“Miss Pigot,” I shout. “We’re standing in the sun waiting for you.”
Finally, she arrives and the photographer immortalizes our image for countless missionary publications at home.
“Miss Pigot,” I say, as the students move into the shade, “I know it wasn’t intentional, but it was inconsiderate of you to keep everyone standing in the sun.”
Miss Pigot looks flustered. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t wait for the picture when there are so many details. Forgive me?”
Miss Pigot has a way about her. An artless lack of awareness. She didn’t leave us in the sun; she went to make Mr. Thomson welcome. “Nevermind, Miss Pigot. I’m going to the refreshment table.”
I get myself a glass of iced tea and watch the growing crowd. Oh dear! Mr. Gillan is at the gate with Miss Smail and Mrs. Walker. I drop my glass and rush to the entry gate. Too late.
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