resently the old black cabin loomed before her with its wide
flapping door. The old woman was bending over the fire, stirring some
savory mess, and a yellow girl with a white baby on one arm was placing
dishes on a rickety wooden table when Zora suddenly and noiselessly
entered the door.

"Come, is you? I 'lowed victuals would fetch you," grumbled the hag.

But Zora deigned no answer. She walked placidly to the table, where she
took up a handful of cold corn-bread and meat, and then went over and
curled up by the fire.

Elspeth and the girl talked and laughed coarsely, and the night wore
on.

By and by loud laughter and tramping came from the road--a sound of
numerous footsteps. Zora listened, leapt to her feet and started to the
door. The old crone threw an epithet after her; but she flashed through
the lighted doorway and was gone, followed by the oath and shouts from
the approaching men. In the hut night fled with wild song and revel, and
day dawned again. Out from some fastness of the wood crept Zora. She
stopped and bathed in a pool, and combed her close-clung hair, then
entered silently to breakfast.

Thus began in the dark swamp that primal battle with the Word. She hated
it and despised it, but her pride was in arms and her one great life
friendship in the balance. She fought her way with a dogged persistence
that brought word after word of praise and interest from Bles. Then,
once well begun, her busy, eager mind flew with a rapidity that
startled; the stories especially she devoured--tales of strange things
and countries and men gripped her imagination and clung to her memory.

"Didn't I tell you there was lots to learn?" he asked once.

"I knew it all," she retorted; "every bit. I'se thought it all before;
only the little things is different--and I like the little, strange
things."

Spring ripened to summer. She was reading well and writing some.

"Zora," he announced one morning under their forest oak, "you must go to
school."

She eyed him, surprised.

"Why?"

"You've found some things worth knowing in this world, haven't you,
Zora?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"But there are more--many, many more--worlds on worlds of things--you
have not dreamed of."

She stared at him, open-eyed, and a wonder crept upon her face battling
with the old assurance. Then she looked down at her bare brown feet and
torn gown.

"I've got a little money, Zora," he said quickly.

But she lifted her head.

"I'll