over his face, and his hands plunged deep into his pockets.
“I don’t believe he will feel like seeing you boys now,” said she. “I want to have a little talk with him, and you had better keep away.”
The boys obediently retired through the back gate before Phil had a chance to see them. He was going directly past the house, when Bess called him,—
“Come in a minute, Phil.”
The boy stopped doubtfully for a moment. Then he turned and came up to where she stood waiting. Taking his hand, all red and puffed up with the blows, she led him into the house.
“Now, Phil, my boy,” she said gently, “tell me all about it.”
Phil’s face grew red, and his lips twitched. Then he answered abruptly,—
“There’s not much to tell, only Miss Witherspoon whipped me because I wouldn’t tell on one of the boys, and she isn’t going to let me go back to school until I tell who did it. She’ll just have to wait, then, that’s all.”
Bess looked anxious. This was worse than she expected.
