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smiled, “Philadelphia was a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there. But as I said: Philadelphia was the cleanest town in the colonies, and the most important port until the completion of the Erie Canal made New York the top town by the 1820s. Let’s move on.”
    Victor, following behind his teacher, asked. “Mr. Greene, why did Charles Beard only whisper to you and not speak to us like Shelby Foote did?”
    “Well,” Mr. Greene lowered his voice so Charles Beard wouldn’t hear, “Professor Beard is somewhat of a snob, and anyone who has obtained anything less than a master’s degree does not warrant a whisper of his wisdom. Mr. Foote, on the other hand, was a common man’s historian and a true Southern gentleman. He tried to reach the masses with his Civil War narrative.”
    “Oh,” Victor replied. He didn’t like snobs or elitists or hotshot jocks, the athletic equivalent of elitists. Students like his brother Junior. What in the world did Minerva Messinger see in his simian sibling? She wasn’t just another pretty face, Victor thought. Minerva had the highest G.P.A. in their class. True, he had a higher PSAT than she did, but he would never have an astronomical G.P.A., for he was allergic to homework and, as a consequence, the first letter in the alphabet was not a symbol that occurred with any consistency on his report cards.
    “Of course,” Mr. Greene went on as the Beards led the group from the portable classroom through a field of summer wheat toward the city limits. “Mr.Foote wanted to take us back to July 2, 1863, at Little Round Top at Gettysburg to meet Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and his troops from Maine who saved the day, the army and the union, but I wasn’t about to risk a student just for a good seat at the Battle of Gettysburg. I mean, Victor, I have tenure, but having a student killed by a mini-ball? Well, I don’t think even tenure would save my job if that happened.” Mr. Greene laughed.
    Wow, Victor thought. That would have been something: the Battle of Gettysburg! He turned around as he walked, pretending to look back as the classroom vanished but catching a glimpse of Minerva Messinger as well. Bette Kromer had Minerva’s attention, chattering away about what Victor suspected were female things. He always felt that girls would be easier to understand if he had had a sister, and he would have preferred a sister to his brother. As he was thinking this, looking backward, he tripped, but Mr. Greene’s hand caught him before Victor’s face met the ground.
    “Thanks, Mr. Greene,” he said.
    “Why don’t you walk with her, Victor?” Mr. Greene asked.
    Victor blushed. “Who?”
    “Minerva.”
    “What do you mean? I was just looking back at the portable to see if it was there,” he fibbed.
    Mr. Greene smiled. “Why? You knew it was gone.”
    That was true, Victor admitted to himself. Five minutes had passed and the classroom had returned to its location at Cassadaga Area High School. Busted, he thought, Mr. Greene busted me. He can read my mind.
    “I was just making sure,” Victor lied again.
    “Uh huh,” Mr. Greene smiled wisely.
    As the ghosts of Mary and Charles Beard floated on ahead, Victor retreated into his own thoughts, erasing for the moment his musings of Minerva Messinger. Ahead were trees: chestnuts and walnuts, elms and oaks, all of which lined the streets of the town and made the name Pennsylvania or “Penn’s woodland” ring with reality. Chestnut Street, Walnut Street. In the distance he could see the cupola of Independence Hall that competed with church spires for prominence in the colonial town.
    “We are headed toward High Street—Market Street today—and 7 th Street,” Mr. Greene said. “Watch out for the animals in the street, the pigs and geese and so forth. The pigs take care of the garbage and the geese are just a pain in the posterior. First thing we are going to do is walk down to the Graff House and check on Thomas