"Oh, I didn't do that!" cried poor little Bab, and burst into tears.
"Who did, then?" inquired Mr. Beresford, quickly.
"Why, I saw Robert with the book in the hall soon after we came home," cried Selina, on impulse.
"Did you do it, Robert?" asked Mr. Beresford.
"Why does she say she didn't do it, and begin to blubber?" cried Robert, politely designating Bab over his shoulder. "Wasn't she left at home? Who could do it but she?"
"Because I saw you do it," replied Mr. Beresford, and Robert's white face became scarlet—the mean little fellow as he stood there before them, who had committed a fault, and then tried to lay the blame on a girl. "Bab was lying back in her chair fast asleep, and with bright smiles on her face, that showed that she was having happy dreams, when in you ran, jumped over desk, book, and all; threw a little of the ink across the page by a kick with your foot, then looking with dismay at your work, tucked the book under your arm, and jumped through the window with it."
Robert blubbered at this. "I wanted to take the ink out."
"You have been a very bad boy," said his father. "You deserve a flogging, and shall have it. I am very much grieved about your book, Beresford."
Robert almost screamed.
"I think more of his laying the fault on this little girl," replied Mr. Beresford, his hand among Bab's curls, "than of the book."