She turned furiously to William. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said.She turned furiously to William. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said.
"Well!" he said. "An' I've bin doin' deeds of kindness on him all morning. I've——"
She turned away indignantly, holding Thomas's hand.
"You're never to go with that nasty rough boy again, darling," she said.
"Got lots of wopses an' 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'd got rid of Thomas, and he was going home to a contrite family. It must be about supper-time. It would 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 is 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 have 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-caked knees.
"You'd better hurry if you're going to be ready for lunch," she said coldly.
"Lunch?" faltered 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. Andlookat 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 downstairscleanedby 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 slowly upstairs to the bathroom.
Life was a rotten show.
The excitement began at breakfast. William descended slightly late, and, after receiving his parents' reproaches with an air of weary boredom, ate 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's supper, and went to bed. Even the fact that to-day was a half-term holiday did not dispel his depression.Oneday's holiday! What good wasoneday? We all have experienced such feelings.
Half abstractedly he began to listen to his elders' conversation.
"They promised to be here bynine," his mother was saying. "I do hope they won't be late!"
"Well, it's not much good their coming if the other house isn't ready, is it?" said William's grown-up sister Ethel. "I don't believe they've even finishedpainting!"
"I'm so sorry it's William's half-term holiday," sighed Mrs. Brown. "He'll be frightfully in the way."
William's outlook on life brightened considerably.
"They comin' removin' thismorning?" he inquired cheerfully.
"Yes, DO try not to hinder them, William."
"Me?" he said indignantly. "I'm goin' tohelp!"
"If William's going to help," remarked his father, "thank HeavenIshan'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 an' be gettin' ready to help."
Ten minutes later Mrs. Brown, 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. Brown's great grandfather.
"WILLIAM!" she gasped.
"I'm gettin' all the little things ready for 'em jus' to carry straight down. If I put everything on the steps they don't need come into the house at all. Yousaidyou didn't want 'em trampin' in dirty boots!"
It took a quarter of an hour to replace them. Over the fragments of a blue delf bowl Mrs. Brown sighed deeply.
"I wish you'd brokenanythingbut this, William."
"Well," he excused himself, "you said thingsdoget broken removin'. You said soyourself! I didn't break it on purpose. It jus' got broken removin'."
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. Brown. "Will you pack the china first? William, get out of theway!"
She left them packing, assisted by William. William carried the things to them from the sideboard 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. "Thingsdoget broken removin'," he murmured.
"Mine is Mister Blake and 'is is Mister Johnson, and 'is is Mister 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.
"Yus," he said, bending anew to his task, "'im wot walks funny."
"Why's he walk funny?" persisted William. "Has he hurt his legs?"
"Yus," said Blake with a wink. "'E 'urt 'em at the Blue Cow comin' 'ere."
Mr. Jones' sheepish smile broadened into a guffaw.
"Well, you rest," said William sympathetically. "You lie down on the sofa an' rest.I'llhelp, so's you needn't doanything!"
Mr. Jones grew hilarious.
"Come on!" he said. "My eye! This young gent's allroight, 'e is. You lie down an' rest, 'e says! Well, 'ere goes!"
To the huge delight of his companions, he stretched himself at length upon the chesterfield and closed his eyes. William surveyed him with pleasure.
"That's right," he said. "I'll—I'll show you my dog when your legs are better. I've gotterfinedog!"
"What sort of a dog?" said Mr. Blake, resting from his labours to ask the question.
"He's nopartic'larsort of a dog," said William honestly, "but he's a jolly fine dog. You should see him do tricks!"
William surveyed him with pleasure. "I'll show you my dog when your legs are better," he said.William surveyed him with pleasure. "I'll show you my dog when your legs are better," he said.
"Well, let's 'ave a look at 'im. Fetch 'im 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 drowsiness that had long been creeping over him and was lying dead to the world on the chesterfield).
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 waste-paper basket.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "Shesaidthings get broken removin'."
When Mrs. Brown entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Messrs. Blake and Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmanlike eyes.
"'E's no breed," Mr. Blake was saying, "but 'e's orlroight. I'd loik to see 'im arfter a rat. I bet 'e'd——"
Seeing Mrs. Brown, he hastily seized a vase from the mantel-piece and carried it over to the packing case, where he appeared suddenly to be working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example.
Mrs. Brown's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones and she gasped.
"Whatever——" she began.
"'E's not very well 'm," explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. "'E'll be orl roight when 'e's slep' it orf. 'E's always orl roight when 'e's slep' 'it orf."
"He's hurt his legs," explained William. "He hurt his legs at the Blue Cow. He's jus'restin'!"
Mrs. Brown swallowed and counted twenty to herself. It was a practice she had acquired in her youth for use in times when words crowded upon her too thick and fast for utterance.
At last she spoke with unusual bitterness.
"Need he rest with his muddy boots on my chesterfield?"
At this point Mr. Jones awoke from sleep, hypnotised 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 on to the lady's sofa. He partially brushed off the traces of his dirty boots with an equally dirty hand.
"You've donenothingin this room," said Mrs. Brown. "We shallneverget finished. William, come away! I'm sure you're hindering them."
"Me?" said William in righteous indignation. "Me?I'mhelpin'!"
After what seemed to Mrs. Brown 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 in transit. Mrs. Brown, with a paling face, saw her beloved antique cabinet dismembered against the doorpost, 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. Brown.
"Where's William?" said Ethel, gloomily, looking round.
"'Sh! I don't know. He disappeared a few minutes ago. I don't knowwherehe 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 doorpost, 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. Brown sat down and covered her face with her hands.
"It's like some dreadfulnightmare!" she groaned.
Messrs. Blake, Johnson and Jones paused to wipe the sweat of honest toil from their brows.
"I dunno'owit's to be got out," said Mr. Blake despairingly.
"It got in!" persisted Mrs. Brown. "If it got in it can get out."
"We'll 'ave 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. Messrs. Blake, Johnson and Jones tried alone and failed. For ten minutes they tried alone and failed. Between each attempt they paused to mop their brows and throw longing glances towards the Blue Cow, 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 gasped for breath.
"Well," said Mr. Jones, looking reproachfully at the mistress of the house, "I've never 'andled a pianner——"
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 blockin' up the van for? I can't get out!"
There was a horror-stricken silence. Then Ethel said sharply:
"What did you goinfor?"
The mysterious voice came again with a note of irritability.
"Well, I wasrestin'. I mus' have some rest, mustn't I? I've been helpin' all mornin'."
"Well, couldn't youseewe were putting things in?"
The unseen presence spoke again.
"No, I can't. I wasn't lookin'!"
"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'mgoingto 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 ole lookin' glass gettin' in the way!"
"You'd better take out the piano again," said Mrs. Brown wanly. "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 were moved to one side, and finally there emerged from the struggle—William and Jumble. Jumble's coat was covered with little pieces of horsehair, as though from the interior of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant.
William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant.William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant.
"A nice thing to do!" he began bitterly. "Shuttin' me up in that ole van. How d'you expect me to breathe, shut in with ole bits of furniture. Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if you'd found medead!"
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'llhelp!" 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 their 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. Brown 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. Brown.
"Oh, leave him alone, Mother," pleaded Ethel. "Let us have a little peace."
But William did not absent himself for long.
"I want a red handkerchief," he demanded loudly from the hall.
There was no response.
He appeared in the doorway.
"I say, I want a red handkerchief. Have you gotter red handkerchief, Mother?"
"No, dear."
"Have you Ethel?"
"NO!"
"All right," said William aggrievedly. "You needn't get mad, need you? I'm only askin' for a red handkerchief. I don't want a red handkerchief off you if you haven'tgotit, do I?"
"William, goawayand shut the door."
William obeyed. Peace reigned throughout the house and garden for the next half-hour. Then Mrs. Brown'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 leant 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, dodosomething to William! He's taken my new silk scarf—the one I'd got to trim my Leghorn. He's the mostawfulboy. I don't think——"
Mrs. Brown came out hastily to pacify her. William handed the silk scarf back to its rightful owner.
"Well, I'msorry. Ithoughtit was a red handkerchief. Itlookedlike a red handkerchief. Well, how could Iknowit wasn't a red handkerchief? I've given it her back. It's all right, Jumble's only bit one end of it. And that's only jam what dropped on it. Well, it'llwash, won't it? Well, I've said I'm sorry.
"I don't get muchthanks," William continued bitterly. "Me givin' up my half holiday to helpin' you removin', an' I don't get muchthanks!"
"Well, William," said Mrs. Brown, "you can go to the new house with the first van. He'll be less in 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 the thrill of making their acquaintance.
Then the front gate was only just painted and bore 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 Brown 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' failure to return from his lemonade) rather impeded the progress of the unpackers.
"Brike it open," suggested one.
"Better not."
"Per'aps the key's insoide," 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 an' get down the chimney an' open it from the inside."
They greeted the proposal with guffaws.
They did not know William.
It was growing dusk when Mrs. Brown 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 dulness of the black paint.
"It's thatdog!" she said.
Then came a ghost-like cry, apparently from the heavens.
"Mother!"
Mrs. Brown 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 soot. It was William's face.
"I can't get down," it said hoarsely.
Mrs. Brown's heart stood still.
"Stay where you are, William," she said faintly. "Don'tmove."
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 tohelp. I wanted to open that door for 'em, so I climbed up by the scullery roof, an' the ivy, an' the drain-pipe, an' I tried to get down the chimney. I didn't know which one it was, but I tried 'em all an' they were all too little, an' I tried to get down by the ivy again but I couldn't, so I waited till you came an' hollered out. I wasn't scared," he said, fixing them with a stern eye. "I wasn't scared a bit. I jus' wanted to get down. An' this ole black chimney stuff tastes beastly. No, I'm all right," he ended, in answer to tender inquiries. "I'll go on helpin'."
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 helpin' all day."
Soon after he had gone Mr. Brown and Robert arrived.
"And how have things gone to-day?" said Mr. Brown cheerfully.
"Thank heaven William goes to school to-morrow," said Ethel devoutly.
Upstairs in his room William was studying himself in the glass—torn jersey, paint-stained trousers, blackened face.
"Well," he said with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "I guess I've jolly wellhelpedto-day!"
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!" groaned Mr. Brown. "I thought it was to be arestcure."
"Yes, but you know what he is," his wife urged. "I daren'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," agreed her husband finally. "You can take all responsibility. I formally disown him from now till we get back. I don't carewhattrouble he lands you in. You know what he is and you deliberately take him away with me on a rest cure!"
"It 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 swimmin'?"
"Itwon'tbe too cold! Well, if I wrap up warm, will I be able to go swimmin'?"
"Can I catch fishes?"
"Are there lots of smugglers smugglin' there?"
"Well, I'm onlyaskin', you needn't get mad!"
One 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 had 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 practisin' paddlin', ready for goin' to the seaside. I didn'tmeanto rune your tray. You talk as if Imeantto rune your tray. I was only practisin' paddlin'."
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 everythin' ready, Mother."
Mrs. Brown ascended to his room.
Upon his bed was a large pop-gun, a football, a dormouse in a cage, a punchball 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, yousaidput my things on the bed for you to pack an' I've put them on the bed, an' now you say——"
"I meant clothes."
"Oh,clothes!" scornfully. "I never thought ofclothes."
"Well, you can't take any of these things, anyway."
William hastily began to defend his collection of treasures.
"Imus'have the pop-gun 'cause you never know. There may be pirates an' smugglers down there, an' you cankilla man with a pop-gun if you get near enough and know the right place, an' I might need it. An' Imusthave the football to play on the sands with, an' the punchball to practise boxin' on, an' Imusthave the dormouse, 'cause—'cause to feed him, an' Imusthave this box of things and this skin to show to folks I meet down at the seaside, 'cause they're int'restin'."
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 a 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, inoffensive 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."
"It 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.
"It 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—jus' 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 rôle of hero.
"It was walkin' about an' I—he—met it. I hadn't got no gun, and it sprung at me an' I caught hold of its neck with one hand an' I broke off its horns with the other, an' I knocked it over. An' it got up an' ran at me—him—again, an' I jus' tripped it up with my foot an' it fell over again, an' then I jus' give it one big hit with my fist right on its head, an' it killed it an' it died!"
There was an incredulous gasp.
Then there 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 tellin' it to you," he remarked, wholly unabashed.
A little girl with dark curls took up the cudgels quite needlessly in William's defence.
"He's a verybraveboy to do all that," she said indignantly. "So don't you gosayingthings 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—er—I'll tell your sister."
For Ethel was approaching in the distance and Mr. Percival Jones was in no way loth to converse with her.
"You're a very wicked little boy!" said Mr. Percival Jones."You're a very wicked little boy!" said Mr. Percival Jones.
Mr. Percival Jones was a thin, pale, æsthetic 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 had 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—er—about your brother, Miss Brown," he began, "if you can spare me the time, of course. I trust I do not er—intrude or presume. He is a charming little man but—er—I fear—not veracious. May I accompany you a little on your way? I am—er—much attracted to your—er—family. I—er—should like to know you all better. I am—er—deeply attached to your—er—little brother, but grieved to find that he does not—er—adhere to the truth in his statements. I—er—"
Miss Brown's blue eyes were dancing with merriment.
"Oh, don't you worry about William," she said. "He'sawful. It's much best just to leave him alone. Isn't the sea gorgeous to-day?"
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 would kill anyone," impressively, "if you did it near enough to them and at the right place. An' I've got a dormouse, an' a punchball, an' a box of things, an' a football, but they wouldn't let me bring them," bitterly.
"It's alovelyskin," said the little girl. "What's your name?"
"William. What's yours?"
"Peggy."
"Well, let's be on a desert island, shall we? An' nothin' to eat nor anything, shall we? Come on."
She nodded eagerly.
"Howlovely!"
They wandered out on to the promenade, and among a large crowd of passers-by bemoaned the lonely 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.
At last they turned towards the hut.
"We must find somethin' 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! An' we'll cook it."
"Oh, howlovely!"
He gathered up a handful of seaweed and they entered the hut, leaving a white handkerchief tied on 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. An' 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, you," said William nobly. "You look hungrier than me."
She bit off a piece, chewed it, shut her eyes and swallowed.
"Now 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 lunch time when William arrived at the boarding-house. Mr. Percival Jones had moved his place so as to be nearer Ethel. He was now convinced that she was 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. "Bleating away! What's he bleating about anyway? Can't you stop him bleating, Ethel? You seem to have influence. Bleat! Bleat! Bleat! Good Lord! And me here for arestcure!"
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 anyoneknowI'm here for a rest cure? 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—er—soon the—er—Spring will be with us once more," he was saying in his high-pitched voice as he leant back in his chair and joined the tips of his fingers together. "The Spring—ah—the Spring! I have a—er—little effort I—er—composed on—er—the Coming of Spring—I—er—will read to you some time if you will—ah—be kind enough to—er—criticise—ah—impartially."
"Criticise!" they chorused. "It will be above criticism. Oh, do read it to us, Mr. Jones."
"I will—er—this evening." His eyes wandered to the door, hoping and longing for his beloved's entrance. But Ethel was with her father at a matinée at 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—ah—pleasures of nature. How few of us—alas!—have the—er—gift of appreciating them rightly. This—er—little seaside hamlet with its—er—sea, its—er—promenade, its—er—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 a man who smelt of bad tobacco. Ihatemen 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 bleating away in there?"
They listened. From the drawing-room came the sound of a high-pitched voice.
Mr. Brown groaned.
"Good Lord!" he moaned. "And I'm here for arestcure and he comes bleating 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 that 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,' sez Dick Savage,"he wrote."Ho! Gadzooks! Rol in the bottles of beer up the beech. Fill your pockets with the baccy from the bote. Quick, now! Gadzooks! Methinks we are observed!" He glared round in the darkness. In less time than wot it takes to rite this he was srounded by pleese-men and stood, proud and defiant, in the light of there electrick torches wot they had wiped quick as litening from their busums.
"'Surrender!' cried one, holding a gun at his brain and a drorn sord at his hart, 'Surrender or die!'
"'Never,' said Dick Savage, throwing back his head, proud and defiant, 'Never. Do to me wot you will, you dirty dogs, I will never surrender. Soner will I die.'
"One crule brute hit him a blo on the lips and he sprang back, snarling with rage. In less time than wot it takes to rite this he had sprang at his torturer's throte and his teeth met in one mighty bite. His torturer dropped ded and lifless at his feet.
"'Ho!' cried Dick Savage, throwing back his head, proud and defiant again, 'So dies any of you wot insults my proud manhood. I will meet my teeth in your throtes.'
"For a minit they stood trembling, then one, bolder than the rest, lept forward and tide 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 exulting. 'Ho! Dick Savage the smugler caught at last!'
"Dick Savage gave one proud and defiant laugh, and, bringing his tide hands over his hed he bit the rope with one mighty bite.
"'Ho! ho!' he cried, throwing back his proud hed, 'Ho, ho! You dirty dogs!'
"Then, draining to the dregs a large bottle of poison he had concealed in his busum he fell ded and lifless at there feet.'"
There was a timid knock at the door and William, scowling impatiently, rose to open it.
"What d'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 you doing?" she said, poking her little curly head into the doorway.
"I'm writin' a tale."
She clasped her hands.
"Oh, how lovely! Oh, William, do read it to me. I'dloveit!"
Mollified, 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.
"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 an' cigars an' things.Millionsof 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 an' 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 wastepaper basket to put over his head an'—an' pin down his arms an' somethin' to tie him up!—I know—the skin I—he—shot in Africa. You can tie its paws in front of him. Come on! Let's catch him smugglin'."
He stepped out boldly into the dusk with his pop-gun, followed by the blindly obedient Peggy carrying the wastepaper 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,
"O deeps, receive these objects vile,Which nevermore mine eyes shall soil."
He went down to the edge of the sea and, taking a bottle in each hand, held them out at arms' length, while he began in his high-pitched voice,
"O 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 action in holding out the bottles.
"It's no good tryin' to drink it up," he said severely. "We've caught you smugglin'."
Mr. Percival Jones laughed nervously.
"My little man!" he said, "that's a very dangerous—er—thing for you to have! Suppose you hand it over to me, now, like a good little chap."
William recognised his voice.