Bobby hadn't a thing to do
with that."
"Yes, Meg did," said Bobby hurriedly, trying to edge out of the crowd.
"She really won the war."
"Just one moment," Mr. Carter spoke coolly, and yet there was an odd
little snap in his voice that made every boy and girl turn toward him.
"Look at me, please, Bobby. What happened to your eye?"
"Oh, gee," mumbled Bobby unhappily. He had hoped to get away
unnoticed. "I guess--I guess a snowball hit it."
"A packed ball, probably dipped in water first," announced Mr. Carter,
gently touching the poor sore eye. "Tim, do you know anything about
such a ball?"
"No, I don't," said Tim hastily. "Nobody can say our side packed
balls."
"No one can prove your side threw a packed ball," corrected the
principal pointedly. "Still, it is hardly likely that Bobby's men
would have hit their own general with a frozen ball. I don't intend to
try to find out any more, Tim. But I'm sorry that in every game there
must always be some one who doesn't play fair."
Mr. Carter said that Bobby should go home at once and let his mother
put something on his eye. It was a real victory for the Black's side,
he announced firmly. And Bobby, going home with Meg, his handkerchief
tied over his puffy eye, felt like a real general, wounded, tired, but
successful and happy.
Mother Blossom always knew what to do for the little hurts, and she
bandaged Bobby's eye and listened to the account of the snow fight with
great interest.
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