"Why, I—I don't believe you meant to throw your slipper at all," she reproved him.
With a little broader grin, he nodded his head frankly.
"Of course, I didn't. I wouldn't throw anything at your kitten any more than I'd throw anything at ours, and we've got an awfully funny little fellow. All I wanted to do was to get your foot loose." Molly smiled in spite of herself. "Now, if you'll get down on the ground, so I can shinny up the tree a bit, I'll catch the kitten, and then I'll get that shoe of yours."
With her stockinged foot cushioned on the soft grass, Molly watched the boy struggle up the tree and clumsily but gently rescue the kitten from its roost. Afterwards, when the animal lay safely in Molly's arms, he pried loose the shoe from its wedged nook and dropped a bit heavily, to the ground.
"It was splendid of you!" Molly began, and then stopped, horror-struck. "But look at your clothes!"
The red-headed boy glanced down, but continued to smile, in spite of the dark stains that had spread where he gripped the tree-trunk and sundry leaf and nut clusters between his knees.
"I'm always doing something like that. I wish it wasn't the first day of school, though," he added a little ruefully. "It's most schooltime, too."
But now Molly was her practical self once more. "You get your books," she ordered, "and I'll take you down in our automobile. Horace Hibbs (he's an inventor with the Fair Play Factory) has his workshop near the school, and he mixes a sort of patent stuff that just takes any kind of a spot out of your clothes. He's the Scout Master of the Black Eagle Patrol of Boy Scouts, too. See, father's getting the car ready now. You come right over."
While Mr. Sefton drove the car, Molly and the red-headed boy sat side by side on the rear seat. After deftly finding out his name (which was Rodman Cree) and his age (fifteen) and his grade (first-year high) Molly began telling him all about Lakeville and about the new high school, which had resulted from the combined efforts of Horace Hibbs, the Fair Play Sporting Goods Factory, and, most of all, the Black Eagles, Lakeville's patrol of Boy Scouts.[1]
"I came pretty near being a Scout last year myself," Rodman said suddenly. "I was all ready to pass my tenderfoot examinations when we moved out on a farm and staid there till we came to Lakeville."