West Fork, and one or two of the
Dutchman's. That's about all the scholars there'll be this term. What do
you think about it?"

"I--I should think it would be all right," she faltered, churning so
hard that the froth climbed up the dasher, carrying pieces of fresh
butter with it and leaving them midway on the handle.

"I should think so, too," said the new settler; "and that's about the
way we fixed it up. And--well, we thought we'd offer it to you."

She got up, her color coming and going swiftly, and stood before him.
"To _me_?" she asked. "Do you mean it?"

He assented by a nod.

"Oh, it's too good to be true," she went on. "I can hardly believe it."
She began to laugh tearfully. "You see, I've--I've--" Then, at sight of
the braid lying over her shoulder, she put up her hands and gathered her
hair into a knot. "I'll take it," she said.

"Glad of that," answered the new settler, cheerily, and, with a glance
at the handle of the dasher, "I think that butter's come."

* * * * *

IT was just a week later when she rode south and took charge of the
school. The day was full of joy and misgivings. She was happy when,
with one of the new settler's babies before the chart, she could point
out the very lines the Yankton man had shown her, and hear the little
one striving to lisp and learn them. She was filled with doubts when,
having dismissed a class, the pupils looked back at her from their
seats, some mockingly, she thought, others with laughing eyes that
challenged hers. But at four o'clock, when, at the tap of the hand-bell,
they cleared their desks and sat straight with folded arms, they seemed
to have gotten over the novelty of her supervision, and marched out,
with good-bys as they passed the teacher's table, just as they had in
former terms. She rode home, feeling that her work was well begun.

The first six weeks of the term passed without incident. There had
sprung up a complete understanding between her and the children, and her
affection for them was returned with gratifying respect. Then, one
Monday morning, there entered a disturbing element.

A Polish woman, whose husband had moved his family down from Pierre to
occupy the Irishman's shack, came to the school, bringing her son, a
gawky, hangdog lad of twelve. While she recited a long account of his
past experiences with teachers, and dictated her wishes as to his
treatment by the little girl, he acted as interpreter. Wh