“Where’s Dexter?” said the doctor.
“Down the garden,” said Helen.
“Humph! Hope he is not getting into fresh mischief.”
“I hope not, papa,” said Helen; “and really I think he is trying very hard.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, going on with his writing. “How are his knuckles now? can he hold a pen?”
“I think I would let him wait another day or two. And, papa, have you given him a good talking to about that fight?”
“No. Have you?”
“Yes, two or three times; and he has promised never to fight again.”
“My dear Helen, how can you be so absurd?” cried the doctor testily. “That’s just the way with a woman. You ask the boy to promise what he cannot perform. He is sure to get fighting again at school or somewhere.”
“But it seems such a pity, papa.”