Carlie cast down thoughtful eyes. “I wouldn't like to tell, Miss Rennsdale,” he said. “I guess I better be going or I'll catch cold. Thank you for a very nice time.” “There!” said Miss Rennsdale vehemently, as Carlie went on his way. “What did I tell you? Carlie Chitten's too manly to say it, but I just KNOW it was that terrible Penrod Schofield.” Behind her, a low voice, unheard by all except the person to whom it spoke, repeated a part of this speech: “What did I tell you?” This voice belonged to one Penrod Schofield. Penrod and Marjorie had descended by another stairway, and he now considered it wiser to pass to the rear of the little party at the foot of the stairs. As he was still in his pumps, his choked shoes occupying his overcoat pockets, he experienced no difficulty in reaching the front door, and getting out of it unobserved, although the noise upstairs was greatly abated. Marjorie, however, made her curtseys and farewells in a creditable manner. “There!” Penrod said again, when she rejoined him in the darkness outside. “What did I tell you? Didn't I say I'd get the blame of it, no matter if the house went and fell down? I s'pose they think I put mucilage and soap in my own shoes.” Marjorie delayed at the gate until some eagerly talking little girls had passed out. The name “Penrod Schofield” was thick and scandalous among them. “Well,” said Marjorie, “_I_ wouldn't care, Penrod. 'Course, about soap and mucilage in YOUR shoes, anybody'd know some other boy must of put 'em there to get even for what you put in his.” Penrod gasped. “But I DIDN'T!” he cried. “I didn't do ANYTHING! That ole Miss Rennsdale can say what she wants to, I didn't do--” “Well, anyway, Penrod,” said Marjorie, softly, “they can't ever PROVE it was you.” He felt himself suffocating in a coil against which no struggle availed. “But I never DID it!” he wailed, helplessly. “I never did anything at all!” She leaned toward him a little, and the lights from her waiting carriage illumined her dimly, but enough for him to see that her look was fond and proud, yet almost awed. “Anyway, Penrod,” she whispered, “_I_ don't believe there's any other boy in the whole world could of done HALF as much!” And with that, she left him, and ran out to the carriage. But Penrod remained by the gate to wait for Sam, and the burden of his sorrows was beginning to lift. In fact, he felt a great deal better, in spite of his having just discovered why Marjorie loved him. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Penrod and Sam, by Booth Tarkington