Dear Teacher began with the words on the first page and went forward. Emmy Lou could tell the next word to come each time, for she knew her Second Reader by heart as far as the class had gone. She stood up when her time came and spelled her word. Her word was "wrong." She spelled it right. Dear Teacher looked pleased. There was a time when Emmy Lou had been given to leaving off the introductory "w" as superfluous. On the next round a little girl above Emmy Lou missed on "enough." To her phonetic understanding, a _u_ and two _f_'s were equivalent to an _ough_. Emmy Lou spelled it right and went up one. The little girl went to her seat. She was no longer in the race. She was in tears. Presently a little girl far up the line arose to spell. "Right, to do right," said Dear Teacher. "W-r-i-t-e, right," said the little girl promptly. "R-i-t-e, right," said the next little girl. The third stood up with triumph preassured. In spelling, the complicated is the surest, reasoned this little girl. "W-r-i-g-h-t, right," spelled the certain little girl; then burst into tears. The mothers of the future grew demoralised. The pillars of state of English orthography at least seemed destined to totter. The spelling grew wild. "R-i-t, right." "W-r-i-t, right." Then in the desperation of sheer hopelessness came "w-r-i-t-e, right," again. There were tears all along the line. At their wits' end, the mothers, dissolving as they rose in turn, shook their heads hopelessly. Emmy Lou stood up. She knew just where the word was in a column of three on page 14. She could see it. She looked up at Dear Teacher, quiet and pale, on the platform. "R," said Emmy Lou, steadily, "i-g-h-t, right." A long line of weeping mothers went to their seats, and Emmy Lou moved up past the middle of the bench. The words were now more complicated. The nerves of the mothers had been shaken by this last strain. Little girls dropped out rapidly. The foot moved on up toward the head, until there came a pink spot on Dear Teacher's either cheek. For some reason Dear Teacher's head began to hold itself finely erect again. "Beaux," said Dear Teacher. The little girl next the head stood up. She missed. She burst into audible weeping. Nerves were giving out along the line. It went wildly down. Emmy Lou was the last. Emmy Lou stood up. It was the first word of a column on page 22. Emmy Lou could see it. She looked at Dear Teacher. "B," said Emmy Lou, "e-a-u-x, beaux." The intervening mothers had gone to their seats, and Kitty and Emmy Lou were left. Kitty spelled triumphantly. Emmy Lou spelled steadily. Even Dear Teacher's voice showed a touch of the strain. She gave out half a dozen words. Then "receive," said Dear Teacher. It was Kitty's turn. Kitty stood up. Dear Teacher's back was to the blackboard. The Trustee and the visiting gentleman were also facing the class. Kitty's eyes, as she stood up, were on the board. "The best speller in this room is to recieve this medal,"