“At two o’clock, boys, we start. Take care that none of you get into a mischief between now and then.” A chorus of assurances. “Ah!” sighed the bandmaster, “I know what boys are. Lancaster, can you take a note to the superintendent for me?”
“Like a shot, sir.”
Bobbie, flying out into the asphalted playground to take the note in the promised manner, found himself tripped up by Master Nutler, who, having done this, demanded, with great indignation, to know where Bobbie was a-coming to. Bobbie replied that some day, when he could afford it, he proposed to enjoy the pleasure of again wiping the floor with Nutler, whereupon that young gentleman requested that the task should not be postponed, but should be effected at once. Bobbie forced himself into composure, and hurried on, followed by a parting remark from Nutler, “Sneak!”
Trotting along by the fringe of flower beds on the right-hand side of the broad walk, in great good-humour, the scream of a girl near to one of the red-roofed houses made him stop. Lanky Miss Nutler, having seen him approach, had twisted the arm of the small girl who, two years previously, had arrived at the Homes with Bobbie, and who, having long since given up tears, had become one of the brightest little maids in the place. At present, however, she appeared terrified out of her usual cheerfulness because of superfluous attention paid to her by Miss Nutler.
“Now will you be good?” inquired Miss Nutler, suavely, as she gave the small girl’s arm another twist.
“I am good,” cried the small girl piteously. “Leave off twistin’ my wrist, or else I shall have to scream.”
“Promise not to call me Miss Camel again,” ordered the lanky young woman.
“I never did.”
“I shall punish you,” said Miss Nutler, with regret, “more for telling a lie than for calling me out of my proper name.” The small girl screamed with pain. “Ah! you may ’oller.”
“Leave the girl alone,” shouted Bobbie from the fence of the garden.