Its alive! she screamed.

The male population of the class rushed as one to her assistance. Lord, I thought, shes scared of a mouse. Little Chuck Little, whose patience with all living things was phenomenal, said, Which way did he go, Miss Caroline? Tell us where he went, quick! D.C. he turned to a boy behind himD.C., shut the door and well catch him. Quick, maam, whered he go?

Miss Caroline pointed a shaking finger not at the floor nor at a desk, but to a hulking individual unknown to me. Little Chucks face contracted and he said gently, You mean him, maam? Yessum, hes alive. Did he scare you some way?

Miss Caroline said desperately, I was just walking by when it crawled out of his hair . . . just crawled out of his hair

Little Chuck grinned broadly. There aint no need to fear a cootie, maam. Aint you ever seen one? Now dont you be afraid, you just go back to your desk and teach us some more.

Little Chuck Little was another member of the population who didnt know where his next meal was coming from, but he was a born gentleman. He put his hand under her elbow and led Miss Caroline to the front of the room. Now dont you fret, maam, he said. There aint no need to fear a cootie. Ill just fetch you some cool water.

The cooties host showed not the faintest interest in the furor he had wrought. He searched the scalp above his forehead, located his guest and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.

Miss Caroline watched the process in horrid fascination. Little Chuck brought water in a paper cup, and she drank it gratefully. Finally she found her voice. What is your name, son? she asked softly.

The boy blinked. Who, me? Miss Caroline nodded.

Burris Ewell.

Miss Caroline inspected her roll-book. I have a Ewell here, but I dont have a first name . . . would you spell your first name for me?

Dont know how. They call me Burrist home.

Well, Burris, said Miss Caroline, I think wed better excuse you for the rest of the afternoon. I want you to go home and wash your hair.

From her desk she produced a thick volume, leafed through its pages and read for a moment. A good home remedy forBurris, I want you to go home and wash your hair with lye soap. When youve done that, treat your scalp with kerosene.

What fer, missus?

To get rid of theer, cooties. You see, Burris, the other children might catch them, and you wouldnt want that, would you?

The boy stood up. He was the filthiest human I had ever seen. His neck was dark gray, the backs of his hands were rusty, and his fingernails were black deep into the quick. He peered at Miss Caroline from a fist-sized clean space on his face. No one had noticed him, probably, because Miss Caroline and I had entertained the class most of the morning.

And Burris, said Miss Caroline, please bathe yourself before you come back tomorrow.

The boy laughed rudely. You aint sendin me home, missus. I was on the verge of leavinI done done my time for this year.

Miss Caroline looked puzzled. What do you mean by that?

The boy did not answer. He gave a short contemptuous snort.

One of the elderly members of the class answered her: Hes one of the Ewells, maam, and I wondered if this explanation would be as unsuccessful as my attempt. But Miss Caroline seemed willing to listen. Whole schools full of em. They come first day every year and then leave. The truant lady gets em here cause she threatens em with the sheriff, but shes give up tryin to hold em. She reckons shes carried out the law just gettin their names on the roll and runnin em here the first day. Youre supposed to mark em absent the rest of the year . . .

But what about their parents? asked Miss Caroline, in genuine concern.

Aint got no mother, was the answer, and their paws right contentious.

Burris Ewell was flattered by the recital. Been comin to the first day o the first grade fer three year now, he said expansively. Reckon if Im smart this year theyll promote me to the second. . . .

Miss Caroline said, Sit back down, please, Burris, and the moment she said it I knew she had made a serious mistake. The boys condescension flashed to anger.