“Hello,” he said shyly, “going to school, Bobby?”
“Sure,” replied Bobby. “Here is my sister Meg.”
Fred and Meg said “Hello,” and the three walked along rapidly toward the schoolhouse.
“Did you have Miss Mason last year?” Fred asked.
“Yes. You had Miss Watts, didn’t you?” said Bobby. “Is she cross?”
“Awful,” confided Fred sadly. “I’ll bet I stayed in three nights a week regular.”
His dancing black eyes seemed to say that he had had a good time in school, no matter if he had been kept in; indeed Fred was a mischievous-looking child, and his own mother was inclined 31 to think, as she often told him, that Miss Watts probably could tell another story.
“I have to take Meg up and let her get her seat,” announced Bobby when they reached the school yard. “You coming?”
Fred thought he would stay down and see some of the boys.
“I don’t care where I sit,” he explained. “And if you go in late most all the front seats have been given out. I’d rather sit in the back of the room.”