“And to-day,” she assured herself stoutly, “is enough. Let to-morrow care for itself.”
Then of a sudden she recalled a promise. She had told Jensie Crider, one of her most promising pupils, that she would come to her house and stay the night. She must be away at once.
An hour later found her on the shake roofed porch of a two room cabin far up on the side of Big Black Mountain. The light faded from the tallest, most distant peak as her tiny young hostess bade her shy welcome.
To one accustomed, as Florence was, to the homes of rich and fertile valleys, this mountain cabin seemed strangely meager. Two rooms, two beds, a table of pine boards, a fireplace hung with rows of red peppers and braids of onions, three splint bottomed chairs, a pile of home woven coverlids in the corner, a box cupboard nailed to the wall, a few dishes in the cupboard, that was all.
And yet it was scrupulously clean. The hearth had been brushed, the floor scrubbed and sanded, the coverlids on the beds were spotless and the few cheap stone dishes shone like imported china.
“It’s something that people from the outside don’t realize,” Florence told herself. “Many of these mountain folks, living here shut off from the world, with few tools and many difficulties, would put to shame many of those whose opportunities have been great. Surely their children should have a chance! And they shall!” She clenched her hands tight as this thought passed through her mind. She was thinking of the coming school election and of the things they would do if they won.
“If we win?” she whispered. “We will win! We will!”
One incident of the evening in that cabin remained long in her memory. They were at supper. Since there were but four plates and four chairs, the two younger children must wait while Jensie ate with her teacher and the father and mother.
The meal was simple enough—corn bread baked on the hearth, fried string beans, a glass of wild cherry jelly and a plain cake with very little sugar. The luxury of the meal was a plate of boiled eggs. On the rich, broad-sweeping prairies, or in cities, one thinks of eggs as staple food. In the mountains they are hoarded as a golden treasure, to be traded at the store for calico, shoes, and other necessities of life.
But this night, in honor of the guest, Jensie had served six shining white eggs. Florence saw the faces of the children glow with anticipation.