Helen hesitated for a few moments, and then laid her hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
“I wish you to come, Dexter.”
He shook his head.
“Come,” she cried, “if you have been in fault confess it frankly.”
“But I haven’t,” cried the boy angrily. “I couldn’t help fighting when he knocked me about as he did. He bit me too. Look there!”
He hastily drew up his sleeve, and displayed a ruddy circle on his white skin, which bore pretty strong witness to the truth of his words.
“Then, if you were not to blame, why should you shrink from coming to papa?”
“’Cause he mightn’t believe me. Mr Sibery never would, neither,” muttered Dexter.
“Tell the truth and papa will be sure to believe you,” cried Helen indignantly.
“Think he would!” said Dexter.