When eyes clouded with suspicion and worry lines were deep on dark young brows, Roman had a sure way of breaking up the tension and making them laugh. He would point suddenly with comical sternness to Otis and Lotus and demand to know how they spelled “Mississippi.” Those two serious children would instantly spring up from their bench and, holding hands, they would solemnly pronounce and spell out: “Mississippi! M-i-s-s-i-double-s-i-p-p-i!”

Their earnestness combined with the droll suggestiveness of the last four letters spoken separately never failed to convulse the other children with laughter. The only ones who kept straight faces were the twins, who looked questioningly at Roman, and Roman who met their look with the quiet assurance that they had spelled it right.

The country children also found nursery rhymes hilarious, a special favorite being:

“Hey diddle diddle,

The cat and the fiddle,

The cow jumped over the moon!”

Sarah was happy in her school, happy with Roman and with the children. Aunt Pea’s curiosity was roused only after Sarah had several times slipped away from the breakfast table, claiming that she must attend her own school and be on time. Penelope finally asked to be allowed to join her, and when on one occasion a young boy asked her a question, supposing her to be a teacher since she was obviously not a pupil, she answered, “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies!” which the children had never heard, and which they picked up and repeated immediately and so many times that Penelope’s head was quite turned by her success. After that she felt bound to go to the school for a little while every day that Sarah went. She sat quietly, always interested— How could she not be?—often entranced. To observe young ones learning is headier wine than Omar’s.

Juanita came too, bringing Rachel with her, Rachel her excuse as well as her reason. She would sit there and absorb as much as she could understand, and she found that she understood more all the time, without fear of being asked to answer questions, to perform—the thing indeed that had made her shun the school as much as she could when she had been of an age to attend.

Sarah was happy.

Sometimes—not often—Selma and Pauline would come and sit just outside the classes, whether they were being held in or out of doors, but they never gave evidence of seeing the others, and never admitted to being seen. Solid as a block of sugar or salt, they would sit there silently, everyone conspiring with them to accept them as invisible guests. This too was a useful lesson for the children, and one they learned quicker than multiplication tables, or how to spell “Rhode Island.” Their sensibilities were acute, and they loved making believe.