[Illustration: "She took up her verse where William had interrupted. "]

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 EMMY LOU

 HER BOOK & HEART

 By GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN

 And Illustrated By CHARLES LOUIS HINTON

 "My Book and Heart Must Never Part. " --New England Primer

 GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers--New York

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 Copyright, 1901, 1902, by S. S. McClure Co. 

 Copyright, 1902, by McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 

 Fifteenth Impression

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 To My Sister THE AUNT CORDELIA of these stories, this book is affectionately inscribed

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 CONTENTS

 PAGE The Right Promethean Fire 1 A Little Feminine Casabianca 29 Hare-and-Tortoise or the Bliss of Ignorance 49 "I Sing of Honour and the Faithful Heart" 81 The Play's the Thing 113 The Shadow of a Tragedy 135 All the Winds of Doctrine 165 The Confines of Consistency 193 A Ballad in Print o' Life 225 Venus or Minerva? 247

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 THE RIGHT PROMETHEAN FIRE

Emmy Lou, laboriously copying digits, looked up. The boy sitting in linein the next row of desks was making signs to her. 

She had noticed the little boy before. He was a square little boy, witha sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of the nose and a cheerfulbreadth of nostril. His teeth were wide apart, and his smile was broadand constant. Not that Emmy Lou could have told all this. She only knewthat to her the knowledge of the little boy concerning the thingspeculiar to the Primer World seemed limitless. 

And now the little boy was beckoning Emmy Lou. She did not know him, butneither did she know any of the seventy other little boys and girlsmaking the Primer Class. 

Because of a popular prejudice against whooping-cough, Emmy Lou had notentered the Primer Class until late. When she arrived, the seventylittle boys and girls were well along in Alphabetical lore, having longsince passed the a, b, c of initiation, and become glibly eloquent to apoint where the l, m, n, o, p slipped off their tongues with the liquidease of repetition and familiarity. 

"But Emmy Lou can catch up, " said Emmy Lou's Aunt Cordelia, a plump andcheery lady, beaming with optimistic placidity upon the infant populaceseated in parallel rows at desks before her. 

Miss Clara, the teacher, lacked Aunt Cordelia's optimism, also herplumpness. "No doubt she can, " agreed Miss Clara, politely, but withoutenthusiasm. Miss Clara had stepped from the graduating rostrum to theschool-room platform, and she had been there some years. And when one hasbeen there some years, and is already battling with seventy little boysand girls, one cannot greet the advent of a seventy-first with acclaim. Even the fact that one's hair is red is not an always sure indicationthat one's temperament is sanguine also. 

So in answer to Aunt Cordelia, Miss Clara replied politely but withoutenthusiasm, "No doubt she can. "

Then Aunt Cordelia went, and Miss Clara gave Emmy Lou a desk. And MissClara then rapping sharply, and calling some small delinquent to order, Emmy Lou's heart sank within her. 

Now Miss Clara's tones were tart because she did not know what to dowith this late comer. In a class of seventy, spare time is not offeringfor the bringing up of the backward. The way of the Primer teacher wasnot made easy in a public school of twenty-five years ago. 

So Miss Clara told the new pupil to copy digits. 

Now what digits were, Emmy Lou had no idea, but being shown them on theblackboard, she copied them diligently. And as the time went on, EmmyLou went on copying digits. And her one endeavor being to avoid thenotice of Miss Clara, it happened the needs of Emmy Lou were frequentlylost sight of in the more assertive claims of the seventy. 

Emmy Lou was not catching up, and it was January. 

But to-day was to be different. The little boy was nodding andbeckoning. So far the seventy had left Emmy Lou alone. As a generalthing the herd crowds toward the leaders, and the laggard brings up therear alone. 

But to-day the little boy was beckoning. Emmy Lou looked up. Emmy Louwas pink-cheeked and chubby and in her heart there was no guile. Therewas an ease and swagger about the little boy. And he always knew when tostand up, and what for. Emmy Lou more than once had failed to stand up, and Miss Clara's reminder had been sharp. It was when a bell rang onemust stand up. But what for, Emmy Lou never knew, until after theothers began to do it. 

But the little boy always knew. Emmy Lou had heard him, too, out on thebench, glibly tell Miss Clara about the mat, and a bat, and a black rat. To-day he stood forth with confidence and told about a fat hen. Emmy Louwas glad to have the little boy beckon her. 

And in her heart there was no guile. That the little boy should beholding out an end of a severed india-rubber band and inviting her totake it, was no stranger than other things happening in the Primer Worldevery day. 

The very manner of the infant classification breathed mystery, the sheepfrom the goats, so to speak, the little girls all one side the centralaisle, the little boys all the other--and to overstep the line ofdemarcation a thing too dreadful to contemplate. 

Many things were strange. That one must get up suddenly when a bellrang, was strange. 

And to copy digits until one's chubby fingers, tightly gripping thepencil, ached, and then to be expected to take a sponge and wash thosedigits off, was strange. 

And to be told crossly to sit down was bewildering, when in answer toc, a, t, one said "Pussy. " And yet there was Pussy washing her face, onthe chart, and Miss Clara's pointer pointing to her. 

So when the little boy held out the rubber band across the aisle, EmmyLou took the proffered end. 

At this the little boy slid back into his desk holding to his end. Atthe critical moment of elongation the little boy let go. And theproperty of elasticity is to rebound. 

Emmy Lou's heart stood still. Then it swelled. But in her filling eyesthere was no suspicion, only hurt. And even while a tear splashed down, and falling upon the laboriously copied digits, wrought havoc, shesmiled bravely across at the little boy. It would have made the littleboy feel bad to know how it hurt. So Emmy Lou winked bravely and smiled. 

Whereupon the little boy wheeled about suddenly and fell to copyingdigits furiously. Nor did he look Emmy Lou's way, only drove his pencilinto his slate with a fervor that made Miss Clara rap sharply on herdesk. 

[Illustration: "Emmy Lou winked bravely and smiled. "]

Emmy Lou wondered if the little boy was mad. One would think it hadstung the little boy and not her. But since he was not looking, she feltfree to let her little fist seek her mouth for comfort. 

Nor did Emmy Lou dream, that across the aisle, remorse was eating intoa little boy's soul. Or that, along with remorse, there went the imageof one Emmy Lou, defenceless, pink-cheeked, and smiling bravely. 

The next morning Emmy Lou was early. She was always early. Sinceentering the Primer Class, breakfast had lost its savor to Emmy Lou inthe terror of being late. 

But this morning the little boy was there before her. Hitherto his tardyand clattering arrival had been a daily happening, provocative ofaccents sharp and energetic from Miss Clara. 

But this morning he was at his desk copying from his Primer on to hisslate. The easy, ostentatious way in which he glanced from slate to bookwas not lost upon Emmy Lou, who lost her place whenever her eyes leftthe rows of digits upon the blackboard. 

Emmy Lou watched the performance. And the little boy's pencil drove withfurious ease and its path was marked with flourishes. Emmy Lou neverdreamed that it was because she was watching that the little boy wasmoved to this brilliant exhibition. Presently reaching the end of hispage, he looked up, carelessly, incidentally. It seemed to be borne tohim that Emmy Lou was there, whereupon he nodded. Then, as if moved bysudden impulse, he dived into his desk, and after ostentatious searchin, on, under it, brought forth a pencil, and held it up for Emmy Lou tosee. Nor did she dream that it was for this the little boy had beenthere since before Uncle Michael had unlocked the Primer door. 

Emmy Lou looked across at the pencil. It was a slate-pencil. A fine, long, new slate-pencil grandly encased for half its length in goldpaper. One bought them at the drug-store across from the school, and onepaid for them the whole of five cents. 

Just then a bell rang. Emmy Lou got up suddenly. But it was the bell forschool to take up. So she sat down. She was glad Miss Clara was not yetin her place. 

After the Primer Class had filed in, with panting and frosty entrance, the bell rang again. This time it was the right bell tapped by MissClara, now in her place. So again Emmy Lou got up suddenly and byfollowing the little girl ahead learned that the bell meant, "go out tothe bench. "

The Primer Class according to the degree of its infant precocity wasdivided in three sections. Emmy Lou belonged to the third section. Itwas the last section and she was the last one in it though she had noidea what a section meant nor why she was in it. 

Yesterday the third section had said, over and over, in chorus, "One andone are two, two and two are four, " etc. --but to-day they said, "Two andone are three, two and two are four. "

Emmy Lou wondered, four what? Which put her behind, so that when shebegan again they were saying, "two and four are six. " So now she knew. Four is six. But what is six? Emmy Lou did not know. 

When she came back to her desk the pencil was there. The fine, new, longslate-pencil encased in gold paper. And the little boy was gone. Hebelonged to the first section, and the first section was now on thebench. Emmy Lou leaned across and put the pencil back on the littleboy's desk. 

Then she prepared herself to copy digits with her stump of a pencil. Emmy Lou's were always stumps. Her pencil had a way of rolling off herdesk while she was gone, and one pencil makes many stumps. The littleboy had generally helped her pick them up on her return. But strangely, from this time, her pencils rolled off no more. 

But when Emmy Lou took up her slate there was a whole side filled withdigits in soldierly rows across, so her heart grew light and free fromthe weight of digits, and she gave her time to the washing of her desk, a thing in which her soul revelled, and for which, patterning after herlittle girl neighbors, she kept within that desk a bottle of soapy waterand rags of a gray and unpleasant nature, that never dried, because oftheir frequent using. When Emmy Lou first came to school, her cleaningparaphernalia consisted of a sponge secured by a string to her slate, which was the badge of the new and the unsophisticated comer. Emmy Louhad quickly learned that, and no one now rejoiced in a fuller assortmentof soap, bottle, and rags than she, nor did a sponge longer dangle fromthe frame of her slate. 

On coming in from recess this same day, Emmy Lou found the pencil on herdesk again, the beautiful new pencil in the gilded paper. She put itback. 

But when she reached home, the pencil, the beautiful pencil that costall of five cents, was in her companion box along with her stumps andher sponge and her grimy little slate rags. And about the pencil waswrapped a piece of paper. It had the look of the margin of a Primerpage. The paper bore marks. They were not digits. 

Emmy Lou took the paper to Aunt Cordelia. They were at dinner. 

"Can't you read it, Emmy Lou?" asked Aunt Katie, the prettiest aunty. 

Emmy Lou shook her head. 

"I'll spell the letters, " said Aunt Louise, the youngest aunty. 

But that did not help Emmy Lou one bit. 

Aunt Cordelia looked troubled. "She doesn't seem to be catching up, " shesaid. 

"No, " said Aunt Katie. 

"No, " agreed Aunt Louise. 

"Nor--on, " said Uncle Charlie, the brother of the aunties, lighting hiscigar to go downtown. 

Aunt Cordelia spread the paper out. It bore the words:

"It is for you. "

[Illustration: "Emmy Lou shook her head. "]

So Emmy Lou put the pencil away in the companion, and tucked it aboutwith the grimy slate rags that no harm might befall it. And the next dayshe took it out and used it. But first she looked over at the littleboy. The little boy was busy. But when she looked up again, he waslooking. 

The little boy grew red, and wheeling suddenly, fell to copying digitsfuriously. And from that moment on the little boy was moved to strangebehavior. 

Three times before recess did he, boldly ignoring the preface ofupraised hand, swagger up to Miss Clara's desk. And going and coming, the little boy's boots with copper toes and run-down heels marked withthumping emphasis upon the echoing boards his processional andrecessional. And reaching his desk, the little boy slammed down hisslate with clattering reverberations. 

Emmy Lou watched him uneasily. She was miserable for him. She did notknow that there are times when the emotions are more potent than thesubtlest wines. Nor did she know that the male of some species is movedthus to exhibition of prowess, courage, defiance, for the impressing ofthe chosen female of the species. 

Emmy Lou merely knew that she was miserable and that she trembled forthe little boy. 

Having clattered his slate until Miss Clara rapped sharply, the littleboy arose and went swaggering on an excursion around the room to wheresat the bucket and dipper. And on his return he came up the centre aislebetween the sheep and the goats. 

Emmy Lou had no idea what happened. It took place behind her. But therewas another little girl who did. A little girl who boasted curls, yellowcurls in tiered rows about her head. A lachrymosal little girl, whoaffected great horror of the little boys. 

And what Emmy Lou failed to see was this: the little boy, in passing, deftly lift a cherished curl between finger and thumb and proceed on hisway. 

The little girl did not fail the little boy. In the suddenness of thesurprise she surprised even him by her outcry. Miss Clara jumped. EmmyLou jumped. And the sixty-nine jumped. And, following this, the littlegirl lifted her voice in lachrymal lament. 

Miss Clara sat erect. The Primer Class held its breath. It always heldits breath when Miss Clara sat erect. Emmy Lou held tightly to her deskbesides. She wondered what it was all about. 

Then Miss Clara spoke. Her accents cut the silence. 

"Billy Traver!"

Billy Traver stood forth. It was the little boy. 

"Since you seem pleased to occupy yourself with the little girls, Billy, _go to the pegs_!"

Emmy Lou trembled. "Go to the pegs!" What unknown, inquisitorial terrorslay behind those dread, laconic words, Emmy Lou knew not. 

She could only sit and watch the little boy turn and stump back down theaisle and around the room to where along the wall hung rows of feminineapparel. 

Here he stopped and scanned the line. Then he paused before a hat. Itwas a round little hat with silky nap and a curling brim. It hadrosettes to keep the ears warm and ribbon that tied beneath the chin. Itwas Emmy Lou's hat. Aunt Cordelia had cautioned her to care concerningit. 

The little boy took it down. There seemed to be no doubt in his mind asto what Miss Clara meant. But then he had been in the Primer Class fromthe beginning. 

[Illustration: "Emmy Lou did not laugh. She made room for Billy. "]

Having taken the hat down he proceeded to put it upon his own shockhead. His face wore its broad and constant smile. One would have saidthe little boy was enjoying the affair. As he put the hat on, thesixty-nine laughed. The seventieth did not. It was her hat, and besides, she did not understand. 

Miss Clara still erect spoke again: "And now, since you are a littlegirl, get your book, Billy, and move over with the girls. "

Nor did Emmy Lou understand why, when Billy, having gathered hisbelongings together, moved across the aisle and sat down with her, thesixty-nine laughed again. Emmy Lou did not laugh. She made room forBilly. 

Nor did she understand when Billy treated her to a slow andsurreptitious wink, his freckled countenance grinning beneath therosetted hat. It never could have occurred to Emmy Lou that Billy hadlaid his cunning plans to this very end. Emmy Lou understood nothing ofall this. She only pitied Billy. And presently, when public attentionhad become diverted, she proffered him the hospitality of a grimy littleslate rag. When Billy returned the rag there was something init--something wrapped in a beautiful, glazed, shining bronze paper. Itwas a candy kiss. One paid five cents for six of them at the drug-store. 

On the road home, Emmy Lou ate the candy. The beautiful, shiny paper sheput in her Primer. The slip of paper that she found within she carriedto Aunt Cordelia. It was sticky and it was smeared. But it had readingon it. 

"But this is printing, " said Aunt Cordelia; "can't you read it?"

Emmy Lou shook her head. 

"Try, " said Aunt Katie. 

"The easy words, " said Aunt Louise. 

But Emmy Lou, remembering c-a-t, Pussy, shook her head. 

Aunt Cordelia looked troubled. "She certainly isn't catching up, " saidAunt Cordelia. Then she read from the slip of paper:

 "Oh, woman, woman, thou wert made The peace of Adam to invade. "

The aunties laughed, but Emmy Lou put it away with the glazed paper inher Primer. It meant quite as much to her as did the reading in thatPrimer: Cat, a cat, the cat. The bat, the mat, a rat. It was the jingleto both that appealed to Emmy Lou. 

About this time rumors began to reach Emmy Lou. She heard that it wasFebruary, and that wonderful things were peculiar to the Fourteenth. Atrecess the little girls locked arms and talked Valentines. The echoesreached Emmy Lou. 

The valentines must come from a little boy, or it wasn't the real thing. And to get no valentine was a dreadful--dreadful thing. And even thetimidest of the sheep began to cast eyes across at the goats. 

Emmy Lou wondered if she would get a valentine. And if not, how was sheto survive the contumely and shame?

You must never, never breathe to a living soul what was on yourvalentine. To tell even your best and truest little girl friend was toprove faithless to the little boy sending the valentine. These thingsreached Emmy Lou. 

Not for the world would she tell. Emmy Lou was sure of that, so gratefuldid she feel she would be to anyone sending her a valentine. 

And in doubt and wretchedness did she wend her way to school on theFourteenth Day of February. The drug-store window was full ofvalentines. But Emmy Lou crossed the street. She did not want to seethem. She knew the little girls would ask her if she had gotten avalentine. And she would have to say, No. 

She was early. The big, empty room echoed back her footsteps as she wentto her desk to lay down book and slate before taking off her wraps. Nordid Emmy Lou dream the eye of the little boy peeped through the crack ofthe door from Miss Clara's dressing-room. 

Emmy Lou's hat and jacket were forgotten. On her desk lay somethingsquare and white. It was an envelope. It was a beautiful envelope, allover flowers and scrolls. 

Emmy Lou knew it. It was a valentine. Her cheeks grew pink. 

She took it out. It was blue. And it was gold. And it had reading on it. 

Emmy Lou's heart sank. She could not read the reading. The door opened. Some little girls came in. Emmy Lou hid her valentine in her book, forsince you must not--she would never show her valentine--never. 

The little girls wanted to know if she had gotten a valentine, and EmmyLou said, Yes, and her cheeks were pink with the joy of being able tosay it. 

Through the day, she took peeps between the covers of her Primer, but noone else might see it. 

It rested heavy on Emmy Lou's heart, however, that there was reading onit. She studied it surreptitiously. The reading was made up of letters. It was the first time Emmy Lou had thought about that. She knew some ofthe letters. She would ask someone the letters she did not know bypointing them out on the chart at recess. Emmy Lou was learning. It wasthe first time since she came to school. 

But what did the letters make? She wondered, after recess, studying thevalentine again. 

Then she went home. She followed Aunt Cordelia about. Aunt Cordelia wasbusy. 

[Illustration: "She sought the house-boy. "]

"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou. 

Aunt Cordelia listened. 

"B, " said Emmy Lou, "and e?"

"Be, " said Aunt Cordelia. 

If B was Be, it was strange that B and e were Be. But many things werestrange. 

Emmy Lou accepted them all on faith. 

After dinner she approached Aunt Katie. 

"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, "m and y?"

"My, " said Aunt Katie. 

The rest was harder. She could not remember the letters, and had to copythem off on her slate. Then she sought Tom, the house-boy. Tom was outat the gate talking to another house-boy. She waited until the other boywas gone. 

"What does it read?" asked Emmy Lou, and she told the letters off theslate. It took Tom some time, but finally he told her. 

Just then a little girl came along. She was a first-section little girl, and at school she never noticed Emmy Lou. 

Now she was alone, so she stopped. 

"Get any valentines?"

"Yes, " said Emmy Lou. Then moved to confidence by the little girl'sfriendliness, she added, "It has reading on it. "

"Pooh, " said the little girl, "they all have that. My mamma's beenreading the long verses inside to me. "

"Can you show them--valentines?" asked Emmy Lou. 

"Of course, to grown-up people, " said the little girl. 

The gas was lit when Emmy Lou came in. Uncle Charlie was there, and theaunties, sitting around, reading. 

"I got a valentine, " said Emmy Lou. 

They all looked up. They had forgotten it was Valentine's Day, and itcame to them that if Emmy Lou's mother had not gone away, never to comeback, the year before, Valentine's Day would not have been forgotten. Aunt Cordelia smoothed the black dress she was wearing because of themother who would never come back, and looked troubled. 

But Emmy Lou laid the blue and gold valentine on Aunt Cordelia's knee. In the valentine's centre were two hands clasping. Emmy Lou'sforefinger pointed to the words beneath the clasped hands. 

"I can read it, " said Emmy Lou. 

They listened. Uncle Charlie put down his paper. Aunt Louise looked overAunt Cordelia's shoulder. 

"B, " said Emmy Lou, "e--Be. "

The aunties nodded. 

"M, " said Emmy Lou, "y--my. "

Emmy Lou did not hesitate. "V, " said Emmy Lou, "a, l, e, n, t, i, n, e--Valentine. Be my Valentine. "

"There!" said Aunt Cordelia. 

"Well!" said Aunt Katie. 

"At last!" said Aunt Louise. 

"H'm!" said Uncle Charlie. 

 A LITTLE FEMININE CASABIANCA

The close of the first week of Emmy Lou's second year at a certain largepublic school found her round, chubby self, like a pink-cheeked period, ending the long line of intermingled little boys and girls making whatwas known, twenty-five years ago, as the First-Reader Class. Emmy Louhad spent her first year in the Primer Class, where the teacher, MissClara by name, had concealed the kindliest of hearts behind a brusqueand energetic manner, and had possessed, along with her red hair and atemper tinged with that color also, a sharp voice that, by itsunexpected snap in attacking some small sinner, had caused Emmy Lou'slittle heart to jump many times a day. Here Emmy Lou had spent the yearin strenuously guiding a squeaking pencil across a protesting slate, orsinging in chorus, as Miss Clara's long wooden pointer went up and downthe rows of words on the spelling-chart: "A-t, at; b-a-t, bat; c-a-t, cat, " or "a-n, an; b-a-n, ban; c-a-n, can. " Emmy Lou herself had solittle idea of what it was all about, that she was dependent on herneighbor to give her the key to the proper starting-point heading thevarious columns--"a-t, at, " or "a-n, an, " or "e-t, et, " or "o-n, on;"after that it was easy sailing. But one awful day, while the classstopped suddenly at Miss Clara's warning finger as visitors opened thedoor, Emmy Lou, her eyes squeezed tight shut, her little body rocking toand fro to the rhythm, went right on, "m-a-n, man, " "p-a-n, pan"--untilat the sound of her own sing-song little voice rising with appallingfervor upon the silence, she stopped to find that the page in themeantime had been turned, and that the pointer was directed to a columnbeginning "o-y, oy. "

[Illustration: "Guiding a squeaking pencil across a protesting slate. "]

Among other things incident to that first year, too, had been Recess. At that time everybody was turned out into a brick-paved yard, the boyson one side of a high fence, the girls on the other. And here, waitingwithout the wooden shed where stood a row of buckets each holding ashiny tin dipper, Emmy Lou would stop on the sloppy outskirts for thethirst of the larger girls to be assuaged, that the little girls'opportunity might come--together with the dregs in the buckets. And atRecess, too, along with the danger of being run into by the larger girlsat play and having the breath knocked out of one's little body, whichmade it necessary to seek sequestered corners and peep out thence, therewas The Man to be watched for and avoided--the low, square, black-browed, black-bearded Man who brandished a broom at the littlegirls who dropped their apple-cores and crusts on the pavements, and whoshook his fist at the jeering little boys who dared to swarm to theforbidden top and sit straddling the dividing fence. That Uncle Michael, the janitor, was getting old and had rheumatic twinges was indeed UncleMichael's excuse, but Emmy Lou did not know this, and her fear of UncleMichael was great accordingly. 

But somehow the Primer year wore away; and one day, toward its close, inthe presence of Miss Clara, two solemn-looking gentlemen requestedcertain little boys to cipher and several little girls to spell, andsent others to the blackboard or the chart, while to Emmy Lou was handeda Primer, open at Page 17, which she was told to read. Knowing Page 17by heart, and identifying it by its picture, Emmy Lou arose, and hersmall voice droned forth in sing-song fashion:

 How old are you, Sue? I am as old as my cat. And how old is your cat? My cat is as old as my dog. And how old is your dog? My dog is as old as I am. 

Having so delivered herself, Emmy Lou sat down, not at all disconcertedto find that she had been holding her Primer upside down. 

Following this, Emmy Lou was told that she had "passed;" and seeing fromthe jubilance of the other children that it was a matter to be joyfulover, Emmy Lou went home and told the elders of her family that she hadpassed. And these elders, three aunties and an uncle, an uncle who wasdisposed to look at Emmy Lou's chubby self and her concerns in jocularfashion, laughed: and Emmy Lou went on wondering what it was all about, which never would have been the case had there been a mother among theelders, for mothers have a way of understanding these things. But toEmmy Lou "mother" had come to mean but a memory which faded as it came, a vague consciousness of encircling arms, of a brooding, tender face, ofyearning eyes; and it was only because they told her that Emmy Louremembered how mother had gone away South, one winter, to get well. Thatthey afterward told her it was Heaven, in no wise confused Emmy Lou, because, for aught she knew, South and Heaven and much else might beincluded in these points of the compass. Ever since then Emmy Lou hadlived with the three aunties and the uncle; and papa had been coming ahundred miles once a month to see her. 

When Emmy Lou went back to school for the second year, she was told thatshe was now in the First Reader. If her heart had jumped at the sharpaccents of Miss Clara, it now grew still within her at the slow, awfulenunciation of the Large Lady in black bombazine who reigned over thedepartment of the First Reader, pointing her morals with a heavyforefinger, before which Emmy Lou's eyes lowered with every aspect ofconscious guilt. Nor did Emmy Lou dream that the Large Lady, whose blackbombazine was the visible sign of a loss by death that had made itnecessary for her to enter the school-room to earn a living, was findingthe duties incident to the First Reader almost as strange and perplexingas Emmy Lou herself. 

Emmy Lou from the first day found herself descending steadily to thefoot of the class; and there she remained until the awful day, at theclose of the first week, when the Large Lady, realizing perhaps that shecould no longer ignore such adherence to that lowly position, madediscovery that while to Emmy Lou "d-o-g" might _spell_ "dog" and"f-r-o-g" might _spell_ "frog, " Emmy Lou could not find either on aprinted page, and, further, could not tell wherein they differed whenfound for her, that, also, Emmy Lou made her figure 8's by adding oneuncertain little o to the top of another uncertain little o; and thatwhile Emmy Lou might copy, in smeary columns, certain cabalistic signsoff the blackboard, she could not point them off in tens, hundreds, thousands, or read their numerical values, to save her little life. TheLarge Lady, sorely perplexed within herself as to the proper course tobe pursued, in the sight of the fifty-nine other First-Readers pointed acondemning forefinger at the miserable little object standing in frontof her platform: and said, "You will stay after school, Emma Louise, that I may examine further into your qualifications for this grade. "

[Illustration: "Sounds grew fewer, fainter, farther away ... A doorslammed somewhere--then--silence. "]

Now Emmy Lou had no idea what it meant--"examine further into yourqualifications for this grade. " It might be the form of punishment invogue for the chastisement of the members of the First Reader. But"stay after school" she did understand, and her heart sank, and herlittle breast heaved. 

It was then past the noon recess. In those days, in this particularcity, school closed at half-past one. At last the bell for dismissal hadrung. The Large Lady, arms folded across her bombazine bosom, had facedthe class, and with awesome solemnity had already enunciated, "Attention, " and sixty little people had sat up straight, when the dooropened, and a teacher from the floor above came in. 

At her whispered confidence, the Large Lady left the room hastily, whilethe strange teacher with a hurried "one--two--three, march out quietly, children, " turned, and followed her. And Emmy Lou, left sitting at herdesk, saw through gathering tears the line of First-Readers wind aroundthe room and file out the door, the sound of their departing footstepsalong the bare corridors and down the echoing stairway coming back likea knell to her sinking heart. Then class after class from above marchedpast the door and on its clattering way, while voices from outside, shrill with the joy of the release, came up through the open windows intalk, in laughter, together with the patter of feet on the bricks. Thenas these familiar sounds grew fewer, fainter, farther away, some belatedfootsteps went echoing through the building, a door slammedsomewhere--then--silence. 

Emmy Lou waited. She wondered how long it would be. There was watermelonat home for dinner; she had seen it borne in, a great, striped promiseof ripe and juicy lusciousness, on the marketman's shoulder before shecame to school. And here a tear, long gathering, splashed down the pinkcheek. 

Still that awesome personage presiding over the fortunes of theFirst-Readers failed to return. Perhaps this was "the examinationinto--into--" Emmy Lou could not remember what--to be left in this big, bare room with the flies droning and humming in lazy circles up near theceiling. The forsaken desks, with a forgotten book or slate left hereand there upon them, the pegs around the wall empty of hats and bonnets, the unoccupied chair upon the platform--Emmy Lou gazed at these with asinking sensation of desolation, while tear followed tear down herchubby face. And listening to the flies and the silence, Emmy Lou beganto long for even the Bombazine Presence, and dropping her quiveringcountenance upon her arms folded upon the desk she sobbed aloud. But thetime was long, and the day was warm, and the sobs grew slower, and thebreath began to come in long-drawn, quivering sighs, and the next EmmyLou knew she was sitting upright, trembling in every limb, and someonecoming up the stairs--she could hear the slow, heavy footfalls, and amoment after she saw The Man--the Recess Man, the low, black-bearded, black-browed, scowling Man--with the broom across his shoulder, reachthe hallway, and make toward the open doorway of the First-Reader room. Emmy Lou held her breath, stiffened her little body, and--waited. ButThe Man pausing to light his pipe, Emmy Lou, in the sudden respite thusafforded, slid in a trembling heap beneath the desk, and on hands andknees went crawling across the floor. And as Uncle Michael came in, amoment after, broom, pan, and feather-duster in hand, the lastfluttering edge of a little pink dress was disappearing into the depthsof the big, empty coal-box, and its sloping lid was lowering upon aflaxen head and cowering little figure crouched within. Uncle Michaelhaving put the room to rights, sweeping and dusting, with many arheumatic groan in accompaniment, closed the windows, and going out, drew the door after him and, as was his custom, locked it. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile, at Emmy Lou's home the elders wondered. "You don't know EmmyLou, " Aunt Cordelia, round, plump, and cheery, insisted to the ladyvisitor spending the day; "Emmy Lou never loiters. "

Aunt Katie, the prettiest auntie, cut off a thick round of melon as theyarose from the table, and put it in the refrigerator for Emmy Lou. "Itseems a joke, " she remarked, "such a baby as Emmy Lou going to schoolanyhow; but then she has only a square to go and come. "

But Emmy Lou did not come. And by half-past two Aunt Louise, theyoungest auntie, started out to find her. But as she stopped on the wayat the houses of all the neighbors to inquire, and ran around the cornerto Cousin Tom Macklin's to see if Emmy Lou could be there, and then, being but a few doors off, went on around that corner to CousinAmanda's, the school-house, when she finally reached it, was locked up, with the blinds down at every front window as if it had closed its eyesand gone to sleep. Uncle Michael had a way of cleaning and locking thefront of the building first, and going in and out at the back doors. ButAunt Louise did not know this, and, anyhow, she was sure that she wouldfind Emmy Lou at home when she got there. 

But Emmy Lou was not at home, and it being now well on in the afternoon, Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise and the lady visitor and the cook all startedout in search, while Aunt Cordelia sent the house-boy downtown for UncleCharlie. Just as Uncle Charlie arrived--and it was past five o'clock bythen--some of the children of the neighborhood, having found a small boyliving some squares off who confessed to being in the First Reader withEmmy Lou, arrived also, with the small boy in tow. 

"She didn't know 'dog' from 'frog' when she saw 'em, " stated the smallboy, with the derision of superior ability, "an' teacher, she told herto stay after school. She was settin' there in her desk when school letout, Emmy Lou was. "

But a big girl of the neighborhood objected. "Her teacher went home theminute school was out, " she declared. "Isn't the new lady, Mrs. Samuels, your teacher?" this to the small boy. "Well, her daughter, Lettie, she'sin my room, and she was sick, and her mother came up to our room andtook her home. Our teacher, she went down and dismissed theFirst-Readers. "

"I don't care if she did, " retorted the small boy. "I reckon I saw EmmyLou settin' there when we come away. "

Aunt Cordelia, pale and tearful, clutched Uncle Charlie's arm. "Thenshe's there, Brother Charlie, locked up in that dreadful place--myprecious baby----"

"Pshaw!" said Uncle Charlie. 

But Aunt Cordelia was wringing her hands. "You don't know Emmy Lou, Charlie. If she was told to stay, she has stayed. She's locked up inthat dreadful place. What shall we do, my baby, my precious baby----"

Aunt Katie was in tears, Aunt Louise in tears, the cook in loudlamentation, Aunt Cordelia fast verging upon hysteria. 

The small boy from the First Reader, legs apart, hands in knickerbockerpockets, gazed at the crowd of irresolute elders with scornful wonder. "What you wanter do, " stated the small boy, "is find Uncle Michael; hekeeps the keys. He went past my house a while ago, going home. He livesin Rose Lane Alley. 'Taint much outer my way, " condescendingly; "I'lltake you there. " And meekly they followed in his footsteps. 

It was dark when a motley throng of uncle, aunties, visiting lady, neighbors, and children went climbing the cavernous, echoing stairway ofthe dark school building behind the toiling figure of the skepticalUncle Michael, lantern in hand. 

"Ain't I swept over every inch of this here school-house myself andcarried the trash outten a dust-pan?" grumbled Uncle Michael, with whatinference nobody just then stopped to inquire. Then with the air of amistreated, aggrieved person who feels himself a victim, he pausedbefore a certain door on the second floor, and fitted a key in its lock. "Here it is then, No. 9, to satisfy the lady, " and he flung open thedoor. The light of Uncle Michael's lantern fell full upon the wide-eyed, terror-smitten person of Emmy Lou, in her desk, awaiting, her miserablelittle heart knew not what horror. 

"She--she told me to stay, " sobbed Emmy Lou in Aunt Cordelia's arms, "and I stayed; and the Man came, and I hid in the coal-box!"

And Aunt Cordelia, holding her close, sobbed too, and Aunt Katie cried, and Aunt Louise and the lady visitor cried, and Uncle Charlie passed hisplump white hand over his eyes, and said, "Pshaw!" And the teacher ofthe First Reader, when she heard about it next day, cried hardest ofthem all, so hard that not even Aunt Cordelia could cherish a feelingagainst her. 

 HARE-AND-TORTOISE OR THE BLISS OF IGNORANCE

There was head and foot in the Second Reader. Emmy Lou heard itwhispered the day of her entrance into the Second-Reader room. 

Once, head and foot had meant Aunt Cordelia above the coffee tray andUncle Charlie below the carving-knife. But at school head and foot meantlittle girls bobbing up and down, descending and ascending the scale ofexcellency. 

There were no little boys. At the Second Reader the currents of thesexes divided, and little boys were swept out of sight. One mentionedlittle boys now in undertones. 

But head and foot meant something beside little girls bobbing out oftheir places on the bench to take a neighbor's place. Head and footmeant tears--that is, when the bobbing was downward and not up. However, if one bobbed down to-day there was the chance of bobbing upto-morrow--that is, with all but Emmy Lou and a little girl answeringto the call of "Kitty McKoeghany. "

Step by step Kitty went up, and having reached the top, Kitty stayedthere. 

And step by step, Emmy Lou, from her original, alphabetically determinedposition beside Kitty, went down, and then, only because further descentwas impossible, Emmy Lou stayed there. But since the foot was nearestthe platform Emmy Lou took that comfort out of the situation, for theTeacher sat on the platform, and Emmy Lou loved the Teacher. 

[Illustration: "Emmy Lou. "]

The Second-Reader Teacher was the lady, the nice lady, the pretty ladywith white hair, who patted little girls on the cheek as she passed themin the hall. On the first day of school, the name of "Emily LouiseMacLauren" had been called. Emmy Lou stood up. She looked at theTeacher. She wondered if the Teacher remembered. Emmy Lou was chubbyand round and much in earnest. And the lady, the pretty lady, lookingdown at her, smiled. Then Emmy Lou knew that the lady had not forgotten. And Emmy Lou sat down. And she loved the Teacher and she loved theSecond Reader. Emmy Lou had not heard the Teacher's name. But could hergrateful little heart have resolved its feelings into words, "DearTeacher" must ever after have been the lady's name. And so, as ifimpelled by her own chubby weight and some head-and-foot force ofgravity, though Emmy Lou descended steadily to the foot of theSecond-Reader class, there were compensations. The foot was in theshadow of the platform and within the range of Dear Teacher's smile. 

Besides, there was Hattie. 

[Illustration: "Kitty McKoeghany. "]

Emmy Lou sat with Hattie. They sat at a front desk. Hattie had plaits;small affairs, perhaps, but tied with ribbons behind each ear. And thepart bisecting Hattie's little head from nape to crown was exact andtrue. Emmy Lou admired plaits. And she admired the little pink sprigs onHattie's dress. 

After Hattie and Emmy Lou had sat together a whole day, Hattie took EmmyLou aside as they were going home, and whispered to her. 

"Who's your mos' nintimate friend?" was what Emmy Lou understood her towhisper. 

Emmy Lou had no idea what a nintimate friend might be. She did not knowwhat to do. 

"Haven't you got one?" demanded Hattie. 

Emmy Lou shook her head. 

Hattie put her lips close to Emmy Lou's ear. 

"Let's us be nintimate friends, " said Hattie. 

Though small in knowledge, Emmy Lou was large in faith. She confessedherself as glad to be a nintimate friend. 

When Emmy Lou found that to be a nintimate friend meant to walk aboutthe yard with Hattie's arm about her, she was glad indeed to be one. Hitherto, at recess, Emmy Lou had known the bitterness of the outcastand the pariah, and had stood around, principally in corners, to avoidbeing swept off her little feet by the big girls at play, and had gazedupon a paired-off and sufficient-unto-itself world. 

[Illustration: "'Let's us be nintimate friends. '"]

Hattie seemed to know everything. In all the glory of its newness EmmyLou brought her Second Reader to school. Hattie was scandalised. Sheshowed her reader soberly encased in a calico cover. 

Emmy Lou grew hot. She hid her Reader hastily. Somehow she felt that shehad been immodest. The next day Emmy Lou's Reader came to schooldiscreetly swathed in calico. 

Hardly had the Second Reader begun, when one Friday the music man came. And after that he came every Friday and stayed an hour. 

[Illustration: "Hattie. "]

He was a tall, thin man, and he had a point of beard on his chin thatmade him look taller. He wore a blue cape, which he tossed on a chair. And he carried a violin. His name was Mr. Cato. He drew five lines onthe blackboard, and made eight dots that looked as though they weregoing upstairs on the lines. Then he rapped on his violin with his bow, and the class sat up straight. 

"This, " said Mr. Cato, "is A, " and he pointed to a dot. Then he lookedat Emmy Lou. Unfortunately Emmy Lou sat at a front desk. 

"Now, what is it?" said Mr. Cato. 

"A, " said Emmy Lou, obediently. She wondered. But she had met A in somany guises of print and script that she accepted any statementconcerning A. And now a dot was A. 

"And this, " said Mr. Cato, "is B, and this is C, and this D, and E, F, G, which brings us naturally to A again, " and Mr. Cato with his bow wentup the stairway punctuated with dots. 

Emmy Lou wondered why G brought one naturally to A again. 

But Mr. Cato was tapping up the dotted stairway with his bow. "Now whatare they?" asked Mr. Cato. 

"Dots, " said Emmy Lou, forgetting. 

Mr. Cato got red in the face and rapped angrily. 

"A, " said Emmy Lou, hastily, "B, C, D, E, F, G, H, " and was goinghurriedly on when Hattie, with a surreptitious jerk, stopped her. 

"That is better, " said Mr. Cato, "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A--exactly--butwe are not going to call them A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A--" Mr. Cato pausedimpressively, his bow poised, and looked at Emmy Lou--"we are going tocall them"--and Mr. Cato touched a dot--"do"--his bow went up thepunctuated stairway--"re, mi, fa, sol, la, si. Now what is this?" Thebow pointed itself to Emmy Lou, then described a curve, bringing itagain to a dot. 

"A, " said Emmy Lou. The bow rapped angrily on the board, and Mr. Catoglared. 

"Do, " said Mr. Cato, "do--always do--not A, nor B, nor C, never A, norB, nor C again--do, do, " the bow rapping angrily the while. 

"Dough, " said Emmy Lou, swallowing miserably. 

Mr. Cato was mollified. "Forget now it was ever A; A is do here. Alwaysin the future remember the first letter in the scale is do. Whenever youmeet it placed like this, A is do, A is do. "

[Illustration: "Dear Teacher, smiling at Emmy Lou just arriving withher school-bag, went in, too. "]

Emmy Lou resolved she would never forget. A is dough. How or why orwherefore did not matter. The point was, A is dough. But Emmy Lou wasglad when the music man went. And then came spelling, when there wasalways much bobbing up and down and changing of places and tears. Thistime the rest might forget, but Emmy Lou would not. It came her turn. 

She stood up. Her word was Adam. And A was dough. Emmy Lou went slowlyto get it right. "Dough-d-dough-m, Adam, " said Emmy Lou. 

They laughed. But Dear Teacher did not laugh. The recess-bell rang. AndDear Teacher, holding Emmy Lou's hand, sent them all out. Everyone mustgo. Desks and slates to be scrubbed, mattered not. Everyone must go. Then Dear Teacher lifted Emmy Lou to her lap. And when she was sure theywere every one gone, Emmy Lou cried. And after a while Dear Teacherexplained about A and do, so that Emmy Lou understood. And then DearTeacher said, "You may come in. " And the crack of the door widened, andin came Hattie. Emmy Lou was glad she was a nintimate friend. Hattie hadnot laughed. 

[Illustration: "It was Emmy Lou's joy to gather her doll children inline, and giving out past lessons, recite them ... For her children. "]

But that day the carriage which took Dear Teacher to and from her homeoutside of town--the carriage with the white, woolly dog on the seat bythe little coloured-boy driver and the spotted dog runningbehind--stopped at Emmy Lou's gate. And Dear Teacher, smiling at EmmyLou just arriving with her school-bag, went in, too, and rang the bell. 

Then Dear Teacher and Aunt Cordelia and Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise satin the parlour and talked. 

And when Dear Teacher left, all the aunties went out to the gate withher, and Uncle Charlie, just leaving, put her in the carriage, and stoodwith his hat lifted until she was quite gone. 

"At her age----" said Aunt Cordelia. 

"To have to teach----, " said Aunt Katie. 

"How beautiful she must have been----" said Aunt Louise. 

"Is----" said Uncle Charlie. 

"But she has the little grandchild, " said Aunt Cordelia; "she is keepingthe home for him. She is happy. " And Aunt Cordelia took Emmy Lou'shand. 

That very afternoon Aunt Louise began to help Emmy Lou with her lessons, and Aunt Cordelia went around and asked Hattie's mother to let Hattiecome and get her lessons with Emmy Lou. 

And at school Dear Teacher, walking up and down the aisles, would stop, and her fingers would close over and guide the labouring digits of EmmyLou, striving to copy within certain ruled lines upon her slate thewriting on the blackboard:

 The pen is the tongue of the mind. 

Emmy Lou began to learn. As weeks went by, now and then Emmy Lou bobbedup a place, although, sooner or later, she slipped back. She was notalways at the foot. 

But no one, not even Dear Teacher, who understood so much, realised onething. The day after a lesson, Emmy Lou knew it. On the day it wasrecited, Emmy Lou had lacked sufficient time to grasp it. 

With ten words in the spelling lesson, Emmy Lou listened, letter byletter, to those ten droned out five times down the line, then twiceagain around the class of fifty. Then Emmy Lou, having already labouredfaithfully over it, knew her spelling lesson. 

And at home, it was Emmy Lou's joy to gather her doll children in line, and giving out past lessons, recite them in turn for her children. Andso did Emmy Lou know by heart her Second Reader as far as she had gone;she often gave the lesson with her book upside down. And an old andbattered doll, dearest to Emmy Lou's heart, was always head, and Hattie, the newest doll, was next. Even the Emmy Lous must square with Fatesomehow. 

Along in the year a new feature was introduced in the Second Reader. TheSecond Reader was to have a Medal. Dear Teacher did not seementhusiastic. She seemed to dread tears. But it was decreed that theschool was to use medals. 

At recess Emmy Lou asked Hattie what a medal was. The big Fourth andFifth Reader girls were playing games from which the little girls wereexcluded, for the school was large and the yard was small. At one timeit had seemed to Emmy Lou that the odium, the obloquy, the reproach ofbeing a little girl was more than she could bear, but she would notchange places with anyone, now she was a nintimate friend. 

Emmy Lou asked Hattie what it was--this medal. 

Hattie explained. Hattie knew everything. A medal was--well--a medal. Ithung on a blue ribbon. Each little girl brought her own blue ribbon. Youwore it for a week--this medal. 

That afternoon Emmy Lou went round the corner to Mrs. Heinz's littlefancy store. Her chin just came to Mrs. Heinz's counter. But she knewwhat she wanted--a yard of blue ribbon. 

She showed it to Hattie the next day, folded in its paper, and slippedfor safety beneath the long criss-cross stitches which held the calicocover of her Second Reader. 

Then Hattie explained. One had to stay head a whole week to get themedal. 

Emmy Lou's heart was heavy--the more that she had now seen the medal. It was a silver medal that said "Merit. " It was around KittyMcKoeghany's neck. 

And Kitty tossed her head. And when, at recess, she ran, the medal swungto and fro on its ribbon. And the big girls all stopped Kitty to look atthe medal. 

There was a condition attached to the gaining of the medal. Uponreceiving it one had to go foot. But that mattered little to KittyMcKoeghany. Kitty climbed right up again. 

And Emmy Lou peeped surreptitiously at the blue ribbon in her SecondReader. And at home she placed her dolls in line and spelt the backlessons faithfully, with comfort in her knowledge of them. And the oldbattered doll, dear to her heart, wore oftenest a medal of shiningtinfoil. For even Hattie, in one of Kitty's off weeks, had won themedal. 

It was late in the year when a rumour ran around the Second Reader room. The trustees were coming that day to visit the school. 

[Illustration: "Emmy Lou spelled steadily. "]

Emmy Lou wondered what trustees were. She asked Hattie. Hattieexplained. "They are men, in black clothes. You daren't move in yourseat. They're something like ministers. " Hattie knew everything. 

"Will they come here, in our room?" asked Emmy Lou. It was terrible tobe at the front desk. Emmy Lou remembered the music man. He stillpointed his bow at her on Fridays. 

"Of course, " said Hattie; "comp'ny always comes to our room. "

Which was true, for Dear Teacher's room was different. Dear Teacher'sroom seemed always ready, and the Principal brought company to itaccordingly. 

It was after recess they came--the Principal, the Trustee (there wasjust one Trustee), and a visiting gentleman. 

There was a hush as they filed in. Hattie was right. It was likeministers. The Principal was in black, with a white tie. He always was. And the Trustee was in black. He rubbed his hands and bowed to theSecond Reader Class, sitting very straight and awed. And the visitinggentleman was in black, with a shiny black hat. 

The Trustee was a big man, and his face was red, and when urged by thePrincipal to address the Second Reader Class, his face grew redder. 

The Trustee waved his hand toward the visiting gentleman. "Mr. Hammel, children, the Hon. Samuel S. Hammel, a citizen with whose name you areall, I am sure, familiar. " And then the Trustee, mopping his face, gotbehind the visiting gentleman and the Principal. 

The visiting gentleman stood forth. He was a short, little man--alittle, round man, whose feet were so far back beneath a preponderatingcircumference of waist line, that he looked like nothing so much as oneof Uncle Charlie's pouter pigeons. 

He was a smiling-and-bowing little man, and he held out his fat handplayfully, and in it a shining white box. 

Dear Teacher seemed taller and very far off. She looked as she did theday she told the class they were to have a medal. Emmy Lou watched DearTeacher anxiously. Something told her Dear Teacher was troubled. 

The visiting gentleman began to speak. He called the Second ReaderClass "dear children, " and "mothers of a coming generation, " and"moulders of the future welfare. "

The Second Reader Class sat very still. There seemed to be somethingparalysing to their infant faculties, mental and physical, in learningthey were "mothers" and "moulders. " But Emmy Lou breathed freer to haveit applied impartially and not to the front seat. 

Their "country, the pillars of state, everything, " it seemed, dependedon the way in which these mothers learned their Second Readers. "Asmothers and moulders, they must learn now in youth to read, to number, to spell--exactly--to spell!" And the visiting gentleman noddedmeaningly, tapped the white box and looked smilingly about. The mothersmoved uneasily. The smile they avoided. But they wondered what was inthe box. 

The visiting gentleman lifted the lid, and displayed a glittering, shining something on a bed of pink cotton. 

Then, as if struck by a happy thought, he turned to the blackboard. Helooked about for chalk. The Principal supplied him. Fashioned by hisfat, white hand, these words sprawled themselves upon the blackboard:

 The best speller in this room is to recieve this medal. 

There was silence. Then the Second Reader class moved. It breathed along breath. 

A whisper went around the room while Dear Teacher and the gentleman wereconferring. Rumour said Kitty McKoeghany started it. Certainly Kitty, inher desk across the aisle from Hattie, in the sight of all, tossed herblack head knowingly. 

The whisper concerned the visiting gentleman. "He is running forTrustee, " said the whisper. 

Emmy Lou wondered. Hattie seemed to understand. "He puts his name up ontree-boxes and fences, " she whispered to Emmy Lou, "and that's runningfor Trustee. "

The rumour was succeeded by another. 

"He's running against the Trustee that's not here to-day. "

No wonder Kitty McKoeghany was head. The extent of Kitty's knowledgewas boundless. 

The third confidence was freighted with strange import. It came straightfrom Kitty to Hattie, who told it to Emmy Lou. 

"When he's Trustee, he means the School Board shall take his pork housefor the new school. "

Even Emmy Lou knew the pork house which had built itself unpleasantlynear the neighbourhood. 

Just then the Second Reader class was summoned to the bench. As the linetook its place a hush fell. Emmy Lou, at its foot, looked up its lengthand wondered how it would seem to be Kitty McKoeghany at the head. 

The three gentlemen were looking at Kitty, too. Kitty tossed her head. Kitty was used to being looked at because of being head. 

The low words of the gentleman reached the foot of the line. "The headone, that's McKoeghany's little girl. " It was the Trustee telling thevisiting gentleman. Emmy Lou did not wonder that Kitty was being pointedout. Kitty was head. But Emmy Lou did not know that it was becauseKitty was Mr. Michael McKoeghany's little girl that she was beingpointed out as well as because she was head, for Mr. Michael McKoeghanywas the political boss of a district known as Limerick, and by the voteof Limerick a man running for office could stand or fall. 

Now there were many things unknown to Emmy Lou, about which Kitty, beingthe little girl of Mr. Michael McKoeghany, could have enlightened her. 

Kitty could have told her that the yard of the absent Trustee ran backto the pork house. Also that the Trustee present was part owner of thatoffending building. And further that Emmy Lou's Uncle Charlie, leadingan irate neighbourhood to battle, had compelled the withdrawal of theobnoxious business. 

But to Emmy Lou only one thing was clear. Kitty was being pointed out bythe Principal and the Trustee to the visiting gentleman because she washead. 

Dear Teacher took the book. She stood on the platform apart from thegentlemen, and gave out the words distinctly but very quietly. 

Emmy Lou felt that Dear Teacher was troubled. Emmy Lou thought it wasbecause Dear Teacher was afraid the poor spellers were going to miss. She made up her mind that she would not miss. 

Dear Teacher began with the words on the first page and went forward. Emmy Lou could tell the next word to come each time, for she knew herSecond Reader by heart as far as the class had gone. 

She stood up when her time came and spelled her word. Her word was"wrong. " She spelled it right. 

Dear Teacher looked pleased. There was a time when Emmy Lou had beengiven to leaving off the introductory "w" as superfluous. 

On the next round a little girl above Emmy Lou missed on "enough. " Toher phonetic understanding, a _u_ and two _f_'s were equivalent to an_ough_. 

Emmy Lou spelled it right and went up one. The little girl went to herseat. She was no longer in the race. She was in tears. 

Presently a little girl far up the line arose to spell. 

"Right, to do right, " said Dear Teacher. 

"W-r-i-t-e, right, " said the little girl promptly. 

"R-i-t-e, right, " said the next little girl. 

The third stood up with triumph preassured. In spelling, the complicatedis the surest, reasoned this little girl. 

"W-r-i-g-h-t, right, " spelled the certain little girl; then burst intotears. 

The mothers of the future grew demoralised. The pillars of state ofEnglish orthography at least seemed destined to totter. The spellinggrew wild. 

"R-i-t, right. "

"W-r-i-t, right. "

Then in the desperation of sheer hopelessness came "w-r-i-t-e, right, "again. 

There were tears all along the line. At their wits' end, the mothers, dissolving as they rose in turn, shook their heads hopelessly. 

Emmy Lou stood up. She knew just where the word was in a column of threeon page 14. She could see it. She looked up at Dear Teacher, quiet andpale, on the platform. 

"R, " said Emmy Lou, steadily, "i-g-h-t, right. "

A long line of weeping mothers went to their seats, and Emmy Lou movedup past the middle of the bench. 

The words were now more complicated. The nerves of the mothers had beenshaken by this last strain. Little girls dropped out rapidly. The footmoved on up toward the head, until there came a pink spot on DearTeacher's either cheek. For some reason Dear Teacher's head began tohold itself finely erect again. 

"Beaux, " said Dear Teacher. 

The little girl next the head stood up. She missed. She burst intoaudible weeping. Nerves were giving out along the line. It went wildlydown. Emmy Lou was the last. Emmy Lou stood up. It was the first word ofa column on page 22. Emmy Lou could see it. She looked at Dear Teacher. 

"B, " said Emmy Lou, "e-a-u-x, beaux. "

The intervening mothers had gone to their seats, and Kitty and Emmy Louwere left. 

Kitty spelled triumphantly. Emmy Lou spelled steadily. Even DearTeacher's voice showed a touch of the strain. 

She gave out half a dozen words. Then "receive, " said Dear Teacher. 

It was Kitty's turn. Kitty stood up. Dear Teacher's back was to theblackboard. The Trustee and the visiting gentleman were also facing theclass. Kitty's eyes, as she stood up, were on the board. 

 "The best speller in this room is to recieve this medal, "

was the assurance on the board. 

Kitty tossed her little head. "R-e, re, c-i-e-v-e, ceive, receive, "spelled Kitty, her eyes on the blackboard. 

"Wrong. "

Emmy Lou stood up. It was the second word in a column on a picture page. Emmy Lou could see it. She looked at Dear Teacher. 

"R-e, re, c-e-i-v-e, ceive, receive, " said Emmy Lou. 

One person beside Kitty had noted the blackboard. Already the Principalwas passing an eraser across the words of the visiting gentleman. 

Dear Teacher's cheeks were pink as Emmy Lou's as she led Emmy Lou toreceive the medal. And her head was finely erect. She held Emmy Lou'shand through it all. 

The visiting gentleman's manner was a little stony. It had quite lostits playfulness. He looked almost gloomily on the mother who had upheldthe pillars of state and the future generally. 

It was a beautiful medal. It was a five-pointed star. It said "Reward ofMerit. "

The visiting gentleman lifted it from its bed of pink cotton. 

"You must get a ribbon for it, " said Dear Teacher. 

Emmy Lou slipped her hand from Dear Teacher's. She went to the frontdesk. She got her Second Reader, and brought forth a folded packet frombehind the criss-cross stitches holding the cover. 

Then she came back. She put the paper in Dear Teacher's hand. 

"There's a ribbon, " said Emmy Lou. 

They were at dinner when Emmy Lou got home. On a blue ribbon around herneck dangled a new medal. In her hand she carried a shiny box. 

Even Uncle Charlie felt there must be some mistake. 

Aunt Louise got her hat to hurry Emmy Lou right back to school. 

At the gate they met Dear Teacher's carriage, taking Dear Teacher home. She stopped. 

Aunt Cordelia came out, and Aunt Katie. Uncle Charlie, just going, stopped to hear. 

"Spelling match!" said Aunt Louise. 

"Not our Emmy Lou?" said Aunt Katie. 

"The precious baby, " said Aunt Cordelia. 

"Hammel, " said Uncle Charlie, "McKoeghany, " and Uncle Charlie smote histhigh. 

 "I SING OF HONOUR AND THE FAITHFUL HEART"

The Real Teacher was sick. The Third Reader was to begin its dutieswith a Substitute. The Principal announced it to the class, looking atthem coldly and stating the matter curtly. It was as though heconsidered the Third Reader Class to blame. 

Somehow Emmy Lou felt apologetic about it and guilty. And she watchedthe door. A Substitute might mean anything. Hattie, Emmy Lou'sdesk-mate, watched the door, too, but covertly, for Hattie did not liketo acknowledge she did not know. 

[Illustration: "Hattie peeped out from behind the shed. "]

The Substitute came in a little breathlessly. She was pretty--as prettyas Emmy Lou's Aunt Katie. She seemed a little uncertain as to what todo. Perhaps she felt conscious of forty pairs of eyes waiting to seewhat she would do. 

The Substitute stepped hesitatingly up on the platform. She gripped theedge of the desk, and opened her lips, but nothing came. She closed themand swallowed. Then she said, "Children----"

"She's goin' to cry!" whispered Hattie, in awed accents. Emmy Lou feltit would be terrible to see her cry. It was evidently something sounpleasant to be a Substitute that Emmy Lou's heart went out to her. 

But the Substitute did not cry. She still gripped the desk, and after amoment went on: "--you will find printed on the slips of paper upon eachdesk the needs of the Third Reader. "

She did not cry, but everybody felt the tremor in her voice. TheSubstitute was young, and new to her business. 

Reading over the needs of the Third Reader printed on the slips ofpaper, Emmy Lou found them so complicated and lengthy she realised onething--she would have to have a new school-bag, a larger, strongerone, to accommodate them. 

Now, there is a difference between a Real Teacher and a Substitute. TheReal Teacher loves mystery and explains grudgingly. The Real Teacherstands aloof, with awe and distance between herself and the inhabitantsof the rows of desks she holds dominion over. 

But a Substitute tells the class all about her duty and its duty, andabout what she is planning and what she expects of them. A Substitutemakes the occupants of the desks feel flattered and conscious andimportant. 

The Substitute's name was Miss Jenny. The class speedily adored her. Soon her desk might have been a shrine to Pomona. It was joy to foregoone's apple to swell the fruitage of adoration piled on Miss Jenny'sdesk. The class could scarcely be driven to recess, since going torethem from her. They found their happiness in Miss Jenny's presence. 

So, apparently, did Mr. Bryan. Mr. Bryan was the Principal. He wore hisblack hair somewhat long and thrown off his forehead, only Mr. Bryanwould have called it brow. 

Mr. Bryan came often to the Third Reader room. He said it was verynecessary that the Third Reader should be well grounded in the rudimentsof number. He said he was astonished, he was appalled, he was chagrined. 

He paused at "chagrined, " and repeated it impressively, so that theguttural grimness of its second syllable sounded most unpleasant. Appalled and astonished must be bad, but to be chagrined, as Mr. Bryansaid it, must be terrible. 

He was chagrined, so it proved, that a class could show such deplorableignorance concerning the very rudiments of number. 

It was Emmy Lou who displayed it, when she was called to the blackboardby Mr. Bryan. He called a different little girl each day, withdiscriminating impartiality. When doing so, Mr. Bryan would oftenexpress a hope that his teachers would have no favourites. 

Emmy Lou went to the board. 

"If a man born in eighteen hundred and nine, lives--" began Mr. Bryan. Then he turned to speak to Miss Jenny. 

Emmy Lou took the chalk and stood on her toes to reach the board. 

[Illustration: "While the children drew, Mr. Bryan would lean on MissJenny's desk, rearrange his white necktie, and talk to Miss Jenny. "]

"Set it down, " said Mr. Bryan, turning--"the date. "

Emmy Lou paused, uncertain. Had he said one thousand, eight hundred andnine, she would have known; that was the way one knew it in the SecondReader, but eighteen hundred was confusing. 

Again Mr. Bryan looked around, to see the chubby little girl standing onher toes, chalk in hand, still uncertain. Mr. Bryan's voice expressedtried but laudable patience. 

"Put it down--the date, " said Mr. Bryan, "eighteen hundred and nine. "

Emmy Lou put it down. She put it down in this way:

 18 100 9

Then it was he was astonished, appalled, chagrined; then it was he foundit would be necessary to come even oftener to the Third Reader to groundit in the rudiments of number. 

But he did not always go when the lesson ended. Directly following itswork in the "New Eclectic Practical and Mental Primary Arithmetic, " theclass was given over to mastering "Townsend's New System of Drawing. "

[Illustration: "And she, like Mr. Townsend, had her system. "]

While the children drew, Mr. Bryan would lean on Miss Jenny's desk, rearrange his white necktie, and talk to her. Miss Jenny was pretty. The class gloried in her prettiness, but it felt it would have her morefor its own if Mr. Bryan would go when the number lesson ended. 

Mr. Townsend may have made much of the system he claimed was embodied in"Book No. 1, " but the class never tried his system. There is a chanceMiss Jenny had not tried it either. Drawing had never been in the publicschool before, and Miss Jenny was only a Substitute. 

So the class drew with no supervision and with only such verbaldirection as Miss Jenny could insert between Mr. Bryan's attentions. Miss Jenny seemed different when Mr. Bryan was there, she seemedhelpless and nervous. 

Emmy Lou felt reasonably safe when it came to drawing. She had oftencopied pictures out of books, and she, like Mr. Townsend, had hersystem. 

On the first page of "Book No. 1" were six lines up and down, six linesacross, six slanting lines, and a circle. One was expected to copy thesein the space below. To do this Emmy Lou applied her system. She produceda piece of tissue-paper folded away in her "Montague's New ElementaryGeography"--Emmy Lou was a saving and hoarding little soul--which shelaid over the lines and traced them with her pencil. 

It was harder to do the rest. Next she laid the traced paper carefullyover the space below, and taking her slate-pencil, went laboriously overeach line with an absorbing zeal that left its mark in the soft drawingpaper. Lastly she went over each indented line with a lead-pencil, carefully and frequently wetted in her little mouth. 

Miss Jenny exclaimed when she saw it. Mr. Bryan had gone. Miss Jennysaid it was the best page in the room. 

Emmy Lou could not take her book home, for drawing-books must be keptclean and were collected and kept in the cupboard, but she told AuntCordelia that her page had been the best in the room. Aunt Cordeliacould hardly believe it, saying she had never heard of a talent fordrawing in any branch of the family. 

Now Hattie had taken note of Emmy Lou's system in drawing, and the nextday she brought tissue-paper. That day Miss Jenny praised Hattie'spage. Emmy Lou's system immediately became popular. All the class gottissue-paper. And Mr. Bryan, finding the drawing-hour one of undisturbedopportunity, stayed until the bell rang for Geography. 

A little girl named Sadie wondered if tissue-paper was fair. Hattie saidit was, for Mr. Bryan saw her using it, and turned and went on talkingto Miss Jenny. But a little girl named Mamie settled it definitely. Didnot her mamma, Mamie wanted to know, draw the scallops that way on BabySister's flannel petticoat? And didn't one's own mamma know?

Sadie was reassured. Sadie was a conscientious little girl. Miss Jennysaid so. Miss Jenny was conscientious, too. Right at the beginning shetold them how she hated a story, fib-story she meant. 

The class felt that they, too, abhorred stories. They loved Miss Jenny. And Miss Jenny disliked stories. Just then a little girl raised herhand. It was Sadie. 

Sadie said she was afraid she had told Miss Jenny a story, a fib-story, the day before, when Miss Jenny had asked her if she felt the wind fromthe window opened above, and she had said no. Afterward she had realisedshe did feel the wind. A thrill, deep-awed, went around the room. In hersecret soul every little girl wished she had told a story, that shemight tell Miss Jenny. 

Miss Jenny praised Sadie, she called her a brave and conscientiouslittle girl. She closed the book and came to the edge of the platformand talked to them about duty and honour and faithfulness. 

Emmy Lou, her cheeks pink, longed for opportunity to prove herfaithfulness, her honesty; she longed to prove herself a Sadie. 

There was Roll Call in the Third Reader. The duties were much toocomplicated for mere Head and Foot. After each lesson came Roll Call. 

As Emmy Lou understood them, the marks by which one graded one'sperformance and deserts in the Third Reader were interpreted:

 6--The final state which few may hope to attain. 

 5--The gate beyond which lies the final and unattainable state. 

 4--The highest hope of the humble. 

 3--The common condition of mankind. 

 2--The just reward of the wretched. 

 1--The badge of shame. 

 0--Outer darkness. 

When Roll Call first began, Miss Jenny said to her class: "You must eachthink earnestly before answering. To give in a mark above what you feelyourself entitled, is to tell worse than a story, it is to tell afalsehood, and a falsehood is a lie. I shall leave it to you. I believein trusting my pupils, and I shall take no note of your standing. Eachwill be answerable for herself. " Miss Jenny was very young. 

The class sat weighted with the awfulness of the responsibility. It wasa conscientious class, and Miss Jenny's high ideals had worked upon itssensibilities. No little girl dared to be "six. " How could she know, forinstance, in her reading lesson, if she had paused the exact length of afull stop every time she met with a period? Who could decide? Certainlynot the little girl in her own favour, and perhaps be branded with afalsehood, which was a lie. Or who, when Roll Call for deportment came, could ever dare call herself perfect? Self-examination and inwardanalysis lead rather to a belief in natural sin. The Third Reader Classgrew conscientious to the splitting of a hair. It was better to be"four" than "five" and be saved, and "three" than "four, " if there wasroom for doubt. Class standing fell rapidly. 

Emmy Lou struggled to keep up with the downward tendency. 

Hattie outstripped her promptly. Hattie could adapt herself to allexigencies. Emmy Lou even felt envy of Hattie creeping into her heart. 

There came an awful day. It was Roll Call for drawing. It had been afish, a fish with elaborately serrated fins. Miss Jenny had said thatEmmy Lou's fish was as good as the copy. In her heart Miss Jennywondered at the proficiency of her class in drawing, for she could notdraw a straight line. But since Mr. Bryan seemed satisfied and saidevery day, "Let them alone, they are getting along, " Miss Jenny gavethe credit to Mr. Townsend's system. 

She was enthusiastic over Emmy Lou's fish, which Emmy Lou brought up assoon as Mr. Bryan departed. 

"It is wonderful, " said Miss Jenny. "It is perfect. "

Emmy Lou went back to her desk much troubled. What was she to do? Shehad not moved, she had not whispered, she had not lifted the lashessweeping her chubby cheeks even to look at Hattie, yet it was thegeneral belief that no little girl could answer "six, " and not tell afalsehood, which is a lie. Yet, on the other hand, being perfect, EmmyLou could not say less. She was perfect. Miss Jenny said so. Emmy Loushut her eyes to think. It was approaching her turn to answer. 

"Six, " said Emmy Lou, opening her eyes and standing, the impersonationof conscious guilt. She felt disgraced. She felt the silence. She feltshe could not meet the eyes of the other little girls. And she feltsick. Her throat was sore. In the Third Reader one's face burned fromthe red-hot stove so near by, while one shivered from the draught whenthe window was lowered above one's head. 

Emmy Lou did not come to school the next day, so Hattie went out to seeher. It was Friday. The class had had singing. Every Friday the singingteacher came to the Third Reader for an hour. 

"He changed my seat over to the left, " said Hattie. "I can sing alto. "

Emmy Lou felt cross. She felt the strenuousness of striving to keepabreast of Hattie. And the taste of a nauseous dose from a black bottlewas in her mouth, and another dose loomed an hour ahead. And now Hattiecould sing alto. 

"Sing it, " said Emmy Lou. 

It disconcerted Hattie. "It--isn't--er--you can't just up and singit--it's alto, " said Hattie, nonplussed. 

"You said you could sing it, " said Emmy Lou. This was the nearest EmmyLou had come to fussing with Hattie. 

The next Monday Emmy Lou was late in starting, that is, late for EmmyLou, and she made a discovery--Miss Jenny passed Emmy Lou's house goingto school. Emmy Lou did not have courage to join her, but waited insideher gate until Miss Jenny had passed. But the next morning she was ather gate again as Miss Jenny came by. 

Miss Jenny said, "Good morning. "

Emmy Lou went out. They walked along together. After that Emmy Louwaited every morning. One day it was icy on the pavements. Miss Jennytold Emmy Lou to take her hand. After that Emmy Lou's mittened hand wentinto Miss Jenny's every morning. 

Emmy Lou told Hattie, who came out to Emmy Lou's the next morning. Theyboth waited for Miss Jenny. They each held a hand. It was in this waythey came to know the Drug-Store Man. Sometimes he waited for them atthe corner. Sometimes he walked out to meet them. He and Miss Jennyseemed to be old friends. He asked them about rudiments of number. Theywondered how he knew. 

One day Hattie proposed a plan. It was daring. She persuaded Emmy Lou toagree to it. That night Emmy Lou packed her school-bag even to theapple for Miss Jenny. Next morning, early as Hattie arrived, she waswaiting for her at the gate, though hot and cold with the daring of theexpedition. They were going to walk out in the direction of the GreatUnknown, from which, each day, Miss Jenny emerged. They were going tomeet Miss Jenny!

They knew she turned into their street at the corner. So they turned. Atthe next corner they saw Miss Jenny coming. But along the intersectingstreet, one walking southward, one northward, toward the corner whereHattie, Emmy Lou, and Miss Jenny were about to meet, came twoothers--Mr. Bryan and the Drug-Store Man!

Something made Emmy Lou and Hattie feel queer and guilty. Something madethem turn and run. They ran fast. They ran faster. Emmy Lou's heavyschool-bag thumped against her little calves. Her apple flew out. EmmyLou never stopped. 

Hattie told her afterward that it was the Drug-Store Man who broughtMiss Jenny to school. Hattie peeped out from behind the shed where thewater-buckets sat. She said he brought Miss Jenny to the gate and openedit for her. He had never come farther than the corner before. That dayMr. Bryan did not come to ground them in the rudiments of number, nordid he come the next day; nor ever, any more. Yet the Third Reader Classwas undoubtedly poor in arithmetic. Miss Jenny found that out. Mr. Bryan's instruction seemed not to have helped them at all. Miss Jennysaid that as they were so well up in drawing, they would lay those booksaside, and give that time to arithmetic. And she also reminded them tobe conscientious in all their work. They were, and the Roll Call borewitness to their rigourous self-depreciation. 

Mr. Bryan never came for number again, but he came, one day, because ofRoll Call. Once a week Roll Call was sent to the office. It was calledtheir Class Average. The day of Class Average Mr. Bryan walked in. Herapped smartly on the red and blue lined paper in his hand. Miss Jenny'sClass Average, so the class learned, was low, and she must see to itthat her class made a better showing. She was a substitute, Mr. Bryanrecognised that, and made allowance accordingly, "but"--then he went. 

[Illustration: "The Third Reader class gathered in knots. "]

Miss Jenny looked frightened. The class feared she was going to cry. They determined to be better and more conscientious for her sake, feeling that they would die for Miss Jenny. But the Class Average waslow again. How could it be otherwise with forty over-strained littleconsciences determining their own deserts?

One day Miss Jenny was sent for. When one was sent for, one went to theoffice. Little boys went there to be whipped. Sadie went there once; hergrandma was dead, and they had sent for her. 

Miss Jenny had been crying when she came back. Lessons went onmiserably. Then Miss Jenny put the book down. It was evident she had notheard one word of the absent-minded and sympathetic little girl who saidthat a peninsula was a body of water almost surrounded by land. 

Miss Jenny came to the edge of the platform. She looked way off amoment; then she looked at the class, and spoke. She said she was goingto take them into her confidence. Miss Jenny was very young. She toldthem the teacher of the Third Reader, the Real Teacher, was not comingback, and that she had hoped to take the Real Teacher's place, but theClass Average was being counted against her. 

Everybody noticed the tremor in Miss Jenny's voice. It broke on thefatal Class Average. Sadie began to cry. 

[Illustration: "To use tissue-paper would be cheating. "]

Miss Jenny came to the very edge of the platform. She looked slight andyoung and appealing, did Miss Jenny. 

Next week, she went on to tell them, would be Quarterly Examination. Ifthey did well in Examination, even with the Class Average against her, Miss Jenny might be allowed to remain, but if they failed----

The Third Reader Class gathered in knots and groups at recess. Itdepended on them whether Miss Jenny went or stayed. Emmy Lou stood inone of the groups, her chubby face bearing witness to her concern. "Whatis a Quarterly Examination?" asked Emmy Lou. Nobody seemed very sure. 

"Oh, " said another little girl, "they give you questions, and you writedown answers. My brother is in the Grammar School, and he hasExaminations. "

"Quarterly Examinations?" asked Emmy Lou, who was definite. 

The little girl did not know. She only knew if you answered right, youpassed; if wrong, you failed. 

And Miss Jenny would go. 

[Illustration: "Miss Jenny was throwing a kiss to the Third Readerclass. "]

There was an air of mystery about a Quarterly Examination. It made oneuneasy before the actual thing came, while the uncertainty concerning itwas trying to the nerves. 

The day before Examination, Miss Jenny told every little girl to clearout her desk and carry all her belongings home. Then she went around andlooked in each desk, for not a scrap of paper even must remain. 

Miss Jenny told them that she trusted them, it was not that, it wasbecause it was the rule. 

"To cheat at Examination, " said Miss Jenny, "is worse even than to lie. To cheat is to steal--steal knowledge that doesn't belong to you. Tocheat at Examination is to be both a liar and a thief. "

The class scarcely breathed. This was terrible. 

"About the first subject, " said Miss Jenny, "I feel safe. The firstthing in the morning you will be examined in drawing. "

Emmy Lou at that remembered she had no tissue-paper. Neither had Hattie. Neither had Mamie. Everybody must be reminded. Miss Jenny told them tocome with slate, pencils, and legal-cap paper. After school Emmy Louand Hattie and Sadie and Mamie made mention of tissue-paper. TheDrug-Store Man waited on Emmy Lou the next morning. Emmy Lou had anickel. She wanted tissue-paper. The Drug-Store Man was curious. Itseemed as if every little girl who came in wanted tissue-paper. Emmy Louand the Drug-Store Man were great friends. 

"What's it got to do with rudiments of number?" asked the Drug-StoreMan. 

"It's for drawing, " said Emmy Lou. "It's Quarterly Examination. "

The Drug-Store Man was interested. He did not quite understand thesystem. Emmy Lou explained. Her chin did not reach the counter, but shelooked up and he leaned over. The Drug-Store Man grew serious. He wasafraid this might get Miss Jenny into trouble. He explained to Emmy Louthat it would be cheating to use tissue-paper in Examination, and toldher she must draw right off the copy, according to the directions setdown in the book. He suggested that she go and tell the others of theclass. For that matter, if they came right over, he would take back thetissue-paper and substitute licorice sticks. 

Emmy Lou hurried over to tell them. Examinations, she explained, weredifferent, and to use tissue-paper would be cheating. And what wouldMiss Jenny say? Little girls hurried across the street, and the jar oflicorice was exhausted. 

Miss Jenny saw them seated. She told them she could trust them. No onein her class would cheat. Then a strange teacher from the class abovecame in to examine them. It was the rule. And Miss Jenny was sent awayto examine a Primary School in another district. 

But at the door she turned. Every eye was following her. They loved MissJenny. Her cheeks were glowing, and the draught, as Miss Jenny stood inthe open doorway, blew her hair about her face. She smiled back at them. She turned to go. But again she turned--Miss Jenny--yes, Miss Jenny wasthrowing a kiss to the Third Reader Class. 

The door closed. It was Examination. The page they were to draw had forcopy a cup and saucer. No, worse, a cup in a saucer. And by it was acoffee-pot. And next to that was a pepper-box. And these were to bedrawn for Quarterly Examination--without tissue-paper. 

When Emmy Lou had finished she felt discouraged. In the result one mightbe pardoned for some uncertainty as to which was coffee-pot and whichpepper-box. The cup and saucer seemed strangely like a circle in a hole. There was a yawning break in the paper from much erasure where thehandle of the coffee-pot should have been. There were thumb marks andsmears where nothing should have been. Emmy Lou looked at Hattie. Hattielooked worn out. She had her book upside down, putting the holes in thelid of the pepper-box. Sadie was crying. Tears were dropping right downon the page of her book. 

The bell rang. Examination in drawing was over. The books werecollected. Just as the teacher was dismissing them for recess she openeda book. She opened another. She turned to the front pages. She passed afinger over the reverse side of a page. She was a teacher of long yearsof experience. She told the class to sit down. She asked a little girlnamed Mamie Sessum to please rise. It was Mamie's book she held. Mamierose. 

The teacher's tones were polite. It made one tremble, they were sopolite. "May I ask, " said the teacher, "to have explained the system bywhich the supposedly freehand drawing in this book has been done?"

"It wasn't any system, " Mamie hastened to explain, anxious to disclaim aconnection evidently so undesirable; "it was tissue-paper. "

"And this confessed openly to my face?" said the teacher. She was, evenafter many years at the business of exposing the natural depravity ofthe youthful mind, appalled at the brazenness of Mamie. 

Mamie looked uncertain. Whatever she had done, it was well to havecompany. "We all used tissue-paper, " said Mamie. 

It proved even so. The teacher, that this thing might be fully exposed, called the roll. Each little girl responded in alphabetical sequence. The teacher's condition of shocked virtue rendered her coldly laconic. 

"Tissue-paper?" she asked each little girl in turn. 

"Tissue-paper" was the burden, if not the form, of every alarmed littlegirl's reply. 

"Cipher, " said the teacher briefly as each made confession, and calledthe next. 

O--Outer darkness!

The teacher at the last closed her book with a snap. "Cipher and worse, "she told them. "You are cheats, and to cheat is to lie. And further, theclass has failed in drawing. "

A bell rang. Recess was over. 

The teacher, regarding them coldly, picked up the chalk, and turned towrite on the board, "If a man----"

Examination in "New Eclectic Practical and Mental Primary Arithmetic"had begun. 

The Third Reader Class, stunned, picked up its pencils. Miss Jenny hadfeared for them in arithmetic. They had feared for themselves. They werecheats and liars and they had failed. And the knowledge did not makethem feel confident. They were cheats, and a suspicious and coldsurveillance on the part of the teacher kept them reminded that shelooked upon them as cheats and watched them accordingly. Misery anddespair were their portion. And further, failure. In their state of mindit was inevitable for them to get lost in the maze of conditionssurrounding "If a man----"

They did better next day in geography and reading. They passed on Fridayin spelling and penmanship. 

But the terrible fact remained--the teacher had declared them cheats andliars. If they could only see Miss Jenny. Miss Jenny would understand. Miss Jenny would make it all right after she returned. 

When the Third Reader Class assembled on Monday, a tall lady occupiedthe platform. She was a Real Teacher. But at the door stood a memory ofMiss Jenny, the hair blown about her face, kissing her hand. 

The Third Reader Class never saw Miss Jenny again. 

 THE PLAY'S THE THING

It was the day of the exhibition. At close of the half year the ThirdReader Class had suffered a change in teachers, the first having been aSubstitute, whereas her successor was a Real Teacher. And since thecoming of Miss Carrie, the Third Reader Class had lived, as it were, inthe public eye, for on Fridays books were put away and the attentiongiven to recitations and company. 

Miss Carrie talked in deep tones, which she said were chest tones, anddescribed mysterious sweeps and circles with her hands when she talked. And these she called gestures. Miss Carrie was an elocutionist and hadeven recited on the stage. 

She gave her class the benefit of her talent, and in teaching them saidthey must suit the action to the word. The action meant gestures, andgestures meant sweeps and circles. 

Emmy Lou had to learn a piece for Friday. It was poetry, but you calledit a piece, and though Uncle Charlie had selected it for Emmy Lou, MissCarrie did not seem to think much of it. 

Emmy Lou stood up. Miss Carrie was drilling her, and though she did herbest to suit the action to the word, it seemed a complicatedundertaking. The piece was called, "A Plain Direction. " Emmy Lou came tothe lines:

 "Straight down the Crooked Lane And all round the Square. "

Whatever difficulties her plump forefinger had had over the first threeof these geometrical propositions, it triumphed at the end, for Emmy Loupaused. A square has four sides, and to suit a four-sided action to theword, takes time. 

Miss Carrie, whose attention had wandered a little, here suddenlyobserving, stopped her, saying her gestures were stiff and meaningless. She said they looked like straight lines cut in the air. 

Emmy Lou, anxious to prove her efforts to be conscientious, explainedthat they were straight lines, it was a square. Miss Carrie drewherself up, and, using her coldest tones, told Emmy Lou not to be funny. 

"Funny!" Emmy Lou felt that she did not understand. 

But this was a mere episode between Fridays. One lived but to preparefor Fridays, and a Sunday dress was becoming a mere everyday affair, since one's best must be worn for Fridays. 

No other class had these recitations and the Third Reader was envied. Its members were pointed out and gazed upon, until one realised one wasstanding in the garish light of fame. The other readers, it seemed, longed for fame and craved publicity, and so it came about that theschool was to have an exhibition with Miss Carrie's genius to plan andengineer the whole. For general material Miss Carrie drew from the wholeschool, but the play was for her own class alone. 

And this was the day of the exhibition. 

Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou stood at the gate of the school. They hadspent the morning in rehearsing. At noon they had been sent home withinstructions to return at half past two. The exhibition would begin atthree. 

"Of course, " Miss Carrie had said, "you will not fail to be on time. "And Miss Carrie had used her deepest tones. 

Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou had wondered how she could even dream ofsuch a thing. 

It was not two o'clock, and the three stood at the gate, the first toreturn. 

They were in the same piece. It was The Play. In a play one did morethan suit the action to the word, one dressed to suit the part. 

In the play Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou found themselves the orphanedchildren of a soldier who had failed to return from the war. It was avery sad piece. Sadie had to weep, and more than once Emmy Lou had foundtears in her own eyes, watching her. 

Miss Carrie said Sadie showed histrionic talent. Emmy Lou asked Hattieabout it, who said it meant tears, and Emmy Lou remembered then howtears came naturally to Sadie. 

When Aunt Cordelia heard they must dress to suit the part she came tosee Miss Carrie, and so did the mamma of Sadie and the mamma of Hattie. 

"Dress them in a kind of mild mourning, " Miss Carrie explained, "not toodeep, or it will seem too real, and, as three little sisters, suppose wedress them alike. "

And now Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou stood at the gate ready for theplay. Stiffly immaculate white dresses, with beltings of black sashes, flared jauntily out above spotless white stockings and sober littleblack slippers, while black-bound Leghorn hats shaded three anxiouslittle countenances. By the exact centre, each held a littlehandkerchief, black-bordered. 

"It seems almost wicked, " Aunt Cordelia had ventured at this point; "itseems like tempting Providence. "

But Sadie's mamma did not see it so. Sadie's mamma had provided thehandkerchiefs. Tears were Sadie's feature in the play. 

Hattie and Sadie and Emmy Lou wore each an anxious seriousness ofcountenance, but it was a variant seriousness. 

Hattie's tense expression breathed a determination which might havebeen interpreted do or die; to Hattie life was a battling foe to beovercome and trodden beneath a victorious heel; Hattie was an infantileSt. George always on the look for The Dragon, and to-day The Exhibitionwas The Dragon. 

Sadie's seriousness was a complacent realization of largeresponsibility. Her weeping was a feature. Sadie remembered she hadhistrionic talent. 

Emmy Lou's anxiety was because there loomed ahead the awful moment ofmounting the platform. It was terrible on mere Fridays to mount theplatform and, after vain swallowing to overcome a labial dryness and alingual taste of copper, try to suit the action to the word, but tomount the platform for The Play--Emmy Lou was trying not to look thatfar ahead. But as the hour approached, the solemn importance of theoccasion was stealing brainward, and she even began to feel glad she wasa part of The Exhibition, for to have been left out would have beenworse even than the moment of mounting the platform. 

"My grown-up brother's coming, " said Hattie, "an' my mamma an' gran'maan' the rest. "

"My Aunt Cordelia has invited the visiting lady next door, " said EmmyLou. 

But it was Sadie's hour. "Our minister's coming, " said Sadie. 

"Oh, Sadie, " said Hattie, and while there was despair in her voice oneknew that in Hattie's heart there was exultation at the very awfulnessof it. 

"Oh, Sadie, " said Emmy Lou, and there was no exultation in the tones ofEmmy Lou's despair. Not that Emmy Lou had much to do--hers was mostlythe suiting of the action to some other's word. She was chosen largelybecause of Hattie and Sadie who had wanted her. And then, too, EmmyLou's Uncle Charlie was the owner of a newspaper. The Exhibition mightget into its columns. Not that Miss Carrie cared for this herself--shewas thinking of the good it might do the school. 

Emmy Lou's part was to weep when Sadie wept, and to point a chubbyforefinger skyward when Hattie mentioned the departure from earth ofthe soldier parent, and to lower that forefinger footward at Sadie'stearful allusion to an untimely grave. 

Emmy Lou had but one utterance, and it was brief. Emmy Lou was toadvance one foot, stretch forth a hand and say, in the character oforphan for whom no asylum was offered, "We know not where we go. "

That very morning, at gray of dawn, Emmy Lou had crept from her own intoAunt Cordelia's bed, to say it over, for it weighed heavily on her mind, "We know not where we go. "

As Emmy Lou said it the momentous import of the confession fell withexplosive relief on the _go_, as if the relief were great to havereached that point. 

It seemed to Aunt Cordelia, however, that the _where_ was the problem inthe matter. 

Aunt Louise called in from the next room. Aunt Louise had large ideas. The stress, she said, should be laid equally on _know not_, _where_, and_go_. 

Since then, all day, Emmy Lou had been saying it at intervals of halfminutes, for fear she might forget. 

Meanwhile, it yet lacking a moment or so to two o'clock, the orphanedheroines continued to linger at the gate, awaiting the hour. 

"Listen, " said Hattie, "I hear music. "

There was a church across the street. The drug-store adjoined it. It wasa large church with high steps and a pillared portico, and its doorswere open. 

"It's a band, and marching, " said Hattie. 

The orphaned children hurried to the curb. A procession was turning thecorner and coming toward them. On either sidewalk crowds of men and boysaccompanied it. 

"It's a funeral, " said Sadie, as if she intuitively divined themournful. 

Hattie turned with a face of conviction. "I know. It's that biggeneral's funeral; they're bringing him here to bury him with thesoldiers. "

"We'll never see a thing for the crowd, " despaired Sadie. 

Emmy Lou was gazing. "They've got plumes in their hats, " she said. 

"Let's go over on the church steps and see it go by, " said Hattie, "it'searly. "

The orphaned children hurried across the street. They climbed thesteps. At the top they turned. 

There were plumes and more, there were flags and swords, and a band led. 

But at the church with unexpected abruptness the band halted, turned, itfell apart, and the procession came through; it came right on throughand up the steps, a line of uniforms and swords on either side from curbto pillar, and halted. 

Aghast, between two glittering files, the orphaned children shrank intothe shadow behind a pillar, while upstreamed from the carriages below anunending line--bare-headed men, and ladies bearing flowers. Behind, below, about, closing in on every side, crowded people, a sea of people. 

The orphaned children found themselves swept from their hiding by thecrowd and unwillingly jostled forward into prominence. 

A frowning man with a sword in his hand seemed to be threateningeverybody; his face was red and his voice was big, and he glittered withmany buttons. All at once he caught sight of the orphaned children andthreatened them vehemently. 

"Here, " said the frowning man, "right in here, " and he placed them inline. 

The orphaned children were appalled, and even in the face of the mancried out in protest. But the man of the sword did not hear, for thereason that he did not listen. Instead he was addressing a large andstout lady immediately behind them. 

"Separated from the family in the confusion, the grandchildrenevidently--just see them in, please. "

And suddenly the orphaned children found themselves a part of theprocession as grandchildren. The nature of a procession is to proceed. And the grandchildren proceeded with it. They could not help themselves. There was no time for protest, for, pushed by the crowd which closed andswayed above their heads, and piloted by the stout lady close behind, they were swept into the church and up the aisle, and when they cameagain to themselves were in the inner corner of a pew near the front. 

The church was decked with flags. 

So was the Third Reader room. It was hung with flags for The Exhibition. 

Hattie in the corner nudged Sadie. Sadie urged Emmy Lou, who, next tothe stout lady, touched her timidly. "We have to get out, " said EmmyLou, "we've got to say our parts. "

"Not now, " said the lady, reassuringly, "the programme is at thecemetery. "

Emmy Lou did not understand, and she tried to tell the lady. 

"S'h'h, " said that person, engaged with the spectacle and the crowd, "sh-h-"

Abashed, Emmy Lou sat, sh-h-ed. 

Hattie arose. It was terrible to rise in church, and at a funeral, andthe church was filled, the aisles were crowded, but Hattie rose. Hattiewas a St. George and A Dragon stood between her and The Exhibition. 

She pushed by Sadie, and past Emmy Lou. Hattie was as slim as she wasstrenuous, or perhaps she was slim because she was strenuous, but noteven so slim a little girl as Hattie could push by the stout lady, forshe filled the space. 

At Hattie's touch she turned. Although she looked good-natured, thesize and ponderance of the lady were intimidating. She stared at Hattie;people were looking; it was in church; Hattie's face was red. 

"You can't get to the family, " said the lady, "you couldn't move in thecrowd. Besides I promised to see to you. Now be quiet, " she addedcrossly, when Hattie would have spoken. She turned away. Hattie creptback vanquished by this Dragon. 

"So suitably dressed, " the stout lady was saying to a lady beyond;"grandchildren, you know. "

"She says they are grandchildren, " echoed the whispers around. 

"Even their little handkerchiefs have black borders, " somebody beyondreplied. 

Emmy Lou wondered if she was in some dreadful dream. Was she agrandchild or was she an orphan? Her head swam. 

The service began and there fell on the unwilling grandchildren thesubmission of awe. The stout lady cried, she also punched Emmy Lou withher elbow whenever that little person moved, but finally she foundcourage to turn her head so she could see Sadie. 

Sadie was weeping into her black-bordered handkerchief, nor were theythe tears of histrionic talent. They were real tears. People all aboutwere looking at her sympathetically. Such grief in a grandchild was verymoving. 

It may have been minutes, it seemed to Emmy Lou hours, before there camea general up-rising. Hattie stood up. So did Sadie and Emmy Lou. Theirskirts no longer stood out jauntily; they were quite crushed andsubdued. 

There was a wild, hunted look in Hattie's eyes. "Watch the chance, " shewhispered, "and run. "

But it did not come. As the pews emptied, the stout lady passed Emmy Louon, addressing some one beyond. "Hold to this one, " she said, "and I'lltake the other two, or they'll get tramped in the crowd. "

Emmy Lou felt herself grasped, she could not see up to find by whom. Thecrowd in the aisle had closed above her head, but she heard the stoutlady behind saying, "Did you ever see such an ill-mannered child!" andEmmy Lou judged that Hattie was struggling against Fate. 

Slowly the crowd moved, and, being a part of it however unwillingly, Emmy Lou moved too, out of the church and down the steps. Then came thecrashing of the band and the roll of carriages, and she found herself inthe front row on the curb. 

The man with the brandishing sword was threatening violently. "One morecarriage is here for the family, " called the man with the sword. Hisface was red and his voice was hoarse. His glance in search for thefamily suddenly fell on Emmy Lou. She felt it fall. 

The problem solved itself for the man with the sword, and his browcleared. "Grandchildren next, " roared the threatening man. 

"Grandchildren, " echoed the crowd. 

Hattie and Sadie were pushed forward from somewhere, Hattie lifting hervoice. But what was the cry of a Hattie before the brazen utterance ofthe band? Sadie was weeping wildly. 

Emmy Lou with the courage of despair cried out in the grasp of thethreatening man, but the man lifting her into the carriage, was speakinghimself, and to the driver. "Keep an eye on them--separated from thefamily, " he was explaining, and a moment later Hattie and Sadie werelifted after Emmy Lou into the carriage, and as the door banged, theircarriage moved with the rest up the street. 

"Now, " said Hattie, and Hattie sprang to the farther door. 

It would not open. Things never will in dreadful dreams. 

Through the carriage windows the school, with its arched doorways andwindows, gazed frowningly, reproachfully. A gentleman entered the gateand went in the doorway. 

"It's our minister, " said Sadie, weeping afresh. 

Hattie beat upon the window, and called to the driver, but no mortal earcould have heard above that band. 

"An' my grown-up brother, an' gran'ma an' the rest, " said Hattie. AndHattie wept. 

"And the visiting lady next door, " said Emmy Lou. She did not mean toweep, tears did not come readily to Emmy Lou, but just then her eyesfell upon the handkerchief still held by its exact centre in her hand. What would The Exhibition do without them?

Then Emmy Lou wept. 

Late that afternoon a carriage stopped at a corner upon which a schoolbuilding stood. Since his charges were but infantile affairs, thecoloured gentleman on the box thought to expedite matters and drop themat the corner nearest their homes. 

Descending, the coloured gentleman flung open the door, and three littlegirls crept forth, three crushed little girls, three limp little girls, three little girls in a mild kind of mourning. 

They came forth timidly. They looked around. They hoped they might reachtheir homes unobserved. 

There was a crowd up the street. A gathering of people--many people. Itseemed to be at Emmy Lou's gate. Hattie and Sadie lived farther on. 

"It must be a fire, " said Hattie. 

But it wasn't. It was The Exhibition, the Principal, and Miss Carrie, and teachers and pupils, and mammas and aunties and Uncle Charlie. 

"An' gran'ma--" said Hattie. 

"And the visiting lady--" said Emmy Lou. 

"And our minister, " said Sadie. 

The gathering of many people caught sight of them presently, and came tomeet them, three little girls in mild mourning. 

The little girls moved slowly, but the crowd moved rapidly. 

The gentlemen laughed, Uncle Charlie and the minister and the papa ortwo, laughed when they heard, and laughed again, and went on laughing, they leaned against the fence. 

But the ladies could see nothing funny, the mammas, nor Aunt Cordelia. That mild mourning had been the result of anxious planning andconsultation. 

Neither could Miss Carrie. She said they had failed her. She said it inher deepest tones and used gestures. 

Sadie wept, for the sight of Miss Carrie recalled afresh the tears sheshould have shed with Histrionic Talent. 

The parents and guardians led them home. 

Emmy Lou was tired. She was used to a quiet life, and never before hadbeen in the public eye. 

At supper she nodded and mild mourning and all, suddenly Emmy Loucollapsed and fell asleep, her head against her chair. 

Uncle Charlie woke her. He stood her up on the chair and held out hisarms. Uncle Charlie meant to carry her as if she were a baby thing againup to bed. 

"Come, " said Uncle Charlie. 

Emmy Lou stood dazed and flushed, she was not yet quite awake. 

Uncle Charlie had caught snatches of school vernacular. "Come, " said he, "suit the action to the word. "

Emmy Lou woke suddenly, the words smiting her ears with ominous import. She thought the hour had come, it was The Exhibition. 

She stood stiffly, she advanced a cautious foot, her chubby handdescribed a careful half circle. Emmy Lou spoke--

"We know not where we go, " said Emmy Lou. 

"No more we do, " said Uncle Charlie. 

 THE SHADOW OF A TRAGEDY

Miss Lizzie kept in. 

The ways of teachers like rainy days and growing pains belong to theinexplicable and inevitable. All teachers have ways, that is to beexpected, it is the part of an Emmy Lou to adjust herself to meet, notto try to understand, these ways. 

Miss Lizzie kept in, but that was only one of her ways, she had manyothers. Perhaps they were no more peculiar than the ways of herpredecessors, but they were more alarming. 

Miss Lizzie placed a deliberate hand on her call bell and, as itsvibrations dinged and smote upon the shrinking tympanum, a rigid andbreathless expectancy would pervade the silence of the Fourth Readerroom. 

Miss Lizzie was tall, she seemed to tower up and over one's personality. One had no mind of her own, but one said what one thought Miss Lizziewanted her to say. Sometimes one got it wrong. Then Miss Lizzie's coldup-and-down survey smote one into a condition something akin to vacuity, until Miss Lizzie said briefly, "Sit down. "

Then one sat down hastily. 

Miss Lizzie never wasted a word. Miss Lizzie closed her lips. She closedthem so their lines were blue. Her eyes were blue too, but not apleasant blue. Miss Lizzie did not scold, she looked. She kept lookinguntil one became aware of an elbow resting on the desk. In her roomlittle girls must sit erect. 

Sometimes she changed. It came suddenly. One day it came suddenly andMiss Lizzie boxed the little girl's ears. The little girl had knockedover a pile of slates collected on the platform for marking. 

Another time she changed. It was when the little girl brought a notefrom home because her ears were boxed. Miss Lizzie tore the note inpieces and threw them on the floor. 

One lived in dread of her changing. One watched in order to know thething she wanted. Emmy Lou knew every characteristic feature of herface--the lean nose that bent toward the cheek, the thin lips thattightened and relaxed, the cold survey that travelled from desk to desk. 

Miss Lizzie's thin hands were never still any more than were her eyes. Most often her fingers tore bits of paper into fine shreds while sheheard lessons. 

Life is strenuous. In each reader the strenuousness had taken adifferent form. In the Fourth Reader it was Copy-Books. 

Miss Lizzie always took an honour in Copy-Books, and she meant to takean honour this year. But the road to fame is laborious. 

She had her methods. Each morning she gave out four slips of paper toeach little girl. This was trial paper. On these slips each little girlpractised until the result was good enough, in Miss Lizzie's opinion, togo into the book. Some lines must be fine and hair-like. Over these EmmyLou held her breath anxiously. Others must be heavy and laboured. Overthese she unconsciously put the tip of her tongue between her teethuntil it was just visible between her lips. 

What, however, is school for but the accommodating of self to thechanging demands of teachers? In the Fourth Reader it was fine lines onthe upward strokes and heavy lines on the downward. 

Emmy Lou finally found the way. By turning the pen over and writing withthe back of the point, the upward strokes emerged fine and hair-like. This having somewhat altered the mechanism of the pen point, itsreversal brought lines sombre and heavy. It was slow and laborious, andit spoiled an alarming number of pen points; but then it achieved finelines upward and heavy lines downward, and that is what Copy-Books arefor. 

Hattie reached the result differently. She kept two bottles of ink, onefor fine and one for heavy lines. One was watered ink and one was not. 

The trouble was about the trial-paper. One could have only four pieces. And the copy could go in the book only after the writing on the trialpaper met with the approval of Miss Lizzie. So if one reached the end ofthe trial-paper before reaching approval one was kept in, for a halfpage of Copy-Book must be done each day. And "kept in" meant stayingafter school, in hunger, disgrace, and the silence of a great, desertedbuilding, to write on trial-paper until the copy was good enough to beput in. 

Emmy Lou did not sit with Hattie in the Fourth Reader. On the first dayMiss Lizzie asked the class if there was any desk-mate a little girlpreferred. At that one's heart opened and one told Miss Lizzie. 

At first Emmy Lou did not understand. For Miss Lizzie promptly seatedall the would-be mates as far apart as possible. 

Emmy Lou thought about it. _It seemed as though Miss Lizzie did it to bemean. _

Then Emmy Lou's cheeks grew hot. She put the thought quickly away thatshe might forget it; but the wedge was entered. Teachers were no longer_infallible_. Emmy Lou had questioned the motives of pedagogic deism. 

And so Emmy Lou and Hattie were separated. But there were three newlittle girls near Emmy Lou. Their kid button-shoes had tassels. Very fewlittle girls had button-shoes. Button-shoes were new. Emmy Lou hadbutton-shoes. She was proud of them. But they did not have tassels. 

The three new little girls looked amused at everything, and exchangedglances; but they were not mean glances--not the kind of glances whenlittle girls nudge each other and go off to whisper. Emmy Lou liked thenew little girls. She could not keep from looking at them. They spreadtheir skirts so easily when they sat down. There was something alluringabout the little girls. 

At recess Emmy Lou waited near the door for them. They all went outtogether. After that they were friends. They lived on Emmy Lou's square. It was strange. But they had just come there to live. That explained it. 

"In the white house, the white house with the big yard, " the tallest ofthe little girls explained. She was Alice. The others were her cousins. They were Rosalie and Amanthus. Such charming names. 

Emmy Lou was glad that she lived in the other white house on the squarewith the next biggest yard. She never had thought of it before, but nowshe was glad. 

Alice talked and Amanthus shook her curls back off her shoulders, andRosalie wore a little blue locket hung on a golden chain. And Rosalielaughed. 

"Isn't it funny and dear?" asked Alice. 

"What?" said Emmy Lou. 

"The public school, " said Alice. 

"Is it?" said Emmy Lou. 

And then they all laughed, and they hugged Emmy Lou, these threefluttering butterflies. And they told Emmy Lou she was funny and dearalso. 

"We've never been before, " said Alice. 

"But we are too far from the other school now, " said Rosalie. 

"It was private school, " said Amanthus. 

"And this is public school, " said Alice. 

"It's very different, " said Amanthus. 

"Oh, very, " said Rosalie. 

Emmy Lou went and brought Hattie to know the little girls. All the yearEmmy Lou was bringing Hattie to know the little girls. But Hattie didnot seem to like the little girls as Emmy Lou did. She seemed to preferSadie when she could not have Emmy Lou alone. Hattie liked to lead. Shecould lead Sadie. Generally she could lead Emmy Lou, not always. 

But all the while slowly a conviction was taking hold in Emmy Lou'smind. It was a conviction concerning Miss Lizzie. 

Near Emmy Lou in the Fourth Reader room sat a little girl namedLisa--Lisa Schmit. Once Emmy Lou had seen Lisa in a doorway--a storedoorway hung with festoons of linked sausage. Lisa had told Emmy Lou itwas her papa's grocery store. 

One day the air of the Fourth Reader room seemed unpleasantly freighted. As the stove grew hotter, the unpleasantness grew assertive. 

Forty little girls were bending over their slates. It was problems. Ithad been Digits, Integral Numbers, Tables, Rudiments, according to theteacher, in one's upward course from the Primer, but now it wasProblems, though in its nature it was always the same, as complicated asin its name it was varied. 

The air was most unpleasant. It took the mind off the finding of theGreatest Common Divisor. 

The call-bell on Miss Lizzie's desk dinged. The suddenness and theemphasis of the ding told on unexpected nerves, but it brought theFourth Reader class up erect. 

[Illustration: "File by the platform in order, bringing your lunch. "]

Miss Lizzie was about to speak. Emmy Lou watched Miss Lizzie's lipsopen. Emmy Lou often found herself watching Miss Lizzie's lips open. Ittook an actual, deliberate space of time. They opened, moistenedthemselves, then shaped the word. 

"Who in this room has lunch?" said Miss Lizzie, and her very toneshurt. It was as though one were doing wrong in having lunch. 

Many hands were raised. There were luncheons in nearly every desk. 

"File by the platform in order, bringing your lunch, " said Miss Lizzie. 

[Illustration: "Lisa's head went down on her arm on the desk. "]

Feeling apprehensively criminal--of what, however, she had no idea--EmmyLou went into line, lunch in hand. One's luncheon might be all that itshould, neatly pinned in a fringed napkin by Aunt Cordelia, but one feltembarrassed carrying it up. Some were in newspaper. Emmy Lou's heartached for those. 

Meanwhile Miss Lizzie bent and deliberately smelled of each package inturn as the little girls filed by. Most of the faces of the littlegirls were red. 

Then came Lisa--Lisa Schmit. Her lunch was in paper--heavy brown paper. 

Miss Lizzie smelled of Lisa's lunch and stopped the line. 

"Open it, " said Miss Lizzie. 

Lisa rested it on the edge of the platform and untied it. Theunpleasantness wafted heavily. There was sausage and dark gray bread andcheese. It was the cheese that was unpleasant. 

Miss Lizzie's nose, which bent slightly toward her cheek, had a way ofdilating. It dilated now. 

"Go open the stove door, " said Miss Lizzie. 

Lisa went and opened the stove door. 

"Now, take it and put it in, " said Miss Lizzie. 

Lisa took her lunch and put it in. Her round, soap-scoured little cheekshad turned a mottled red. When she got back to her seat, Lisa's headwent down on her arm on the desk, and presently even her yellow plaitsshook with the convulsiveness of her sobs. 

It wasn't the loss of the sausage or the bread or the cheese. Emmy Louwas a big girl now, and she knew. 

Emmy Lou went home. It was at the dinner table. 

"I don't like Miss Lizzie, " said she. 

Aunt Cordelia was incredulous, scandalised. "You mustn't talk so. "

"Little girls must not know what they like, " said Aunt Louise. AuntLouise was apt to be sententious. She was young. 

"Except in puddings, " said Uncle Charlie, passing Emmy Lou's saucer. There was pudding for dinner. 

But wrong or not, Emmy Lou knew that it was so, she knew she did notlike Miss Lizzie. 

One morning Miss Lizzie forgot the package of trial-paper. The supplywas out. 

She called Rosalie. Then she called Emmy Lou. She told them where herhouse was, then told them to go there, ring the bell, ask for the paper, and return. 

It seemed strange and unreal to be walking the streets in school-time. Rosalie skipped. So Emmy Lou skipped, too. Miss Lizzie lived sevensquares away. It was a cottage--a little cottage. On one side its highboard fence ran along an alley, but on the other side was a big yardwith trees and bushes. The cottage was almost hidden, and it seemedstrange and far off. 

Rosalie rang the bell. Then Emmy Lou rang the bell. 

Nobody came. 

They kept on ringing the bell. They did not know what to do. They wereafraid to go back and tell Miss Lizzie, so they went around the side. Itwas a narrow, paved court between the house and the high board fence. Itwas dark. They held each other's hands. 

There was a window. Someone tapped. It was a lady--a pretty lady. Therewas a flower in her hair--an artificial flower. She nodded to them. Shesmiled. She laughed. Then she put her finger on her lips. Emmy Lou andRosalie did not know what to do. 

The lady pointed to her throat and then to Rosalie. It seemed as if itwere the blue locket on the golden chain she wanted. 

Then someone came. It was an old woman. It was the servant Miss Lizziehad said would come to the door. She came from the front. She had beenaway somewhere. 

She looked cross. She told them to go around to the front door. As theywent the lady tapped. Rosalie looked back. Rosalie said the lady hadpulled the flower from her hair and was tearing it to pieces. 

The old woman brought the trial-paper. She told them not to mentioncoming around in the court, and not to say they had had to wait. 

It was strange. But many things are strange when one is ten. One learnsto put many strange things aside. 

There were more worrisome things nearer. The screw was loose whichsecured the iron foot of Emmy Lou's desk to the floor. Now the front ofone desk formed the seat to the next. 

Muscles, even in the atmosphere of a Miss Lizzie's rigid discipline, sometimes rebel. The little girl sitting in front of Emmy Lou was givento spasmodic changes of posture, causing unexpected upheavals of EmmyLou's desk. 

On one of these occasions Emmy Lou's ink bottle went over. It wasCopy-Book hour. That one's apron, beautiful with much fine ruffling, should be ruined, was a small matter when one's trial-paper had beenstraight in the path of the flood. Neither was Emmy Lou's condition ofdigital helplessness to be thought of, although it did seem as if allgreat Neptune's ocean and more might be needed to make those littlefingers white again. Sponges, slate-rags, and neighbourly solicitude didwhat they could. But the trial-paper was steeped indelibly pastredemption. 

[Illustration: "She raised a timid and deep-dyed hand. "]

Still not a word from Miss Lizzie. Only a cold and prolonged survey ofthe scene, only an entire suspension of action in the Fourth Reader roomwhile Miss Lizzie waited. 

At last Emmy Lou was ready to resume work. She raised a timid anddeep-dyed hand, and made known her need. 

"Please, I have no trial-paper. "

Miss Lizzie's lips unclosed. Had she waited for this? "Then, " said MissLizzie, "you will stay after school. "

Emmy Lou's heart burned, the colour slowly left her cheeks. 

It was something besides Emmy Lou that looked straight out of Emmy Lou'seyes at Miss Lizzie. It was Judgment. 

_Miss Lizzie was not fair. _

Emmy Lou did not reach home until dinner was long over. She had first tocover four slips of trial-paper and half a page in her book with upwardstrokes fine and hair-like, and downward strokes black and heavy. EmmyLou ate her dinner alone. 

At supper she spoke. Emmy Lou generally spoke conclusions and, unlesspressed, did not enter into the processes of her reasoning. 

"I don't want to go to school any more. "

Aunt Cordelia looked shocked. Aunt Louise looked stern. Uncle Charlielooked at Emmy Lou. 

"That sounds more natural, " said Uncle Charlie, but nobody listened. 

"She's been missing, " said Aunt Louise. 

"She's growing too fast, " said Aunt Cordelia, who had just been rippingtwo tucks out of Emmy Lou's last winter's dress; "she can't be well. "

So Emmy Lou was taken to the doctor, who gave her a tonic. And followingthis, she all at once regained her usual cheerful little state of mind, and expressed no more unwillingness to go to school. 

But it was not the tonic. 

[Illustration: "One loved the far corner of the sofa. "]

It was the Green and Gold Book. 

Rosalie brought it. It belonged to her and to Alice and to Amanthus. 

They lent it to Emmy Lou. 

And the glamour opened and closed about Emmy Lou, and she knew--she knewit all--why the hair of Amanthus gleamed, why Alice flitted where otherswalked, why laughter dwelt in the cheek of Rosalie. The glamour openedand closed about Emmy Lou, and she and Rosalie and Alice and Amanthusmoved in a world of their own--the world of the Green and Gold Book, forthe Green and Gold Book was "The Book of Fairy Tales. "

The strange, the inexplicable, the meaningless, that hitherto one hadthought the real--teachers, problems, such--they became the outer world, the things of small matter. 

One loved the far corner of the sofa now, with the book in one's lap, with one's hair falling about one's face and book, shutting out theunreal world and its people. 

The real world lay between the covers of the Green and Gold Book--thereal world and its people. 

And the Princess was always Rosalie, and the Prince--ah! the Prince wasthe Prince. One had met one's Rosalie, but not yet the Prince. 

One could not talk of these things except to Rosalie. Hattie would notunderstand. One was glad when Rosalie told them to Alice and Amanthus, but one could not tell one's self. 

And Miss Lizzie? Miss Lizzie had stepped all at once into her properplace. One had not understood before. One would not want Miss Lizziedifferent. It was right and natural to Miss Lizzie's condition--whichcondition varied according to the page in the Book, for Miss Lizzie wasthe Cruel Step-mother, Miss Lizzie was the Wicked Fairy Godmother, MissLizzie was the Ogress, the wife of the terrible giant. 

One told Rosalie. But Rosalie went even further. Miss Lizzie was thegrim and terrible Ogress who dwelt in her lonely castle. True. Theschool-house was the castle of the Ogress. And the forty little girls inthe Fourth Reader were the captives--the captive Princesses--kept byMiss Lizzie until certain tasks were performed. 

One looked at Problems differently now. One saw Copy-books through aglamour. They were tasks, and each task done, the nearer release fromMiss Lizzie. 

Did one fail--?

Emmy Lou held her breath. Rosalie spoke softly: "The lady at thewindow--her finger at her lips--she had failed--"

Miss Lizzie was the Ogress, and the lady was the Princess--the captivePrincess--waiting at the window for release. 

And so one played one's part. And so Emmy Lou and Rosalie moved andlived and dreamed in the glamour and the world of the Green and GoldBook. 

It stayed in one's desk--sometimes with Alice, or with Amanthus, sometimes with Rosalie. To-day it was with Emmy Lou. 

One never read in school. But at recess, on the steps outside the bigdoor, one read aloud in turn while the others ate their apples. AndHattie came, too, when she liked, and Sadie. But one carried the bookhome, that one might not be parted from it. 

To-day it was with Emmy Lou. It had certain treasures between itsleaves. One expects to find faint sweet rose-leaves between the pages ofthe Green and Gold Book, and the scrap of tinsel recalls the gleam andshimmer of the goose girl's ball-dress of woven moonbeams. 

To-day the book was in Emmy Lou's desk. 

Emmy Lou was at the board. It was Problems. She did not need a book. Miss Lizzie dictated when one was at the board. Emmy Lou was poor atProblems and Miss Lizzie was cross about it. 

Sadie, at her desk, needed a book. She had forgotten her Arithmetic, andasked permission to borrow Emmy Lou's. 

[Illustration: "You hadn't any right. "]

She went to get it. She pulled it out. Sadie had a way of beingunfortunate. She also pulled another book out which fell open on thefloor, shedding rose-leaves and tinsel. 

The green and gold glitter of the book caught Miss Lizzie's eye. 

Her fingers had been tearing at bits of paper all morning until her deskwas strewn. 

"Bring it to me, " she said. 

Miss Lizzie took the book from Sadie and looked at it. 

Emmy Lou had just failed quite miserably at Problems. Miss Lizzie's facechanged. It was as if a white rage passed over it. She stepped to thestove and cast the book in. 

The very flames turned green and gold. 

It was gone--the world of glamour, of glory, of dreams--the world ofEmmy Lou and Rosalie, of Alice and Amanthus. 

It was not Emmy Lou. It was a cry through Emmy Lou. Emmy Lou was justbeginning to grow tall, just losing the round-eyed faith of babyhood. 

"_You hadn't any right. _"

It was terrible. The Fourth Reader class failed to breathe. 

Emmy Lou must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou would not. 

The hours of school dragged on. Emmy Lou sat silent. 

Rosalie looked at her. Laughter had died in Rosalie's cheek. Rosaliepressed her fingers tight in misery for Emmy Lou. 

Sadie looked at Emmy Lou. Sadie wept. 

Hattie looked at Emmy Lou. Hattie straightened her straight little backand ground her little teeth. Hattie was of that blood which has risen upand slain for affection's sake. 

This was an Emmy Lou nobody knew--white-cheeked, brooding, defiant. There are strange potentialities in every Emmy Lou. 

The last bell rang. 

Emmy Lou must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou would not. 

Everyone went--everyone but Emmy Lou and Miss Lizzie--casting backwardlooks of awe and commiseration. 

To be left alone in that nearness solitude entails meant torture, thetorture of loathing, of shrinking, of revulsion. 

She must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou was not sorry. 

She sat dry-eyed. The tears would come later. More than once this yearthey had come after home and Aunt Cordelia's arms were reached. And AuntCordelia had thought it was because one was growing too fast. And AuntCordelia had rocked and patted and sung about "The Frog Who WouldA-Wooing Go. "

And then Emmy Lou had laughed because Aunt Cordelia did not know thatThe Frog and Jenny Wren and The Little Wee Bear were gone into the past, and The Green and Gold Book come to take their place. 

The bell had rung at two o'clock. At three Tom came. Tom was thehouse-boy. He was suave and saddle-coloured and smiling. He had come forEmmy Lou. 

Miss Lizzie looked at Emmy Lou. Emmy Lou looked straight ahead. 

Then Miss Lizzie looked at Tom. Miss Lizzie could do a good deal with alook. Tom became uneasy, apologetic, guilty. Then he went. It took agood deal to wilt Tom. 

At half-past three he knocked at the door again. He gave his messagefrom outside the threshold this time. Emmy Lou must come home. MissCordelia said so. Emmy Lou's papa had come. 

Emmy Lou heard Papa--who came a hundred miles once a month to see her. 

Would Emmy Lou say she was sorry? Emmy Lou was not sorry, she could not. 

Miss Lizzie shut the door in Tom's face. 

Later Aunt Cordelia, bonnet on, returning from the school, explained toher brother-in-law. 

Her brother-in-law regarded her thoughtfully through his eye-glasses. Hewas an editor, and had a mental habit of classifying people while theytalked, and putting them away in pigeon-holes. While Aunt Cordeliatalked he was putting her in a pigeon-hole marked "Guileless. "

"She stood on the outside of the door, Brother Richard, " said AuntCordelia, quite flushed and breathless, "with the door drawn to behindher. She's a terrifying woman, Richard. She said it was a case fordiscipline. She said she would allow no interference. My precious baby!And I kept on giving her iron----"

Uncle Charlie had come out with the buggy to take his brother-in-lawdriving. 

"What did you come back without her for?" demanded Uncle Charlie. 

Aunt Cordelia turned on Uncle Charlie. "You go and see why, " said AuntCordelia. 

Truly an Aunt Cordelia is the last one to stand before a Miss Lizzie. 

Uncle Charlie took his brother-in-law in the buggy, and they drove tothe school. Emmy Lou's father went in. 

Uncle Charlie sat in the buggy and waited. Uncle Charlie wondered if itwas right. Miss Lizzie was one of three. One was in an asylum. One waskept at home. And Miss Lizzie, with her rages, taught. 

But could one speak, and take work and bread from a Miss Lizzie?

When papa came down, he had Emmy Lou, white-cheeked, by the hand. He hadalso a sternness about his mouth. 

"I got her, you see, " he explained with an assumption of comicalchagrin, "but with limitations. She's got to say she's sorry, or shecan't come back. "

"I'm not sorry, " said Emmy Lou wearily, but with steadiness. 

"Stick it out, " said Uncle Charlie, who knew his Emmy Lou. 

"She needn't go back this year, " said Aunt Cordelia when she heard, "myprecious baby!"

"I will teach her at home, " said Aunt Louise. 

"There must be other Green and Gold Books, " said papa, "growing on thatsame tree. "

But Uncle Charlie, with brows drawn into a frown, was wondering. 

 ALL THE WINDS OF DOCTRINE

Emmy Lou was now a Big Girl. One climbed from floor to floor as onewent up in Readers. With the Fifth Reader one reached the dizzy eminenceof top. Emmy Lou now stood, as it were, upon a peak in Darien and staredat the great unknown, rolling ahead, called The Grammar School. 

Behind, descended the grades of one's achievements back to the A, B, Cof things. One had once been a pygmy part of the Primer World on thefirst floor one's self, and from there had gazed upward at the haloedbeings peopling these same Fifth Reader Heights. 

But Emmy Lou felt that somehow she was failing to experience theexpected sense of dizzy height, or the joy of perquisite and privilege. To be sure, being a Big Girl, she found herself at recess, one of many, taking hands in long, undulating line, and, like the Assyrian, sweepingdown on the fold, while the fold, in the shape of little girls, fledshrieking before the onslaught. 

But there had been a time when Emmy Lou had been a little girl, and hadfled, shrieking, herself. The memory kept her from quite enjoying theonslaught now, though of course a little girl of the under world is onlya Primary and must be made to feel it. The privileged members of theFifth Reader World are Intermediates. 

They are other things, too. They are Episcopalians or Presbyterians orsome other correspondingly polysyllabic thing, as the case may be. Inthis case each seemed to be a different thing. Hattie first called theattention of Emmy Lou to it. 

The Fifth Reader members ate lunch in groups. Without knowing it, onewas growing gregarious. And as becomes a higher social state, one passedone's luncheon around. 

[Illustration: "Hattie took Emmy Lou aside. 'It's their religion. '"]

Emmy Lou passed her luncheon around. Emmy Lou herself knew the joys ofeating; and hers, too, was a hospitable soul. She brought liberalluncheons. On this day, between the disks of her beaten biscuit showedthe pinkness of sliced ham. 

Mary Agatha drew back; Mary Agatha was Emmy Lou's newest friend. "It'sFriday, " said Mary Agatha. 

"Of course, " said Rosalie, "I forgot. " Rosalie put her biscuit back. 

"It's ham, " said Rebecca Steinau. 

Emmy Lou was hurt. It seemed almost like preconcerted reflection on herbiscuits and her ham. 

Hattie took Emmy Lou aside. "It's their religion, " said Hattie, in tonesof large tolerance. "We can eat anything, you and I, 'Piscopalians andPresbyterians. "

"But Rosalie, " said Emmy Lou; Rosalie, like Emmy Lou, was Episcopalian. 

But Rosalie had joined Hattie and Emmy Lou. "My little brother's singingin the vested choir, " said Rosalie, "and we're going to be High Church. "

Hattie looked at Rosalie steadily. Then Hattie took another biscuit. Hattie took another biscuit, deliberately, aggressively. It was asthough, with Hattie, to take another biscuit was a matter of conscienceand protest. Hattie was Presbyterian. 

But to Emmy Lou biscuits and ham had lost their savour. Emmy Lou admiredRebecca. Rebecca could reduce pounds and shillings to pence with arapidity that Emmy Lou could not even follow. Yet Rebecca stooped fromthis eminence to help labouring Emmy Lou with her sums. 

And Emmy Lou saw life through Rosalie's eyes. Emmy Lou trudgedunquestioningly after, where the winged feet of Rosalie's fancy led. Foryet about Rosalie's light footsteps trailed back some clouds of glory, and through the eyes of Rosalie one still caught visions of the gloryand the dream. 

And high as are the peaks of the Fifth Reader Heights, Mary Agatha stoodon one yet higher. Mary Agatha went to church, not only on Sundays, buton Saints' days. 

Mary Agatha loved to go to church. 

But, for the matter of that, Rebecca went to church on Saturdays. Whendid Rebecca _play_?

To Emmy Lou church meant several things. It meant going, when down inher depraved heart lay the knowledge she tried to hide even from herselfthat she did not want to go. It meant a sore and troubled conscience, because her eye would travel ahead on the page to the Amens. The Amenssignified the end. And it meant a fierce and unholy joy that would notdown, when that end came. 

But Mary Agatha loved to go to church. And Rebecca gave Saturdays tochurch. And now Rosalie, who admired Mary Agatha, was taking to church. No wonder that to Emmy Lou biscuits and ham were tasteless. 

But the Fifth Reader is an Age of Revelation. One is more than anIntermediate. One is an Animal and a Biped. One had to confess it onpaper in a Composition under the head of "Man. "

One accepted the Intermediate and Biped easily, because of a haziness ofcomprehension, but to hear that one is an Animal was a shock. 

But Miss Fanny said so. Miss Fanny also said the course in Language wasabsurd. She said it under her breath. She said it as Emmy Lou handed inher Composition on "Man. "

So one was an animal. One felt confidence in Miss Fanny's statements. Miss Fanny walked lightly, she laughed in her eyes; that last fact onedid not cherish against Miss Fanny, though sometimes one smileddoubtfully back at her. Was Miss Fanny laughing at one?

Miss Fanny was a Real Person. The others had been Teachers. Miss Fannyhad a grandpapa. He was rich. And she had a mamma who cried about MissFanny's teaching school. But her grandpapa said he was proud of MissFanny. 

Emmy Lou knew all about Miss Fanny. Miss Fanny's sister was AuntLouise's best friend. 

Mr. Bryan, the Principal, came often to the Fifth Reader room. He camefor Language Lessons. Mr. Bryan told them he had himself introduced theCourse in Language into the School Curriculum. 

Its purpose, he explained, was to increase the comprehension andvocabulary of the child. The paucity of vocabulary of even the averageadult, he said, is lamentable. 

"In all moments of verbal doubt and perplexity, " said Mr. Bryan, "seekthe Dictionary. In its pages you will find both vocabulary andelucidation. "

Toward spring Religions became more absorbing than ever. One day Rebeccaand Gertie and Rachel brought notes. Rebecca and Gertie and Rachel mustthereafter be excused on certain days at an early hour for attendance atConfirmation Class. 

Miss Fanny said "Of course. " But she reminded them of Examination forthe Grammar School looming ahead. 

A little later a second influx of notes piled Miss Fanny's desk. MaryAgatha and Kitty and Nora and Anne must go at noon, three times a week, to their Confirmation Class. 

Then Yetta and Paula could not come at all on their instruction days, because the Lutheran Church was far up-town in Germanberg. They, too, were making ready for Confirmation. 

Again Miss Fanny reminded them all of Examination. 

Just at this time Emmy Lou was having trouble of her own. It was Lent, which meant Church three times a week. Aunt Louise said Emmy Lou mustgo. She said Emmy Lou, being now a big girl, ought to want to go. 

Rosalie, being High, had Church every afternoon. But Rosalie liked it. Emmy Lou feared she was the only one in all the class who did not likeit. 

Even Sadie must enjoy church. For one day she missed in every lesson andlost her temper and cried; next day she brought a note from her mamma, and then she told Emmy Lou about it; it asked that Sadie be excused formissing, for because of the Revival at her church, Sadie would be uplate every night. 

Mr. Bryan was in the room when Miss Fanny read this note. She handed itto him. 

"To each year its evils, I suppose, " said Miss Fanny; "to the Primer itswhooping-cough and measles, to the First Reader the shedding of itsincisors. With the Fifth Reader comes the inoculation of doctrines. Weare living the Ten Great Religions. "

Mr. Bryan laid the note down. He said he must caution Miss Fanny that, as Principal or as Teacher, neither he nor she had anything to do withthe religions of the children intrusted to their care. And he mustremind Miss Fanny that these problems of school life could not be metwith levity. He hoped Miss Fanny would take this as he meant it, kindly. 

The class listened breathlessly. Was Miss Fanny treating their religionswith levity? What is levity?

It was Emmy Lou who asked the others when they sought to pin theaccusation to Miss Fanny. 

Mary Agatha looked it up in the Dictionary. Then she reported:"Lightness of conduct, want of weight, inconstancy, vanity, frivolity. "She told it off with low and accusing enunciation. 

It sounded grave. Emmy Lou was troubled. Could Miss Fanny be all this?Could she be guilty of levity?

It was soon after that Mary Agatha brought a note; she told Rosalie andEmmy Lou about it; it asked that Mary Agatha be allowed a seat toherself. This, Mary Agatha explained, was because, preparatory toConfirmation, she was trying to keep her mind from secular things, and aseat to herself would help her to do it. 

[Illustration: "Mary Agatha was as one already apart from thingssecular. "]

To Rosalie and Emmy Lou, Mary Agatha was as one already apart fromthings secular. To them the look on her clear, pale little profile wasalready rapt. 

But Mary Agatha went on to tell them why she was different from Kitty orNora, or the others of her Confirmation Class. It was because she wasgoing to be a Bride of Heaven. 

Rosalie listened, awed. But Emmy Lou did not quite understand. 

Mary Agatha looked pityingly at her. "You know what a bride is? And youknow what's Heaven?"

The bell rang. Emmy Lou returned to the mental eminence of her FifthReader heights, still hazy. Yet she hardly needed the Dictionary, forshe knew a bride. Aunt Katie had been a bride. With a diamond star. Andpresents. And Emmy Lou knew Heaven. 

Though lately Emmy Lou's ideas of Heaven had broadened. Hitherto, Heaven, conceived of the primitive, primary mind, had been a matter ofvague numbers seated in parallel rows, answering to something akin toRoll Call, and awarded accordingly. But lately, a birthday had broughtEmmy Lou a book called "Tanglewood Tales. " And Heaven had since taken onan Olympian colouring and diversity more complex and perplexing. 

Miss Fanny read Mary Agatha's note, and looking down at her said thatshe wondered, since every desk was in use in its dual capacity, if MaryAgatha were to devote herself quite closely to reducing pounds to pence, would it not be possible for her to forget her nearness to thingssecular?

Mary Agatha was poor in Arithmetic. And Miss Fanny was laughing in hereyes. Was Miss Fanny laughing at Mary Agatha?

Mary Agatha cried at recess. She said her Papa furnished pokers andtongs and shovels and dust-pans for the public schools, and he would seeto it that she had a seat to herself if she wanted it. 

But when the class went up from recess, there was a seat for MaryAgatha. Miss Fanny had sent the note down to Mr. Bryan, and he hadarranged it. It was a table from the office, and a stool. For want ofother place, they stood beneath the blackboard in front of the class. Itwas a high stool. 

Being told, Mary Agatha gathered her books together and went and climbedupon her stool, apart from things secular. 

Miss Fanny turned to Mr. Bryan. "For the propagation of infant SaintStylites, " said Miss Fanny. 

"Ur-r--exactly, " said Mr. Bryan. He said it a little, perhaps, doubtfully. 

Suddenly Mr. Bryan grew red. He had caught Miss Fanny's eyes laughing, and saw her mouth twitching. Was Miss Fanny laughing at Mr. Bryan? Whatabout?

Mr. Bryan went out. He closed the door. It closed sharply. 

Then everything came at once. Hot weather, and roses and syringa pilingMiss Fanny's desk, and Reviews for Examination, and Confirmations. 

Mary Agatha asked them to her confirmation. Rosalie and Emmy Lou went. The great doors at Mary Agatha's church opened and closed behind them;it was high and dim; there were twinkling lights and silence, and awe, and colour. Something quivered. It burst forth. It was music. It wasalmost as if it hurt. One drew a deep breath and shut one's eyes amoment because it hurt; then one opened them. The aisles were filledwith little girls in misty white and floating veils, stealing forward. 

And Mary Agatha was among them. 

Rosalie told Emmy Lou she meant some day to belong to Mary Agatha'schurch. Emmy Lou thought she would, too. 

[Illustration: "And Mary Agatha was among them. "]

But afterward Emmy Lou found herself wavering. Was Emmy Lou's a sordidsoul? For next came Confirmation at the Synagogue, and that, it seemed, meant presents. Gertie wore to school a locket on a glittering chain;Rebecca showed a new ring. Emmy Lou's faith was wavering. 

About this time Miss Fanny spoke her mind. Because of excuses andabsences, because of abstractions and absorptions, Miss Fanny said markswere low; and she reminded them of Examination for the Grammar Schoolnear at hand. Then she asked a little girl named Sally why she hadfailed to hand in her Composition. 

[Illustration: "Gertie wore to school a locket on a glittering chain;Rebecca showed a new ring. "]

Sally said her church was having a season of prayer, and her Mothersaid Sally was old enough now to go, and as it was both afternoons andevenings, Sally had had no time to write a Composition. 

Miss Fanny told Sally to remain in at recess and write it. Mr. Bryan hadinquired for her Composition. 

Sally remained in tears. The subject for her Composition was "Duty. "

Miss Fanny put her hand on Sally's shoulder and said something about adivided duty. And Sally cried some more, and Miss Fanny sat down at thedesk and helped her. 

Emmy Lou saw it. She had come upstairs, in a moment of doubt andperplexity, to consult the Dictionary; the word was _heretic_. 

It was this way. They had been in a group at recess and Mary Agatha wasdividing her button-string. Mary Agatha said she had given up worldlythings, and it would be a sin for her to own a button-string. 

She offered Hattie a button. Hattie refused it; she said if it was a sinto own a button-string, why should Mary Agatha offer her buttons toother people? And she walked off. Hattie had an uncompromising way ofputting things. Hattie was a Presbyterian. 

Emmy Lou felt anxious; she had been offered a button first and had takenit gratefully, for her button-string was short. 

But Mary Agatha assured her that she and Hattie and the others of thegroup could own button-strings where Mary Agatha could not. A merematter of a button-string made small difference. They were Heretics. 

Rosalie put her arm about Emmy Lou. Being High Church, she did not takeit to herself; she took it for Emmy Lou. 

Emmy Lou hesitated. Ought she to be offended? Was she a Heretic? EmmyLou was cautious, for she had contradicted Hattie about being an Animal, and then had to confess on paper that such she was. 

But Sadie had no doubts. Sadie, following the revival, had joined thechurch, and she felt she knew where she stood. "I'd have you know, " saidSadie, "I'm a Christian, " and Sadie began to cry. 

Rebecca Steinau lifted her black eyes. She gave her beringed littlehand a dramatic and conclusive wave. "You're all of you Gentiles, " saidRebecca. 

Emmy Lou left the group. As Animal, Biped, Intermediate, Low Church, Episcopalian, Gentile, and possible Heretic, she went upstairs to seekthe Dictionary. It was a moment of doubt and perplexity; with labouringabsorption she and her index finger pored over the page. 

"One whose errors are doctrinal and usually of a malignant character--"Ought she to be offended?

The bell rang. The class filed in. Sadie's eyes were red. Miss Fannytried not to see her--her eyes were chronically red. But so insistentlyand ostentatiously did Sadie continue to mop them, that Miss Fanny wascompelled to take notice. 

Sadie told her grievances. Her voice broke on Heretic, and she weptafresh at Gentile. 

[Illustration: "She and her index finger pored over the page. "]

Miss Fanny was outdone. She said they had better all be little Hereticsthan little Pharisees; she said she only needed a few infant Turks andInfidels, and her sectarian Babel would be complete. 

That day there were more notes. Miss Fanny gave them this time. To Sadieand Mary Agatha and Rebecca and Sally among others. 

Emmy Lou heard about the notes afterward. Each said the same thing. Eachsaid that Sadie or Rebecca or Mary Agatha or whichever little girl itmight be, had repeatedly fallen below; that she had not for weeks givenher mind to her lessons, and she could not conscientiously berecommended as ready for Examination for the Grammar School. 

The next day, near recess, there came a knock at the Fifth Reader door. Sadie's mamma came in. Sadie grew red. One always grows red when it isone's relative who comes in. Sadie's mamma was a pale, little lady whocried. She cried now. She said that for Sadie to be kept back for noother reason than her natural piety, was evidence of a personaldislike. She said Miss Fanny had upheld another little girl who calledSadie a Heretic. 

Miss Fanny asked Sadie's mamma to sit down on the bench. Recess wasnear, and then Miss Fanny could talk. 

There came a knock at the door. A lady with black eyes came in. Rebeccagot red. It was Rebecca's mamma. She said Rebecca had always done wellat school. She said Rebecca was grand at figures. She said Miss Fannyhad thrown her religion at Rebecca, and had called her a Pharisee. 

Miss Fanny asked Rebecca's mamma to sit down on the bench. It would soonbe recess. 

Sadie's mamma and Rebecca's mamma looked at each other coldly. 

The door opened. Sally got red. Sally looked frightened. It was Sally'smamma. The flower in her bonnet shook when she talked. She said Sallyhad refused to go to church for fear of Miss Fanny. And because Sallyhad been made to do her religious duty she was being threatened withfailure----

Miss Fanny interrupted Sally's mamma to say there was the bench, if shecared to sit down. At recess Miss Fanny would be at leisure. 

Mr. Bryan threw open the door. Mary Agatha grew pink as Mr. Bryan wavedin a slender lady with trailing silken skirts and reproachful eyes. Itwas Mary Agatha's mamma. She said that even with the note, threateningMary Agatha with failure, she could not have believed it true; that MissFanny disliked Mary Agatha because of the seat to herself; that MissFanny had classed Mary Agatha with Turks and Infidels--but since Mr. Bryan had just admitted downstairs that he had had to caution Miss Fannyabout this matter of religion----

Miss Fanny looked at Mr. Bryan. Then she rang the bell. It was not yetrecess-time; but since Miss Fanny rang the bell, the Fifth Reader Classfiled out wonderingly. Miss Fanny, looking at Mr. Bryan, had a queersmile in her eyes. Yet it was not as though Miss Fanny's smile waslaughter. 

But, after all, Sadie and Mary Agatha and Sally and Rebecca did try atExamination. Miss Fanny, it seemed, insisted they should. A teacherfrom the Grammar School came and examined the class. 

Later, one went back to find out. There was red ink written across thereports of Sadie and Sally and Mary Agatha and Rebecca. It said"Failure. "

Emmy Lou breathed. There was no red ink on her report. Emmy Lou hadpassed for the Grammar School. 

Down-stairs Mary Agatha said her papa would see to it because she hadfailed. Her papa furnished pokers and shovels for the schools, and herpapa would call on the Board. 

Mary Agatha's Papa did see to it, and the papas of Sadie and Sally andRebecca supported him. They called it religious persecution; and theywanted Miss Fanny removed. 

Emmy Lou heard about it at home. It was vacation. 

Uncle Charlie owned a newspaper. It was for Miss Fanny. And Miss Fanny'sgrandpapa, talking at the gate with Uncle Charlie, struck the pavementhard with his cane; he'd see about it, too, said her grandpapa. Emmy Louheard him. 

But when it came time for the Board to meet, Miss Fanny, it seemed, hadresigned. Aunt Louise read it out of the paper at breakfast. 

"How strange--" said Aunt Louise. 

"Not at all, " said Uncle Charlie. 

Aunt Louise said, "Oh!" She was reading on down the column. 

"--resignation by request, because the Board, in recognition of hermerit and record as Teacher, has appointed her Principal of the newschool on Elm Street. "

"But she's not a man, " said Emmy Lou when it had been explained to her. Emmy Lou was bewildered. 

"It's a departure, " said Uncle Charlie. 

"Don't tease her, Charlie, " said Aunt Cordelia. 

Emmy Lou felt troubled; she liked Miss Fanny; she could not bear tocontemplate her in the guise of Principal. One could never like MissFanny then any more. 

Miss Fanny's mamma had cried because Miss Fanny was a teacher, Emmy Louremembered. But that was nothing to this. 

Some teachers could be nice. Miss Fanny had been nice. But to be aPrincipal!

Emmy Lou had known but one type. She looked up from her plate. "I reckonMiss Fanny's mamma will cry some more, " said Emmy Lou. 

 THE CONFINES OF CONSISTENCY

Aunt Louise was opposed to the public school. 

Uncle Charlie said he feared Aunt Louise did not appreciate thedemocratic institutions of her country. 

Emmy Lou caught the word--democratic; later she had occasion to considerit further. 

Aunt Louise said that Uncle Charlie was quite right in his fear, and theend was that Emmy Lou was started at private school. 

But it was not a school--it was only a Parlour; and there being a pupilmore than there were accommodations, and Emmy Lou being the new-comer, her portion was a rocking-chair and a lap-board. 

There was not even a real teacher, only an old lady who called one "mydear. "

At home Emmy Lou cried with her head buried in Aunt Cordelia's newbolster sham; for how could she confess to Hattie and to Rosalie that itwas a parlour and a lap-board?

Upon consultation, Uncle Charlie said, let her do as she pleased, sincedamage to her seemed to be inevitable either way. So, Emmy Lou, rejoicing, departed one morning for the Grammar School. 

Public school being different from private school, Emmy Lou at oncebegan to learn things. For instance, at Grammar School, one no longerspeaks of boys in undertones. One assumes an attitude of having alwaysknown boys. At Grammar School, classes attend chapel. There are boys inChapel, still separated from the girls, to be sure, after the manner ofthe goats from the sheep; but after one learns to laugh from the cornersof one's eyes at boys, a dividing line of mere aisle is soon abridged. Watching Rosalie, Emmy Lou discovered this. 

There was a boy in Chapel whom she knew, but it takes courage to lookout of the corners of one's eyes, and Emmy Lou could only findsufficient to look straight, which is altogether a different thing. Butthe boy saw her. Emmy Lou looked away quickly. 

Once the boy's name had been Billy; later, at dancing school, it wasWillie; now, the Principal who conducted Chapel Exercises called himWilliam. 

Emmy Lou liked this Principal. He had white hair, and when it fell intohis eyes he would stand it wildly over his head, running his fingersthrough its thickness; but one did not laugh because of greater interestin what he said. 

Emmy Lou asked Rosalie the Principal's name, but Rosalie was smilingbackward at a boy as the classes filed out of Chapel. Afterward sheexplained that his name was Mr. Page. 

At Grammar School Emmy Lou continued to learn things. The pupils of agrammar school abjure school bags; a Geography now being a folio volumemeasurable in square feet, it is the thing to build upon its basicfoundation an edifice of other text-books, and carry the sum total toand fro on an aching arm. 

Nor do grammar-school pupils bring lunch; they bring money, and buylunch--pies, or doughnuts, or pickles--having done with the infantpabulum of primary bread and butter. 

Nor does so big a girl as a grammar-school pupil longer confess to anyinfantile abbreviation of entitlement; she gives her full baptismal nameand is written down, as in Emmy Lou's case, Emily Louise Pope MacLauren, which has its drawbacks; for she sometimes fails to recognise theunaccustomed sound of that name when called unexpectedly from theplatform. 

For at twelve years, an Emmy Lou finds herself dreaming, and watchingthe clouds through the school-room windows. The reading lesson concernsone Alnaschar, the Barber's Fifth Brother; and while the verses godroningly round, the kalsomined blue walls fade, and one wanders themarket-place of Bagdad, amid bales of rich stuffs, and trays of goldentrinkets and mysteries that trouble not, purveyors and Mussulmen, eunuchs and seraglios, khans, mosques, drachmas--one has no idea whatthey mean, nor does one care: on every hand in Life lie mysteries, whynot in books? The thing is, to seize upon the Story, and to let theother go. 

And so Emily Louise fails to answer to the baptismal fulness of her namespoken from the platform, until at a neighbour's touch she springs up, blushing. 

[Illustration: "One finds one's self dreaming, and watching the cloudsthrough the school-room window. "]

But, somehow, she did not take the reproach in Miss Amanda's voice toheart; Miss Amanda was given to saying reproachfully, "Please, p-ple-e-ase--young _la_dies, " many times a day, but after a brief pauseone returned to pleasant converse with a neighbour. 

Jokes were told about Miss Amanda among the girls, and, gathering atrecess about her desk, her pupils would banter Miss Amanda as to who washer favourite, whereupon, she, pleased and flattered, would make longand detailed refutation of any show of partiality. 

Miss Amanda pinned a bow in her hair, and wore a chain, and rings, andwas given to frequent patting and pushing of her hair into shape; was itpossible Miss Amanda felt herself to be--_pretty_?

Ordinarily, however, Emily Louise did not think much about her one wayor another, except at those times when Miss Amanda tried to be funny;then she quite hated her with unreasoning fierceness. 

Right now Miss Amanda was desiring Emily Louise MacLauren to giveattention. 

[Illustration: "Miss Amanda, pleased and flattered, would make long, detailed refutation of any show of partiality. "]

Once a week there was public recitation in the Chapel. Mr. Pageconsidered it good for boys and girls to work together, which was a newway of regarding it peculiar to grammar school, for hitherto, boys, like the skull and cross-bones bottles in Aunt Cordelia's closet, hadbeen things to be avoided. 

[Illustration: "Hitherto boys, like skull and cross-bones bottles, hadbeen things to be avoided. "]

"To-morrow, " Miss Amanda was explaining, "the chapel recitation will bein grammar; you will conjugate, " Miss Amanda simpered, "the verb--tolove, " with playful meaning in her emphasis; "but I need have no fear, young ladies, " archly, "that you will let yourselves be beaten at thislesson. "

[Illustration: "After one has learned to smile out one's eyes, adividing line of aisle is soon bridged. "]

Miss Amanda meant to be funny. Emily Louise, for one, looked stonilyahead; not for anything would she smile. 

But the weekly recitation varied, and there came a week when the classeswere assembled for a lesson in composition. 

Mr. Page laughed at what he called flowery effusions. "Use the matterand life about you, " he said. 

"There is one boy, " he went on to state, "whose compositions aregenerally good for that reason. William, step up, sir, and let us hearwhat you have made of this. "

William arose. He was still square, but he was no longer short; therewas a straight and handsome bridge building to his nose, and he hadtaken to tall collars. William's face was somewhat suffused at thissummons to publicity, but his smile was cheerful and unabashed. Hiscomposition was on "Conscience. " So were the compositions of the others;but his was different. 

"A boy has one kind of a conscience, " read William, "and a girl hasanother kind. Two girls met a cow. 'Look her right in the face andpretend like we aren't afraid, ' said the biggest girl; but the littlestgirl had a conscience. 'Won't it be deceiving the cow?' she wanted toknow. "

Emily Louise blushed; how could William! For Emily Louise was "thelittlest girl;" Hattie was the other, and William had come along anddriven the cow away. 

William was still reading: "There was a girl found a quarter in thesnow. She thought how it would buy five pies, or ten doughnuts, orfifteen pickles, and then she thought about the person who would comeback and find the place in the snow and no quarter, and so she went andput the quarter back. "

How could William! Mr. Page, his hair wildly rumpled, was clapping handto knee; even the teachers were trying not to smile. Emily Louiseblushed hotter, for Emily Louise, taking the quarter back, had metWilliam. 

"Boys are different, " stated William's composition. "There was a boywent to the office to be whipped. The strap hit a stone in his pocket. So the Principal, who went around on Saturdays with a hammer tappingrocks, let the boy off. He didn't know the boy got the rock out thealley on purpose. But I reckon boys have some kind of a conscience. Thatboy felt sort of mean. "

It was the teachers who were laughing now, while Mr. Page, running hisfingers through his hair, wore a smile--arrested, reflective, considering. But it broadened; there are Principals, here and there, whocan appreciate a William. 

The cheek of Emily Louise might be hot, but in her heart was a newerfeeling; was it pleasure? Something, somewhere, was telling Emily Louisethat William liked her the better for these things he was laughing at. Was she pleased thereat? Never. Her cheek grew hotter. Yet thepleasurable sensation was there. Suddenly she understood. It was becauseof this tribute to the condition of her conscience. Of course it wouldbe perfectly proper, therefore, to determine to keep up this reputationwith William. 

There was other proof that William liked her. At grammar school it wasthe proper thing to own an autograph album. William's page in the albumof Emily Louise was a triumph in purple ink upon a pinkish background. Not that William had written it. Jimmy Reed had written it for him. Jimmy wielded a master pen in flourish and shading, upon which he put aprice accordingly. A mere name cost the patrons of Jimmy a pickle, whilea pledge to eternal friendship or sincerity was valued at a doughnut. For the feelings in verse, one paid a pie. 

[Illustration: "For one's feelings in verse one paid a pie. "]

William had paid a pie, and his sentiments at maximum price thus setforth declared:

 "True friendship is a golden knot Which angles' hands have tied, By heavenly skill its textures wrought Who shall its folds divide?"

Emily Louise wondered about the "angles hands. " What were they? It neversuggested itself that a master of the pen such as Jimmy might be weakin spelling. 

One has to meet new responsibilities at grammar school, too; one has tobe careful with whom she associates. 

Associate was Isobel's word; she used many impressive words, but thenIsobel was different; she spelled her name with an o, and she did notlive in a home; Isobel lived in a hotel, and her papa was the holder ofa government position. Hattie's papa, someone told Emily Louise, hadwanted to hold it, but Isobel's papa got it. 

Isobel said a person must discriminate. This Emily Louise found meant, move in groups that talked each about the others. Isobel and Rosaliepointed out to Emily Louise that the nice girls were in their group. 

Yet Hattie was not in it; Emily Louise wondered why. 

"It depends on who you are, " said Isobel, with the sweeping calmness ofone whose position is assured. "My papa is own second cousin to theAttorney-General of the United States. "

And that this claim conveyed small meaning to the group about Isobel, made her family connections by no means the less impressive and to beenvied. The Isobels supply their part of the curriculum of grammarschool. 

Emily Louise went home anxious. "Have I a family?" she inquired. 

"It's hard to say, since you abandoned it, " said Uncle Charlie. 

Emily Louise blushed; she did not feel just happy in her mind yet aboutthose dolls buried in a mausoleum-like trunk in the attic. 

She explained: the kind of family that has a tree? Did she belong to afamily? Had she a tree?

"The only copper beech in town, " said Uncle Charlie. 

But Aunt Cordelia's vulnerable spot was touched; she grew quite heated. Emily Louise learned that she was a Pringle and a Pope. 

"And a MacLauren?" queried Emily Louise. 

But Aunt Cordelia's enthusiasm had cooled. 

There came a time when Emily Louise divined why. All at once talk beganat school, about a thing looming ahead, called an Election. It seemed adisturbing thing, keeping Uncle Charlie at the office all hours. Andwhen in time it actually arrived, Emily Louise could not go to schoolthat day because the way would take her past the Polls, yet ordinarilythis was only the grocery; but so dreadful a place is it when it becomesa poll, that Aunt Cordelia could not go to it for her marketing. 

Hitherto, except when Miss Amanda wanted to be funny, Emily Louise hadfelt her to be inoffensive; but as election became the absorbing topicof Grammar School, a dreadful thing came to light--Miss Amanda was aRepublican. 

Hattie told Emily Louise; her voice was low and full of horror. ForHattie reflected the spirit of her State and age; the State was in theSouth, the year was preceding the '80's. 

Emily Louise lowered her voice, too; it was to ask just what is aRepublican. She was conscious of a vagueness. 

Hattie looked at her, amazed. "A Republican--why--people who are notDemocrats--of course. "

"How does one know which one is?" asked Emily Louise, feeling that itwould be disconcerting, considering public opinion, to find herself aRepublican. 

Hattie looked tried. "You're what your father is, naturally. I shouldthink you'd know that, Emily Louise. "

On the way from school William joined Emily Louise. 

"What's a Republican, William?" she asked. 

His countenance changed. "It's--well--it's the sort you don't want tohave anything to do with, " said William, darkly. 

Emily Louise, knowing how William regarded her conscientiousness, wasuneasy because of a certain recollection. She must get to the bottom ofthis. She sought Aunt Louise privately. "Aren't you a Democrat?" sheinquired. 

The indignant response of Aunt Louise was disconcerting. "What elsecould you dream I am?" she demanded with asperity. 

"You said you didn't approve of Democratic Institutions, " explainedEmily Louise, recalling. 

"I approve of nothing under Republican domination, " said Aunt Louisehaughtily--which was muddling. 

"What's Papa?" asked Emily Louise, suddenly. 

Aunt Louise, dressing for a party, shut her door sharply. 

One could ask Aunt Cordelia. But Aunt Cordelia turned testy, and eventold Emily Louise to run away. 

Uncle Charlie was gone. 

There was Aunt M'randa and Tom, so Emily Louise sought the kitchen. Itwas after supper. Tom was spelling the news from a paper spread on thetable, and Aunt M'randa was making up the flannel cakes for breakfast. 

"Who? Yo' paw?" said Tom; "he's a Republican; he done edit that kinderpaper over 'cross the Ohier River, he does. "

There was unction in the glib quickness of Tom's reply. Then he dodged;it was just in time. 

"Shet yo' mouf, " said Aunt M'randa with wrath; "ain't I done tol' howthey've kep' it from the chile. "

Emily Louise was swallowing hard. "Then--then--am I a Republican?" Hervoice sounded way off. 

Aunt M'randa turned a scandalised face upon her last baby in thefamily. "Co'se yer ain't chile; huccome yer think sech er thing? Ain'tyer done learned its sinnahs is lumped wi' 'publicans--po' whites, an'cul'd folks an' sech?"

The comfort in Aunt M'randa's reassuring was questionable. "But--yousaid--my papa--" said Emily Louise. 

The tension demanded relief. Aunt M'randa turned on Tom. "I lay I bus'yo' haid open ef yer don't quit yo' stan'in' wi' yer mouf gapin' at thetrouble yer done made. "

Aunt M'randa was sparring for time. 

"Don' yer worry 'bout dat, honey"--this to Emily Louise--"hit's jes' onedese here mistakes in jogaphy, seem like, same es yer tell erboutgettin' kep' in foh. Huccome a gen'man like yo' paw, got bawn y'otherside de Ohier River, 'ceptin' was an acci-dent? Dess tell me dat? Butdere's 'nough quality dis here side de fam'ly to keep yer a goodDem'crat, honey--" and Aunt M'randa, muttering, glared at Tom. 

For Emily Louise was gazing into a gulf wider than the river rollingbetween home--and papa, a gulf called war; nor did Emily Louise know, asAunt M'randa knew, that it was a baby's little fists clutching at AuntCordelia that had bridged that gulf. 

Emily Louise turned away--her papa was that thing for lowered voice andbated breath--her papa--was a Republican. 

Then Emily Louise was a Republican also. Hattie said so; Aunt M'randadid not know. At twelve one begins determinedly to face facts. 

Yet the very next day Emily Louise made discovery that a greater thanher papa had been that thing for lowered tones. She was working upon herweekly composition, and this week the subject was "George Washington. "

Emily Louise had just set forth upon legal cap her opening conclusionsupon the matter. She had gone deep into the family annals of George, for, by nature, Emily Louise was thorough, and William had testifiedthat she was conscientious. 

"George Washington was a great man and so was his mother. "

Here she paused, pen suspended; for the full meaning of a statement inthe history spread before her had suddenly dawned upon her; for thathistory declared George Washington "a firm advocate for these republicanprinciples. "

Should an Emily Louise then turn traitor to her father, or should shedesert an Aunt Cordelia and an Aunt Louise?

Life is complex. At twelve a pucker of absorption and concentrationbegins to gather between the brows. 

On the homeward way, William was waiting at the corner. "What is aperson when they are not either Democrat or Republican?" Emily Louiseasked as they went along. 

William's tones were uncompromising. "A mugwump, " he said, and he saidit with contempt. 

It sounded unpleasant, and as though it ought to merit the contempt ofWilliam. 

And grammar was becoming as complex as life itself. One forenoon EmilyLouise was called upon to recite the rule. Every day it was a differentrule, which in itself was discouraging. But the exceptions were worsethan the rule; for a rule is a matter of a mere paragraph, while theexceptions are measurable by pages. 

But Emily Louise knew the rule. Even with town one background for flagand bunting; even with the streets one festive processional; even withthe advent, in her city, of the President of the United States on histour of the South; even with this in her civic precincts, Emily Louise, arising, was able correctly to recite the rule. 

"An article should only be used once before a complex description of oneand the same object. "

"An example, " said Miss Amanda. 

Emily Louise stood perplexed, for none had been given in the book. 

"Simply apply the rule and make your own, " said Miss Amanda. 

But it did not seem simple; Emily Louise was still thinking in theconcrete. 

Hattie had grasped abstractions. Hattie waved her hand. There was ascarlet spot upon her cheek. Before school there had been words betweenHattie and Isobel. The politics of the President of the United Stateshad figured in it, and Emily Louise had learned that the President was aRepublican. And yet flags! And processions!

Miss Amanda said, "Well, Hattie?"

Hattie arose. "There is a single, only, solitary Republican pupil inthis class, " said she promptly and with emphasis. 

Miss Amanda might proceed to consider the proposition grammatically, hermind being on the rule, and not the import, but the class interpreted itas Hattie meant they should. In their midst! And unsuspected!

Emily Louise grew hot. Could Hattie, would Hattie, do this thing?Hattie, accuse her thus? Yet who else could Hattie mean? The heart ofEmily Louise swelled--Hattie to do this thing!

And Hattie was wrong. She should know that she was wrong. She shouldread it in her own autograph album, just brought to Emily Louise for herinscribing. Emily Louise remained in at recess. Verse was beyond her. She recognised her limitations. Some are born to prose and some tohigher things. She applied herself to a plain statement in Hattie'salbum:

 Dear Hattie: I am a Mugwump and your true friend. Emily Louise Maclauren. 

Then she put the book on Hattie's desk as the bell rang. 

With the class came a visible and audible excitement. Mr. Page followed, his hair wildly erect, and he conversed with Miss Amanda hurriedly. 

With visual signalling and labial dumb show, Emily Louise imploredenlightenment. 

"Ours is the honour class, so we're to be chosen, " enunciated Hattie, ina staccato whisper. 

Rosalie was nearer. "There's to be a presentation--in the Chapel, "whispered Rosalie; "sh-h--he's going to choose us--now----"

Mr. Page and Miss Amanda were surveying the class. Some two score pairsof eager eyes sought each to stay those glances upon themselves. PerhapsMr. Page lacked courage. 

"The choice I leave to you, " said he to Miss Amanda. Then he went. 

Miss Amanda was also visibly excited. She settled her chain and puffedthe elaborate coiffure of her hair, the while she continued to surveythe class. She looked hesitant and undecided, glancing from row to row;then, as from some inspiration, her face cleared and she grew arch, shaking a finger playfully. "To the victors belong the spoils, " she saidwith sprightly humour, "and it will, at least, narrow the choice. I willask those young ladies whose fathers chance to be of a Republican way ofthinking to please arise. "

A silence followed--a silence of disappointment to the many; then EmilyLouise MacLauren arose. 

Was retribution following thus fast because of that subterfuge ofMugwump? Alas for that conscientiousness of which she had once beenproud! Was it the measure of her degradation she read on Rosalie'sstartled face--Rosalie's face of stricken incredulity and amaze? But no;Rosalie's transfixed gaze was not on Emily Louise--it passed her, to----

To where in the aisle beyond stood another--Isobel. 

But the head of Isobel was erect, and her eyes flashed triumph; thethrow of Isobel's shoulders flung defiance back in the moment of beingchosen. 

Excitement quivered the voice of Miss Amanda's announcement. "The wifeof the President of the United States, young ladies, having signifiedher intention of to-day visiting our school, the young ladies standingwill report to the office at once, to receive instructions as to theirpart in the programme; though first, perhaps"--did Miss Amanda read sexthrough self--"a little smoothing of hair--and ribbons----"

Emily Louise on this day carried her news home doubtfully, for AuntLouise and Aunt Cordelia were of such violent Democracy. 

"You were chosen"--Aunt Louise repeated--"Isobel, to make the speech andyou to present the flowers?" Aunt Louisa's face was alight withexcitement and inquiry. "And what did you do, Emmy Lou?"

"I gave them to her up on the platform; it was a pyramid in a lacepaper--the bouquet. "

"And then?" Aunt Louise was breathless with attention. 

"She kissed me, " said Emily Louise, "on the cheek. "

Aunt Louise gave a little laugh of gratification and pride. "The wife ofthe President--why, Emmy Lou----"

"I'll write to her Aunt Katie this very afternoon, " said Aunt Cordelia. 

"Better look to the family tree, " said Uncle Charlie. "There's danger oftoo rich soil in these public honours. "

But, instead, Emily Louise went out and sat on the side-door step; sheneeded solitude for the readjustment of her ideas. 

Aunt Cordelia was pleased, and Aunt Louise was proud. 

And Emily Louise, with the kiss of Republicanism upon her cheek, hadstepped down from the Chapel platform into ovation and adulation, tofind herself the centre of a homeward group jostling for place besideher. Hattie had carried her books, Rosalie her jacket. William hadnodded to her at one corner, to be waiting at the next, where he noddedagain with an incidental carelessness of manner, and joined the group. Emily Louise had stolen a glance at William, anxiously. Had William'sopinion of her fallen? It would seem not. 

Yet Isobel had gone home alone. Emily Louise had seen her starting, withsidewise glance and lingering saunter should any be meaning to overtakeher. But she had gone on alone. 

"Because she never told, " said Hattie. 

"Until she wanted to be chosen, " said Rosalie. 

"But I never told, " said Emily Louise. 

Hattie was final. "It's different, " said Hattie. 

"Oh, very, " said Rosalie. 

They travel through labyrinthian paths who seek for understanding. 

The sun went down; the dusk grew chill. Emily Louise sat on thedoor-step, chin in palm. 

 A BALLAD IN PRINT O' LIFE

Double names are childish things; therefore Emmy Lou entered the highschool as Emily MacLauren. 

Her disapproval of the arrangements she found there was decided. High-school pupils have no abiding place, but are nomadic in theirhabits and enforced wanderers between shrines of learning, changingquarters as well as teachers for every recitation; and the constantreadjustment of mood to meet the varied temperaments of successiveteachers is wearing on the temper. 

Yet there is a law in the high school superior to that of the teacher. At the dictates of a gong, classes arise in the face of a teacher'sincompleted peroration and depart. As for the pupils, there is no restfor the soles of their feet; a freshman in the high school is a mereabecedarian part of an ever-moving line, which toils, weighted withpounds of text-books, up and down the stairways of knowledge, climbingto the mansard heights for rhetoric, to descend, past doors to which itmust later return, to the foundation floor for Ancient History. 

Looking back at the undulating line winding in dizzy spiral about thestairways, Emily, at times, seemed to herself to be a vertebrate part ofsome long, forever-uncoiling monster, one of those prehistoric, seen-before-in-dreams affairs. She chose her figures knowingly, for shewas studying zoology now. 

Classes went to the laboratory for this subject, filing into anamphitheatre of benches about Miss Carmichael, who stood in the centreof things and wasted no time; she even clipped her words, perhaps thatthey might not impede each other in their flow, which lent adisconcerting curtness of enunciation to an amazing rapidity of thesame. Indeed, Miss Carmichael talked so fast that Emily got but ablurred impression of her surroundings, carrying away a dazedconsciousness that the contents of certain jars to the right and left ofthe lady were amphibian in their nature, and that certain other objectsin skin leering down from dusty shelves were there because of saurianclaims. And because man is a vertebrate, having an internal, jointed, bony skeleton, man stood in a glass case behind the oracular priestessof the place, in awful, articulated, bony whole, from which the newlyinitiated had constantly to drag their fascinated, shuddering gaze. Notthat Emily wanted to look, indeed she had no time to be looking, needingit all to keep up with Miss Carmichael, discoursing in unpunctuated, polysyllablic flow of things batrachian and things reptilian, which, like the syllables falling from the lips of the wicked daughter in thestory-book, proved later to be toads and lizards. 

Miss Carmichael was short and square, and her nose was large. She rubbedit with her knuckle like a man. She had rubbed it one day as she lookedat Emily, whom she had called upon as "the girl who answers to the nameof MacLauren. "

It was not a flattering way to be designated, but freshmen learn to begrateful for any identity. Then, too, Miss Carmichael was famed for herwit, and much is to be overlooked in a wit which in another might seemto be bad manners. Once Emily had been hazy about the word _wit_, butnow she knew. If you understand at once it is not wit; but if, as youbegin to understand, you find you don't, that is apt to be wit. MissCarmichael was famed for hers. 

Thus called upon, the girl who answered to the name of MacLauren stoodup. The lecture under discussion was concerned with a matter calledperpetuation of type. Under fire of questions it developed that thepupil in hand was sadly muddled over it. 

Under such circumstances, it was a way with Miss Carmichael to play withthe pupil's mystification. "'Be a kitten and cry mew, '" said she, hereyes snapping with the humour of it. "Why mew and not baa? Why does thefamily of cow continue to wear horns?"

Why, indeed? There wasn't any sense. Emily felt wild. Miss Carmichaelhere evidently decided it was time to temper glee with something else. Emily was prepared for that, having discovered that wit is uncertain inits humours. 

"An organ not exercised loses power to perform its function. Think!"said Miss Carmichael. "Haven't you taken down the lecture?"

Emily had taken down the lecture, but she had not taken in the lecture. She looked unhappy. "I don't think I understand it, " she confessed. 

"Then why didn't you have it explained?"

"I did try. " Which was true, for Emily had gone with questionsconcerning perpetuation of type to her Aunt Cordelia. 

"What did you want to know?" demanded Miss Carmichael. 

"About--about the questions at the end for us to answer--about that one, 'What makes types repeat themselves?'"

"And what does?" said Miss Carmichael. "That is exactly what I'm tryingto find out. "

Emily looked embarrassed. Aunt Cordelia's answer was the same one thatshe gave to all the puzzling _whys_, but Emily did not want to give ithere. 

"Come, come, come, " said Miss Carmichael. She was standing by her table, and she rapped it sharply, "And what does?"

"God, " said Emily desperately. 

She felt the general embarrassment as she sat down. She felt Hattiegive a quick look at her, then saw her glance around. Was it for her?Hattie's cheek was red. Rosalie, with her cheek crimson, was looking inher lap. 

In the High School some have passed out of Eden, while others are onlyapproaching the fruit of the tree. 

Hattie had glanced at her protectingly, and though Emily did notunderstand just why, she was glad, for of late she had been feelingapart from Hattie and estranged from Rosalie, and altogether alone andaggrieved. 

Hattie now wrote herself Harriet, and had seemed to change in theprocess, though Emily, who had once been Emily Louise herself, felt shehad not changed to her friends. But Hattie was one to look facts in theface. "If you're not pretty, " she had a while back confided to Emily, "you've got to be smart. " And forthwith taking to learning, Hattie wasfast becoming a shining light. 

Rosalie had taken to things of a different nature, which she calledRomantic Situations. To have the wind whisk off your hat and take itskurrying up the street just as you meet a boy is a Romantic Situation. 

Emmy Lou had no sympathy with them, whatever; it even embarrassed her tohear about them and caused her to avoid Rosalie's eye. Perhaps Rosaliedivined this, for she took to another thing--and that was Pauline. Witharms about each other, the two walked around the basement promenade atrecess, while Emily stood afar off and felt aggrieved. 

[Illustration: "'If you're not pretty, you've got to be smart. '"]

She was doing a good deal of feeling these days, but principally shefelt cross. For one thing, she was having to wear a sailor suit in whichshe hated herself. It takes a jaunty juvenility of spirit to wear asailor suit properly, and she was not feeling that way these days. Shewas feeling tall and conscious of her angles. The tears, too, cameeasily, as at thought of herself deserted by Hattie and Rosalie, or atsight of herself in the sailor suit. It was in Aunt Cordelia's Mirrorthat she viewed herself with such dissatisfaction; but while looking, the especial grievance was forgotten by reason of her gaze centring uponthe reflected face. She was wondering if she was pretty. But even whileher cheek flamed with the thinking of it, she forgot why the cheek washot in the absorption of watching it fade, until--eyes met eyes----

She turned quickly and hid her face against the sofa. Emmy Lou had metSelf. 

But later she almost quarrelled with Aunt Cordelia about the sailorsuit. 

One day at recess a new-comer who had entered late was standing around. Her cheek was pale, though her eager look about lent a light to herface. But all seemed paired off and absorbed and the eager look faded. Emily, whom she had not seen, moved nearer, and the new-comer's facebrightened. "They give long recesses, " she said. 

[Illustration: "Wondering if she was pretty. "]

Emily felt drawn to her, for since being deserted she was not enjoyingrecesses herself. 

"Yes, " she said, "they do"; and the next day another pair, Emily andthe new-comer, joined the promenade about the basement. 

The new pupil's name was Margaret; that is, since it stopped beingMaggie. Emily confessed to having once been Emmy herself, with a middlename of Lou besides, and after that they told each other everything. Margaret loved to read and had lately come to own a certain book whichshe brought to lend Emily, and over its pages they drew together. Thebook was called "Percy's Reliques. "

Beside the common way lies the Ballad Age, but Emily would have passed, unknowing, had not Margaret, drawing the branches aside, revealed it;and into the sylvan glades she stepped, pipes and tabret luring, withlife and self at once in tune. 

And then Margaret told her something, "if she would never, nevertell"--Margaret wrote things herself. 

It was about this time that Rosalie was moved to seek Emily, as of old, to relate a Romantic Situation. She warned her that it would be sad, butEmily did not mind that. She loved sad things these days, and even foundan exultation in them if they were very, very sad. 

Rosalie took her aside to tell it: "There was a bride, ready, even toher veil, and he, the bridegroom, never came--he was dead. "

Rosalie called this a Romantic Situation. Emily admitted it, feeling, however, that it was more, though she could not tell Rosalie that. It--it was like the poetry in the book, only poetry would not have leftit there!

 "O mither, mither mak my bed O mak it saft and narrow; Since my love died for me to-day, Ise die for him to-morrowe. "

"It's about a teacher right here in the High School, " Rosalie went on totell. 

Then it was true. "Which one?" asked Emily. 

But that Rosalie did not know. 

It was like poetry. But then life was all turning to poetry now. Oneclimbed the stairs to the mansard now with winged feet, for Rhetoric isconcerned with metaphor and simile, and Rhetoric treats of rhyme. Thereis a sudden meaning in Learning since it leads to a desired end. 

Poetry is everywhere around. The prose light of common day is breakinginto prismatic rays. Into the dusty highway of Ancient History all atonce sweeps the pageantry of Mythology. Philemon bends above old Baucisat the High School gate, though hitherto they have been sycamores. Olympus is just beyond the clouds. The Elysian Fields lie only thesurrender of the will away, if one but droops, with absent eye, headpropped on hand, and dreams----

But Emily, all at once, is conscious that Miss Beaton's eyes are on her, at which she moves suddenly and looks up. But this mild-eyed teacherwith the sweet, strong smile is but gazing absently down on her thewhile she talks. 

Emily likes Miss Beaton, the teacher of History. Her skirts trail softlyand her hair is ruddy where it is not brown; she forgets, and when sherises her handkerchief is always fluttering to the floor. Emily loves tobe the one to jump and pick it up. Miss Beaton's handkerchiefs are fineand faintly sweet and softly crumpled, and Emily loves the smile whenMiss Beaton's absent gaze comes back and finds her waiting. 

But to-day, what is this she is saying? Who is the beautiful youth sheis telling about? Adonis? Beloved, did she say, and wounded? Woundedunto death, but loved and never forgotten, and from whose blood sprangthe windswept petals of anemone----

Miss Beaton's gaze comes back to her school-room and she takes up thebook. The story is told. 

Emily had not known that her eyes had filled--tears come sounlooked-for these days--until the ring on Miss Beaton's hand glistenedand the facets of its jewel broke into gleams. 

She caught her breath, she sat up suddenly, for she knew--all at onceshe knew--it was Miss Beaton who had been the bride, and the ring wasthe sign. 

She loved Miss Beaton with a sudden rapture, and henceforth gazed uponher with secret adoration. She made excuses to consult books in MissBeaton's room, that she might be near her; she dreamed, and thesweetness and the sadness of it centred about Miss Beaton. 

She told Rosalie. "Why, of course, I guessed her right at first, " saidRosalie; but she said it jealously, for she, too, was secretly adoringMiss Beaton. 

Emily had been trying to ask Margaret something, but each time thequestion stuck in her throat. Now she gathered courage. 

It was spring, and the High School populace turned out at recess topromenade the yard. On the third round about the gravel, in thefarthest corner where a lilac bush topping the fence from next doorlent a sort of screen and privacy, Emily caught Margaret by the arm andheld her back. After that there was no retreat; she had to speak. 

"How--how do you do it?" she asked. 

"What?" asked Margaret. 

"Write?" said Emily, holding to Margaret tight--she had never beforethus laid bare the secrets of her soul. 

"Oh, " said Margaret, and her lips parted and her face lighted as she andEmily gazed into each other's eyes, "you just feel it and then youwrite. "

There was a time when Emily would have asked, "Feel what?" "It" as usedby Margaret was indefinite, but Emily understood. You just feel it andthen you write. 

In her study hour Emily took her pencil and, with Latin Grammar asbarrier and blind to an outside world, bent over her paper. She did notspeak them, those whispers hunting the rhyme: she only felt them, andthey spoke. 

She did not know, she did not dream that she was finding the use, thepurpose for it all, these years of the climb toward knowledge. Some dayit would dawn on her that we only garner to give out. 

_Creare--creatum_, she had repeated in class from her Latin Grammar, butshe did not understand the meaning then. In the beginning God made, andMan is in the image of God. She had found the answer to her discontent;for to create, to give out, is the law. 

She wrote on, head bent, cheek flushed, leaning absorbed above the paperin her book. 

On the way home she whispered that which had written itself, while herfeet kept time to the rhythm. It was Beautiful and Sad, and it was True:

 "The bride and her maidens sat in her bower----"

She nodded to William loitering near the High School gate, and hurriedon. She did not want company just now:

 "And they 'broidered a snow-white veil, And their laughter was sweet as the orange flower That breathed on the soft south gale. "

But here William caught up with her. She had thought he would take thehint, but he didn't, going with her to her very gate. But once inside, she drew a long breath. The cherry buds were swelling and the sky wasblue. She took up her verse where William had interrupted:

 "The bride and her maidens sit in her bower, And they stitch at a winding-sheet; And they weep as the breath of the orange flower----"

Emily is so absorbed at the dinner-table that Aunt Cordelia is moved toargue about it. She sha'n't go to school if she does not eat her dinnerwhen she gets home. "And that beautiful slice of good roast beefuntouched, " says Aunt Cordelia. 

Emily frowned, being intent on that last line, which is not written yet. She is hunting the rhyme for winding-sheet. 

What is this Aunt Cordelia is saying? "Eat--meat----"

How _can_ Aunt Cordelia?--it throws one off--it upsets one. 

Hattie chanced to be criticising Miss Beaton the next day, saying thatshe required too little of her classes. "But then she is more concernedgetting ready to be married, I reckon, " said Hattie. 

"Oh, " said Emily, "Hattie!" She was shocked, almost hurt, with Hattie. "Don't you know about it?" she went on to explain. "She was going to bemarried and--he--he never came--he was dead. "

"No such thing, " said Hattie. "He runs a feed store next my father'soffice. We've got cards. It's the day after school's out. "

"Then--which--" asked Emily falteringly. 

"Why, I heard that the first of the year, " said Hattie. "It was MissCarmichael that happened to. "

Emily went off to herself. She felt bitter and cross and disposed toblame Miss Beaton. She never wanted to see or to hear of Miss Beatonagain. 

Upstairs she took from her Latin Grammar a pencilled paper, interlinedand much erased, and tore it into bits--viciously little bits. Then shewent and put them in the waste-paper basket. 

"You just feel it and then you write, " Margaret had said, and Emily wasfeeling again, and deeply; later she wrote. 

It was gloomy, that which wrote itself on the paper, nor did itespecially apply to the case in point, "but then, " she remindedherself, bitterly recalling the faithlessness of Hattie, of Rosalie, ofMiss Beaton, "it's True. "

She took it to Hattie from some feeling that she was mixed up in thisthing. Hattie closed her Algebra, keeping her finger in the place, whileshe took the paper and looked at it. She did not seem impressed orotherwise, but read it aloud in a matter-of-fact tone:

 "A flower sprang from the earth one day And nodded and blew in a blithesome way, And the warm sun filled its cup! A careless hand broke it off and threw It idly down where it lately grew, And the same sun withered it up. "

"'Up, '" said Hattie, "what's the up for? You don't need it. "

"It's--it's for the rhyme, " said Emily. 

"It's redundancy, " said Hattie. 

 VENUS OR MINERVA?

It was gratifying to be attached to a name again. As a Freshman, personality had been lost in the High School by reason of overwhelmingnumbers. The under-world seems always to be over-populated and valuedaccordingly. But progress in the High School, by rigorous enforcement ofthe survival of the fittest, brings ultimately a chance for identity. Emmy Lou, a survivor, found a personality awaiting her in her Sophomoreyear. Henceforth she was to be Miss MacLauren. 

The year brought further distinction. Along in the term Miss MacLaurenreceived notification that she had been elected to membership in thePlatonian Society. 

"On account of recognised literary qualifications, " the note set forth. 

Miss MacLauren read the note with blushes, and because of the secret joyits perusal afforded, she re-read it in private many times more. Thefirst-fruits of fame are sweet; and as an Athenian might have regardedan invitation into Olympus, so Miss MacLauren looked upon this openinginto Platonia. 

As a Freshman, on Friday afternoons, she had noted certain of the upperpupils strolling about the building after dismissal, clothed, in lieu ofhats and jackets, with large importance. She had learned that they werePlatonians, and from the out-courts of the un-elect she had watchedthem, in pairs and groups, mount the stairs with laughter and chatterand covert backward glances. She did not wonder, she would have glancedbackward, too, for wherein lies the satisfaction of being elect, but ina knowledge of the envy of those less privileged?

And mounting the stairs to the mansard, their door had shut upon thePlatonians; it was a secret society. 

And now this door stood open to Miss MacLauren. 

She took her note to Hattie and to Rosalie, who showed a polite butsomewhat forced interest. 

"Of course if you have time for that sort of thing, " said Hattie. 

"As if there was not enough of school and learning, now, Emily, " saidRosalie. 

Miss MacLauren felt disconcerted, the bubble of her elation seemedpricked, until she began to think about it. Hattie and Rosalie were notasked to become Platonians; did they make light of the honour because itwas not their honour?

Each seeks to be victor in some Field of Achievement, but each isjealous of the other's Field. Hattie thought Rosalie frivolous, andRosalie scribbled notes under the nose of Hattie's brilliantrecitations. Miss MacLauren, on the neutral ground of a non-combatant, was expected by each to furnish the admiration and applause. 

Hattie's was the Field of Learning, and she stood, with obstacles trodunder heel, crowned with honours. Hattie meant to be valedictorian someday, nor did Miss MacLauren doubt Hattie would be. 

Rosalie's was a different Field. Hers was strewn with victims; victimswhose names were Boys. 

It was Rosalie's Field, Miss MacLauren, in her heart, longed to enter. But how did Rosalie do it? She raised her eyes and lowered them, and thevictims fell. But everyone could not be a Rosalie. 

And Hattie looked pityingly upon Rosalie's way of life, and Rosalielaughed lightly at Hattie. 

Miss MacLauren admired Hattie, but, secretly, she envied Rosalie. If shehad known how, she herself would have much preferred Boys to Brains; oneis only a Minerva as second choice. 

To be sure there was William. Oh, William! He is taken for granted, andbesides, Miss MacLauren is becoming sensitive because there was no onebut William. 

The next day she was approached by Hattie and Rosalie, who each had anote. They mentioned it casually, but Hattie's tone had a ring. Was itsatisfaction? And Rosalie's laugh was touched with gratification, forthe notes were official, inviting them, too, to become Platonians. 

"Thinking it over, " said Hattie, "I'll join; one owes something toclass-spirit. "

"It's so alluring--the sound, " said Rosalie. "A secret anything. "

Miss MacLauren, thinking it over, herself, after she reached home thatday, suddenly laughed. 

It was at dinner. Uncle Charlie looked up at his niece, whom he knew asEmmy Lou, not, as yet, having met Miss MacLauren. He had heard her laughbefore, but not just that way; generally she had laughed because otherpeople laughed. Now she seemed to be doing it of herself. There is adifference. 

Emmy Lou was thinking of the changed point of view of Hattie andRosalie, "It's--it's funny--" she explained, in answer to UncleCharlie's look. 

"No!" said Uncle Charlie. "And you see it? Well!"

What on earth was Uncle Charlie talking about?

"I congratulate you, " he continued. "It will never be so hard again. "

"What?" asked Emmy Lou. 

"Anything, " said Uncle Charlie. 

What was he talking about?

"A sense of humour, " said Uncle Charlie, as though one had spoken. 

Emma Lou smiled absently. Some of Uncle Charlie's joking which she wasused to accepting as mystifying. 

But it was funny about Rosalie and Hattie; she was smiling again, andshe felt patronisingly superior to them both. 

Miss MacLauren was still feeling her superiority as she went to schoolthe next morning. It made her pleased with herself. It was a frostymorning; she drew long breaths, she felt buoyant, and scarcely consciousof the pavements under her feet. 

At the corner she met William with another boy. She knew this other boy, but that was all; he had never shown any disposition to have her knowhim better. But this morning things were different. William and theother boy joined her, William taking her books, while they all walkedalong together. 

Miss MacLauren felt the boy take a sidewise look at her. Something toldher she was looking well, and an intuitive consciousness that the boy, stealing a look at her, thought so too, made Miss MacLauren look better. 

[Illustration: "At the High School gate Miss MacLauren raised her eyesagain. "]

Her spirits soared intoxicatingly. This was a new sensation. MissMacLauren did not know herself, the sound of her gay chatting andlaughter was strange in her ears. Perhaps it was an unexpectedrevelation to the others, too. William was not looking pleased, but theother boy was looking at her. 

Something made Miss MacLauren feel daring. She looked up--suddenly--atthe other boy--square. To be sure, she looked down quicker, that partbeing involuntary, as well as the blush that followed. The blush wasdisconcerting, but the sensation, on the whole, was pleasurable. 

At the High School gate, Miss MacLauren raised her eyes again. Thelowering and the blush could be counted on; the only hard part was toget them raised. 

She was blushing as she turned to go in, she was laughing, too, to hidethe blush. And this was the Elixir of which Rosalie drank; it mounted tothe brain. Intuitively, Miss MacLauren knew, if she could, she woulddrink of it again. She looked backward over her shoulder; the boy waslooking backward, too. Hattie had said that Rosalie was frivolous, thather head was turned; no wonder her head was turned. 

The next Friday, the three newly elect mounted the stairs to thePlatonian doorway. 

Lofty altitudes are expected to be chilly, and the elevation of themansard was as nothing to the mental heights upon which Platonia wasestablished. Platonian welcome had an added chilliness, besides, byreason of its formality. 

The new members hastily found seats. 

On a platform sat Minerva, enthroned; no wonder, for she was a Senior aswell as a President. The lesser lights, on either side, it developed, were Secretary and Treasurer; they looked coldly important. The otherPlatonians sat around. 

The Society was asked to come to order. The Society came to order. Therewas no settling, and re-settling and rustling, and tardy subsidal, as inthe class-room, perhaps because the young ladies, in this case, wantedthe order. 

It went on, though Miss MacLauren was conscious that, for her part, shecomprehended very little of what it was all about, though it soundedimpressive. You called it Parliamentary Ruling. To an outsider, thisseemed almost to mean the longest way round to an end that everybody hadseen from the beginning. Parliamentary Ruling also seemed apt to leadits followers into paths unexpected even by them, from which they didnot know how to get out, and it also led to revelations humiliating tonew members. 

The report of the Treasurer was called for. 

It showed a deficit. 

"Even with the initiation fees and dues from new members?" asked thePresident. 

Even so. 

"Then, " said the President, "we'll have to elect some more. Any newnames for nomination?"

Names, it seemed, were unflatteringly easy to supply, and were rapidlyput up and voted upon for nomination. 

[Illustration: "The three newly elect mounted the stairs to thePlatonian doorway. "]

But suddenly a Platonian was upon her feet; she had been counting. Themembership was limited and they had over-stepped that limit. Thenominations were unconstitutional. 

The Treasurer, at this, was upon her feet, reading from theConstitution: "The revenues of said Society may be increased only bypayment of dues by new members"--she paused, and here reminded them thatthe Society was in debt. 

Discussion waxed hot. A constitution had been looked upon asinvulnerable. 

At last a Platonian arose. She called attention to the fact that timewas passing, and moved that the matter be tabled, and the Societyproceed with the programme for the day. 

Fiercer discussion ensued at this. "Business before pleasure, " said asententious member. "What's a programme to a matter concerning theConstitution itself?"

The sponsor for the motion grew sarcastic. It developed later she was onthe programme. Since the business of the Society was only useful as ameans of conducting the programme, which was the primary object of theSociety's being, she objected to the classing of the programme asunimportant. 

But the programme was postponed. When people begin to handle red tape, there is always a chance that they get enmeshed in its voluminoustangles. 

It was dark when the Society adjourned. Platonians gave up dinner andFriday afternoons to the cause, but what Platonian doubted it beingworth it?

Miss MacLauren and Hattie walked home together. At the corner they met aboy. It was the other boy whose name, as it chanced, was Chester. Hejoined them and they walked along together. Something made MissMacLauren's cheek quite red; it was her blush when the boy joined them. 

A few steps farther on, they met Miss Kilrain, the new teacher at theHigh School. It was just as Miss MacLauren was laughing an embarrassedlaugh to hide the blush. Miss Kilrain looked at them coldly, one wasconscious of her disapproval. 

Miss Kilrain's name had been up that very afternoon in the Society forhonorary membership. All teachers were made honorary members. 

With the Sophomore year, High School pupils had met several new things. Higher Education was one of them. They met it in the person of MissKilrain. It looked forbidding. She lowered her voice in speaking of it, and brought the words forth reverently, coupling it with anotherimpressively uttered thing, which she styled Modern Methods. 

Miss Kilrain walked mincingly on the balls of her feet. She frequentlycalled the attention of her classes to this, which was superfluous, forso ostentatiously did she do her walking, one could not but be aware ofsome unnatural quality in her gait. But Miss Kilrain, that they mightremember to do the same, reminded her classes so often, they all took towalking on their heels. Human nature is contrary. 

Miss Kilrain also breathed from her diaphragm, and urged her pupils totry the same. 

"Don't you do it, " Rosalie cautioned Emmy Lou. "Look at her waist. "

Miss Kilrain came into the High School with some other new things--thenew text-books. 

There had been violent opposition to the new books, and as violentfight for them. The papers had been full of it, and Emmy Lou had readthe particulars of it. 

A Mr. Bryan had been in favour of the change. Emmy Lou remembered him, as a Principal, way back in the beginning of things. Mr. Bryan wasquoted in the papers as saying:

"Modern methods are the oil that lubricates the wheels of progress. "

Professor Koenig, who was opposed to the change, was Principal at theHigh School. He said that the text-books in use were standards, and thatthe Latin Series were classics. 

"Just what is a classic?" Emmy Lou had asked, looking up from the paper. 

Uncle Charlie had previously been reading it himself. 

"Professor Koenig is one, " said he. 

Professor Koenig was little, his beard was grizzled, and the dome of hishead was bald. He wore gold spectacles, and he didn't always hear, atwhich times he would bend his head sideways and peer through hisglasses. "Hey?" Professor Koenig would say. But he knew, one felt thathe knew, and that he was making his classes know, too. One wasconscious of something definite behind Professor Koenig's way of closingthe book over one forefinger and tapping upon it with the other. It wasa purpose. 

What, then, did Uncle Charlie mean by calling Professor Koenig aclassic?

"Just what does it mean, exactly--classic?" persisted Emmy Lou. 

"That which we are apt to put on the shelf, " said Uncle Charlie. 

Oh--Emmy Lou had thought he was talking about Professor Koenig; he meantthe text-books--she understood now, of course. 

But the old books went and the new ones came, and Miss Kilrain came withthem. 

She came in mincingly on the balls of her feet the opening day ofschool, and took her place on the rostrum of the chapel with TheFaculty. Once one would have said with "the teachers, " but in the HighSchool one knew them as The Faculty. Miss Kilrain took her place withthem, but she was not of them; the High School populace, gazing up fromthe groundling's point of view, in serried ranks below, felt that. Itwas as though The Faculty closed in upon themselves and left MissKilrain, with her Modern Methods, outside and alone. 

But Miss Kilrain showed a proper spirit, and proceeded to form herintimacies elsewhere; Miss Kilrain grew quite intimate and friendly withcertain of the girls. 

And now her name had come up for honorary membership in the PlatonianSociety. 

"We've always extended it to The Faculty, " a member reminded them. 

"Besides, she won't bother us, " remarked another. "They never come. "

Miss Kilrain was accorded the honour. 

But she surprised them. She did come; she came tripping up on the ballsof her feet the very next Friday. They heard her deprecating littlecough as she came up the stairs. When one was little, one had played"Let's pretend. " But in the full illusion of the playing, if grown-uppeople had appeared, the play stopped--short. 

It was like that, now--the silence. 

"Oh, " said Miss Kilrain, in the doorway, "go on, or I'll go away. "

They went on lamely enough, but they never went on again. Miss Kilrain, ever after, went on for them, and perforce, they followed. 

But to-day they went on. The secretary had been reading a communication. It was from the Literary Society of the Boy's High School, proposing adebate between the two; it was signed by the secretary, who chanced tobe a boy whose name was Chester. 

Miss MacLauren, in spite of herself, grew red; she had been talkingabout the Platonians and their debates with him quite recently. 

The effect of the note upon the Platonians was visible. A tremendousfluttering agitated the members. It was a proposition calculated toagitate them. 

Rosalie was on that side opposed to the matter. Why was obvious, forRosalie preferred to shine before boys, and she would not shine indebate. 

Hattie was warmly in favour of it, for she was one who would shine. 

Miss MacLauren did not express herself, but when it came to the vote, Miss MacLauren said "Aye. "

The "Ayes" had it. 

Then, all at once, the Platonians became aware of Miss Kilrain, whomthey had momentarily forgotten. Miss Kilrain was sitting in deprecatingsilence, and the Platonians had a sudden consciousness that it was thesilence of disapproval. She sat with the air and the compressed lips ofone who could say much, but since her opinion is not asked----

But just before adjournment Miss Kilrain's lips unclosed, as she aroseapologetically and begged permission to address the chair. She thenacknowledged her pleasure at the compliment of her membership, andexpressed herself as gratified with the earnestness with which some ofthe members were regarding this voluntarily chosen opportunity forself-improvement. These she was sorry to see were in the minority; asfor herself, she must express disapproval of the proposed Debate withthe young gentlemen of the Male High School. It could but lead tofrivolity and she was sorry to see so many in favour of it. Young ladieswhose minds are given to boys and frivolity, are not the material ofwhich to make a literary society. 

As she spoke, Miss Kilrain looked steadily at two members sitting sideby side. Both had voted for the Debate, and both had been seen by MissKilrain, one, at least, laughing frivolously, in company with--a boy. The two members, moving uneasily beneath Miss Kilrain's gaze, wereHattie and Miss MacLauren. 

Miss Kilrain then went on to say, that she had taught in another school, a school where the ideals of Higher Education were being realised by theuse of Modern Methods. The spirit of this school had been Earnestness, and this spirit had found voice in a school paper. As a worthier fieldfor the talent she recognised in the Platonian Society, Miss Kilrain nowproposed this society start a paper, which should be the organ for theSchool. 

It was only a suggestion, but did it appeal to the talent she recognisedbefore her, they could bear in mind that she stood ready to assist them, with the advice and counsel of one experienced in the work. 

Going down stairs, Miss Kilrain put her arm about one of the girls, andsaid it was a thing she admired, an earnest young spirit. The girl wasRosalie, who blushed and looked embarrassed. 

That meeting was the last of the Platonian gatherings that might becalled personally conducted. The Platonians hardly knew whether theywanted a paper or not, when they found themselves full in the businessof making one. Miss Kilrain was the head and front of things. Shemarshalled her forces with the air of one who knows what she wants. Herforces were that part of the Society which had voted against the Debate. Miss Kilrain was one of those who must lead, at something; if she couldnot be leader on the rostrum, she descended to the ranks. 

Miss MacLauren was deeply interested, and felt she had a right to be, for these things, newspapers and such, were in her family. Consideringher recognised literary qualifications, she even had secret aspirationstoward a position on the staff. On a scrap of paper in class she hadsurreptitiously tried her hand on a tentative editorial, after thisfashion:

"It is our desire to state at the start that this paper does not intendto dabble in the muddy pool of politics. "

Miss MacLauren heartily indorsed the proposed paper, and like MissKilrain, felt that it would be a proper field for unused talent. 

But her preference for a staff position was not consulted. Rosalie, however, became part of that body. Rosalie was a favourite with MissKilrain. Hattie, the hitherto shining light, was detailed to securesubscribers; was this all that honours in Algebra, Latin, and Chemistrycould do for one?

Miss MacLauren found herself on a committee for advertisements. By meansof advertisements, Miss Kilrain proposed to make the paper pay foritself. 

The treasurer, because of a proper anxiety over this question ofexpenditure, was chairman; in private life the treasurer was Lucy--LucyBerry. 

"Write to this address, " said Miss Kilrain to the committee, giving thema slip of paper. "I met one of the firm when he was in the city lastweek to see a friend of mine, Professor Bryan, on business. " MissKilrain, always gave the details of her private happenings to herlisteners. "Just mention my name in writing, and say I told you to askfor an advertisement. "

The Chairman gave the slip to Miss MacLauren to attend to. MissMacLauren had seen the name before on all the new text-books this yearintroduced into the High School. 

"How will I write this?" Emmy Lou inquired of Uncle Charlie that night. "This letter to the International School Book Company?"

"What's that?" asked Uncle Charlie. 

Emmy Lou explained. 

Uncle Charlie looked interested. "Here to see Professor Bryan, was he?H'm. Moving against Koenig faster even than I predicted. "

Miss Kilrain had instructed her committee further as to what to do. 

"You meet me on Saturday, " said Lucy to Emily, "and we will do MainStreet together. "

She met Lucy on Saturday. Lucy had a list of places. 

"You--you're chairman, " said Emmy Lou, "you ask----"

It was at the door of the first place on the list, a large, opendoorway, and it and the sidewalk were blocked with boxes and hogsheadsand men rolling things into drays. 

Lucy and Emmy Lou went in; they went on going in, back through a lanebetween sacks and things stacked high; it was dark and cellar-like, andsmelled of sugar and molasses. At last they reached a glass door, whichwas open. Emmy Lou stopped and held back, so did Lucy. 

"You--you're chairman--" said Emmy Lou. It was mean, she felt it wasmean, she never felt meaner. 

Lucy went forward; she was pretty, her cheeks were bright and her hairwaved up curly despite its braiding. She was blushing. 

A lot of men were at desks, dozens of men it seemed at first, thoughreally there were four, three standing, one in his shirt sleeves. Theylooked up. 

The fourth man was in a revolving chair; he was in shirt sleeves, too, and had a cigar in his mouth; his face was red, and his hat was on theback of his head. 

"Well?" said the man, revolving just enough to see them. He lookedcross. 

Lucy explained. Her cheeks were very red now. 

At first the man was testy, he did not seem to understand. 

Lucy's cheeks were redder, so Emmy Lou came forward, thinking she mightmake it plainer. She was blushing, too. They both explained; they bothgazed at the man eagerly while they explained; they both looked pretty, but then they did not know that. 

The man wheeled round a little more and listened. Then he got up. Hepushed his hat back and scratched his head and nodded as he surveyedthem. Then he put a hand in pocket and pursed his lips as he looked downon them. 

"And what am I to get, if I give you the advertisement?" asked the man. He was smiling jocosely, and here he pinched Lucy's cheek playfullybetween a thumb and forefinger. 

Emmy Lou had kept her wits. She carried much paraphernalia under herarm. Miss Kilrain had posted them thoroughly as to their business. 

"And what, then, do I get?" repeated the man. 

Emmy Lou was producing a paper. "A receipt, " said Emmy Lou. 

The man shouted. So did the other men. 

Emmy Lou and Lucy were bewildered. 

"It's worth the price, " said the man. He promised them theadvertisement, and walked back through the cellar-like store with themto the outer door. 

"Come again, " said the man. 

On the way to the next place they met Emmy Lou's Uncle Charlie. It wasnear his office. He was a pleasant person to meet downtown, as itusually meant a visit to a certain alluring candy-place. He was feelingeven now in his change pocket as he came up. 

"How now, " said he; "and where to?"

Emmy Lou explained. She had not happened to mention this part about thepaper at home. 

"What?" said Uncle Charlie, "you have been--Say that over again----"

Emmy Lou said it over again. 

No more advertisements were secured that morning. No more weresolicited. Emmy Lou found herself going home with a lump in her throat. Uncle Charlie had never spoken to her in that tone before. 

Lucy had gone on to her father's store, as Uncle Charlie had suggestedshe ask permission before she seek business farther. 

There were others of Uncle Charlie's way of thinking. On Monday thePlatonians were requested to meet Professor Koenig in his office. Professor Koenig was kindly but final. He had just heard of the paperand its methods. He had aimed to conduct his school on different lines. It was his request that the matter be dropped. 

Miss Kilrain was indignant. She was excited; she was excited andunguarded. Miss Kilrain said more, perhaps, than she realised. 

"He's only helping to pull the roof down on his own head, " said MissKilrain; "it's only another proof of his inability to adapt himself toModern Methods. "

Next month was December. The High School adjourned for the holidays. Butthe Platonians were busy. They were preparing for a debate, a debatewith the High School boys. Professor Koenig had thought the debate anexcellent thing, and offered his library to the Society for use inpreparation, saying that a friendly rivalry between the two schoolswould be an excellent and stimulating thing. 

These days Miss Kilrain was holding aloof from the Society and itsdeteriorating tendencies. She shook her head and looked at the memberssorrowfully. 

The debate was set for the first Friday in the new year. 

One morning in the holidays Uncle Charlie looked up from his paper. "Youare going to have a new Principal, " said he. 

"New Principal--" said Emmy Lou, "and Professor Koenig?"

"Like other classics, " said Uncle Charlie, "he is being put on theshelf. They have asked him to resign. "

"And who is the new one?" asked Emmy Lou. 

"The gentleman named as likely is Professor Bryan. "

"Oh, " said Emmy Lou, "no. "

"I am of the opinion, therefore, " said Uncle Charlie, "that the'Platonian's Mercurial Gazette' will make its appearance yet. "

"If it is Professor Bryan, " said Emmy Lou, "there's no need of myworking any more on the Debate. "

"Why not?" said Uncle Charlie. 

"If it's Mr. Bryan, he'll never let them come, he thinks they are awfulthings--boys. "

Miss MacLauren was right about it; the debate did not take place. Platonian affairs seemed suddenly tame. Would a strictly feminineOlympus pall?

She came into Aunt Cordelia's room one afternoon. "There's to be adancing club on Friday evenings, " she explained, "and I'm invited. "

Which was doubly true, for both William and Chester had asked her. Shewas used to having William say he'd come round and go along; she had hada boy join her and walk home--but this----

"You can't do it all, " said Aunt Cordelia positively. "That Societykeeps you till dark. "

[Illustration: "She stood, fingering the window curtain, irresolute. "]

Emmy Lou knew when Aunt Cordelia's tones were final. She had fearedthis. She stood--fingering the window-curtain--irresolute. In her heartshe felt her literary qualifications were not being appreciated inPlatonian circles anyway. A dancing club--it sounded alluring. Thewindow was near the bureau with its mirror--she stole a look. Shewas--yes--she knew now she was pretty. 

Late that afternoon Miss MacLauren dropped a note in the post. It was anote tendering her resignation to the Platonian Society. 

 THE END