“Billy’s settin’ on it.”
It was a big, black, greasy Family Bible, evidently a relic of better days. It had probably been hidden under the bed for safety.
The girl grappled the sled with one hand, and with the other Billy’s little red fist.
I followed, carrying the big, black, greasy Family Bible.
Evidently this girl had been here before. She walked around the end of the judicial bar, and laid down the sled. Then she took the Bible out of my hands. It was about all she could do to lift it.
In a shrill, piping voice, full of business, and very much in earnest, she addressed the Judge: “I say, Mister Judge, they sent my brudder Billy away from school, they did. He’s six, goin’ on seven, and I want that teacher ’rested and brought here so you can tell her to let Billy go to school. Here is our Family Bible—you can see for yourself how old Billy is!”
The Judge adjusted his glasses, stared, and exclaimed, “God bless my soul!”
Then he called a big, blue-coated officer over and said: “Mike, you go with this little girl and her brother, and tell that teacher, if possible, to allow the boy to go to school; that I say he is old enough. You understand! If you do not succeed, come back and tell me why.”
The officer smiled and saluted.
The big policeman took the little boy in his arms. The girl carried the sled, and I followed with the Family Bible.