The children put their books away thankfully and trooped out into the yard. Miss Mason, after putting up every window, as was her custom, went across the hall to the teachers’ room.

Tim Roon was so busy dusting off the top of his desk and fastening down his papers so that the wind would not blow them away that he was the last pupil left in the room when Miss Mason went out, closing the door behind her. Tim waited till he was sure she was not coming back, then tiptoed hastily up to her desk.

“I’ll show her!” he muttered, tumbling books and papers about till he found what he wanted.

It was the illustrated and autographed book of verses. And now if any one had been there to see Tim they would have been astonished at what he did next. Reaching down into a kind of cabinet that formed the lower part of Miss Mason’s desk, Tim brought up a tall bottle of ink from which the desk inkwells were filled. He took the stopper out and opened the book.

“What you doing?” asked a voice at his elbow.

Tim’s conscience was guilty enough, dear knows, so it was no wonder that he jumped. A thick stream of ink spurted out and ran down the crevice of the binding of the book. Tim closed it quickly.

“Gee, Charlie Black! you scared me,” Tim said, relieved to find that the voice belonged to his chum. “What am I doing? You just watch me!”

Tim opened the book again and poured out more ink. Then he closed it and pressed down hard on the covers. He did this several times, each inking making an ugly, blurry figure that completely ruined two or three pages of the book.

“What’s that for?” demanded Charlie.

“Think I’m going to be nagged every day in the week and never do a thing about it?” growled Tim. “Maybe when she finds her precious book marked up she’ll begin to understand that there’s some one who won’t stand for everything.”

“How’s she going to know you did it?” asked Charlie Black, watching the ink seep into a fine illustration as Tim slowly poured more out.

“She won’t know if I can help it,” grinned that bad boy. “And if I catch you opening your mouth ”

“I won’t,” promised Charlie hastily. “Honest, I won’t say a word, Tim.”

“You’d better not,” warned Tim darkly. “Let me ever find out you as much as whispered you saw me and I’ll, I’ll I don’t know what I won’t do to you!”

This vague threat was sufficiently terrifying to insure obedience from Charlie, who knew from experience that Tim could be both relentless and cruel. There was little danger that he would ever betray his chum.

“Now I guess that’s finished,” announced Tim with satisfaction, closing the once lovely book. “Don’t look at me when she takes it out after recess to show the class. Wait till I put back these papers where they were. There now, let’s go downstairs and come up with the others when the bell rings.”

When the bell rang and the children came upstairs, they found a member of the school committee sitting on the platform beside Miss Mason’s desk, and the teacher announced that they would have a reading lesson for the first and second grades in place of the usual work.

“I will show you the book I promised to let the second grade see, directly after the noon period,” said Miss Mason. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here this recess, but we had an important conference. Now, Margaret, you may read the first paragraph of the third lesson.”

Rufus Hornbeck was the name of the committeeman, and all the children who had been to school before knew him as the head of the school committee and a man who could, if he wished, scold even Mr. Carter, the primary and grammar school principal. Some of the boys said that “old Hornbeck,” as they disrespectfully called him, had the right to tell Mr. Fredericks, the high-school principal, what to do. But the high-school was too far away for the majority of the boys to think about.

“Come up here on the platform, and face the class,” said Mr. Hornbeck to Meg. “Read clearly now, and let your classmates enjoy the story.”

Poor Meg was very shy as she went up to the platform, for reading aloud was an ordeal for her, though at home she always had her “nose in a book,” as Norah said. She reached the platform, grasped her reading book tightly in both hands, and began to read hurriedly.

“That’s enough,” announced Miss Mason, as Meg came to the end of a long paragraph.

Meg closed her book, stepped to one side to avoid the waste basket, and put her foot squarely into Mr. Hornbeck’s high silk hat which he had placed carefully on the floor beside his chair.

“Tut! tut!” said Mr. Hornbeck reprovingly. “Don’t be so clumsy, child. Don’t kick lift your foot out.”

Meg was crimson with embarrassment, and the class was snickering in spite of Miss Mason’s frown. Meg was glad to escape to her seat, and the committeeman moved his hat further back before the next unlucky reader came to the platform.

It did seem as though the noon bell would never ring, but at quarter of twelve it did, and Meg and Bobby hurried home to lunch.

“What did you do all morning?” asked Meg of the twins, who as usual were waiting for them at the gate.

“Played school,” answered Dot.

That was the usual answer. The twins never tired of playing school, and whatever Meg and Bobby told them one day they were pretty sure to “pretend” the next. Always and always, too, they wished that they might go to “regular” school.

That afternoon, as soon as she had given the first grade pupils seat work to keep them busy, Miss Mason remembered her promise to show the higher class her book. Tim Roon, who had been secretly relieved that Mr. Hornbeck’s visit had delayed the discovery of his trick, now began to be uneasy. He flashed a warning look at Charlie Black as Miss Mason fumbled with the papers that covered the book.

“I’ll pass it down the aisle,” said Miss Mason, drawing out the book. “Now, Ellen, this first picture was drawn by an artist named ”

Ellen Glover looked up startled. Miss Mason’s voice had stopped so suddenly when she opened her book that the effect was as if some one had closed a door sharply while some one else was speaking.

“Her face was just as white,” Meg afterward told her mother, “and then it got red and her eyes snapped like like anything!”

Indeed Miss Mason’s eyes were snapping fire. Tim Roon for the first time in his life was actually afraid of his teacher.

“Some vandal has destroyed this beautiful book,” said Miss Mason, speaking coldly and slowly. “It was almost priceless. I want each one of you to come up to the desk and see how it has been ruined. First grade, put away your work.”

A sudden shiver of excitement went over the room. No one had ever seen Miss Mason so angry before. And yet she was very quiet and still about it. Aisle by aisle, she made them come up and look at the book, insisting that each child take it in his hands and examine the spots of ink. When the last pupil had returned to his seat she spoke again.

“This was done during recess,” she said. “I did not leave the room this noon. If any one in this class was in the room at recess this morning, raise his hand.”

Not one hand went up.

Miss Mason sighed impatiently.

“I see you are determined to make it hard for me,” she commented. “Very well, if we do no work this afternoon, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Then beginning with the girls, she asked each one if she had been in the room during recess time. As it happened not a girl had entered the room between the bells. An interesting game of tag had taken the attention of both grades in the girls’ half of the school yard.

Then Miss Mason began with the boys. Each one denied that he had been in the room till she reached Bobby.

“Yes, I was up here,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you raise your hand?” snapped Miss Mason. “What were you doing?”

“I came up to get my ball. I had left it in my desk,” answered Bobby.

Unfortunately for him, he looked confused and cross, and Miss Mason had some grounds for thinking he might know more than he cared to tell.

“When were you up here?” she persisted.

Tim Roon listened eagerly for Bobby’s reply. He was beginning to wonder if he had been seen leaving the room.

“About three minutes before the bell rang,” said Bobby defiantly.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” commanded Miss Mason. “Do you know how the ink got on this book, Robert?”

Bobby was silent. Meg looked worried.

“Robert, do you hear me? I am asking you if you know how this book was defaced?”

Bobby’s blue eyes shot out a few sparks equal to those in Miss Mason’s eyes.

“You know I don’t!” he retorted, not at all respectfully.

Bobby had been taught to love books at home and to handle them carefully. He was hurt and astonished that any one should think he would deliberately ruin a beautiful book, and he forgot that Miss Mason couldn’t know him as well as Father and Mother Blossom did. They would never suspect him of harming a book.

“If this is your idea of getting even for the arithmetic lesson this morning, all I can say is that you’ve chosen a very underhanded method,” declared Miss Mason, evidently determined to believe the worst.

“I never touched the book,” insisted Bobby hotly.