Bert one morning happened to be in a more than usually frolicsome mood, and was making pellets out of the soft part of the rolls he had brought for lunch, and throwing them about. In trying to hit a boy who sat between him and Mr. Snelling's desk, he somehow or other miscalculated his aim, and to his horror, the sticky pellet flew straight at the bald spot on top of Mr. Snelling's head, as the latter bent his shortsighted eyes over a book before him, hitting it in the centre, and staying there in token of its success.
With angry face, Mr. Snelling sprang to his feet, and brushing the unlucky pellet from his shiny pate, called out so fiercely as to attract the doctor's attention:
"Who threw that at me?"
The few boys who were in the secret looked very hard at their books, while those who were not glanced up in surprise, and tried to discover the cause of Mr. Snelling's excitement.
"Who threw that at me?" demanded Mr. Snelling, again.
Bert, who had at first been so appalled by what he had done that his tongue refused to act, was about to call out "It was I, sir," when Rod Graham was seen to hold up his hand, and on Mr. Snelling turning inquiringly toward him, Rod, in a low, sneaking voice, said:
"It was Lloyd, sir; I saw him do it."
Mr. Snelling immediately called out, "Lloyd, come to my desk;" and Bert, feeling hot and cold by turns, went up to the desk, and stood before it, the picture of penitence.
"Did you throw that pellet?" asked Mr. Snelling, in indignant tones.
"Yes, sir; but I didn't mean to hit you, sir," answered Bert, meekly.