unity which seemed a marvel. So we took our laborious days
with cheer and enjoyed the energy, for we quite understood
that our work would lead to something.

But if there could be an interchange of grace and I could take
a gift from Miss Montague's personality, l would rather have
what she in a matter-of-fact way would take for granted, but
what is harder for us who are beginners here to come by,--I mean
her altogether fine and blameless relation to her girls outside
the classroom. She was a presence always heartily responsive,
but never unwary, without the slightest reflection of her
personality upon us, with never a word too much of praise
or blame, of too much intimacy or of too much reserve. She
was a figure of familiar friendliness, ready with sympathy and
comprehension, but wholesome, sound and sane, without trace
of sentimentality. Above all, I felt her a singularly honorable
spirit, toward whom we always turned our best side, to whom
we might never go with talk wanton or idle or unkind or
critical, but always with our very precious thoughts on
whatsoever things are eager, and honest and kindly and of good
report. And so she was able to do us much good and no harm
at all. She can have had no millstones about her neck to
reckon with....

Miss Montague used to have a little class in Plato, and l have
not forgotten how quietly we read together one day at the end
of the Phaedo of the death of Socrates. After Miss Montague
died, I turned to the book and found the place where the servant
has brought the cup of poison, but Crito, unreconciled, wants
to delay even a little: