“Because these people think I am rude and untaught, is no reason why I should display any real rudeness.”
She was very curious, however; the thought of the tray-load of dishes remained in her mind all day.
At dinner that night even Mr. Starkweather gave Helen a glance of approval when she appeared in her new frock.
“Ahem!” he said. “I see you have taken my advice, Helen. We none of us can afford to forget what is due to custom. You are much more presentable.”
“Thank you, Uncle Starkweather,” replied Helen, demurely. “But out our way we say: ‘Fine feathers don’t make fine birds.’”
“You needn’t fret,” giggled Flossie. “Your feather’s aren’t a bit too fine.”
But Flossie’s eyes were red, and she plainly had been crying.
“I hate the old books!” she said, suddenly. “Pa, why do I have to go to school any more?”
“Because I am determined you shall, young lady,” said Mr. Starkweather, firmly. “We all have to learn.”
“Hortense doesn’t go.”