One evening in middle August Father sat on the battling block after supper, whittling a spool-pretty for the baby. “I saw Jonce Weathers, the Flat Creek school-teacher today,” he said. uHe was going along single stepping, like his bones was about to break at the joints. I caught up with him and he let off a spiel about being tired square to death. He did look a sight tender, and I reckon if he’d been laying flatback, picking slate out of a vein like I had all day, he’d been to bury. I asked him how many scholars he had and he says eighty-six, he thinks, but they wiggle so he couldn’t count ‘em for shore. I said I had two chaps ought to be in school. He says send them along, now he did.”

Mother sat on a tub bottom holding the baby, watching Father notch the spool. “It’s a long walking piece,” Mother said. “Four miles one way. But I allus wanted my young ‘uns to larn to figure and read writing. I went two winters to school, and I’ve been, ever since, a good hand to larn by heart. I never put my schooling to practice though, and I’ve nigh forgot how.”

“I larned as far as ‘baker’ in the blue-black speller,” Father said, “but I’m rusty on reading hand write and print.” He threaded a waxed cord through the spool hole, twisting match stems in the end loops until they pulled tight against his hand. The baby’s eyes widened. When the spool was put on the ground it rolled along like a tumble bug.

The baby laughed, holding his hands for it, and stuck it into his mouth. He bit the spool with his milk teeth.

“No use putting off another day,” Father said. “I told Jonce Weathers to nail another seat for you chaps.”

Euly picked up the baby and ran around the battling block with him, running with joy. Fletch squatted on a broad chip, knowing he was only five, and too young to go. He cried a little, soundlessly.

AT seven o’clock next morning Euly and I sat on the puncheon steps of Old Hargett Churchhouse. We had gone early, meeting only miners on the creek road with their mud-stiff breeches rattling, their cap lamps burning in broad daylight. “Them’s the brightest scholars ever was,” one of the men said, “a-going to books ere crack of day.”

Euly spoke her scorn, though not loud enough to be heard. “Dirt dobbers,” she said.