“And she heeds ’em,” said McEvoy, with a sound in his throat between a laugh and a groan. “So if you’ve got anything that’s good for what ails her, Miss Pace, ma’am, if you’d be so kind as to mention the name of it I would get it the next time I’m down to the town.” “Them pictures you see on the wall in the company room,” went on Mis’ McEvoy, “come with the medicine.” “They do so,” said her husband, passing the chicken to Carin. Carin and Azalea were just tired enough to feel silly. Each girl knew if she but caught the eye of the other, she would be off in a fit of laughter, and this was no time for them to disgrace themselves when they had come up as bearers of learning and manners, so to speak. So they looked anywhere except at each other, and only Miss Zillah noticed that they were choking over their food as they strangled their giggles. As soon as politeness permitted, they excused themselves, and it was a happy moment for them when they tumbled onto the high feather bed and lay there in delicious drowsiness listening to the call of the whippoorwills. They could hear Miss Zillah softly moving around, and now and then through half-closed lids they saw her conscientiously brushing her hair—counting the strokes as she did so—reading her Bible and saying her prayers. But at last preparations for the night were finished and all sank to sleep. “Why call this Sunset Gap?” asked Carin the next morning. “Wouldn’t Sunrise Gap do as well?” The sun was streaming gorgeously through the open casement full upon the bed where the girls lay. Azalea sat up with a start, wondering for a moment where she was, and how it came that Carin’s voice was in her ears. Then she saw Miss Zillah’s curls upon the pillow of the adjoining bed, recognized the triple row of bottles on the mantel shelf, and remembered that she was now a responsible person. She was a teacher, a kind of missionary, a somebody with a purpose! It was both amusing and alarming. “Oh, Carin,” she said with a little nervous laugh, “why ever did we come? Do you suppose we can do anything worth doing? I’m frightened, honestly I am.” Carin sat up in bed too, and Azalea watched her hair turn into shining gold where the sun played upon it. “Honey-bird, what’s the matter with you?” Carin demanded. “I thought people were always brave in the morning and downhearted at night. You were braver than I was last night coming up that dreadful road in the dark, and now here you are, getting fussy in broad daylight.” “Well,” said Azalea, a little ashamed, “we’ve simply got to make a success, haven’t we? I don’t know as I ever before simply _had_ to make a success.” “Take it easy, the way Mr. McEvoy does the snakes,” laughed Carin. “If you get to feeling so dreadfully wise and responsible you won’t be able to do a thing.”