 7. The Ghost William lay on the floor of the barn, engrossed in a book. This was a rare thing with William. His bottle of lemonade lay untouched by his side, and he even forgot the half-eaten apple which reposed in his hand. His jaws were arrested midway in the act of munching. Our hero, he read, was awakened about midnight by the sound of the rattling chains. Raising himself on his arm he gazed into the darkness. About a foot from his bed he could discern a tall, white, faintly gleaming figure, and a ghostly arm which beckoned him. William's hair stood on end. Crumbs, he ejaculated. Nothing perturbed, he continued to read. Our hero rose and followed the spectre through the long winding passages of the old castle. Whenever he hesitated a white, luminous arm hung around with ghostly chains beckoned him on. Gosh! murmured the enthralled William. I had been scared. At the panel in the wall the ghost stopped, and silently the panel slid aside, revealing a flight of stone steps. Down this went the apparition followed by our intrepid hero. There was a small stone chamber at the bottom, and into this the rays of moonlight poured, revealing a skeleton in a sitting attitude beside a chest of golden sovereigns. The gold gleamed in the moonlight. Golly! gasped William, red with excitement. William! The cry came from somewhere in the sunny garden outside. William frowned sternly, took another bite of apple, and continued to read. Our hero gave a cry of astonishment. You know, I'd have done that all right, agreed William. William! Oh, shut up! called William irritably, thereby revealing his hiding place. His grown-up sister Ethel appeared in the doorway. Mother wants you, she announced. Well, I can't come, I'm busy, said William coldly, taking a draft of lemonade and returning to his book. Cousin Mildred's come, continued his sister. William raised his freckled face from his book. Well, I can't help that, can I? he said, with the air of one arguing patiently with the lunatic. Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed. He's reading some old book in the barn, he heard her announce, and he says— Here he foresaw complications and hastily followed her. Well, I'm coming, aren't I? he said, as fast as I can. Cousin Mildred was sitting on the lawn. She was elderly and very thin and very tall, and she wore a curious long shapeless garment of green silk with a golden girdle. Dear child! she murmured, taking the grimy hand that William held out to her indignified silence. He was cheered by the sight of tea and hot cakes. Cousin Mildred ate little, but talked much. I'm living in hopes of her psychic revelation, dear, she said to William's mother, in hopes. I've heard of wonderful experiences, but so far none, alas, have befallen me. Automatic writing I have tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent that way remained illegible, quite illegible. She sighed. William eyed her with scorn, while he consumed reckless quantities of hot cakes. I would love to have a psychic revelation. She sighed again. Yes, dear? murmured Mrs. Brown, mystified. William, you've had enough. Enough! said William in surprise. Why, I've only had! he decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague generalities. I've only had hardly any, he said, aggrievedly. You've had enough, anyway, said Mrs. Brown firmly. The martyr rose, pale but proud. Well, can I go then, if I can't have any more tea? There's plenty of bread and butter. I don't want bread and butter, he said scornfully. Dear child! murmured Cousin Mildred vaguely as he departed. He returned to the story and lemonade and apple, and stretched himself happily at full length in the shady barn. But the ghostly visitant seemed to be fading away, and but the soft sigh was gone. A hero, with a start of surprise, realised that he was alone with the gold and the skeleton. For the first time he experienced a thrill of cold fear, and slowly retreated up the stairs, before the hollow and, as it seemed, vindictive stare of the grinning skeleton. I wonder what he was grinning at, said William. Bats to his horror, the door was shut, the panel had slid back, he had no means of opening it, he was imprisoned on a remote part of the castle, where even the servants came but rarely, and at intervals of weeks. Would his fate be that of the man whose bones gleamed white in the moonlight? Crumbs, said William earnestly. Then a shadow fell on the floor of the barn, and cousin Mildred's voice greeted him. I say you're here, dear. I was just exploring the garden and thinking. I like to be alone. I see that you are the same, dear child. I'm reading, said William, with icy dignity. Dear boy, won't you come and show me the garden and your favourite nooks and corners? William looked at her thin, vague, amiable face, and shut his book with a resigned sigh. All right, he said, iconically. He conducted her impatient silence round the kitchen garden and the shrubbery. She looked, sadly, at the house with its red brick, uncompromisingly modern appearance. William, I wish your house was old, she said sadly. William resented any aspersions on his house from outsiders. Personally, he considered newness in a house an attraction. But, if anyone wished for age, then old his house should be. Old, he ejaculated. I guess it's old enough. Oh, is it? she said delighted. Restored recently, I suppose. Agreed William, nodding. Oh, I'm so glad. I may have some psychic revelation here, then. Oh, yes, said William judicially. I shouldn't wonder. William, have you ever had one? Well, said William, guardedly. I don't know. His mysterious manner threw her into a transport. Of course, not to anyone, but to me, I am one of the sympathetic. To me, you may speak freely, William. William, feeling that his ignorance could no longer be hidden by words, maintained a discreet silence. To me, it shall be sacred, William. I will tell no one, not even your parents. I believe that children see clouds of glory and all that, vaguely. With your unstained, childish vision, I'm eleven, put in William indignantly. You see things that to the wise are sealed. Some manifestation, some spirit, some ghostly visitant. Oh, said William, suddenly enlightened. You're talking about ghosts. Yes, ghosts, William. Her air of deference flattered him. She evidently expected great things of him, great things she should have. At the best of times. With William, imagination was stronger than cold facts. He gave a short laugh. Oh, ghosts! I've seen some of them. I guess I have. Her face lit up. Will you tell me some of your experiences, William? She said humbly. Well, said William loftily. You won't go talking about it, will you? Oh, no! Well, I've seen them, you know. Chains and all, and skeletons, and ghostly arms beckoning and all that. William was enjoying himself. He walked with a swagger. He almost believed what he said. She gasped. Oh, go on! She said, tell me all. He went on. He soared a loft on wings of imagination. His hands in his pocket, his freckled face puckered up. In frowning mental effort, he certainly enjoyed himself. If only some of it could happen to me, breathed his confident. Does it come to you at night, William? Yes, not at William, nights mostly. I shall watch tonight, said Cousin Mildred. And you say the house is old. Awful old, said William reassuringly. Her attitude to William was a relief to the rest of the family. Visitors sometimes objected to William. She seems to have almost taken to William, said his mother, with a note of unflattering incredulity in her voice. William was pleased yet embarrassed by her attentions. It was a strange experience to him to be accepted by a grown-up as a fellow being. She talked to him with interest and a certain humility. She brought him sweets and seemed pleased that he accepted them. She went for walks with him. And evidently took his constrained silence for the silence of depth and wisdom. Beneath his embarrassment, he was certainly pleased and flattered. She seemed to prefer his company to that of Ethel. That was one in the eye for Ethel. But he felt that something was expected from him in return for all this kindness and attention. William was a sportsman. He decided to supply it. He took a book of ghost stories from the juvenile library at school and read them in the privacy of his room at night. Many were the thrilling adventures, which he had to tell to Cousin Mildred in the morning. Cousin Mildred's bump of credulity was a large one. She supplied him with sweets on a generous scale. She listened to him with awe and wonder. William, you are one of the elect that chosen, she said, one of those whose spirits can break down the barrier between the unseen world and ours with ease. And always she sighed and stroked back her thin lock sadly. Oh, how I wish that some experience would happen to me! One morning, after the gift of an exceptionally large tin of toffee, William's noblest feelings were aroused. Manfully, he decided that something should happen to her. Cousin Mildred stepped in the bedroom above William's. Descent from one window to the other was easy, but ascent was difficult. That night, Cousin Mildred awoke suddenly as the clock struck twelve. There was no moon, and only dimly did she discern the white figure that stood in the light of the window. She set up, quivering with eagerness. Her short, thin little pigtail stuck out horizontally from her head. Her mouth was wide open. Oh! she gasped. The white figure moved a step forward and coughed nervously. Cousin Mildred clasped her hands. Speak! she said in a tense whisper. Oh, speak! some message, some revelation! William was nonplussed. None of the ghosts he had read of had spoken. They had rattled and groaned and beckoned, but they had not spoken. He tried groaning, and emitted a sound faintly reminiscent of a seasick voyager. Oh! speak! pleaded Cousin Mildred. Evidently, speech was a necessary part of this performance. William wondered whether ghosts spoke English or a language of their own. He inclined to the latter view, and nobly took the plunge. Honk, yonk, plonk! He said, firmly. Cousin Mildred gasped in wonder. Oh! explain! she pleaded ardently. Explain in our poor human speech some message. William took fright. It was all turning out to be much more complicated than he had expected. He hastily passed through the room and out of the door, closing it noisily behind him. As he ran along the passage came a sound like a crash of thunder. Outside in the passage were Cousin Mildred's boots, William's father's boots, and William's brother's boots, and into these charged William in his headlong retreat. They stayed noisily along the polished wooden surface of the floor, ricocheting into each other as they went. Doors opened suddenly, and William's father collided with William's brother in the dark passage, where they wrestled fiercely before they discovered each other's identity. I heard that confounded noise, and I came out, so did I. Well, then, who made it? Who did? Well, if that wretched boy up to any tricks again, William's father left the sentence unfinished, but went with determined tread towards his younger son's room. William was discovered, carefully spreading a sheet over his bed and smoothing it down. Mr. Brown, roused from his placid slumbers, was a sight to make a brave man quail. But the glance that William turned upon him was guileless and sweet. Did you make that confounded row, kicking boots about the passage? Sputtered the man of wrath. No father, said William gently. I've not been kicking no boots about. Were you down on the lower landing just now, said Mr. Brown, with compressed fury. William considered this question silently for a few seconds, then spoke up brightly and innocently. I don't know, father. You see, some folk walk in their sleep, and when they wake up, they don't know where they've been. Why, I've heard of a man walking down a far escape in his sleep, and when he woke up, and couldn't think of how he'd got to be there where he was. You see, he didn't know he'd walked down all them steps down to sleep, and be quiet under his father. What in the name of? What on the earth are you doing, making your bed in the middle of the night? Are you insane? William perfectly composed, tucked in one end of his sheet. No, father. I'm not insane. Just the sheets fell off me in the night, and I got out to pick it up. I must have been a bit restless, I suppose. Sheets come off easy when folks is restless in bed, and they don't know anything about it till they wake up. Just the same as sleepwalking. Why, I've heard of folks, be quiet! At that moment, William's mother arrived, placid as ever in her dressing-gown, carrying a candle. Look at him! said Mr. Brown, pointing at the meek-looking William. He played his rugger up and down the passage with boots at night, and then he begins to make his bed. He's mad. He's— William turned his calm gaze upon him. I wasn't playing rugger with the boot's father, he said patiently. Mrs. Brown laid her hand soothingly upon her husband's arm. You know, dear, she said gently, a house is always full of noises at night, basket-chairs creaking. Mr. Brown's face grew purple. BASKET CHAIRS! He exploded violently, but allowed himself to be led, unresisting from the room. William finished his bed-making with his usual frown of concentration, then lying down fell at once into the deep sleep of childish innocence. But cousin Mildred was lying awake, a blissful smile upon her lips. She, too, was now one of the elect that chose him. Her rather deaf ears had caught the sound of supernatural thunder as her ghostly visitant departed, and she had beamed with ecstatic joy. Honk! she murmured dreamily. Honk! Yonk! Plonk! William felt rather tired next evening. Cousin Mildred had departed, leaving him a handsome present of a large box of chocolates. William had consumed these with undue haste in view of possible maternal interference. His broken night was telling upon his spirits. He felt distinctly depressed, and saw the world through jaundiced eyes. He sat in the shrubbery, his chin in his hand, staring moodily at the adoring mongrel Jumble. It's a rotten world, he said gloomily. I've took a bit of trouble over her, and she goes and makes me feel sick with chocolates. Jumble wagged his tail, sympathetically. William was frankly bored. School always bored him. He disliked facts, and he disliked being tied down to detail, and he disliked answering questions. As a politician, a great future would have lain before him. William attended a mixed school because his parents hoped that feminine influence might have a mellowing effect upon his character. As yet, the mellowing was not apparent. He was roused from his daydreams by a change in the voice of Miss Dewhurst, his formmistress. It was evident that she was not talking about the exports of England. A subject in which William took little interest any longer. Children, she said brightly, I want to have a little May Queen for the first of May. The rest of you may be her courtiers. I want you all to vote tomorrow. Put down on a piece of paper the name of the little girl you think would make the sweetest little queen, and the rest of you shall be her swains and maidens. We're going to have a May Queen, remarked William to his family at dinner, and I'm going to be a swain. His interest died down considerably, when he discovered the meaning of the word swain. Isn't it no sort of animal at all? He asked indignantly. Well, I'm not going to be in it, then. He said when he heard that it was not. The next morning Evangeline Fish began to canvass for votes methodically. Evangeline Fish was very fair, and was dressed always in that shade of blue that shrieks aloud to the heavens, and puts the skies to shame. She was considered the beauty of the form. I'll give you two bullseyes if you'll vote for me, she said to William. Two, said William with scorn. Six, she bargained. All right, he said. You can give me six bullseyes if you want. There's nothing to stop you giving me six bullseyes if you want, is there? Not that I know of. But you'll have to promise to put down my name on the paper if I give you six bullseyes. She said suspiciously. All right, said William. I can easily promise that. Whereupon she handed over the six bullseyes. William returned one, as being under regulation's size, and waited frowning till she replaced it with a larger one. Now, you've promised, said Evangeline Fish. They'll make you ill and die if you break your promise on them. William kept his promise with true political address. He wrote, E. Fish, I don't think, on his voting paper, and his vote was disqualified. But Evangeline Fish was elected May Queen by an overwhelming majority. She was, after all, the beauty of the form, and she always wore blue. And now she was to be the May Queen. Her prestige was established for ever. Little Angel murmured the elder girls. The small boys fought for her favours. William began to dislike her intensely. Her voice, her smile, and her ringlets, and her blue dress began to jar upon his nerves. And when anything began to jar on William's nerves, something always happened. It was not till about a week later that he noticed Bettine Franklin. Bettine was small and dark. There was nothing angelic about her. William had noticed her vaguely in school before, and had hardly looked upon her as a distinct personality. But one recreation in the playground, he stood, leaning against the wall by himself, scowling at Evangeline Fish. She was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and was prattling to them artlessly in her angelic voice. I'm going to be dressed in white muslin with a blue sash. Blue suits me, you know. I'm so fair. She tossed back a ringlet. One of you will have to hold my train, and the rest must dance round me. I'm going to have a crown, and— She turned in order to avoid the scowling gaze of William in the distance. William had discovered that his scowl annoyed her. And since then he had given it little rest. But there was no satisfaction in scowling at the back of her well-curled head. So he relaxed his scowl and let his gaze wander round the playground, and it fell upon Bettine. Bettine was also standing by herself and gazing at Evangeline Fish. But she was not scowling. She was looking at Evangeline Fish with wistful envy. For Evangeline Fish was angelic, and a Mayqueen, and she was neither of these things. William strolled over, and lulled against the wall next to her. Hello, he said, without looking at her, for his change of position had brought him again within range of Angeline Fish's eye, and he was once more simply one concentrated scowl. Hello! murmured Bettine shyly and politely. You like pink rock? Was William's next effort. I'm, said Bettine, nodding emphatically. I'll give you some next time I buy some. Said William, munificently. But I shan't be buying any for a long time, he added bitterly, cos an old ball slipped out of my hands onto our dining-room window before I noticed it yesterday. She nodded, understandingly. I don't mind, she said sweetly. I'll like you just as much, if you don't give me any rock. William blushed. I didn't know you liked me, he said. I do, she said fervently. I like your face, and I like the things you say. William had forgotten to scowl. He was one flaming mixture of embarrassment and delight. He plunged his hands into his pockets, and brought out two marbles, a piece of clay, and a broken toy gun. You can have them all, he said in reckless generosity. You keep them for me, said Bettine, sweetly. I hope you'd dance next to me at the maypole, when Evangeline's queen won't be a bit lovely. And she sighed. Lovely, exploded William. Won't you like it, said Bettine, wonderingly. Me, exploded William again, dancing round a pole, round that old girl. But she's so pretty. No, she isn't, said William firmly. She just isn't. Not much. I don't like her nashi shiny hair. I don't like her nashi blue clothes. I don't like her nashi face. I don't like her nashi white shoes, nor her nashi necklaces, nor her nashi squeaky voice. He paused. Bettine drew a deep breath. Do go on some more. She said, I like listening to you. Do you like her? said William. No, she's awful greedy. Did you know she was awful greedy? I can believe it, said William. I can believe anything of anyone what talks in that squeaky voice. Just watch her when she's eating cakes. She goes on eating and eating and eating. She'll burst and die one day, then, prophesied William solemnly, and I shan't be sorry. But she looked ever so beautiful when she's a May Queen. You'd look nicer, said William. Bettine's small, pale face, flamed. Oh, no, she said. Would you like to be a May Queen? Oh, yes, she said. Um, said William, and returned to the discomforture of Evangeline Fish by his steady concentrated scowl. The next day he had the opportunity of watching her eating cakes. They met at the birthday party of a mutual classmate, and Evangeline Fish took her stand by the table and consumed cakes with a perseverance and determination, worthy of a nobler cause. William accorded her a certain grudging admiration. Not once did she falter or faint. Iced cakes, cream cakes, pastries melted away before her, and never did she lose her ethereal angelic appearance. Tight golden ringlets, blue eyes, faintly flushed cheeks, vivid pale blue dress, remained immaculate and unruffled. And still, she ate cakes. William watched her in amazement, forgetting even to scowl at her. Her capacity for cake succeeded even Williams. And his was no mean one. They had a rehearsal of the maple dance and crowning the next day. I want William Brown to hold the Queen's train, said Miss Dewhurst. Me! ejaculated William in horror. Do you mean me? Yes, dear. It's a great honour to be asked to hold little Queen Evangeline's train. I'm sure you feel very proud. You must be her little courtier. Huh! said William, transferring his scowl to Miss Dewhurst. Evangeline beamed. She wanted William's admiration. William was the only boy in the form who was not her slave. She smiled at William sweetly. I'm not good at holding trains, said William. I don't like holding trains. I've never been taught about holding trains. I might do it wrong on the day and spoil it all. I shan't like to spoil it all, he added, virtuously. Oh! we'll have heaps of practices, said Miss Dewhurst brightly. As he was going, Bateen pressed a small apple into his hand. A present for you, she murmured. I saved it for my dinner. He was touched. I'll give you something tomorrow, he said, adding hastily, if I can find anything. They stored in silence till he had finished his apple. I've left a lot on the core, he said, in a tone of casual politeness, handing it to her. But would you like to finish it? No, thank you, William. You'll look so nice holding her train. I don't want to, and I bet I won't. You don't know the things I can do, he said, darkly. Oh, William! She gasped in awe and admiration. I'd hold your train if you were going to be a queen, he volunteered. I wouldn't want you to hold my train, she said earnestly. I'd want you to be making with me. Yes, why don't they have makings, said William, stung by this insult to his sex. Why shouldn't there be a making? I bet they do, really, only perhaps Miss Dewhurst doesn't know about it. Well, it doesn't make sense not having makings, does it? I wouldn't mind being making if you was my queen. The rehearsal was on the whole a failure. William Brown, don't hold the train so high. No, no, not quite so low. Don't stand so near the Queen, William Brown. No, no, not so far away. You'll pull the train off. Walk when the Queen walks, William Brown. Don't stand still. Sing up, please, train-bearer. No, not quite so loud. That's deafening and not melodious. In the end, he was degraded from the position of train-bearer to that of ordinary swain. The swains were dressed in smocks, and the maidens in print dresses, and the maypole dance, was to be performed round out of Angeline Fish, who was to stand in queenly attire by the pole in the middle. All the village was to be invited. At the end of the rehearsal, William came upon Bettine, once more gazing wistfully at Angeline Fish, who was coquettin' with many tosses of the fair ringlets, before a crowd of admirers. Isn't it lovely for her to be May Queen, said Bettine? She's a rotten one, said William. I'm jolly glad I've not to hold up her rotten old train, and listen to her nauseous squeaky voice singing close to. And I'll give you a present to-morrow. He did. He found a centipede in the garden, and pressed it into her hand on the way to school. There, jolly interesting, he said. Put in a matchbox and make holes for its breath, and it'll live ever so long. He won't bite you if you hold it the right way. And, because she loved William, she took it without even a shudder. Evangeline Fish began to pursue William. She grudged him, bitterly to Bettine. She pirouetted near him in her sky-blue garments. She tossed her ringlets about him. She ogled him with her pale blue eyes. And, in the long school hours during which he dreamed at his desk, or played games with his friends, while highly-paid instructors poured forth their wisdom for his benefit, William evolved a plan. Unfortunately, like most plans, it required capital. William had no capital. Occasionally, William's elder brother, Robert, would supply a few shillings without inconvenient questions. But it happened that Robert was ignoring William's existence at that time, for Robert had, not for the first time, discovered his ideal. And the ideal had been asked to lunch the previous week. For days, Robert had made William's life miserable. He had objected to William's unbrushed hair and unmanicured hands, and untidy person and noisy habits. He had bitterly demanded what she would think on being asked to a house, where she might meet such an individual as William. He had insisted that William should be taught habits of cleanliness and silence before she came. He had hinted darkly that a man who had William for a brother was hampered considerably in his love affairs, because she would think it was a queer kind of family where anyone like William was allowed to grow up. He had reserved some of his fervour for the cook. She must have a proper lunch, not stews and stuff they often had. There must be three vegetables, and there must be cheese straws. Cook must learn to make better cheese straws, and William, having swallowed insults for three whole days, planned vengeance. It was a vengeance which only William could have planned or carried out, for only William could have seized a moment just before lunch, when the meal was dished up and the cook happened to be out of the kitchen to carry the principal dishes down to the coal cellar and conceal them, beneath the best nuts. It is well to draw a veil over the next half hour. Both William and the meal had vanished. Robert tore his hair and appealed vainly to the heavens. He hinted darkly at suicide. For what is cold tongue and coffee to offer up to an ideal? The meal was discovered during the afternoon in its resting place, and given to William's mongrel jumble. Who crept about during the next few days in agonism and digestion? Robert had bitterly demanded of William why he went about the world spoiling people's lives and ruining their happiness. He had implied that when William met with the one and only love of his life, he need look for no help or assistance from him, Robert, because he, William, had dashed to the ground his Robert's cup of happiness, because he'd never in his life met anyone before, like Miss Lang, and never would again. And he, William, had simply condemned him to a lonely and miserable old age, because who'd want to marry anyone that asked him to lunch, and then gave them coffee and cold tongue? And he'd never want to marry anyone else, because it was the one and only love of his life. And he hoped that he, William, would realize, when he was old enough to realize, what it meant to have your life spoiled, and your happiness ruined all through coffee and tongue, because someone you'd never speak to again had hidden the lunch. Once he came, the William optimist that he was, felt that any appeal to Robert for funds would be inopportune, to say the least of it. But Providence was on William's side for once. An old uncle came to tea and gave William five shillings. Going to dance at a maypole I hear, he chuckled. Perhaps, was all William said. His family were relieved by his meekness with regard to the May Day Festival. Sometimes, William made such a foolish fuss about being dressed up and performing in public. You knowed here, said his mother. It's a dear old festival, and quite an honour to take part in it. And a smock is quite a nice manly garment. Yes, mother, said William. The day was fine, a real May Day. The maypole was fixed up in the field near the school, and the little performers were to change in the schoolroom. William went out with his brown paper parcel of stage properties under his arm, and stood gazing up the road by which Evangeline Fish must come to the school, for Evangeline Fish would have to pass his gate. Soon he saw her. Her pale blue radiant in the sun. Hello! he greeted her. She simpered. She had won him at last. Waiting to walk the school with me, William. She said. He still loitered. You're awfully early. Am I? I thought I was late. I meant to be late. I don't want to be too early. I'm the most important person. And I want to walk in after the others. Then they'll all look at me. She tossed her tightly wrought curls. Come into our old shed a minute, said William. I've got a present for you. She blushed and ogled. Oh, William! she said, and followed him into the woodshed. Look, he said. His uncle's five shillings had been well expended. Rows of cakes lay round the shed. Pastries and sugar cakes and iced cakes and currant cakes. Oh, a lot! said William. They're all for you. Go on, eat them all. You can eat and eat and eat. There's lots and lots of time, and they can't begin without you, can they? Oh, William! she said. She gloated over them. Oh, may I? There's heaps of time, said William. Go on, eat them all. Her greedy little eyes seemed to stand out of her head. Oh! she said in rapture. She sat down on the floor and began to eat. Lost to everything but icing and currants and pastry. William made for the door. Then he paused, gazed wistfully at the feast. Step back and, grabbing a cream bun in each hand, crept quietly away. Bettine, in her print frock, was at the door of the school. Hurry up! she said anxiously. You're going to be late. The others are all out. They're waiting to begin. Miss Dewhurst's out there? They're all come but you and the Queen. I stay because you asked me to stay to help you. He came in and shut the door. You're going to be May Queen, he announced firmly. She said in amazement. Yes, and I'm going to be King. He unwrapped his parcel. Look, he said. He had ransacked his sister's bedroom. Once Ethel had been to a fancy dress dance as a fairy. Over Bettine's print frock, he drew a crumpled gore's slip with wings, torn in several places. On her brow he placed a tinsel crown at a rakeish angle. And she quivered with happiness. Oh, how lovely! she said. How lovely! how lovely! His own preparations were simpler. He tied a red sash that he had taken off his sister's hat, over his right shoulder and under his left arm, on the top of his smock. Someone had once given him a small bus conductor's cap, with a toy set of tickets and clippers. He placed the cap upon his head with its peak over one eye. It was the only official headgear he'd been able to procure. Then he took a piece of burnt cork from his parcel, and solemnly drew a fierce and military moustache upon his cheek and lip. To William no kind of theatricals was complete without a corked moustache. Then he took Bettine by the hand and led her out to the maypole. The dancers were all waiting, holding the ribbons. The audience was assembled, and a murmur of conversation was rising from it. It ceased, abruptly, as William and Bettine appeared. William's father, mother, and sister were in the front row. Robert was not there. Robert had declined to come to anything in which that little wretch was to perform. He jolly well had enough of that little wretch to last his lifetime. Thank you very much. William and Bettine stepped solemnly and in hand upon the little platform, which had been provided for the May Queen. Miss Dewhurst, who was chatting amicably to the parents, to the last of her small performers should appear, seemed suddenly turned to stone, with mouth gaping and eyes wide. The old fiddler, who was rather short-sighted, struck up the strains, and the dancers began to dance. The audience relaxed, leaning back in their chairs to enjoy the scene. Miss Dewhurst was still frozen. There were murmured comments. How curious to have that boy there! A sort of a tendon, I suppose. Yes, perhaps he's something allegorical, and a sort of pageant. Good luck or something. It's not quite the sort of thing I expected, I must admit. What do you think of the Queen's dress? I always thought Miss Dewhurst had better taste. Of the tawdry, I call it. I think the moustache is a mistake. It gives quite a common look to the whole thing. I wonder who he's meant to be. Pan, do you think? Uncertainly. Oh, no! Nothing so pagan, I hope, said an elderly matron horrified. He's that brown boy, you know. There always seems to be something queer about anything he's in. I've noticed it often. But I hope he's meant to be something more Christian than Pan. Though I never know, in these days, she added darkly. William's sister had recognised her possessions and was gasping in anger. William's father, who knew William, was smiling sardonically. William's mother was smiling proudly. You're always running down, William, she said to the world in general. But look at him now. He's got a very important part, and he said nothing about it at home. I call it very nice and modest of him. And what a dear little girl! Bettine, standing on the platform with William's hand holding hers, and the Maypole dancers dancing round her, was radiant with pride and happiness. And if Angeline Fish in the woodshed was just beginning the last current cake. More William by Richamal Crumpton, Chapter 9 THE REVENGE William was a scout. The fact was well known. There was no one within a five-mile radius of William's home who did not know it. Sensitive old ladies had fled shuddering from their front doors when William marched down the street, singing, further word as euphemism, his scout songs in his strong young voice. Curious smells emanated from the depth of the garden where William performed mysterious culinary operations. One old lady whose cat had disappeared looked at William with dire suspicion in her eye whenever he passed. Even the return of her cat a few weeks later did not remove the hostility from her gaze. Whenever it happened to rest upon William, William's family had welcomed the suggestion of William becoming a scout. He will keep him out of mischief, they said. They were notoriously optimistic where William was concerned. William's elder brother only was doubtful. You know what William is, he said? In that dark saying much was contained. Things went fairly smoothly for some time. He took the scouts' law of a daily deed of kindness in its most literal sense. He was to do one, and only one, deed of kindness a day. There were times when he forced complete strangers much to their embarrassment to be the unwilling recipients of his deed of kindness. There were times when he answered any demand for help with a cold, no, I've done it today. He received with saint-like patience the eloquence of his elder sister when she found her silk scarf tied into innumerable knots. Well, their jolly good knots was all he said. He had been looking forward to the holidays for a long time. He was to go under canvas at the end of the first week. First day of the holidays began badly. William's father had been disturbed by William, whose room was just above, and had spent most of the night performing gymnastics, as instructed by his scout master. No, he didn't say to it at night, but he'd said, do it. He said, it would make us grow up strong men. Don't you want me to grow up a strong man? He's ever so strong and he did them. Why shouldn't I? His mother found a pan with the bottom burnt out, and at once accused William of the crime. William could not deny it. Well, I was making something. Something he told us, and I forgot it. Well, I've got to make things if I'm a scout. I didn't mean to forget it. I won't forget it next time. It's a rotten pan anyway, to burn itself into a hole just for that. At this point, William's father received a note from a neighbour whose garden adjoined William's, and whose life had been rendered intolerable by William's efforts upon his bugle. The bugle was confiscated. Darkness descended upon William's soul. Well, he muttered, I'm going under canvas next week, and I'm jolly glad I'm going. Perhaps you're going to be sorry when I'm gone. He went out into the garden and stood gazing moodily into space. His hands in the pocket of his shorts are scout trousers, for William dressed on any and every occasion in his official costume. Can't even have the bugle, he complained to the landscape. Can't even use their rotten old pans. Can't find knots in any of their old things. What's the good of being a scout? His indignation grew, and with it a desire to be avenged upon his family. I'd like to do something. He confided to a rose bush with a ferocious scour. Something just to show him. Then his face brightened. He had an idea. He'd get lost, get really lost, and they'd be sorry then all right. They'd perhaps think he was dead, and they'd be sorry then all right. He imagined their relief, their tearful apologies, when at last he returned to the bosom of his family. It was worth trying, anyway. He set off cheerfully down the drive. He decided to stay away for lunch and tea and supper, and to return a dusk to a penitent, conscious, stricken family. He first made his way to a neighbouring wood, where he arranged a pile of twigs for a fire. But they refused to light, even with the aid of the match William had found adhering to a piece of putty in the recess of one of his pockets. Slightly dispirited, he turned his attention to his handkerchief, and tied knots in it. Till it gave way under the strain. William's handkerchiefs being regularly used to perform the functions of blotting paper, among other duties not generally entrusted to handkerchiefs, were always in the last stages of decrepitude. He felt rather bored, and began to wonder whether it was lunchtime or not. He then scouted the wood, and by his wood-law traced three distinct savage tribes passage through the wood, and found the tracks of several elephants. He engaged in deadly warfare, with about half a dozen lions, then tired of the sport. It must be about lunchtime. He could imagine Ethel, his sister, hunting for him wildly high and low, with growing pangs of remorse. She'd wish she'd made less fuss over that old scarf. His mother would recall the scene over the pan, and her heart would fail her. His father would think with shame of his conduct in the matter of the bugle. Poor William! How cruel we were! How different we shall be if only he comes home! He could almost hear the words. Perhaps his mother was weeping now. His father, wild-eyed and white-lipped, was pacing his study, waiting for news, eager to atone for his unkindness to his missing son. Perhaps he had the bugle on the table, ready to give back to him. Perhaps he'd even bought him a new one. He imagined the scene of his return. He would accept the gift of the new bugle without a word of reproach. His heart thrilled at the thought of it. He was getting jolly hungry. It must be after lunchtime. But he'd spoiled it all to go home too early. Here he caught sight of a minute figure regarding him with a steady gaze and holding a paper bag in one hand. William stared down at him. What have you dressed up like that for? He'd said, the apparition, with a touch of scorn in his voice. William looked down at his sacred uniform and scowled. I'm a scout, he said loftily. Cout! repeated the apparition, with an air of polite boredom. What's your name? William. Mine's Thomas. Will you catch me a wops? Look at my wopsies! He opened his eyes and said, Look at my wopsies! He opened the bag slightly and William caught sight of a crowd of wasps buzzing about inside the bag. Want more? demanded the infant. Want lots more? Look, snails! He bought out a handful of snails from a miniature pocket and put them on the ground. Watch and put their horns out. Watch and walk. Look, they're walking! They're walking! His voice was a scream of ecstasy. He took them up and returned them to their pocket. From another he drew out a wriggling mass. What lies? he explained casually. Got worms in another pocket. He returned the woodlice to his pocket, except one which he held between a finger and thumb laid thoughtfully against his lip. Want wopsies now? You get them for me! William roused himself from his bewilderment. How do you catch them? he said. Wings, replied Thomas. Get hold of their wings, and they don't sting. Sometimes they do, though. He added casually. Then your hands go big. A wasp settled near him, and very neatly the young naturalist picked him up and put him in his paper prison. Now you get one, he ordered William. William determined not to be outdone by this minute but dauntless stranger. As a wasp obligingly settled on a flower near him, he put out his hand, only to withdraw it with a yell of pain and apply it to his mouth. Ow! he said. Crumbs! Thomas emitted a peel of laughter. You stung! he said. Did it sting you? Funny! William's expression of rage and pain was exquisite to him. Come on, boy! he ordered at last. Let's go somewhere else. William's bewildered dignity made a last stand. You can go, he said. I'm playing by myself. All right, agreed Thomas. You play by yourself, and me play by myself, and we'll be together, playing by ourselves. He set off down a path, and meekly William followed. It must be jolly late, almost tea time. I'm hungry, said Thomas suddenly. Give me some breakfast. I haven't got any, said William, irritably. Well, find some, persisted the infant. I can't, there isn't any to find. Well, buy some. I haven't got any money. Well, buy some money. Goaded William turned on him. Go away, he bellowed. Thomas's blue eyes beneath them up of curls met his coldly. Don't talk so loud, he said sternly. There's some blackberries there. You can get me some blackberries. William began to walk away, but Thomas trotted by his side. There, he persisted, just where I'm pointing. Lovely, big, huge ones. Get them for my back first. Reluctantly, the scout turned to perform his deed of kindness. Thomas consumed blackberries faster than William could gather them. Up there, he commanded, No, the one right up there I want. I want it, kick! I've eaten all the others. William was gratched and breathless. His shirt was torn when at last the rapacious Thomas was satisfied. Then he partook of a little refreshment himself, while Thomas turned out his pockets. I'll let him go now, he said. One of his wood-lice, however, remained motionless where he put it. What's the matter with it? said William curiously. I suspect me's the matter with it, said Thomas succinctly. Now, get me some little fishes and tadpoles and water-sings. He went on cheerfully. William turned round from his blackberry bush. Well, I won't, he said decidedly. I've had enough. You've had enough, back first, said Thomas sternly. I've found a little tin for the sings. So be kick. Oh, here's a fly, a green fly. It's sitting on my finger. Does it like me, because it's sitting on my finger? No, said William. Turning a purple-stained countenance round scornfully. It must be nearly night. He didn't want to be too hard on them to make his mother ill or anything. He wanted to be as kind as possible. He'd forgive them at once when he got home. He'd ask for one or two things he wanted, as well as the new bugle, a new pen-knife, and an engine with a real boiler. What for does it not like me? persisted Thomas. William was silent. Question and questioner were beneath contempt. What for does it not like me? he shouted stridently. Flies don't like people silly. What for not? retorted Thomas. They don't know anything about them. Well, I'll tell it about me. My name's Thomas, he said to the fly politely. Now does it like me? William groaned, but the fly had now vanished, and Thomas once more grew impatient. Come on, he said, come and find things for me. William's manly spirit was by this time so far broken that he followed his new acquaintance to a neighbouring pond, growling threateningly but impotently. Now, commanded his small tyrant, take off your boots and stockings, and go and find things for me. Take off yours, growled William, and find things for yourself. No, said Thomas. Crocodiles might be there and bite my toes, and pitiputibuses might be there. If you don't go in, I'll scream and scream and SCREAM! William went in. He walked gingerly about the muddy pond. Thomas watched him critically from the bank. I don't like your hair, he said confidingly. William growled. He caught various small swimming objects in the tin, and brought them to the bank for inspection. I want more on that, said Thomas calmly. Well, you won't get it, retorted William. He began to put on his boots and stockings, wondering desperately how to rid himself of his unwanted companion. But fate solved the problem. With a loud cry, a woman came running down the path. Tommy, she said, my little darling Tommy, I thought you were lost. She turned furiously to William. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, she said. A great boy of your age leading a little child like this into mischief. If his father was here, he'd show you. You ought to know better, and you a scout! William gasped. Well, he said, and I've been doing deeds of kindness on him all morning. I've—she turned away indignantly, holding Thomas' hand. You're never to go with that nasty rough boy again, darling, she said. Got lots of wopsies and some fishes, murmured Thomas contentedly. They disappeared down the path. With a feeling of depression and disillusionment, William turned to go home. Then his spirits rose. After all, he got rid of Thomas, and he was going home to a contrite family. It must be about supper time. It will be getting dark soon. But it still stayed light a long time now. It wouldn't matter if he just got in for supper. It would have given them time to think things over. He could see his father speaking unsteadily, and holding out his hand. My boy, let bygones be bygones, if there's anything you want. His father had never said anything of this sort to him yet, but by a violent stretch of imagination he could just conceive it. His mother, of course, would cry over him, and so would Ethel. Dear William, do forgive us. We've been so miserable since you went away. We will never treat you so again. This again was unlike the Ethel he knew, but sorrow has a refining effect on all characters. He entered the gate self-consciously. Ethel was at the front door. She looked at his torn shirt and mud-cake knees. You'd better hurry if you're going to be ready for lunch, she said coldly. Lunch? Faulted William. What time is it? Ten to one. Father's in, so I warn you. She added, unpleasantly. He entered the house in a dazed fashion. His mother was in the hall. William, she said impatiently, another shirt torn. You really are careless. You'll have to stop being a scout if that's the way you treat your clothes, and look at your knees. Pale and speechless he went towards the stairs. His father was coming out of the library smoking a pipe. He looked at his son grimly. If you aren't downstairs cleaned by the time the lunch bell goes, my son, he said, you won't see that bugle of yours this side of Christmas. William swallowed. Yes, Father, he said meekly. He went upstairs to the bathroom. Life was a rotten show. End of Chapter 9, The Revenge. Read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 10, The Helper. The excitement began at breakfast. William descended late, and after receiving his parents' reproaches with an air of weary boredom, at his porridge listlessly. He had come to the conclusion that morning that there was a certain monotonous sameness about life. One got up and had one's breakfast and went to school and had one's dinner and went to school and had one's tea and played and had one supper and went to bed. Even the fact that today was a half-term holiday did not dispel his depression. One day's holiday. What good was one day? We have all experienced such feelings. Half-obstractedly he began to listen to his elder's conversation. They promised to be here by nine, his mother was saying. I do hope they won't be late. Well, it's not much good they're coming if the other house isn't ready, is it? said William's grown-up sister Ethel. I don't believe they've even finished painting. I'm so sorry it's William's half-term holiday, said Mrs. Brine. He'll be frightfully in the way. William's outlook on life brightened considerably. They're coming and removing this morning, he inquired cheerfully. Yes, do try not to hinder them, William. Me, he said indignantly, I'm going to help. If William's going to help, remarked his father, thank heaven I shan't be here. Your assistance, William, always seems to be even more devastating in its results than your opposition. William smiled politely. Sarcasm was always wasted on William. Well, he said, rising from the table, I'd better go and be getting ready to help. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Brine, coming out of the kitchen from her interview with the cook, found to her amazement that the steps of the front door were covered with small ornaments. As she stood staring, William appeared from the drawing-room, staggering under the weight of a priceless little statuette that had been the property of Mr. Brine's great-grandfather. William! she gasped. I'm getting all the little things ready for him, just to carry straight down. If I put everything on the steps, they don't need to come into the house at all. You said you didn't want them tramping in dirty boots. It took a quarter of an hour to replace them. Over the fragment of a blue-delft bowl, Mrs. Brine sighed deeply. I wish she'd broken anything but this, William. Well, he excused himself. You said things do get broken removing. You said so yourself. I didn't break it on purpose. It just got broken removing. At this point the removers arrived. There were three of them. One was very fat and jovial, and one was thin and harassed-looking, and a third wore a sheepish smile and walked with a slightly unsteady gait. They made profuse apologies for their lateness. You'd better begin with the dining-room, said Mrs. Brine. Will you pack the china first? William, get out of the way! She left them packing assisted by William. William carried the things to them from the side-board cupboards. What's your names, he asked, as he stumbled over a glass bowl that he had inadvertently left on the hearth rug. His progress was further delayed while he conscientiously picked up the fragments. Things do get broken removing, he murmured. Mine is Mr. Blake, and is is Mr. Johnson, and is is Mr. Jones. Which is Mr. Jones, the one that walks funny? They shook with herculean laughter, so much so that a china cream jug slipped from Mr. Blake's fingers and lay in innumerable pieces round his boot. He kicked it carelessly aside. Yes, he said, bending anew to his task, in what walks funny. Why's he walked funny, persisted William, as he heard his legs. Yes, said Blake with a wink. He uttered him at the blue-kai coming here. Mr. Jones' sheepish smile broadened into a guffaw. Well, you rest, said William sympathetically. You lie down on the sofa and rest. I'll help, so as you needn't do anything. Mr. Jones grew hilarious. Come on, he said. My eye. This young gentleman's all right, he is. You lie down and rest, he says. Well, here goes. To the huge delight of his companions, he stretched himself at length upon the chest-field and closed his eyes. William surveyed him with pleasure. That's right, he said. I'll show you my dog when your legs are better. I've got her fine dog. What sort of a dog, said Mr. Blake, resting from his labours to ask the question. He's no particular sort of dog, said William honestly, but he's a jolly fine dog. You should see him do tricks. Well, let's have a look at him. Fetch him art. William, highly delighted, complied, and Jumble showed off his best tricks to an appreciative audience of two. Mr. Jones had already succumbed to the driziness that had long been creeping over him, and was lying dead to the world on the chest-field. Jumble begged for a biscuit. He walked. Perforce for William's hand firmly imprisoned his front ones, on his hind legs, he leapt over William's arm. He leapt into the very centre of an old Venetian glass that was on the floor by the packing-case, and cut his foot slightly on a piece of it, but fortunately suffered no ill effects. William saw consternation on Mr. Johnson's face, and hastened to gather the pieces, and fling them lightly into the West Pepper basket. It's all right, he said soothingly. She said things get broken removing. When Mrs. Bryan entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Messers Blake and Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall, appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmen-like eyes. He's no breed, Mr. Blake was saying, but he's all right. I'd like to see him after a rat, I bet he. Seeing Mrs. Bryan, he hastily seized a vase from the mantelpiece, and carried it over to the packing-case, where he appeared suddenly to be working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example. Mrs. Bryan's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones, and she gasped. Whatever, she began. He's not very well, explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. He'll be all right when he's slept a dwarf. He's always all right when he's slept a dwarf. He's hurt his legs, explained William. He hurt his legs at the blue kai. He's just resting. Mrs. Bryan swallowed and counted twenty-two herself. It was a practice she had acquired in her youth, for youth and times, when words crowded upon her, too thick and fast for utterance. At last she spoke with unusual bitterness. Needy rest with his muddy boots on my chest afield. At this point Mr. Jones awoke from sleep, hypnotized out of it by her cold eye. He was profuse in his apologies. He believed he had fainted. He had had a bad headache, brought on probably by exposure to the early morning sun. He felt much better after his faint. He regretted having fainted onto the lady's sofa. He partially brushed off the traces of his dirty boots, with an equally dirty hand. You've done nothing in this room, said Mrs. Bryan. We shall never get finished. William, come away. I'm sure you're hindering them. Me, said William in righteous indignation. Me? I'm helping. After what seemed to Mrs. Bryan to be several hours, they began on the heavy furniture. They staggered out with the dining-room sideboard, carrying away part of the staircase with it and transit. Mrs. Bryan, with a paling face, saw her beloved antique cabinet dismembered against the door-post, and watched her favourite collapsible card-table perform a thorough and permanent collapse. Even the hat-stand from the hall was devoid of some pegs when it finally reached the van. This is simply breaking my heart, moaned Mrs. Bryan. Where's William? said Ethel gloomily, looking round. Sh! I don't know. He disappeared a few minutes ago. I don't know where he is. I only hope he'll stay there. The removers now proceeded to the drawing-room and prepared to take out the piano. They tried it every way. The first way took a piece out of the door-post. The second made a dint two inches deep in the piano. The third knocked over the grandfather-clock, which fell with a resounding crash, breaking its glass, and, incidentally, a tall china plant-stand that happened to be in its line of descent. Mrs. Bryan sat down and covered her face with her hands. It's like some dreadful nightmare, she groaned. Messers Blake, Johnson and Jones, paused to wipe the sweat of honest toil from their brides. I don't know why it's to be got out, said Mr. Blake despairingly. It got in, persisted Mrs. Bryan. If it got in, it can get out. We'll have another try, said Mr. Blake, with the air of a hero leading a forlorn hope. Come on, mites! This time was successful, and the piano passed safely into the hall, leaving in its wake only a dislocated door handle and a torn chair cover. It then passed slowly and devastatingly down the hall and drive. The next difficulty was to get it into the van. Messers Blake, Johnson and Jones tried alone and failed. For ten minutes they tried alone and failed. Between each attempt they paused to mop their brides and throw longing glances towards the blue chi, whose signboard was visible down the road. The gardener, the cook, the housemaid and Ethel all gave their assistance, and at last, with a superhuman effort, they raised it to the van. They then all rested weakly against the nearest support and gasp for breath. Well, said Mr. Jones, looking reproachfully at the mistress of the house, I've never handled a piano. At this moment a well-known voice was heard in the recesses of the van, behind the piano and sideboard and hat stand. Hey, let me out! What you've gone blocking up the van for, I can't get out. There was a horror-stricken silence. Then Ethel said sharply, What did you go in for? The mysterious voice came again with a note of irritability. Well, I was resting. I must have some rest, must and die. I've been up in all morning. Well, couldn't you see we were putting things in? The on-scene presence spoke again. No, I can't. I wasn't looking. You can't get out, William, said Mrs. Brown desperately. We can't move everything again. You must just stop there till it's unpacked. We'll try to push your lunch in to you. There was determination in the voice that answered, I want to get out. I'm going to get out. There came tumultuous sounds, the sound of the ripping of some material, of the smashing of glass, and of William's voice softly ejaculating crumbs, that all-looking glass getting in the way. You'd better take the piano out again, said Mrs. Brown, only. It's the only thing to do. With straining and efforts and groans, and a certain amount of destruction, the piano was eventually lowered again to the ground. Then the sideboard and hat stand removed to one side, and finally there emerged from the struggle William and Jumble. Jumble's coat was covered with little pieces of horse hair, as though from the interior of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant. A nice thing to do! He began bitterly, shutting me up in that old van. How do you expect me to breathe, shut in with old bits of furniture? Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if you'd find me dead. Emotion had deprived his audience of speech for the time being. With a certain amount of dignity, he walked past them into the house, followed by Jumble. It took another quarter of an hour to replace the piano. As they were making the final effort, William came out of the house. Here, I'll help, he said, and laid a finger on the side. His presence rather hindered their efforts, but they succeeded in spite of it. William, however, was under the impression that his strength alone had wrought the miracle. He put on an outrageous swagger. I'm jolly strong, he confided to Mr Blake. I'm stronger than most folk. Here, the removers decided that it was time for the midday repast and retired to consume it in the shady back garden. All except Mr Jones, who said he would go down the road for a drink of lemonade. William said that there was lemonade in the larder and offered to fetch it, but Mr Jones said hastily that he wanted a special sort. He had to be very particular what sort of lemonade he drank. Mrs Brine and Ethel sat down to a scratch-meal in the library. William followed his two new friends, wistfully into the garden. William, come to lunch, called Mrs Brine. Oh, leave him alone, mother, pleaded Ethel. Let us have a little peace. But William did not upset himself for long. I want a red handkerchief, he demanded, lightly from the hall. There was no response. He appeared in the doorway. I say, I want a red handkerchief. Have you got a red handkerchief, mother? No, dear. Have you, Ethel? No. All right, said William aggrievedly. You needn't get mad, need you. I'm only asking for a red handkerchief. I don't want a red handkerchief off you, if you haven't got it, do I? William, go away and shut the door. William obeyed. He strained throughout the house and garden for the next half hour. Then Mrs Brine's conscience began to prick her. William must have something to eat, dear, do go and find him. Ethel went out to the back garden, a scene of happy restfulness met her gaze. Mr Blake reclined against one tree, consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. Mr Johnson reclined against another tree, also consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. William lent against a third tree, consuming a little heap of scraps collected from the larder, while on his knees also reposed what was apparently a red handkerchief. Jumble sat in the middle, catching with nimble snapping jaws, dainties flung to him from time to time by his circle of admirers. Ethel advanced nearer and inspected William's red handkerchief with dawning horror in her face. Then she gave a scream, William, that's my silk scarf. It was for a hat. I've only just bought it. Oh, mother, do, do something to William. He's taken my new silk scarf, the one I'd got to trim my leghorn. He's the most awful boy. I don't think— Mrs Brine came out hastily to pass a fire. William handed the silk scarf back to its rightful owner. Well, I'm sorry. I thought it was a red handkerchief. It looked like a red handkerchief. Well, how could I know it wasn't a red handkerchief? I've given it her back. All right, Jumble's only bit one end of it, and that's only jam what dropped on it. Well, it'll wash, won't it? Well, I've said I'm sorry. I don't get much thanks, William continued bitterly, me giving up my half-holiday to helping you remove them, and I don't get much thanks. Well, William said, Mrs Brine, you can go to the new house with the first van. He'll be lessen the way there. She confided distractedly to the world in general. William was delighted with this proposal. At the new house there was a fresh set of men to unload the van, and there was a thrill of making their acquaintance. Then the front gate was only just painted and, more a notice, wet paint. It was, of course, incumbent upon William to test personally the wetness of the paint. His trousers bore testimony to the testing to their last day, in spite of many applications of turpentine. Jumble also tested it and had, in fact, to be disconnected with the front gate by means of a pair of scissors. For many weeks the first thing that visitors to the Brine household saw was a little tuft of Jumble's hair adorning the front gate. William then proceeded to help to the utmost of his power. He stumbled up from the van to the house, staggering under the weight of a medicine cupboard, and leaving a trail of broken bottles and little pools of medicine behind. Jumble sampled many of the latter and became somewhat thoughtful. It was found that the door of a small bedroom at the top of the stairs was locked, and this fact added to Mr. Jones's failure to return from his lemonade, rather impeded the progress of the unpackers. Breiket open suggested one, better not. Perhaps the keys inside suggested another brightly. William had one of his brilliant ideas. Tell you what I'll do, he said, eagerly and importantly, I'll climb up to the roof and get down the chimney and open it from the inside. They greeted the proposal with guffaws. They did not know William. It was growing dusk when Mrs. Brine and Ethel and the second van load appeared. What is that on the gate, said Ethel, stooping to examine the part of Jumble's coat that brightened up the dullness of the black paint? It's that dog, she said. Then came a ghost-like cry, apparently from the heavens. Mother! Mrs. Brine raised a startled countenance to the skies. There seemed to be nothing in the skies that could have addressed her. Then she suddenly saw a small face peering down over the coping of the roof. It was a face that was very frightened under a superficial covering of suit. It was William's face. I can't get down! It said hoarsely. Mrs. Brine's heart stood still. Stay where you are, William, she said faintly. Don't move! The entire staff of removers was summoned. A ladder was borrowed from a neighbouring garden and found to be too short. Another was fetched and fastened to it. William, at his dizzy height, was growing irritable. I can't stay up here forever, he said severely. At last he was rescued by his friend Mr. Blake and brought down to safety. His account was confused. I wanted to help. I wanted to open that door for him, so I climbed up by the scullery roof and the ivy and the drain pipe and I tried to get down the chimney. I didn't know which one it was, but I tried them all and they were all too little and I tried to get down by the ivy again, but I couldn't. So I waited till you came and hollered out. I wasn't scared, he said, fixing them with a stern eye. I wasn't scared a bit. I just wanted to get down. And this old black chimney stuff tastes beastly. No, I'm all right. He ended and answered a tender inquiries. I'll go on helping. He was with difficulty persuaded to retire to bed at a slightly earlier hour than usual. Well, he confessed, I'm a bit tired with helping all day. Soon after he had gone, Mr. Brown and Robert arrived. And how are things gone today? said Mr. Brown cheerfully. Thank Heaven, William goes to school tomorrow, said Ethel Devightly. Upstairs in his room, William was studying himself in the glass. Torn jersey, paint stained trousers, blackened face. Well, he said with a deep satisfaction, I guess I've jolly well helped today. William and the Smuggler William's family were going to the seaside for February. It was not an ideal month for the seaside, but William's father's doctor had ordered him a complete rest and change. We shall have to take William with us, you know, his wife had said as they discussed plans. Good heavens, grown Mr. Brown, I thought it was meant to be a rest cure. Yes, but you know what he is, his wife urged. I didn't leave him with anyone, certainly not with Ethel. We shall have to take them both. Ethel will help with him. Ethel was William's grown up sister. All right, her husband agreed finally. You can take all responsibility, I formally disown him from now till we get back. I don't care what trouble he lands you in, you know what he is, and you deliberately take him away with me on a rest cure. Can't be helped, dear, said his wife mildly. William was thrilled by the news. It was several years since he had been at the seaside. Will I be able to go swim in? It won't be too cold. Well, if I wrap up warm, will I be able to go swim in? Can I catch fishes? Oh, there are lots of smugglers smuggling there. Well, I'm only asking. You didn't get mad. Well, afternoon, Mrs. Brown missed her best silver tray and searched the house high and low for it wildly, while dark suspicions of each servant in turn arose in her usually unsuspicious breast. It was finally discovered in the garden. William had dug a large hole in one of the garden beds. Into the bottom of this he had fitted the tray and had lined the sides with bricks. He then filled it with water, and, taking off his shoes and stockings, stepped up and down his narrow pool. He was distinctly aggrieved by Mrs. Brown's reproaches. Well, I was practising paddling, ready for going to the seaside. I didn't mean to ruin your tray. You talk as if I meant to ruin your tray. I was only practising paddling. At last the day of departure arrived. William was instructed to put his things ready on his bed, and his mother would then come and pack for him. He summoned her proudly over the balusters after about twenty minutes. I've got everything ready, mother. Mrs. Brown ascended to his room. Upon his bed was a large pop gun, a football, a door mouse and a cage, a punch ball on a stand, a large box of curios, and a buckskin, which was his dearest possession, and had been presented to him by an uncle from South Africa. Mrs. Brown sat down weakly on a chair. You can't possibly take any of these things. She said faintly but firmly. Well, you said put my things on the bed for you to pack, and I've put them on the bed. And now you say I meant clothes. Oh, clothes, he said scornfully. I never thought of clothes. Well, you can't take any of these things anyway. William hastily began to defend his collection of treasures. I must have the pop gun, because you never know. There may be pirates and smugglers down there, and you can kill a man with a pop gun if you get near enough and know the right place and I might need it. And I must have the football to play on the sands with, and the punch ball to practice boxing on, and I must have the door mouse because to feed him. And I must have this box of things and this skin to show folks I meet down at the seaside, because they're interesting. But Mrs. Brown was firm and William reluctantly yielded. In a moment of weakness, finding that his trunk was only three-quarter filled by his things, she slipped in his beloved buckskin, while William himself put the pop gun inside when no one was looking. They had been unable to obtain a furnished house, so had to be content with the boarding house. Mr. Brown was eloquent on the subject. If you're deliberately turning that child loose into a boarding house full, presumably of quiet and offensive people, you deserve all you get. It's nothing to do with me. I'm going to have a rest, Cure. I've disowned him. He can do as he likes. Can't be helped, dear, said Mrs. Brown, mildly. Mr. Brown had engaged one of the huts on the beach, chiefly for William's use, and William proudly furnished its floor with the buckskin. He was killed by my uncle. He announced to the small crowd of children at the door who had watched with interest his painstaking measuring of the floor in order to place his treasure in the exact centre. He killed it dead, just like this. William had never heard the story of the death of the buck, and therefore had invented one in which he had gradually come to confuse himself with his uncle in the role of hero. I was walking about, and he met it. I hadn't got a gun, and it sprung on me, and I caught hold of its neck with one hand, and I broke off its horns with the other, and I knocked it over, and it got up and ran at me, him, again, and I just tripped it up with my foot, and it fell over again, and then I just give it one big hit with my right fist on its head, and it killed it, and it died. There was an incredulous gasp. Then came a clear, high voice from behind the crowd. Little boy, you are not telling the truth! William looked up into a thin, spectacled face. I wasn't telling it to you, he remarked, wholly unabashed. A little girl with dark curls took up the cudgels quite needlessly in William's defense. He's a very brave boy to do all that, she said indignantly. So don't you go saying things to him? Well, said William, flattered but modest. I didn't say I did it, did I? I said my uncle. Well, partly my uncle. Mr. Percival Jones looked down at him in righteous wrath. You're a very wicked little boy! I'll tell your father! I'll tell your sister! For Ethel was approaching in the distance, and Mr. Percival Jones was in no way loathe to converse with her. Mr. Percival Jones was a thin, pale, aesthetic, would-be poet, who lived and thrived on the admiration of the elderly ladies of his boarding-house, and had done so for the past ten years. Once he had published a volume of poems at his own expense. He lived at the same boarding-house as the Browns, and had seen Ethel in the distance to meals. He had admired the red lights in her dark hair and the blue of her eyes, and even gone so far as to wonder whether she possessed the solid and enduring qualities which he would require of one whom in his mind he referred to as his future spouse. He began to walk down the beach with her. I should like to speak to you about your brother, Miss Brown, he began. If you can spare me the time. Of course, I trust I do not intrude or presume. He is a charming little man, but I fear not voracious. May I accompany you on your way? I am much attracted to your family. I should like to know you all better. I am deeply attached to your little brother, but grieve to find that he does not adhere to the truth in his statements. I err. Miss Brown's blue eyes were dancing with merriment. Oh, don't you worry about William, she said. He's awful. It's much best just to leave him alone. Isn't the sea gorgeous today? They walked along the sands. Meanwhile, William had invited his small defender into his hut. You can look round, he said graciously. You've seen my skin, what I, he killed, haven't you? This is my gun. You put a cork in there and it comes out hard when you shoot it. It will kill anyone. Impressively. If you did it near enough to them and at the right place. And I've got a door mouse and a punch ball and a box of things and a football, but they wouldn't let me bring them. Bittily. It's a lovely skin, said the girl. What's your name? William, what's yours? Peggy. Well, let's be on a desert island, shall we, and nothing to eat or anything, shall we? Come on, she nodded eagerly. How lovely! They wandered out onto the promenade and among a large crowd of passers-by bemoaned the lone emptiness of the island and scanned the horizon for a sail. In the far distance on the cliffs could be seen the figures of Mr. Percival Jones, and William's sister, walking slowly away from the town. And last they turned towards the hut. We must find something to eat, said William firmly. We can't let ourselves starve to death. Shrimps? Suggested Peggy cheerfully. We haven't got nets, said William. We couldn't save them from the wreck. Periwinkles? There aren't any on this island. I know, seaweed, and we'll cook it. Oh, how lovely! He gathered up a handful of seaweed and they entered the hut, leaving a white handkerchief tied to the door to attract the attention of any passing ship. The hut was provided with a gas ring, and William, disregarding his family's express injunction, lit this and put on a saucepan filled with water and seaweed. We'll pretend it's a wood fire, he said. We couldn't make a real wood fire out on the prom, they'd stop us, so we'll pretend this is, and we'll pretend we saved a saucepan from the wreck. After a few minutes, he took off the pan and drew out a long green strand. You eat it first, he said politely. The smell of it was not pleasant. Peggy drew back. Oh, no, you first. No, no, you, said William nobly. You look hungrier than me. She bit off a piece, chewed it, shut her eyes, and swallowed. No, you, she said, with a shade of vindictiveness in her voice. You're not going to not have any. William took a mouthful and shivered. I think it's gone bad, he said critically. Peggy's rosy face had paled. I'm going home, she said suddenly. You can't go home on a desert island, said William severely. Well, I'm going to be rescued then, she said. I think I am too, said William. It was lunchtime when William arrived at the boarding house. Mr. Percival Jones had moved his place to be nearer Ethel. He was now convinced that she possessed of every virtue his future spouse could need. He conversed brightly and incessantly during the meal. Mr. Brown grew restive. The man will drive me mad, he said afterwards, bleeding away. What's he bleeding about anyway? Can't you stop him bleeding, Ethel? You seem to have influence. Bleat, bleed, bleed. Good Lord, and me here for a rest cure. At this point, he was summoned to the telephone and returned distraught. It's an unknown female, he said. She says that a boy of the name of William from this boarding house has made her little girl sick by forcing her to eat seaweed. She says it's brutal. Does anyone know I'm here for a rescue? Where is the boy? Good heavens, where is the boy? But William, like Peggy, had retired from the world for a space. He returned later on in the afternoon, looking pale and chastened. He bore the reproaches of his family in stately silence. Mr. Percival Jones was in great evidence in the drawing-room. And soon, soon, the spring will be with us once more. He was saying in his high-pitched voice as he leaned back in his chair and joined the tips of his fingers together. The spring are the spring. I have a little effort composed on the coming of spring. I will read it to you some time, if you will be kind enough to criticize our impartially. Criticize? they chorused. It will be above criticism. Oh, do read it to us, Mr. Jones. I will this evening, his eyes wandered to the door, hoping and longing for his beloved's entrance. But Ethel was with her father at a matinee in the winter gardens. And he looked and longed in vain. In spite of this, however, the springs of his eloquence did not run dry. And he held forth ceaselessly to his little circle of admirers. The simple pleasures of nature, how a few of us alas, have the gift of appreciating them rightly. This little seaside hamlet with its sea, its promenade, its winter gardens. How beautiful it is! how few appreciate it rightly! Here, William entered, and Mr. Percival Jones broke off abruptly. He disliked William. Ah, here comes our little friend. He looks pale. Remorse, my young friend! Ah, beware of untruthfulness! Beware of the beginnings of a life of lies and deception! He laid a hand on William's head, and cold shivers ran down William's spine. Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever, as the poet says. There was murder in William's heart. At that minute, Ethel entered. No, she snapped. I sat next to a man who smelt of bad tobacco. I hate men who smoke bad tobacco. Mr. Jones assumed an expression of intense piety. I may boast, he said sanctimoniously, that I have never thus soiled my lips with drink or smoke. There was an approving murmur from the occupants of the drawing-room. William had met his father in the passage outside the drawing-room. Mr. Brown was wearing a hunted expression. Can I go into the drawing-room, he said bitterly, or is he bleeding away in there? They listened. From the drawing-room came the sound of a high-pitched voice. Mr. Brown groaned. Good Lord! he moaned, I am here for a rest-cure, and he comes bleeding into every room in the house. Is the smoking-room safe? Does he smoke? Mr. Percival Jones was feeling slightly troubled in his usually peaceful conscience. He could honestly say he had never smoked. He could honestly say that he had never drank. But in his bedroom reposed two bottles of brandy, purchased at the advice of an aunt in case of emergencies. In his bedroom also was a box of cigars that he had bought for a cousin's birthday gift, but which his conscience had finally forbidden to present. He decided to consign these two emblems of vice to the waves that very evening. Meanwhile William had returned to the hut and was composing a tale of smugglers by the light of a candle. He was much intrigued by his subject. He wrote fast in an illegible hand, in great sloping lines, his brows frowning, his tongue protruding from his mouth as it always did in moments of mental strain. His sympathies wavered between the smugglers and the representatives of law and order. His orthography was the despair of his teachers. Ho says Dick Savage, he wrote, Ho, Gadzooks, roll in the bottles of beer up the beach, fill your pockets with the backie from the boat. Quick now, Gadzooks, me thinks we are observed. He glared round in the darkness. In less time than what it takes to write this, he was surrounded by pleas men and stood, proud and defiant in the light of their electric torches, what they had wiped quick as lightning from their bosoms. Surrender, cried one, holding a gun at his brain and a drawn sword at his heart. Surrender or die. Never, said Dick Savage, throwing back his head, proud and defiant. Never, do to me what you will, you dirty dogs. I will never surrender. Sooner I will die. One cruel brute hit him a blow on the lips and he sprang back, snarling with rage. In less time than what it takes to write this, he had sprung at his torturer's throat and his teeth met in one mighty bite. His torturer dropped dead and lifeless at his feet. Ho, cried Dick Savage, throwing back his head and proud and defiant again. So dies any of you what insults my proud manhood. I will meet my teeth in your throats. For a minute they stood trembling, then one bolder than the rest, leapt forward and tied Dick Savage's hands with rope behind his back. Another took from his pockets bottles of beer and tobacco in large quantities. Ho, they cried exalting. Ho, Dick Savage, the smuggler caught at last. Dick Savage gave one proud and defiant laugh and, bringing his tied hands over his head, he bit the rope with one mighty bite. Ho, ho, he cried, throwing back his proud head. Ho, ho, you dirty dogs! Then, draining to the dregs a large bottle of poison he had concealed in his bosom, he fell dead and lifeless at their feet. There was a timid knock at the door and William scowling impatiently rose to open it. What do you want? he said curtly. A little voice answered from the dusk. It's me, Peggy. I've come to see how you are, William. They don't know I've come. I was awful sick after that seaweed this morning, William. William looked at her with a superior frown. Go away, he said. I'm busy. What are you doing? she said poking her little curly head into the doorway. I'm writing a tale. She clasped her hands. Oh, how lovely! Oh, William, do read it to me. I'd love it! Molyfied, he opened the door, and she took her seat on his buckskin on the floor, and William sat by the candle, clearing his throat, for a minute before he began. During the reading, she never took her eyes off him. At the end, she drew a deep breath. Oh, William, it's beautiful! William, are there smugglers now? Oh, yes, millions, he said carelessly. He here? Of course there are. She went to the door and looked out at the dusk. I'd love to see one. What do they smuggle, William? He came and joined her at the door, walking with a slight swagger, as became a man of literary fame. Oh, beer and cigars and things, millions of them! A furtive figure was passing the door, casting suspicious glances to left and right. He held his coat tightly round him, clasping something inside it. I expect that's one, said William, casually. They watched the figure out of sight. Suddenly, William's eyes shone. Let's stalk him and catch him, he said excitedly. Come on, let's take some weapons. He seized his pop-gun from a corner. You take, he looked round the room. You take the waste-paper basket to put over his head and pin down his arms, and something to tie him up. I know. The skin eye he shot in Africa. You can tie its paws in front of him. Come on, let's catch him smuggling. He stepped out boldly into the dusk with his pop-gun, followed by the blindly obedient Peggy carrying the waste-paper basket in one hand and the skin in the other. Mr. Percival Jones was making quite a little ceremony of consigning his brandy and cigars to the waves. He had composed a little effort upon it, which began. Oh, deeps receive these object vile which nevermore mine eyes shall soil. He went down to the edge of the sea and, taking a bottle in each hand, held him out at arm's length, while he began in his high-pitched voice. Oh, deeps receive these! he stopped. A small boy stood beside him, holding out at him the point of what in the semi-darkness Mr. Jones took to be a loaded rifle. William mistook his actions in holding out the bottles. It's no good trying to drink it up, he said severely. We've caught you smuggling. Mr. Percival Jones laughed nervously. My little man, he said, that's a very dangerous thing you have. Suppose you hand it over to me now like a good little chap. William recognized his voice. Fancy you being a smuggler all the time, he said with righteous indignation in his voice. Take away that nasty-gun little boy, pleaded his captive plaintively. You are—don't understand it—it might go off. William was not a boy to indulge in half-measures. He meant to carry the matter off with a high hand. Oh, shoot you dead! he said dramatically. If you don't do just what I tell you. Mr. Percival Jones wiped the perspiration from his brow. Where did you get that rifle, little boy? He asked in a voice he strove to make playful. Is it loaded? It's a unwise little boy, most unwise. Give it to me to take care of. It might go off, you know. So William moved the muzzle of his weapon, and Mr. Percival Jones shuddered from head to foot. William was a brave boy, but he had experienced a moment of cold terror when he had first approached his captive. The first note of the quavering, high-pitched voice had, however, reassured him. He instantly knew himself to be the better man. His captive's obvious terror of his pop-gun almost persuaded him that he held in his hand some formidable death-dealing instrument. As a matter of fact, Mr. Percival Jones was temperamentally an abject coward. You will walk up to the seats, commanded William. I've took you prisoner for smuggling, and-and just walk up to the seats. Mr. Percival Jones obeyed with alacrity. Don't press anything, little boy. He pleaded as he went. It might go off by accident. You might do untold damage. Peggy, armed with the waste-paper-bar skin and the skin, followed open-mouthed. At the seat, William paused. Peggy, you put the basket over his head and pinned his arms down in case he struggles, and tie the skin what I shot round him, case he struggles. Peggy stood upon the seat and obeyed. Their victim made no protest. He seemed to himself to be in some horrible dream. The only thing of which he was conscious was the dimly-described weapon that William held out at him in the darkness. He was hardly aware of the waste-paper basket thrust over his head. He watched William anxiously through the basket-work. Be careful, he murmured. Be careful, boy! He hardly felt the skin, which was fastened tightly round his unresisting form by Peggy. The tail tied to one front paw. Unconsciously, he still clasped a bottle of brandy in each arm. Then came the irate summons of Peggy's nurse through the dusk. Oh, William! She said, panting with excitement. I don't want to leave you. Oh, William, he might kill you! You go on. I'm all right. He said with conscious, fella. He can't do nothing, because I've got a gun, and I can shoot him dead. Mr. Percival Jones shuddered afresh, and he's all tied up, and I've took him prisoner, and I'm going to take him home. Oh, William, you are brave. She whispered in the darkness as she flitted away to her nurse. William blushed with pride and embarrassment. Mr. Percival Jones was convinced that he had to deal with a youthful lunatic armed with a dangerous weapon, and was anxious only to humour him, till the time of danger was over, and he could be placed under proper restraint. Unconscious of his peculiar appearance, he walked before his captor, casting propitiatory glances behind him. It's all right, little boy, he said soothingly. Quite all right. I'm your friend. Don't get annoyed, little boy. Don't get annoyed. Won't you put your gun down, little man? Won't you let me carry it for you?" William walked behind, still pointing his pop-gun. I've took you prisoner for smuggling, he repeated doggedly. I'm taking you home. You're my prisoner. I've took you. They met no one on the road, though Mr. Percival Jones threw longing glances around, ready to appeal to any pass of eye for rescue. He was afraid to raise his voice, in case it should rouse his youthful captor to murder. He saw with joy the gate of his boarding-house, and hastened up the walk and up the stairs. The drawing-room door was open. There was help and assistance. There was protection against this strange persecution. He entered, followed closely by William. It was about the time he had promised to read his little effort, on the coming of spring, to his circle of admirers. A group of elderly ladies sat round the fire, awaiting him. Ethel was writing. They turned as he entered, and a gasp of horror and incredulous dismay went up. It was that gasp that called him to a realisation of the fact that he was wearing a waste-paper basket over his head and shoulders, and that a mangy fur rug was tied round his arms. Mr. Jones! they gasped. He gave a wrench to his shoulders, and the rug fell to the floor, revealing a bottle of brandy clasped in either arm. Mr. Jones! they repeated. I caught him smuggling, said William proudly. I caught him smuggling beer by the sea, and he was drinking those two bottles he'd smuggled, and he had thousands and thousands of cigars all over him, and I caught him. And he's a smuggler, and I brought him up here with my gun. He's a smuggler, and I took him prisoner. Mr. Jones, red and angry, his hair awry, glared through the wicker work of his basket. He moistened his lips. This is an outrage! he spluttered. Horrified, elderly eyes stared at the incriminating bottles. He was drinking them by the sea, said William. Mr. Jones! they chorused again. He flung off his waste-paper basket, and turned upon the proprietress of the establishment who stood by the door. I will not, but Baruch's treatment! he stammered in fury. I will leave your roof tonight. I am outraged, humiliated. I disdain to explain. I leave your roof tonight. Mr. Jones! they said once more. Mr. Jones, still clasping his bottles, withdrew, pouring to glare at William on his way. You wicked boy! You wicked little untruthful boy! he said. William looked after him. He's my prisoner, and they've let him go, he said aggrievedly. Ten minutes later he wandered into the smoking-room. Mr. Brown sat miserably in a chair by a dying-fire beneath a poor light. Is he still bleating there? he said. Is this still the only corner where I can be sure of keeping my sanity? Is he reading his beastly poetry upstairs? Is he? he's going, said William Moodley. He's going before dinner. They've sent for his cab. He's mad, because I said he was a smuggler. He was a smuggler, because I saw him doing it. And I took him prisoner, and he got mad, and he's going. And they're mad at me, because I took him prisoner. You'd think they'd be glad at me catching smugglers, but they're not. Bitterly. And Mother says she'll tell you, and you'll be mad, too. And Mr. Brown raised his hand. One minute, my son, he said. Your story is confused. Do I understand that Mr. Jones is going, and that you were the cause of his departure? Yes, because he got mad, because I said he was a smuggler, and he was a smuggler, and they're mad at me now. And Mr. Brown laid a hand on his son's shoulder. There are moments, William, he said, when I feel almost affection towards you. End of Chapter 11, William and the Smuggler, read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org