"It was just as
I told you: he was standing clear outside the pavilion----"
"I never thought to see the day! And Penrod was the only boy not doing
it, the only one to refuse? ALL the others were----"
"Every one!" she returned triumphantly. "Even Georgie Bassett!"
"Well," said Mr. Schofield, patting her on the shoulder. "I guess we can
hold up our heads at last."
CHAPTER XXXI OVER THE FENCE
Penrod was out in the yard, staring at the empty marquee. The sun was on
the horizon line, so far behind the back fence, and a western window of
the house blazed in gold unbearable to the eye: his day was nearly
over. He sighed, and took from the inside pocket of his new jacket the
"sling-shot" aunt Sarah Crim had given him that morning.
He snapped the rubbers absently. They held fast; and his next impulse
was entirely irresistible. He found a shapely stone, fitted it to the
leather, and drew back the ancient catapult for a shot. A sparrow hopped
upon a branch between him and the house, and he aimed at the sparrow,
but the reflection from the dazzling window struck in his eyes as he
loosed the leather.
He missed the sparrow, but not the window. There was a loud crash,
and to his horror he caught a glimpse of his father, stricken in
mid-shaving, ducking a shower of broken glass, glittering razor
flourishing wildly. Words crashed with the glass, stentorian words,
fragmentary but collossal.
Penrod stood petrified, a broken sling in his hand.
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