Evening Star Newspaper, July 25, 1937, Page 70

THIS WEEK A very young person meets a little test of character in a very big way. 44 gs THERE something more interesting go- ing on outside than there is in the class- room, Lucy?” Lucy jérked her round gray eyes away from their long contemplation of the prairie. The prairie she hated and feared so. Where the wind never stopped blowing and people dried up and blew away or else rode into the dis- tant purple haze and were swallowed up. You never caught up with the edges of it. And things disappeared on its rim. The teacher’s voice fell on her drumming ears and her cheeks felt like flames as she met the concentrated stare of the entire fourth grade. She shook her head dumbly. She didn’t dare speak. She might cry. And one doesn’t cry in public when one is nine years old. For a long moment her cheeks burned furiously and then she dropped her lashes to her round cheeks to hide the sud- den te.. tale tears. How long had they been watching her? After a moment Miss Wil- son’s voice, a shade gentler and wrapped around with a little compassionate smile, went on: “It is a nice day outside, Lucy. We'll be having recess in half an hour, but in the meantime try a little harder to pay attention to what is going on in the class.” “Yes, yes, Miss Wilson.” One stubby finger traced the outline of a carefully stitched - patch in the checked gingham i dress. “I was explaining about the State Field Day that is to be held in Omaha on May ninth. Every school that can, is to send representatives to take part in the games and marching drills. It is to be a state-wide contest. There will be prizes for the schools and for individuals.” She con- sulted the paper in her hand. ‘“We are send- ing four pupils. The fourth grade is very much honored to be chosen to send two of these people. The seventh grade is sending the other two. We were selected because our class has more stars than any other for good attendance, deportment, and progress in our lessons.”” Her pointed nose was pink and her faded blue eyes suspiciously bright as she put down the paper and cleared her throat before going on: *I am so proud of you, children. You have made me very happy. I — I wish you could all be sent. Mr. and Mrs. Galloway have offered to use their big wagon and take the delegates. Mr. Galloway’s brother, who has a farm just outside of Omaha, will keep you overnight.” Lucy clasped her hands tightly together. Oh — to be chosen! To march! To carry a flag in the wind! To ride away from the hungriness of the prairie and feel the close- ness of houses and people! Then Miss Wilson was talking again: “I know you are wondering who is to be sent. The principal, Mr. Kennedy, and Miss Burgess, who teaches the first, second and third grades, and I have consulted together on this matter. The two pupils who have been chosen have been carefully considered. They have been chosen for several reasons. Of course deportment and attendance counted for a lot.” Lucy cast a despairing glance around the room and met the grave brown eyes of Rachel. Her best friend. Rachel knew it was the bronchitis that had kept her out of school for a week. She hadn’t wanted to stay home. A tender and beautiful story by OLIVE THOMAS **MR. KENNEDY AND | WILL CALL ON YOUR PARENTS TONIGHT TO llustroted by Joseph Simont > (1) "[ I I "' EXPLAIN TO THEM" She didn’t like home very much — her father — Her hand flew to her mouth as though she had spoken the words out loud. What an awful thought! She must be bad all the way through. ‘. . . another reason was the relationship of the individual pupil to his fellow pupils, both in the classroom and at play. We felt that that was very important. As one grows older it becomes more and more important.” Miss Wilson smiled as though to herself. “‘Our first choice goes to a little girl whom you all know very well. She is not, perhaps, the brightest pupil in the class, but she is one of the most diligent. She has come rain, sleet or snow — when she was able. I have seen her often divide her simple lunch with some- one who has forgotten his — or, perhaps, who never had one. I have seen her braids pulled until the tears came to her eyes, but never once did she tattle. I have never known her to lie or fail to take her share of the blame. Quir first choice is Lucy Harden.” Our first choice is Lucy Harden! Lucy Harden! Why she — Lucy Harden! As the entire class again swept her with their eyes she let out a deep breath and kept her gaze steady. Then a sudden, jarring thought hit her fast-throbbing heart. Suppose her father wouldn't let her go? “And our second choice goes to one who is almost a stranger here. To a little girl who has never missed a day of school. Who has had the best marks in her class. Who has borne the hostility and bullying directed at her in a gentle, almost forgiving way. Our second choice is Rachel Goldman.” The clock ticked very loudly in the silence. And then there was the rustle of sighs, of whispered words, of a giggle in the back of the room. “Lucy and Rachel, if you will both wait after school I will tell you more about it. And now we will have our geography lesson. Page ninety-seven."’ Lucy found herself holding her book up- side down. Rachel had thrown her a swift, thrilling glance from across the room. To think of having the long ride together. To march together and sing MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE! Bands and banners! Trees — lots of rustling green trees. Her throat felt dry with the ever-present dust from the prairie. The new soles on her shoes squeaked as she went to the front of the room to the water bucket that stood so cool and gleaming in its corner. The water felt like silver running down inside of her. It felt bright and cold. Suddenly the bell rang and school was out. The minute the last of the line had left the room Rachel and Lucy were standing breath- less by Miss Wilson’s desk. “There isn’t much to tell you, children. Most of the details will be taken up with your parents.” She looked sharply at Lucy as she heard a quick breath drawn. “What is it?" “I was wondering — I mean — I hope The pale freckles on her little snub nose were submerged by the wave of color that swept her face. Her father was a good man. Surely he wouldn’t deprive her of this tremendous pleasure. Miss Wilson watched the rosy face. “Mr. Kennedy and I will call on your parents tonight and explain to them. We want you both to go.” Rachel’s lashes flickered for a moment before she spoke: ‘“You don’t have to bother with my folks, Miss Wilson. 1 — my mother’s been in the hospital for a long time now and she wouldn’t care — and my father would like for me to have the chance. You needn’t bother.” You mustn’t bother! Lucy’s eyes smarted as she recognized the shadow standing behind Rachel’s words. The shadow of dirt and poverty. Of a gray shack on a wind-swept plain. Of yellow dust that gritted underfoot ” L] H) ] Magazine Section LE HITE "[ I ll “’ and in the corn bread and thin gravy. Of Solomon, the big, helpless man who was Rachel’s father and who tried so desperately to wring a living from the rocks and dust. Lucy, who had always thought that Miss Wilson looked rather like a picked chicken, saw a softness and understanding in her eyes that transformed her face. “Thank you for telling me, Rachel. It will save me a long buggy ride tonight. Lucy, tell Reverend Harden that we will ride by right after supper. One thing I must tell you about. You are both to wear white dresses and white shoes. You will have streamers to pin across the front of your dresses to tell where you have come from. The one requirement is that you be all in white. It’s going to be a pretty sight.” On the way home Lucy watched the yellow - dust curl up between Rachel’s bare toes. She felt thirsty again. Her voice seemed to stick way down in her throat. Rachel hadn't said anything since they had left the schoolhouse. And there was so much to say. “I can’t go, Lucy.” Rachel’s voice had the grittiness of the dust in it. “You can’t go? Why — why not?”" Lucy had stopped dead in her tracks. “Because.” “Because — because why?’’ Lucy’s round blue eyes swept searchingly over the con- trolled features of Rachel. The answer wasn’t there and Rachel wasn't going to tell. The loss of sharing all the thrill and excitement with Rachel was as nothing compared with this sudden barring of a familiar path. Her miserable eyes watched the dust eddy around her feet. Rachel’s bare feet were yellow with it. Bare feet — bare — what did it remind her of? Bare feet? “It’s going to be a pretty sight . . . white dresses and white shoes.” Then she remembered heavy black shoes with copper plates on the toes to keep them from _