Against two walls were rows of pegs, on which were hung the coats and hats and dinner baskets, or dinner pails, of the pupils. In the corner was a shelf with a dingy bucket upon it and a rusty tin dipper hanging beside it.
Finally, Carolyn May came slowly back to her seat. Miss Minnie was busy with a class of older pupils. Freda asked—of course out of the corner of her mobile mouth:
Carolyn May shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t see any faucet.”
“Faucet! What’s that for?” demanded the other little girl.
“Why, to get the water out of. Isn’t there a cold-water tank? And don’t you have paper cups?” demanded Carolyn May. “I didn’t see a thing like what we use in our school in New York.”
“Mercy me, Carolyn May!” fairly hissed Freda. “What are you talking about? We don’t have water laid on in the schoolhouse like they do at home. The pump’s in the yard. And whoever heard of paper cups? Why, paper won’t hold water!”
“Yes, they do,” the other little girl said eagerly. “They are all folded, and you take one and open it, and it holds water.”