"Well, of all----!" cried Mrs. Schofield, astounded. "What was the
matter? He just went--like that!" She made a flurried gesture. "In
heaven's name, Margaret, what DID you say to him?"
"_I_!" exclaimed Margaret indignantly. "Nothing! He just WENT!"
"Why, he didn't even take off his hat when he said good-night!" said
Mrs. Schofield.
Margaret, who had crossed to the doorway, caught the ghost of a whisper
behind her, where stood Penrod.
"YOU BET HE DIDN'T!"
He knew not that he was overheard.
A frightful suspicion flashed through Margaret's mind--a suspicion that
Mr. Kinosling's hat would have to be either boiled off or shaved off.
With growing horror she recalled Penrod's long absence when he went to
bring the hat.
"Penrod," she cried, "let me see your hands!"
She had toiled at those hands herself late that afternoon, nearly
scalding her own, but at last achieving a lily purity.
"Let me see your hands!"
She seized them.
Again they were tarred!
CHAPTER XXVI THE QUIET AFTERNOON
Perhaps middle-aged people might discern Nature's real intentions in the
matter of pain if they would examine a boy's punishments and sorrows,
for he prolongs neither beyond their actual duration. With a boy,
trouble must be of Homeric dimensions to last overnight. To him, every
next day is really a new day. Thus, Penrod woke, next morning, with
neither the unspared rod, nor Mr. Kinosling in his mind. Tar, itself,
so far as his consideration of it went, might have been an undiscovered
substance.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194