“I guess old Hornbeck did,” answered Bobby thoughtfully, rubbing a finger that was sore from handling the ball. “Anyway, he had a lot to say about it.” And then he gave Sam a few particulars as he cleaned himself.
A few days later Meg and Bobby were going home from school when Meg suddenly remembered that she had forgotten her books.
“Well, I suppose we can go back and get ’em,” grumbled Bobby, “but why won’t to-morrow do? What do you want them for to-night?”
“I told you,” said Meg patiently. “Mother is going to cover them with calico, the way she had her books when she was little. Some of the covers are so torn I hate to have to use them.”
“All right,” sighed Bobby. “We’ll go back. I think girls have the worst memories!”
By the time they reached the school––they had been half way home––all the other children had gone. The janitor was sweeping out the lower hall and grinned cheerfully at them without stopping his work. Then they passed on to their own room.
“Doesn’t it seem funny without anybody 106 here?” asked Meg, beginning to take the books out of her desk.
“Suppose I was the teacher!” Bobby seated himself in Miss Mason’s chair and rapped on the desk with her ruler. “First grade, go to the board!”
“Oh, don’t,” giggled Meg, half frightened. “She might come in and catch you. Bobby, stop it!”
Bobby jumped from the chair and scrambled off the platform as the door opened.