“A woman. She’s dead.”
“Did she live around here? Was it Mrs. Ravenel’s teacher?”
“No. We don’t belong hereabouts. We’ve just come.”
“Oh, is that so?” said Azalea with interest. “And do you live near?”
“Six miles from here.”
“No—not really! Oh, that’s too far for you to walk every day. Can’t you live somewhere nearer while school lasts?”
“I’m content where I be.”
“But the walk—”
“I can walk it,” said the girl. Compared with her heavy sulkiness, Bud Coulter’s habit of arguing was blitheness itself. However, as Azalea turned at the house door to look after her strange group of pupils, Dibblee, the red-headed boy, waved his hand, and little Babe Coulter called: “Say, teacher, I’m coming nex’-day.”
She slipped in the house with Carin beside her, to find Miss Zillah and Mrs. McEvoy waiting anxiously to get a report of the first day’s work.