Mr. Hoover put her down in the midst of the children. “There, now,” he said cheerfully, “play around with the little girls like a nice body while I put up the horses.” A terrible loneliness came upon Esther as she watched him leading away the horses. All those merry children chattering and shouting, and not one speaking to her or taking the slightest notice of her. She realized with a suddenness that dazed her and blurred everything before her country eyes that she was very, very different from them—why, every one of the little girls was dressed in pure, soft white, with a beautiful sash and bows; all wore pretty slippers. There was not one copper-toed shoe among them! Her heart came up into her thin, little throat and beat and beat there. She wished that she might sit down and hide her shoes, but then the dress was just as bad. _That_ couldn’t be hidden. So she stood awkwardly in their midst, stiff and motionless, with a look in her eyes that ought to have touched somebody’s heart. Then the “Liberty Car” came, drawn by six noble white horses decorated with flags, ribbons and rosettes, and stepping out oh, so proudly in perfect time with the village band. Esther forgot her buff calico dress and her copper-toed shoes in the exquisite delight of that moment. The little girls were placed in the car. Each carried a banner on which was painted the name of a state. What graceful, dancing little bodies they were, and how their feet twinkled and could not be quiet! When “Oregon” went proudly by, Esther’s heart sank. She wondered which state they would give to her. The band stopped playing. All the girls were seated; somehow there seemed to be no place left for another. Esther went forward bravely and set one copper-toed shoe on the step of the car. The ladies in charge looked at her; then, at each other. “Hello, Country!” cried a boy’s shrill voice behind her suddenly. “My stars! She thinks she’s goin’ in the car. What a jay!” Esther stood as if petrified with her foot still on the step. She felt that they were all looking at her. What terrible things human eyes can be! A kind of terror took hold of her. She trembled. There seemed to be a great stillness about her. “Can’t I go?” she said to one of the ladies. Her heart was beating so hard and so fast in her throat that her voice sounded far away to her. “My paw knows Mr. Mallory, the store-keeper. We live down by the river on the Nesley place. We’re poor, but my paw alwus pays his debts. I come with Mr. Hoover; he’s gone to put up the horses.” It was spoken—the poor little speech, at once passionate and despairing as any prayer to God. Then it was that Esther learned that there are silences which are harder to bear than the wildest tumult. But presently one of the ladies said, very kindly—“Why, I am so sorry, little girl, but you see—er—all the little girls who ride in the car must—er—be dressed in white.” Esther removed her foot heavily from the step and stood back.