Just William

by Richmal Crompton

  CHAPTER XI

  THE BEST LAID PLANS

  I

  "She's--she's a real Botticelli," said the young man dreamily, as hewatched the figure of William's sister, Ethel, disappearing into thedistance.

  William glared at him.

  "Bottled cherry yourself!" he said indignantly. "She can't help havingred hair, can she? No more'n you can help havin'--havin'----" his eyewandered speculatively over the young man in search of physicaldefects--"having big ears," he ended.

  The young man did not resent the insult. He did not even hear it. Hiseyes were still fixed upon the slim figure in the distance.

  "'Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,'" he said softly. "Red-gold. I had toput that because it's got both colours in it. Red-gold, 'Eyes of blueand hair red-gold.' What rhymes with gold?"

  "Cold," suggested William brightly. "That's jolly good, too, 'cause shehas gotter cold. She was sneezing all last night."

  "No. It should be something about her heart being cold.

  "_Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,_ _Heart of ice--so stony cold----_"

  "That's jolly good!" said William with admiration. "It's just like whatyou read in real books--poetry books!"

  The young man--James French by name--had met Ethel at an evening partyand had succumbed to her charm. Lacking courage to pursue theacquaintance, he had cultivated the friendship of her small brother,under a quite erroneous impression that this would win him her goodgraces.

  "What would you like most in the world?" he said suddenly, leaningforward from his seat on the top of the gate. "Suppose someone let youchoose."

  "White rats," said William without a moment's hesitation.

  The young man was plunged in deep thought.

  "I'm thinking a way," he said at last. "I've nearly got it. Just walkhome with me, will you? I'll give you something when we get there," hebribed with pathetic pleading, noting William's reluctant face. "I wantto tell you my idea."

  They walked down the lane together. The young man talked volubly andearnestly. William's mouth opened wide with amazement and disapprovinghorror. The words "white rats" were repeated frequently. Finally Williamnodded his head, as though acquiescing.

  "I s'pose you're balmy on her," he said resignedly at the end, "likewhat folks are in books. I want 'em with long tails, mind."

  "WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE MOST IN THE WORLD?" HE SAIDSUDDENLY. "WHITE RATS!" SAID WILLIAM WITHOUT A MOMENT'S HESITATION.]

  William was not unacquainted with the tender passion. He had been to thepictures. He had read books. He had seen his elder brother Robert passseveral times through every stage of the consuming fever. He had himselfdecided in moments of deep emotion to marry the little girl next door assoon as he should reach manhood's estate. He was willing to further hisnew friend's suit by every legitimate means, but he was rather aghast atthe means suggested. Still--white rats were white rats.

  The next morning William assumed his expression of shining virtue--theexpression he reserved for special occasions.

  "You goin' shoppin' this mornin'?" he inquired politely of Ethel.

  "You know I am," said Ethel shortly.

  "Shall I come with you to carry parcels an' things?" said Williamunctuously.

  Ethel looked at him with sudden suspicion.

  "What do you want?" she said. "I'm not going to buy you anything."

  William looked pained.

  "I don't want anything," he said. "I jus' want to _help_ you, that'sall. I jus' want to carry your parcels for you. I--I jus' don't want youto get tired, that's all."

  "All right." Ethel was still suspicious. "You can come and you can carryparcels, but you won't get a penny out of me."

  They walked down together to the shops, and William meekly allowedhimself to be laden with many parcels. Ethel's grim suspicion passedinto bewilderment as he passed toyshop after toyshop without a glance.In imagination he was already teaching complicated tricks to a pair ofwhite rats.

  "It's--it's awfully decent of you, William," said Ethel, at last, almostpersuaded that she had misjudged William for the greater part of hislife. "Do you feel all right? I mean, you don't feel ill or anything, doyou?"

  "No," he said absently, then corrected himself hastily. "At least, not_jus'_ now. I feel all right jus' _now_. I feel as if I might not feelall right soon, but I don't know."

  Ethel looked anxious.

  "Let's get home quickly. What have you been eating?"

  "Nothing," said William indignantly. "It's not that sort of not well.It's quite diff'rent."

  "What sort is it?"

  "It's nuffin'--not jus' now. I'm all right jus' now."

  They walked in silence till they had left the road behind and had turnedoff to the long country road that led to William's house. Then, slowlyand deliberately, still clasping his burden of parcels, William sat downon the ground.

  "I can't walk any more, Ethel," he said, turning his healthy countenanceup to her. "I'm took ill sudden."

  She looked down at him impatiently.

  "Don't be absurd, William," she said. "Get up."

  "I'm not absurd," he said firmly. "I'm took ill."

  "Where do you feel ill?"

  "All over," he said guardedly.

  "Does your ankle hurt?"

  "Yes--an' my knees an' all up me. I jus' can't walk. I'm took too ill towalk."

  She looked round anxiously.

  "Oh, what _are_ we going to do? It's a quarter of a mile home!"

  At that moment there appeared the figure of a tall young man. He drewnearer and raised his hat.

  "Anything wrong, Miss Brown?" he said, blushing deeply.

  "Just _look_ at William!" said Ethel, pointing dramatically at the smallfigure seated comfortably in the dust of the road. "He says he can'twalk, and goodness knows what we're going to do."

  The young man bent over William, but avoided meeting his eyes.

  "You feeling ill, my little man?" he said cheerfully.

  "Huh!" snorted William. "That's a nice thing for _you_ to ask when youknow you told me----"

  The young man coughed long and loud.

  "All right," he said hastily. "Well, let's see what we can do. Could youget on my back, and then I can carry you home? Give me your parcels.That's right. No, Miss Brown. I _insist_ on carrying the parcels. Icouldn't _dream_ of allowing you--well, if you're _sure_ you'd rather.Leave me the big ones, anyway. Now, William, are we ready?"

  "I CAN'T WALK ANY MORE, ETHEL," HE SAID, TURNING HISHEALTHY COUNTENANCE UP TO HER. "I'M TOOK ILL SUDDEN!"]

  William clung on behind, nothing loth, and they set off rather slowlydown the road. Ethel was overcome with gratitude.

  "It _is_ kind of you, Mr. French. I don't know what we should have donewithout you. I do hope he's not fearfully heavy, and I do hope he's notbeginning anything infectious. Do let me take the other parcels. Won'tyou, really? Mother _will_ be grateful to you. It's such a strangething, isn't it? I've never heard of such a thing before. I've alwaysthought William was so strong. I hope it's not consumption or anythinglike that. How does consumption begin?"

  Mr. French had had no conception of the average weight of a sturdy smallboy of eleven. He stumbled along unsteadily.

  "Oh, no," he panted. "Don't mention it--don't mention it. It's apleasure--really it is. No, indeed you mustn't take the parcels. Youhave quite enough already. Quite enough. No, he isn't a bit heavy. Not abit. I'm so glad I happened to come by at a moment that I could do you aservice. _So_ glad!" He paused to mop his brow. He was breathing veryheavily. There was a violent and quite unreasonable hatred of William athis heart.

  "Don't you think you could walk now--just a bit, William?" he said, witha touch of exasperation in his panting voice. "I'll help you walk."

  "All right," William acceded readily. "I don't mind. I'll lean on youhard, shall I?"

  "Do you feel well enough?" said Ethel anxiously.

  "Oh, yes. I can walk now, if he wants--I mean if he doesn't mind meholding on to his arm. I feel as if I was g
oin' to be _quite_ all rightsoon. I'm nearly all right now."

  The three of them walked slowly up the drive to the Brown's house,William leaning heavily on the young man's arm. Mrs. Brown saw them fromthe window and ran to the door.

  "Oh, dear!" she said. "You've run over him on your motor-cycle. I knewyou'd run over somebody soon. I said when I saw you passing on ityesterday----"

  Ethel interrupted indignantly.

  "Why, Mother, Mr. French has been so kind. I can't think what I'd havedone without him. William was taken ill and couldn't walk, and Mr.French has carried him all the way from the other end of the road, onhis back."

  "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry! How very kind of you, Mr. French. Do come in andstay to lunch. William, go upstairs to bed at once and I'll ring up Dr.Ware."

  "No," said William firmly. "Don't bother poor Dr. Ware. I'm all rightnow. Honest I am. He'd be mad to come and find me all right."

  "Of course you must see a doctor."

  "No, I _mustn't_. You don't understand. It wasn't that kind of notwellness. A doctor couldn't of done me no good. I jus'--jus' came overqueer," he ended, remembering a phrase he had heard used recently by thecharwoman.

  "What do you think, Mr. French?" said Mrs. Brown anxiously.

  Both Mrs. Brown and Ethel turned to him as to an oracle. He looked fromone to the other and a deep flush of guilt overspread his countenance.

  "Oh--er--well," he said nervously. "He _looks_ all right, doesn't he?I--er--wouldn't bother. Just--er--don't worry him with questions.Just--let him go about as usual. I--er--think it's best to--let himforget it," he ended weakly.

  "Of course he's growing very fast."

  "Yes. I expect it was just a sort of growing weakness," said Mr. Frenchbrightly.

  "But Mr. French was _splendid_!" said Ethel enthusiastically, "simplysplendid. William, I don't think you realise how kind it was of Mr.French. I think you ought to thank him."

  William fixed his benefactor with a cold eye.

  "Thank you very much indeed for carrying me," he said. Then, as hismother turned to Ethel with a remark about the lunch, he added. "_Two_,remember, and, with long tails!"

  Mr. French stayed for lunch and spent the afternoon golfing with Ethelup at the links. William was wrapt up in rugs and laid upon the librarysofa after lunch and left to sleep off his mysterious complaint inquietness with the blinds down.

  Mrs. Brown, entering on tiptoe to see how her son was faring, found himgone.

  "Oh, he's gone," she said anxiously to her husband. "I left him socomfortable on the sofa, and told him to try to sleep. Sleep is soimportant when you're ill. And now he's gone--he'll probably stay awaytill bedtime!"

  "All right," said her husband sardonically. "Be thankful for smallmercies."

  Ethel and her esquire returned to tea, and, yielding to the entreatiesof the family, who looked upon him as William's saviour, he stayed todinner. He spent the evening playing inadequate accompaniments toEthel's songs and ejaculating at intervals rapturous expressions ofdelight. It was evident that Ethel was flattered by his obviousadmiration. He stayed till nearly eleven, and then, almost drunk withhappiness, he took his leave while the family again thanked himprofusely.

  As he walked down the drive with a smile on his lips and his mindflitting among the blissful memories of the evening, an upper window wasopened cautiously and a small head peeped out. Through the still air thewords shot out----

  "_Two_, mind, an' with long tails."

  II

  "Where did you get it from?" demanded Mr. Brown fiercely.

  William pocketed his straying pet.

  "A friend gave it me."

  "_What_ friend?"

  "Mr. French. The man what carried me when I was took ill sudden. He gaveme it. I di'n't know it was goin' to go into your slipper. I wun't oflet it if I'd known. An' I di'n't know it was goin' to bite your toe. Itdi'n't mean to bite your toe. I 'spect it thought it was me givin' itsumthin' to eat. I expect----"

  "Be _quiet_! What on earth did Mr. French give you the confounded thingfor?"

  "I dunno. I s'pect he jus' wanted to."

  "He seems to have taken quite a fancy to William," said Mrs. Brown.

  Ethel blushed faintly.

  "He seems to have taken a spite against me," said Mr. Brown bitterly."How many of the wretched pests have you got?"

  "They're rats," corrected William, "White 'uns. I've only got two."

  "Good Heavens! He's got _two_. Where's the other?"

  "In the shed."

  "Well, _keep_ it there, do you hear? And this savage brute as well. GoodLord! My toe's nearly eaten off. They ought to wear muzzles; they've gotrabies. Where's Jumble? He in the shed, too?" hopefully.

  "No. He dun't like 'em. But I'm tryin' to _teach_ him to like 'em. I let'em loose and let him look at 'em with me holdin' on to him."

  "Yes, go on doing that," said Mr. Brown encouragingly. "Accidentssometimes happen."

  That night William obeyed the letter of the law by keeping the rats in abox on his bedroom window-sill.

  The household was roused in the early hours of the morning by piercingscreams from Ethel's room. The more adventurous of the pair--namedRufus--had escaped from the box and descended to Ethel's room by way ofthe creeper. Ethel awoke suddenly to find it seated on her pillow softlypawing her hair. The household, in their various sleeping attire,flocked to her room at the screams. Ethel was hysterical. They fed heron hot tea and biscuits to steady her nerves. "It was _horrible_!" shesaid. "It was pulling at my hair. It just sat there with its pink noseand long tail. It was perfectly _horrible_!"

  MR. BROWN IN LARGE PYJAMAS LOOKED FIERCELY DOWN ATWILLIAM IN SMALL PYJAMAS.]

  "Where _is_ the wretched animal?" said Mr. Brown looking round withmurder in his eyes.

  "I've got it, Father," piped up William's small voice at the back of thecrowd. "Ethel di'n't understand. It was playin' with her. It di'n't meanto frighten her. It----"

  "I told you not to keep them in the house."

  Mr. Brown in large pyjamas looked fiercely down at William in smallpyjamas with the cause of all the tumult clasped lovingly to his breast.Ethel, in bed, continued to gasp weakly in the intervals of drinkingtea.

  "They weren't in the house," said William firmly. "They were outside thewindow. Right outside the window. Right on the sill. You can't calloutside the window in the house, can you? I _put_ it outside the house.I can't help it _comin'_ inside the house when I'm asleep, can I?"

  Mr. Brown eyed his son solemnly.

  "The next time I catch either of those animals inside this house,William," he said slowly, "I'll wring its neck."

  When Mr. French called the next afternoon, he felt that his popularityhad declined.

  "I can't think why you gave William such dreadful things," Ethel saidweakly, lying on the sofa. "I feel quite upset. I've got such a headacheand my nerves are a wreck absolutely."

  Mr. French worked hard that afternoon and evening to regain his lostground. He sat by the sofa and talked in low tones. He read aloud toher. He was sympathetic, penitent, humble and devoted. In spite of allhis efforts, however, he felt that his old prestige was gone. He was nolonger the Man Who Carried William Home. He was the Man Who GaveWilliam the Rat. He felt that, in the eyes of the Brown household, hewas solely responsible for Ethel's collapse. There was reproach even inthe eyes of the housemaid who showed him out. In the drive he metWilliam. William was holding a grimy, blood-stained handkerchief roundhis finger. There was reproach in William's eyes also. "It's bit me," hesaid indignantly. "One of those rats what you gave me's bit me."

  "I'm awfully sorry," said Mr. French penitently. Then, with suddenspirit, "Well, you asked for rats, didn't you?"

  "Yes," said William. "But not savage ones. I never asked for savageones, did I? I di'n't ask for rats what would scare Ethel and bite me,did I? I was jus' teaching it to dance on its hind legs an' holding upits front ones for it an' it went an' bit me."

  Mr. French looked at him apprehensively.

&nb
sp; "You--you'd better not--er--tell your mother or sister about yourfinger. I--I wouldn't like your sister to be upset any more."

  "Don't you want me to let 'em know?"

  "Er--no."

  "Well, what'll you give me not to?" said William brazenly.

  Mr. French plunged his hand into his pocket.

  "I'll give you half-a-crown," he said.

  William pocketed the coin.

  "All right!" he said. "If I wash the blood off an' get my hands dirtynobody'll notice."

  Things went well for several days after that. Mr. French arrived thenext morning laden with flowers and grapes. The household unbenttowards him. Ethel arranged a day's golfing with him. William spent ablissful day with his half-crown. There was a fair in full swing on thefair ground, and thither William and Jumble wended their way. Williamhad eleven consecutive rides on the merry-go-round. He had made up hismind to have twelve, but, much to his regret, had to relinquish thetwelfth owing to certain unpleasant physical sensations. With a lordlyair, he entered seven tents in succession and sat gazing in a silentintensity of rapture at the Strong Man, the Fat Woman, the IndiarubberJointed Boy, the Siamese Twins, the Human Eel, the Man-headed Elephantand the Talking Monkey. In each tent he stayed, silent and enraptured,till ejected by the showman to make room for others who were anxious tofeast their eyes upon the marvels. Having now completely recovered fromthe sensations caused by the merry-go-round, he purchased a large bag ofpop-corn and stood leaning against a tent-pole till he had consumed it.Then he purchased two sticks of nougat and with it drank two bottles ofginger-beer. The remaining 4_d._ was spent upon a large packet of a redsticky mixture called Canadian Delight.

  Dusk was falling by this time and slowly, very slowly, William returnedhome. He firmly refused all food at supper. Mrs. Brown grew anxious.

  "William, you don't look a bit well," she said. "You don't feel like youdid the other day, do you?"

  William met Mr. French's eye across the table and Mr. French blushed.

  "No, not a bit like that," said William.

  When pressed, he admitted having gone to the fair.

  "Someone gave me half-a-crown," he excused himself plaintively. "I jus'had to go somewhere."

  "It's perfectly absurd of people," said Mrs. Brown indignantly, "to givelarge sums of money to a boy of William's age. It always ends this way.People ought to know better."

  As they passed out from the supper-table, William whispered hoarsely toMr. French:

  "It was the half-crown what you give me."

  "Don't tell them," whispered Mr. French desperately.

  "What'll you give me not to?"

  Furtively Mr. French pressed a two-shilling piece into his hand.

  Glorious vistas opened before William's eyes He decided finally that Mr.French must join the family. Life then would be an endless succession ofhalf-crowns and two-shilling pieces.

  The next day was Sunday, and William went to the shed directly afterbreakfast to continue the teaching of Rufus, the dancing rat. Rufus wasto be taught to dance, the other, now christened Cromwell, was to betaught to be friends with Jumble. So far this training had only reachedthe point of Cromwell's sitting motionless in the cage, while in frontof it William violently restrained the enraged Jumble from murder.Still, William thought, if they looked at each other long enough,friendship would grow. So they looked at each other each day tillWilliam's arm ached. As yet friendship had not grown.

  "William! It's time for church."

  William groaned. That was the worst of Sundays. He was sure that withanother half-hour's practice Rufus would dance and Cromwell would befriends with Jumble. He was a boy not to be daunted by circumstance. Heput Rufus in his pocket and put the cage containing Cromwell on the topof a pile of boxes, leaving Jumble to continue the gaze of friendshipfrom the floor.

  He walked to church quietly and demurely behind his family, one handclutching his prayer-book, the other in his pocket clasping Rufus. Hehoped to be able to continue the training during the Litany. He was notdisappointed. Ethel was on one side of him, and there was no one on theother. He knelt down devoutly, one hand shading his face, the otherfirmly holding Rufus's front paws as he walked it round and round on thefloor. He grew more and more interested in its progress.

  "Tell William to kneel up and not to fidget," Mrs. Brown passed down viaEthel.

  William gave her a virulent glance as he received the message and,turning his back on her, continued the dancing lesson.

  The Litany passed more quickly than he ever remembered its doing before.He replaced the rat in his pocket as they rose for the hymn. It wasduring the hymn that the catastrophe occurred.

  The Browns occupied the front seat of the church. While the second versewas being sung, the congregation was electrified by the sight of asmall, long-tailed white creature appearing suddenly upon Mr. Brown'sshoulder. Ethel's scream almost drowned the organ. Mr. Brown put up hishand and the intruder jumped upon his head and stood there for a second,digging his claws into his victim's scalp. Mr. Brown turned upon his sona purple face that promised future vengeance. The choir turnedfascinated eyes upon it, and the hymn died away. William's face was amask of horror. Rufus next appeared running along the rim of the pulpit.There was a sudden unceremonial exit of most of the female portion ofthe congregation. The clergyman grew pale as Rufus approached and slidup his reading-desk. A choir-boy quickly grabbed it, and retired intothe vestry and thence home before his right to its possession could bequestioned. William found his voice.

  "He's took it," he said in a sibilant whisper. "It's mine! He took it!"

  "_Sh!_" said Ethel.

  "It's mine," persisted William. "It's what Mr. French give me for beingtook ill that day, you know."

  "What?" said Ethel, leaning towards him.

  The hymn was in full swing again now.

  "He gave it me for being took ill so's he could come and carry me home'cause he was gone on you an' it's mine an' that boy's took it an' itwas jus' gettin' to dance an'----"

  "_Sh!_" hissed Mr. Brown violently.

  "I shall never look anyone in the face again," lamented Mrs. Brown onthe way home. "I think _everyone_ was in church! And the way Ethelscreamed! It was _awful_! I shall dream of it for nights. William, Idon't know how you _could_!"

  WILLIAM'S FACE WAS A MASK OF HORROR.]

  "Well, it's mine," said William. "That boy'd no business to take it. Itwas gettin' to know _me_. I di'n't _mean_ it to get loose, an' get onFather's head an' scare folks. I di'n't mean it to. I meant it to bequiet and stay in my pocket. It's mine, anyway, an' that boy took it."

  "It's not yours any more, my son," said Mr. Brown firmly.

  Ethel walked along with lips tight shut.

  In the distance, walking towards them, was a tall, jaunty figure. It wasMr. French, who, ignorant of what had happened, was coming gaily on tomeet them returning from church. He was smiling as he came, secure inhis reception, composing airy compliments in his mind. As Ethel came onhe raised his hat with a flourish and beamed at her effusively. Ethelwalked past him, without a glance and with head high, leaving him,aghast and despairing, staring after her down the road. He never saw Mr.and Mrs. Brown. William realised the situation. The future half-crownsand two-shilling pieces seemed to vanish away. He protested vehemently.

  "Ethel, don't get mad at Mr. French. He di'n't mean anything! He onlywanted to do sumthin' for you 'cause he was mad on you."

  "It's _horrible_!" said Ethel. "First you bringing that dreadful animalto church, and then I find that he's deceived me and you helped him. Ihope Father takes the other one away."

  "He won't," said William. "He never said anything about that. Theother's learnin' to be friends with Jumble in the shed. I say, Ethel,don't be mad at Mr. French. He----"

  "Oh, don't _talk_ about him," said Ethel angrily.

  William, who was something of a philosopher, accepted failure, and theloss of any riches a future allied with Mr. French might have broughthim.

  "All righ
t!" he said. "Well, I've got the other one left, anyway."

  They entered the drive and began to walk up to the front-door. From thebushes came a scampering and breaking of twigs as Jumble dashed out togreet his master. His demeanour held more than ordinary pleasure: itexpressed pride and triumph. At his master's feet he laid his proudoffering--the mangled remains of Cromwell.

  William gasped.

  "Oh, William!" said Ethel, "I'm so _sorry_."

  William assumed an expression of proud, restrained sorrow.

  "All right!" he said generously. "It's not your fault really. An' it'snot Jumble's fault. P'r'aps he thought it was what I was tryin' to teachhim to do. It's jus' no one's fault. We'll have to bury it." His spiritsrose. "I'll do the reel buryin' service out of the Prayer Book."

  He stood still gazing down at what was left of Jumble's friend. Jumblestood by it, proud and pleased, looking up with his head on one side andhis tail wagging. Sadly William reviewed the downfall of his hopes. Gonewas Mr. French and all he stood for. Gone was Rufus. Gone was Cromwell.He put his hand into his pocket and it came in contact with thetwo-shilling piece.

  "Well," he said slowly and philosophically, "I've got _that_ leftanyway."

  CHAPTER XII

  "JUMBLE"

  William's father carefully placed the bow and arrow at the back of thelibrary cupboard, then closed the cupboard door and locked it in grimsilence. William's eyes, large, reproachful, and gloomy, followed everymovement.

  "Three windows and Mrs. Clive's cat all in one morning," began Mr. Brownsternly.

  "I didn't _mean_ to hit that cat," said William earnestly. "Ididn't--honest. I wouldn't go round teasin' cats. They get so mad atyou, cats do. It jus' got in the way. I couldn't stop shootin' in time.An' I didn't _mean_ to break those windows. I wasn't _tryin'_ to hitthem. I've not hit anything I was trying to hit yet," wistfully. "I'venot got into it. It's jus' a knack. It jus' wants practice."

  Mr. Brown pocketed the key.

  "It's a knack you aren't likely to acquire by practice on thisinstrument," he said drily.

  William wandered out into the garden and looked sadly up at the gardenwall. But The Little Girl Next Door was away and could offer nosympathy, even if he climbed up to his precarious seat on the top. Fatewas against him in every way. With a deep sigh he went out of the gardengate and strolled down the road disconsolately, hands in pockets.

  Life stretched empty and uninviting before him without his bow andarrow. And Ginger would have his bow and arrow, Henry would have his bowand arrow, Douglas would have his bow and arrow. He, William, alonewould be a thing apart, a social outcast, a boy without a bow and arrow;for bows and arrows were the fashion. If only one of the others wouldbreak a window or hit a silly old cat that hadn't the sense to keep outof the way.

  He came to a stile leading into a field and took his seat upon itdejectedly, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Life wassimply not worth living.

  "A rotten old cat!" he said aloud, "a rotten old cat!--and didn't evenhurt it. It--it made a fuss--jus' out of spite, screamin' and carryin'on! And windows!--as if glass wasn't cheap enough--and easy to put in. Icould--I could mend 'em myself--if I'd got the stuff to do it. I----" Hestopped. Something was coming down the road. It came jauntily with alight, dancing step, fox-terrier ears cocked, retriever nose raised,collie tail wagging, slightly dachshund body a-quiver with the joy oflife.

  It stopped in front of William with a glad bark of welcome, then stoodeager, alert, friendly, a mongrel unashamed.

  "Rats! Fetch 'em out!" said William idly.

  IT STOPPED IN FRONT OF WILLIAM WITH A GLAD BARK OFWELCOME.]

  It gave a little spring and waited, front paws apart and crouching, awaggish eye upraised to William. William broke off a stick from thehedge and threw it. His visitor darted after it with a shrill bark, tookit up, worried it, threw it into the air, caught it, growled at it,finally brought it back to William and waited, panting, eager,unmistakably grinning, begging for more.

  William's drooping spirits revived. He descended from his perch andexamined its collar. It bore the one word "Jumble."

  "Hey! Jumble!" he called, setting off down the road.

  Jumble jumped up around him, dashed off, dashed back, worried his boots,jumped up at him again in wild, eager friendship, dashed off again,begged for another stick, caught it, rolled over with it, growled at it,then chewed it up and laid the remains at William's feet.

  "Good ole chap!" said William encouragingly. "Good ole Jumble! Come on,then."

  Jumble came on. William walked through the village with a self-consciousair of proud yet careless ownership, while Jumble gambolled round hisheels.

  Every now and then he would turn his head and whistle imperiously, torecall his straying _protege_ from the investigation of ditches androadside. It was a whistle, commanding, controlling, yet withalcareless, that William had sometimes practised privately in readinessfor the blissful day when Fate should present him with a real live dogof his own. So far Fate, in the persons of his father and mother, hadbeen proof against all his pleading.

  William passed a blissful morning. Jumble swam in the pond, he fetchedsticks out of it, he shook himself violently all over William, he ranafter a hen, he was chased by a cat, he barked at a herd of cows, hepulled down a curtain that was hanging out in a cottage garden todry--he was mischievous, affectionate, humorous, utterlyirresistible--and he completely adopted William. William would turn acorner with a careless swagger and then watch breathlessly to see if therollicking, frisky little figure would follow, and always it cametearing eagerly after him.

  William was rather late to lunch. His father and mother and elderbrother and sister were just beginning the meal. He slipped quietly andunostentatiously into his seat. His father was reading a newspaper. Mr.Brown always took two daily papers, one of which he perused at breakfastand the other at lunch.

  "William," said Mrs. Brown, "I do wish you'd be in time, and I do wishyou'd brush your hair before you come to table."

  William raised a hand to perform the operation, but catching sight ofits colour, hastily lowered it.

  "No, Ethel dear, I didn't know anyone had taken Lavender Cottage. Anartist? How nice! William dear, _do_ sit still. Have they moved in yet?"

  "Yes," said Ethel, "they've taken it furnished for two months, I think.Oh, my goodness, just _look_ at William's hands!"

  William put his hands under the table and glared at her.

  "Go and wash your hands, dear," said Mrs. Brown patiently.

  For eleven years she had filled the trying position of William's mother.It had taught her patience.

  William rose reluctantly.

  "They're not dirty," he said in a tone of righteous indignation. "Well,anyway, they've been dirtier other times and you've said nothin'. Ican't be _always_ washin' them, can I? Some sorts of hands get dirtyquicker than others an' if you keep on washin' it only makes them worsean'----"

  Ethel groaned and William's father lowered his paper. William withdrewquickly but with an air of dignity.

  "And just _look_ at his boots!" said Ethel as he went. "Simply caked;and his stockings are soaking wet--you can see from here. He's beenright _in_ the pond by the look of him and----"

  William heard no more. There were moments when he actively dislikedEthel.

  He returned a few minutes later, shining with cleanliness, his hairbrushed back fiercely off his face.

  "His _nails_," murmured Ethel as he sat down.

  "Well," said Mrs. Brown, "go on telling us about the new people.William, do hold your knife properly, dear. Yes, Ethel?"

  William finished his meal in silence, then brought forth his momentousannouncement.

  "I've gotter dog," he said with an air of importance.

  "What sort of a dog?" and "Who gave it to you?" said Robert and Ethelsimultaneously.

  "No one gave it me," he said. "I jus' got it. It began following me thismorning an' I couldn't get rid of it. It wouldn't go, anyway. Itfollowed me al
l round the village an' it came home with me. I couldn'tget rid of it, anyhow."

  "Where is it now?" said Mrs. Brown anxiously.

  "In the back garden."

  Mr. Brown folded up his paper.

  "Digging up my flower-beds, I suppose," he said with despairingresignation.

  "He's tied up all right," William reassured him. "I tied him to the treein the middle of the rose-bed."

  "The rose-bed!" groaned his father. "Good Lord!"

  "Has he had anything to eat?" demanded Robert sternly.

  "Yes," said William, avoiding his mother's eye. "I found a few bits ofold things for him in the larder."

  William's father took out his watch and rose from the table.

  "Well, you'd better take it to the Police Station this afternoon," hesaid shortly.

  "The Police Station!" repeated William hoarsely. "It's not a _lost_ dog.It--it jus' doesn't belong to anyone, at least it didn't. Poor thing,"feelingly. "It--it doesn't want _much_ to make it happy. It can sleep inmy room an' jus' eat scraps."

  Mr. Brown went out without answering.

  "You'll have to take it, you know, William," said Mrs. Brown, "so bequick. You know where the Police Station is, don't you? Shall I comewith you?"

  "No, thank you," said William hastily.

  A few minutes later he was walking down to the Police Station followedby the still eager Jumble, who trotted along, unconscious of his doom.

  Upon William's face was a set, stern expression which cleared slightlyas he neared the Police Station. He stood at the gate and looked atJumble. Jumble placed his front paws ready for a game and wagged histail.

  "Well," said William, "here you are. Here's the Police Station."

  Jumble gave a shrill bark. "Hurry up with that stick or that race,whichever you like," he seemed to say.

  "Well, go in," said William, nodding his head in the direction of thedoor.

  Jumble began to worry a big stone in the road. He rolled it along withhis paws, then ran after it with fierce growls.

  "Well, it's the Police Station," said William. "Go in if you want."

  With that he turned on his heel and walked home, without one backwardglance. But he walked slowly, with many encouraging "Hey! Jumbles" andmany short commanding whistles. And Jumble trotted happily at his heels.There was no one in the garden, there was no one in the hall, there wasno one on the stairs. Fate was for once on William's side.

  William appeared at the tea-table well washed and brushed, wearing thatair of ostentatious virtue that those who knew him best connected withhis most daring coups.

  "Did you take that dog to the Police Station, William?" said William'sfather.

  William coughed.

  JUMBLE TROTTED ALONG UNCONSCIOUS OF HIS DOOM.]

  "Yes, father," he said meekly with his eyes upon his plate.

  "What did they say about it?"

  "Nothing, father."

  "I suppose I'd better spend the evening replanting those rose-trees,"went on his father bitterly.

  "And William gave him a _whole_ steak and kidney pie," murmured Mrs.Brown. "Cook will have to make another for to-morrow."

  William coughed again politely, but did not raise his eyes from hisplate.

  "What is that noise?" said Ethel. "Listen!"

  They sat, listening intently. There was a dull grating sound as of thescratching of wood.

  "It's upstairs," said Robert with the air of a Sherlock Holmes.

  Then came a shrill, impatient bark.

  "It's a _dog_!" said the four of them simultaneously. "It's William'sdog."

  They all turned horrified eyes upon William, who coloured slightly butcontinued to eat a piece of cake with an unconvincing air ofabstraction.

  "I thought you said you'd taken that dog to the Police Station,William," said Mr. Brown sternly.

  "I did," said William with decision. "I did take it to the PoliceStation an' I came home. I s'pose it must of got out an' come home an'gone up into my bedroom."

  "Where did you leave it? In the Police Station?"

  "No--at it--jus' at the gate."

  Mr. Brown rose with an air of weariness.

  "Robert," he said, "will you please see that that animal goes to thePolice Station this evening?"

  "Yes, father," said Robert, with a vindictive glare at William.

  William followed him upstairs.

  "Beastly nuisance!" muttered Robert.

  Jumble, who was chewing William's door, greeted them ecstatically.

  "Look!" said William bitterly. "Look at how it knows one! Nice thing tosend a dog that knows one like that to the Police Station! Mean sort oftrick!"

  Robert surveyed it coldly.

  "Rotten little mongrel!" he said from the heights of superior knowledge.

  "Mongrel!" said William indignantly. "There jus' isn't no mongrel about_him_. Look at him! An' he can learn tricks easy as easy. Look at himsit up and beg. I only taught him this afternoon."

  He took a biscuit out of his pocket and held it up. Jumble roseunsteadily on to his hind legs and tumbled over backwards. He wagged histail and grinned, intensely amused. Robert's expression of superiorityrelaxed.

  "Do it again," he said. "Not so far back. Here! Give it me. Come on,come on, old chap! That's it! Now stay there! Stay there! Good dog! Gotany more? Let's try him again."

  During the next twenty minutes they taught him to sit up and almosttaught him "Trust" and "Paid for." There was certainly a charm aboutJumble. Even Robert felt it. Then Ethel's voice came up the stairs.

  "Robert! Sydney Bellew's come for you."

  "Blow the wretched dog!" said the fickle Robert rising, red anddishevelled from stooping over Jumble. "We were going to walk toFairfields and the beastly Police Station's right out of our way."

  "I'll take it, Robert," said William kindly. "I will really."

  Robert eyed him suspiciously.

  "Yes, you took it this afternoon, didn't you?"

  "I will, honest, to-night, Robert. Well, I couldn't, could I?--after allthis."

  "I don't know," said Robert darkly. "No one ever knows what _you_ aregoing to do!"

  Sydney's voice came up.

  "Hurry up, old chap! We shall never have time to do it before dark, ifyou aren't quick."

  "I'll take him, honest, Robert."

  Robert hesitated and was lost.

  "Well," he said, "you just mind you do, that's all, or I'll jolly wellhear about it. I'll see _you_ do too."

  So William started off once more towards the Police Station with Jumble,still blissfully happy, at his heels. William walked slowly, eyes fixedon the ground, brows knit in deep thought. It was very rarely thatWilliam admitted himself beaten.

  "Hello, William!"

  William looked up.

  Ginger stood before him holding his bow and arrows ostentatiously.

  "You've had your bow and arrow took off you!" he jeered.

  William fixed his eye moodily upon him for a minute, then verygradually his eye brightened and his face cleared. William had an idea.

  "If I give you a dog half time," he said slowly, "will you give me yourbow and arrows half time?"

  "Where's your dog?" said Ginger suspiciously.

  William did not turn his head.

  "There's one behind me, isn't there," he said anxiously. "Hey, Jumble!"

  "Oh, yes, he's just come out of the ditch."

  "Well," continued William, "I'm taking him to the Police Station and I'mjust goin' on an' he's following me and if you take him off me I won'tsee you 'cause I won't turn round and jus' take hold of his collar an'he's called Jumble an' take him up to the old barn and we'll keep himthere an' join at him and feed him days and days about and you let mepractice on your bow and arrow. That's fair, isn't it?"

  Ginger considered thoughtfully.

  "All right," he said laconically.

  William walked on to the Police Station without turning round.

  "Well?" whispered Robert sternly that evening.

  "
I took him, Robert--least--I started off with him, but when I'd gotthere he'd gone. I looked round and he'd jus' gone. I couldn't see himanywhere, so I came home."

  WILLIAM SAT IN THE BARN GAZING DOWN AT JUMBLE.]

  "Well, if he comes to this house again," said Robert, "I'll wring hisneck, so just you look out." Two days later William sat in the barn onan upturned box, chin in hands, gazing down at Jumble. A paper bagcontaining Jumble's ration for the day lay beside him. It was his day ofownership. The collecting of Jumble's "scraps" was a matter ofinfinite care and trouble. They consisted in--a piece of bread thatWilliam had managed to slip into his pocket during breakfast, a piece ofmeat he had managed to slip into his pocket during dinner, a jam puffstolen from the larder and a bone removed from the dustbin. Gingerroamed the fields with his bow and arrow while William revelled in theownership of Jumble. To-morrow William would roam the fields with bowand arrow and Ginger would assume ownership of Jumble.

  William had spent the morning teaching Jumble several complicatedtricks, and adoring him more and more completely each moment. He grudgedhim bitterly to Ginger, but--the charm of the bow and arrow was strong.He wished to terminate the partnership, to resign Ginger's bow and arrowand take the irresistible Jumble wholly to himself. He thought of thebow and arrow in the library cupboard; he thought, planned, plotted, butcould find no way out. He did not see a man come to the door of the barnand stand there leaning against the door-post watching him. He was atall man with a thin, lean face and a loose-fitting tweed suit. As hiseyes lit upon William and Jumble they narrowed suddenly and his mobilelips curved into a slight, unconscious smile. Jumble saw him first andwent towards him wagging his tail. William looked up and scowledungraciously. The stranger raised his hat.

  "Good afternoon," he said politely, "Do you remember what you werethinking about just then?"

  William looked at him with a certain interest, speculating upon hisprobable insanity. He imagined lunatics were amusing people.

  "Yes."

  "Well, if you'll think of it again and look just like that, I'll giveyou anything you like. It's a rash promise, but I will."

  William promptly complied. He quite forgot the presence of the strangeman, who took a little block out of his pocket and began to sketchWilliam's inscrutable, brooding face.

  "Daddy!"

  The man sighed and put away his block.

  "You'll do it again for me one day, won't you, and I'll keep my promise.Hello!"

  A little girl appeared now at the barn door, dainty, dark-eyed andexquisitely dressed. She threw a lightning flash at the occupants of thebarn.

  "Daddy!" she screamed. "It's Jumble! It _is_ Jumble! Oh, you horriddog-stealing boy!"

  Jumble ran to her with shrill barks of welcome, then ran back to Williamto reassure him of his undying loyalty.

  "It _is_ Jumble," said the man. "He's called Jumble," he explained toWilliam, "because he is a jumble. He's all sorts of a dog, you know.This is Ninette, my daughter, and my name is Jarrow, and we've takenLavender Cottage for two months. We're roving vagabonds. We never stayanywhere longer than two months. So now you know all about us. Jumbleseems to have adopted you. Ninette, my dear, you are completely oustedfrom Jumble's heart. This gentleman reigns supreme."

  "I _didn't_ steal him," said William indignantly. "He just came. Hebegan following me. I didn't want him to--not jus' at first anyway, notmuch anyway. I suppose," a dreadful fear came to his heart, "I supposeyou want him back?"

  "You can keep him for a bit if you want him, can't he Daddy? Daddy'sgoing to buy me a Pom--a dear little white Pom. When we lost Jumble, Ithought I'd rather have a Pom. Jumble's so rough and he's not really a_good_ dog. I mean he's no pedigree."

  "Then can I keep him jus' for a bit?" said William, his voice husky witheagerness.

  "Oh, yes. I'd much rather have a quieter sort of dog. Would you like tocome and see our cottage? It's just over here."

  William, slightly bewildered but greatly relieved, set off with her. Mr.Jarrow followed slowly behind. It appeared that Miss Ninette Jarrow wasrather a wonderful person. She was eleven years old. She had visitedevery capital in Europe, seen the best art and heard the best music ineach. She had been to every play then on in London. She knew all thenewest dances.

  "Do you like Paris?" she asked William as they went towards LavenderCottage.

  "Never been there," said William stolidly, glancing roundsurreptitiously to see that Jumble was following.

  She shook her dark curly head from side to side--a little trick she had.

  "You funny boy. _Mais vous parlez Francais, n'est-ce pas?_"

  William disdained to answer. He whistled to Jumble, who was chasing animaginary rabbit in a ditch.

  "Can you jazz?" she asked.

  "I don't know," he said guardedly. "I've not tried. I expect I could."

  She took a few flying graceful steps with slim black silk-encased legs.

  "That's it. I'll teach you at home. We'll dance it to a gramophone."

  William walked on in silence.

  She stopped suddenly under a tree and held up her little vivacious,piquant face to him.

  "You can kiss me if you like," she said.

  William looked at her dispassionately.

  "I don't want to, thanks," he said politely.

  "Oh, you _are_ a funny boy!" she said with a ripple of laughter, "andyou look so rough and untidy. You're rather like Jumble. Do you likeJumble?"

  "Yes," said William. His voice had a sudden quaver in it. His ownershipof Jumble was a thing of the past.

  "You can have him for always and always," she said suddenly. "_Now_ kissme!"

  He kissed her cheek awkwardly with the air of one determined to do hisduty, but with a great, glad relief at his heart.

  "I'd love to see you dance," she laughed. "You _would_ look funny."

  She took a few more fairy steps.

  "You've seen Pavlova, haven't you?"

  "Dunno."

  "You must know."

  "I mustn't," said William irritably. "I might have seen him and notknown it was him, mightn't I?"

  She raced back to her father with another ripple of laughter.

  "He's _such_ a funny boy, Daddy, and he can't jazz and he's never seenPavlova, and he can't talk French and I've given him Jumble and hedidn't want to kiss me!"

  Mr. Jarrow fixed William with a drily quizzical smile.

  "Beware, young man," he said. "She'll try to educate you. I know her. Iwarn you."

  As they got to the door of Lavender Cottage he turned to William.

  "Now just sit and think for a minute. I'll keep my promise."

  "I do like you," said Ninette graciously as he took his departure. "Youmust come again. I'll teach you heaps of things. I think I'd like tomarry you when we grow up. You're so--_restful_."

  William came home the next afternoon to find Mr. Jarrow in the armchairin the library talking to his father.

  "I was just dry for a subject," he was saying; "at my wits' end, andwhen I saw them there, I had a Heaven-sent inspiration. Ah! here he is.Ninette wants you to come to tea to-morrow, William. Ninette's given himJumble. Do you mind?" turning to Mr. Brown.

  Mr. Brown swallowed hard.

  "I'm trying not to," he said. "He kept us all awake last night, but Isuppose we'll get used to it."

  "And I made him a rash promise," went on Mr. Jarrow, "and I'm jolly wellgoing to keep it if it's humanly possible. William, what would you likebest in all the world?"

  William fixed his eyes unflinchingly upon his father.

  "I'd like my bow and arrows back out of that cupboard," he said firmly.

  Mr. Jarrow looked at William's father beseechingly.

  "Don't let me down," he implored. "I'll pay for all the damage."

  Slowly and with a deep sigh Mr. Brown drew a bunch of keys from hispocket.

  "It means that we all go once more in hourly peril of our lives," hesaid resignedly.

  After tea William set off again down the road. The setti
ng sun hadturned the sky to gold. There was a soft haze over all the countryside.The clear bird songs filled all the air, and the hedgerows were burstinginto summer. And through it all marched William, with a slight swagger,his bow under one arm, his arrows under the other, while at his heelstrotted Jumble, eager, playful, adoring--a mongrel unashamed--all sortsof a dog. And at William's heart was a proud, radiant happiness.

  There was a picture in that year's Academy that attracted a good deal ofattention. It was of a boy sitting on an upturned box in a barn, hiselbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. He was gazing down at amongrel dog and in his freckled face was the solemnity and unconscious,eager wistfulness that is the mark of youth. His untidy, unbrushed hairstood up round his face. The mongrel was looking up, quivering,expectant, trusting, adoring, some reflection of the boy's eagerwistfulness showing in the eyes and cocked ears. It was called"Friendship."

  Mrs. Brown went up to see it. She said it wasn't really a very goodlikeness of William and she wished they'd made him look a little tidier.

  THE END

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes

  Italics are indicated throughout by underscores, _like this_.

  Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected without comment.

  The following typographical errors have been corrected:

  Page 91: pour forth her toubles. changed to pour forth her troubles. Page 159: goin' an' given' it our changed to goin' an' givin' it our Page 189: I'm going' to be p'lite changed to I'm goin' to be p'lite Page 215: me givin's it changed to me givin' it Page 244: vous parlez Francais, n'est ce pas? changed to vous parlez Francais, n'est-ce pas?

  On page 108, the contraction Folks 'll has been closed up.

  The abbreviation d. for penny is sometimes italicised, and sometimesnot. This has been retained.

  All other original spelling and punctuation has been retained.

  In this text:

  both arm-chair and armchair are used both bed-room and bedroom are used both bed-time and bedtime are used both country-side and countryside are used both door-way and doorway are used both house-maid and housemaid are used both india-rubber and Indiarubber are used both kitchen-maid and kitchenmaid are used both life-long and lifelong are used both mantel-piece and mantelpiece are used both open-mouthed and openmouthed are used both pop-corn and popcorn are used both rose-bud and rosebud are used both ship-loads and shiploads are used

  Where full-page illustrations fall within paragraphs, they have beenmoved to the nearest paragraph break.