He was a tall, thin man, and he had a point of beard on his chin that made him look taller. He wore a blue cape, which he tossed on a chair. And he carried a violin. His name was Mr. Cato. He drew five lines on the blackboard, and made eight dots that looked as though they were going upstairs on the lines. Then he rapped on his violin with his bow, and the class sat up straight. "This," said Mr. Cato, "is A," and he pointed to a dot. Then he looked at Emmy Lou. Unfortunately Emmy Lou sat at a front desk. "Now, what is it?" said Mr. Cato. "A," said Emmy Lou, obediently. She wondered. But she had met A in so many guises of print and script that she accepted any statement concerning A. And now a dot was A. "And this," said Mr. Cato, "is B, and this is C, and this D, and E, F, G, which brings us naturally to A again," and Mr. Cato with his bow went up the stairway punctuated with dots. Emmy Lou wondered why G brought one naturally to A again. But Mr. Cato was tapping up the dotted stairway with his bow. "Now what are they?" asked Mr. Cato. "Dots," said Emmy Lou, forgetting. Mr. Cato got red in the face and rapped angrily. "A," said Emmy Lou, hastily, "B, C, D, E, F, G, H," and was going hurriedly on when Hattie, with a surreptitious jerk, stopped her. "That is better," said Mr. Cato, "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A--exactly--but we are not going to call them A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A--" Mr. Cato paused impressively, his bow poised, and looked at Emmy Lou--"we are going to call them"--and Mr. Cato touched a dot--"do"--his bow went up the punctuated stairway--"re, mi, fa, sol, la, si. Now what is this?" The bow pointed itself to Emmy Lou, then described a curve, bringing it again to a dot. "A," said Emmy Lou. The bow rapped angrily on the board, and Mr. Cato glared. "Do," said Mr. Cato, "do--always do--not A, nor B, nor C, never A, nor B, nor C again--do, do," the bow rapping angrily the while. "Dough," said Emmy Lou, swallowing miserably. Mr. Cato was mollified. "Forget now it was ever A; A is do here. Always in the future remember the first letter in the scale is do. Whenever you meet it placed like this, A is do, A is do." [Illustration: "Dear Teacher, smiling at Emmy Lou just arriving with her school-bag, went in, too."] Emmy Lou resolved she would never forget. A is dough. How or why or wherefore did not matter. The point was, A is dough. But Emmy Lou was glad when the music man went. And then came spelling, when there was always much bobbing up and down and changing of places and tears. This time the rest might forget, but Emmy Lou would not. It came her turn. She stood up. Her word was Adam. And A was dough. Emmy Lou went slowly to get it right. "Dough-d-dough-m, Adam," said Emmy Lou.