That evening, as he and Mary stood by the carriage-way gate, and he was opening it for Dr. Gray to drive into the yard, who should be passing on the other side of the street, but Mr. Lee.
“How do you do, Dr. Gray,” said he; and came over to do a trivial errand, which Fred fancied must have been made up for the occasion; it was something about a book which he wished to borrow some time, not now. Then, turning to guilty Fred, who had not dared slip away,—
“Good evening, Master Fred,” with extreme politeness; “I was very sorry not to be at home this morning when you left your card.”
Your card! Those were his words.
“My card! Does he think I signed myself April Fool? My goodness, so I did! People always put their own names on their visiting-cards, sure enough! It’s I that am the April Fool, and nobody else,” thought the outwitted boy, not venturing to look up.
A blush mounted to Mary’s forehead, and she too looked at the ground.
“Pray call again, Master Fred,” said Mr. Lee; and his manner was as respectful as if Fred had been at least a supreme judge.
“What’s all this?” asked the doctor sternly as the clergyman walked away.
“’Twas a little kind of a—a joke, you know, sir, for fun. I didn’t mean anything. I like Mr Lee first rate,” stammered Fred, scanning his boots, as if to decide whether they were big enough for him to crawl into and hide.