armella had never taken school seriously. She was in the seventh grade, as befitted her age when considered in the light of her home opportunities. But many children in the room were older. A few, with Anglo-Saxon names, were younger. Carmella was the youngest of Italian birth or parentage.
The language held them back. In the rear seats were boys and girls of fourteen or fifteen, even one of sixteen, whose parents were planning to take her out and let her work in a factory after school closed. Some, like the sixteen-year-old girl, were dull. Some were unable to speak easily in English.
Carmella sat well forward. There were two reasons for this. One was her size. She was not tall for her age, but rather short and stocky. And Miss Kelly, the teacher, found it well to have Carmella easily in view. Whenever mischief was afoot, she had learned that Carmella was better kept in sight. The girl herself was rarely caught, but when the entire room began to grow turbulent and Carmella’s black eyes were snapping and laughing, though her face was solemn as at
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