She swept them all up as she passed and held them in front of her as she walked steadily on down the pebbled path among the new grass toward the garage, the blinding tears now coming and blurring everything before her.

“Let her alone!” she heard Gene sneer loudly. “She’ll go out to the garage and boohoo awhile, and then she’ll come back and behave herself. Dishes? I should say not! Don’t you do a dish! Let her do ’em when she gets over her fit. It’ll do her good. She’ll be of some use to you after this.”

Joyce swept away the tears with a quick hand and lifted her head. Why should she weep when she was walking away from this? She had wanted to go, had wondered and wished for an opening, and now it had come. Why be sad? She was walking away into the beauty of the sunset. Smell the air! She drew a deep breath and went straight on past the garage, down through the garden to the fence, and stooping, slipped between the bars and into the meadow.

There were violets blooming among the grass here, blue as the sky, and nodding to her, dazzling in their blueness. There was a dandelion. How bright its gold! The world was before her. The examination was not over. But what of that? She could not go back to take her diploma anyway, but she was free, and God would take care of her somewhere, somehow.

A sense of buoyancy bore her up. Her feet touched the grass of the meadow as if it had been full of springs. She lost the consciousness of her great weariness. Her soul had found wings. She was walking into a crimson path of the sunset, and April was in her lungs. How good to be away from the smell of pork chops and hot cabbage, the steam of potatoes and Gene Massey’s voice. Never, never would she go back. Not for all the things she had left behind. They were few. She was glad she had her few little trinkets. They were all that mattered anyway. Except for the fur neckpiece. It was hard to lose that. The last thing Aunt Mary bought her. Of course it would have been wiser to wait to pack. There were her two good gingham dresses, and two others that were faded, but she would need things to work in, and there was the little pink georgette that Aunt Mary bought her last summer! She hated to lose that. But Aunt Mary, if she could see, would quite understand, and if she could not see, it could all be explained in heaven someday. There would be no use sending to Nannette or Gene for anything. They would never send her a rag that belonged to her.