She paused thoughtfully， then said， " I think I' ll have a cone with a scoop of each."
He didn' t bat an eyelash， but we did. A scoop of each？ All ten flavors？ In one cone？ Mrs. Knapp， this woman who was smaller than the oldest of her students， was going to eat a ten-scoop ice cream cone？
With the same aplomb she displayed in the classroom， she took the mountain from him carefully and licked the top. She said something like" Mmm" and smiled. And we watched， agog with envy， as she consumed every sweet mound， moving her tongue up and down from vanilla to strawberry to butter pecan， not losing a drop to the heat of the afternoon.
Afterward， we walked back to the school， perhaps just a mile or so away， packed up our things， said good-bye to her and each other， and walked home or waited for our parents to come.
Of course， I told my parents about the event， and， of course， they smiled. We drove past the school the following week. It was closed for the summer and Mrs. Knapp was off somewhere， with Mr. Knapp， I supposed， eating copious quantities of ice cream stacked in sky-high cones. I never saw her again， and though we looked， I never found that ice cream stand， either.
Now， fifty years later， though the little else I can recall about that first school year is only dimly remembered， Mrs. Knapp and her ten-scoop ice cream cone remains one of my clearest childhood memories. And often， as I watch children sitting in the sun outside modern twenty-or thirty-flavor ice cream emporiums， I wonder if perhaps she isn' t somewhere watching， a well-filled waffle cone in hand， still enjoying it mightily.
我读的第一所学校坐落在一座小荒山的山顶，校舍是一间平房，屋顶上插了一个风向标。校舍的周围是农田（农田里还有一个牲畜棚，用来养家畜），当时那片地方还不属于伊利诺伊州的乌尔班纳。回想起来，那所学校有6个班级，共有35名学生，大部分是一些年龄较小的孩子，当然也有十二三岁的。