Spring ripened to summer. She was reading well and writing some.
“Zora,” he announced one morning under their forest oak, “you must go to school.”
She eyed him, surprised.
“Why?”
“You’ve found some things worth knowing in this world, haven’t you, Zora?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
‚ÄúBut there are more‚ÅÝ‚Äîmany, many more‚ÅÝ‚Äîworlds on worlds of things‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou have not dreamed of.‚Äù
She stared at him, open-eyed, and a wonder crept upon her face battling with the old assurance. Then she looked down at her bare brown feet and torn gown.
“I’ve got a little money, Zora,” he said quickly.
But she lifted her head.
“I’ll earn mine,” she said.
“How?” he asked doubtfully.
“I’ll pick cotton.”
“Can you?”
“Course I can.”
“It’s hard work.”
She hesitated.