rample on her; then she'll have to quit. And Alethea sees the
Promised Land. Oh, oh! I do despise the worst half of myself!"

"The sooner you leave these young devils the better."

"What do you say?"

She confronted me with flashing eyes. I swear that she looked
beautiful. The angularities, the lack of colour, the thin chest, the
stooping back were effaced. I could not see them, because--well,
because I was looking through them, far beyond them, at something
else.

"I love my boys, my foothill boys; and if they are rough, brutal at
times, they're strong." Her emphasis on the word was pathetic.
"They're strong, and they're young, and they're poised for flight--
now. To me, me, has been given the opportunity to direct that flight--
upward, and if I fail them, if I quit----" She trembled violently.

"You won't quit," said I, with conviction.

"To-morrow," said she, "they've fixed things for a real battle."

She refused obstinately to tell me more, and obtained a solemn promise
from me that I would not interfere.

* * * * *

Afterwards I got most of the facts out of George Spragg. Three of the
biggest boys had planned rank mutiny. Doubtless they resented a
compulsory attendance at school, and with short-sighted policy made
certain that if they got rid of Alethea-Belle the schoolhouse would be
closed for ever. And what chance could she have--one frail girl
against three burly young giants?

A full attendance warned her that her scholars expected something
interesting to happen. Boys and girls filed into the schoolroom
quietly enough, and the proceedings opened with prayer, but not the
usual prayer. Alethea-Belle prayed fervently that right might prevail
against might, now, and for ever. Amen.

Within a minute the three mutineers had marched into the middle of the
room. In loud, ear-piercing notes they began to sing "Pull for the
Shore." The girls giggled nervously; the boys grinned; several opened
their mouths to sing, but closed them again as Alethea-Belle descended
from the rostrum and approached the rebels. The smallest child knew
that a fight to a finish had begun.

The schoolmarm raised her thin hand and her thin voice. No attention
was paid to either. Then she walked swiftly to the door and locked it.
The old _adobe_ had been built at a time when Indian raids were
common in Southern California. The door was of oak, very massive; the
windows, narrow openings in the thick walls, wer