be a difference, always, always! That impudent Negro!"

All night she dreamed, and all day,--especially when trim and immaculate
she sat in her chair and looked down upon fifty dark faces--and upon
Zora.

Zora sat thinking. She saw neither Miss Taylor nor the long straight
rows of desks and faces. She heard neither the drone of the spellers nor
did she hear Miss Taylor say, "Zora!" She heard and saw none of this.
She only heard the prattle of the birds in the wood, far down where the
Silver Fleece would be planted.

For the time of cotton-planting was coming; the gray and drizzle of
December was past and the hesitation, of January. Already a certain
warmth and glow had stolen into the air, and the Swamp was calling its
child with low, seductive voice. She knew where the first leaves were
bursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young living things
looked upward to the light and cried and crawled. A wistful longing was
stealing into her heart. She wanted to be free. She wanted to run and
dance and sing, but Bles wanted--

"Zora!"

This time she heard the call, but did not heed it. Miss Taylor was very
tiresome, and was forever doing and saying silly things. So Zora paid no
attention, but sat still and thought. Yes, she would show Bles the place
that very night; she had kept it secret from him until now, out of
perverseness, out of her love of mystery and secrets. But tonight, after
school, when he met her on the big road with the clothes, she would take
him and show him the chosen spot.