Some of the more sympathetic children joined their tears to his, and the others disputed violently if vaguely; they lacked a clear idea of the difficulty, but that fact did not prevent eager partisanship. Two perplexed teachers quieted the outbreak and marshaled a wavering line, one innocently upholding Philip to the disgusted group, “because he walks along so quietly,” the other supporting Joseph, whose shoulders heaved convulsively as he burst out into irregular and startling sobs. It was felt that the day had begun inauspiciously. They sat down on the hall floor and began to pull off their rubbers and mufflers. As Philip’s eye fell to the level of his feet a disagreeable association stirred his thoughts, and in a moment it had taken definite form: his rubbers had been stolen and hidden! His under lip crept slowly out; a distinctly dangerous expression grew in his eyes; he looked balefully about him. Marantha Judd pirouetted across his field of vision, vainglorious in a new plaid apron with impracticable pockets. Her pigtails bobbed behind her. She had just placed her diminutive rubbers neatly parallel, and was attaching the one to the other with a tight little clothes-pin provided for the purpose. [Illustration: “_Tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk._”] Casually, and as if unconscious that Marantha was curiosity incarnate, Philip took his own clothes-pin and adjusted it to his nose. It gave him an odd and, to Marantha, a distinguished appearance, and she inquired of him if the sensations he experienced were pleasurable. His answer expressed unconditional affirmation, and unclasping her clothes-pin Marantha snapped it vigorously over her own tip-tilted little feature. A sharp and uncompromising tweak was the result, and Marantha, shrieking, tore off the clothes-pin with a jerk that sent little Richard Willetts reeling against his neighbor. Out of the confusion—Richard was a timorous creature, and fully convinced that the entire kindergarten meditated continual assault upon his small person—rose the chiding voice of Marantha: “You are a bad, _bad_ boy, Philup, you are!” To her tangled accusations the bewildered teacher paid scant heed. “I can’t see why all you little children find so much fault with Philip,” she said reprovingly. “What if he did put his clothes-pin on his nose? It was a foolish thing to do, but why need you do it? _You_ have made more trouble than he, Marantha, for you frightened little Richard!” Marantha’s desperation was dreadful to witness. She realized that her vocabulary was hopelessly inadequate to her situation: she knew herself unable to present her case effectively, but she felt that she was the victim of a glaring injustice. Her chin quivered, she sank upon the stairs, and her tears were even as the tears of Joseph Zukoffsky. The youngest assistant now appeared on the scene.