t it in the person of Miss
Kilrain. It looked forbidding. She lowered her voice in speaking of it,
and brought the words forth reverently, coupling it with another
impressively uttered thing, which she styled Modern Methods.

Miss Kilrain walked mincingly on the balls of her feet. She frequently
called the attention of her classes to this, which was superfluous, for
so ostentatiously did she do her walking, one could not but be aware of
some unnatural quality in her gait. But Miss Kilrain, that they might
remember to do the same, reminded her classes so often, they all took to
walking on their heels. Human nature is contrary.

Miss Kilrain also breathed from her diaphragm, and urged her pupils to
try the same.

"Don't you do it," Rosalie cautioned Emmy Lou. "Look at her waist."

Miss Kilrain came into the High School with some other new things--the
new text-books.

There had been violent opposition to the new books, and as violent
fight for them. The papers had been full of it, and Emmy Lou had read
the particulars of it.

A Mr. Bryan had been in favour of the change. Emmy Lou remembered him,
as a Principal, way back in the beginning of things. Mr. Bryan was
quoted in the papers as saying:

"Modern methods are the oil that lubricates the wheels of progress."

Professor Koenig, who was opposed to the change, was Principal at the
High School. He said that the text-books in use were standards, and that
the Latin Series were classics.

"Just what is a classic?" Emmy Lou had asked, looking up from the paper.

Uncle Charlie had previously been reading it himself.

"Professor Koenig is one," said he.

Professor Koenig was little, his beard was grizzled, and the dome of his
head was bald. He wore gold spectacles, and he didn't always hear, at
which times he would bend his head sideways and peer through his
glasses. "Hey?" Professor Koenig would say. But he knew, one felt that
he knew, and that he was making his classes know, too. One was
conscious of something definite behind Professor Koenig's way of closing
the book over one forefinger and tapping upon it with the other. It was
a purpose.

What, then, did Uncle Charlie mean by calling Professor Koenig a
classic?

"Just what does it mean, exactly--classic?" persisted Emmy Lou.

"That which we are apt to put on the shelf," said Uncle Charlie.

Oh--Emmy Lou had thought he was talking about Professor Koenig; he meant
the text-books--she understood now, of cour