to me," she said.

Miss Lizzie took the book from Sadie and looked at it.

Emmy Lou had just failed quite miserably at Problems. Miss Lizzie's face
changed. It was as if a white rage passed over it. She stepped to the
stove and cast the book in.

The very flames turned green and gold.

It was gone--the world of glamour, of glory, of dreams--the world of
Emmy Lou and Rosalie, of Alice and Amanthus.

It was not Emmy Lou. It was a cry through Emmy Lou. Emmy Lou was just
beginning to grow tall, just losing the round-eyed faith of babyhood.

"_You hadn't any right._"

It was terrible. The Fourth Reader class failed to breathe.

Emmy Lou must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou would not.

The hours of school dragged on. Emmy Lou sat silent.

Rosalie looked at her. Laughter had died in Rosalie's cheek. Rosalie
pressed her fingers tight in misery for Emmy Lou.

Sadie looked at Emmy Lou. Sadie wept.

Hattie looked at Emmy Lou. Hattie straightened her straight little back
and ground her little teeth. Hattie was of that blood which has risen up
and slain for affection's sake.

This was an Emmy Lou nobody knew--white-cheeked, brooding, defiant.
There are strange potentialities in every Emmy Lou.

The last bell rang.

Emmy Lou must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou would not.

Everyone went--everyone but Emmy Lou and Miss Lizzie--casting backward
looks of awe and commiseration.

To be left alone in that nearness solitude entails meant torture, the
torture of loathing, of shrinking, of revulsion.

She must say she was sorry. Emmy Lou was not sorry.

She sat dry-eyed. The tears would come later. More than once this year
they had come after home and Aunt Cordelia's arms were reached. And Aunt
Cordelia had thought it was because one was growing too fast. And Aunt
Cordelia had rocked and patted and sung about "The Frog Who Would
A-Wooing Go."

And then Emmy Lou had laughed because Aunt Cordelia did not know that
The Frog and Jenny Wren and The Little Wee Bear were gone into the past,
and The Green and Gold Book come to take their place.

The bell had rung at two o'clock. At three Tom came. Tom was the
house-boy. He was suave and saddle-coloured and smiling. He had come for
Emmy Lou.

Miss Lizzie looked at Emmy Lou. Emmy Lou looked straight ahead.

Then Miss Lizzie looked at Tom. Miss Lizzie could do a good deal with a
look. Tom became uneasy, apologetic, guilty. Then he went. It took a
good deal to wilt Tom.

At half-pa