more, I dare say, because I was tired and a little cross than from real loyalty.
“You’ll catch some disease,” said Delia. “I know a girl that went to see some poor children and she caught the spinal appendicitis and died before she got back home.”
We went round by the schoolhouse, drawn there by a curiosity that had in it inevitable elements of regret. There they were, little dead- looking trees, standing in places of wet earth, and most of them set somewhat slanting. Everyone was gone, and in the late light the grounds looked solemn and different.
“Just think,” said Delia, “when we grow up and the trees grow up, we can tell our children how we planted ’em.”
“Why, we never—” Calista began.
“Our school did, didn’t it?” Delia contended. “And our school’s we, isn’t it?”
But we overruled her. No, to the end of time, the trees that stood in those grounds would have been planted by other hands than ours. We were probably the only ones in the school who hadn’t planted a tree. “I don’t care, do you?” we demanded of one another, and reiterated our denial.
