The mountain girl looked at her almost with pity—as if for once she understood something which her instructress did not.
“Do you think I’ll mind gullies?” she asked.
“No,” confessed Azalea; “no, I don’t.”
Paralee Panther had worn neither jacket nor hat, and in her thin blouse and short skirt, bare-footed, her great braids, half undone, straggling down her back, she swung off down her mountain trail. Her heavy, awkward body gave the impression of great strength and for all of her awkwardness, whoever looked at her felt that she would be brave.
“That’s the best day’s work we’ve done yet,” said Azalea at last, turning rather wearily to find her things. But Carin had them ready for her, and when the schoolhouse was locked, the two friends made their way single file beneath the dripping branches and across the noisy brook, thankful for their good rubber boots and coats.
“I can’t think where Keefe has been to-day,” said Carin. “It is just the sort of a day you’d have expected him to come. We might have needed him, if the storm had grown worse. Weren’t you surprised that he didn’t look in on us?”
“Yes, I was,” confessed Azalea. “It wasn’t like him to stay away on a stormy day.”
Carin laughed—and her laugh had a touch of vexation.
“How do you know it wasn’t like him?” she demanded. “You know very little about him, really. You mustn’t go on your impressions too much, my dear.”
“I know,” confessed Azalea. “Everyone tells me that. Pa McBirney is forever saying it. Just the same I know it wasn’t like Keefe to stay away on a stormy day like this and I’d feel better if I knew where he was this minute.”