Bessie smiled and then tried to deceive the school into the belief that it was only the beginning of a yawn by patting her mouth with a dimpled palm. The school knew better and anxiety grew less.
"But there must be some reason for it," she persisted.
"I know," said a little lad with long yellow curls, which were made doubly brilliant by the red flannel shirt that enveloped him, materially assisted by diminutive trousers, with a patch of goodly proportions upon the bosom. "I saw him goin' fishin' wid Mr. Moore."
"Tattle-tale! Tattle-tale," came in reprimanding chorus from the other pupils. Dicky, quite unabashed by this disapproval, made a gesture of defiance and returned to his place. Unfortunately the copper-tipped brogan of one Willy Donohue, who chanced to be sitting immediately in the rear of the youthful informer, was deftly inserted beneath Dicky as he started to seat himself.
The result of this was that the cherubic Richard arose, with an exclamation of pain and surprise, much more quickly than he sat down.
"Dicky, you may remain after school. I want no tell-tales here," said Bessie.
"Teacher, Willy Donohue put his foot in me seat," expostulated Dicky, on whom the lesson was quite thrown away.
"Willy shall stay after school, also."
"Ah-h-h!" remarked Dicky, mollified at the prospect of his unkind fate being shared by an old-time enemy.
"I wish you wuz big enough to lick," growled Willy, under his breath. "Your own mother would n't know you after the flakin' I 'd give you. I 'd snatch you baldheaded, baby."