her books and rose. Mary Taylor regarded her in perplexed
despair. Oh, these people! Mrs. Vanderpool was right: culture and--some
masses, at least--were not to be linked; and, too, culture and
work--were they incompatible? At any rate, culture and _this_ work were.

Now, there was Mrs. Vanderpool--she toiled not, neither did she spin,
and yet! If all these folk were like poor, stupid, docile Jennie it
would be simpler, but what earthly sense was there in trying do to
anything with a girl like Zora, so stupid in some matters, so
startlingly bright in others, and so stubborn in everything? Here, she
was doing some work twice as well and twice as fast as the class, and
other work she would not touch because she "didn't like it." Her
classification in school was nearly as difficult as her classification
in the world, and Miss Taylor reached up impatiently and removed the
gold pin from her stock to adjust it more comfortably when Zora
sauntered past unseeing, unheeding, with that curious gliding walk which
Miss Taylor called stealthy. She laid the pin on the desk and on sudden
impulse spoke again to the girl as she arranged her neck trimmings.

"Zora," she said evenly, "why didn't you come to class when I called?"

"I didn't hear you," said Zora, looking at her full-eyed and telling the
half-truth easily.

Miss Taylor was sure Zora was lying, and she knew that she had lied to
her on other occasions. Indeed, she had found lying customary in this
community, and she had a New England horror of it. She looked at Zora
disapprovingly, while Zora looked at her quite impersonally, but
steadily. Then Miss Taylor braced herself, mentally, and took the war
into Africa.

"Do you ever tell lies, Zora?"

"Yes."

"Don't you know that is a wicked, bad habit?"

"Why?"

"Because God hates them."

"How does _you_ know He does?" Zora's tone was still impersonal.

"He hates all evil."

"But why is lies evil?"

"Because they make us deceive each other."

"Is that wrong?"

"Yes."

Zora bent forward and looked squarely into Miss Taylor's blue eyes. Miss
Taylor looked into the velvet blackness of hers and wondered what they
veiled.

"Is it wrong," asked Zora, "to make believe you likes people when you
don't, when you'se afeared of them and thinks they may rub off and dirty
you?"

"Why--why--yes, if you--if you, deceive."

"Then you lies sometimes, don't you?"

Miss Taylor stared helplessly at the solemn eyes that seemed t