"They wuz a school in Hebron. Granny wouldn't let me go." She was fingering a ruffle on her dress just above her knees in an embarrassed way. "Wouldn't let you go!" I exclaimed, indignantly ... "Why?" "A man had it--a young man--'n' Granny hates men, 'specially young men." "Why does she hate young men?" "I don' know--you heard whut she said 'bout 'em. She's always preachin' that to me." I thought my former reading of Granny's attitude correct now, but I did not speak of this to Lessie. "Granny has done you a great injustice," I said, gravely; "however honest her intentions. I'm going to see that you have a chance, Dryad. But if I'm to help you, I must speak of things exactly as they are, and there shall have to be many corrections. You won't mind this, will you? I mean you will understand why it is done--that it is absolutely necessary for you to get along. You won't take offense--won't get mad, will you?" She turned her eyes full into mine, her mobile face for the moment serious and calm. "I'll do _anythin'_ to learn--to know! Oh! I git so lonesome fur--fur _knowin'_! I'm all shet up, 'n' they's things in my head 'n' in here that's jes' bustin' to git out!" She placed her hand on her breast. Her brows had drawn together and I knew each word was the exact truth. "All right; it's a bargain," I answered. "We'll begin this very minute. Have you noticed that I talk differently from you, and Granf'er, and Granny'?" Her mouth was set firmly as her chin moved up and down. I think she was a little scared at the beginning of her lessons. "I talk correctly, and you talk incorrectly. That's hard to say, but we can't build without solid truth for a foundation. You should learn to speak correctly in a very short time, if you will be very careful, and try. It will take longer to learn to read, and write, but even that will not prove such a great task. Now, answer me--why did you come here to-day?" "I come 'cause I wanted to!" Quick as a flash her reply was out, and I could see she was watching me in a fascinated, apprehensive manner. I smiled to reassure her. "You should say--'I _came be-cause_ I wanted to.' Say it that way." "I--came--_be_-cause I wanted to!" There was something almost pitiful in her fearful earnestness. This was the beginning of the opening of a sealed door before which she had stood so long, with no one to break the fastenings for her. She had put one hand against the dark trunk of the tree, and now her finger tips were white around the nails from the pressure she had unconsciously brought to bear, and she was trembling the least bit. Poor little Dryad in her windowless house! It must have been an ordeal for her. How queerly that simple sentence broke upon my ears. It was the first perfect one she had ever spoken, and she enunciated it with painful precision, breathing each word forth in trepidation.