Gincy’s heart took sudden courage. If all the teachers were going to be like Miss Howard she certainly would be a “special” if she had to study all night to accomplish it. Miss Howard sat close and questioned her softly, not seeming to mind when she stumbled or failed entirely. Gincy had a musical voice and read the easy selections in a way which pleased the teacher, for she recommended elocution and sub-normal arithmetic on the little slip which Gincy bore away an hour later. The other studies were not wholly settled, but it seemed like a good beginning. “Be sure to come to the Jam Social to-night,” had been Miss Howard’s parting words, and Gincy had promised readily, although not feeling at all sure what a “Jam Social” really was. She wandered around from one building to another, nowhere encountering Talitha or any one who had seen her. Once inside the Hall again she went straight to the office to question Mrs. Donnelly. From behind a desk piled high with mail, the dean answered, “She’s gone home, Miss Gooch.” “Gone home! When?” Gincy’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “About two o’clock this morning. She slept with me last night and Martin saw her off.” “But why? Was any one sick—or?” The dean shook her head and began to open her mail. Suddenly Gincy knew it all. Talitha had gone that she might stay. After working so hard, too. What would Sam Coyle say to her? Not willing to make any sacrifices himself—for his children’s good—he would be angry to have them generous with others. Gincy turned and went up to her room. How could she accept such a sacrifice? She wrestled with the problem for hours, then in despair thought of Miss Howard. The little teacher listened patiently with one soft hand covering the girl’s work-roughened one. When Gincy had ended with a sob in her voice, Miss Howard’s arm stole around her and held her close. “Don’t worry, dear, Talitha will come back to us some time. She’s determined to have an education. She has chosen to give you your chance now; make the very best of it. It would be foolish for you to start home and disappoint her—it would be useless, too. She’s going to write you in a day or so.” Somewhat comforted, Gincy went back to her room. On every side doors were ajar and girls unpacking. There was the merry chatter of friends long separated, and those newly found, which sent a delightful glow through the heart of the mountain girl. Few and far between were the opportunities for sociability back in the hills, and as she realized what she was gaining, a keen sense of Talitha’s loss smote her. “You’d better get ready for the Social before dinner,” a voice called out from behind, and Kizzie overtook Gincy. “I’ll call for you and Urilla promptly at seven.” “I’d forgotten hit, sure enough,” answered Gincy, quickening her steps.