He glanced at the English teacher, Agnes Angoff, who was watching also, and said: “What do you think?”

Miss Angoff smiled. “I think I’m happy,” she said. “I think that things are going to go fine.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. But—I have this kind of feeling. I think I told you, I checked into their scholastic records. The MacDowell girl is close to straight A.”

“Good.”

“And Joseph Green has received excellent marks.”

“Well,” Paton said, “you’ve got to remember though, Miss Angoff, that’s at Lincoln.”

“I know. But it’s a good sign anyway.”

“What about the others?”

“About the same as with any group of kids,” the woman said. “A few laggards—the Vaughan and Read boys, for instance. But there’s nothing unusual. No record of any troublemakers; that’s the main thing.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s the main thing,” Paton said, thinking that it would be even better if there were no troublemakers among Caxton’s white students. But there were. Out of eight hundred or so kids, he thought, you’ll always find a good number of wise ones.

Fortunately, he knew who they were. And he planned to give each of them a stern talk, tomorrow.

Miss Angoff was still smiling. The other teachers—Mr. Lowell, math; Mrs. Gargan, home economics; Mrs. Meekins, world government—wore noncommittal expressions.

Paton said, “I’ve always been a little afraid of this moment. After the vacation and all the relaxation, then the onslaught all over again. They’re advancing on us like soldiers.”

“But orderly soldiers,” Miss Angoff said.

Paton shrugged. He watched the dotted, moving lawn, and sighed. His father was principal of the Carlson high school, twenty-eight miles away; his grandfather had taught at the University; he no longer wondered how it was that he had become a principal. It was inevitable. The fact that he didn’t enjoy the job—except for the children, and the problems they brought to him—made little difference. The world went that way.

He watched the Negroes stepping onto the lawn, watched the townspeople—about seventy-five of them—following, watched the awkwardly loping white students, and felt that it was altogether too good to be true, too fine to last. In his university days he had dreamt of such a moment, but never with any degree of seriousness. Now it was happening; and he couldn’t accept it.

“Do you think there will be trouble?” Mrs. Gargan asked suddenly.

Paton was about to answer, when Mr. Lowell broke in. “Of course there’ll be trouble. These kids are their parents’ children. But maybe it won’t be too bad; maybe we’ll be able to control it.”