“Oh, is anyone hurt? May I come in?”
“Come!” called Jack, following his chum’s example, and the matron entered.
“What happened?” she asked, as she saw the water, the drenched boys, and the pieces of the broken pitcher.
“It—it sort of—fell,” replied Jack calmly, mopping away at the carpet.
“And broke,” added Tom. “We’re sorry——”
“And the water all spilled out,” needlessly interrupted Jack. “We are very sorry for that, too.”
“Oh you boys!” exclaimed the matron, raising her hands in despair. “I was afraid something would happen. What were you doing?”
“I was reciting my lesson in juggling,” replied Jack gravely. “And the pitcher slipped. I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh, no, as long as you were at your lessons when it happened, it was an accident, and you needn’t pay,” said the matron, but, later, Jack insisted, and then the story came out.
“I’ll bring you some clean towels,” said Mrs. Blackford. “Luckily there is a wooden ceiling below, or the plaster would have fallen, if there had been any,” and she hurried away.