5
That awful day is engraved in my memory. Darain had joined the other children at the rear of the bus to watch the swirling cloud of dust we left behind. We had never been in a bus before, and I enjoyed the novelty of it. We were supervised by a thin-faced lady. “Here dear,” she said to me, “we will pin your name tag on, that’s the girl; then we will know who we are, won’t we? Is that your younger brother playing up the back?”
“Yes it is.”
“Lively little fellow isn’t he?”
The bus grew hot and dusty and several children said they felt sick, and the thin lady handed out paper bags.
“Where are we going?” Darain asked.
“On an outing; it might be a picnic; wait and see, go and ask the lady.”
“No, you ask her; going fast aren’t we? Sis, I feel sick.”
“Use the paper bag like she said. Da
