Azalee is a sweet little girl. She tries so hard. I’ve had her in class two years now, you know. She started kindergarten at five, which I told her mother was too young, but she insisted. I don’t know why. Most of these farm wives want to keep their children out an extra year or two, but maybe Azalee was wearing her patience thin. I thought she’d be trouble, as young as she was, but instead she became my star pupil. She learns very quickly, but her gift is persistence. She will not quit until something is done and done correctly. I’ve often thought that not only can she not bear to be wrong; she has to be less wrong than anybody else. She can’t stand for anyone to have a higher grade than she does. She’s in the first grade now, and reads better than some of the older students. But, bless her heart, she’s always hungry and those bare feet just chill me. I know times are hard, but how can parents send their children off to school in the middle of winter with no shoes? I’ve told her, “Azalee, when there’s frost on the ground, don’t come to school,” but she always shows up. She tells me she’s going to graduate from high school with perfect attendance. Where did she get such high ideals? Some of the teachers and I are thinking of starting a clothes closet at school where parents can send old clothes or shoes for us to hand out. I doubt her folks would let her take any shoes though. Those country people are too prideful sometimes. She’s such a pretty little thing with that dark hair and those blue eyes. It’s really a pretty combination. She’s just too thin. Do you know what she brings for lunch? Corn bread. Cold corn bread wrapped in a muslin cloth. She gets the little carton of free milk at school, but her mother won’t let her have the free lunch. I watch Azalee sometimes when the other children are eating. She can’t take her eyes off their trays. It just breaks my heart how hungry she is. Sometimes I give her my canned peaches, and she licks the juice right out of the bottom of the bowl. I worry about helping her too much. I don’t want to get her in trouble at home. Every now and then she’ll come with dark red welts across the backs of her legs and arms. They look so painful, but when I ask her about them, she starts crying and won’t tell me anything. I know they whip her, but I can’t imagine why. She’s high-spirited and curious, but I can’t imagine she’s disobedient. It’s a shame that there’s nothing I can do about it.