XII. A Jonah Day

           Itreallybeganthenightbeforewitharestless,wakefulvigilofgrumblingtoothache.WhenAnnearoseinthedull,bitterwintermorningshefeltthatlifewasflat,stale,andunprofitable.

           Shewenttoschoolinnoangelicmood.Hercheekwasswollenandherfaceached.Theschoolroomwascoldandsmoky,forthefirerefusedtoburnandthechildrenwerehuddledaboutitinshiveringgroups.Annesentthemtotheirseatswithasharpertonethanshehadeverusedbefore.AnthonyPyestruttedtohiswithhisusualimpertinentswaggerandshesawhimwhispersomethingtohisseat-mateandthenglanceatherwithagrin.

           Never,soitseemedtoAnne,hadtherebeensomanysqueakypencilsastherewerethatmorning;andwhenBarbaraShawcameuptothedeskwithasumshetrippedoverthecoalscuttlewithdisastrousresults.Thecoalrolledtoeverypartoftheroom,herslatewasbrokenintofragments,andwhenshepickedherselfup,herface,stainedwithcoaldust,senttheboysintoroarsoflaughter.

           Anneturnedfromthesecondreaderclasswhichshewashearing.

           “Really,Barbara,”shesaidicily,“ifyoucannotmovewithoutfallingoversomethingyou’dbetterremaininyourseat.Itispositivelydisgracefulforagirlofyouragetobesoawkward.”

           PoorBarbarastumbledbacktoherdesk,hertearscombiningwiththecoaldusttoproduceaneffecttrulygrotesque.Neverbeforehadherbeloved,sympatheticteacherspokentoherinsuchatoneorfashion,andBarbarawasheartbroken.