FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS
AT SCHOOL

BOOKS BY

MARGARET SIDNEY

A LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD TOWN
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill
A LITTLE MAID OF BOSTON TOWN
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill

THE FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS

IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION

Twelve Volumes Illustrated

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS MIDWAY
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS GROWN UP
PHRONSIE PEPPER
THE STORIES POLLY PEPPER TOLD
THE ADVENTURES OF JOEL PEPPER
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS ABROAD
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AT SCHOOL
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS
BEN PEPPER
FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS IN THE LITTLE BROWN HOUSE
OUR DAVIE PEPPER

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

“TAKE RICKIE: HE BEAT, TOO, AS MUCH AS I.”

FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS
AT SCHOOL

By

MARGARET SIDNEY

AUTHOR OF “FIVE LITTLE
PEPPERS ABROAD,” “A
LITTLE MAID OF CONCORD
TOWN,” “SALLY, MRS. TUBBS”

Illustrated by

HERMANN HEYER

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

PEPPER

TRADE-MARK

PREFACE

The story of young people's lives is not complete without many and broad glimpses of their school days. It was impossible to devote the space to this recital of the Five Little Peppers' school life, in the books that showed their growing up. The author, therefore, was obliged unwillingly to omit all the daily fun and study and growth, that she, loving them as if they were real children before her eyes, saw in progress.

So she packed it all away in her mind, ready to tell to all those young people who also loved the Peppers, when they clamored for more stories about them—just what Polly and Joel and David did in their merry school days. Ben never got as much schooling as the others, for he insisted on getting into business life as early as possible, in order the sooner to begin to pay Grandpapa King back for all his kindness. But Jasper and Percy and Van joined the Peppers at school, and a right merry time they had of it!

And now the time seems ripe to accede to all the insistent demands from those who love the Five Little Peppers, that this record of their school days should be given. So here it is, just as they all gave it to

MARGARET SIDNEY.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

Five Little Peppers at School

[Top]

I HARD TIMES FOR JOEL

“Come on, Pepper.” One of the boys rushed down the dormitory hall, giving a bang on Joel's door as he passed.

“All right,” said Joel a bit crossly, “I'm coming.”

“Last bell,” came back on the wind.

Joel threw his tennis racket on the bed, and scowled. Just then a flaxen head peeped in, and two big eyes stared at him.

“Ugh!”—Joel took one look—“off with you, Jenkins.” Jenkins withdrew at once.

Joel jumped up and slammed the door hard, whirled around in vexation, sprang over and thrust the tennis racket under the bed, seized a dog-eared book, and plunged off, taking the precaution, despite his hurry, to shut the door fast behind him.

Jenkins stole out of his room three doors beyond, and as the hall was almost deserted about this hour, so many boys being in recitation, he had nothing to do but tiptoe down to Joel's room and go softly in.

“Hullo!” A voice behind made him skip.

“Oh, Berry,”—it was a tone of relief,—“it's you.”

“Um,” said Berry, “what's up now, Jenk?” He tossed back his head, while a smile of delight ran all over his face.

“Hush—come here.” Jenk had him now within Joel's room and the door shut. “We'll have fun with the beggar now.”

“Who—Dave?”

“Dave? No. Who wants to haul him over?” cried Jenk in scorn. “You are a flat, Berry, if you think that.”

“Well, you are a flat, if you think to tackle Joe,” declared Berry with the air and tone of one who knows. “Better let him alone, after what you got last term.”

“Well, I ain't going to let him alone,” declared Jenk angrily, and flushing all up to his shock of light hair; “and I gave him quite as good as he gave me, I'd have you know, Tom Beresford.”

“Hoh, hoh!” Tom gave a howl of derision, and slapped his knee in pure delight. “Tell that to the marines, sonny,” he said.

“Hush—old Fox will hear you. Be still, can't you?”—twitching his jacket—“and stop your noise.”

“I can't help it; you say such very funny things,” said Beresford, wiping his eyes.

“Well, anyway, I'm going to pay him up this term,” declared Jenkins decidedly. He was rushing around the small room; the corners devoted to David being neatness itself, which couldn't truthfully be said of Joel's quarters. “I'm after his new tennis racket. Where in thunder is it?” tossing up the motley array of balls, dumb-bells, and such treasures, that showed on their surface they belonged to no one but Joel.

“Great Scott!” Tom cried with sudden interest, and coming out of his amusement. “You won't find it.”

“Saw him looking at it just now, before he went to class,” cried Jenkins, plunging around the room. “Where is the thing?” he fumed.

Berry gave a few swift, bird-like glances around the room, then darted over to the end of one of the small beds, leaned down, and picked out from underneath the article in question.

“Oh! give it to me,” cried Jenk, flying at him, and possessing himself of the treasure; “it's mine; I told you of it.”

“Isn't it a beauty!” declared Berry, his eyes very big and longing.

“Ha, ha—ain't it? Well, Joe won't see this in one spell.”

Jenkins gave it a swing over his head, then batted his knee with it.

“What are you going to do, Jenk?” demanded Berry, presently, when he could get his mind off from the racket itself.

“Do? Ha, ha! Who says I can't pay the beggar back?” grinned Jenk, hopping all over the room, and knocking into things generally.

“Hush—hush,” warned Berry, plunging after him; “here's old Fox,” which brought both boys up breathless in the middle of the floor.

“She's gone by”—a long breath of relief; “and there she goes down the stairs,” finished Berry.

“Sure?” Not daring to breathe, but clutching the racket tightly, and with one eye on Berry, Jenk cried again in a loud whisper, “Sure, Berry?”

“As if any one could mistake the flap of those slipper-heels on the stairs!” said Berry scornfully.

“Well, look out of the window,” suggested Jenk suddenly. “She'll go across the yard, maybe.”

So Berry dashed to the window, and gave one look. “There she sails with a bottle in her hand, going over to South” (the other dormitory across the yard). “Most likely Jones has the colic again. Good! Now that disposes finely of old Fox,” which brought him back to the subject in hand, the disposal of Joel's racket.

“Give me that,” he said, hurrying over to Jenkins.

“No, you don't,” said that individual; “and I must be lively before old Fox gets back.” With that, he rushed out of the room.

“If you don't give me that racket, I'll tell on you,” cried Beresford in a passion, flying after him.

“Hush!” Jenk turned on him suddenly, and gripped him fast. “See here,” he cried in a suppressed tone, and curbing his anger as best he could, “you don't want Joe to go into that match, this afternoon, with this racket.” He shook it with eager, angry fingers.

“No,” said Berry without stopping to think, “I don't.”

“Well, then, you better keep still, and hold your tongue,” advised Jenk angrily.

“Well, what are you going to do with it?”

“None of your——” what, he didn't say, for just then a boy flew out of his room, to tear down the long hall. He had his back to them, and there was no time to skip back into Jenkins' own room, for the two had already passed it. One wild second, and Jenkins thrust the racket into the depths of the housemaid's closet close at hand, under some cleaning-cloths on a shelf. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Hullo!” The boy who was rushing along, suddenly turned, to see him whistling.

“Oh Jenk, is that you? See here, where's your Cæsar?”

“Don't know—gone up the spout,” said Jenkins carelessly, and keeping well in front of Beresford.

“Well, who has one? You haven't, Berry?” He turned to Tom anxiously.

“Not on your life he hasn't,” Jenk answered for him.

“Botheration!” ejaculated the boy. “I've fifty lines to do, else I'm shut in from the game. And Simmons has run off with my book.”

“Try Joe Pepper's room; he's in math recitation,” said Jenk suddenly. “He has one, Toppy.”

“You're a brick.” Toppy flew down the hall, and bolted into Joel's room.

“Holy Moses, what luck! He'll prowl for an hour over Joe's duds. Come on.” Jenk had his head in the cupboard, and his fingers almost on the racket, when Toppy's voice rang dismally down the hall: “Joe must have taken it.”

Jenk pulled his fingers out, and had the door fast, and was quite turned away from the dangerous locality. “Well, I don't know what you'll do, Toppy,” he said, controlling his dismay enough to speak. “Run down and skin through the fellows' rooms on first floor. Oh, good gracious!” he groaned, “it's all up with getting it now,” as a swarm of boys came tumbling over the stairs.

So he mixed with them, laughing and talking, and Berry melted off somewhere. And no one had time to think a syllable of anything but the great game of tennis to be called at two o'clock, between the two divisions of Dr. Marks' boys. Some of the team of the St. Andrew's School, a well-known set of fellows at this sport and terribly hard to beat, were going to be visitors. So there was unusual excitement.

“What's up, Pepper?” A howl that rose above every other sort of din that was then in progress, came from Joel's room.

“He's been in here!” Joel plunged out of the doorway, tossing his black, curly locks, that were always his bane, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Say, where's Jenk? He's been in my room,” he cried, doubling up his small fists.

“What is it?” cried Jenkins, making as if just coming up the stairs. “What's all the row about?”

“You've been in my room,” shouted Joel in a loud, insistent voice, “and taken my——” The rest was lost in a babel of voices.

“What? What's gone, Joe?” They all crowded into the small space, and swarmed all over the room.

“My racket,” yelled Joel wrathfully. “Jenk has got it; he better give it up. Quick now.” He pushed up the sleeves of his tennis shirt, and squared off, glaring at them all, but making the best of his way over toward Jenk.

That individual, when he saw him coming, thought it better to get behind some intervening boys. Everybody huddled against everybody else, and it was impossible to get at the truth.

“See here now, Mother Fox will be after us all if you don't hush up,” called one boy. “I guess she's coming,” which had the desired effect. All the voices died down except Joel's.

“I don't care,” said Joel wrathfully. “I wish she would come. Jenk has got my racket. He saw me with it before I ran to math; and now it's gone.” All eyes turned to Jenkins.

“Is that so?” A half-dozen hands pushed him into the centre of the group. “Then you've got to give him fits, Pepper.”

“I'm going to,” announced Joel, pushing up his sleeves higher yet, “until he tells where it is. Come on, Jenk.” He tossed his head like a young lion, and squared off.

“I haven't your old racket,” declared Jenk, a white line beginning to come around his mouth. It wasn't pleasant to see his reckoning quite so near.

“Then you know where it is,” declared Joel.

“And give it to the beggar,” cried several of the boys, with whom Jenkins was by no means a favorite.

“Give it to him worse than you did last term, Joe,” called some one on the edge of the circle closing around the two.

“I'm going to,” nodded Joel, every nerve in his body tingling to begin. “Come on, Jenk, if you won't tell where you've put my racket.”

“He's afraid,” said the boy who had advised the more severe pommelling, “old 'fraid-cat!”

Jenkins, his knees knocking together miserably, but with a wild rage in his heart at these words, struck out blindly to meet Joel's sturdy little fists, and to find his Waterloo.

In the midst of the din and confusion that this encounter produced, steps that could never by any possibility be mistaken for those of a schoolboy struck upon their ears.

The circle of spectators flew wide, and before Joel and Jenkins realized what was coming, a good two dozen hands were laid on their collars, and they were dragged apart, and hauled into separate rooms, the rest of the boys scattering successfully. Tom Beresford fled with the rest, and the long hall was cleared.

“Boys!” the voice of the matron, Mrs. Fox, rang down the deserted, long hall, as she looked up from the stairway. “Humph! they are quiet enough now.” She gave a restful sigh, and went down again. Jones and his colic were just so much extra on a terribly busy day.

“What did you fellows touch me for?” roared Joel, lifting a bloody nose. In his own room, Jenkins was in that state that recognizes any interruption as a blessing.

“Old Fox would have caught you, if we hadn't rushed you both,” cried the boys.

Tom Beresford worked his way up to say close to Joel's ear, “Don't speak, get into your room; I'll tell you where it is,” then melted off to the outer circle of boys.

Joel looked up, gave a little nod, then broke away from the boys, and dashed to Jenkins' door.

“See here,”—he flung the words out,—“you've got to finish sometime when Mrs. Fox isn't round.”

Jenkins, who was under the impression that he had had quite enough, was made to say, “All right;” something in the boys' faces making it seem imperative that he should do so.

Quite pleased, Joel withdrew as suddenly as he had come.

Meanwhile, up the stairs, two at a time, came Davie, singing at the memory of the special commendation given by his instructor in the recitation just over; and secretly David's heart bounded with a wild hope of taking home a prize in classics for Mamsie!

“Everything's just beautiful this term!” he hummed to himself. And then, in a breathing space he was in his room, and there, well drawn behind the door, was a boy with big eyes. “Hush” he warned.

“What's the matter?” asked David in astonishment, “and where's Joel?”

“Oh, don't speak his name; he's in disgrace. Oh, it's perfectly awful!” The boy huddled up in a heap, and tried to shut the door.

“Who?” cried David, not believing his ears.

“Joel—oh dear! it's perfectly awful!”

“Stop saying it's perfectly awful, Bates, and tell me what's the matter.” Davie felt faintish, and sat down on the shoe-box.

Bates shut the door with a clap, and then came to stand over him, letting the whole information out with a rush.

“He's pitched into Jenk—and they've had a fight—and they're all blood—and the old Fox almost got 'em both.” Then he shut his mouth suddenly, the whole being told.

Davie put both hands to his head. For a minute everything turned dark around him. Then he thought of Mamsie. “Oh dear me!” he said, coming to.

“How I wish he'd had it all out with that beggar!” exploded Bates longingly.

David didn't say anything, being just then without words. At this instant Joel rushed in with his bloody nose, and a torn sleeve where Jenk in his desperation had gripped it fast.

“Oh Joel!” screamed Davie at sight of him, and springing from his shoe-box. “Are you hurt? Oh Joey!”

“Phoo! that's nothing,” said Joel, running over to the wash-basin, and plunging his head in, to come up bright and smiling. “See, Dave, I'm all right,” he announced, his black eyes shining. “But he's a mean beggar to steal my new racket,” he concluded angrily.

“To steal your new racket that Grandpapa sent you!” echoed David. “Oh dear me! who has taken it? Oh Joel!”

“That beggar Jenkins,” exploded Joel. “But I'm to know where it is.” Just then the door opened cautiously, enough to admit a head. “Don't speak, Pepper, but come.”

Joel flung down the towel, and pranced to the door.

“No one else,” said the boy to whom the head belonged.

“Not me?” asked David longingly. “Can't I come?”

“No—no one but Joe.” Joel rushed over the sill tumultuously, deserting David and the Bates boy.

“Don't speak a single word,” said the boy out in the hall, putting his mouth close to Joel's ear, “but move lively.”

No need to tell him so. In a minute they were both before the housemaid's closet.

“Feel under,” whispered the boy, with a sharp eye down the length of the hall.

Joel's brown hands pawed among the cleaning-cloths and brushes, bringing up in a trice the racket, Grandpapa's gift, to flourish it high.

“Take care; keep it down,” said the boy in a hurried whisper.

“Oh, oh!” cried Joel, hanging to it in a transport.

“Um,” the boy nodded. “Hush, be still. Now skip for your room.”

“Beresford,” said Joel, his black eyes shining as he paused a breathing space before rushing back to Davie, the new racket gripped fast, “if I don't pay Jenk for this!”

“Do.” Tom grinned all over his face in great delight; “you'll be a public benefactor,” and he softly beat his hands together.

[Top]

II THE TENNIS MATCH

Joel, hugging his recovered tennis racket, rushed off to the court. Tom Beresford, staring out of his window, paused while pulling on his sweater to see him go, a sorry little feeling at his heart, after all, at Joe's good spirits.

“He'll play like the mischief, and a great deal better for the row and the fright over that old racket. Well, I had to tell. 'Twould have been too mean for anything to have kept still.”

So he smothered a sigh, and got into his togs, seized his implements of battle, and dashed off too. Streams of boys were rushing down to the court, and the yard was black with them. In the best places were the visitors. Royalty couldn't have held stronger claims to distinction in the eyes of Dr. Marks' boys; and many were the anxious glances sent over at the four St. Andrew's boys. If the playing shouldn't come up to the usual high mark!

“Pepper will score high,” one after another said as he dropped to the ground next to his chums, in the circle around the court.

“Of course.” Nobody seemed to doubt Joel's powers along that line. “He always does.” And cries of “Pepper—Pepper,” were taken up, and resounded over the yard.

Joel heard it as he dashed along, and he held his head high, well pleased. But David followed his every movement with anxiety. “I'm afraid he was hurt,” he said to himself; “and if he should lose the game, he'd never get over it. Oh dear me! if Mamsie could only be here!”

But Mamsie was far away from her boys, whom she had put at Dr. Marks' school for the very purpose of achieving self-reliance and obedience to the training of the little brown house. So Davie, smothering his longing, got into a front row with several boys of his set, and bent all his attention to the game just beginning.

Sharp at two o'clock the four went on to the court—Joel and Fred Ricketson against Tom Beresford and Lawrence Greene, otherwise “Larry.” And amid howls of support from the “rooters,” the game began.

At first Joel's luck seemed to desert him, and he played wild, causing much consternation in the ranks violently rooting for him. David's head sank, and he leaned his elbows on his knees, to bury his hot cheeks in his hands.

“Wake up,” cried Paul Sykes, his very particular friend, hoarsely, giving him a dig in the ribs. “Don't collapse, Dave.”

“Oh!” groaned David, his head sinking lower yet, “I can't look; I simply can't. It will kill Joel.”

“Stiffen up!” cried Paul. “Joe's all right; he'll come to. Ha!”

A shout, stunning at first, that finally bore down all before it in the shape of opposing enthusiasm, swept over the whole yard. Screams of applause, perfectly deafening, rent the air. And look! even the visitors from St. Andrew's are leaping to their feet, and yelling, “Good—good.” Something quite out of the common, even in a close tennis match, was taking place. David shuddered, and crouched down on the ground as far as he could. Paul gave him an awful whack on the back.

“You're losing it all,” he cried as he stood on his tiptoes. “Hi! Hi! Tippety Rippety! Hi! Hi!”

It was Joel's especial yell; and there he was, as David scrambled up to see him, head thrown back, and black eyes shining in the way they always did when he worked for Mamsie and Polly, and that dealt despair to all opponents. He had just made a brilliant stroke, returning one of Larry's swiftest balls in such a manner that it just skimmed over the net and passed the boys before they could recover themselves, and fairly taking off from their feet the St. Andrew's men who had been misled by Joel's previous slow playing in the first set, which Tom and Larry had won.

“Who is he? Gee Whiz! but that's good form!” declared Vincent Parry, the St. Andrew's champion, excitedly.

“Pepper—don't you know Pepper?” cried a dozen throats, trying to seem unconscious that it was Parry, the champion, who was asking the question.

“Oh, is that Pepper?” said the St. Andrew's boy. While “Pepper—Pepper. Hi! Hi! Tippety Rippety! Hi! Hi!” rolled out, till there wasn't any other sound to be heard. And a regular tussle of boys were getting in the wildest excitement when it was announced that Pepper and Ricketson had won the second set, the referees trying to quiet them so that the game could proceed.

In the third set, Joel seemed to have it all his own way, and fairly swept Ricketson along with him. The excitement was now so intense that the boys forgot to yell, afraid they would miss some strokes.

David clenched his hands tightly. The net and flying balls spun all together inextricably before his eyes as he strained them to see Joe's brilliant returns. This was the deciding set, as the cup was to go to the winners of two sets out of three.

Joel's last serve was what finished it; the ball flashing by Tom with such impetus, that even the St. Andrew's champion said he couldn't ever have returned it.

Everybody drew a long breath, and then the crowd rushed and converged to Joel; surrounded him, fighting for first place, the fortunate ones tossing him up to their shoulders to race him in triumph around the yard.

“Take Ricket!” screamed Joel, red in the face. “Take him!” he roared. “He beat too, as much as I.” So a second group seized Fred; and up he went to be trotted after, the crowd swarming alongside, yelling, tumbling over each other,—gone perfectly wild; Joe waving the cup, thrust into his hand, which would be kept by the winners for a year.

It was the middle of the night. Davie, flushed with the happiest thoughts, had peacefully settled to dreams in which Mamsie and Grandpapa, and Polly and Jasper, and all the dear home people, were tangled up. And Phronsie seemed to be waving a big silver cup, and piping out with a glad little laugh, “Oh, I am so glad!” And now and then the scene of operations flew off to the little brown house, that it appeared impossible to keep quite out of dreamland. Some one gripped him by the arm.

“Oh, what is it, Joe?” David flew up to a sitting posture in the middle of his bed.

“It isn't Joe. Get up as quick as you can.”

David, with a dreadful feeling at his heart, tumbled out of bed. “Isn't Joe!” he found time to say, with a glance in the darkness over toward Joel's bed.

“Hurry up, don't stop to talk.” The voice was Tom Beresford's. “Get on your clothes.”

Meantime he was scuffing around. “Where in time are your shoes?” But David already had those articles, and was pulling them on with hasty fingers. “Oh, tell me,” he couldn't help crying; but “Hurry up!” was all he got for his pains. And at last, after what seemed an age to Tom, David was piloted out into the hall, with many adjurations to “go softly,” down the long flight of stairs. Here he came to a dead stop. “I can't go another single step, Tom,” he said firmly, “unless you tell me what you want me for. And where is Joel?” he gasped.

“Oh, bother! in another minute you'd have been outside, and then it would be safe to tell you,” said Tom. “Well, if you will have it, Dave, Joe's finishing up that business with Jenk, and you're the only one that can stop it. Now don't keel over.”

David clung to the door, which Tom had managed to open softly, and for a minute it looked as if Beresford would have his hands full without in the least benefiting Joel. But suddenly he straightened up. “Oh, tell me where he is,” he cried, in a manner and voice exactly like Polly when she had anything that must be done set before her. And clear ahead of his guide when Tom whispered, “Down in the pine grove,” sped Davie on the very wings of the wind.

“Gracious! Joel is nothing to Dave as a sprinter,” said Tom to himself, as his long legs got him over the ground in the rear.

The two boys hugged the shadow of the tall trees and dashed across the lawn to the shrubbery beyond. Then it was but a breathing space, and a few good leaps to the depths of the pine grove. In the midst of this were two figures, busily engaged in the cheerful occupation of fisticuffing each other till the stronger might win.

“Joel!” called David hoarsely, his breath nearly spent as he dashed up.

Joel, at this, wavered, and turned. Seeing which, his antagonist dealt him a thwack that made his head spin, and nearly lost him his footing.

“That was mean, Jenk!” exclaimed Beresford, dashing up in time to see it. “You took advantage when Joe was off guard,” he cried hotly.

“No such thing,” roared Jenk, losing his head at what now seemed an easy victory, “and I'll settle with you when I get through with Joe, for being such a mean sneak as to turn tell-tale, Tom.”

“All right,” said Tom coolly. “Go it, Joe, and pay him up. You've several scores to settle now.”

“Joel,” gasped Davie. “Oh Mamsie!” He could get no further.

Joel's hands, out once more in good fighting trim, wavered again, and sank helplessly down to his side.

“Oh dear!” Tom groaned in amazement.

“Hoh—hoh! you see how easy I could whip him,” laughed Jenkins, raining down blows all over Joel's figure, who didn't offer to stir.

“See here you!” Tom fairly roared it out, perfectly regardless of possible detection. “You beastly coward!” And he jumped in between Joel and his antagonist. “You may settle with me now if you like.”

“Stop, Tom.” Joel seized him from behind. Tom, in a fury, turned to see his face working dreadfully, while the brown hands gripped him tightly. “I forgot—Mamsie wouldn't—like—you mustn't, Tom. If you do, I'll scream for John,” he declared suddenly.

John, the watchman, being the last person whom any of Dr. Marks' boys desired to see when engaged in a midnight prank, Beresford backed away slowly from Jenkins, who was delighted once more at the interruption, and fastened his gaze on Joel. “Well, I never did, Pepper!” he brought himself to say.

“Tom,” said David brokenly, and getting over to him to seize his hand, “don't you know our Mamsie would feel dreadfully to see Joel doing any such thing? Oh, she would, Tom,” as Beresford continued to stare without a word.

“Not to such a miserable beggar.” Tom at last found his tongue, and pointed to Jenk.

“Oh, yes, she would. It's just as bad in Joel,” said Davie, shaking his head. Joel turned suddenly, took two or three steps, then flung himself down flat on his face on the pine needles.

“Well, get up,” said Tom crossly, running over to him. “John will maybe get over here, we've made so much noise. Hurry up, Joe, we must all get back.”

Joel, thus adjured, especially as David got down on the ground, to put his arms around the shaking shoulders, got up slowly. Then they turned around to look for Jenkins. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Little coward!” exclaimed Tom between his teeth. “Well, we'll have to skin it as best we may back. Here comes John!”

They could see his lantern moving around among the trees; and dashing off, taking the precaution to hug the shadow of the trees again, they soon made the big door to the dormitory. Tom reached it first, and turned the knob. “It's locked,” he said. “The mean, beastly coward has locked us out.”

[Top]

III A NARROW ESCAPE

Joel, in such an emergency, wiped his black eyes and looked up sharply. David sank on the upper step.

“Oh, no, Tom,” cried Joel, crowding in between Beresford and the door, “it can't be. Get out of the way; let me try.”

“It is—it is, I tell you,” howled Tom in what was more of a whine, as he kept one eye out for John and his lantern. “The mean sneak has got the best of us, Joe.” He set his teeth hard together, and his face turned white.

Joe dropped the doorknob, and whirled off the steps.

“Julius Cæsar! where are you going?” began Tom, as Joel disappeared around the corner of the dormitory.

“He's gone to see if John is coming, I suppose,” said Davie weakly.

Tom, preferring to see for himself, skipped off, and disappeared around the angle. “Oh—oh!” was what David heard next, making him fly from his step to follow in haste.

What he saw was so much worse than all his fears as Tom gripped his arm pointing up over his head, that he screamed right out, “Oh Joe, come back, you'll be killed!”

“He can't come back,” said Tom hoarsely. “He'd much better go on.” Joel, more than halfway up the lightning conductor, was making good time shinning along. He turned to say, “I'm all right, Dave,” as a window above them was thrown up, and a head in a white nightcap was thrust out.

“It's all up with him now; there's old Fox,” groaned Tom, ducking softly back over the grass. “Come on, Dave.”

But David, with clasped hands and white face, had no thought of deserting Joel.

The person in the window, having the good sense to utter no exclamation, waited till Joel was up far enough for her to grasp his arm. Then she couldn't help it as she saw his face.

“Joel Pepper!”

“Yes'm,” said Joel, turning his chubby face toward her. “I knew I could get up here; it's just as easy as anything.”

Mrs. Fox set her other hand to the task of helping him into the dimly lighted hall, much to Joel's disgust, as he would much have preferred to enter unassisted. Then she turned her cap-frills full on him, and said in a tone of great displeasure, “What is the meaning of all this?”

“Why, I had to go out, Mrs. Fox.”

“Why?”

“Oh—I—I—had to.”

She didn't ask him again, for the matron was a woman of action, and in all her dealings with boys had certain methods by which she brought them to time. So she only set her sharp eyes, that Dr. Marks' pupils always called “gimlets,” full upon him. “Go to your room,” was all she said.

“Oh Mrs. Fox,” cried Joel, trying dreadfully to control himself, and twisting his brown hands in the effort, “I—I—had to go. Really I did.”

“So you said before. Go to your room.” Then a second thought struck her. “Was any other boy with you?” she demanded suddenly.

Joel gave a sharp cry of distress as he started down the hall, revolving in his mind how he would steal down and unlock the door as soon as the matron had taken herself off.

“Here, stop—come back here! Now answer me—yes or no—was any other boy with you?” as Joel stood before her again.

Joel's stubby black curls dropped so that she couldn't see his face. As there was no reply forthcoming, Mrs. Fox took him by the arm. “You needn't go to your room, Joel,” she said sharply. “You may go to Coventry.”

“Oh Mrs. Fox,” Joel burst out, “don't—don't send me there.”

“A boy who cannot answer me, is fit only for Coventry,” said Mrs. Fox with great dignity, despite the nightcap. “Wait here, Joel. I will get my candle, and light you down.” She stepped off to a corner of the hall, where she had set the candlestick on a table, when startled by the noise outside. “Now we will go.”

It was impossible that all this confusion should not awake some of the boys in the hall; and by this time there was much turning on pillows, and leaning on elbows, and many scuttlings out of bed to listen at doors opened a crack, so that nearly every one of the occupants, on that particular hall soon knew that “old Fox” had Joel Pepper in her clutches, and that he was being led off somewhere.

And at last Joel let it out himself. “Oh Mrs. Fox—dear Mrs. Fox, don't make me go to Coventry,” he roared. He clutched her wrapper, a big, flowered affair that she wore on such nocturnal rambles, and held it fast. “I'll be just as good,” he implored.

“Coventry is the place for you, Joel Pepper,” said Mrs. Fox grimly; “so we will start.”

Meanwhile David, holding his breath till he saw, in the dim light that always streamed out from the dormitory hall where the gas was left turned down at night, that Joel was safely drawn in to shelter, frantically rushed around to the big door, in the wild hope that somehow admittance would be gained. “Joe will come by and by,” he said to himself, sinking down on the steps.

“We're done for,” said Tom's voice off in the distance.

“Oh Tom, are you there?” cried Davie, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse.

“Hush!” Tom poked his head out from a clump of shrubbery. “Don't you dare to breathe. I tell you, Dave, our only hope is in staying here till morning.”

“Oh dear me!” exclaimed David in dismay.

“Oh dear me!” echoed Tom in derision. It was impossible for him to stop talking, he was so keyed up. “It's paradise, I'm sure, compared to being in old Fox's grip.”

This brought David back to Joel's plight, and he sighed dismally, and leant his head on his hands. How long he sat there he couldn't have told. The first thing he did know, a big hand was laid on his shoulder, and a bright glare of light fell full on his face.

“Oh my soul and body!” cried John, the watchman, bending over him, “if here ain't one of th' boys dead asleep on the doorsteps!”

“Little goose, to sit there!” groaned Tom, huddling back into his bushes. “Now it's all up with him. Well, I'll save my skin, for I don't believe those boys will tell on me.”

“Coventry” was a small square room in the extension, containing a bed, a table, and a chair, where the boys who were refractory were sent. It was considered a great disgrace to be its inmate. They were not locked in; but no boy once put there was ever known to come out unless bidden by the authorities. And no one, of course, could speak to them when they emerged from it to go to recitations, for their lessons must be learned in the silence of this room. Then back from the class-room the culprit must go to this hated place, to stay as long as his misdemeanor might seem to deserve.

It was so much worse punishment than a flogging could possibly be, that all Dr. Marks' boys heard “Coventry” with a chill that stopped many a prank in mid-air.

But Joel didn't get into “Coventry” after all, for at the foot of the stairs, another candle-beam was advancing; and back of it was the thin, sharp face of Mr. Harrow, one of the under-teachers.

“Oh Mr. Harrow,” screamed Joel, breaking away from the matron, to plunge up to him, “she's going to put me into Coventry. Oh, don't make me go there; it will kill my Mamsie, and Polly.”

“Hey?” Mr. Harrow came to a sudden stop, and whirled the candlestick around to get a better view of things. “What's this, Mrs. Fox? And Joel Pepper, of all boys!”

“I know it,” said Mrs. Fox, her candlestick shaking in an unsteady hand. “Well, you see, sir, I was going upstairs to see if little Fosdick had blankets enough; it's turned cold, and you know he's had a sore throat, and——”

“Well, come to the point, Mrs. Fox,” said the teacher, bringing her up quickly. Joel clung desperately to his hand, shaking violently in every limb.

“Oh, yes, sir—well, and I heard a noise outside, so I bethought me to look, and there was this boy climbing up the lightning conductor.”

“Up the lightning conductor?” echoed Mr. Harrow.

“Yes, sir,”—Mrs. Fox's cap-frills trembled violently as she nodded,—“Joel Pepper was climbing up the lightning conductor, sir. And I thought I should have dropped to see him, sir.”

The under-teacher turned and surveyed Joel. “Well, I think, Mrs. Fox,” he said slowly, “if he's been over that lightning conductor to-night, we won't put him in Coventry.”

“He wouldn't answer when I asked him if any other boys were there,” said the matron, a dull red spot coming on either cheek.

“That's bad—very bad,” said Mr. Harrow. “Well, I'll take Joel under my care. Do you go to bed, Mrs. Fox.”

It was all done in a minute. Somehow Mrs. Fox never quite realized how she was left standing alone. And as there really wasn't anything else for her to do, she concluded to take the under-teacher's advice.

“Now, Joel,”—Mr. Harrow looked down at his charge,—“you seem to be left for me to take care of. Well, suppose you come into my room, and tell me something about this affair.”

Joel, with his heart full of distress about David and Tom, now that the immediate cause of alarm over his being put into “Coventry” was gone, could scarcely conceal his dismay, as he followed Mr. Harrow to his room. He soon found himself on a chair; and the under-teacher, setting his candlestick down, took an opposite one.

“Do you mind telling me all about this little affair of yours, Joe?” said Mr. Harrow, leading off easily. His manner, once away from the presence of the matron, was as different as possible; and Joel, who had never met him in just this way, stared in amazement.

“You see, Joe,” the under-teacher went on, and he began to play with some pencils on the table, “it isn't so very long ago, it seems to me, since I was a boy. And I climbed lightning conductors too. I really did, Joel.”

Joel's black eyes gathered a bright gleam in their midst.

“Yes, and at night, too,” said the under-teacher softly, “though I shouldn't want you to mention it to the boys. So now, if you wouldn't mind, Joel, I should really like to hear all about this business of yours.”

But Joel twisted his hands, only able to say, “Oh dear! I can't tell, Mr. Harrow.” His distress was dreadful to see.

“Well,” said the under-teacher slowly, “perhaps in the morning you'll feel better able to tell. I won't press it now. You must get to bed, Joe,” with a keen look at his face.

“Oh Mr. Harrow—would you—would you—” Joel jumped out of his seat, and over to the under-teacher's chair.

“Would I what?” asked Mr. Harrow in perplexity, wishing very much that “Mamsie,” whom he had seen on her visits to the school, were there at that identical moment.

“Would you—oh, might I unlock the—the back door?” gasped Joel, his black eyes very big with distress.

“Unlock the back door?” repeated Mr. Harrow. Then he paused a moment. “Certainly; I'll go with you.” He got out of his chair.

“Oh, no, sir,” cried Joel tumbling back, “I'll—I'll do it alone if I may; please, sir.”

“Oh, no, Joel, that can't ever be allowed,” Mr. Harrow was saying decidedly, when steps were heard coming down the hall, and there was John, the watchman, hauling David Pepper along the dimly lighted hall to the extra gleam of the under-teacher's room.

“I found this boy asleep on the steps,” announced John, coming in with his charge.

“Why, David Pepper!” exclaimed Mr. Harrow in astonishment. Then he turned a cold glance on Joel, who flew over to Davie's side.

“Joel!” cried David convulsively, and blinking dreadfully as he came into the light. “Oh, I'm so glad you're safe—oh, so glad, Joey!” He hid his face on Joel's arm, and sobbed.

“You may go, John,” said the under-teacher to that individual, who kept saying, “I found that boy asleep on the steps,” over and over, unable to stop himself. “And don't say anything about this to any one. I will take care of the matter.”

“All right, sir,” said John, glad to be relieved of all responsibility, and touching his cap. “I found that boy asleep on the steps,” he added as he took himself off.

“Now, see here.” Mr. Harrow laid his hand on David's shoulder, ignoring Joel for the time, and drew him aside. “The whole of this business must be laid before me, David. So begin.”

“Oh Dave!” cried Joel, springing up to him. “Oh, sir—oh, Mr. Harrow, it was all my fault, truly it was. David only came after me. Oh Mr. Harrow, don't make him tell.”

“You go and sit down in that chair, Joel,” said Mr. Harrow, pointing to it. So Joel went, and got on it, twisting miserably.

“Now, then, David.”

“You see,” said David, the tears still rolling down his cheeks, “that—oh dear!—Joel was gone, and—”

“How did you know Joel was gone?” interrupted the under-teacher.

“Oh dear!” David caught his breath. “Another boy told me, sir.”

“Who?”

David hesitated. “Must I tell, sir?” not trusting himself to look at Joel.

“Certainly.”

“Tom Beresford.”

“Ugh!” Joel sprang from his chair. “He hadn't anything to do with it, sir. Tom has been awfully good. He only told Dave.”

“Go back to your chair, Joel,” said Mr. Harrow. “Now, then, David, go on. So you went out with Beresford to find Joel, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” said David faintly.

“Any other boy?” asked the under-teacher quickly.

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, Tom is waiting out there, I suppose, now.” Mr. Harrow got out of his chair.

“He didn't have anything to do with it, sir,” cried Joel wildly, and flying out of his chair again, “truly he didn't.”