"We went right on and came
home, didn't we, Roddy?"
"Yes," nodded Brother. "And that was before lunch, Daddy."
Daddy Morrison looked troubled.
"If you say you did not throw the tar, I believe you," he said
gravely. "You may get into mischief and do wrong things, but I am
sure you do not tell wrong stories. I don't see how Miss Putnam
can be positive enough to give your names to the police, but I am
going around to see her now and hear what she has to say. Then
I'll stop in at the town hall and see the chief of police."
The telephone rang just then, and he went downstairs. It was only
half-past seven, but Mother Morrison insisted that it was time for
them to get ready for bed.
"Your father doesn't want you to speak of the tar to any of your
playmates," she said as she brushed Sister's hair. "You must be
very careful and not say a word against Miss Putnam. People may
make mistakes easily, and we'll try to think as kindly of her as
we can. Poor old lady! She must be terribly tormented by the
children to dislike them so."
"I wish," wept Sister over her sandals as she unbuckled them, "I
wish I hadn't smashed Jimmie's butterflies. Now he's mad at me."
"Well, you know he has asked you not to play in the barn when he
isn't there to watch you," suggested Mother Morrison mildly.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91