Bobby opened the door and went in. Mr. Carter was writing at Miss Wright’s desk and there was no one else in the room. Bobby knew the principal by sight, for he had seen him once 95 or twice in the corridors. It seemed that Mr. Carter also knew the pupils.
“Well, Bobby,” he said cheerfully. “You are Bobby Blossom, aren’t you?”
Bobby nodded miserably. He was thankful for the “Bobby,” for he detested the unfamiliar “Robert” Miss Mason invariably used.
Mr. Carter took off his glasses and laid them on the desk. He turned his chair slightly to face another chair drawn up at the side.
“Come sit down, Bobby, and don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “I want you to tell me what happened in class yesterday, and why Miss Mason should think that you defaced her book.”
Bobby slid timidly into the chair and began to answer Mr. Carter’s quick questions. And then a strange thing happened. Bobby forgot to be afraid. As he told about the arithmetic lesson, where he had been a “poor loser,” and about the beautiful book that had been destroyed, and explained why he went back to the room at recess time, he forgot that he was speaking to the principal. He stood up straight beside the desk and talked to Mr. Carter as he would to Daddy Blossom. 96 And the principal’s kind, earnest eyes, his ready smile, and deep, pleasant voice, all told Bobby that he was speaking to a friend.
“And I didn’t touch the book, honest I didn’t,” finished Bobby.
Mr. Carter put a big, firm hand over the little one resting on his desk top.
“All right, I believe you,” he said earnestly. “Some day we’ll find the boy who did it, never fear.”
“But Miss Mason thinks––she thinks I did it,” protested Bobby.