May 3rd, 1908
Children never forget their parents, nor students their teachers.
Miss Riversmith’s class had a play yesterday evening, and poor Aline, she was plagued about Miss Riversmith’s not picking her to sing. It will surely change her love for singing. She is very dear, but I already notice her changing and it is like the sun setting. You don’t notice the thing to begin with, but then the sky is a rosy hue and the mountains are shaded like little pots of indigo paint, and there are just a few remaining rays reaching back in farewell. It happened so quick, really, and with such unfortunate timing. As if I had fallen asleep and had the sorry occasion of not bidding Papa farewell before his trip. As if I had blinked at the very moment when the anticipated lightning struck the night sky.
Poor Aline. I fear Miss Riversmith has changed her, and it is not for the better.