Free The Secret School by Avi Page A

when she suddenly felt a poke on her left shoulder. Startled, she turned. No one was there. She turned back to her book. Standing in front of her was a grinning Herbert.
    "Fooled you!" he cried.
    "How'd you get here?" she asked.
    "Walked," he said. "Hey, you Ida or Miss Bidson now?" he asked.
    "Guess I'm nothing but Ida," she replied glumly. "What are you doing here?"
    "Nothing," he said. "Just thought I'd come by and say howdy."
    "Herbert Bixler," she replied, "don't tell me you walked seven miles just to say hello."
    Herbert grinned again. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. That your baby brother?" he asked.
    "That's Shelby all right."
    "See you got a book. Trying to teach him now?"
    "Can't use the school, can I?" Ida said, suddenly feeling cross. "Which probably makes you happy."
    "How so?"
    "You don't like school."
    Herbert looked at his feet. Wiggled his toes. "Hey," he said, "no kid is gonna say they
like
school. 'Cause if they do, other kids will rag on him."
    "But you don't like it," Ida said accusingly.
    Herbert still didn't look up. "Come on, Ida. There's lots of work on my dad's place," he said. "Just him and me, you know."
    "I know," Ida said, already sorry she had spoken so sharply.
    Herbert was quiet for a moment. Then, without looking at Ida directly, he said, "See, my dad, he never had much learning. Sometimes I think he gets fretted up about me knowing more than he does. Worries I'll get uppity. Thinks if I know too much, I might take off. You know, hightail it somewhere far away. Never come back. Which I just might do. Someday. Angry old cuss, he is. Lonely, too."
    "Is that why he told Mr. Jordan about our school?"
    Herbert looked around. There was no grin on his face now. "Guess he did. Wasn't me who told Dad about it, though. Knew he'd object. You told him. He was pretty sore. Called me a liar. Then, couple of days ago, he told me how stupid I was. I got so mad, I let him know something about my learning."
    "How did you do that?"
    Herbert grinned. "I just stood there, pitching hay, and recited that whole darn speech from Shakespeare. You know, that one in the reader from
Julius Caesar
? The one Tom couldn't understand? 'Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.'"
    Ida, feeling her anger melt, laughed and clapped her hands. "I didn't know you knew that speech," she said.
    "How many years have I been going to that school? And how many kids had to learn that speech? I guess I heard it enough, didn't I?
    "Anyway," Herbert went on, "I was going on like that, mighty high and powerful. Pretty soon the old man got so mad, he just took off. Guess that's when he told Jordan what we were doing. I think he wanted to fix it so I couldn't learn any more speeches."
    Ida studied him. "Herbert Bixler, can I tell you something?"
    "Sure."
    "You are really smart. How come you won't act it?"
    "'Cause I'm dumb."
    Ida sighed. "How'd you know I was down here?" she asked. "My ma tell you?"
    "Nope. She don't know I'm here. I just watched till you showed. Followed you here. Don't mind, do you?"
    "No," she said. "And you can sit. You've walked a long way."
    "Don't mind if I do."
    Shelby splashed and laughed.
    They watched him for a while. "Wish I were like that," Herbert said.
    "Why?"
    "I suppose he don't know much of anything. I tell you, Miss Bidson, knowing things can worry you deep."
    "I never saw you worried."
    "Maybe not before."
    Ida considered him anew. Herbert looked very serious. "But if you did worry," she asked carefully, "what kind of things would you be worried about now?"
    "Well," Herbert drawled, "suppose a fellow knew there was going to be a school board meeting? And suppose that meeting was to make sure school stayed shut? And suppose that meeting was going to be held, not exactly secret, you see, but real quiet so people wouldn't know—except for folks like my dad who don't like schools much? And suppose, even, my dad bragged to me how there wouldn't
be
any school for