As soon as he got Tommy outside of the schoolroom he collared him.
"What's the matter with Anne?" he demanded.
"She talked in school," said Tommy, doggedly.
"I don't believe it."
"Well, she did, anyhow."
"Whose fault was it?"
"Hers, I suppose."
"You don't suppose anything of the kind. Anne Batcheller never broke a rule in her life willingly, and you know it, Tommy Tolliver."
The children were coming out of the schoolroom in little groups of twos and threes—the girls discussing Anne's martyrdom sympathetically, the boys with hangdog self-consciousness.
Inside the room, Anne, released from her ordeal, had gone to her desk and was sitting there with her head up. Her face was white now, the little lunch-basket was open before her, but the cookie and the apple were untouched.