"Bob! Bob Henderson! Where are you? I want you to go to the store."
"Here I am, mother. Were you calling me?" asked a boy, emerging from behind a big apple tree.
He was not a bad-looking lad, even if his nose did turn up a bit, though his hair was tinged with red, and his face covered with freckles. His blue eyes, however, seemed to sparkle with mischief.
"Did I call you?" repeated Mrs. Henderson. "I'm hoarse after the way I had to shout—and you within hearing distance all the while! Why didn't you answer me?"
"I guess I was so busy thinking, mom, that I didn't hear you."
"Thinking? More likely thinking of some trick! What's that you've got?"
"Nothing," and Bob tried to stuff pieces of paper into a basket that was already filled to overflowing.
"Yes, 'tis too something. You're making some more of those paper snappers that the teacher kept you in after school for the other night. Bob, can't you settle down and not be always up to some trick?"
"I wasn't making these for myself, mom, honest I wasn't," expostulated Bob, with an innocent look that did not seem in accord with the mischief in his blue eyes. "I was making 'em for Jimmy Smith."
"Yes, and Jimmy Smith would pop 'em off in school, and when he got caught he'd say you gave 'em to him, and you'd both be kept in. Oh, Bob, I don't know what will happen to you next!"