For the appalling words that
he had hurled at the teacher were as inexplicable to him as to any other
who heard them.
Nothing is more treacherous than the human mind; nothing else so loves
to play the Iscariot. Even when patiently bullied into a semblance of
order and training, it may prove but a base and shifty servant. And
Penrod's mind was not his servant; it was a master, with the April
wind's whims; and it had just played him a diabolical trick. The very
jolt with which he came back to the schoolroom in the midst of his
fancied flight jarred his day-dream utterly out of him; and he sat,
open-mouthed in horror at what he had said.
The unanimous gasp of awe was protracted. Miss Spence, however, finally
recovered her breath, and, returning deliberately to the platform, faced
the school. "And then for a little while," as pathetic stories sometimes
recount, "everything was very still." It was so still, in fact, that
Penrod's newborn notoriety could almost be heard growing. This grisly
silence was at last broken by the teacher.
"Penrod Schofield, stand up!"
The miserable child obeyed.
"What did you mean by speaking to me in that way?"
He hung his head, raked the floor with the side of his shoe, swayed,
swallowed, looked suddenly at his hands with the air of never having
seen them before, then clasped them behind him. The school shivered in
ecstatic horror, every fascinated eye upon him; yet there was not a
soul in the room but was profoundly grateful to him for the
sensation--including the offended teacher herself.
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