say more, when Mrs. Owsley appeared in the door.

Mrs. Owsley was the thirty-five-year-old scholar; and the only one,
until Dale came, who might strictly have been termed of the mountains.
She was, moreover, the mother of nine smaller Owsleys--the smallest of
whom she brought each day and laid in a box prepared for the purpose
near the teacher's desk. The previous autumn she had left "Bill an' the
other eight brats" back in their remote home, and moved down to Mother
Owsley's, four miles from school, to which she walked each day,
bare-footed, and carrying the infant. It was an enthusiasm for
education, characteristic of these mountaineers, which might not be met
anywhere else in a country termed civilized.

"Heavens!" gasped Jane. "I thought it was another child coming to tell
me about shoes!"

"Did you ever see how Mrs. Owsley does with her shoes?" Nancy asked,
being careful not to smile while the impassive woman's eyes were turned
in her direction.

"You mean across her shoulder?"

Nancy nodded, giggling a little.

"The poor, poverty stricken dears, all of them," Jane tenderly
exclaimed. "But that's a common custom in some parts of the mountains,
Nan. I've seen it when a circuit-rider had come through, and was going
to hold church somewhere; nearly all who possessed shoes would carry
them across their shoulders that way during their long walk to attend,
and then sit on the meetinghouse steps and put them on. Shoes have to
last a long time up there," she added wistfully. "They mustn't be worn
out by walking on them."

"I thought it was awful funny when I saw her do it," Nancy whispered.
"You don't look like you ever went barefoot, Miss Jane!"

"I never did," Jane laughed. "I hated it so that I used to pick
blackberries and sell them to keep myself supplied. My poor old Dad
thought it a wicked extravagance, but I'd rather have gone without
clothes than shoes."

"I hated it, too," Nancy quietly replied, "but never thought of makin'
money. I wish I had!"

Mrs. Owsley stepped down from the doorway and crossed to them. In
approaching her teacher she scorned any subterfuge, and spoke directly
to the point.

"What'd ye git, ef yeou wuz me, Miss Jane? I got shoes, a'ready--these
here'n; but this ole gingham's the onlies' dress I got, an' hit's a
sorry lookin' thing! Mr. Bowser sez ef I don't hanker arter shoes I
don't hev ter hev 'em;--he sez his store'll leave me take their wu'th
outen sumthin' else. I reckon h