school with a lot of Poles and Greeks and Italians," she had told David when he had objected to the expense of private lessons. When Reba herself had objected (for she had looked forward to the companionship that would be sure to come with school) Aunt Augusta had retorted, "You don't know when you ought to be grateful, child. It's only very lucky little girls can have private tutors."
Miss Billings, whom Aunt Augusta engaged to come every week-day morning except Saturday, at eight o'clock, was a retired high-school teacher, considered too old for competent service, even when Reba was seven. She had continued to come every week-day morning except Saturday for ten years, to give Reba private lessons. She must have been near seventy when Reba was seventeen.
Reba recalled now how often throughout those ten long years she had stared wistfully through the high picket fence around the public school-yard at recess-time, when she was out taking exercise with Miss Billings, and wondered what it would be like to play with other children like that—run fast, make one's feet fly; how it would feel to strain one's self to the very limit in a hard-run race; to reach the outstretched hands of imprisoned comrades, and set them free with a wild shriek of "Relievo!" Then to trot back afterward to the home-base, with approving arms flung over one's shoulder.
Whenever Reba visualized her childhood she always saw a solitary little figure sitting somewhere on the long front tiers of granite steps in front of the house, patiently waiting till it was time to go indoors, moving over every little while as a big rectangular shadow
