One must know the truth when one's country was at stake. Louise drew a quick breath.
"Well, what are you doing with your pockets full of bombs, then?" she forced herself to bring out.
The little boy turned toward her again, and began slowly to draw out the contents of those suspicious pockets. A mitt, a top, two balls, a kite-string, a chicken-foot, a gopher, nails of various lengths, some tobacco tags, and a grimy stick of candy were laid one by one on the janitor's tool-bench, and the German spy stood with his pockets turned wrong side out.
But one must have the whole truth.
"What are you doing with balls and mitts when you sit on the steps all the time?" the little girl demanded, but with decidedly less asperity this time.
"I thought maybe they'd—let me play, sometime." Something rolled down his cheek and splashed on the front of his jacket.
"Won't they let you play?" choked Louise, blinking hard to clear her suddenly clouded vision.
The boy shook his head.
"Well, why doesn't your mamma come and scold the teacher about it?" she demanded in indignant sympathy.
"I haven't any mamma."