"How do you know?" asked Bess, although a glance at Phil's face was enough to assure her that Ted's statement was true.
"I'll tell you," said Ted, composing himself as well as he could on such short notice, while Fred deliberately seated himself in the place lately vacated by Phil.
"You see," he began, "we boys have all been mad about Phil's scrape, and we have just formed a regular league of detectives. This is the way I went to work. That marble came out of Phil's aisle. Well, it came up out of it sort of cornerwise, and bounced off the other way. That showed the direction, so I was pretty sure which side of the aisle it started from. Then, half-way down the aisle is where that little milksop of a Jimmy Harris sits. He never could tell a lie, just like Washington—don't believe he knows enough! But he's always looking round, and would have seen who fired it, if it had been anybody in front of him, so I made up my mind 'twasn't. Then I knew it must have been one of three boys, so I went to work. I kind of suspected 'twas Jack; he's a mean lad, anyhow. So yesterday I began to talk about Phil to him, and he was very talky, said 'twas a mean shame and all that, but he never once looked me in the eye. Thinks I, 'I don't believe you.' Then I asked Miss Witherspoon to let me see the agate. It was a queer one, and after school I went the rounds of the stores, looking for some like it. I found a whole lot at Smith's, and they told me they had just come in new last week. I said I thought I would take one or two, and get the start of all the boys; but the clerk said I was too late, for Jack had bought some the other day. That clinched the matter, for they were different from any I ever saw. I don't believe Jack knew he had that one in his hand, or he wouldn't have fired it. He's too stingy. Well, to-night after school, I asked him if he wanted to swap marbles. He looked rather uncomfortable, and said he hadn't had any since last spring. I asked him how about the ones he had just bought of Smith. He just turned all colors, and begged me not to tell, for he'd get a whipping, and another at home. Great baby! But I didn't tell. I just gripped my arms round him, and hauled him up to Miss Witherspoon, and told her to ask him about Phil and the marbles; that's all. I had to carry the milk, so I couldn't go to Phil's till just now, and, when I found he was here, I came right after him. And he can go into school in the morning and— Oh, jiminy—scratch!"
There was a crash. Ted, always in perpetual motion, in his present excitement had seated himself sideways in a low rocking-chair, and with one hand on the back, the other clutching the edge of the seat, he had been rocking furiously to and fro, till at this point he went a little too far, and, losing his balance, he landed in an ignominious pile on the floor, amid the shouts of the other two boys.
CHAPTER XV.
"GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN."
It was one of Fred's blue days; for, though they came more rarely, there were often times when his trouble seemed more than he could endure, and he was either irritable and moody, or so sad and despondent that even Bess was in despair over him. For a long time he had been brave and bright, but now the reaction seemed to have set in, and on this particular day he was harder to manage than usual. The other boys had all gone away to a ball game, to which they had tried in vain to induce Fred to accompany them. Of late he had gone about with them to many of their frolics, but to-day he had refused to join them. He was lying in a hammock out in the warm midday sun of late September, and feeling at war with all the world but Fuzz, who lay curled up across his breast with his head laid on the boy's shoulder, occasionally nestling about a little, or giving a lazy growl whenever Fred ventured to move.
Out on the lawn, Bess and Mr. Muir were playing tennis,—for it was strange how often the young man had occasion to spend two or three days with Mr. Washburn. Fred could hear the thud of their balls against the rackets, and listened idly to their voices; but although his admiration for Mr. Muir amounted to a sort of hero-worship, he was too cross and dismal to-day to follow him about, as he usually did, or to respond to his pleasant, merry greeting. Everybody was having a good time but just himself, and he couldn't do anything at all. Everything was going wrong to-day. Miss Bess was too busy to read to him, just because that bothering old Mr. Muir was always round,—and, for a moment, Fred almost hated his idol. If he had only known that he was going to be here, he would have gone with the boys. He wished he had.
Fred's meditations had just reached this point, when he heard Rob's voice calling from the street,—
"Cousin Bess, where's Fred?"