She had held to Auntie's hand who took her to school that first day, she remembered that, and cried bitterly because she was frightened. And then? What had happened then?
Why Amanthus had happened then, the most lovely little girl Selina seemed ever to have seen, with bronze shoes on with tassels. And because of Amanthus and the shoes, and more particularly perhaps, the tassels, she had let go of Auntie's hand and consented to stay.
And then Maudie had happened, a taller little girl with plaits that were almost red. And after her a little, little girl with black curls in tiers, whose name turned out to be Juliette, and next a little girl with straight hair and big eyes named Adele. And following these, some little boys occurred named Bliss and Brent and Sam and Tommy.
And on this first day did lessons begin? Just as lessons were to begin this morning with William? If only she could recall!
Miss Dellie Black taught that school, and as Mamma intimated about the stiff collar and the cuffs, her alpaca apron and the gloves upon her hands with their fingers neatly cut off across the knuckles, seemed to be in keeping with her calling. She had a ruler and rapped with it, and a pointer with which she pointed to a primer chart and a blackboard.
But what had she taught? And how had she taught it? Selina shut her mental eyes as it were, as she went along, and concentrated all her forces at recalling.
Absurd! This picture that came to her of that first day! Auntie had gone, and the class came out and stood in a row before Miss Dellie because she said stand so. And she stood before the chart with the pointer and with a tap of the wood on the page beneath a black mark, said, "This is A."
Everybody was polite about it, but even so Miss Dellie tapped again and harder as though they had disputed it, and said again and louder, "This is A."
Everybody accepted it again, but Miss Dellie seemed to want proof of this.
"Now say it after me, everybody, 'This is A.'"