William was on the floor behind Uncle George's chair endeavouring to turn a somersault in a very restricted space.William was on the floor behind Uncle George's chair endeavouring to turn a somersault in a very restricted space.
"Boisterous! Boisterous!" he murmured disapprovingly. "You should combine the gentleness of a Moore with the courage of a Wellington, William."
William now perceived that Uncle George's eyelids were drooping slowly and William's sudden statuesque calm would have surprised many of his instructors.
The silence and the warmth of the room had their effect. In less than three minutes Uncle George was dead to the world around him.
William's form relaxed, then he crept up to look closely at the face of his enemy. He decided that he disliked it intensely. Something must be done at once. He looked round the room. There were not many weapons handy. Only his mother's work-box stood on a chair by the window, and on it a pile of socks belonging to Robert, William's elder brother. Beneath either arm of his chair one of Uncle George's coat-tails protruded. William soon departed on his way rejoicing, while on to one of Uncle George's coat-tails was firmly stitched a bright blue sock and on to the other a brilliant orange one. Robert's taste in socks was decidedly loud. William felt almost happy. The rain had stopped and he spent the morning with some of his friends whom he met in the road. They went bear-hunting in the wood; and though no bears were found, still their disappointment was considerably allayed by the fact that one of them saw a mouse and another one distinctly smelt a rabbit. William returned to lunch whistling to himself and had the intense satisfaction of seeing Uncle George enter the dining-room, obviously roused from his slumbers by the luncheon bell, and obviously quite unaware of the blue and orange socks that still adorned his person.
"Curious!" he ejaculated, as Ethel, William's grown-up sister, pointed out the blue sock to him. "Most curious!"
William departed discreetly muttering something about "better tidy up a bit," which drew from his sister expressions of surprise and solicitous questions as to his state of health.
"Most curious!" again said Uncle George, who had now discovered the orange sock.
When William returned, all excitement was over and Uncle George was consuming roast beef with energy.
"Ah, William," he said, "we must complete the History lesson soon. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Teaches us to endure the buffets of fate with equanimity and to smile at misfortune. Then we must do some Geography." William groaned. "Most fascinating study. Rivers, mountains, cities, etc. Most improving. The morning should be devoted to intellectual work at your age, William, and the afternoon to the quiet pursuit of—some improving hobby. You would then find the true joy of life."
To judge from William's countenance he did not wholly agree, but he made no objection. He had learnt that objection was useless, and against Uncle George's eloquence silence was his only weapon.
After lunch Uncle George followed his usual custom and retired to rest. William went to the shed in the back garden and continued the erection of a rabbit hutch that he had begun a few days before. He hoped that if he made a hutch, Providence would supply a rabbit. He whistled blithely as he knocked nails in at random.
"William, you mustn't do that now."
He turned a stern gaze upon his mother.
"Why not?" he said.
"Uncle George is resting."
With a crushing glance at her he strolled away from the shed. Someone had left the lawn mower in the middle of the lawn. With one of his rare impulses of pure virtue he determined to be useful. Also, he rather liked mowing the grass.
"William, don't do that now," called his sister from the window. "Uncle George is resting."
He deliberately drove the mowing machine into the middle of a garden bed and left it there. He was beginning to feel desperate. Then:
"WhatcanI do?" he said bitterly to Ethel, who was still at the window.
"You'd better find some quiet, improving hobby," she said unkindly as she went away.
It is a proof of the utterly broken state of William's spirit that he did actually begin to think of hobbies, but none of those that occurred to him interested him. Stamp-collecting, pressed flowers, crest-collecting—Ugh!
He set off down the road, his hands in his pockets and his brows drawn into a stern frown. He amused himself by imagining Uncle George in various predicaments, lost on a desert island, captured by pirates, or carried off by an eagle. Then something in the window of a house he passed caught his eye and he stopped suddenly. It was a stuffed bird under a glass case. Now that was somethinglikea hobby, stuffing dead animals! He wouldn't mind having that for a hobby. And it was quite quiet. He could do it while Uncle George was resting. And it must be quite easy. The first thing to do of course was to find a dead animal. Any old thing would do to begin on. A dead cat or dog. He would do bigger ones like bears and lions later on. He spent nearly an hour in a fruitless search for a dead cat or dog. He searched the ditches on both sides of the road and several gardens. He began to have a distinct sense of grievance against the race of cats and dogs in general for not dying in his vicinity. At the end of the hour he found a small dead frog. It was very dry and shrivelled, but it was certainly adeadfrog and would do to begin on. He took it home in his pocket. He wondered what they did first in stuffing dead animals. He'd heard something about "tannin'" them. But what was "tannin'," and how did one get it? Then he remembered suddenly having heard Ethel talk about the "tannin'" in tea. Sothatwas all right. The first thing to do was to get some tea. He went to the drawing-room. It was empty, but upon the table near the fire was a tea-tray and two cups. Evidently his mother and sister had just had tea there. He put the frog at the bottom of a cup and carefully filled the cup with tea from the teapot. Then he left it to soak and went out into the garden.
In frozen silence Uncle George put a spoon into his cup and investigated the contents. in still more frozen silence Mrs. Brown and William watched.In frozen silence Uncle George put a spoon into his cup and investigated the contents. in still more frozen silence Mrs. Brown and William watched.
A few minutes later William's mother entered the drawing-room.
Uncle George had finished resting and was standing by the mantel-piece with a cup in his hand.
"I see you poured out my tea for me," he said. "But rather a curious taste. Doubtless you boil the milk now. Safer, of course. Much safer. But it imparts a curious flavour."
He took another sip.
"But—I didn't pour out your tea——" began Mrs. Brown.
Here William entered. He looked quickly at the table.
"Who's meddlin' with my frog?" he said angrily. "It's my hobby, an' I'm stuffin' frogs an' someone's been an' took my frog. I left it on the table."
"On the table?" said his mother.
"Yes. In a cup of tea. Gettin' tannin.' You know. For stuffin'. I was puttin' him in tannin' first. I——"
Uncle George grew pale. In frozen silence he put a spoon into his cup and investigated the contents. In still more frozen silence Mrs. Brown and William watched. That moment held all the cumulative horror of a Greek tragedy. Then Uncle George put down his cup and went silently from the room. On his face was the expression of one who is going to look up the first train home. Fate had sent him a buffet he could not endure with equanimity, a misfortune at which he could not smile, and Fate had avenged William for much.
William was aware of a vague feeling of apprehension when he heard that Joan Clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a strange cousin to stay for three weeks. All his life, William had accepted Joan's adoration and homage with condescending indifference, but he did not like to imagine a possible rival.
"What's hecomingfor?" he demanded with an ungracious scowl, perched uncomfortably and dangerously on the high wall that separated the two gardens and glaring down at Joan. "What's he comin'for, any way?"
"'Cause mother's invited him," explained Joan simply, with a shake of her golden curls. "He's called Cuthbert. She says he's a sweet little boy."
"Sweet!" echoed William in a tone of exaggerated horror. "Ugh!"
"Well," said Joan, with the smallest note of indignation in her voice, "you needn't play with him if you don't like."
"Me?Play? Withhim?" scowled William as if he could not believe his ears. "I'm not likely to go playin' with a kid like wothe'llbe!"
Joan raised aggrieved blue eyes.
"You're ahorridboy sometimes, William!" she said. "Any way, I shall have him to play with soon."
It was the first time he had received anything but admiration from her.
He scowled speechlessly.
Cuthbert arrived the next morning.
William was restless and ill-at-ease, and several times climbed the ladder for a glimpse of the guest, but all he could see was the garden inhabited only by a cat and a gardener. He amused himself by throwing stones at the cat till he hit the gardener by mistake and then fled precipitately before a storm of abuse. William and the gardener were enemies of very long standing. After dinner he went out again into the garden and stood gazing through a chink in the wall.
Cuthbert was in the garden.
Though as old and as tall as William, he was dressed in an embroidered tunic, very short knickers, and white socks. Over his blue eyes his curls were brushed up into a golden halo.
He was a picturesque child.
"What shall we do?" Joan was saying. "Would you like to play hide and seek?"
"No; leth not play at rough gameth," said Cuthbert.
With a wild spasm of joy William realised that his enemy lisped. It is always well to have a handle against one's enemies.
"What shall we do, then?" said Joan, somewhat wearily.
"Leth thit down an' I'll tell you fairy thorieth," said Cuthbert.
A loud snort from inside the wall just by his ear startled him, and he clutched Joan's arm.
"What'th that?" he said.
There were sounds of clambering feet on the other side of the wall, then William's grimy countenance appeared.
"Hello, Joan!" he said, ignoring the stranger.
Joan's eyes brightened.
"Come and play with us, William," she begged.
"We don't want dirty little boyth," murmured Cuthbert fastidiously. William could not, with justice, have objected to the epithet. He had spent the last half-hour climbing on to the rafters of the disused coach-house, and dust and cobwebs adorned his face and hair.
"He'salwayslike that," explained Joan, carelessly.
By this time William had thought of a suitable rejoinder.
"All right," he jeered, "don't look at me then. Go on tellin' fairythorieth."
Cuthbert flushed angrily.
"You're a nathty rude little boy," he said. "I'll tell my mother."
Thus war was declared.
He came to tea the next day. Not all William's pleading could persuade his mother to cancel the invitation.
"Well," said William darkly, "wait till you'veseenhim, that's all. Wait till you've heard himspeakin'. He can't talk even. He can'tplay. He tells fairy stories. He don't likedirt. He's got long hair an' a funny long coat. He'sawful, I tell you. I don'twantto have him to tea. I don't want to be washed an' all just becausehe'scomin' to tea."
But as usual William's eloquence availed nothing.
Several people came to tea that afternoon, and there was a sudden silence when Mrs. Clive, Joan, and Cuthbert entered. Cuthbert was in a white silk tunic embroidered with blue, he wore white shoes and white silk socks. His golden curls shone. He looked angelic.
"Oh, the darling!"
"Isn't he adorable?"
"What apicture!"
"Come here, sweetheart."
Cuthbert was quite used to this sort of thing.
They were more delighted than ever with him when they discovered his lisp.
His manners were perfect. He raised his face, with a charming smile, to be kissed, then sat down on the sofa between Joan and Mrs. Clive, swinging long bare legs.
William, sitting, an unwilling victim, on a small chair in a corner of the room, brushed and washed till he shone again, was conscious of a feeling of fury quite apart from the usual sense of outrage that he always felt upon such an occasion. It was bad enough to be washed till the soap went into his eyes and down his ears despite all his protests. It was bad enough to have had his hair brushed till his head smarted. It was bad enough to be hustled out of his comfortable jersey into his Eton suit which he loathed. But to see Joan,hisJoan, sitting next the strange, dressed-up, lisping boy, smiling and talking to him, that was almost more than he could bear with calmness. Previously, as has been said, he had received Joan's adoration with coldness, but previously there had been no rival.
"William," said his mother, "take Joan and Cuthbert and show them your engine and books and things. Remember you're thehost, dear," she murmured as he passed. "Try to make them happy."
He turned upon her a glance that would have made a stronger woman quail.
Silently he led them up to his play-room.
"There's my engine, an' my books. You can play with them," he said coldly to Cuthbert. "Let's go and play in the garden, you and me, Joan." But Joan shook her head.
"I don't thuppoth the'd care to go out without me," said Cuthbert airily. "I'llgo with you. Thith boy can play here if he liketh."
And William, artist in vituperation as he was, could think of no response.
He followed them into the garden, and there came upon him a wild determination to show his superiority.
"You can't climb that tree," he began.
"I can," said Cuthbert sweetly.
"Well,climbit then," grimly.
"No, I don't want to get my thingth all methed. Icanclimb it, but you can't. He can't climb it, Joan, he'th trying to pretend he can climb it when he can't. He knowth I can climb it, but I don't want to get my thingth methed."
Joan smiled admiringly at Cuthbert.
"I'llshowyou," said William desperately. "I'll justshowyou."
He showed them.
He climbed till the tree-top swayed with his weight, then descended, hot and triumphant. The tree was covered with green lichen, a great part of which had deposited itself upon William's suit. His efforts also had twisted his collar round till its stud was beneath his ear. His heated countenance beamed with pride.
For a moment Cuthbert was nonplussed. Then he said scornfully:
"Don't he look afright, Joan?" Joan giggled.
But William was wholly engrossed in his self-imposed task of "showing them." He led them to the bottom of the garden, where a small stream (now almost dry) disappeared into a narrow tunnel to flow under the road and reappear in the field at the other side.
"You can't crawl through that," challenged William, "you can'tdoit. I'vedoneit, done it often. I betyoucan't. I bet you can't get halfway. I——"
"Well,doit, then!" jeered Cuthbert.
William, on all fours, disappeared into the mud and slime of the small round aperture. Joan clasped her hands, and even Cuthbert was secretly impressed. They stood in silence. At intervals William's muffled voice came from the tunnel.
"It's jolly muddy, too, I cantellyou."
"I've caught a frog! I say, I've caught a frog!"
"Crumbs! It's got away!"
"It's nearly quicksands here."
"If I tried I could nearlydrownhere!"
At last, through the hedge, they saw him emerge in the field across the road. He swaggered across to them aglow with his own heroism. As he entered the gate he was rewarded by the old light of adoration in Joan's blue eyes, but on full sight of him it quickly turned to consternation. His appearance was beyond description. There was a malicious smile on Cuthbert's face.
"Do thumthing elth," he urged him. "Go on, do thumthing elth."
"Oh, William," said Joan anxiously, "you'd better not."
But the gods had sent madness to William. He was drunk with the sense of his own prowess. He was regardless of consequences.
"I can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can do. There's nothin' I can't do!" said William."I can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can do. There's nothin' I can't do!" said William.
He pointed to a little window high up in the coal-house.
"I can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can do. There'snothin'I can't do. I——"
"All right," urged Cuthbert, "if you can do that, do it, and I'll believe you can do anything."
For Cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw William's undoing.
"Oh, William," pleaded Joan, "I knowyou're brave, but don't——"
But William was already doing it. They saw his disappearance into the little window, they heard plainly his descent down the coal heap inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. He was almost unrecognisable. Coal dust adhered freely to the moist consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as well as to his hair and face. His collar had been almost torn away from its stud. William himself was smiling proudly, utterly unconscious of his appearance. Joan was plainly wavering between horror and admiration. Then the moment for which Cuthbert had longed arrived.
"Children! come in now!"
Cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first and pointed an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed.
"He'th been climbing treeth an' crawling in the mud, an' rolling down the coalth. He'th a nathty rough boy."
A wild babel arose as William entered.
"William!"
"Youdreadfulboy!"
"Joan, come right away from him. Come over here."
"Whatwillyour father say?"
"William, mycarpet!"
For the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to William's boots.
Doggedly William defended himself.
"I was showin' 'em how to do things. I was bein' a host. I was tryin' to make 'emhappy! I——"
"William, don't stand there talking. Go straight upstairs to the bathroom."
It was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly William had lost. Yet William had caught sight of the smile on Cuthbert's face and William had decided that that smile was something to be avenged.
But fate did not favour him. Indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse.
The idea of a children's play did not emanate from William's mother, or Joan's. They were both free from guilt in that respect. It emanated from Mrs. de Vere Carter. Mrs. de Vere Carter was a neighbour with a genius for organisation. There were few things she did not organise till their every other aspect or aim was lost but that of "organisation." She also had what amounted practically to a disease for "getting up" things. She "got up" plays, and bazaars, and pageants, and concerts. There were, in fact, few things she did not "get up." It was the sight of Joan and Cuthbert walking together down the road, the sun shining on their golden curls, that had inspired her with the idea of "getting up" a children's play. And Joan must be the Princess and little Cuthbert the Prince.
Mrs. de Vere Carter was to write the play herself. At first she decided on Cinderella. Unfortunately there was a dearth of little girls in the neighbourhood, and therefore it was decided at a meeting composed of Mrs. de Vere Carter, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Brown (William's mother), and Ethel (William's sister), that William could easily be dressed up to represent one of the ugly sisters. It was, however, decided at a later meeting, consisting of William and his mother and sister, that William could not take the part. It was William who came to this decision. He was adamant against both threats and entreaties. Without cherishing any delusions about his personal appearance, he firmly declined to play the part of the ugly sister. They took the news with deep apologies to Mrs. de Vere Carter, who was already in the middle of the first act. Her already low opinion of William sank to zero. Their next choice was little Red Riding Hood, and William was lured, by glowing pictures of a realistic costume, into consenting to take the part of the Wolf. Every day he had to be dragged by some elder and responsible member of his family to a rehearsal. His hatred of Cuthbert was only equalled by his hatred of Mrs. de Vere Carter.
"He acts sounnaturally," moaned Mrs. de Vere Carter. "Try really tothinkyou're a wolf, darling. Put some spirit into it. Be—animated."
William scowled at her and once more muttered monotonously his opening lines:
"A wolf am I—a wolf on mischief bent,To eat this little maid is my intent."
"Take a breath after 'bent,' darling. Now say it again."
William complied, introducing this time a loud and audible gasp to represent the breath. Mrs. de Vere Carter sighed.
"Now, Cuthbert, darling, draw your little sword and put your arm round Joan. That's right."
Cuthbert obeyed, and his clear voice rose in a high chanting monotone.
"Avaunt! Begone! You wicked wolf, away!This gentle maid shall never be your prey."
"That's beautiful, darling. Now, William, slink away.Slinkaway, darling. Don't stand staring at Cuthbert like that. Slink away. I'll show you. Watch me slink away."
Mrs. de Vere Carter slunk away realistically, and the sight of it brought momentary delight to William's weary soul. Otherwise the rehearsals were not far removed from torture to him. The thought of being a wolf had at first attracted him, but actually a wolf character who had to repeat Mrs. de Vere Carter's meaningless couplets and be worsted at every turn by the smiling Cuthbert, who was forced to watch from behind the scenes the fond embraces of Cuthbert and Joan, galled his proud spirit unspeakably. Moreover Cuthbert monopolised her both before and after the rehearsals.
"Come away, Joan, he'th prob'bly all over coal dutht and all of a meth."
The continued presence of unsympathetic elders prevented his proper avenging of such insults.
The day of the performance approached, and there arose some little trouble about William's costume. If the wearing of the dining-room hearth-rug had been forbidden by Authority it would have at once become the dearest wish of William's heart and a thing to be accomplished at all costs. But, because Authority decreed that that should be William's official costume as the Wolf, William at once began to find insuperable difficulties.
"It's a dirty ole thing, all dust and bits of black hair come off it on me. I don't think itlookslike a wolf. Well, if I've gotter be a wolf folks might just as wellknowwhat I am. This looks like as if it came off a black sheep or sumthin'. You don't want folks to think I'm asheep'stead of awolf, do you? You don't want me to be made look ridiclus before all these folks, do you?"
He was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf's head for him. He practised wolf's howlings (though these had no part in Mrs. de Vere Carter's play) at night in his room till he drove his family almost beyond the bounds of sanity.
Mrs. de Vere Carter had hired the Village Hall for the performance, and the proceeds were to go to a local charity.
On the night of the play the Hall was packed, and Mrs. de Vere Carter was in a flutter of excitement and importance.
"Yes, the dear children are splendid, and they lookbeautiful! We've all worked sohard. Yes, entirely my own composition. I only hope that William Brown won'tmurdermy poetry as he does at rehearsals."
The curtain went up.
The scene was a wood, as was evident from a few small branches of trees placed here and there at intervals on the stage.
Joan, in a white dress and red cloak, entered and began to speak, quickly and breathlessly, stressing every word with impartial regularity.
"A little maid am I—Red Riding-Hood.My journey lies along this dark, thick wood.Within my basket is a little jarOf jam—a present for my grand-mamma."
Then Cuthbert entered—a Prince in white satin with a blue sash. There was a rapt murmur of admiration in the audience as he made his appearance.
William waited impatiently and uneasily behind the scenes. His wolf's head was very hot. One of the eye-holes was beyond his range of vision; through the other he had a somewhat prescribed view of what went on around him. He had been pinned tightly into the dining-room hearth-rug, his arms pinioned down by his side. He was distinctly uncomfortable.
At last his cue came.
Red Riding-Hood and the Prince parted after a short conversation in which their acquaintance made rapid strides, and at the end of which the Prince said casually as he turned to go:
"So sweet a maid have I never seen,Ere long I hope to make her my wife and queen."
Red Riding-Hood gazed after him, remarking (all in the same breath and tone):
"How kind he is, how gentle and how good!But, see what evil beast comes through the wood!"
Here William entered amid wild applause. On the stage he found that his one eye-hole gave him an excellent view of the audience. His mother and father were in the second row. Turning his head round slowly he discovered his sister Ethel sitting with a friend near the back.
"William," hissed the prompter, "go on! 'A wolf am I——'"
But William was engrossed in the audience. There was Mrs. Clive about the middle of the room.
"'A wolf am I'—go on, William!"
William had now found the cook and housemaid in the last row of all and was turning his eye-hole round in search of fresh discoveries.
The prompter grew desperate.
"'A wolf am I—a wolf on mischief bent.'Sayit, William."
William turned his wolf's head towards the wings. "Well, I wasgoin'to say it," he said irritably, "if you'd lef' me alone."
The audience tittered.
"Well, say it," said the voice of the invisible prompter.
"Well, I'm going to," said William. "I'm not goin' to say that again wot you said 'cause they all heard it. I'll go on from there."
The audience rocked in wild delight. Behind the scenes Mrs. de Vere Carter wrung her hands and sniffed strong smelling-salts. "That boy!" she moaned.
Then William, sinking his voice from the indignant clearness with which it had addressed the prompter, to a muffled inaudibility, continued:
"To eat this little maid is my intent."
But there leapt on the stage again the radiant white and blue figure of the Prince brandishing his wooden sword.
"Avaunt! Begone! You wicked wolf, away!This gentle maid shall never be your prey."
At this point William should have slunk away. But the vision revealed by his one available eye-hole of the Prince standing in a threatening attitude with one arm round Joan filled him with a sudden and unaccountable annoyance. He advanced slowly and pugnaciously towards the Prince; and the Prince, who had never before acted with William in his head (which was hired for one evening only) fled from the stage with a wild yell of fear. The curtain was lowered hastily.
There was consternation behind the scenes. William, glaring from out his eye-hole and refusing to remove his head, defended himself in his best manner.
"Well I di'n't tell him to run away, did I? I di'n'tmeanhim to run away. I onlylookedat him. Well, I was goin' to slink in a minit. I only wanted to look at him. I wasgoin'to slink."
"Oh, never mind! Get on with the play!" moaned Mrs. de Vere Carter. "But you've quite destroyed theatmosphere, William. You've spoilt the beautiful story. But hurry up, it's time for the grandmother's cottage scene now."
Not a word of William's speeches was audible in the next scene, but his attack on and consumption of the aged grandmother was one of the most realistic parts of the play, especially considering the fact that his arms were imprisoned.
"Not so roughly, William!" said the prompter in a sibilant whisper. "Don't make so much noise. They can't hear a word anyone's saying."
At last William was clothed in the nightgown and nightcap and lying in the bed ready for little Red Riding-Hood's entrance. The combined effect of the rug and the head and the thought of Cuthbert had made him hotter and crosser than he ever remembered having felt before. He was conscious of a wild and unreasoning indignation against the world in general. Then Joan entered and began to pipe monotonously:
"Dear grandmamma, I've come with all quicknessTo comfort you and sooth your bed of sickness,Here are some little dainties I have broughtTo show you how we cherish you in our thought."
Here William wearily rose from his bed and made an unconvincing spring in her direction.
But on to the stage leapt Cuthbert once more, the vision in blue and white with golden curls shining and sword again drawn.
"Ha! evil beast——"
It was too much for William. The heat and discomfort of his attire, the sight of the hated Cuthbert already about to embracehisJoan, goaded him to temporary madness. With a furious gesture he burst the pins which attached the dining-room hearth-rug to his person and freed his arms. He tore off the white nightgown. He sprang at the petrified Cuthbert—a small wild figure in a jersey suit and a wolf's head.
The sight of the hated Cuthbert about to embrace his Joan goaded William to temporary madness.The sight of the hated Cuthbert about to embrace his Joan goaded William to temporary madness.
Mrs. de Vere Carter had filled Red Riding-Hood's basket with packages of simple groceries, which included, among other things, a paper bag of flour and a jar of jam.
William seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate, screaming Cuthbert. The stage was suddenly pandemonium. The other small actors promptly joined the battle. The prompter was too panic-stricken to lower the curtain. The air was white with clouds of flour. The victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure, round the table.
"Take him off me," he yelled. "Take himoffme. Take William off me." His wailing was deafening.
The next second he was on the floor, with William on top of him. William now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam on to Cuthbert's face and hair.
They were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically. But louder than the cheering rose the sound of Cuthbert's lamentation.
"He'th a nathty, rough boy! He puthed me down. He'th methed my nith clotheth. Boo-hoo!"
Mrs. de Vere Carter was inarticulate.
"That boy ... thatboy...that boy!" was all she could say.
William was hurried away by his family before she could regain speech.
"You've disgraced us publicly," said Mrs. Brown plaintively. "I thought you must have gonemad. People will never forget it. I might have known...."
When pressed for an explanation William would only say:
"Well, I felt hot. I felt awful hot, an' I di'n't like Cuthbert."
He appeared to think this sufficient explanation, though he was fully prepared for the want of sympathy displayed by his family.
"Well," he said firmly, "I'd just like to see you do it, I'd just like to see you be in the head and that ole rug an' have to say stupid things an'—an' see folks you don't like, an' I bet you'ddosomething."
But he felt that public feeling was against him, and relapsed sadly into silence. From the darkness in front of them came the sound of Cuthbert's wailing as Mrs. Clive led her two charges home.
"Poorlittle Cuthbert!" said Mrs. Brown. "If I were Joan, I don't think I'd ever speak to you again."
"Huh!" ejaculated William scornfully.
But at William's gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness and two little arms crept round William's neck.
"Oh,William," she whispered, "he's going to-morrow, and I am glad. Isn't he a softie? Oh, William, I doloveyou, you do such'citingthings!"
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 of 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'd have bin 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."
"Yea, I'd have done that all right," agreed William.
"William!"
"Oh, shutup!" 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 draught 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 a lunatic.
Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed.
"He's reading some old book in the barn," he heard her announce, "and he says——"
Ethel appeared in the doorway. "Mother wants you," she announced.Ethel appeared in the doorway. "Mother wants you," she announced.
Here he foresaw complications and hastily followed her.
"Well, I'mcomin', 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 in dignified silence.
He was cheered by the sight of tea and hot cakes.
Cousin Mildred ate little but talked much.
"I'm living inhopesof a 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 me that way remained illegible—quite illegible."
She sighed.
William eyed her with scorn while he consumed reckless quantities of hot cakes.
"I wouldloveto 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 hadenough, 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 with a soft sigh was gone. Our 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 wot he was grinnin' at?" said William.
"But 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 upon the floor of the barn, and Cousin Mildred's voice greeted him.
"So you're here, dear? I'm just exploring your garden and thinking. I like to be alone. I see that you are the same, dear child!"
"I'm readin'," 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, laconically.
He conducted her in patient 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 wasold," 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. "Huh! I guess it'soldenough."
"Oh, is it?" she said, delighted. "Restored recently, I suppose?"
"Umph," 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 dunno."
His mysterious manner threw her into a transport.
"Of course not to anyone. But tome—I'm 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 talkin' aboutghosts?"
"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! Yes, I've seen some of 'em. I guess Ihave!"
Her face lit up.
"Will you tell me some of your experiences, William?" she said, humbly.
"Well," said William, loftily, "you won't gotalkin'about it, will you?"
"Oh,no."
"Well, I've seen 'em, you know. Chains an' all. And skeletons. And ghostly arms beckonin' an' 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 aloft on the wings of imagination, his hands in his pockets, his freckled face puckered up in frowning mental effort. He certainly enjoyed himself.
"If only some of it could happen tome," breathed his confidante. "Does it come to you atnights, William?"
"Yes," nodded William. "Nights mostly."
"I shall—watch to-night," 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 bought 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, the 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 locks, sadly. "Oh, how I wish that some experience would happen tome!"
One morning, after the gift of an exceptionally large tin of toffee, William's noblest feelings were aroused. Manfully he decided that somethingshouldhappen to her.
Cousin Mildred slept 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 sat up, quivering with eagerness. Her short, thin little pigtail, stuck out horizontally from her head. Her mouth was wide open.