Zora listened, leapt to her feet and started to the
door. The old crone threw an epithet after her; but she flashed through
the lighted doorway and was gone, followed by the oath and shouts from
the approaching men. In the hut night fled with wild song and revel, and
day dawned again. Out from some fastness of the wood crept Zora. She
stopped and bathed in a pool, and combed her close-clung hair, then
entered silently to breakfast.
Thus began in the dark swamp that primal battle with the Word. She hated
it and despised it, but her pride was in arms and her one great life
friendship in the balance. She fought her way with a dogged persistence
that brought word after word of praise and interest from Bles. Then,
once well begun, her busy, eager mind flew with a rapidity that
startled; the stories especially she devoured--tales of strange things
and countries and men gripped her imagination and clung to her memory.
"Didn't I tell you there was lots to learn?" he asked once.
"I knew it all," she retorted; "every bit. I'se thought it all before;
only the little things is different--and I like the little, strange
things."
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.
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