"Come--eat!" she cried. And they nestled together amid the big black roots of the oak, laughing and talking while they ate. "What's over there?" he asked pointing northward. "Cresswell's big house." "And yonder to the west?" "The school." He started joyfully. "The school! What school?" "Old Miss' School." "Miss Smith's school?" "Yes." The tone was disdainful. "Why, that's where I'm going. I was a-feared it was a long way off; I must have passed it in the night." "I hate it!" cried the girl, her lips tense. "But I'll be so near," he explained. "And why do you hate it?" "Yes--you'll be near," she admitted; "that'll be nice; but--" she glanced westward, and the fierce look faded. Soft joy crept to her face again, and she sat once more dreaming. "Yon way's nicest," she said. "Why, what's there?" "The swamp," she said mysteriously. "And what's beyond the swamp?" She crouched beside him and whispered in eager, tense tones: "Dreams!" He looked at her, puzzled. "Dreams?" vaguely--"dreams? Why, dreams ain't--nothing." "Oh, yes they is!" she insisted, her eyes flaming in misty radiance as she sat staring beyond the shadows of the swamp. "Yes they is! There ain't nothing but dreams--that is, nothing much. "And over yonder behind the swamps is great fields full of dreams, piled high and burning; and right amongst them the sun, when he's tired o' night, whispers and drops red things, 'cept when devils make 'em black." The boy stared at her; he knew not whether to jeer or wonder. "How you know?" he asked at last, skeptically. "Promise you won't tell?" "Yes," he answered. She cuddled into a little heap, nursing her knees, and answered slowly. "I goes there sometimes. I creeps in 'mongst the dreams; they hangs there like big flowers, dripping dew and sugar and blood--red, red blood. And there's little fairies there that hop about and sing, and devils--great, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats you if they gits you; but they don't git me. Some devils is big and white, like ha'nts; some is long and shiny, like creepy, slippery snakes; and some is little and broad and black, and they yells--" The boy was listening in incredulous curiosity, half minded to laugh, half minded to edge away from the black-red radiance of yonder dusky swamp. He glanced furtively backward, and his heart gave a great bound. "Some is little and broad and black, and they yells--" chanted the girl. And as she chanted, deep, harsh tones came booming through the forest: "_Zo-ra! Zo-ra!_ O--o--oh, Zora!" He saw far behind him, toward the shadows of the swamp, an old woman--short, broad, black and wrinkled, with fangs and pendulous lips and red, wicked eyes. His heart bounded in sudden fear; he wheeled toward the girl, and caught only the uncertain flash of her garments--the wood was silent, and he was alone.