So all that long day of wild wind and rain, Azalea labored with her pupil. Hitherto, teaching had been a pleasant if tiring experience. Azalea had felt a cheerful zest in passing on her ideas and her good practical knowledge. But this morning a holy passion for teaching came to her. She poured facts into Paralee’s starved mind with the same deep satisfaction that she would have given her water had she been perishing of thirst. No other pupils came. Carin, sitting apart, silent and content with her own occupations, did not interrupt them, and the mountain girl listened to her ardent young teacher, conned her lessons untiringly, and throughout the long hours of the school day refused to rest. It was as if she had come into the house of her own mind; as if she had opened up the weed-choked door and crossed the threshold, discovering within fair rooms undreamed of; as if she had put the shutters back from long-closed windows and let the light stream in. By four o’clock the rain seemed to have beaten itself out, and the wind died, too. “Study is over!” cried Azalea at length. “Come, Paralee, get your things. Such a day! I tell you, anyone who can study as you do will make a success. Isn’t it so, Carin?” Carin got up from her letter writing. “Of course it is,” she said. “And I have been writing some letters that ought to help on. You must go away to school, Paralee. There are boarding schools—” “What good would they do me?” demanded the girl. “How could I pay?” “I have money to be used for such things as that,” Carin said gently. “My father gave it to me. I would love to use it for you.” “What could I give you back, then? When us Panthers has presents give to us, we pay back.” “I have not thought yet,” said Carin seriously, “but I will think. I will let you pay me back. Please, please, don’t think about that now. Only study—study—study.” “I wish you didn’t have to go home to-night,” said Azalea. “Couldn’t you stay with us? A six mile walk over gullies like those out there in the yard doesn’t seem a pleasant prospect.” The mountain girl looked at her almost with pity—as if for once she understood something which her instructress did not. “Do you think I’ll mind gullies?” she asked. “No,” confessed Azalea; “no, I don’t.” Paralee Panther had worn neither jacket nor hat, and in her thin blouse and short skirt, bare-footed, her great braids, half undone, straggling down her back, she swung off down her mountain trail. Her heavy, awkward body gave the impression of great strength and for all of her awkwardness, whoever looked at her felt that she would be brave. “That’s the best day’s work we’ve done yet,” said Azalea at last, turning rather wearily to find her things. But Carin had them ready for her, and when the schoolhouse was locked, the two friends made their way single file beneath the dripping branches and across the noisy brook, thankful for their good rubber boots and coats.