And thus it was that the urchin went down on the school records, and on the records of life afterward.
Now well pleased with himself, the Maestro, as is the wont of men in such state, sought for further enjoyment.
"Ask him," he said, teasingly, pointing with his chin at the newly-baptised but still unregenerate little savage, "why he came out of the ditch."
"He says he was afraid that you would steal the kite," answered the Assistant, after some linguistic sparring.
"Eh?" ejaculated the surprised Maestro.
And in his mind there framed a picture of himself riding along the road with a string between his fingers; and, following in the upper layers of air, a buzzing kite; and, down in the dust of the highway, an urchin trudging wistfully after the kite, drawn on irresistibly, in spite of his better judgment, on and on, horrified but fascinated, up to the yawning school-door.
It would have been the better way. "I ought to go and soak my head," murmured the Maestro, pensively.
This was check number one, but others came in quick succession.
For, the morning after this incident, the Maestro did not find Isidro among the weird, wild crowd gath-
