t and
tear-marks on it. Her mother put out her arms and gently drew the little
girl to her. Into her mind had come the picture of herself, in spotless
pinafore, bending with her governess over her English books. And beside
that picture, the little girl, sunburned, soiled, and poorly shod, made
a sharp contrast.

"What are you going to do, pet lamb?" she asked.

"I'm going to cut 'nough carpet-rags this winter to last you a whole
year," said the little girl, "'cause next summer you won't have me any
more. I'm--I'm--going to college."

* * * * *

THE teacher, jogging out of the barn-yard to the ash-lane, heard a
hearty roll of bassos from the kitchen, and did not doubt but that he
was its target. He reined in his horse at the bare flower-beds and
glowered back at the door. Then, with a mutter, ungrammatical but
eloquent, he spurred on toward the lonely, supperless shack by the
slough.

VI

THE STORY OF A PLANTING

THE little girl was making believe, as she planted the corn, that the
field was a great city; the long rows, reaching up from the timothy
meadow to the carnelian bluff, were the beautiful streets; and the
hills, two steps apart, were the houses. She had a seed-bag slung under
her arm, and when she came to a hill she put her hand into it and took
out four plump, yellow kernels. And as she went along, dropping her
gifts at each door, she played that she was visiting and said, "How do
you do?" as politely as she could to the lady of the house, at the same
time taking off her battered blue sailor-hat and bowing,--just as she
had seen the lightning-rod agent do to her mother.

She had begun the game by naming every family she called upon. But it
was not long before she had used up all the names she could think
of--those of the neighbors, the Indians, the story-book people, the
horses, the cows, the oxen, the dogs, and even the vegetables in the
garden. So, after having planted a row or two, she contented herself
with making believe she was among strangers and just offering a friendly
greeting to every household.

She had come out to the field when the prairie-chickens were still
playing their bagpipes on the river bank, their booming sounding through
the morning air so clearly that the little girl had been sure they were
not farther than the edge of the wheat-field, and had walked out of her
way to try to see them, tramping along in her best shoes, which had
shiny c