When Sandy arrived on the school grounds with his face shining, he found the yard already full of shouting kids. On the girls’ side he saw Willie-Mae jumping rope. Sandy found Earl and Buster and some boys whom he knew playing mumble-peg on the boys’ side, and he joined them. When the bell rang, they all crowded into the building, as the marching-lines had not yet been formed. Miss Abigail Minter, the principal, stood at the entrance, and there were big signs on all the room doors marking the classes. Sandy found the fifth-grade room upstairs and went in shyly. It was full of whispering youngsters huddled in little groups. He saw two colored children among them, both girls whom he didn’t know, but there were no colored boys. Soon the teacher rapped briskly on her desk, and silence ensued.

“Take seats, all of you, please,” she rasped out. “Anywhere now until we get order.” She rapped again impatiently with the ruler. “Take seats at once.” So the children each selected a desk and sat down, most of the girls at the front of the room and most of the boys together at the back, where they could play and look out the windows.

Then the teacher, middle-aged and wearing glasses, passed out tiny slips of paper to each child in the front row, with the command that they be handed backwards, so that every student received one slip.

“Now, write your names on the paper, turning it longways,” she said. “Nothing but your names, that’s all I want today. You will receive forms to fill out later, but I want to get your seats assigned this morning, however.”

Amid much confusion and borrowing of pencils, the slips were finally signed in big awkward letters, and collected by the teacher, who passed up and down the aisles. Then she went to her desk, and there was a delightful period of whispering and wriggling as she sorted the slips and placed them in alphabetical order. Finally she finished.

“Now,” she said, “each child rise as I call out your names, so I can see who you are.”

The teacher stood up with the papers in her hand.

“Mary Atkins . . . Carl Dietrich . . . Josephine Evans,” she called slowly glancing up after each name. “Franklin Rhodes . . . James Rogers.” Sandy stood up quickly. “Ethel Shortlidge . . . Roland Thomas.” The roll-call continued, each child standing until he had been identified, then sitting down again.

“Now,” the teacher said, “everybody rise and make a line around the walls. Quietly! No talking! As I call your names this time, take seats in order, starting with number one in the first row near the window.... Mary Atkins . . . Carl Dietrich. . . .” The roll was repeated, each child taking a seat as she had commanded. When all but four of the children were seated, the two colored girls and Sandy still were standing.

“Albert Zwick,” she said, and the last white child sat down in his place. “Now,” said the teacher, “you three colored children take the seats behind Albert. You girls take the first two, and you,” pointing to Sandy, “take the last one.... Now I’m going to put on the board the list of books to buy and I want all of you to copy them correctly.” And she went on with her details of schoolroom routine.