"Penrod Schofield, stand up!"

The miserable child obeyed.

"What did you mean by speaking to me in that way?"

He hung his head, raked the floor with the side of his shoe, swayed,
swallowed, looked suddenly at his hands with the air of never having
seen them before, then clasped them behind him. The school shivered in
ecstatic horror, every fascinated eye upon him; yet there was not a
soul in the room but was profoundly grateful to him for the
sensation--including the offended teacher herself. Unhappily, all this
gratitude was unconscious and altogether different from the kind which,
results in testimonials and loving-cups. On the contrary!

"Penrod Schofield!"

He gulped.

"Answer me at once! Why did you speak to me like that?"

"I was----" He choked, unable to continue.

"Speak out!"

"I was just--thinking," he managed to stammer.

"That will not do," she returned sharply. "I wish to know immediately
why you spoke as you did."