very small child, and dressed in the hated shoes and brown calico, plastered down her crisp curls, ate what breakfast she could, and pinning on her hat started for town.
“There is no sense in your going for an hour yet,” said her mother.
“I must try to discover some way to earn those books,” replied Elnora. “I am perfectly positive I shall not find them lying beside the road wrapped in tissue paper, and tagged with my name.”
She went toward the city as on yesterday. Her perplexity as to where tuition and books were to come from was worse but she did not feel quite so badly. She never again would have to face all of it for the first time. There had been times yesterday when she had prayed to be hidden, or to drop dead, and neither had happened. “I believe the best way to get an answer to prayer is to work for it,” muttered Elnora grimly.
Again she followed the trail to the swamp, rearranged her hair and left the tin pail. This time she folded a couple of sandwiches in the napkin, and tied them in a neat light paper parcel which she carried in her hand. Then she hurried along the road to Onabasha and found a book-store. There she asked the prices of the list of books that she needed, and learned that six dollars would not quite supply them. She anxiously inquired for second-hand books, but was told that the only way to secure them was from the last year's Freshmen. Just then Elnora felt that she positively could not approach any of those she supposed to be Sophomores and ask to buy their old books. The only balm the girl could see for the humiliation of yesterday was to appear that day with a set of new books.
“Do you wish these?” asked the clerk hurriedly, for the store was rapidly filling with school children wanting anything from a dictionary to a pen.
“Yes,” gasped Elnora, “Oh, yes! But I cannot pay for them just now. Please let me take them, and I will pay for them on Friday, or return them as perfect as they are. Please trust me for them a few days.”
“I'll ask the proprietor,” he said. When he came back Elnora knew the answer before he spoke.
“I'm sorry,” he said, “but Mr. Hann doesn't recognize your name. You are not a customer of ours, and he feels that he can't take the risk.”
Elnora clumped out of the store, the thump of her heavy, shoes beating as a hammer on her brain. She tried two other dealers with the same result, and then in sick despair came into the street. What could she do? She was too frightened to think. Should she stay from school that day and canvass the homes appearing to belong to the wealthy, and try to sell beds of wild ferns, as she had suggested to Wesley Sinton? What would she dare ask for bringing in and planting a clump of ferns? How could she carry them? Would people buy them? She slowly moved past the hotel and then glanced around to see if there were a clock anywhere, for she felt sure the young people passing her constantly were on their way to school.
There it stood in a bank window in big black letters staring straight at her:
WANTED: CATERPILLARS, COCOONS, CHRYSALIDES, PUPAE CASES, BUTTERFLIES, MOTHS, INDIAN RELICS OF ALL KINDS. HIGHEST SCALE OF PRICES PAID IN CASH
Elnora caught the wicket at the cashier's desk with both hands to brace herself against disappointment.
“Who is it wants to buy cocoons, butterflies, and moths?” she panted.
“The Bird Woman,” answered the cashier. “Have you some for sale?”
“I have some, I do not know if they are what she would want.”
“Well, you had better see her,” said the cashier. “Do you know where she lives?”
“Yes,” said Elnora. “Would you tell me the time?”
“Twenty-one after eight,” was the answer.
She had nine minutes to reach the auditorium or be late. Should she go to school, or to the Bird Woman? Several girls passed her walking swiftly and she remembered their faces. They were hurrying to school. Elnora caught the infection. She would see the Bird Woman at noon. Algebra came first, and that professor was kind. Perhaps she could slip to the superintendent and ask him for a book for the next lesson, and at noon—“Oh, dear Lord make it come true,” prayed Elnora, at noon possibly she could sell some of those wonderful shining-winged things she had been collecting all her life around the outskirts of the Limberlost.
As she went down the long hall she noticed the professor of mathematics standing in the door of his recitation room. When she passed him he smiled and spoke to her.
“I have been watching for you,” he said, and Elnora stopped bewildered.
“For me?” she questioned.
“Yes,” said Professor Henley. “Step inside.”
Elnora followed him into the room and closed the door behind them.
“At teachers' meeting last evening, one of the professors mentioned that a pupil had betrayed in class that she had expected her books to be furnished by the city. I thought possibly it was you. Was it?”
“Yes,” breathed Elnora.
“That being the case,” said Professor Henley, “it just occurred to me as you had expected that, you might require a little time to secure them, and you are too fine a mathematician to fall behind for want of supplies. So I telephoned one of our Sophomores to bring her last year's books this morning. I am sorry to say they are somewhat abused, but the text is all here. You can have them for two dollars, and pay when you are ready. Would you care to take them?”
Elnora sat suddenly, because she could not stand another instant. She reached both hands for the books, and said never a word. The professor was silent also. At last Eleanor arose, hugging those books to her heart as a mother clasps a baby.
“One thing more,” said the professor. “You may pay your tuition quarterly. You need not bother about the first instalment this month. Any time in October will do.”
It seemed as if Elnora's gasp of relief must have reached the soles of her brogans.
“Did any one ever tell you how beautiful you are!” she cried.
As the professor was lank, tow-haired and so near-sighted, that he peered at his pupils through spectacles, no one ever had.
“No,” said Professor Henley, “I've waited some time for that; for which reason I shall appreciate it all the more. Come now, or we shall be late for opening exercises.”
So Elnora entered the auditorium a second time. Her face was like the brightest dawn that ever broke over the Limberlost. No matter about the lumbering shoes and skimpy dress. No matter about anything, she had the books. She could take them home. In her garret she could commit them to memory, if need be. She could prove that clothes were not all. If the Bird Woman did not want any of the many different kinds of specimens she had collected, she was quite sure now she could sell ferns, nuts, and a great many things. Then, too, a girl made a place for her that morning, and several smiled and bowed. Elnora forgot everything save her books, and that she was where she could use them intelligently—everything except one little thing away back in her head. Her mother had known about the books and the tuition, and had not told her when she agreed to her coming.
At noon Elnora took her little parcel of lunch and started to the home of the Bird Woman. She must know about the specimens first and then she would walk to the suburbs somewhere and eat a few bites. She dropped the heavy iron knocker on the door of a big red log cabin, and her heart thumped at the resounding stroke.
“Is the Bird Woman at home?” she asked of the maid.
“She is at lunch,” was the answer.
“Please ask her if she will see a girl from the Limberlost about some moths?” inquired Elnora.
“I never need ask, if it's moths,” laughed the girl. “Orders are to bring any one with specimens right in. Come this way.”
Elnora followed down the hall and entered a long room with high panelled wainscoting, old English fireplace with an overmantel and closets of