached for one.  Margaret was compelled to explain
that cookies were forbidden that night.

"What!" said Wesley.  "Wrong words been coming again.
Oh Billy, I do wish you could remember!  I can't sit
and eat cookies before a little boy who has none.
I'll have to put mine back, too."  Billy's face twisted
in despair.

"Aw go on!" he said gruffly, but his chin was jumping,
for Wesley was his idol.

"Can't do it," said Wesley.  "It would choke me."

Billy turned to Margaret.  "You make him," he appealed.

"He can't, Billy," said Margaret.  "I know how he feels.
You see, I can't myself."

Then Billy slid from his chair, ran to the couch, buried his
face in the pillow and cried heart-brokenly.  Wesley hurried
to the barn, and Margaret to the kitchen.  When the dishes
were washed Billy slipped from the back door.

Wesley piling hay into the mangers heard a sound behind him
and inquired, "That you, Billy?"

"Yes," answered Billy, "and it's all so dark you can't
see me now, isn't it?"

"Well, mighty near," answered Wesley.

"Then you stoop down and open your mouth."

Sinton had shared bites of apple and nuts for weeks, for
Billy had not learned how to eat anything without dividing
with Jimmy and Belle.  Since he had been separated
from them, he shared with Wesley and Margaret.  So he
bent over the boy and received an instalment of cooky
that almost choked him.

"Now you can eat it!" shouted Billy in delight.
"It's all dark!  I can't see what you're doing at all!"

Wesley picked up the small figure and set the boy on the
back of a horse to bring his face level so that they could
talk as men.  He never towered from his height above
Billy, but always lifted the little soul when important
matters were to be discussed.

"Now what a dandy scheme," he commented.  "Did you
and Aunt Margaret fix it up?"

"No.  She ain't had hers yet.  But I got one for her.
Ist as soon as you eat yours, I am going to take hers, and
feed her first time I find her in the dark."

"But Billy, where did you get the cookies?  You know
Aunt Margaret said you were not to have any."

"I ist took them," said Billy, "I didn't take them for me.
I ist took them for you and her."

Wesley thought fast.  In the warm darkness of the barn
the horses crunched their corn, a rat gnawed at a corner of
the granary, and among the rafters the white pigeon cooed
a soft sleepy note to his dusky mate.

"Did--did--I steal?" wavered Billy.

Wesley's big hands closed until he almost hurt the boy.

"No!" he said vehemently.  "That is too big a word.
You made a mistake.  You were trying to be a fine
little man, but you went at it the wrong way.  You only
made a mistake.  All of us do that, Billy.  The world
grows that way.  When we make mistakes we can see them;
that teaches us to be more careful the next time, and
so we learn."

"How wouldn't it be a mistake?"

"If you had told Aunt Margaret what you wanted to do, and
asked her for the cookies she would have given them to you."

"But I was 'fraid she wouldn't, and you ist had to have it."

"Not if it was wrong for me to have it, Billy.  I don't
want it that much."

"Must I take it back?"

"You think hard, and decide yourself."

"Lift me down," said Billy, after a silence, "I got
to put this in the jar, and tell her."

Wesley set the boy on the floor, but as he did so he
paused one second and strained him close to his breast.

Margaret sat in her chair sewing; Billy slipped in and
crept beside her.  The little face was lined with tragedy.

"Why Billy, whatever is the matter?" she cried as she
dropped her sewing and held out her arms.  Billy stood back.
He gripped his little fists tight and squared his shoulders.
"I got to be shut up in the closet," he said.

"Oh Billy!  What an unlucky day!  What have you
done now?"

"I stold!" gulped Billy.  "He said it was ist a mistake,
but it was worser 'an that.  I took something you told
me I wasn't to have."

"Stole!" Margaret was in despair.  "What, Billy?"

"Cookies!" answered Billy in equal trouble.

"Billy!" wailed Margaret.  "How could you?"

"It was for him and you," sobbed Billy.  "He said
he couldn't eat it 'fore me, but out in the barn it's all
dark and I couldn't see.  I thought maybe he could there.
Then we might put out the light and you could have yours.
He said I only made it worse, cos I mustn't take things,
so I got to go in the closet.  Will you hold me tight a
little bit first?  He did."

Margaret opened her arms and Billy rushed in and clung
to her a few seconds, with all the force of his being,
then he slipped to the floor and marched to the closet.
Margaret opened the door.  Billy gave one glance at
the light, clinched his fists and, walking inside, climbed
on a box.  Margaret closed the door.

Then she sat and listened.  Was the air pure enough?
Possibly he might smother.  She had read something once.
Was it very dark?  What if there should be a mouse in
the closet and it should run across his foot and
frighten him into spasms.  Somewhere she had heard--
Margaret leaned forward with tense face and listened.
Something dreadful might happen.  She could bear it
no longer.  She arose hurriedly and opened the door.
Billy was drawn up on the box in a little heap, and he
lifted a disapproving face to her.

"Shut that door!" he said.  "I ain't been in here near
long enough yet!"




CHAPTER X


WHEREIN ELNORA HAS MORE FINANCIAL TROUBLES,
AND MRS. COMSTOCK AGAIN HEARS THE SONG OF THE LIMBERLOST


The following night Elnora hurried to Sintons'.
She threw open the back door and with anxious
eyes searched Margaret's face.

"You got it!" panted Elnora.  "You got it!  I can
see by your face that you did.  Oh, give it to me!"

"Yes, I got it, honey, I got it all right, but don't be
so fast.  It had been kept in such a damp place it needed
glueing, it had to have strings, and a key was gone.
I knew how much you wanted it, so I sent Wesley right
to town with it.  They said they could fix it good as
new, but it should be varnished, and that it would take
several days for the glue to set.  You can have it Saturday."

"You found it where you thought it was?  You know
it's his?"

"Yes, it was just where I thought, and it's the same
violin I've seen him play hundreds of times.  It's all
right, only laying so long it needs fixing."

"Oh Aunt Margaret!  Can I ever wait?"

"It does seem a long time, but how could I help it?
You couldn't do anything with it as it was.  You see,
it had been hidden away in a garret, and it needed cleaning
and drying to make it fit to play again.  You can
have it Saturday sure.  But Elnora, you've got to promise
me that you will leave it here, or in town, and not let
your mother get a hint of it.  I don't know what she'd do."

"Uncle Wesley can bring it here until Monday.  Then I will
take it to school so that I can practise at noon.  Oh, I
don't know how to thank you.  And there's more than the
violin for which to be thankful.  You've given me my father.
Last night I saw him plainly as life."

"Elnora you were dreaming!"

"I know I was dreaming, but I saw him.  I saw him so
closely that a tiny white scar at the corner of his
eyebrow showed.  I was just reaching out to touch him
when he disappeared."

"Who told you there was a scar on his forehead?"

"No one ever did in all my life.  I saw it last night
as he went down.  And oh, Aunt Margaret!  I saw what
she did, and I heard his cries!  No matter what she does,
I don't believe I ever can be angry with her again.  Her heart
is broken, and she can't help it.  Oh, it was terrible,
but I am glad I saw it.  Now, I will always understand."

"I don't know what to make of that," said Margaret.
I don't believe in such stuff at all, but you couldn't make
it up, for you didn't know."

"I only know that I played the violin last night, as
he played it, and while I played he came through the
woods from the direction of Carneys'.  It was summer
and all the flowers were in bloom.  He wore gray
trousers and a blue shirt, his head was bare, and his
face was beautiful.  I could almost touch him when he sank."

Margaret stood perplexed.  "I don't know what to
think of that!" she ejaculated.  "I was next to the last
person who saw him before he was drowned.  It was late
on a June afternoon, and he was dressed as you describe.
He was bareheaded because he had found a quail's nest
before the bird began to brood, and he gathered the eggs
in his hat and left it in a fence corner to get on his way
home; they found it afterward."

"Was he coming from Carneys'?"

"He was on that side of the quagmire.  Why he ever skirted
it so close as to get caught is a mystery you will have to
dream out.  I never could understand it."

"Was he doing something he didn't want my mother to know?"

"Why?"

"Because if he had been, he might have cut close the
swamp so he couldn't be seen from the garden.  You know,
the whole path straight to the pool where he sank can be
seen from our back door.  It's firm on our side.
The danger is on the north and east.  If he didn't want
mother to know, he might have tried to pass on either of
those sides and gone too close.  Was he in a hurry?"

"Yes, he was," said Margaret.  "He had been away
longer than he expected, and he almost ran when he
started home."

"And he'd left his violin somewhere that you knew, and
you went and got it.  I'll wager he was going to play,
and didn't want mother to find it out!"

"It wouldn't make any difference to you if you knew
every little thing, so quit thinking about it, and just be
glad you are to have what he loved best of anything."
"That's true.  Now I must hurry home.  I am dreadfully late."

Elnora sprang up and ran down the road, but when
she approached the cabin she climbed the fence, crossed
the open woods pasture diagonally and entered at the
back garden gate.  As she often came that way when she
had been looking for cocoons her mother asked no questions.

Elnora lived by the minute until Saturday, when,
contrary to his usual custom, Wesley went to town in
the forenoon, taking her along to buy some groceries.
Wesley drove straight to the music store, and asked for
the violin he had left to be mended.

In its new coat of varnish, with new keys and strings,
it seemed much like any other violin to Sinton, but to
Elnora it was the most beautiful instrument ever made,
and a priceless treasure.  She held it in her arms, touched
the strings softly and then she drew the bow across them
in whispering measure.  She had no time to think what
a remarkably good bow it was for sixteen years' disuse.
The tan leather case might have impressed her as being
in fine condition also, had she been in a state to
question anything.  She did remember to ask for the bill
and she was gravely presented with a slip calling for
four strings, one key, and a coat of varnish, total, one
dollar fifty.  It seemed to Elnora she never could put the
precious instrument in the case and start home.  Wesley left
her in the music store where the proprietor showed her all
he could about tuning, and gave her several beginners'
sheets of notes and scales.  She carried the violin in her
arms as far as the crossroads at the corner of their land,
then reluctantly put it under the carriage seat.

As soon as her work was done she ran down to Sintons'
and began to play, and on Monday the violin went to
school with her.  She made arrangements with the superintendent
to leave it in his office and scarcely took time for her food
at noon, she was so eager to practise.  Often one of the
girls asked her to stay in town all night for some lecture
or entertainment.  She could take the violin with her,
practise, and secure help.  Her skill was so great that
the leader of the orchestra offered to give her lessons
if she would play to pay for them, so her progress was
rapid in technical work.  But from the first day the
instrument became hers, with perfect faith that she could
play as her father did, she spent half her practice time in
imitating the sounds of all outdoors and improvising the
songs her happy heart sang in those days.

So the first year went, and the second and third were
a repetition; but the fourth was different, for that was the
close of the course, ending with graduation and all its
attendant ceremonies and expenses.  To Elnora these
appeared mountain high.  She had hoarded every cent,
thinking twice before she parted with a penny, but teaching
natural history in the grades had taken time from her studies
in school which must be made up outside.  She was a
conscientious student, ranking first in most of her classes,
and standing high in all branches.  Her interest in
her violin had grown with the years.  She went to school
early and practised half an hour in the little room adjoining
the stage, while the orchestra gathered.  She put in a
full hour at noon, and remained another half hour at night.
She carried the violin to Sintons' on Saturday and practised
all the time she could there, while Margaret watched the
road to see that Mrs. Comstock was not coming.  She had
become so skilful that it was a delight to hear her play
music of any composer, but when she played her own, that
was joy inexpressible, for then the wind blew, the water
rippled, the Limberlost sang her songs of sunshine, shadow,
black storm, and white night.

Since her dream Elnora had regarded her mother with
peculiar tenderness.  The girl realized, in a measure, what
had happened.  She avoided anything that possibly could
stir bitter memories or draw deeper a line on the hard,
white face.  This cost many sacrifices, much work, and
sometimes delayed progress, but the horror of that awful
dream remained with Elnora.  She worked her way cheerfully,
doing all she could to interest her mother in things
that happened in school, in the city, and by carrying books
that were entertaining from the public library.

Three years had changed Elnora from the girl of sixteen
to the very verge of womanhood.  She had grown tall,
round, and her face had the loveliness of perfect
complexion, beautiful eyes and hair and an added touch
from within that might have been called comprehension.
It was a compound of self-reliance, hard knocks, heart
hunger, unceasing work, and generosity.  There was no
form of suffering with which the girl could not sympathize,
no work she was afraid to attempt, no subject she had
investigated she did not understand.  These things combined
to produce a breadth and depth of character altogether unusual.
She was so absorbed in her classes and her music that she
had not been able to gather many specimens.  When she
realized this and hunted assiduously, she soon found
that changing natural conditions had affected such work.
Men all around were clearing available land.  The trees
fell wherever corn would grow.  The swamp was broken by
several gravel roads, dotted in places around the edge
with little frame houses, and the machinery of oil wells;
one especially low place around the region of Freckles's
room was nearly all that remained of the original.
Wherever the trees fell the moisture dried, the creeks
ceased to flow, the river ran low, and at times the
bed was dry.  With unbroken sweep the winds of the
west came, gathering force with every mile and howled and
raved; threatening to tear the shingles from the roof,
blowing the surface from the soil in clouds of fine dust and
rapidly changing everything.  From coming in with two or
three dozen rare moths in a day, in three years' time Elnora
had grown to be delighted with finding two or three.
Big pursy caterpillars could not be picked from their favourite
bushes, when there were no bushes.  Dragonflies would
not hover over dry places, and butterflies became scarce
in proportion to the flowers, while no land yields over three
crops of Indian relics.

All the time the expense of books, clothing and
incidentals had continued.  Elnora added to her bank
account whenever she could, and drew out when she was
compelled, but she omitted the important feature of calling
for a balance.  So, one early spring morning in the last
quarter of the fourth year, she almost fainted when she
learned that her funds were gone.  Commencement with its
extra expense was coming, she had no money, and very few
cocoons to open in June, which would be too late.  She had
one collection for the Bird Woman complete to a pair of
Imperialis moths, and that was her only asset.  On the
day she added these big Yellow Emperors she had been
promised a check for three hundred dollars, but she would
not get it until these specimens were secured.
She remembered that she never had found an Emperor
before June.

Moreover, that sum was for her first year in college.
Then she would be of age, and she meant to sell enough of
her share of her father's land to finish.  She knew her
mother would oppose her bitterly in that, for Mrs.
Comstock had clung to every acre and tree that belonged to
her husband.  Her land was almost complete forest where her
neighbours owned cleared farms, dotted with wells that
every hour sucked oil from beneath her holdings, but she
was too absorbed in the grief she nursed to know or care.
The Brushwood road and the redredging of the big Limberlost
ditch had been more than she could pay from her income,
and she had trembled before the wicket as she asked
the banker if she had funds to pay it, and wondered why he
laughed when he assured her she had.  For Mrs. Comstock
had spent no time on compounding interest, and
never added the sums she had been depositing through
nearly twenty years.  Now she thought her funds were
almost gone, and every day she worried over expenses.
She could see no reason in going through the forms of
graduation when pupils had all in their heads that was
required to graduate.  Elnora knew she had to have her
diploma in order to enter the college she wanted to attend,
but she did not dare utter the word, until high school
was finished, for, instead of softening as she hoped her
mother had begun to do, she seemed to remain very
much the same.

When the girl reached the swamp she sat on a log and
thought over the expense she was compelled to meet.
Every member of her particular set was having a large
photograph taken to exchange with the others.  Elnora loved
these girls and boys, and to say she could not have
their pictures to keep was more than she could endure.
Each one would give to all the others a handsome
graduation present.  She knew they would prepare gifts for
her whether she could make a present in return or not.
Then it was the custom for each graduating class to give a
great entertainment and use the funds to present the school
with a statue for the entrance hall.  Elnora had been cast
for and was practising a part in that performance.  She was
expected to furnish her dress and personal necessities.
She had been told that she must have a green gauze dress,
and where was it to come from?

Every girl of the class would have three beautiful new
frocks for Commencement: one for the baccalaureate
sermon, another, which could be plain, for graduation
exercises, and a handsome one for the banquet and ball.
Elnora faced the past three years and wondered how she
could have spent so much money and not kept account of it.
She did not realize where it had gone.  She did not
know what she could do now.  She thought over the
photographs, and at last settled that question to
her satisfaction.  She studied longer over the gifts,
ten handsome ones there must be, and at last decided she
could arrange for them.  The green dress came first.
The lights would be dim in the scene, and the setting
deep woods.  She could manage that.  She simply could not
have three dresses.  She would have to get a very simple one
for the sermon and do the best she could for graduation.
Whatever she got for that must be made with a guimpe that
could be taken out to make it a little more festive for
the ball.  But where could she get even two pretty dresses?

The only hope she could see was to break into the collection
of the man from India, sell some moths, and try to replace
them in June.  But in her soul she knew that never
would do.  No June ever brought just the things she
hoped it would.  If she spent the college money she knew
she could not replace it.  If she did not, the only way was
to secure a room in the grades and teach a year.  Her work
there had been so appreciated that Elnora felt with
the recommendation she knew she could get from the
superintendent and teachers she could secure a position.
She was sure she could pass the examinations easily.
She had once gone on Saturday, taken them and secured a
license for a year before she left the Brushwood school.

She wanted to start to college when the other girls were going.
If she could make the first year alone, she could manage
the remainder.  But make that first year herself, she must.
Instead of selling any of her collection, she must hunt
as she never before had hunted and find a Yellow Emperor.
She had to have it, that was all.  Also, she had to have
those dresses.  She thought of Wesley and dismissed it.
She thought of the Bird Woman, and knew she could not
tell her.  She thought of every way in which she ever had
hoped to earn money and realized that with the play,
committee meetings, practising, and final examinations
she scarcely had time to live, much less to do more than
the work required for her pictures and gifts.  Again Elnora
was in trouble, and this time it seemed the worst of all.

It was dark when she arose and went home.

"Mother," she said, "I have a piece of news that is
decidedly not cheerful."

"Then keep it to yourself!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "I think
I have enough to bear without a great girl like you
piling trouble on me."

"My money is all gone!" said Elnora.

"Well, did you think it would last forever?  It's been
a marvel to me that it's held out as well as it has, the way
you've dressed and gone."

"I don't think I've spent any that I was not compelled
to," said Elnora.  "I've dressed on just as little as I
possibly could to keep going.  I am heartsick.  I thought
I had over fifty dollars to put me through Commencement,
but they tell me it is all gone."

"Fifty dollars!  To put you through Commencement!
What on earth are you proposing to do?"

"The same as the rest of them, in the very cheapest
way possible."

"And what might that be?"

Elnora omitted the photographs, the gifts and the play.
She told only of the sermon, graduation exercises, and the ball.

"Well, I wouldn't trouble myself over that," sniffed
Mrs. Comstock.  "If you want to go to a sermon, put on
the dress you always use for meeting.  If you need white
for the exercises wear the new dress you got last spring.
As for the ball, the best thing for you to do is to stay a
mile away from such folly.  In my opinion you'd best
bring home your books, and quit right now.  You can't
be fixed like the rest of them, don't be so foolish
as to run into it.  Just stay here and let these last few
days go.  You can't learn enough more to be of any account."

"But, mother," gasped Elnora.  "You don't understand!"

"Oh, yes, I do!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "I understand perfectly.
So long as the money lasted, you held up your head,
and went sailing without even explaining how you got it
from the stuff you gathered.  Goodness knows I couldn't see.
But now it's gone, you come whining to me.  What have I got?
Have you forgot that the ditch and the road completely
strapped me?  I haven't any money.  There's nothing for you
to do but get out of it."

"I can't!" said Elnora desperately.  "I've gone on too long.
It would make a break in everything.  They wouldn't let me
have my diploma!"

"What's the difference?  You've got the stuff in your head.
I wouldn't give a rap for a scrap of paper.  That don't
mean anything!"

"But I've worked four years for it, and I can't enter--
I ought to have it to help me get a school, when I want
to teach.  If I don't have my grades to show, people
will think I quit because I couldn't pass my examinations.
I must have my diploma!"

"Then get it!" said Mrs. Comstock.

"The only way is to graduate with the others."

"Well, graduate if you are bound to!"

"But I can't, unless I have things enough like the
class, that I don't look as I did that first day."

"Well, please remember I didn't get you into this,
and I can't get you out.  You are set on having your
own way.  Go on, and have it, and see how you like it!"

Elnora went upstairs and did not come down again
that night, which her mother called pouting.

"I've thought all night," said the girl at breakfast,
"and I can't see any way but to borrow the money of
Uncle Wesley and pay it back from some that the Bird
Woman will owe me, when I get one more specimen.
But that means that I can't go to--that I will have to
teach this winter, if I can get a city grade or a
country school."

"Just you dare go dinging after Wesley Sinton for money,"
cried Mrs. Comstock.  "You won't do any such a thing!"

"I can't see any other way.  I've got to have the money!"

"Quit, I tell you!"

"I can't quit!--I've gone too far!"

"Well then, let me get your clothes, and you can pay
me back."

"But you said you had no money!"

"Maybe I can borrow some at the bank.  Then you
can return it when the Bird Woman pays you."

"All right," said Elnora.  "I don't need expensive things.
Just some kind of a pretty cheap white dress for the sermon,
and a white one a little better than I had last summer,
for Commencement and the ball.  I can use the white
gloves and shoes I got myself for last year, and you can
get my dress made at the same place you did that one.
They have my measurements, and do perfect work.
Don't get expensive things.  It will be warm so I can
go bareheaded."

Then she started to school, but was so tired and
discouraged she scarcely could walk.  Four years' plans
going in one day!  For she felt that if she did not start
to college that fall she never would.  Instead of feeling
relieved at her mother's offer, she was almost too ill to
go on.  For the thousandth time she groaned:  "Oh, why
didn't I keep account of my money?"

After that the days passed so swiftly she scarcely had
time to think, but several trips her mother made to town,
and the assurance that everything was all right,
satisfied Elnora.  She worked very hard to pass good
final examinations and perfect herself for the play.
For two days she had remained in town with the Bird Woman
in order to spend more time practising and at her work.

Often Margaret had asked about her dresses for graduation,
and Elnora had replied that they were with a woman in the
city who had made her a white dress for last year's
Commencement when she was a junior usher, and they would
be all right.  So Margaret, Wesley, and Billy concerned
themselves over what they would give her for a present.
Margaret suggested a beautiful dress.  Wesley said that
would look to every one as if she needed dresses.
The thing was to get a handsome gift like all the others
would have.  Billy wanted to present her a five-dollar gold
piece to buy music for her violin.  He was positive Elnora
would like that best of anything.

It was toward the close of the term when they drove to
town one evening to try to settle this important question.
They knew Mrs. Comstock had been alone several days,
so they asked her to accompany them.  She had
been more lonely than she would admit, filled with unusual
unrest besides, and so she was glad to go.  But before
they had driven a mile Billy had told that they were going
to buy Elnora a graduation present, and Mrs. Comstock
devoutly wished that she had remained at home.  She was
prepared when Billy asked:  "Aunt Kate, what are you going
to give Elnora when she graduates?"

"Plenty to eat, a good bed to sleep in, and do all
the work while she trollops," answered Mrs. Comstock dryly.

Billy reflected.  "I guess all of them have that," he said.
"I mean a present you buy at the store, like Christmas?"

"It is only rich folks who buy presents at stores,"
replied Mrs.Comstock. "I can't afford it."


"Well, we ain't rich," he said, "but we are going to buy
Elnora something as fine as the rest of them have if we sell
a corner of the farm.  Uncle Wesley said so."

"A fool and his land are soon parted," said Mrs.
Comstock tersely.  Wesley and Billy laughed, but
Margaret did not enjoy the remark.

While they were searching the stores for something on
which all of them could decide, and Margaret was holding
Billy to keep him from saying anything before Mrs. Comstock
about the music on which he was determined, Mr. Brownlee
met Wesley and stopped to shake hands.

"I see your boy came out finely," he said.

"I don't allow any boy anywhere to be finer than Billy,"
said Wesley.

"I guess you don't allow any girl to surpass Elnora,"
said Mr. Brownlee.  "She comes home with Ellen often,
and my wife and I love her.  Ellen says she is great in her
part to-night.  Best thing in the whole play!  Of course,
you are in to see it!  If you haven't reserved seats, you'd
better start pretty soon, for the high school auditorium
only seats a thousand.  It's always jammed at these home-
talent plays.  All of us want to see how our children perform."

"Why yes, of course," said the bewildered Wesley.
Then he hurried to Margaret.  "Say," he said, "there is
going to be a play at the high school to-night; and Elnora
is in it.  Why hasn't she told us?"

"I don't know," said Margaret, "but I'm going."

"So am I," said Billy.

"Me too!" said Wesley, "unless you think for some
reason she doesn't want us.  Looks like she would have
told us if she had.  I'm going to ask her mother."

"Yes, that's what's she's been staying in town for," said
Mrs. Comstock.  "It's some sort of a swindle to raise
money for her class to buy some silly thing to stick up in
the school house hall to remember them by.  I don't know
whether it's now or next week, but there's something of the
kind to be done."

"Well, it's to-night," said Wesley, "and we are going.
It's my treat, and we've got to hurry or we won't get in.
There are reserved seats, and we have none, so it's the
gallery for us, but I don't care so I get to take one good
peep at Elnora."

"S'pose she plays?" whispered Margaret in his ear.

"Aw, tush!  She couldn't!" said Wesley.

"Well, she's been doing it three years in the orchestra,
and working like a slave at it."

"Oh, well that's different.  She's in the play to-night.
Brownlee told me so.  Come on, quick!  We'll drive and
hitch closest place we can find to the building."

Margaret went in the excitement of the moment, but
she was troubled.

When they reached the building Wesley tied the team
to a railing and Billy sprang out to help Margaret.
Mrs. Comstock sat still.

"Come on, Kate," said Wesley, reaching his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Mrs. Comstock,
settling comfortably back against the cushions.

All of them begged and pleaded, but it was no use.  Not an
inch would Mrs. Comstock budge.  The night was warm and
the carriage comfortable, the horses were securely hitched.
She did not care to see what idiotic thing a pack of school
children were doing, she would wait until the Sintons returned.
Wesley told her it might be two hours, and she said she did
not care if it were four, so they left her.

"Did you ever see such----?"

"Cookies!" cried Billy.

"Such blamed stubbornness in all your life?" demanded Wesley.
"Won't come to see as fine a girl as Elnora in a
stage performance.  Why, I wouldn't miss it for fifty dollars!

"I think it's a blessing she didn't," said Margaret placidly.
"I begged unusually hard so she wouldn't.  I'm scared of my
life for fear Elnora will play."

They found seats near the door where they could see
fairly well.  Billy stood at the back of the hall and had a
good view.  By and by, a great volume of sound welled
from the orchestra, but Elnora was not playing.

"Told you so!" said Sinton.  "Got a notion to go out
and see if Kate won't come now.  She can take my seat,
and I'll stand with Billy."

"You sit  still!" said Margaret emphatically.  "This is
not over yet."

So Wesley remained in his seat.  The play opened and
progressed very much as all high school plays have gone
for the past fifty years.  But Elnora did not appear in any
of the scenes.

Out in the warm summer night a sour, grim woman
nursed an aching heart and tried to justify herself.
The effort irritated her intensely.  She felt that she
could not afford the things that were being done.
The old fear of losing the land that she and Robert
Comstock had purchased and started clearing was strong
upon her.  She was thinking of him, how she needed him,
when the orchestra music poured from the open windows
near her.  Mrs. Comstock endured it as long as she
could, and then slipped from the carriage and fled down
the street.

She did not know how far she went or how long she stayed,
but everything was still, save an occasional raised
voice when she wandered back.  She stood looking at
the building.  Slowly she entered the wide gates and
followed up the walk.  Elnora had been coming here for
almost four years.  When Mrs. Comstock reached the door she
looked inside.  The wide hall was lighted with electricity,
and the statuary and the decorations of the walls did not
seem like pieces of foolishness.  The marble appeared
pure, white, and the big pictures most interesting.
She walked the length of the hall and slowly read the titles
of the statues and the names of the pupils who had donated them.
She speculated on where the piece Elnora's class would buy
could be placed to advantage.

Then she wondered if they were having a large enough
audience to buy marble.  She liked it better than the
bronze, but it looked as if it cost more.  How white the
broad stairway was!  Elnora had been climbing those
stairs for years and never told her they were marble.
Of course, she thought they were wood.  Probably the upper
hall was even grander than this.  She went over to the
fountain, took a drink, climbed to the first landing and
looked around her, and then without thought to the second.
There she came opposite the wide-open doors and the
entrance to the auditorium packed with people and a
crowd standing outside.  When they noticed a tall
woman with white face and hair and black dress, one by
one they stepped a little aside, so that Mrs. Comstock
could see the stage.  It was covered with curtains, and no
one was doing anything.  Just as she turned to go a sound
so faint that every one leaned forward and listened,
drifted down the auditorium.  It was difficult to tell just
what it was; after one instant half the audience looked
toward the windows, for it seemed only a breath of wind
rustling freshly opened leaves; merely a hint of stirring air.

Then the curtains were swept aside swiftly.  The stage
had been transformed into a lovely little corner of creation,
where trees and flowers grew and moss carpeted the earth.
A soft wind blew and it was the gray of dawn.  Suddenly a
robin began to sing, then a song sparrow joined him, and
then several orioles began talking at once.  The light grew
stronger, the dew drops trembled, flower perfume began
to creep out to the audience; the air moved the branches
gently and a rooster crowed.  Then all the scene was
shaken with a babel of bird notes in which you could hear
a cardinal whistling, and a blue finch piping.  Back somewhere
among the high branches a dove cooed and then a horse
neighed shrilly.  That set a blackbird crying, "T'check,"
and a whole flock answered it.  The crows began to caw and
a lamb bleated.  Then the grosbeaks, chats, and vireos
had something to say, and the sun rose higher, the light
grew stronger and the breeze rustled the treetops
loudly; a cow bawled and the whole barnyard answered.
The guineas were clucking, the turkey gobbler strutting,
the hens calling, the chickens cheeping, the light streamed
down straight overhead and the bees began to hum.  The air
stirred strongly, and away in an unseen field a reaper
clacked and rattled through ripening wheat while the
driver whistled.  An uneasy mare whickered to her colt,
the colt answered, and the light began to decline.
Miles away a rooster crowed for twilight, and dusk was
coming down.  Then a catbird and a brown thrush sang
against a grosbeak and a hermit thrush.  The air was
tremulous with heavenly notes, the lights went out in the
hall, dusk swept across the stage, a cricket sang and a
katydid answered, and a wood pewee wrung the heart with
its lonesome cry.  Then a night hawk screamed, a whip-
poor-will complained, a belated killdeer swept the sky,
and the night wind sang a louder song.  A little screech owl
tuned up in the distance, a barn owl replied, and a great
horned owl drowned both their voices.  The moon shone and the
scene was warm with mellow light.  The bird voices died
and soft exquisite melody began to swell and roll.  In the
centre of the stage, piece by piece the grasses, mosses and
leaves dropped from an embankment, the foliage softly
blew away, while plainer and plainer came the outlines of a
lovely girl figure draped in soft clinging green.  In her
shower of bright hair a few green leaves and white blossoms
clung, and they fell over her robe down to her feet.  Her white
throat and arms were bare, she leaned forward a little and
swayed with the melody, her eyes fast on the clouds above her,
her lips parted, a pink tinge of exercise in her cheeks as
she drew her bow.  She played as only a peculiar chain of
circumstances puts it in the power of a very few to play.
All nature had grown still, the violin sobbed, sang,
danced and quavered on alone, no voice in particular;
the soul of the melody of all nature combined in one
great outpouring.

At the doorway, a white-faced woman endured it as long
as she could and then fell senseless.  The men nearest
carried her down the hall to the fountain, revived her, and
then placed her in the carriage to which she directed them.
The girl played on and never knew.  When she finished,
the uproar of applause sounded a block down the street, but
the half-senseless woman scarcely realized what it meant.
Then the girl came to the front of the stage, bowed, and
lifting the violin she played her conception of an invitation
to dance.  Every living soul within sound of her notes
strained their nerves to sit still and let only their hearts
dance with her.  When that began the woman ran toward
the country.  She never stopped until the carriage overtook
her half-way to her cabin.  She said she had grown
tired of sitting, and walked on ahead.  That night she
asked Billy to remain with her and sleep on Elnora's bed.
Then she pitched headlong upon her own, and suffered
agony of soul such as she never before had known.
The swamp had sent back the soul of her loved dead and
put it into the body of the daughter she resented,
and it was almost more than she could endure and live.




CHAPTER XI


WHEREIN ELNORA GRADUATES,
AND FRECKLES AND THE ANGEL SEND GIFTS


That was Friday night.  Elnora came home Saturday morning
and began work.  Mrs. Comstock asked no questions, and
the girl only told her that the audience had been large
enough to more than pay for the piece of statuary the class
had selected for the hall.  Then she inquired about her
dresses and was told they would be ready for her.  She had
been invited to go to the Bird Woman's to prepare for both
the sermon and Commencement exercises.  Since there was so
much practising to do, it had been arranged that she should
remain there from the night of the sermon until after she
was graduated.  If Mrs. Comstock decided to attend she was
to drive in with the Sintons.  When Elnora begged her to
come she said she cared nothing about such silliness.

It was almost time for Wesley to come to take Elnora to
the city, when fresh from her bath, and dressed to her outer
garment, she stood with expectant face before her mother
and cried:  "Now my dress, mother!"

Mrs. Comstock was pale as she replied:  "It's on my bed.
Help yourself."

Elnora opened the door and stepped into her mother's
room with never a misgiving.  Since the night Margaret
and Wesley had brought her clothing, when she first started
to school, her mother had selected all of her dresses, with
Mrs. Sinton's help made most of them, and Elnora had
paid the bills.  The white dress of the previous spring was
the first made at a dressmaker's.  She had worn that as
junior usher at Commencement; but her mother had selected
the material, had it made, and it had fitted perfectly and
had been suitable in every way.  So with her heart at rest on
that point, Elnora hurried to the bed to find only her last
summer's white dress, freshly washed and ironed.  For an
instant she stared at it, then she picked up the garment,
looked at the bed beneath it, and her gaze slowly swept the room.

It was unfamiliar.  Perhaps this was the third time she
had been in it since she was a very small child.  Her eyes
ranged over the beautiful walnut dresser, the tall bureau,
the big chest, inside which she never had seen, and the row
of masculine attire hanging above it.  Somewhere a
dainty lawn or mull dress simply must be hanging: but it
was not.  Elnora dropped on the chest because she felt too
weak to stand.  In less than two hours she must be in
the church, at Onabasha.  She could not wear a last
year's washed dress.  She had nothing else.  She leaned
against the wall and her father's overcoat brushed her face.
She caught the folds and clung to it with all her might.

"Oh father!  Father!" she moaned.  "I need you!  I don't
believe you would have done this!"  At last she
opened the door.

"I can't find my dress," she said.

"Well, as it's the only one there I shouldn't think it
would be much trouble."

"You mean for me to wear an old washed dress to-night?"

"It's a good dress.  There isn't a hole in it!  There's no
reason on earth why you shouldn't wear it."

"Except that I will not," said Elnora.  "Didn't you
provide any dress for Commencement, either?"

"If you soil that to-night, I've plenty of time to wash
it again."

Wesley's voice called from the gate.

"In a minute," answered Elnora.

She ran upstairs and in an incredibly short time came
down wearing one of her gingham school dresses.  Her face
cold and hard, she passed her mother and went into
the night.  Half an hour later Margaret and Billy stopped
for Mrs. Comstock with the carriage.  She had determined
fully that she would not go before they called.  With the
sound of their voices a sort of horror of being left seized her,
so she put on her hat, locked the door and went out to them.

"How did Elnora look?" inquired Margaret anxiously.

"Like she always does," answered Mrs. Comstock curtly.

"I do hope her dresses are as pretty as the others,"
said Margaret.  "None of them will have prettier faces or
nicer ways."

Wesley was waiting before the big church to take care of
the team.  As they stood watching the people enter the
building, Mrs. Comstock felt herself growing ill.  When they
went inside among the lights, saw the flower-decked stage,
and the masses of finely dressed people, she grew no better.
She could hear Margaret and Billy softly commenting on what
was being done.

"That first chair in the very front row is Elnora's,"
exulted Billy, "cos she's got the highest grades, and so she
gets to lead the procession to the platform."

"The first chair!"  "Lead the procession!"  Mrs. Comstock
was dumbfounded.  The notes of the pipe organ began to fill
the building in a slow rolling march.  Would Elnora lead
the procession in a gingham dress?  Or would she be absent
and her chair vacant on this great occasion?  For now, Mrs.
Comstock could see that it was a great occasion.  Every one
would remember how Elnora had played a few nights before,
and they would miss her and pity her.  Pity?  Because she had
no one to care for her.  Because she was worse off than if she
had no mother.  For the first time in her life, Mrs. Comstock
began to study herself as she would appear to others.
Every time a junior girl came fluttering down the aisle,
leading some one to a seat, and Mrs. Comstock saw a beautiful
white dress pass, a wave of positive illness swept over her.
What had she done?  What would become of Elnora?

As Elnora rode to the city, she answered Wesley's
questions in monosyllables so that he thought she was
nervous or rehearsing her speech and did not care to talk.
Several times the girl tried to tell him and realized that if
she said the first word it would bring uncontrollable tears.
The Bird Woman opened the screen and stared unbelievingly.

"Why, I thought you would be ready; you are so late!"

she said.  "If you have waited to dress here, we must hurry."

"I have nothing to put on," said Elnora.

In bewilderment the Bird Woman drew her inside.

"Did--did--" she faltered.  "Did you think you would wear that?"

"No.  I thought I would telephone Ellen that there had
been an accident and I could not come.  I don't know yet
how to explain.  I'm too sick to think.  Oh, do you suppose
I can get something made by Tuesday, so that I can graduate?"

"Yes; and you'll get something on you to-night, so that
you can lead your class, as you have done for four years.
Go to my room and take off that gingham, quickly.  Anna, drop
everything, and come help me."

The Bird Woman ran to the telephone and called Ellen Brownlee.

"Elnora has had an accident.  She will be a little late,"
she said.  "You have got to make them wait.  Have them
play extra music before the march."

Then she turned to the maid.  "Tell Benson to have the
carriage at the gate, just as soon as he can get it there.
Then come to my room.  Bring the thread box from the
sewing-room, that roll of wide white ribbon on the cutting
table, and gather all the white pins from every dresser in
the house.  But first come with me a minute."

"I want that trunk with the Swamp Angel's stuff in it,
from the cedar closet," she panted as they reached the top
of the stairs.

They hurried down the hall together and dragged the
big trunk to the Bird Woman's room.  She opened it and
began tossing out white stuff.

"How lucky that she left these things!" she cried.
"Here are white shoes, gloves, stockings, fans, everything!"

"I am all ready but a dress," said Elnora.

The Bird Woman began opening closets and pulling out
drawers and boxes.

"I think I can make it this way," she said.

She snatched up a creamy lace yoke with long sleeves
that recently had been made for her and held it out.
Elnora slipped into it, and the Bird Woman began smoothing
out wrinkles and sewing in pins.  It fitted very well
with a little lapping in the back.  Next, from among the
Angel's clothing she caught up a white silk waist with low
neck and elbow sleeves, and Elnora put it on.  It was
large enough, but distressingly short in the waist, for the
Angel had worn it at a party when she was sixteen.  The Bird
Woman loosened the sleeves and pushed them to a puff on
the shoulders, catching them in places with pins.
She began on the wide draping of the yoke, fastening it
front, back and at each shoulder.  She pulled down the
waist and pinned it.  Next came a soft white dress skirt
of her own.  By pinning her waist band quite four inches
above Elnora's, the Bird Woman could secure a perfect
Empire sweep, with the clinging silk.  Then she began
with the wide white ribbon that was to trim a new frock for
herself, bound it three times around the high waist effect
she had managed, tied the ends in a knot and let them fall
to the floor in a beautiful sash.

"I want four white roses, each with two or three
leaves," she cried.

Anna ran to bring them, while the Bird Woman added pins.

"Elnora," she said, "forgive me, but tell me truly.  Is your
mother so poor as to make this necessary?"

"No," answered Elnora.  "Next year I am heir to my share
of over three hundred acres of land covered with almost
as valuable timber as was in the Limberlost.  We adjoin it.
There could be thirty oil wells drilled that would yield
to us the thousands our neighbours are draining from under
us, and the bare land is worth over one hundred dollars an
acre for farming.  She is not poor, she is--I don't know
what she is.  A great trouble soured and warped her.
It made her peculiar.  She does not in the least understand,
but it is because she doesn't care to, instead of ignorance.
She does not----"

Elnora stopped.

"She is--is different," finished the girl.

Anna came with the roses.  The Bird Woman set one
on the front of the draped yoke, one on each shoulder and
the last among the bright masses of brown hair.  Then she
turned the girl facing the tall mirror.

"Oh!" panted Elnora.  "You are a genius!  Why, I
will look as well as any of them."

"Thank goodness for that!" cried the Bird Woman.
"If it wouldn't do, I should have been ill.  You are lovely;
altogether lovely!  Ordinarily I shouldn't say that; but
when I think of how you are carpentered, I'm admiring
the result."

The organ began rolling out the march as they came in sight.
Elnora took her place at the head of the procession,
while every one wondered.  Secretly they had hoped that
she would be dressed well enough, that she would not
appear poor and neglected.  What this radiant young
creature, gowned in the most recent style, her smooth skin
flushed with excitement, and a rose-set coronet of red gold
on her head, had to do with the girl they knew was difficult
to decide.  The signal was given and Elnora began the
slow march across the vestry and down the aisle.  The music
welled softly, and Margaret began to sob without knowing why.

Mrs. Comstock gripped her hands together and shut
her eyes.  It seemed an eternity to the suffering woman
before Margaret caught her arm and whispered, "Oh, Kate!
For any sake look at her!  Here!  The aisle across!"

Mrs. Comstock opened her eyes and directing them
where she was told, gazed intently, and slid down in
her seat close to collapse.  She was saved by Margaret's
tense clasp and her command:  "Here!  Idiot!  Stop that!"

In the blaze of light Elnora climbed the steps to the
palm-embowered platform, crossed it and took her place.
Sixty young men and women, each of them dressed the
best possible, followed her.  There were manly, fine-
looking men in that class which Elnora led.  There were
girls of beauty and grace, but not one of them was handsomer
or clothed in better taste than she.

Billy thought the time never would come when Elnora
would see him, but at last she met his eye, then Margaret
and Wesley had faint signs of recognition in turn,
but there was no softening of the girl's face and no hint
of a smile when she saw her mother.

Heartsick, Katharine Comstock tried to prove to herself
that she was justified in what she had done, but she
could not.  She tried to blame Elnora for not saying that
she was to lead a procession and sit on a platform in the
sight of hundreds of people; but that was impossible, for
she realized that she would have scoffed and not understood
if she had been told.  Her heart pained until she suffered
with every breath.

When at last the exercises were over she climbed into
the carriage and rode home without a word.  She did
not hear what Margaret and Billy were saying.  She scarcely
heard Wesley, who drove behind, when he told her that
Elnora would not be home until Wednesday.  Early the next
morning Mrs. Comstock was on her way to Onabasha.
She was waiting when the Brownlee store opened.
She examined ready-made white dresses, but they had
only one of the right size, and it was marked forty dollars.
Mrs. Comstock did not hesitate over the price, but whether
the dress would be suitable.  She would have to ask Elnora.
She inquired her way to the home of the Bird Woman and knocked.

"Is Elnora Comstock here?" she asked the maid.

"Yes, but she is still in bed.  I was told to let her
sleep as long as she would."

"Maybe I could sit here and wait," said Mrs. Comstock.
"I want to see about getting her a dress for to-morrow.
I am her mother."

"Then you don't need wait or worry," said the girl cheerfully.
"There are two women up in the sewing-room at work on a
dress for her right now.  It will be done in time, and it will
be a beauty."

Mrs. Comstock turned and trudged back to the Limberlost.
The bitterness in her soul became a physical actuality,
which water would not wash from her lips.  She was
too late!  She was not needed.  Another woman was
mothering her girl.  Another woman would prepare a
beautiful dress such as Elnora had worn the previous night.
The girl's love and gratitude would go to her.  Mrs. Comstock
tried the old process of blaming some one else, but she felt
no better.  She nursed her grief as closely as ever in
the long days of the girl's absence.  She brooded
over Elnora's possession of the forbidden violin and her
ability to play it until the performance could not have
been told from her father's.  She tried every refuge her
mind could conjure, to quiet her heart and remove the fear
that the girl never would come home again, but it persisted.
Mrs. Comstock could neither eat nor sleep.  She wandered
around the cabin and garden.  She kept far from the pool
where Robert Comstock had sunk from sight for she felt
that it would entomb her also if Elnora did not come home
Wednesday morning.  The mother told herself that she would
wait, but the waiting was as bitter as anything she ever had known.

When Elnora awoke Monday another dress was in the hands
of a seamstress and was soon fitted.  It had belonged
to the Angel, and was a soft white thing that with a
little alteration would serve admirably for Commencement
and the ball.  All that day Elnora worked, helping prepare
the auditorium for the exercises, rehearsing the march
and the speech she was to make in behalf of the class.
The following day was even busier.  But her mind was at
rest, for the dress was a soft delicate lace easy to
change, and the marks of alteration impossible to detect.

The Bird Woman had telephoned to Grand Rapids, explained
the situation and asked the Angel if she might use it.
The reply had been to give the girl the contents of the chest.
When the Bird Woman told Elnora, tears filled her eyes.

"I will write at once and thank her," she said.  "With all
her beautiful gowns she does not need them, and I do.
They will serve for me often, and be much finer than anything
I could afford.  It is lovely of her to give me the dress
and of you to have it altered for me, as I never could."

The Bird Woman laughed.  "I feel religious to-day,"
she said.  "You know the first and greatest rock of my
salvation is `Do unto others.'  I'm only doing to you
what there was no one to do for me when I was a girl
very like you.  Anna tells me your mother was here early
this morning and that she came to see about getting you
a dress."

"She is too late!" said Elnora coldly.  "She had over
a month to prepare my dresses, and I was to pay for them,
so there is no excuse."

"Nevertheless, she is your mother," said the Bird
Woman, softly.  "I think almost any kind of a mother
must be better than none at all, and you say she has had
great trouble."

"She loved my father and he died," said Elnora.  "The same
thing, in quite as tragic a manner, has happened to
thousands of other women, and they have gone on with
calm faces and found happiness in life by loving others.
There was something else I am afraid I never shall forget;
this I know I shall not, but talking does not help.  I must
deliver my presents and photographs to the crowd.  I have
a picture and I made a present for you, too, if you would
care for them."

"I shall love anything you give me," said the Bird Woman.
"I know you well enough to know that whatever you do will
be beautiful."

Elnora was pleased over that, and as she tried on her
dress for the last fitting she was really happy.  She was
lovely in the dainty gown: it would serve finely for the ball
and many other like occasions, and it was her very own.

The Bird Woman's driver took Elnora in the carriage and
she called on all the girls with whom she was especially
intimate, and left her picture and the package containing
her gift to them.  By the time she returned parcels for
her were arriving.  Friends seemed to spring from everywhere.
Almost every one she knew had some gift for her, while
because they so loved her the members of her crowd had
made her beautiful presents.  There were books, vases,
silver pieces, handkerchiefs, fans, boxes of flowers
and candy.  One big package settled the trouble at Sinton's,
for it contained a dainty dress from  Margaret,
a five-dollar gold piece, conspicuously labelled,
"I earned this myself," from Billy, with which to buy
music; and a gorgeous cut-glass perfume bottle, it would
have cost five dollars to fill with even a moderate-
priced scent, from Wesley.

In an expressed crate was a fine curly-maple dressing
table, sent by Freckles.  The drawers were filled with
wonderful toilet articles from the Angel.  The Bird
Woman added an embroidered linen cover and a small
silver vase for a few flowers, so no girl of the class had
finer gifts.  Elnora laid her head on the table sobbing
happily, and the Bird Woman was almost crying herself.
Professor Henley sent a butterfly book, the grade rooms in
which Elnora had taught gave her a set of volumes covering
every phase of life afield, in the woods, and water.
Elnora had no time to read so she carried one of these
books around with her hugging it as she went.  After she
had gone to dress a queer-looking package was brought
by a small boy who hopped on one foot as he handed it
in and said:  "Tell Elnora that is from her ma."

"Who are you?" asked the Bird Woman as she took
the bundle.

"I'm Billy!" announced the boy.  "I gave her the five dollars.
I earned it myself dropping corn, sticking onions, and
pulling weeds.  My, but you got to drop, and stick, and
pull a lot before it's five dollars' worth."

"Would you like to come in and see Elnora's gifts?"

"Yes, ma'am!" said Billy, trying to stand quietly.

"Gee-mentley!" he gasped.  "Does Elnora get all this?"

"Yes."

"I bet you a thousand dollars I be first in my class
when I graduate.  Say, have the others got a lot more
than Elnora?"

"I think not."

"Well, Uncle Wesley said to find out if I could, and if
she didn't have as much as the rest, he'd buy till she did,
if it took a hundred dollars.  Say, you ought to know him!
He's just scrumptious!  There ain't anybody any where finer
'an he is.  My, he's grand!"

"I'm very sure of it!" said the Bird Woman.  "I've often
heard Elnora say so."

"I bet you nobody can beat this!" he boasted.  Then he
stopped, thinking deeply.  "I don't know, though,"
he began reflectively.  "Some of them are awful rich;
they got big families to give them things and wagon loads
of friends, and I haven't seen what they have.  Now, maybe
Elnora is getting left, after all!"

"Don't worry, Billy," she said.  "I will watch, and
if I find Elnora is `getting left' I'll buy her some more
things myself.  But I'm sure she is not.  She has more
beautiful gifts now than she will know what to do with, and
others will come.  Tell your Uncle Wesley his girl is
bountifully remembered, very happy, and she sends her
dearest love to all of you.  Now you must go, so I can
help her dress.  You will be there to-night of course?"

"Yes, sir-ee!  She got me a seat, third row from the
front, middle section, so I can see, and she's going to
wink at me, after she gets her speech off her mind.
She kissed me, too!  She's a perfect lady, Elnora is.
I'm going to marry her when I am big enough."

"Why isn't that splendid!" laughed the Bird Woman
as she hurried upstairs.

"Dear!" she called.  "Here is another gift for you."

Elnora was half disrobed as she took the package and,
sitting on a couch, opened it.  The Bird Woman bent over
her and tested the fabric with her fingers.

"Why, bless my soul!" she cried.  "Hand-woven, hand-
embroidered linen, fine as silk.  It's priceless' I haven't
seen such things in years.  My mother had garments like
those when I was a child, but my sisters had them cut up
for collars, belts, and fancy waists while I was small.
Look at the exquisite work!"

"Where could it have come from?" cried Elnora.

She shook out a petticoat, with a hand-wrought ruffle
a foot deep, then an old-fashioned chemise the neck and
sleeve work of which was elaborate and perfectly wrought.
On the breast was pinned a note that she hastily opened.

"I was married in these," it read, "and I had intended
to be buried in them, but perhaps it would be more sensible
for you to graduate and get married in them yourself, if
you like.  Your mother."

"From my mother!"  Wide-eyed, Elnora looked at
the Bird Woman.  "I never in my life saw the like.
Mother does things I think I never can forgive, and when
I feel hardest, she turns around and does something that
makes me think she just must love me a little bit, after all.
Any of the girls would give almost anything to graduate
in hand-embroidered linen like that.  Money can't buy
such things.  And they came when I was thinking she
didn't care what became of me.  Do you suppose she can
be insane?"

"Yes," said the Bird Woman.  "Wildly insane, if she
does not love you and care what becomes of you."

Elnora arose and held the petticoat to her.  "Will you
look at it?" she cried.  "Only imagine her not getting my
dress ready, and then sending me such a petticoat as this!
Ellen would pay fifty dollars for it and never blink.
I suppose mother has had it all my life, and I never saw
it before."

"Go take your bath and put on those things," said the
Bird Woman.  "Forget everything and be happy.  She is
not insane.  She is embittered.  She did not understand
how things would be.  When she saw, she came at once to
provide you a dress.  This is her way of saying she is
sorry she did not get the other.  You notice she has not
spent any money, so perhaps she is quite honest in saying
she has none."

"Oh, she is honest!" said Elnora.  "She wouldn't care
enough to tell an untruth.  She'd say just how things were,
no matter what happened."

Soon Elnora was ready for her dress.  She never had
looked so well as when she again headed the processional
across the flower and palm decked stage of the high
school auditorium.  As she sat there she could have
reached over and dropped a rose she carried into the
seat she had occupied that September morning when she
entered the high school.  She spoke the few words she
had to say in behalf of the class beautifully, had the
tiny wink ready for Billy, and the smile and nod of
recognition for Wesley and Margaret.  When at last she
looked into the eyes of a white-faced woman next them,
she slipped a hand to her side and raised her skirt the
fraction of an inch, just enough to let the embroidered
edge of a petticoat show a trifle.  When she saw the look
of relief which flooded her mother's face, Elnora knew
that forgiveness was in her heart, and that she would
go home in the morning.

It was late afternoon before she arrived, and a dray
followed with a load of packages.  Mrs. Comstock was
overwhelmed.  She sat half dazed and made Elnora show
her each costly and beautiful or simple and useful gift,
tell her carefully what it was and from where it came.
She studied the faces of Elnora's particular friends.
The gifts from them had to be set in a group.  Several times
she started to speak and then stopped.  At last, between
her dry lips, came a harsh whisper.

"Elnora, what did you give back for these things?"

"I'll show you," said Elnora cheerfully.  "I made the
same gifts for the Bird Woman, Aunt Margaret and you
if you care for it.  But I have to run upstairs to get it."

When she returned she handed her mother an oblong frame,
hand carved, enclosing Elnora's picture, taken by a
schoolmate's camera.  She wore her storm-coat and carried
a dripping umbrella.  From under it looked her bright face;
her books and lunchbox were on her arm, and across the
bottom of the frame was carved, "Your Country Classmate."

Then she offered another frame.

"I am strong on frames," she said.  "They seemed to
be the best I could do without money.  I located the
maple and the black walnut myself, in a little corner that
had been overlooked between the river and the ditch.
They didn't seem to belong to any one so I just took them.
Uncle Wesley said it was all right, and he cut and hauled
them for me.  I gave the mill half of each tree for sawing
and curing the remainder.  Then I gave the wood-carver
half of that for making my frames.  A photographer gave
me a lot of spoiled plates, and I boiled off the emulsion, and
took the specimens I framed from my stuff.  The man
said the white frames were worth three and a half, and the
black ones five.  I exchanged those little framed pictures
for the photographs of the others.  For presents, I gave
each one of my crowd one like this, only a different moth.
The Bird Woman gave me the birch bark.  She got it up
north last summer."

Elnora handed her mother a handsome black-walnut
frame a foot and a half wide by two long.  It finished a
small, shallow glass-covered box of birch bark, to the
bottom of which clung a big night moth with delicate pale
green wings and long exquisite trailers.

"So you see I did not have to be ashamed of my gifts,"
said Elnora.  "I made them myself and raised and
mounted the moths."

"Moth, you call it," said Mrs. Comstock.  "I've seen a
few of the things before."

"They are numerous around us every June night, or at
least they used to be," said Elnora.  "I've sold hundreds
of them, with butterflies, dragonflies, and other specimens.
Now, I must put away these and get to work, for it is
almost June and there are a few more I want dreadfully.
If I find them I will be paid some money for which I have
been working."

She was afraid to say college at that time.  She thought it
would be better to wait a few days and see if an opportunity
would not come when it would work in more naturally.
Besides, unless she could secure the Yellow Emperor she
needed to complete her collection, she could not talk
college until she was of age, for she would have no money.




CHAPTER XII


WHEREIN MARGARET SINTON REVEALS A SECRET,
AND MRS. COMSTOCK POSSESSES THE LIMBERLOST


Elnora, bring me the towel, quick!" cried Mrs Comstock.

"In a minute, mother," mumbled Elnora.

She was standing before the kitchen mirror, tying the
back part of her hair, while the front turned over her face.

"Hurry!  There's a varmint of some kind!"

Elnora ran into the sitting-room and thrust the heavy
kitchen towel into her mother's hand.  Mrs. Comstock
swung open the screen door and struck at some object,
Elnora tossed the hair from her face so that she could see
past her mother.  The girl screamed wildly.

"Don't! Mother, don't!"

Mrs. Comstock struck again.  Elnora caught her arm.
"It's the one I want!  It's worth a lot of money!
Don't!  Oh, you shall not!"

"Shan't, missy?" blazed Mrs. Comstock.  "When did
you get to bossing me?"

The hand that held the screen swept a half-circle and
stopped at Elnora's cheek.  She staggered with the blow,
and across her face, paled with excitement, a red mark
arose rapidly.  The screen slammed shut, throwing the
creature on the floor before them.  Instantly Mrs.
Comstock crushed it with her foot.  Elnora stepped back.
Excepting the red mark, her face was very white.

"That was the last moth I needed," she said, "to complete
a collection worth three hundred dollars.  You've ruined
it before my eyes!"

"Moth!" cried Mrs. Comstock.  "You say that because
you are mad.  Moths have big wings.  I know a moth!"

"I've kept things from you," said Elnora, "because I
didn't dare confide in you.  You had no sympathy with me.
But you know I never told you untruths in all my life."

"It's no moth!" reiterated Mrs. Comstock.

"It is!" cried Elnora.  "It's from a case in the ground.
Its wings take two or three hours to expand and harden."

"If I had known it was a moth----" Mrs. Comstock wavered.

"You did know!  I told you!  I begged you to stop!
It meant just three hundred dollars to me."

"Bah!  Three hundred fiddlesticks!"

"They are what have paid for books, tuition, and clothes
for the past four years.  They are what I could have
started on to college.  You've ruined the very one I needed.
You never made any pretence of loving me.  At last I'll
be equally frank with you.  I hate you!  You are a selfish,
wicked woman!  I hate you!"

Elnora turned, went through the kitchen and from the
back door.  She followed the garden path to the gate and
walked toward the swamp a short distance when reaction
overtook her.  She dropped on the ground and leaned
against a big log.  When a little child, desperate as now,
she had tried to die by holding her breath.  She had
thought in that way to make her mother sorry, but she had
learned that life was a thing thrust upon her and she could
not leave it at her wish.

She was so stunned over the loss of that moth, which
she had childishly named the Yellow Emperor, that she
scarcely remembered the blow.  She had thought no luck
in all the world would be so rare as to complete her
collection; now she had been forced to see a splendid
Imperialis destroyed before her.  There was a possibility
that she could find another, but she was facing the
certainty that the one she might have had and with which she
undoubtedly could have attracted others, was spoiled by
her mother.  How long she sat there Elnora did not know
or care.  She simply suffered in dumb, abject misery, an
occasional dry sob shaking her.  Aunt Margaret was right.
Elnora felt that morning that her mother never would be
any different.  The girl had reached the place where she
realized that she could endure it no longer.

As Elnora left the room, Mrs. Comstock took one step
after her.

"You little huzzy!" she gasped.

But Elnora was gone.  Her mother stood staring.

"She never did lie to me," she muttered.  "I guess
it was a moth.  And the only one she needed to get three
hundred dollars, she said.  I wish I hadn't been so fast!
I never saw anything like it.  I thought it was some
deadly, stinging, biting thing.  A body does have to be
mighty careful here.  But likely I've spilt the milk now.
Pshaw!  She can find another!  There's no use to be foolish.
Maybe moths are like snakes, where there's one, there are two."

Mrs. Comstock took the broom and swept the moth out
of the door.  Then she got down on her knees and
carefully examined the steps, logs and the earth of the
flower beds at each side.  She found the place where
the creature had emerged from the ground, and the hard,
dark-brown case which had enclosed it, still wet inside.
Then she knew Elnora had been right.  It was a moth.
Its wings had been damp and not expanded.  Mrs. Comstock
never before had seen one in that state, and she
did not know how they originated.  She had thought all
of them came from cases spun on trees or against walls
or boards.  She had seen only enough to know that there
were such things; as a flash of white told her that an ermine
was on her premises, or a sharp "buzzzzz" warned her
of a rattler.

So it was from creatures like that Elnora had secured
her school money.  In one sickening sweep there rushed
into the heart of the woman a full realization of the
width of the gulf that separated her from her child.
Lately many things had pointed toward it, none more plainly
than when Elnora, like a reincarnation of her father, had
stood fearlessly before a large city audience and played
with even greater skill than he, on what Mrs. Comstock
felt very certain was his violin.  But that little crawling
creature of earth, crushed by her before its splendid yellow
and lavender wings could spread and carry it into the
mystery of night, had performed a miracle.

"We are nearer strangers to each other than we are with
any of the neighbours," she muttered.

So one of the Almighty's most delicate and beautiful
creations was sacrificed without fulfilling the law, yet
none of its species ever served so glorious a cause, for
at last Mrs. Comstock's inner vision had cleared.  She went
through the cabin mechanically.  Every few minutes
she glanced toward the back walk to see if Elnora
were coming.  She knew arrangements had been made with
Margaret to go to the city some time that day, so she
grew more nervous and uneasy every moment.  She was
haunted by the fear that the blow might discolour
Elnora's cheek; that she would tell Margaret.  She went
down the back walk, looking intently in all directions,
left the garden and followed the swamp path.  Her step
was noiseless on the soft, black earth, and soon she
came close enough to see Elnora.  Mrs. Comstock stood
looking at the girl in troubled uncertainty.  Not knowing
what to say, at last she turned and went back to the cabin.

Noon came and she prepared dinner, calling, as she
always did, when Elnora was in the garden, but she got
no response, and the girl did not come.  A little after
one o'clock Margaret stopped at the gate.

"Elnora has changed her mind.  She is not going,"
called Mrs. Comstock.

She felt that she hated Margaret as she hitched her
horse and came up the walk instead of driving on.

"You must be mistaken," said Margaret.  "I was
going on purpose for her.  She asked me to take her.
I had no errand.  Where is she?"

"I will call her," said Mrs. Comstock.

She followed the path again, and this time found Elnora
sitting on the log.  Her face was swollen and discoloured,
and her eyes red with crying.  She paid no attention
to her mother.

"Mag Sinton is here," said Mrs. Comstock harshly.
"I told her you had changed your mind, but she said
you asked her to go with you, and she had nothing to
go for herself."

Elnora arose, recklessly waded through the deep swamp
grasses and so reached the path ahead of her mother.
Mrs. Comstock followed as far as the garden, but she
could not enter the cabin.  She busied herself among
the vegetables, barely looking up when the back-door
screen slammed noisily.  Margaret Sinton approached
colourless, her eyes so angry that Mrs. Comstock shrank back.

"What's the matter with Elnora's face?" demanded Margaret.

Mrs. Comstock made no reply.

"You struck her, did you?"

"I thought you wasn't blind!"

"I have been, for twenty long years now, Kate Comstock,"
said Margaret Sinton, "but my eyes are open at last.
What I see is that I've done you no good and Elnora a
big wrong.  I had an idea that it would kill you to know,
but I guess you are tough enough to stand anything.
Kill or cure, you get it now!"

"What are you frothing about?" coolly asked Mrs. Comstock.

"You!" cried Margaret.  "You!  The woman who doesn't
pretend to love her only child.  Who lets her grow to
a woman, as you have let Elnora, and can't be satisfied
with every sort of neglect, but must add abuse yet;
and all for a fool idea about a man who wasn't worth
his salt!"

Mrs. Comstock picked up a hoe.

"Go right on!" she said.  "Empty yourself.  It's the
last thing you'll ever do!"

"Then I'll make a tidy job of it," said Margaret.
"You'll not touch me.  You'll stand there and hear
the truth at last, and because I dare face you and tell
it, you will know in your soul it is truth.  When Robert
Comstock shaved that quagmire out there so close he
went in, he wanted to keep you from knowing where he
was coming from.  He'd been to see Elvira Carney.
They had plans to go to a dance that night----"

"Close your lips!" said Mrs. Comstock in a voice of
deadly quiet.

"You know I wouldn't dare open them if I wasn't
telling you the truth.  I can prove what I say.  I was
coming from Reeds.  It was hot in the woods and I
stopped at Carney's as I passed for a drink.
Elvira's bedridden old mother heard me, and she was so
crazy for some one to talk with, I stepped in a minute.
I saw Robert come down the path.  Elvira saw him, too, so
she ran out of the house to head him off.  It looked funny,
and I just deliberately moved where I could see and hear.
He brought her his violin, and told her to get ready and
meet him in the woods with it that night, and they would
go to a dance.  She took it and hid it in the loft to the
well-house and promised she'd go."

"Are you done?" demanded Mrs. Comstock.

"No.  I am going to tell you the whole story.  You don't
spare Elnora anything.  I shan't spare you.  I hadn't
been here that day, but I can tell you just how he was
dressed, which way he went and every word they said,
though they thought I was busy with her mother
and wouldn't notice them.  Put down your hoe, Kate.
I went to Elvira, told her what I knew and made her give
me Comstock's violin for Elnora over three years ago.
She's been playing it ever since.  I won't see her
slighted and abused another day on account of a man
who would have broken your heart if he had lived.
Six months more would have showed you what everybody
else knew.  He was one of those men who couldn't trust
himself, and so no woman was safe with him.  Now, will
you drop grieving over him, and do Elnora justice?"

Mrs. Comstock grasped the hoe tighter and turning she
went down the walk, and started across the woods to the
home of Elvira Carney.  With averted head she passed
the pool, steadily pursuing her way.  Elvira Carney,
hanging towels across the back fence, saw her coming
and went toward the gate to meet her.  Twenty years
she had dreaded that visit.  Since Margaret Sinton
had compelled her to produce the violin she had hidden
so long, because she was afraid to destroy it, she had
come closer expectation than dread.  The wages of sin
are the hardest debts on earth to pay, and they are always
collected at inconvenient times and unexpected places.
Mrs. Comstock's face and hair were so white, that her
dark eyes seemed burned into their setting.  Silently she
stared at the woman before her a long time.

"I might have saved myself the trouble of coming,"
she said at last, "I see you are guilty as sin!"

"What has Mag Sinton been telling you?" panted the
miserable woman, gripping the fence.

"The truth!" answered Mrs. Comstock succinctly.
"Guilt is in every line of your face, in your eyes, all over
your wretched body.  If I'd taken a good look at you
any time in all these past years, no doubt I could have
seen it just as plain as I can now.  No woman or man
can do what you've done, and not get a mark set on them
for every one to read."

"Mercy!" gasped weak little Elvira Carney.  "Have mercy!"

"Mercy?" scoffed Mrs. Comstock.  "Mercy!  That's a
nice word from you!  How much mercy did you have
on me?  Where's the mercy that sent Comstock to the
slime of the bottomless quagmire, and left me to see it,
and then struggle on in agony all these years?
How about the mercy of letting me neglect my baby all
the days of her life?  Mercy!  Do you really dare use
the word to me?"

"If you  knew what I've suffered!"

"Suffered?" jeered Mrs. Comstock.  "That's interesting.
And pray, what have you suffered?"

"All the neighbours have suspected and been down
on me.  I ain't had a friend.  I've always felt guilty
of his death!  I've seen him go down a thousand times,
plain as ever you did.  Many's the night I've stood on the
other bank of that pool and listened to you, and I tried
to throw myself in to keep from hearing you, but I
didn't dare.  I knew God would send me to burn forever,
but I'd better done it; for now, He has set the burning
on my body, and every hour it is slowly eating the life
out of me. The doctor says it's a cancer----"

Mrs. Comstock exhaled a long breath.  Her grip on the
hoe relaxed and her stature lifted to towering height.

"I didn't know, or care, when I came here, just what I
did," she said.  "But my way is beginning to clear.  If the
guilt of your soul has come to a head, in a cancer on
your body, it looks as if the Almighty didn't need any of
my help in meting out His punishments.  I really couldn't
fix up anything to come anywhere near that.  If you are
going to burn until your life goes out with that sort of fire,
you don't owe me anything!"

"Oh, Katharine Comstock!" groaned Elvira Carney,
clinging to the fence for support.

"Looks as if the Bible is right when it says, `The wages
of sin is death,' doesn't it?" asked Mrs. Comstock.
"Instead of doing a woman's work in life, you chose the
smile of invitation, and the dress of unearned cloth.
Now you tell me you are marked to burn to death with the
unquenchable fire.  And him!  It was shorter with him, but
let me tell you he got his share!  He left me with an
untruth on his lips, for he told me he was going to take
his violin to Onabasha for a new key, when he carried it
to you.  Every vow of love and constancy he ever made me
was a lie, after he touched your lips, so when he tried
the wrong side of the quagmire, to hide from me the
direction in which he was coming, it reached out for him,
and it got him.  It didn't hurry, either!  It sucked him
down, slow and deliberate."

"Mercy!" groaned Elvira Carney.  "Mercy!"

"I don't know the word," said Mrs. Comstock.  "You took
all that out of me long ago.  The past twenty years
haven't been of the sort that taught mercy.  I've never
had any on myself and none on my child.  Why in the
name of justice, should I have mercy on you, or on him?
You were both older than I, both strong, sane people, you
deliberately chose your course when you lured him, and he,
when he was unfaithful to me.  When a Loose Man and a
Light Woman face the end the Almighty ordained for
them, why should they shout at me for mercy?  What did
I have to do with it?"

Elvira Carney sobbed in panting gasps.

"You've got tears, have you?" marvelled Mrs. Comstock.
"Mine all dried long ago.  I've none left to shed
over my wasted life, my disfigured face and hair, my years
of struggle with a man's work, my wreck of land among the
tilled fields of my neighbours, or the final knowledge that
the man I so gladly would have died to save, wasn't worth
the sacrifice of a rattlesnake.  If anything yet could wring
a tear from me, it would be the thought of the awful
injustice I always have done my girl.  If I'd lay hand on
you for anything, it would be for that."

"Kill me if you want to," sobbed Elvira Carney.  "I know
that I deserve it, and I don't care."

"You are getting your killing fast enough to suit me,"
said Mrs. Comstock.  "I wouldn't touch you, any more
than I would him, if I could.  Once is all any man or
woman deceives me about the holiest things of life.
I wouldn't touch you any more than I would the
black plague.  I am going back to my girl."

Mrs. Comstock turned and started swiftly through the woods,
but she had gone only a few rods when she stopped, and
leaning on the hoe, she stood thinking deeply.  Then she
turned back.  Elvira still clung to the fence, sobbing bitterly.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Comstock, "but I left a
wrong impression with you.  I don't want you to think
that I believe the Almighty set a cancer to burning you as
a punishment for your sins.  I don't!  I think a lot
more of the Almighty.  With a whole sky-full of worlds on
His hands to manage, I'm not believing that He has time
to look down on ours, and pick you out of all the millions
of us sinners, and set a special kind of torture to eating you.
It wouldn't be a gentlemanly thing to do, and first
of all, the Almighty is bound to be a gentleman.  I think
likely a bruise and bad blood is what caused your trouble.
Anyway, I've got to tell you that the cleanest housekeeper
I ever knew, and one of the noblest Christian women, was
slowly eaten up by a cancer.  She got hers from the careless
work of a poor doctor.  The Almighty is to forgive sin
and heal disease, not to invent and spread it."

She had gone only a few steps when she again turned back.

"If you will gather a lot of red clover bloom, make a tea
strong as lye of it, and drink quarts, I think likely it will
help you, if you are not too far gone.  Anyway, it will cool
your blood and make the burning easier to bear."

Then she swiftly went home.  Enter the lonely cabin
she could not, neither could she sit outside and think.
She attacked a bed of beets and hoed until the perspiration
ran from her face and body, then she began on the potatoes.
When she was too tired to take another stroke she
bathed and put on dry clothing.  In securing her dress she
noticed her husband's carefully preserved clothing lining
one wall.  She gathered it in an armload and carried it to
the swamp.  Piece by piece she pitched into the green
maw of the quagmire all those articles she had dusted
carefully and fought moths from for years, and stood
watching as it slowly sucked them down.  She went back
to her room and gathered every scrap that had in any way
belonged to Robert Comstock, excepting his gun and revolver,
and threw it into the swamp.  Then for the first time she
set her door wide open.

She was too weary now to do more, but an urging unrest
drove her.  She wanted Elnora.  It seemed to her she
never could wait until the girl came and delivered
her judgment.  At last in an effort to get nearer to
her, Mrs. Comstock climbed the stairs and stood looking
around Elnora's room.  It was very unfamiliar.  The pictures
were strange to her.  Commencement had filled it with
packages and bundles.  The walls were covered with
cocoons; moths and dragonflies were pinned everywhere.
Under the bed she could see half a dozen large white boxes.
She pulled out one and lifted the lid.  The bottom was
covered with a sheet of thin cork, and on long pins sticking
in it were large, velvet-winged moths.  Each one was
labelled, always there were two of a kind, in many cases
four, showing under and upper wings of both male and female.
They were of every colour and shape.

Mrs. Comstock caught her breath sharply.  When and
where had Elnora found them?  They were the most
exquisite sight the woman ever had seen, so she opened all
the boxes to feast on their beautiful contents.  As she did
so there came more fully a sense of the distance between
her and her child.  She could not understand how Elnora
had gone to school, and performed so much work secretly.
When it was finished, to the last moth, she, the mother
who should have been the first confidant and helper, had
been the one to bring disappointment.  Small wonder Elnora
had come to hate her.

Mrs. Comstock carefully closed and replaced the boxes;
and again stood looking around the room.  This time her
eyes rested on some books she did not remember having
seen before, so she picked up one and found that it was a
moth book.  She glanced over the first pages and was soon
eagerly reading.  When the text reached the classification
of species, she laid it down, took up another and read the
introductory chapters.  By that time her brain was in a
confused jumble of ideas about capturing moths with
differing baits and bright lights.

She went down stairs thinking deeply.  Being unable to
sit still and having nothing else to do she glanced at the
clock and began preparing supper.  The work dragged.
A chicken was snatched up and dressed hurriedly.  A spice
cake sprang into being.  Strawberries that had been
intended for preserves went into shortcake.  Delicious odours
crept from the cabin.  She put many extra touches
on the table and then commenced watching the road.
Everything was ready, but Elnora did not come.  Then began
the anxious process of trying to keep cooked food warm
and not spoil it.  The birds went to bed and dusk came.
Mrs. Comstock gave up the fire and set the supper
on the table.  Then she went out and sat on the front-door
step watching night creep around her.  She started eagerly
as the gate creaked, but it was only Wesley Sinton coming.

"Katharine, Margaret and Elnora passed where I was
working this afternoon, and Margaret got out of the
carriage and called me to the fence.  She told me what she
had done.  I've come to say to you that I am sorry.  She has
heard me threaten to do it a good many times, but I
never would have got it done.  I'd give a good deal if I
could undo it, but I can't, so I've come to tell you how
sorry I am."

"You've got something to be sorry for," said Mrs. Comstock,
"but likely we ain't thinking of the same thing.  It hurts
me less to know the truth, than to live in ignorance.
If Mag had the sense of a pewee, she'd told me long ago.
That's what hurts me, to think that both of you knew
Robert was not worth an hour of honest grief, yet you'd let
me mourn him all these years and neglect Elnora while I
did it.  If I have anything to forgive you, that is what it is."

Wesley removed his hat and sat on a bench.

"Katharine," he said solemnly, "nobody ever knows how
to take you."

"Would it be asking too much to take me for having a few
grains of plain common sense?" she inquired.  "You've known
all this time that Comstock got what he deserved,
when he undertook to sneak in an unused way across a
swamp, with which he was none too familiar.  Now I
should have thought that you'd figure that knowing the
same thing would be the best method to cure me of pining
for him, and slighting my child."

"Heaven only knows we have thought of that, and
talked of it often, but we were both too big cowards.
We didn't dare tell you."

"So you have gone on year after year, watching me
show indifference to Elnora, and yet a little  horse-sense
would have pointed out to you that she was my salvation.
Why look at it!  Not married quite a year.  All his vows
of love and fidelity made to me before the Almighty
forgotten in a few months, and a dance and a Light Woman so
alluring he had to lie and sneak for them.  What kind of a
prospect is that for a life?  I know men and women.
An honourable man is an honourable man, and a liar is a liar;
both are born and not made.  One cannot change to the
other any more than that same old leopard can change
its spots.  After a man tells a woman the first untruth
of that sort, the others come piling thick, fast, and
mountain high.  The desolation they bring in their wake
overshadows anything I have suffered completely.  If he
had lived six months more I should have known him for what
he was born to be.  It was in the blood of him.  His father
and grandfather before him were fiddling, dancing people; but
I was certain of him.  I thought we could leave Ohio and
come out here alone, and I could so love him and interest
him in his work, that he would be a man.  Of all the fool,
fruitless jobs, making anything of a creature that begins
by deceiving her, is the foolest a sane woman ever undertook.
I am more than sorry you and Margaret didn't see your way
clear to tell me long ago.  I'd have found it out in a
few more months if he had lived, and I wouldn't have
borne it a day.  The man who breaks his vows to me once,
doesn't get the second chance.  I give truth and honour.
I have a right to ask it in return.  I am glad I understand
at last.  Now, if Elnora will forgive me, we will take a new
start and see what we can make out of what is left of life.
If she won't, then it will be my time to learn what suffering
really means."

"But she will," said Wesley.  "She must!  She can't
help it when things are explained."

"I notice she isn't hurrying any about coming home.
Do you know where she is or what she is doing?"

"I do not.  But likely she will be along soon.  I must
go help Billy with the night work.  Good-bye, Katharine.
Thank the Lord you have come to yourself at last!"

They shook hands and Wesley went down the road while
Mrs. Comstock entered the cabin.  She could not swallow food.
She stood in the back door watching the sky for moths,
but they did not seem to be very numerous.  Her spirits
sank and she breathed unevenly.  Then she heard the
front screen.  She reached the middle door as Elnora
touched the foot of the stairs.

"Hurry, and get ready, Elnora," she said.  "Your supper
is almost spoiled now."

Elnora closed the stair door behind her, and for the first
time in her life, threw the heavy lever which barred out
anyone from down stairs.  Mrs. Comstock heard the thud,
and knew what it meant.  She reeled slightly and caught
the doorpost for support.  For a few minutes she clung
there, then sank to the nearest chair.  After a long time
she arose and stumbling half blindly, she put the food in
the cupboard and covered the table.  She took the lamp
in one hand, the butter in the other, and started to the
spring house.  Something brushed close by her face, and she
looked just in time to see a winged creature rise above the
cabin and sail away.

"That was a night bird," she muttered.  As she stopped
to set the butter in the water, came another thought.
"Perhaps it was a moth!"  Mrs. Comstock dropped the
butter and hurried out with the lamp; she held it high
above her head and waited until her arms ached.
Small insects of night gathered, and at last a little
dusty miller, but nothing came of any size.

"I must go where they are, if I get them," muttered
Mrs. Comstock.

She went to the barn after the stout pair of high boots
she used in feeding stock in deep snow.  Throwing these
beside the back door she climbed to the loft over the spring
house, and hunted an old lard oil lantern and one of first
manufacture for oil.  Both these she cleaned and filled.
She listened until everything up stairs had been still for
over half an hour.  By that time it was past eleven o'clock.
Then she took the lantern from the kitchen, the two old
ones, a handful of matches, a ball of twine, and went from
the cabin, softly closing the door.

Sitting on the back steps, she put on the boots, and then
stood gazing into the perfumed June night, first in the
direction of the woods on her land, then toward the Limberlost.
Its outline was so dark and forbidding she shuddered
and went down the garden, following the path toward the
woods, but as she neared the pool her knees wavered and
her courage fled.  The knowledge that in her soul she was
now glad Robert Comstock was at the bottom of it made a
coward of her, who fearlessly had mourned him there,
nights untold.  She could not go on.  She skirted the
back of the garden, crossed a field, and came out on
the road.  Soon she reached the Limberlost.  She hunted
until she found the old trail, then followed it stumbling
over logs and through clinging vines and grasses.
The heavy boots clumped on her feet, overhanging branches
whipped her face and pulled her hair.  But her eyes were
on the sky as she went straining into the night, hoping to
find signs of a living creature on wing.

By and by she began to see the wavering flight of something
she thought near the right size.  She had no idea
where she was, but she stopped, lighted a lantern and
hung it as high as she could reach.  A little distance away
she placed the second and then the third.  The objects
came nearer and sick with disappointment she saw that
they were bats.  Crouching in the damp swamp grasses,
without a thought of snakes or venomous insects, she
waited, her eyes roving from lantern to lantern.  Once she
thought a creature of high flight dropped near the lard oil
light, so she arose breathlessly waiting, but either it
passed or it was an illusion.  She glanced at the old lantern,
then at the new, and was on her feet in an instant creeping close.
Something large as a small bird was fluttering around.
Mrs. Comstock began to perspire, while her hand shook wildly.
Closer she crept and just as she reached for it, something
similar swept past and both flew away together.

Mrs. Comstock set her teeth and stood shivering.  For a
long time the locusts rasped, the whip-poor-wills cried and
a steady hum of night life throbbed in her ears.  Away in
the sky she saw something coming when it was no larger
than a falling leaf.  Straight toward the light it flew.
Mrs. Comstock began to pray aloud.

"This way, O Lord!  Make it come this way!  Please!
O Lord, send it lower!"

The moth hesitated at the first light, then slowly,
easily it came toward the second, as if following a path
of air.  It touched a leaf near the lantern and settled.
As Mrs. Comstock reached for it a thin yellow spray wet
her hand and the surrounding leaves.  When its wings
raised above its back, her fingers came together.
She held the moth to the light.  It was nearer brown than
yellow, and she remembered having seen some like it in
the boxes that afternoon.  It was not the one needed to
complete the collection, but Elnora might want it, so
Mrs. Comstock held on.  Then the Almighty was kind,
or nature was sufficient, as you look at it, for following
the law of its being when disturbed, the moth again threw
the spray by which some suppose it attracts its kind,
and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock's dress front
and arms.  From that instant, she became the best moth
bait ever invented.  Every Polyphemus in range hastened
to her, and other fluttering creatures of night followed.
The influx came her way.  She snatched wildly here and
there until she had one in each hand and no place to
put them.  She could see more coming, and her aching
heart, swollen with the strain of long excitement,
hurt pitifully.  She prayed in broken exclamations that
did not always sound reverent, but never was human soul
in more intense earnest.

Moths were coming.  She had one in each hand.
They were not yellow, and she did not know what to do.
She glanced around to try to discover some way to keep
what she had, and her throbbing heart stopped and
every muscle stiffened.  There was the dim outline of
a crouching figure not two yards away, and a pair of
eyes their owner thought hidden, caught the light in a
cold stream.  Her first impulse was to scream and fly
for life.  Before her lips could open a big moth alighted
on her breast while she felt another walking over her hair.
All sense of caution deserted her.  She did not care to
live if she could not replace the yellow moth she had killed.
She turned her eyes to those among the leaves.

"Here, you!" she cried hoarsely.  "I need you!  Get yourself
out here, and help me.  These critters are going to get away
from me.  Hustle!"

Pete Corson parted the bushes and stepped into the light.

"Oh, it's  you!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "I might have known!
But you gave me a start.  Here, hold these until I make some
sort of bag for them.  Go easy!  If you break them I don't
guarantee what will happen to you!"

"Pretty fierce, ain't you!" laughed Pete, but he advanced
and held out his hands.  "For Elnora, I s'pose?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Comstock.  "In a mad fit, I trampled
one this morning, and by the luck of the old boy himself
it was the last moth she needed to complete a collection.
I got to get another one or die."

"Then I guess it's your funeral," said Pete.  "There ain't
a chance in a dozen the right one will come.  What colour
was it?"

"Yellow, and big as a bird."

"The Emperor, likely," said Pete.  "You dig for
that kind, and they are not numerous, so's 'at you can
smash 'em for fun."

"Well, I can try to get one, anyway," said Mrs. Comstock.
"I forgot all about bringing anything to put them in.
You take a pinch on their wings until I make a poke."

Mrs. Comstock removed her apron, tearing off the strings.
She unfastened and stepped from the skirt of her
calico dress.  With one apron string she tied shut the
band and placket.  She pulled a wire pin from her hair,
stuck it through the other string, and using it as a bodkin
ran it around the hem of her skirt, so shortly she had a
large bag.  She put several branches inside to which the
moths could cling, closed the mouth partially and held
it toward Pete.

"Put your hand well down and let the things go!" she ordered.
"But be careful, man!  Don't run into the twigs!  Easy!
That's one.  Now the other.  Is the one on my head gone?
There was one on my dress, but I guess it flew.  Here comes
a kind of a gray-looking one."

Pete slipped several more moths into the bag.

"Now, that's five, Mrs. Comstock," he said.  "I'm sorry,
but you'll have to make that do.  You must get out of
here lively.  Your lights will be taken for hurry
calls, and inside the next hour a couple of men will ride
here like fury.  They won't be nice Sunday-school men,
and they won't hold bags and catch moths for you.
You must go quick!"

Mrs. Comstock laid down the bag and pulled one of
the lanterns lower.

"I won't budge a step," she said.  "This land doesn't
belong to you.  You have no right to order me off it.
Here I stay until I get a Yellow Emperor, and no little
petering thieves of this neighbourhood can scare me away."

"You don't understand," said Pete.  "I'm willing to
help Elnora, and I'd take care of you, if I could, but
there will be too many for me, and they will be mad at
being called out for nothing."

"Well, who's calling them out?" demanded Mrs. Comstock.
"I'm catching moths.  If a lot of good-for-nothings get
fooled into losing some sleep, why let them, they can't
hurt me, or stop my work."

"They can, and they'll do both."

"Well, I'll see them do it!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "I've got
Robert's revolver in my dress, and I can shoot as straight
as any man, if I'm mad enough.  Any one who interferes
with me to-night will find me mad a-plenty.  There goes another!"

She stepped into the light and waited until a big brown
moth settled on her and was easily taken.  Then in light,
airy flight came a delicate pale green thing, and Mrs.
Comstock started in pursuit.  But the scent was not right.
The moth fluttered high, then dropped lower, still lower,
and sailed away.  With outstretched hands Mrs. Comstock
pursued it.  She hurried one way and another, then ran
over an object which tripped her and she fell.
She regained her feet in an instant, but she had lost sight
of the moth.  With livid face she turned to the crouching man.

"You nasty, sneaking son of Satan!" she cried.  "Why are
you hiding there?  You made me lose the one I wanted
most of any I've had a chance at yet.  Get out of here!
Go this minute, or I'll fill your worthless carcass so full
of holes you'll do to sift cornmeal.  Go, I say!  I'm using
the Limberlost to-night, and I won't be stopped by the
devil himself!  Cut like fury, and tell the rest of them
they can just go home.  Pete is going to help me, and
he is all of you I need.  Now go!"

The man turned and went.  Pete leaned against a tree,
held his mouth shut and shook inwardly.  Mrs. Comstock
came back panting.

"The old scoundrel made me lose that!" she said.  "If any
one else comes snooping around here I'll just blow them
up to start with.  I haven't time to talk.  Suppose that
had been yellow!  I'd have killed that man, sure!

The Limberlost isn't safe to-night, and the sooner those
whelps find it out, the better it will be for them."

Pete stopped laughing to look at her.  He saw that
she was speaking the truth.  She was quite past reason,
sense, or fear.  The soft night air stirred the wet hair
around her temples, the flickering lanterns made her face
a ghastly green.  She would stop at nothing, that was evident.
Pete suddenly began catching moths with exemplary industry.
In putting one into the bag, another escaped.

"We must not try that again," said Mrs. Comstock.
"Now, what will we do?"

"We are close to the old case," said Pete.  "I think
I can get into it.  Maybe we could slip the rest in there."

"That's a fine idea!" said Mrs. Comstock.  "They'll have
so much room there they won't be likely to hurt
themselves, and the books say they don't fly in daytime
unless they are disturbed, so they will settle when it's
light, and I can come with Elnora to get them."

They captured two more, and then Pete carried them
to the case.

"Here comes a big one!" he cried as he returned.

Mrs. Comstock looked up and stepped out with a prayer
on her lips.  She could not tell the colour at that
distance, but the moth appeared different from the others.
On it came, dropping lower and darting from light to light.
As it swept near her, "O Heavenly Father!" exulted Mrs.
Comstock, "it's yellow!  Careful Pete!  Your hat, maybe!"

Pete made a long sweep.  The moth wavered above
the hat and sailed away.  Mrs. Comstock leaned against
a tree and covered her face with her shaking hands.

"That is my punishment!" she cried.  "Oh, Lord, if
you will give a moth like that into my possession, I'll
always be a better woman!"

The Emperor again came in sight.  Pete stood tense
and ready.  Mrs. Comstock stepped into the light and
watched the moth's course.  Then a second appeared
in pursuit of the first.  The larger one wavered into
the radius of light once more.  The perspiration rolled
down the man's face.  He half lifted the hat.

"Pray, woman!  Pray now!" he panted.

"I guess I best get over by that lard oil light and go
to work," breathed Mrs. Comstock.  "The Lord knows
this is all in prayer, but it's no time for words just now.
Ready, Pete!  You are going to get a chance first!"

Pete made another long, steady sweep, but the moth
darted beneath the hat.  In its flight it came straight
toward Mrs. Comstock.  She snatched off the remnant
of apron she had tucked into her petticoat band and
held the calico before her.  The moth struck full against
it and clung to the goods.  Pete crept up stealthily.
The second moth followed the first, and the spray
showered the apron.

"Wait!" gasped Mrs. Comstock.  "I think they have settled.
The books say they won't leave now."

The big pale yellow creature clung firmly, lowering
and raising its wings.  The other came nearer.  Mrs.
Comstock held the cloth with rigid hands, while Pete
could hear her breathing in short gusts.

"Shall I try now?" he implored.

"Wait!" whispered the woman.  "Something seems to
say wait!"

The night breeze stiffened and gently waved the apron.
Locusts rasped, mosquitoes hummed and frogs sang uninterruptedly.
A musky odour slowly filled the air.

"Now shall I?" questioned Pete.

"No.  Leave them alone.  They are safe now.  They are mine.
They are my salvation.  God and the Limberlost gave them
to me!  They won't move for hours.  The books all say so.
O Heavenly Father, I am thankful to You, and you, too,
Pete Corson!  You are a good man to help me.  Now, I can
go home and face my girl."

Instead, Mrs. Comstock dropped suddenly.  She spread
the apron across her knees.  The moths remained undisturbed.
Then her tired white head dropped, the tears she had thought
forever dried gushed forth, and she sobbed for pure joy.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that now, you know!" comforted Pete.
"Think of getting two!  That's more than you ever could
have expected.  A body would think you would cry, if you
hadn't got any.  Come on, now.  It's almost morning.
Let me help you home."

Pete took the bag and the two old lanterns.  Mrs. Comstock
carried her moths and the best lantern and went ahead to
light the way.

Elnora had sat beside her window far into the night.
At last she undressed and went to bed, but sleep would
not come.  She had gone to the city to talk with members of
the School Board about a room in the grades.  There was
a possibility that she might secure the moth, and so be able
to start to college that fall, but if she did not, then she
wanted the school.  She had been given some encouragement,
but she was so unhappy that nothing mattered.  She could
not see the way open to anything in life, save a long
series of disappointments, while she remained with
her mother.  Yet Margaret Sinton had advised her to go
home and try once more.  Margaret had seemed so sure
there would be a change for the better, that Elnora had
consented, although she had no hope herself.  So strong is
the bond of blood, she could not make up her mind to seek
a home elsewhere, even after the day that had passed.
Unable to sleep she arose at last, and the room being warm,
she sat on the floor close the window.  The lights in the
swamp caught her eye.  She was very uneasy, for quite a
hundred of her best moths were in the case.  However, there
was no money, and no one ever had touched a book or any
of her apparatus.  Watching the lights set her thinking,
and before she realized it, she was in a panic of fear.

She hurried down the stairway softly calling her mother.
There was no answer.  She lightly stepped across the
sitting-room and looked in at the open door.  There was
no one, and the bed had not been used.  Her first thought
was that her mother had gone to the pool; and the Limberlost
was alive with signals.  Pity and fear mingled in the
heart of the girl.  She opened the kitchen door, crossed the
garden and ran back to the swamp.  As she neared it she
listened, but she could hear only the usual voices of night.

"Mother!" she called softly.  Then louder, "Mother!"

There was not a sound.  Chilled with fright she hurried
back to the cabin.  She did not know what to do.
She understood what the lights in the Limberlost meant.
Where was her mother?  She was afraid to enter, while
she was growing very cold and still more fearful about
remaining outside.  At last she went to her mother's room,
picked up the gun, carried it into the kitchen, and crowding
in a little corner behind the stove, she waited in trembling
anxiety.  The time was dreadfully long before she heard
her mother's voice.  Then she decided some one had been
ill and sent for her, so she took courage, and stepping
swiftly across the kitchen she unbarred the door and drew
back from sight beside the table.

Mrs. Comstock entered dragging her heavy feet.  Her dress
skirt was gone, her petticoat wet and drabbled, and
the waist of her dress was almost torn from her body.
Her hair hung in damp strings; her eyes were red with crying.
In one hand she held the lantern, and in the other stiffly
extended before her, on a wad of calico reposed a
magnificent pair of Yellow Emperors.  Elnora stared, her
lips parted.

"Shall I put these others in the kitchen?" inquired a
man's voice.

The girl shrank back to the shadows.

"Yes, anywhere inside the door," replied Mrs. Comstock
as she moved a few steps to make way for him.
Pete's head appeared.  He set down the moths and was gone.

"Thank you, Pete, more than ever woman thanked you before!"
said Mrs. Comstock.

She placed the lantern on the table and barred the door.
As she turned Elnora came into view.  Mrs. Comstock
leaned toward her, and held out the moths.  In a voice
vibrant with tones never before heard she said:  "Elnora,
my girl, mother's found you another moth!"




CHAPTER XIII


WHEREIN MOTHER LOVE IS BESTOWED ON ELNORA,
AND SHE FINDS AN ASSISTANT IN MOTH HUNTING


Elnora awoke at dawn and lay gazing around the
unfamiliar room.  She noticed that every vestige
of masculine attire and belongings was gone, and
knew, without any explanation, what that meant.
For some reason every tangible evidence of her father
was banished, and she was at last to be allowed to
take his place.    She turned to look at her mother.
Mrs. Comstock's face was white and haggard, but on it
rested an expression of profound peace Elnora never
before had seen.  As she studied the features on the
pillow beside her, the heart of the girl throbbed in tenderness.
She realized as fully as any one else could what her mother
had suffered.  Thoughts of the night brought shuddering fear.
She softly slipped from the bed, went to her room, dressed and
entered the kitchen to attend the Emperors and prepare breakfast.
The pair had been left clinging to the piece of calico.
The calico was there and a few pieces of beautiful wing.
A mouse had eaten the moths!

"Well, of all the horrible luck!" gasped Elnora.

With the first thought of her mother, she caught up the
remnants of the moths, burying them in the ashes of the stove.
She took the bag to her room, hurriedly releasing its
contents, but there was not another yellow one.  Her mother
had said some had been confined in the case in the Limberlost.
There was still a hope that an Emperor might be among them.
She peeped at her mother, who still slept soundly.

Elnora took a large piece of mosquito netting, and ran
to the swamp.  Throwing it over the top of the case, she
unlocked the door.  She reeled, faint with distress.
The living moths that had been confined there in their
fluttering to escape to night and the mates they sought
not only had wrecked the other specimens of the case,
but torn themselves to fringes on the pins.  A third of the
rarest moths of the collection for the man of India were
antennaless, legless, wingless, and often headless.
Elnora sobbed aloud.

"This is overwhelming," she said at last.  "It is making
a fatalist of me.  I am beginning to think things
happen as they are ordained from the beginning, this
plainly indicating that there is to be no college, at least,
this year, for me.  My life is all mountain-top or canon.
I wish some one would lead me into a few days of `green pastures.'
Last night I went to sleep on mother's arm, the moths all
secured, love and college, certainties.  This morning I wake
to find all my hopes wrecked.  I simply don't dare let mother
know that instead of helping me, she has ruined my collection.
Everything is gone--unless the love lasts.  That actually
seemed true.  I believe I will go see."

The love remained.  Indeed, in the overflow of the long-
hardened, pent-up heart, the girl was almost suffocated
with tempestuous caresses and generous offerings.  Before the
day was over, Elnora realized that she never had known
her mother.  The woman who now busily went through the
cabin, her eyes bright, eager, alert, constantly planning,
was a stranger.  Her very face was different, while it did
not seem possible that during one night the acid of twenty
years could disappear from a voice and leave it sweet and pleasant.

For the next few days Elnora worked at mounting the
moths her mother had taken.  She had to go to the Bird
Woman and tell about the disaster, but Mrs. Comstock
was allowed to think that Elnora delivered the moths
when she made the trip.  If she had told her what actually
happened, the chances were that Mrs. Comstock again
would have taken possession of the Limberlost, hunting
there until she replaced all the moths that had been destroyed.
But Elnora knew from experience what it meant to collect
such a list in pairs.  It would require steady work for at
least two summers to replace the lost moths.  When she left
the Bird Woman she went to the president of the Onabasha
schools and asked him to do all in his power to secure her
a room in one of the ward buildings.

The next morning the last moth was mounted, and the
housework finished.  Elnora said to her mother, "If you
don't mind, I believe I will go into the woods pasture
beside Sleepy Snake Creek and see if I can catch some
dragonflies or moths."

"Wait until I get a knife and a pail and I will go along,"
answered Mrs. Comstock.  "The dandelions are plenty
tender for greens among the deep grasses, and I might just
happen to see something myself.  My eyes are pretty sharp."

"I wish you could realize how young you are," said Elnora.
"I know women in Onabasha who are ten years older than you,
yet they look twenty years younger.  So could you, if you
would dress your hair becomingly, and wear appropriate clothes."

"I think my hair puts me in the old woman class permanently,"
said Mrs. Comstock.

"Well, it doesn't!" cried Elnora.  "There is a woman
of twenty-eight who has hair as white as yours from sick
headaches, but her face is young and beautiful.  If your
face would grow a little fuller and those lines would go
away, you'd be lovely!"

"You little pig!" laughed Mrs. Comstock.  "Any one
would think you would be satisfied with having a splinter
new mother, without setting up a kick on her looks,
first thing.  Greedy!"

"That is a good word," said Elnora.  "I admit the charge.
I am greedy over every wasted year.  I want you young,
lovely, suitably dressed and enjoying life like the
other girls' mothers."

Mrs. Comstock laughed softly as she pushed back her
sunbonnet so that shrubs and bushes beside the way could
be scanned closely.  Elnora walked ahead with a case over
her shoulder, a net in her hand.  Her head was bare, the
rolling collar of her lavender gingham dress was cut in a V
at the throat, the sleeves only reached the elbows.  Every few
steps she paused and examined the shrubbery carefully,
while Mrs. Comstock was watching until her eyes ached,
but there were no dandelions in the pail she carried.

Early June was rioting in fresh grasses, bright flowers,
bird songs, and gay-winged creatures of air.  Down the
footpath the two went through the perfect morning, the
love of God and all nature in their hearts.  At last they
reached the creek, following it toward the bridge.  Here Mrs.
Comstock found a large bed of tender dandelions and stopped
to fill her pail.  Then she sat on the bank, picking over the
greens, while she listened to the creek softly singing its June song.

Elnora remained within calling distance, and was having
good success.  At last she crossed the creek, following
it up to a bridge.  There she began a careful examination
of the under sides of the sleepers and flooring for cocoons.
Mrs. Comstock could see her and the creek for several
rods above.  The mother sat beating the long green leaves
across her hand, carefully picking out the white buds,
because Elnora liked them, when a splash up the creek
attracted her attention.

Around the bend came a man.  He was bareheaded,
dressed in a white sweater, and waders which reached
his waist.  He walked on the bank, only entering the
water when forced.  He had a queer basket strapped on
his hip, and with a small rod he sent a long line spinning
before him down the creek, deftly manipulating with
it a little floating object.  He was closer Elnora than
her mother, but Mrs. Comstock thought possibly by
hurrying she could remain unseen and yet warn the girl
that a stranger was coming.  As she approached the
bridge, she caught a sapling and leaned over the water to
call Elnora.  With her lips parted to speak she hesitated
a second to watch a sort of insect that flashed past on the
water, when a splash from the man attracted the girl.

She was under the bridge, one knee planted in the
embankment and a foot braced to support her.  Her hair
was tousled by wind and bushes, her face flushed,
and she lifted her arms above her head, working to loosen
a cocoon she had found.  The call Mrs. Comstock had
intended to utter never found voice, for as Elnora looked
down at the sound, "Possibly I could get that for you,"
suggested the man.

Mrs. Comstock drew back.  He was a young man with a
wonderfully attractive face, although it was too
white for robust health, broad shoulders, and slender,
upright frame.

"Oh, I do hope you can!" answered Elnora.  "It's quite
a find!  It's one of those lovely pale red cocoons
described in the books.  I suspect it comes from having
been in a dark place and screened from the weather."

"Is that so?" cried the man.  "Wait a minute.  I've never
seen one.  I suppose it's a Cecropia, from the location."

"Of course," said Elnora.  "It's so cool here the moth
hasn't emerged.  The cocoon is a big, baggy one, and it
is as red as fox tail."

"What luck!" he cried.  "Are you making a collection?"

He reeled in his line, laid his rod across a bush and
climbed the embankment to Elnora's side, produced a
knife and began the work of whittling a deep groove
around the cocoon.

"Yes.  I paid my way through the high school in
Onabasha with them.  Now I am starting a collection
which means college."

"Onabasha!" said the man.  "That is where I am visiting.
Possibly you know my people--Dr. Ammon's?  The doctor is
my uncle.  My home is in Chicago.  I've been having typhoid
fever, something fierce.  In the hospital six weeks.
Didn't gain strength right, so Uncle Doc sent for me.
I am to live out of doors all summer, and exercise until
I get in condition again.  Do you know my uncle?"

"Yes.  He is Aunt Margaret's doctor, and he would
be ours, only we are never ill."

"Well, you look it!" said the man, appraising Elnora
at a glance.

"Strangers always mention it," sighed Elnora.  "I wonder
how it would seem to be a pale, languid lady and ride
in a carriage."

"Ask me!" laughed the man.  "It feels like the--dickens!
I'm so proud of my feet.  It's quite a trick to stand
on them now.  I have to keep out of the water all I can
and stop to baby every half-mile.  But with interesting
outdoor work I'll be myself in a week."

"Do you call that work?"  Elnora indicated the creek.

"I do, indeed!  Nearly three miles, banks too soft to brag
on and never a strike.  Wouldn't you call that hard labour?"

"Yes," laughed Elnora.  "Work at which you might
kill yourself and never get a fish.  Did any one tell you
there were trout in Sleepy Snake Creek?"

"Uncle said I could try."

"Oh, you can," said Elnora.  "You can try no end,
but you'll never get a trout.  This is too far south and
too warm for them.  If you sit on the bank and use
worms you might catch some perch or catfish."

"But that isn't exercise."

"Well, if you only want exercise, go right on fishing.
You will have a creel full of invisible results every night."

"I object," said the man emphatically.  He stopped
work again and studied Elnora.  Even the watching
mother could not blame him.  In the shade of the bridge
Elnora's bright head and her lavender dress made a
picture worthy of much contemplation.

"I object!" repeated the man.  "When I work I want
to see results.  I'd rather exercise sawing wood, making
one pile grow little and the other big than to cast all day
and catch nothing because there is not a fish to take.
Work for work's sake doesn't appeal to me."

He digged the groove around the cocoon with skilled hand.
"Now there is some fun in this!" he said.  It's going to
be a fair job to cut it out, but when it comes, it is
not only beautiful, but worth a price; it will help you on
your way.  I think I'll put up my rod and hunt moths.
That would be something like!  Don't you want help?"

Elnora parried the question.  "Have you ever hunted
moths, Mr. Ammon?

"Enough to know the ropes in taking them and to
distinguish the commonest ones.  I go wild on Catocalae.
There's too many of them, all too much alike for Philip,
but I know all these fellows.  One flew into my room when
I was about ten years old, and we thought it a miracle.
None of us ever had seen one so we took it over to the
museum to Dr. Dorsey.  He said they were common enough,
but we didn't see them because they flew at night.
He showed me the museum collection, and I was so
interested I took mine back home and started to hunt them.
Every year after that we went to our cottage a month
earlier, so I could find them, and all my family helped.
I stuck to it until I went to college.  Then, keeping
the little moths out of the big ones was too much for the
mater, so father advised that I donate mine to the museum.
He bought a fine case for them with my name on it,
which constitutes my sole contribution to science.  I know
enough to help you all right."

"Aren't you going north this year?"

"All depends on how this fever leaves me.  Uncle says
the nights are too cold and the days too hot there
for me.  He thinks I had better stay in an even
temperature until I am strong again.  I am going to stick
pretty close to him until I know I am.  I wouldn't admit
it to any one at home, but I was almost gone.  I don't
believe anything can eat up nerve much faster than the
burning of a slow fever.  No, thanks, I have enough.
I stay with Uncle Doc, so if I feel it coming again he can
do something quickly."

"I don't blame you," said Elnora.  "I never have been
sick, but it must be dreadful.  I am afraid you are tiring
yourself over that.  Let me take the knife awhile."

"Oh, it isn't so bad as that!  I wouldn't be wading
creeks if it were.  I only need a few more days to get
steady on my feet again.  I'll soon have this out."

"It is kind of you to get it," said Elnora.  "I should
have had to peel it, which would spoil the cocoon for a'
specimen and ruin the moth."

"You haven't said yet whether I may help you while
I am here."

Elnora hesitated.

"You better say `yes,'" he persisted.  "It would be a
real kindness.  It would keep me outdoors all day and
give an incentive to work.  I'm good at it.  I'll show you
if I am not in a week or so.  I can `sugar,' manipulate
lights, and mirrors, and all the expert methods.  I'll wager,
moths are numerous in the old swamp over there."

"They are," said Elnora.  "Most I have I took there.
A few nights ago my mother caught a number, but we
don't dare go alone."

"All the more reason why you need me.  Where do
you live?  I can't get an answer from you, I'll go tell
your mother who I am and ask her if I may help you.
I warn you, young lady, I have a very effective way
with mothers.  They almost never turn me down."

"Then it's probable you will have a new experience
when you meet mine," said Elnora.  "She never was
known to do what any one expected she surely would."

The cocoon came loose.  Philip Ammon stepped down
the embankment turning to offer his hand to Elnora.
She ran down as she would have done alone, and taking
the cocoon turned it end for end to learn if the imago it
contained were alive.  Then Ammon took back the cocoon
to smooth the edges.  Mrs. Comstock gave them one
long look as they stood there, and returned to
her dandelions.  While she worked she paused occasionally,
listening intently.  Presently they came down the creek,
the man carrying the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while
Elnora made her way along the bank, taking a lesson in casting.
Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining,
the bushes taking liberties with her hair.  For a picture
of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been surpassed,
and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.

"Moth-er!" called Elnora.

There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's
voice, as she sung out the call in perfect confidence
that it would bring a loving answer, that struck deep in
Mrs. Comstock's heart.  She never had heard that word
so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.

"Here!" she answered, still cleaning dandelions.

"Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago,"
said Elnora.  "He has been ill and he is staying with
Dr. Ammon in Onabasha.  He came down the creek
fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me.
He feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to
fish, until he is well.  What do you think about it?"

Philip Ammon extended his hand.  "I am glad to
know you," he said.

"You may take the hand-shaking for granted," replied
Mrs. Comstock.  "Dandelions have a way of making
fingers sticky, and I like to know a man before I
take his hand, anyway.  That introduction seems mighty
comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves
me unclassified.  My name is Comstock."

Philip Ammon bowed.

"I am sorry to hear you have been sick," said Mrs. Comstock.
"But if people will live where they have such vile water as
they do in Chicago, I don't see what else they are to expect."

Philip studied her intently.

"I am sure I didn't have a fever on purpose," he said.

"You do seem a little wobbly on your legs," she observed.
"Maybe you had better sit and rest while I finish
these greens.  It's late for the genuine article, but
in the shade, among long grass they are still tender."

"May I have a leaf?" he asked, reaching for one as he sat
on the bank, looking from the little creek at his feet, away
through the dim cool spaces of the June forest on the
opposite side.  He drew a deep breath.  "Glory, but this
is good after almost two months inside hospital walls!"

He stretched on the grass and lay gazing up at the
leaves, occasionally asking the interpretation of a bird note
or the origin of an unfamiliar forest voice.  Elnora began
helping with the dandelions.

"Another, please," said the young man, holding out his hand.

"Do you suppose this is the kind of grass Nebuchadnezzar
ate?" Elnora asked, giving the leaf.

"He knew a good thing if it is."

"Oh, you should taste dandelions boiled with bacon and
served with mother's cornbread."

"Don't!  My appetite is twice my size now.  While it
is--how far is it to Onabasha, shortest cut?"

"Three miles."

The man lay in perfect content, nibbling leaves.

"This surely is a treat," he said.  "No wonder you find
good hunting here.  There seems to be foliage for almost
every kind of caterpillar.  But I suppose you have to
exchange for northern species and Pacific Coast kinds?"

"Yes.  And every one wants Regalis in trade.  I never
saw the like.  They consider a Cecropia or a Polyphemus
an insult, and a Luna is barely acceptable."

"What authorities have you?"

Elnora began to name text-books which started a discussion.
Mrs. Comstock listened.  She cleaned dandelions with greater
deliberation than they ever before were examined.
In reality she was taking stock of the young man's long,
well-proportioned frame, his strong hands, his smooth,
fine-textured skin, his thick shock of dark hair,
and making mental notes of his simple manly speech and
the fact that he evidently did know much about moths.
It pleased her to think that if he had been a neighbour boy
who had lain beside her every day of his life while she
worked, he could have been no more at home.  She liked
the things he said, but she was proud that Elnora had a
ready answer which always seemed appropriate.

At last Mrs. Comstock finished the greens.

"You are three miles from the city and less than a mile
from where we live," she said.  "If you will tell me what
you dare eat, I suspect you had best go home with us and
rest until the cool of the day before you start back.
Probably some one that you can ride in with will be passing
before evening."

"That is mighty kind of you," said Philip.  "I think I will.
It doesn't matter so much what I eat, the point is that
I must be moderate.  I am hungry all the time."

"Then we will go," said Mrs. Comstock, "and we will
not allow you to make yourself sick with us."

Philip Ammon arose: picking up the pail of greens and
his fishing rod, he stood waiting.  Elnora led the way.
Mrs. Comstock motioned Philip to follow and she walked
in the rear.  The girl carried the cocoon and the box of
moths she had taken, searching every step for more.
The young man frequently set down his load to join in
the pursuit of a dragonfly or moth, while Mrs. Comstock watched
the proceedings with sharp eyes.  Every time Philip picked
up the pail of greens she struggled to suppress a smile.

Elnora proceeded slowly, chattering about everything
beside the trail.  Philip was interested in all the objects
she pointed out, noticing several things which escaped her.
He carried the greens as casually when they took a short
cut down the roadway as on the trail.  When Elnora
turned toward the gate of her home Philip Ammon
stopped, took a long look at the big hewed log cabin, the
vines which clambered over it, the flower garden ablaze
with beds of bright bloom interspersed with strawberries
and tomatoes, the trees of the forest rising north and west
like a green wall and exclaimed:  "How beautiful!"

Mrs. Comstock was pleased.  "If you think that," she
said, "perhaps you will understand how, in all this present-
day rush to be modern, I have preferred to remain as I began.
My husband and I took up this land, and enough
trees to build the cabin, stable, and outbuildings are
nearly all we ever cut.  Of course, if he had lived,
I suppose we should have kept up with our neighbours.  I hear
considerable about the value of the land, the trees which
are on it, and the oil which is supposed to be under it,
but as yet I haven't brought myself to change anything.
So we stand for one of the few remaining homes of first
settlers in this region.  Come in.  You are very welcome
to what we have."

Mrs. Comstock stepped forward and took the lead.
She had a bowl of soft water and a pair of boots to offer
for the heavy waders, for outer comfort, a glass of cold
buttermilk and a bench on which to rest, in the circular
arbour until dinner was ready.  Philip Ammon splashed
in the water.  He followed to the stable and exchanged
boots there.  He was ravenous for the buttermilk, and
when he stretched on the bench in the arbour the
flickering patches of sunlight so tantalized his tired eyes,
while the bees made such splendid music, he was soon
sound asleep.  When Elnora and her mother came out with a
table they stood a short time looking at him.  It is probable
Mrs. Comstock voiced a united thought when she said:  "What a
refined, decent looking young man!  How proud his mother must
be of him!  We must be careful what we let him eat."

Then they returned to the kitchen where Mrs. Comstock
proceeded to be careful.  She broiled ham of her own
sugar-curing, creamed potatoes, served asparagus on
toast, and made a delicious strawberry shortcake.  As she
cooked dandelions with bacon, she feared to serve them to
him, so she made an excuse that it took too long to prepare
them, blanched some and made a salad.  When everything
was ready she touched Philip's sleeve.

"Best have something to eat, lad, before you get too
hungry," she said.

"Please hurry!" he begged laughingly as he held a plate
toward her to be filled.  "I thought I had enough self-
restraint to start out alone, but I see I was mistaken.
If you would allow me, just now, I am afraid I should start
a fever again.  I never did smell food so good as this.
It's mighty kind of you to take me in.  I hope I will be man
enough in a few days to do something worth while in return."

Spots of sunshine fell on the white cloth and blue china,
the bees and an occasional stray butterfly came searching
for food.  A rose-breasted grosbeak, released from a three
hours' siege of brooding, while his independent mate took
her bath and recreation, mounted the top branch of a
maple in the west woods from which he serenaded the
dinner party with a joyful chorus in celebration of his freedom.
Philip's eyes strayed to the beautiful cabin, to the
mixture of flowers and vegetables stretching down to the
road, and to the singing bird with his red-splotched breast
of white and he said:  "I can't realize now that I ever lay in
ice packs in a hospital.  How I wish all the sick folks could
come here to grow strong!"

The grosbeak sang on, a big Turnus butterfly sailed
through the arbour and poised over the table.  Elnora held
up a lump of sugar and the butterfly, clinging to her
fingers, tasted daintily.  With eager eyes and parted
lips, the girl held steadily.  When at last it wavered
away, "That made a picture!" said Philip.  "Ask me some
other time how I lost my illusions concerning butterflies.
I always thought of them in connection with sunshine,
flower pollen, and fruit nectar, until one sad day."

"I know!" laughed Elnora.  "I've seen that, too, but
it didn't destroy any illusion for me.  I think quite as
much of the butterflies as ever."

Then they talked of flowers, moths, dragonflies, Indian
relics, and all the natural wonders the swamp afforded,
straying from those subjects to books and school work.
When they cleared the table Philip assisted, carrying
several tray loads to the kitchen.  He and Elnora mounted
specimens while Mrs Comstock washed the dishes.  Then she
came out with a ruffle she was embroidering.

"I wonder if I did not see a picture of you in Onabasha
last night," Philip said to Elnora.  "Aunt Anna took me
to call on Miss Brownlee.  She was showing me her
crowd--of course, it was you!  But it didn't half do you
justice, although it was the nearest human of any of them.
Miss Brownlee is very fond of you.  She said the finest things."

Then they talked of Commencement, and at last Philip said
he must go or his friends would become anxious about him.

Mrs. Comstock brought him a blue bowl of creamy milk
and a plate of bread.  She stopped a passing team and
secured a ride to the city for him, as his exercise of the
morning had been too violent, and he was forced to admit
he was tired.

"May I come to-morrow afternoon and hunt moths awhile?"
he asked Mrs. Comstock as he arose.  "We will `sugar' a
tree and put a light beside it, if I can get stuff to
make the preparation.  Possibly we can take some that way.
I always enjoy moth hunting, I'd like to help Miss Elnora,
and it would be a charity to me.  I've got to remain
outdoors some place, and I'm quite sure I'd get well
faster here than anywhere else.  Please say I may come."

"I have no objections, if Elnora really would like help,"
said Mrs. Comstock.

In her heart she wished he would not come.  She wanted
her newly found treasure all to herself, for a time,
at least.  But Elnora's were eager, shining eyes.
She thought it would be splendid to have help, and
great fun to try book methods for taking moths, so it
was arranged.  As Philip rode away, Mrs. Comstock's eyes
followed him.  "What a nice young man!" she said.

"He seems fine," agreed Elnora.

"He comes of a good family, too.  I've often heard of
his father.  He is a great lawyer."

"I am glad he likes it here.  I need help.  Possibly----"

"Possibly what?"

"We can find many moths."

"What did he mean about the butterflies?"

"That he always had connected them with sunshine,
flowers, and fruits, and thought of them as the most
exquisite of creations; then one day he found some
clustering thickly over carrion."

"Come to think of it, I have seen butterflies----"

"So had he," laughed Elnora.  "And that is what he meant."