CHAPTER I A BOY AND HIS DOG

Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his wistful dog.

A bitter soul dominated the various curved and angular surfaces known by a careless world as the face of Penrod Schofield. Except in solitude, that face was almost always cryptic and emotionless; Penrod had come into his twelfth year wearing an expression carefully trained to be inscrutable. Since the world was sure to misunderstand everything, mere defensive instinct prompted him to give it as little as possible to lay hold upon. Nothing is more impenetrable than the face of a boy who has learned this, and Penrod's was habitually as fathomless as the depth of his hatred this morning for the literary activities of Mrs. Lora Rewbush—an almost universally respected fellow citizen, a lady of charitable and poetic inclinations, and one of his own mother's most intimate friends. 

Mrs. Lora Rewbush had written something which she called "The Children's Pageant of the Table Round," and it was to be performed in public that very afternoon at the Women's Arts and Guild Hall for the benefit of the Coloured Infants' Betterment Society. Penrod was to play a prominent role in the spectacle. He had plotted various escapes, but all had been thwarted, leaving him brooding on the fence and gazing enviously at his dog, Duke.

Duke, a small and shabby dog with a grizzled appearance, was the object of Penrod's envy as he felt that Duke would never be compelled to perform in a pageant. Penrod saw Duke as free and unshackled compared to himself. 

In frustration, Penrod quoted lines from the script he was to perform in the pageant, the lines of the Child Sir Lancelot. Choking on the words, he slid down from the fence and entered a storeroom in the stable where he found solace in an old, tower-like sawdust box that had previously served as a rabbit coop. Using an improvised pulley system, he lowered a basket to the floor. Duke, his dog, approached cautiously, knowing his duty in this familiar game with Penrod.

Penrod's resentment and defiance towards his impending role in the pageant were palpable, and he sought solace in his unique adventures within the confines of his father's stable."El-e-VAY-ter!" shouted Penrod sternly. "You want me to come down there to you?"

Duke looked suddenly haggard. He pawed the basket feebly again and, upon another outburst from on high, prostrated himself flat. Again threatened, he gave a superb 

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