John Jay
shuffles along in his big shoes on his way to school, out at the toes
and out at his elbows; but there is a broad smile all over his bright
little face. Wherever he can find a strip of ice to slide across, he
goes with a rush and a whoop. Sometimes there is only a raw turnip and a
piece of corn pone in his pocket for dinner. His feet and fingers are
always numb with cold by the time he reaches the school house, but his
eyes still shine, and his whistle never loses its note of cheeriness.
There are whippings and scoldings in the schoolhouse, just as there have
always been whippings and scoldings in the cabin; for no sooner is he
thawed out after his long walk, than he begins to be the worry of his
teacher's life, as he was the torment of Mammy's. It is not that he
means to make trouble. Despite his many blunders into mischief, he is
always at the head of his class, for he has a motive for hard study that
the other pupils know nothing of.
Every evening Bud and Ivy watch for his home-coming with eager faces
flattened against the cabin window, lit up by the red glare of the
sunset.
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