“Yes,” said Dexter, shuffling from foot to foot.
“Then why are you not there now—playing with Edgar?”
Dexter did not answer, but seemed to be admiring the prospect.
“Why, Dexter, your face is all scratched!”
Dexter looked up at her, with the scratched face scarlet.
“How is that!” continued Helen sternly.
“Fighting,” said Dexter grimly.
“Fighting? Oh, shame! And with that rough boy!”
“No!” cried Dexter quickly. “He didn’t knock me about.”
“Then who did!”