“Have you nothing to say about the book?” urged Miss Mason. 93
“I didn’t do it,” insisted Bobby. “You don’t think I would lie, do you––not really?” he asked, amazed.
“I don’t know what to think,” sighed Miss Mason. “I am heartily sorry I ever brought the book to school. And, Robert, I thought it my duty to speak to Mr. Carter about this. You are to go to the office direct from assembly without coming back here.”
Poor Bobby came as near to fainting as a boy ever does. Mr. Carter! He shared all the awe and fear of the other boys for the principal of whom little was known, he spending most of his time at the grammar school. Evidently Miss Mason must think him very bad indeed if she had sent for Mr. Carter.
All through assembly Bobby’s thoughts were on the coming interview, and though he usually loved to sing the opening song, this morning he did not sing a note. He looked so solemn and serious that Tim Roon, watching him, decided his father must have whipped him.
The exercises were over too soon for Bobby, who would have had them last the rest of the 94 day if he had been consulted, and the long lines of marching children went back to their classrooms.
“I wonder where Bobby is,” thought Meg uneasily, when Miss Mason’s classes had rustled into place and Bobby’s seat was still vacant.
Bobby, if she had known it, was at that moment making his reluctant way to the office. Just the mere letters printed on the door were enough to make his heart sink down into his shoes, and, as he told his mother afterward, he wished he could “die on the little mat you’re supposed to wipe your feet on.”
He wiped his feet carefully, took a last desperate look up and down the empty hall, and tapped on the door.
“Come in,” called a deep, pleasant voice, not at all the kind of voice you would expect a stern, cross principal to use.