* * * * *

I acquainted Zura with her grandfather’s decision.

Her only comment was, “His memory has long ears, has it?  So has mine, and they’ll grow longer, for I have longer to live.”

In the first intimate talk I had with my protegee, her one idea was to earn the money to return to America, where there was “more chance to make a living.”  So far as she knew her father was without relatives.  There was no one to look to for help.  But she could work; she knew many girls who worked; and there was always “something to do” in Seattle.

“How good it will be to get back to it.  Wish I could get a whiff of the air right now.  Yes, indeed!  I am American to the ends of my fingers, and hallelujah to the day when I sail back.”

I entered into her plans with enthusiasm, reserving my determination never to lose sight of her till she was in safer hands than mine.

She was very eager to begin earning money for her passage home, offering to teach, to scrub, and even to learn to cook, if we’d learn to eat it.

I pointed out that, with her ability to sketch and her natural fascination for young girls, the forming of classes would be a simple matter.  She was only to teach them drawing at first.

To this she demurred; the pay was so poor that she pleaded to be allowed to have one little class in English.

I was dubious; but, as it was only a beginner’s class, I consented—­upon her solemn promise to “cut out all ragtime classics and teach plain cats and dogs, rats and mice.”

The process of readjustment in life is sometimes as painful as skin grafting.  The passing of each day under the new conditions which Zura’s coming had brought about marked for both of us either a decided growth or a complete backset.  With earnestness I endeavored to make my old eyes see the world and all its allurements from the windows of Zura’s uncontrolled youth.  Earnestly I then appealed to her to try to understand that life was a school and not a playground and to look without prejudice at the reasonableness of conventions which life in any country demanded, if happiness was to come.

For the first time since I had known her the girl seemed fully to realize that regulated law was a force, and no bogey man which crabbed old grandfathers dangled before pleasure-loving girls, and for her running loose in the green pasture of life was at an end.  The bit she must learn to wear would teach her to be bridle wise.  However stupid, the process was an unavoidable necessity.

Zura was really serious when we finished our long conference.  She leaned over and put her hand on mine.  “Nobody but father was ever so kind to me.  I’ll truly do my best.”  As if afraid of growing too serious she added:  “But, Miss Jenkins,”—­her voice was low and her eyes sparkled, proving how hard the old Zura was dying—­“I just bet I kick over the traces some time.  I feel it in my system.”