tire, often sporting a dark green
cashmere basque trimmed with black velvet ribbon and gilt buttons. It
was double breasted and when it surmounted a pair of trousers cut to the
right length but not altered in width, the effect would have startled
any more exacting community than ours. Jacob was always tired and went
through his tasks rather languidly, greatly preferring work to play. All
diversions such as marching and circle games struck him as pleasant
enough, but childish, and if participated in at all, to be gone through
with in an absent-minded and supercillious manner. There were moments
when his exotic little personality, standing out from all the rest like
an infant Artful Dodger or a caricature of Beau Brummel, seemed to make
him wholly alien to the group, yet he was docile and obedient, his only
fault being a tendency to strong and highly colored language. To make
the marching more effective and develope a better sense of time, I
instituted a very simple and rudimentary form of orchestra with a
triangle, a tambourine, and finally a drum. When the latter instrument
made its first appearance Jacob sought a secluded spot by the piano and
gave himself up to a fit of fairly courteous but excessive mirth. "_A
drum!_" he exclaimed, between his fits of laughter. "_What'll yer have
next? This is a h--l of a school!_"

Just behind Jacob sat two little pink-cheeked girls five and four years
old, Violet and Rose Featherstone. Violet brought the younger Rose every
day and was a miracle of sisterly devotion. I did not see the mother for
some months after the little pair entered, as she had work that kept
her from home during the hours when it was possible for me to call upon
her, and she lived at a long distance from the kindergarten in a
neighborhood from which none of our other children came.

I had no anxiety about them however, as the looks, behavior, and
clothing of all my children was always an absolute test of the
conditions prevailing in the home. What was my surprise then, one day to
receive a note from a certain Mrs. Hannah Googins, a name not in my
register.

She said her Emma Abby had been bringing home pieces of sewing and
weaving of late, marked "Violet Featherstone." She would like to see
some of Emma Abby's own work and find out whether she had taken that of
any other child by mistake. A long and puzzling investigation followed
the receipt of this letter and I found that the romantic little Emma
Abby Goog