And Emmy Lou peeped surreptitiously at the blue ribbon in her Second Reader. And at home she placed her dolls in line and spelt the back lessons faithfully, with comfort in her knowledge of them. And the old battered doll, dear to her heart, wore oftenest a medal of shining tinfoil. For even Hattie, in one of Kitty’s off weeks, had won the medal.
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.
“Emmy Lou spelled steadily.”
Emmy Lou wondered what trustees were. She asked Hattie. Hattie explained. “They are men, in black clothes. You daren’t move in your seat. They’re something like ministers.” Hattie knew everything.
“Will they come here, in our room?” asked Emmy Lou. It was terrible to be at the front desk. Emmy Lou remembered the music man. He still pointed 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’s room seemed always ready, and the Principal brought company to it accordingly.
It was after recess they came—the Principal, the Trustee (there was just one Trustee), and a visiting gentleman.