“I am afraid,” said Margaret, smiling, “that would not make much difference inside, though it might outside. You must get the self-control, and leave off being afraid to be said to be afraid.”
Harry fidgeted. “I should start fresh, and be out of the way of the Andersons,” he said. “That Anderson junior is a horrid fellow—he spites Norman, and he bullied me, till I was big enough to show him that it would not do—and though I am so much younger, he is afraid of me. He makes up to me, and tries to get me into all the mischief that is going.”
“And you know that, and let him lead you? Oh, Harry!”
“I don’t let him lead me,” said Harry indignantly, “but I won’t have them say I can’t do things.”
Margaret laughed, and Harry presently perceived what she meant, but instead of answering, he began to boast, “There never was a May in disgrace yet, and there never shall be.”
“That is a thing to be very thankful for,” said Margaret, “but you know there may be much harm without public disgrace. I never heard of one of the Andersons being in disgrace yet.”
“No—shabby fellows, that just manage to keep fair with old Hoxton, and make a show,” said Harry. “They look at translations, and copy old stock verses. Oh, it was such fun the other day. What do you think? Norman must have been dreaming, for he had taken to school, by mistake, Richard’s old Gradus that Ethel uses, and there were ever so many rough copies of hers sticking in it.”
“Poor Ethel! What consternation she would be in! I hope no one found it out.”
“Why, Anderson junior was gaping about in despair for sense for his verses—he comes on that, and slyly copies a whole set of her old ones, done when she—Norman, I mean—was in the fifth form. His subject was a river, and hers Babylon; but, altering a line or two, it did just as well. He never guessed I saw him, and thought he had done it famously. He showed them up, and would have got some noted good mark, but that, by great good luck, Ethel had made two of her pentameters too short, which he hadn’t the wit to find out, thinking all Norman did must be right. So he has shown up a girl’s verses—isn’t that rare?” cried Harry, dancing on his chair with triumph.
“I hope no one knows they were hers?”