ed Bobby by his collar, jerking him to his feet. "Fighting
like two wildcats! What do you mean by such performances on the school
grounds?"

It was Mr. Hornbeck, and he had Bobby in one hand and Tim in the
other, and as he spoke he shook each boy violently.

"What do you call it you're doing?" he roared again.

Tim ran out an impudent tongue, but said nothing. The committeeman's
eyes under his high silk hat glared at Bobby.

"We were just playing football," stammered Bobby hastily.

"Football!" cried Mr. Hornbeck, giving each of them a tremendous
shake. "Football! You young imps! Don't tell me you don't know of the
rule that primary-grade boys are to stay off the field during football
practice. If I ever catch you around here again I'll have you up
before Mr. Carter. He'll teach you to remember."

Still retaining his grip on their collars, Mr. Hornbeck marched them
across the lot to the street.

"Now scoot," he ordered.

They needed no second command. Tim fled up the street and Bobby ran
down, each as fast as he could go.

"My stars and stripes!" ejaculated Sam Layton, meeting Bobby as the
boy came running in the driveway, "is that what they do to you at
school? Learning must be rather hard work."

No wonder Sam was surprised. Bobby's coat was torn, his blouse grimed
with mud. A great bruise was on one cheek, and his cap was crushed and
dirty. His hands and face looked as though he had been rolling in the
mud, which, as we know, he had.

"I had a fight," explained Bobby coolly. "I guess I do look a little
dirty."

"Come on out to the garage and I'll brush you off. No sense in scaring
your mother stiff," said Sam. "Who won the fight?"

"I guess old Hornbeck did," answered Bobby thoughtfully, rubbing a
finger that was sore from handling the ball. "Anyway, he had a lot to
say about it." And then he gave Sam a few particulars as he cleaned
himself.

A few days later Meg and Bobby were going home from school when Meg
suddenly remembered that she had forgotten her books.

"Well, I suppose we can go back and get 'em," grumbled Bobby, "but why
won't to-morrow do? What do you want them for to-night?"

"I told you," said Meg patiently. "Mother is going to cover them with
calico, the way she had her books when she was little. Some of the
covers are so torn I hate to have to use them."

"All right," sighed Bobby. "We'll go back. I think girls have the
worst memories!"

By the time they reached the school--th