a certain warmth and glow had stolen into the air, and the Swamp was calling its child with low, seductive voice. She knew where the first leaves were bursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young living things looked upward to the light and cried and crawled. A wistful longing was stealing into her heart. She wanted to be free. She wanted to run and dance and sing, but Bles wanted‚ÅÝ‚Äî
“Zora!”
This time she heard the call, but did not heed it. Miss Taylor was very tiresome, and was forever doing and saying silly things.
So Zora paid no attention, but sat still and thought. Yes, she would show Bles the place that very night; she had kept it secret from him until now, out of perverseness, out of her love of mystery and secrets. But tonight, after school, when he met her on the big road with the clothes, she would take him and show him the chosen spot.
Soon she was aware that school had been dismissed, and she leisurely gathered up her books and rose. Mary Taylor regarded her in perplexed despair. > Oh, these people! Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool was right: culture and‚ÅÝ‚Äîsome masses, at least‚ÅÝ‚Äîwere not to be linked; and, too, culture and work‚ÅÝ‚Äîwere they incompatible? At any rate, culture