"Why mother!" faltered the girl.

"Don't you 'why mother' me!" cried Mrs. Comstock. "You know very well
what I mean. You've given me no peace until you've had your way about
this going to school business; I've fixed you good enough, and you're
ready to start. But no child of mine walks the streets of Onabasha
looking like a play-actress woman. You wet your hair and comb it down
modest and decent and then be off, or you'll have no time to find where
you belong."

Elnora gave one despairing glance at the white face, framed in a most
becoming riot of reddish-brown hair, which she saw in the little kitchen
mirror. Then she untied the narrow black ribbon, wet the comb and
plastered the waving curls close to her head, bound them fast, pinned on
the skimpy black hat and opened the back door.

"You've gone so plumb daffy you are forgetting your dinner," jeered her
mother.

"I don't want anything to eat," replied Elnora.

"You'll take your dinner or you'll not go one step. Are you crazy? Walk
almost three miles and no food from six in the morning until six at
night. A pretty figure you'd cut if you had your way! And after I've
gone and bought you this nice new pail and filled it especial to start
on!"

Elnora came back with a face still whiter and picked up the lunch.
"Thank you, mother! Good-bye!" she said. Mrs. Comstock did not reply.