CHAPTER VII

Mrs. Mitchell is Defeated


After this talk with my father I fell into a sleep of perfect
contentment, and never thought of what might be on the morrow till the
morrow came. Then I grew aware of the danger I was in of being carried
off once more to school. Indeed, except my father interfered, the
thing was almost inevitable. I thought he would protect me, but I had
no assurance. He was gone again, for, as I have mentioned already, he
was given to going out early in the mornings. It was not early now,
however; I had slept much longer than usual. I got up at once,
intending to find him; but, to my horror, before I was half dressed,
my enemy, Mrs. Mitchell, came into the room, looking triumphant and
revengeful.

"I'm glad to see you're getting up," she said; "it's nearly
school-time."

The tone, and the emphasis she laid on the word _school_, would have
sufficed to reveal the state of her mind, even if her eyes had not
been fierce with suppressed indignation.

"I haven't had my porridge," I said.

"Your porridge is waiting you--as cold as a stone," she answered. "If
boys will lie in bed so late, what can they expect?"

"Nothing from you," I muttered, with more hardihood than I had yet