Emmy Lou Part 18

The bell rang. The cla.s.s filed in. Sadie's eyes were red. Miss f.a.n.n.y tried not to see her--her eyes were chronically red. But so insistently and ostentatiously did Sadie continue to mop them, that Miss f.a.n.n.y was compelled to take notice.

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She and her index finger pored over the page."]

Miss f.a.n.n.y was outdone. She said they had better all be little Heretics than little Pharisees; she said she only needed a few infant Turks and Infidels, and her sectarian Babel would be complete.

That day there were more notes. Miss f.a.n.n.y gave them this time. To Sadie and Mary Agatha and Rebecca and Sally among others.

Emmy Lou heard about the notes afterward. Each said the same thing. Each said that Sadie or Rebecca or Mary Agatha or whichever little girl it might be, had repeatedly fallen below; that she had not for weeks given her mind to her lessons, and she could not conscientiously be recommended 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 is one's relative who comes in. Sadie's mamma was a pale, little lady who cried. She cried now. She said that for Sadie to be kept back for no other reason than her natural piety, was evidence of a personal dislike. She said Miss f.a.n.n.y had upheld another little girl who called Sadie a Heretic.

Miss f.a.n.n.y asked Sadie's mamma to sit down on the bench. Recess was near, and then Miss f.a.n.n.y could talk.

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

Miss f.a.n.n.y asked Rebecca's mamma to sit down on the bench. It would soon be 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's mamma. The flower in her bonnet shook when she talked. She said Sally had refused to go to church for fear of Miss f.a.n.n.y. And because Sally had been made to do her religious duty she was being threatened with failure----

Miss f.a.n.n.y interrupted Sally's mamma to say there was the bench, if she cared to sit down. At recess Miss f.a.n.n.y would be at leisure.

Mr. Bryan threw open the door. Mary Agatha grew pink as Mr. Bryan waved in a slender lady with trailing silken skirts and reproachful eyes. It was Mary Agatha's mamma. She said that even with the note, threatening Mary Agatha with failure, she could not have believed it true; that Miss f.a.n.n.y disliked Mary Agatha because of the seat to herself; that Miss f.a.n.n.y had cla.s.sed Mary Agatha with Turks and Infidels--but since Mr.

Bryan had just admitted downstairs that he had had to caution Miss f.a.n.n.y about this matter of religion----

Miss f.a.n.n.y looked at Mr. Bryan. Then she rang the bell. It was not yet recess-time; but since Miss f.a.n.n.y rang the bell, the Fifth Reader Cla.s.s filed out wonderingly. Miss f.a.n.n.y, looking at Mr. Bryan, had a queer smile in her eyes. Yet it was not as though Miss f.a.n.n.y's smile was laughter.

But, after all, Sadie and Mary Agatha and Sally and Rebecca did try at Examination. Miss f.a.n.n.y, it seemed, insisted they should. A teacher from the Grammar School came and examined the cla.s.s.

Later, one went back to find out. There was red ink written across the reports 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 had pa.s.sed for the Grammar School.

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

Mary Agatha's Papa did see to it, and the papas of Sadie and Sally and Rebecca supported him. They called it religious persecution; and they wanted Miss f.a.n.n.y removed.

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

Uncle Charlie owned a newspaper. It was for Miss f.a.n.n.y. And Miss f.a.n.n.y's grandpapa, talking at the gate with Uncle Charlie, struck the pavement hard with his cane; he'd see about it, too, said her grandpapa. Emmy Lou heard him.

But when it came time for the Board to meet, Miss f.a.n.n.y, it seemed, had resigned. 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 her merit and record as Teacher, has appointed her Princ.i.p.al of the new school 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 f.a.n.n.y; she could not bear to contemplate her in the guise of Princ.i.p.al. One could never like Miss f.a.n.n.y then any more.

Miss f.a.n.n.y's mamma had cried because Miss f.a.n.n.y was a teacher, Emmy Lou remembered. But that was nothing to this.

Some teachers could be nice. Miss f.a.n.n.y had been nice. But to be a Princ.i.p.al!

Emmy Lou had known but one type. She looked up from her plate. "I reckon Miss f.a.n.n.y'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 the democratic inst.i.tutions of her country.

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

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

But it was not a school--it was only a Parlour; and there being a pupil more 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 "my dear."

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

Upon consultation, Uncle Charlie said, let her do as she pleased, since damage 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 once began to learn things. For instance, at Grammar School, one no longer speaks of boys in undertones. One a.s.sumes an att.i.tude of having always known boys. At Grammar School, cla.s.ses attend chapel. There are boys in Chapel, still separated from the girls, to be sure, after the manner of the goats from the sheep; but after one learns to laugh from the corners of 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 look out of the corners of one's eyes, and Emmy Lou could only find sufficient to look straight, which is altogether a different thing. But the boy saw her. Emmy Lou looked away quickly.

Once the boy's name had been Billy; later, at dancing school, it was Willie; now, the Princ.i.p.al who conducted Chapel Exercises called him William.