olling down her
cheeks. Then across her mind flashed a vision of the little cottontail
streaking madly across the road before her, and again some strange new
power within urged her on. She went on slowly, reluctantly, with
dragging feet, but still she went on. There were no men about the place
at this hour--they were at work--but untidy women sat on their doorsteps
or rocked at the windows, and a horde of ragged barefooted children
catching sight of the girl swarmed out into the road to stare at her.
Some begged for pennies, and getting none, yelled after her and threw
stones till she took to her heels and ran "just like the other bunny!"
she told herself in miserable scorn, when once she was safely past the
settlement. Well, there was no other such place to pass, but--she
shivered as she remembered that she must pass this one again on the way
back.

She went on swiftly now with only occasionally a fearful glance on
either side when the road cut through the woods. Once a farmer going by
offered her a ride; but she shook her head and plodded on. It was
half-past eleven when, with a great throb of relief and joy, she came in
sight of the Corners. A few minutes more and she was in the village
street with its homey-looking white houses and flower gardens. She
longed to stop and rest on one of the vine-shaded porches, but she was
too shy to ask permission. At the store she did stop, and rested a few
minutes in one of the battered wooden chairs on the little porch, but it
was sunny and hot there. Now for the first time she thought of lunch,
but she had not a penny with her; she must go hungry until she got back
to camp. A boy came up the steps munching a red apple, his pockets
bulging with others. The storekeeper's little girl ran out on the porch
with a big molasses cooky just out of the oven, and the warm spicy odour
of it made Myra realise how hungry she was. She looked so longingly at
the cooky that the child, seeming to read her thoughts, crowded it all
hastily into her own mouth. Myra laughed a bit at that, and after a
little rest, set off on her return. She was tired and hungry, but a
strange new joy was throbbing at her heart. She had come all the way to
Kent's Corners alone--they _could not call her a coward now_! That
thought more than balanced her weariness and hunger. She had to walk all
the way back--she had to pass Slabtown again. Yes, but now she was not
afraid--_not afraid_! She drew herself up to her slender