"It hurts mother to hear you say that—but that's not the question. What I hope my little boy is sorry for is for not having been a gentleman—for having behaved like a wild animal. Even the poor puppy behaved better than you did. He didn't bite like a little tiger...."
"I'd a bit bigger if I'd been a tagger," said Bobby thoughtfully. "I'd a bit his han' off, I reckon."
"That's not the question either. Aren't you sorry that you weren't a gentleman?"
Bobby pondered this. Finally he said:
"I'm very tangled inside of me, mother. I am sorry I didn't be a gentleman, but I am not sorry I bited him."
Sophy took a deep breath. She put a hand on either of her son's shoulders, and held him fixed in front of her.
"Now listen, Bobby," she said. "I won't have any more arguments. You are to go to Morris, at once, and say this: 'I am sorry I was so naughty and ungentlemanly. I beg your pardon.' Now go. Morris is out there on the lawn reading a paper. Go there and say those words straight out like a man."
Bobby gazed earnestly into her eyes, found something in their grey depths that always conquered him in the end, and turned soberly away.
He went and stood before Loring, his hands behind his back. His face was very red. His heart filled up his chest and scorched it so that he could scarcely speak.
"Hullo, little mad-dog," said Loring, looking at him over his paper. "Haven't they muzzled you yet? Keep your distance, please."