e got on yoh brain," Nancy cried,
and both again screamed with laughter.

"Nan, I don't understand how he succeeded, but he's palmed himself off
as a trustee to give authority to the act and, after making arrangements
with Mr. Bowser, sent all these children there to buy shoes, or
something they're in need of, for our commencement. Don't you honestly
think that's splendid? Who would have thought of it?"

"I wouldn't," Nancy murmured, looking at the ground. But the subject was
becoming a bit perilous, and she asked:

"Are you goin' to start a moonlight school, Miss Jane?"

"I hadn't really thought of it seriously until just now. Would you help
me with it if I did?"

"Good land, Miss Jane, I'd love that better'n anythin'! I'll drive 'em
in, an' you stuff 'em with these sums! I bet they'll know somethin'
then!"

"How many are there around here who can't read, do you suppose?"

"Well, old Hod Fugit can't; an' there's Willis--I forget his name, but
down at the mill, you know! I don't think the sheriff can, either."

"Can your father--I mean Tom Hewlet?"

"Well, he sort of pokes along at it, but it ain't just what you'd call
readin'. Sometimes, when he's right drunk, he gets a piece of old
newspaper an' moves his mouth around. Oh, he did the funniest thing
once!" she clapped her hands and bent over merrily. "He was workin'
himself up into an awful spree, but misplaced his demijohn an' had us
lookin' everywhere for it. I'd hid it, but never let on! He groaned
around a lot, an' I think sort of suspected me; but after 'while
settled down with the Bible. It was upside down, so that's how I don't
think he can read!"

"Then what?"

"Just guess!" Nancy went into more convulsions of laughter. "He began,
talkin' right loud an' rockin' his chair right fast: 'An' Solomen, the
wise man, says to his Democrats that if a step-darter treats her Pappy
mean, an' hides things, she'll go down--down--down--down--' an' all this
time, Miss Jane, his voice was gettin' lower an' lower till, when it
couldn't go no lower, he gurgled: 'ter hell!' Then he'd wait awhile,
lookin' sort of sneakin' at me, turn some pages an' do it all over
again--only each time he'd begin in a higher pitch so's he could get moh
'downs' in it, an' make it sound scarier. When I wouldn't pay any
attention, he threw the Bible at me an' stomped out!"

"Is he back yet?" Jane seemed to lose some of her gaiety when asking
this.

"No'm; an' I hope he won't never come