guess it. Penrod's crime was unique;
there were no rules to aid him in estimating the vengeance to fall upon
him for it. What seemed most probable was that he would be expelled from
the schools in the presence of his family, the mayor, and council, and
afterward whipped by his father upon the State House steps, with the
entire city as audience by invitation of the authorities.

Noon came. The rows of children filed out, every head turning for a last
unpleasingly speculative look at the outlaw. Then Miss Spence closed the
door into the cloakroom and that into the big hall, and came and sat at
her desk, near Penrod. The tramping of feet outside, the shrill calls
and shouting and the changing voices of the older boys ceased to be
heard--and there was silence. Penrod, still affecting to be occupied
with Lowell, was conscious that Miss Spence looked at him intently.

"Penrod," she said gravely, "what excuse have you to offer before I
report your case to the principal?"

The word "principal" struck him to the vitals. Grand Inquisitor, Grand
Khan, Sultan, Emperor, Tsar, Caesar Augustus--these are comparable. He
stopped squirming instantly, and sat rigid.

"I want an answer. Why did you shout those words at me?"

"Well," he murmured, "I was just--thinking."

"Thinking what?" she asked sharply.

"I don't know."

"That won't do!"

He took his left ankle in his right hand and regarded it helplessly.

"That won't do, Penrod Schofield," she repeated severely. "If that is
all the excuse you have to offer I shall report your case this instant!"

And she rose with fatal intent.

But Penrod was one of those whom the precipice inspires. "Well, I HAVE
got an excuse."

"Well"--she paused impatiently--"what is it?"

He had not an idea, but he felt one coming, and replied automatically,
in a plaintive tone:

"I guess anybody that had been through what I had to go through, last
night, would think they had an excuse."

Miss Spence resumed her seat, though with the air of being ready to leap
from it instantly.

"What has last night to do with your insolence to me this morning?"

"Well, I guess you'd see," he returned, emphasizing the plaintive note,
"if you knew what I know."

"Now, Penrod," she said, in a kinder voice, "I have a high regard for
your mother and father, and it would hurt me to distress them, but you
must either tell me what was the matter with you or I'll have to take
you to Mrs. Houston."

"Well, ain'