"Just standing here," he explained in a meek, grieved way.
"But why aren't you at school?"
This recalled what he had forgotten, and he realized the
insecurity of his position. "Oh, yes," he said--"school. Did you
ask me----"
"Didn't you go to school?"
He began to speak rapidly. "Didn't I go to _school_? Well, where
else could I go? Just because I'm here now doesn't mean I didn't
_go_, does it? Because a person is in China right now wouldn't
have to mean he'd never been in South America, would it?"
"Then what's the matter?"
"Well, I was going along, and you know I didn't feel very well
and----" He paused, with the advent of a happier idea, then
continued briskly: "But that didn't stop me, because I thought I
ought to go if I dropped, so I went ahead, but the teacher was
sick and they couldn't get a substitute. She must have been pretty
sick, she looked so pale----"
"They dismissed the class?"
"And I don't have to go to-morrow either."
"I see," said his mother. "But if you feel ill, Hedrick, hadn't
you better come in and lie down?"
"I think it's kind of passing off. The fresh air seems to be doing
me good."
"Be careful of your sore knee, dear." She closed the window, and
he was left to continue his operations in safety.
Laura had thrown the ledger out of the window; that was proved
absolutely. Obviously, she had come down before daylight and
retrieved it. Or, she had not. Proceeding on the assumption that
she had not, he lifted his eyes and searched the air. Was it
possible that the book, though thrown from the window, had never
reached the ground? The branches of an old and stalwart maple, now
almost divested of leaves, extended in rough symmetry above him,
and one big limb, reaching out toward the house, came close to
Laura's windows. Triumph shown again from the shrewd countenance
of the sleuth: Laura must have slid the ledger along a wire into a
hollow branch. However, no wire was to be seen--and the shrewd
countenance of the sleuth fell. But perhaps she had constructed a
device of silk threads, invisible from below, which carried the
book into the tree. Action!
He climbed carefully but with many twinges, finally pausing in a
parlous situation not far from the mysterious window which Laura
had opened the night before. A comprehensive survey of the tree
revealed only the very patent fact that none of the branches was
of sufficient diameter to conceal the ledger. No silk threads came
from the window. He looked and looked and looked at that window;
then his eye fell a little, halted less than three feet below the
window-ledge, and the search was ended.
The kitchen window which his mother had opened was directly
beneath Laura's, and was a very long, narrow window, in the style
of the house, and there was a protecting stone ledge above it.
Upon this ledge lay the book, wrapped in its oil-skin covering and
secured from falling by a piece of broken iron hooping, stuck in
the mortar of the bricks. It could be seen from nowhere save an
upper window of the house next door, or from the tree itself, and
in either case only when the leaves had fallen.
Laura had felt very safe. No one had ever seen the book except
that night, early in August, when, for a better circulation of
air, she had left her door open as she wrote, and Hedrick had come
upon her. He had not spoken of it again; she perceived that he had
forgotten it; and she herself forgot that the memory of a boy is
never to be depended on; its forgettings are too seldom permanent
in the case of things that ought to stay forgotten.
To get the book one had only to lean from the window.
* * *
Hedrick seemed so ill during lunch that his mother spoke of asking
Doctor Sloane to look at him, if he did not improve before
evening. Hedrick said meekly that perhaps that would be best--if
he did not improve. After a futile attempt to eat, he courteously
excused himself from the table--a ceremony which made even Cora
fear that his case might be serious--and, going feebly to the
library, stretched himself upon the sofa. His mother put a rug
over him; Hedrick, thanking her touchingly, closed his eyes; and
she went away, leaving him to slumber.
After a time, Laura came into the room on an errand, walking
noiselessly, and, noticing that his eyes were open, apologized for
waking him.
"Never mind," he returned, in the tone of an invalid. "I didn't
sleep sound. I think there's something the matter inside my head:
I have such terrible dreams. I guess maybe it's better for me to
keep awake. I'm kind of afraid to go to sleep. Would you mind
staying here with me a little while?"
"Certainly I'll stay," she said, and, observing that his cheeks
were flushed, and his eyes unusually bright, she laid a cool hand
on his forehead. "You haven't any fever, dear; that's good. You'll
be all right to-morrow. Would you like me to read to you?"
"I believe," he answered, plaintively, "reading might kind of
disturb my mind: my brain feels so sort of restless and queer. I'd
rather play some kind of game."
"Cards?"
"No, not cards exactly. Something' I can do lying down. Oh, I
know! You remember the one where we drew pictures and the others
had to guess what they were? Well, I've invented a game like that.
You sit down at the desk over there and take some sheets of paper.
I'll tell you the rest."