But the end of misery is never in a hurry to come; before the day was over the superintendent entered the room and explained that pupils from the country were charged a tuition of twenty dollars a year.  That really was the end.  Previously Elnora had canvassed a dozen methods for securing the money for books, ranging all the way from offering to wash the superintendent’s dishes to breaking into the bank.  This additional expense made her plans so wildly impossible, there was nothing to do but hold up her head until she was from sight.

Down the long corridor alone among hundreds, down the long street alone 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?”

“Well, you see, Elnora, she didn’t like to.  You got such a way of holding up your head, and going through with things.  She thought some way that you’d make it, till you got started, and then she begun to see a hundred things we should have done.  I reckon you hadn’t reached that building before she remembered that your skirt should have been pleated instead of gathered, your shoes been low, and lighter for hot September weather, and a new hat.  Were your clothes right, Elnora?”

The girl broke into hysterical laughter.  “Right!” she cried.  “Right!  Uncle Wesley, you should have seen me among them!  I was a picture!  They’ll never forget me.  No, they won’t get the chance, for they’ll see me again to-morrow!