“Well, I didn’t break a window,” said Bobby hopefully. “The ball went through that little window that was left open; ’tisn’t as if I had broken a window in his shop.”
“That won’t make any difference,” said Bertrand gloomily. “I tell you he will be mad ’cause we played on his lot. I think we’d better go home before he comes and finds us here.”
“I won’t go without my ball,” protested Fred. “It’s brand-new and I want it. Bobby, you have to ask the man for it, ’cause you kicked it through the window.”
As they talked the boys had been walking slowly toward the carpenter shop, and now they stood directly under the open window. It was smaller than the three regular-sized windows which were closed—and presumably locked. Bobby could reach the sill of the small window with the tips of his fingers.
“I’m going in to get it,” he said quietly to Fred. “You watch, and if you see the man coming sing out.”
“Are you going in?” asked Fred, surprised. “Maybe you can’t get out. Aren’t you afraid, Bobby?”
Bobby considered. He was a very honest little boy.
“Yes, I’m afraid, kind of,” he said truthfully. “But I’d be more afraid to go and ask the man for it. Be sure you yell if you see him coming.”
He scrambled up to the window sill and the boys helped push him through the small opening. They heard him drop down to the floor and begin rummaging around.
“I don’t see where it went,” he cried. “Gee, there’s a lot of things in here.”