“You ought to not leave me!  You ought to not leave m-e-e!”

“He wants to go everywhere big people go.”

“Yes,” responded Bab.  “Such babies think they are as old as anybody.  Oh, see that Mexican dog, how straight his tail stands up!”

“Like your hair,” sighed Lucy.  “If my hair would only be straight like that!”

And neither of them smiled at this droll remark.

“But there’s one thing we must remember, Bab.  I’m glad I thought of it.  We must say, ‘Miss’ to Kyzie.”

“Miss what?”

“Miss Dunlee.  If we forget it, she’ll feel dreadfully.”  And then they began to hum a tune and keep step to the music.  They often did this as they walked.

Kyzie had gone on before them.  Her father was with her, but she had the key in her hand and opened the schoolhouse door.  They walked in together, and Kyzie locked the door behind them, for several children were waiting about who must not enter till the bell rang.

The schoolhouse floor was very clean; the new teacher herself had swept it.  On the walls were large wreaths of holly, which had been left over from last Christmas, when the Sunday-school had had a celebration here.  At one end of the room was a raised platform with a large desk on it.  On the wall over the desk was a motto made of red pepper berries, only the words were so close together that you could not make them out unless you knew beforehand what they were.

“That means, ‘Christ is risen,’” explained Kyzie.  “It looks dreadfully, but they didn’t want it taken down, I’ll make another by and by.”

There were blackboards on three sides of the room; quite clean they looked now.  The desks and benches were rude ones of black oak, and had been hacked by jack-knives.  Kyzie regretted this, but supposed the boys had not been taught any better.  There was only one chair in the room, a large armed chair for the little teacher, and it stood solemnly on the platform before the desk.

“You see, papa, I’ve brought a big blank-book to write the names in.  The pen and inkstand belong here.  Ahem, I begin to tremble,” said she, and looked at her mother’s watch which she wore in her belt.  “It’s five minutes of nine.”

“Oh, you’ll do famously,” said Mr. Dunlee.  “And now, daughter, I’ll wish you good-by and the very best luck in the world.”

“Good-by, papa,” said Kyzie, and locked the door after him.  “I wish I’d asked him to stay till I called them in and took their names.  Papa is so dignified that it would have been a great help.  My, I feel as if I weren’t more than six years old!”

She walked the floor, watch in hand.  “Fifty seconds of nine.”

She went to the bell-rope and pulled with both hands.  It was quite needless to use so much force.  The bell was directly over her head; and instead of the “mellow lin-lan-lone” she expected, it made a din so tremendous that it almost seemed as if the roof were about to fall upon her.  At the same time there was a scrambling and pounding at the door.  The children were trying to get in.