“Hello, Catherine,” said Roger. “Good morning, Elizabeth Ann. How are you, Doris? Are you glad or sorry school has started?”
Roger fell into step beside Elizabeth Ann. He carried a small brown paper parcel in his hand—his lunch, probably, thought Elizabeth Ann, who also suspected that there could not be more than a couple of sandwiches in such a small package. Two sandwiches were not much lunch for a hungry boy, she thought. Aunt Grace had insisted on making four apiece for her and Doris.
“I like school,” said Elizabeth Ann, as Doris didn’t answer and Catherine continued to stare straight ahead. “I’m not sure about this school, but maybe I’ll like it.”
“If you’re in our class, you’ll like school,” declared Roger. “We have the finest teacher in the whole school, haven’t we, Cathy?”
Catherine whirled upon him.
“Roger Calendar, if you don’t stop calling me ‘Cathy,’ I’ll do something awful to you!” she scolded. “I’ve told you twenty times I hate it.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Roger. “I keep forgetting. Isn’t Miss Owen a nice teacher, Catherine?”
“You may like her,” she said coldly. “I never could see anything in her to rave about. Sometimes she gets too cross for words.”
“She’s a fine teacher,” declared Roger. “You’ll like her, Elizabeth Ann.”