among thousands, out into the country she came at last. Across the fence
and field, along the old trail once trodden by a boy's bitter agony, now
stumbled a white-faced girl, sick at heart. She sat on a log and began
to sob in spite of her efforts at self-control. At first it was physical
breakdown, later, thought came crowding.

Oh the shame, the mortification! Why had she not known of the tuition?
How did she happen to think that in the city books were furnished?
Perhaps it was because she had read they were in several states. But why
did she not know? Why did not her mother go with her? Other mothers--but
when had her mother ever been or done anything at all like other
mothers? Because she never had been it was useless to blame her now.
Elnora realized she should have gone to town the week before, called
on some one and learned all these things herself. She should have
remembered how her clothing would look, before she wore it in public
places. Now she knew, and her dreams were over. She must go home to
feed chickens, calves, and pigs, wear calico and coarse shoes, and with
averted head, pass a library all her life. She sobbed again.

"For pity's sake, honey, what's the matter?" asked the voice of the
nearest neighbour, Wesley Sinton, as he seated himself beside Elnora.
"There, there," he continued, smearing tears all over her face in an
effort to dry them. "Was it as bad as that, now? Maggie has been just
wild over you all day. She's got nervouser every minute. She said we
were foolish to let you go. She said your clothes were not right, you
ought not to carry that tin pail, and that they would laugh at you. By
gum, I see they did!"

"Oh, Uncle Wesley," sobbed the girl, "why didn't she tell me?"