"He says he didn't fight," said his mother, "and he says he didn't fall down. He won't tell me, and I told him he must tell you. I don't know why he doesn't want to tell; he isn't ashamed or very much frightened, and he didn't cry after he came home."
Bob heard Papa Jack's footsteps cross the hall and come in upon the hard-wood library floor, and then on the big rug by the library couch. Papa Jack sat down beside him and put his big fingers around Bob's little ones.
"Well, what about it, Son?"
Bob looked up and smiled. Always such a pleasant, warm feeling came over him when Papa Jack came near him and talked to him.
"What about it, Son?"
But Bob could not reply. His eyes grew serious as they looked back into his father's.
"What did this, Bob?" asked Papa Jack, gently touching the hazelnut bruise with a finger.
"A boy," said Bob.
"What boy?" asked Papa Jack. "A big boy?"
Silence, and then a shake of the head.