ly swallowed and carefully wet the puffed lip with his
tongue.

"Why, Bobbie, Bobbie, what is the matter?" cried his mother, dropping
down on her knees on the walk beside him. She put both her hands on his
shoulders and turned his face toward her; and Bob looked straight into
her troubled blue eyes, and suddenly began to feel better--began to
feel, indeed, that he did not have to care so much, after all.

"Oh, Bobbie, _have_ you been fighting?"

Bob shook his head.

"How did you get your lip hurt so? Did you fall down?"

Again he shook his head. He didn't know just how to tell her. It wasn't
fighting. At least, _he_ didn't fight; it had been that other boy. But,
somehow, he did not want to say that; he did not want to tell; he wanted
something, but he did not know just what it was. He found himself
forgetting how he had felt a moment before, and then he discovered that
he was not thinking about what he wanted at all. He was thinking what a
very _blue_ blue his mother's eyes were when she looked at him so, and,
all at once, he felt more sorry for her than for himself, because she
looked so troubled; and he kissed her quickly, and hurt his lip.

Mrs. McAllister led him into the house. "Won't you tell mother, Bob?"
she asked.

But he couldn't. He was feeling better--much better--but he couldn't
tell. There was another reason now, that he hadn't thought of before: it
would make her feel more sorry. And after all, it didn't matter so
much; that is, it didn't if-- He looked up at her with a new thought.

"But, Bob, you must tell mother all about it," she was saying, as she
carefully bathed his chin and lip, and so he had to shake his head
again.

"Then you must tell papa this noon, Bob."

Bob considered. No, he couldn't tell Papa Jack, either. He felt pretty
sure father himself wouldn't tell about such a thing if he were a boy.
He was silent.

Mrs. McAllister began to move about her work, though she still looked at
him frequently and anxiously. Bob went away to the window, and stood
looking out. He remembered how he had started out that morning, with
school-bag and lunch; he remembered how he had approached the
school-grounds, and how big and strange and attractive a place it had
seemed to him at first, and what a good time all those boys had been
having; and then he remembered how, suddenly, he had found them all
around him, summoned by the call of that boy with the hateful grin, and
how Curly Davis had sneered