CHAPTER VII
Mrs. Mitchell is Defeated
After this talk with my father I fell into a sleep of perfect contentment, and never thought of what might be on the morrow till the morrow came. Then I grew aware of the danger I was in of being carried off once more to school. Indeed, except my father interfered, the thing was almost inevitable. I thought he would protect me, but I had no assurance. He was gone again, for, as I have mentioned already, he was given to going out early in the mornings. It was not early now, however; I had slept much longer than usual. I got up at once, intending to find him; but, to my horror, before I was half dressed, my enemy, Mrs. Mitchell, came into the room, looking triumphant and revengeful.
“I’m glad to see you’re getting up,” she said; “it’s nearly school-time.”
The tone, and the emphasis she laid on the word school, would have sufficed to reveal the state of her mind, even if her eyes had not been fierce with suppressed indignation.
“I haven’t had my porridge,” I said.
“Your porridge is waiting you—as cold as a stone,” she answered. “If boys will lie in bed so late, what can they expect?”
“Nothing from you,” I muttered, with more hardihood than I had yet shown her.
“What’s that you’re saying?” she asked angrily.
I was silent.