tin automobile apparently inextricably mixed. "Stand up, Palmer,
and let me see where you are hurt."

Palmer struggled to his feet, and Meg could see that he had a bump
over one eye. The sleeve of his jacket was torn and his lip was
bleeding slightly.

"Why, you're not so badly off," Mr. Carter comforted him, taking
his own handkerchief and wiping off the streaks left by tears and
dirt on Palmer's round face. "No bones broken, laddie, and Miss
Wright will fix that lip with a little court-plaster. She knows
first-aid. What in the world were you doing down at this end of
the yard?"

There was a sudden silence. Meg, on the outside of the crowd,
experienced a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

"Were you coasting, Palmer?" asked Mr. Carter, righting the
automobile as he spoke. Then he saw the fence.

"Who ripped off those pickets?" he demanded sternly.

"I--I did," admitted Bobby in a very small voice.

The clang of the gong sounded and Mr. Carter turned to the
listening children.

"Go back to your classes," he directed them. "You stay, Bobby and
Palmer. I want to speak to you."