s to me like you're mighty slow," she said, complainingly. "When
you get that done there's butter to be made. So don't be all day about
it."

But the wood was hard, and though Bessie worked diligently enough, her
progress was slow. She was still at it when Mrs. Hoover, dressed in her
black silk dress and with her best bonnet on her head, appeared again.

"I'm goin' to drive into town," she said. "An' if that butter ain't done
when I get back, I'll--"

She didn't finish her threat in words, but Bessie had plenty of memories
of former punishments. She made no answer, and Mrs. Hoover, still
scowling, finally went off.

As if that had been a signal, another girl appeared suddenly from the
back of the woodshed. She was as dark as Bessie was fair, a mischievous,
black-eyed girl, who danced like a sprite as she approached Bessie. Her
brown legs were bare, her dress was even more worn and far dingier than
Bessie's, which was clean and neat. She was smiling as Bessie saw her.

"Oh, Zara, aren't you afraid to come here?" said Bessie, alarmed,
although Zara was her best and almost her only friend. "You know what
she said she'd do if she ever caught you around here again?"

"Yes, I know," said Zara, seating herself on a stump and swinging her
legs to and fro, after she had kissed Bessie, still laughing. "I'm not
afraid of her, though, Bessie. She'd never catch me--she can't run fast
enough! And if she ever touched me--"

The smile vanished suddenly from Zara's olive skinned face. Her eyes
gleamed.

"She'd better look out for herself!" she said. "She wouldn't do it
again!"

"Oh, Zara, it's wrong to talk that way," said Bessie. "She's been good
to me. She's looked after me all this time--and when I was sick she was
ever so nice to me--"

"Pooh!" said Zara. "Oh, I know I'm not good and sweet like you, Bessie!
The teacher says that's why the nice girls won't play with me. But it
isn't. I know--and it's the same way with you. If we had lots of money
and pretty clothes and things like the rest of them, they wouldn't care.
Look at you! You're nicer than any of them, but they don't have any more
to do with you than with me. It's because we're poor."

"I don't believe it's that, Zara. They know that I haven't got time to
play with them, and that I can't ask them here, or go to their houses if
they ask me. Some time--"

"You're too good, Bessie. You never get angry at all. You act as if you
ought to be grateful to Maw Hoover f