Mrs. Johnson’s shoulders shook as she started crying. I was in such shock from what I’d just witnessed that it took me a minute to recover. I was going to run over and help her, but someone else got there first. The kids had finished their game and were hurrying over to the table, but their faces dropped when they saw what had happened. Several of the kids ran ahead and started picking up food while two of the boys helped Mrs. Johnson to her feet. “What’s going on, Mrs. Johnson?” one of the girls asked, her eyes wide with concern. Mrs. Johnson seemed too upset to speak.
One of the other kids, a quiet boy who usually sat under a tree reading, stepped up at this point and pointed accusingly at one of the smallest boys in the group. “It was your dad who did this, Ryan,” the quiet boy said. Little Ryan paled as the quiet kid told the group everything. By the end of it, all the kids were staring at Ryan. “Don’t blame Ryan for his dad’s behavior,” Mrs. Johnson said, finding her voice at last. “It’s not his fault.” “Thanks, Mrs. Johnson,” Ryan said in a subdued voice.
“But what my dad did isn’t right, and we can’t let him get away with this.” A murmur of agreement ran through the kids. It was inspiring to watch them organize themselves into little groups to tidy up the food and help Mrs. Johnson.
All the rest gathered together and marched up the road to Ryan’s house. Ten kids altogether crowded onto the doorstep and banged on the door. Mr. Davis swung the door open, his scowl deepening as he saw the crowd of children. “What do you want now?” he growled. Ryan stepped forward, his voice trembling but strong. “You need to apologize to Mrs. Johnson, Dad,” Ryan said. “And pay for all the food you ruined when you tipped her table.” Mr. Davis’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Why should I?”
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