“You don’t mean—” and here the magnitude of Miss Howard’s generosity seemed to transform Lalla’s whole being. She stood up tall and straight before the two. “You’ll never be sorry for trusting me,” she said. “And I reckon if you can forgive me for worrying you so, I ought to forgive Mallie and help her to be a better girl, too.”
IX
THE BAPTIZING
Gincy worked hard every day. Each night she went to bed weary in mind and body, but the morning found her anxious to begin again. Saturday afternoon was free for long walking trips to Cowbell Hollow, Blue Lick, or the nearby peaks. Already an early frost had touched the tulip trees with spots of gold, the sumac showed a fiery rim, and Nature was doing her best to woo attention. Gincy and Urilla did not need the lure, their hearts were longing for the hills.
Miss Howard must have read their thoughts. Early Saturday morning she tapped at their door. “Girls, wouldn’t you like to go out to the bungalow on Indian Mountain this afternoon? The college team will take us and we can come back by moonlight to-morrow evening.”
“Of course we would!” both girls exclaimed. Then Gincy hugged the little teacher until she laughingly slipped away, admonishing them to be ready soon after lunch.
“We’ll get the room straightened out in a jiffy,” said Urilla before the door had fairly closed. “I’m so glad we’re going, honey, it’ll make you over.”
Gincy had never seen her calm room-mate quite so enthusiastic—her cheeks were flushed with excitement and she rushed around dusting the furniture with a vigorous hand. “I’d better clear out right away,” she laughed, “and see if there’s any mail. There won’t be enough left of me to go if you keep on the way you’ve started; you suck up the dust like a cyclone.”
“Bring me a letter from Talitha,” Urilla called after her.
It was four miles to Indian Mountain, the last two a steady climb—steep in places and sidling—but the five did not mind it. Zack and Zeke, the two fat mules belonging to the college farm, took a steady jog-trot until they reached the foot, and then slowed down for the long, hard pull. Lalla Ponder was poised recklessly near a mound of provisions guarded by some extra quilts. Her light curls and nimble tongue were in constant motion.
“I like tippy places and caves,” she said. “There’s one back in Clay that’s haunted, they say, but I’ve been in it and never cared a rap.”