Classic Audiobook Collection - William The Conqueror by Richmal Crompton ~ Full Audiobook [comedy]

Episode Date: April 2, 2025

William The Conqueror by Richmal Crompton audiobook. Genre: comedy In William the Conqueror, Richmal Crompton returns to the unruly world of William Brown, an eleven-year-old with a fierce sense of justice, a talent for trouble, and an unstoppable confidence in his own brilliance. Joined by his loyal band of friends - the Outlaws - William barrels through everyday village life and turns it into a string of grand campaigns: foiling grown-up plans, improving other people's arrangements, and launching schemes that make perfect sense to him and utter chaos for everyone else. At home, William clashes with baffled parents, long-suffering siblings, and visitors who underestimate him at their peril. Beyond the garden gate, he tangles with rivals, meddles in social events, and tries to navigate the strange rules of the adult world while insisting on his right to do things his way. With sharp wit and affectionate satire, Crompton captures the comic collisions between childhood imagination and respectable society, building each episode into a triumphant disaster. The result is a lively, laugh-out-loud portrait of a boy determined to conquer his small corner of the world, whether anyone wants him to or not. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:15:08) Chapter 02 (00:48:20) Chapter 03 (01:15:25) Chapter 04 (01:54:43) Chapter 05 (02:28:44) Chapter 06 (03:05:00) Chapter 07 (03:46:25) Chapter 08 (04:12:02) Chapter 09 (04:49:21) Chapter 10 (05:19:55) Chapter 11 (05:48:31) Chapter 12 (06:22:52) Chapter 13 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

William the Conqueror by Rick Malkrompton, Chapter 1, Enter the Sweep. William and the Sweep took to one another at once. William liked the sweep's coloring, and the sweep liked William's conversation. William looked up to the sweep as a being of a superior order. Didn't your mother mind you being a sweep, he said wonderingly, as the sweep unpacked his brushes. Nah, said the sweep slowly. and thoughtfully. Leastway, she didn't say nothing.

You don't want a partner, do you? said William. I wouldn't mind being a sweep. I'd come and live with you and go around with you every day. Oh, thanks, said the man, but perhaps your paw would have something to say. William laughed bitterly and scornfully.

Oh, yes, they'd fuss. They fuss if I get a bit of mud on my boots, as if their old drawing-room carpet mattered. Have you any little boy? "'Yes, three,' said the sweep. "'I suppose they'll all be sweeps,' said William gloomily, feeling that the profession was becoming overcrowded. "'Come out of that room, Master William,' called the cook,

who in the absence of William's parents took what William considered a wholly unjustifiable interest in him. William extended his tongue in the direction of the voice. Otherwise he ignored it. "'I'd de meant to be a robber,' went on William, but I think I'd as soon be a sweep, or I might be a sweep first and then a robber. Come out of that room, Master William, called Cook. William simulated deafness.

I'd like to be a sweep and a robber and a detective and a soldier and some more things. I think I'd better be them about a year each so as I can get them all in. Hmm, said the sweep. There's something in that. Cook appeared in the doorway. didn't you hear me calling you to come out of that room, Master William? She said pugnaciously. You can't expect me to hear you when you go shouting about in the kitchen,

said William loftily. I just heard you shouting. Well, come out of this room anyway. How can you expect me to know how it's done if I don't stay to watch? What's the good of me going to be a sweep if I don't know how it's done? What's the good of me covering up all the furniture if you're, are going to stay here getting black as pitch. Are you coming out?

No, said William, exasperated. I've got her stay and learn. It's just the same as Robert going to college. My stay in to watch the sweep. What's the good of me being a sweep if I don't learn? Folks probably won't pay me if I didn't know how to do it. And then what'd I do? Very well, Master William, said Cook with treacherous sweetness.

I'll tell your part. when he comes in that you stayed in here with the sweep when your ma said most special you wasn't too. William reconsidered this aspect of affairs. All right, crabby, he said grudgingly, and I hope that I jolly well spoil your chimney when I'm a sweep with not knowing how to do it. He wandered round the house and watched through the window. It was a thrilling performance. He was lost in rosyette dreams of himself, pursuing the gloriously dirty calling of Gemney's sweep, when the sweep appeared with a heavy sack. Where shall I put the soot?

He said, William considered there was a nice bit of waste ground behind the summer house. He looked carefully round to make sure that his arch-enemy cook was nowhere in sight. Oh, just here, he said, leading the sweep round to the summer house. The sweep emptied the sack. it was a soft gray-black pile. William thrilled with the pride of possession. That's mine, isn't it? he said. Well, it's not mine, said the sweep jocularly.

You can have it to practice on. He left William smiling proudly above his pile. From over the wall, behind the summer house, William could see the road. He waved his hand effusively to the sweep as he passed on his little cart. I say, called William. The sweep drew up. Does the horse and cart cost much, said William, anxiously. Oh, no, said the suite, you can get them dirt cheap.

I'll lend you this ear of mine when you go into the business. With a facetious wink he drove on, and William returned to the contemplation of his pile of soot. Soon a whistle that he knew roused him from his reverie, and he peeped over the wall. Ginger, William's lifelong friend and ally, as earnest and freckled and snub-nosed as William himself, was passing down the road. He looked up at William. "'Hello,' said William, with modest pride.

"'I got a bit of soot in here.' But Ginger had a rival attraction. They're ratting in Kuban's barn, he said. William weighed the attraction of ratting and soot and finally decided in favor of ratting. All right, he called. Wait a sec, I'll come. He completely forgot his soot till tea time. Then, as he was going out of the house,

he met Mr. and Miss Arnold Fox coming in. They were coming to call on Mrs. Brown. Both were very tall and very thin, and both possessed expansive smiles that revealed perfect sets of false teeth. A good afternoon, William, said Mr. Fox politely. Afternoon, said William, A rough diamond, our William, smiled Mr. Fox to his sister.

William glared at him. She laid her hand on William's head. Manners makeeth the man, dear William, she said. She then bent down and kissed William. Mr. Arnold Fox took off his hat and playfully extinguished William with it. Then he laid it on the hall table and went into the drawing room, leaving William boiling and enraged on the doorstep. That reminded William.

of his soot. William and Ginger sat lazily upon the wall, watching the passers-by. Absent-mindedly, they toyed with handfuls of soot. They were cheered by the sight of Mr. Arnold Fox going down the road, his forehead beneath his hat suspiciously dark. That'll teach him. He'll take some washing, said William. Look, said Ginger excitedly, leaning over the wall. Along the road came. three children in white, Jeffrey Spencer, and Joan Bell, with her little sister Mary. Jeffrey Spencer, in a white sailor suit, walked along mincingly, holding Joan Bell's little bag purse for her. Mary toddled along holding her elder sister's hand. William admired Joan

intensely. Occasionally, she condescended to notice his existence. Hello, called William. Where are you going? Posting. a letter, said Jeffrey primly. Come in and play, said William, we've got some soot. No, said Jeffrey piously. Mother said I wasn't to play with you. You're so rough, exclaimed Joan, with a little fastidious sniff. William flushed beneath his soot.

He felt that this reflected upon his character. He was annoyed that anyone even so insignificant and anyone as Jeffrey should be forbidden to play. with him. Rough, he said indignantly, then, well, I'd rather be rough than an old softy like you, you and your old white suit. Come along, Joan, said Geoffrey with a superior smile. I'm not going to talk to him. William rolled white, angry eyes in his black face. Yeah, boo, softy, he called over the wall. Yet he was depressed by the proceeding and even ginger suggestion, of trying the effect of the soot on the bed of arum lilies did not revive him much however the effect was certainly cheering so they moved on to the white roses and worked with the pure joy of the artist on them

till they heard the dulcet tones of joan and mary and geoffrey returning from the post then they went back to the wall joan was growing bored with geoffrey she looked up almost longingly towards william's grimy face "'Where is your soot, William?' she said. "'I just here,' said William. "'It's jolly good soot.' "'I'll come and look at it,' she said, condescendingly. "'I won't come in and play. I'll come in and look at it. You can go on home, Geoffrey.'

Jeffrey debated with his conscience. "'I won't come in,' he said, "'cause Mother says he's so rough. I'll wait for you out here.' So hand in hand, Joan and Mary, came round to the back of the summer house. William and Ginger proudly introduced them to the soot. It's lovely, said Mary.

Let's dance around it, holding hands. All right, said William genially. Come on. Nothing loathe, and they joined hands and danced around it. Joan laughed excitedly. Oh, it's fun, she cried faster. Father, cried Mary. They went faster and faster.

and Ginger, with the male's innate desire of showing off his prowess, began to revolve at lightning speed. Then came the catastrophe. Plop! It was Mary who lost her balance and fell suddenly and violently on her face into the heap of soot. Joan, with feminine inconsistency, turned upon William, stamping her foot. You did it, you nasty, rough, horrible boy.

I didn't. You did. He didn't, said Ginger. He did. He didn't. Meanwhile, Mary had arisen from the soot heap, hair, eyes and mouth full of soot, soot clinging to her dress.

Her voice joined in the general uproar. Oh, it tastes nasty. It tastes nasty. Oh, ho. Joan wept in angry sympathy. See how you like soot in your mouth. you nasty boy she screamed at William, seizing a handful of soot, and hurling it at William's face. That was the beginning of the battle.

Jeffrey, hearing the noise, came nobly to the rescue to be received by a handful of soot from Ginger. It was a glorious battle. Ginger and William fought Jeffrey, and Joan fought everyone, and Mary sat on the soot heap and screamed. They threw soot till there was practically no soot left to throw. A butcher boy who was passing and heard the noise came in to arbitrate, but stayed to participate. Shear lust of battle descended upon them all. Then came sudden sanity. In stricken silence, they gazed at each other.

Joan seized Mary by the hand. She glared round at them all from a small black face, framed with grind. grimy curls. I hate you all, she said, stamping a small black foot. Hate you all, screamed Mary, whose tears were making white tracks down her black face. It wasn't me, said Jeffrey, eagerly and ungrammatically. I hate you, said Joan, worse than anybody, worse than William, and worse than anyone, and I'm going home to tell Mother so there. Oh, there, wailed Mary.

in concert. With outraged dignity and clinging soot on every line of her figure, Joan led Mary from the garden. It was more than Jeffrey could bear. He followed them, sobbing loudly, his white suit, a cloudy gray black. Joan's voice floated out on the twilight air. I'm going to tell mother, you'll catch it, William Brown. Ginger looked around uneasily. I had the best be going, William, he murmured. Dejection descended upon William. All right. Then he looked at Ginger and down at himself.

Funny how it gets all over you, he said. And don't it make your eyes look queer? Am I as bad as you? said Ginger, apprehensively. Worse, said William. Well, they come off with cold water? To know, said William. I'll give it, said Ginger, a jolly good try. What'll your folks say?

Don't know, said William. Well, good night, William. Good night, said William, despondently. Dusk had fallen. He crept around to the back door, hoping to slip up the back stairs unobserved. But Cook's strident voice came from the library. Mrs. Bell wants you on the telephone at once, please. It's something about Master William.

William beat a hasty retreat to the laurel bushes. Then, hearing footsteps on the drive, he stood on tiptoe and peered out. He met the horrified gaze of the housemaid, who was returning from her afternoon out. With a wild yell, she ran like an arrow towards the back door. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, she cried. I see the devil, I see them in the guarding. William, among the laurel bushes, smiled proudly to himself. Then he sat down, cross-legged in his retreat, black face on black hands, gleaming white eyes,

gazing dreamily into the distance. He was not building castles in the air. He was not repenting of his sins. He was not thinking about future retribution. He was merely deciding that he wouldn't be a sweep after all. It did taste so nasty. End of Chapter 1. chapter two of william the conqueror by rickmall crompton this liver-box recording is in the public domain chapter two a birthday treat

what we're going to do this afternoon demanded william of his boon companions the outlaws they felt that as far as the morning was concerned they had pretty well exhausted the resources of the universe they had fished in the pond with bent pins which were attached to the end of strings which were attached to the end of sticks, and they had caught a large variety of water weeds and one sardine can. Douglas said that he caught a fish which escaped before he could draw in his line, but this statement was greeted with open incredulity by the others. A jolly big one, too, said Douglas, unconsciously following in the footsteps of older adherence to the piscatorial art. Oh, yes, said William, sarcastic.

so big that none of us could see it. If it was as big as what you say it is, why didn't you tell us? Then we could have had a look at it. I didn't want to scare it away, said Douglas indignantly. Then with a faint emulation of William's sarcasm, fancy you not knowing that. Fancy you not knowing that fishes get scared with you shouting and yelling about. I'm not surprised that you only catch old tens and things that can't hear you shouting and yelling about. I should think all the fishes for miles around got headaches the way you've been shouting and yelling about. I know the one I caught look as if he got a headache with it. William was taken aback by this outburst, but he quickly recovered. Oh, yes, I dare say it looked pretty funny altogether, the one you caught.

I'm sure if you caught a fish at all, it was. a pretty funny one. Do you say I didn't catch a fish? said Douglas, furiously squaring up to William. I say no one saw your old fish, and you ought to ask your mother to buy a pair of spectacles, so as you can see what is fish and what's your own imagination. Ginger and Henry sat on the ground to watch the fight. It was not a long one, because Douglas lost his footing soon after they had begun. and fell into the pond and was rescued by William, and the excitement of this proceeding dimmed the memory of Douglas' alleged catch. Then Henry thought that he saw a rabbit on the edge

of the wood. So the outlaws invaded the wood in a body with Jumbole William's mongrel at their head. Jumboe hunted imaginary rabbits with yelps and barks and futile rushes, and the outlaws urged him on with war-hoops and cries of good old Jumbo, fetch him out. Jumbo caught and dismembered a leaf after pursuing it with wild excitement from tree to tree in the breeze, worried a clump of fungus, pricked his nose badly on a holly bush, and retired to bark defiance at it from a safe distance. Tiring of rabbit-hunting, the outlaws climbed trees, and when Ginger had torn his coat and Henry split his knickers with the effort of attaining dangerous heights, they abandoned that occupation.

They tracked each other with much ostentatious secrecy and noisy silence, and crawled about on stomachs and sibilant, whispering, and shh, and stepping upon twigs and exclamations. Finally, they were chased into the road again by a furious keeper, and were given a ride in a farm wagon by a passing-law. laborer, who was blessed with a good nature and rather liked the daredevil looks of the outlaws. William, drunk with ecstasy, drove, and narrowly escaped precipitating the equipage into the ditch, and Ginger, while experimenting how far he could lean out at the back without falling,

overbalanced, and fell into the road. He climbed back cheerful and unheard, if somewhat disheveled. Arriving at the village, they descended with much exuberant thanks and made their way to the disused barn that was the scene of most of their activities. There they had a shooting match with the homemade bows and arrows that they kept concealed at the back of the barn. After breaking the window of a neighboring cottage by accident, they fled to the other end of the village, where they watched the blacksmith chewing a horse.

Ginger, to his great delight, was allowed to the other side. to hold the hammer for a minute. This made him rather upish, and his subsequent boasts of the honor, thus paid him, annoyed the other outlaws so much that they all sat upon him, literally, in the ditch

till he promised as well as his mouthful of mud would allow him not to mention it again. It had been, on the whole, a thoroughly satisfactory morning. A similar afternoon was hardly to be holed, hoped for, but the outlaws were notoriously optimistic. What are we going to do this afternoon?

repeated William. A look of despondency came over, Ginger's face. Got her stay in at home, he said mournfully. Why, said the outlaws. God are not coming to stay. She's not common till tea time, but they said they wanted to see me clean, so I got her staying clean all afternoon. There was a murmur of indignation at this

inhuman cruelty. Just like grown-ups, said William bitterly. What's your aunt like, said Henry with interest, sort of one who gives decent tips? The outlaws always went shares on tips, and therefore each one took a personal interest in the visits of the other's members' relations. Never seen her before, said Ginger disconsolately.

I know what she's like. Sure to be awful, said Douglas, unfeelingly. But we don't mind that if she gives a decent tip, added Henry. Oh, no, said Ginger bitterly. You don't mind. You've not got to sit all afternoon, clean, and doing nothing, have you? Oh, no, I'm sure you don't mind. She might possibly be nice, said William, without much conviction. Oh, yes, she might, said Ginger, still more bitterly.

It's so easy for you to talk, isn't it? You don't mind. Oh, no, and she might be nice. Oh, yes, you'd talk like that if it was your aunt what was coming, and you would have to sit clean all afternoon, wouldn't you? When roused, Ginger could emulate William's sarcastic manner rather well. The afternoon passed happily enough. William, Douglas, and Henry practiced lassoing Jumbo in the backyard of William's house.

Jumble enjoyed the game immensely. The lasso never caught him, but occasionally he caught the lasso and worried it zestfully. When, however, they had by mistake lassoed a flower pot on to and through the glass of a cucumber frame, the outlaws very quietly left the precincts of William's home and spent the rest of the afternoon sliding down a battered hayrick in one of farmer Jenks fields, and bringing down a considerable portion of hay with each descent. At intervals they thought of ginger sitting in solitary cleanliness and boredom in his family's drawing room waiting for his aunt.

Poor old ginger, said Henry, as he descended from the hay rig with a bump. She'll have come by now, perhaps, said Douglas. Hope she's rich, said William cheerfully. Let go and look at her, said Henry. The idea appealed to the outlaws, and they set off at once for Ginger's house. Thus was falling when they reached it. They crept round to the back of the house, where they knew that Ginger's drawing-room window was. There they crouched among the ivy and peered cautiously into the lighted window.

The first thing they saw was Ginger dressed in his best suit, made unfamiliar with gleaming cleanliness of face and collar, sitting on a chair opposite the window. The first thing they noticed was that he was not looking bored. He was, in fact, beaming delightedly, though he had not yet seen his friends. Then the eyes of the outlaws wandered across to Ginger's aunt. She was sitting in front of the fire. The outlaw's eyes and mouths grew wide as they watched.

Their noses were pressed flat against the windowpane, for Ginger's aunt was young and radiantly pretty. Crumbs, gasped William ecstatically. Ginger found himself unusually and unexpectedly popular the next day. Hello, Ginger. Good morning, Ginger. How's your aunt, Ginger? Ginger at first suspected sarcasm in this question,

then realized with surprise that there was none. Very well, he said laconically, she's a jolly lot better than I thought she was going to be. "'Niser than you thought she was going to be,' repeated William sternly. "'You're jolly well not to talk like that about her. "'You don't deserve her, that's what it is. "'You don't deserve an aunt like what she is. "'You don't know anything about her,' said Ginger, amazed and indignant.

"'Oh, don't I,' said William. "'I bet I do. "'I bet I know all there is to know about her. "'I bet I know she's beauteous and good and good, and aunt beauteous here interrupted ginger pugnaciously what you talkin like that about her she's not your aunt she's mine i'll fight you for her said william all right agreed ginger taking off his coat they fought and william won now she's my aunt said william complacently as he put on his coat and felt tenderly and proudly a fast swelling eye with his grimy hand well you can call her your aunt said Ginger, but the fact remains. She's my father's sister. But I've fought you for her, said William indignantly. All right, agreed Ginger. I said she was your aunt, all right. But if you want her to be your father's

sister, you'll have to get your father to fight my father for her. And even then, I don't see. Let's have her for all our aunts, suggested Douglas specifically. It's her birthday next week. added Ginger while she's staying with us. I say, said William, as though struck by a sudden brilliant idea, let's get up a sort of treat for her. Crumb, said the outlaws, yes, let's. What do we have, said Henry brightly, a picnic? No, said William, decided they only deset picnic places or trespass places,

and probably she can't run fast as when we can if anyone comes. Let's act something, said Dine. Douglas. Don't forget she's my aunt, said Ginger proudly. I mean a Williams' aunt. He corrected himself, as he met William's eye. William's aunt and my father's sister. What will we act, said Henry. Well, anything's easy, easy to act. Just make something up or do something out of a book. Means learning, said Ginger despondently, just like lessons. Might well be doing history of geography as learning acting stuff. We needn't learn it, said Douglas.

We can just make it up as we go along. Well, you know what that's like, said Ginger sternly. You order anyway, because we've done it. You just don't know what to say when it comes to the time. Or someone else says the thing you wanted to say, and you interrupt each other and get fighting. It won't be much of a birthday treat for my aunt. I mean, William's aunt and my father's sister.

Well, let's do it dump show then, said Douglas. Let's act without speaking. Just move our arms and legs about and things like that. And he stopped. The outlaws were looking at William. Upon William's freckled homely countenance was dawning an expression that those who knew him recognized as inspiration. At last he spoke.

I know, he said, waxworks. crumbs, of course, the outlaws and delight. Wax works. What will we be, said Henry? People out of history? If you know, enough history to go acting, you can, said William scathingly. Well, we could have someone being murdered or hung or something. It'd be sort of exciting.

Well, who was murdered or hung? Henry VIII. Now he wasn't then. He was the one who had. had seven wives. You're getting a bit muddled. That was a man going to sent eyes. No, it wasn't neither. It was Henry the Eight. Anyway, we've not enough to do Henry the Eight and seven wives. Yes, one of us could be Henry the Eight and another could be the seven wives. We could have a label round his neck with seven wives rode on. Well, we're not going to. We'd rather have

someone being murdered some way. Well, let Henry the Eight murder his seven wives. Oh, do shut up about Henry the Eight. Who was murdered in history? Charles the something? Charles I was first. We did him last week. His head was chopped off, and he said he was sorry. He took such a long time dying of it and keeping everybody waiting.

Hang in it'd be easier for waxwork, said William thoughtfully, because your head wouldn't have to come off. They could just give a deep and holler groan and close their eyes. Yes, we'll have, who do you say it was being hung for one? We'll have to get a bit of string for it from somewhere, and we've got our crown somewhere in our house what Ethel once had. We'll just have to practice a bit, that's all. Ginger be, who did you say, the man you know, in a crown and a dressing gown or a Macintosh,

or something, and Douglas be the policeman with a bit of string hang of him. Well, that's that one. We'll have to practice moving jerky, that's all. We'd better not have any more history. She mayn't be much interested in history. She didn't look as if she'd be interested in history. She looked awful nice. What do we have next then?

Let's have something funny. Let's have old General Mould walking. I can do him. As a matter of fact, William could do the half-struck, half-run, that was General Molt's normal mode of procedure. to the life. That otter make her laugh, he added complacently. And what else do we have, said Douglas, not much so far. Well, we can't arrange a whole long performance in one breath, said William sternly.

We've got to think of it. There was a short silence, tense with mental effort. Then Ginger said, I know, let's have Dick Turpin holding up a coach. I've got her pistol and some caps. And we could borrow a wheelbarrow for the coach. suggested Douglas excitedly. Henry B. Dick Turpin, said William, and Douglas, his horse and ginger in the wheelbarrow, and me pushing it, and I'll do the talking in them all. What else do we have, said Douglas?

That'll do to start practicing on, said William. We can think of more things as we go on. Rehearsals in the old barn took place daily. William's mother noticed vaguely that life seemed very peaceful. but she happened to be very busy herself and had no time to wonder what William was doing. She had become a member of the New Era Society. The New Era Society existed chiefly to educate the village and entice speakers down from London to speak on subjects of which the village knew nothing either before or after the lectures.

The society wanted the village to be in the swim. The kindred expression at sea aptly describes the feelings of most of the audience. The subject this month was Egyptology, and in the absence of the secretary, Mrs. Brown, William's mother, and Mrs. Flowerdew, Ginger's mother, were arranging for the speaker. Mrs. Brown was relieved that William seemed suddenly so unobtrusive. In the intervals of hanging Charles I, and holding up the stage-classes, coach with strange jerky movements, as demonstrated by William, the outlaws dog the footsteps of Ginger's aunt. They pursued her in a body with languishing eyes and bouquets of wildflowers,

which were generally also languishing. And, strange to say, Miss Flowardue liked it. She received the drooping bouquets with profuse thanks. She listened with due and proper excitement to their tales of adventure. She went with Jumble to hunt rats in the barn. Jumble was wildly excited, but a large number of flies was his net bag. They told her that they were arranging a surprise treat for her birthday, and she received the news with delight. We're not going to tell you what it is, said William,

but it's going to be in the old barn at half-past four, and you can bring any friends you like to it free. How lovely, said Miss Flowerdew, I simply don't know how I can wait till then. I'm sure it will be most exciting. Oh, yes, it's going to be a jolly good show, said William complacently. During the week they had added to their repertoire, Columbus, discovering America, and Jonah and the whale.

William was Columbus, and Henry, Douglas, and Ginger, lying on the ground side by side, were America. William's jerky, dumb show of looking, for America, shading his eyes and gazing into the distance, and searching upon the ground near his feet, until at last he came upon the three prone forms, and sat down upon them heavily, was considered by the troop to be very good. William was showman as well as actor. As Columbus, he wore his Boy Scouts costume and an old top hat of his fathers to add distinction to the tut ensemble. As Jonah, he wore appropriately, a mackintosh, and

inappropriately, an old boudoir cap of his sisters rescued from the rag-bag. The latter was supposed to add a biblical touch. Henry, Ginger, and Douglas were the whale. The swallowing of Jonah was almost worthy of the Russian ballet, full of drama and movement and realism. Then the whale lying upon Jonah emitted deep groans, and Jonah finally emerged quite fresh and perky in his boudoir cap and McIntosh, and swam away, leaving the whale still groaning loudly. It's going to be a fine show, said William enthusiastically, to Miss Flowerdue, after a long and energetic rehearsal. Bother, said Miss Flowerdue, I've just discovered that it's the same day as the new era

a lecture. But I'll cut that. Oh, yes, said William, I simply can't tell you how good ours is going to be. You'll be awfully sorry if you miss it, and it's being all done for you, too. Oh, I'll come, never fear, said Miss Flowerdue. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Flowerdue had made all the arrangements for the New Era Society's lecture, except with regard to the hall. There were two halls in the village, the parish room, and the village hall, and there was some doubt as to which would be the better for the lecture, and the final arrangement of that had been left to Mrs. Flowerdew. Mrs. Brown had secured as speaker a professor Smith. The day of the lecture, which was also the day of Miss Flowerdew's birthday and the Waxworth Show, arrived. I don't yet know which room, Mrs. Brown.

said distractedly at breakfast, I wish Mrs. Flowerdew would send a message. William was too much intent upon his own thoughts and plans to listen to his mother's Jeremiahads. He went out into the garden, moving his arms to and fro with eloquent gestures and murmuring, and now, ladies and gentlemen kindly allow me to introduce to you King Charles being hung in the tower by a policeman like what he was in old days. like an natural, ladies and gentlemen, kindly noticed the policeman tying the string round his neck. He was interrupted by a tall, pale young man, who came in at the front gate and said to him, Are you Mrs. Brown's little boy?

Yes, said William, ungraciously. Well, Mrs. Flowerdew says the parish room, said the young man, and hastily departed. Now, the young man did not speak very distinctly. and William's mind and heart were full of Miss Flowerdue. As a matter of fact, William rarely thought of Ginger's mother as Mrs. Flowerdew. She was just Ginger's mother. Also, William's thoughts were full of his waxwork show. William went off to the barn where the rest of the troop were assembled.

I say, said William importantly, she must have invited a lot of friends. I've just got her message from her to say, were to do it in the parish room and not the old barn. She must have got a lot of people to come and watch. Crumbs, said the outlaws, deeply gratified. Then they fell to rehearsing with renewed energy. 4.30 arrived. The parish room was filled with a despondent-looking crowd of villagers

whipped up by the energetic members of the New Era Society. The village was less anxious to be educated than the society was to educate it. The speaker had arrived and had had lunch with the vicar. He and the vicar were still talking earnestly in the vicar's study. They were discussing the morals of the younger generation. Terrible, sighed Mr. Mons, the vicar. The modern child is utterly devoid of those qualities of sensitiveness and humility and reverence

that one used to associate with childhood. There is a boy in this very village, a boy of the name of William Brown. He shuddered, as at many painful memories. I say, said Professor Smith, it's nearly half past, ought we to— It only takes a minute across the field, said the vicar. We'll give them time to settle down. They're never punctual. And he went on talking with deep feeling about the boy of the name of William Brown.

The outlaws arrived at the parish room. and entered by the door behind the platform. I say, whispered Ginger, impressed. It's full. She must have invited a whole lot of them. I can't see her, can you? said William. No, but there's such crowds of them. Well, we'd better not keep them waiting, said William, importantly.

And the outlaws marched up on the platform. A gasp of mingled horror and surprise and excitement went up from the audience. The outlaws were willing. wearing the clothes they would need for the Waxworth Joe. William wore his top hat and scout's costume. Douglas was dressed in readiness for his policeman's scene in a dressing gown and a bread basket. Ginger, in readiness for Charles I, wore a tinsel crown and a shirt of his father's, and

Henry, as the highwayman, wore a homemade mask and a paint smeared overall, several sizes too large for him. the property of his father, who fondly imagined it to be still hanging in his studio. William looked around his paralyzed audience. "'Lady then, gentlemen,' he began, "'this is a Waxworth show cause of her birthday, and I'm doing the talking. The first Waxworth is me. I'm not dressed for it, but you can imagine me in a long coat,

and I've got these things on for Columbus, and I've not got time to go changing every time. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the only Waxworth Show of its kind in the world. We're just going to begin, and if you'll kindly watch careful, this is General Mote walking along the road, lifelike and natural. This is Waxworth number one, ladies and gentlemen, this is General Mote Waken. Kindly all watch General Mote Wacken. William assumed the pompous strut, well known to all the village,

and slowly and jerkily progressed across the stage. The spell was broken. The hall was full of murmurs of mingled consternation and delight, the delight predominating. In the second row sat Mrs. Brown, her eyes full of helpless horror fixed upon her son. In the third row sat General Mote, his face purple with fury, his eyes bulging.

A group of village youths at the back of the hall, reluctantly dragged in to listen to the lecture on Egyptology, began to cheer. William bowed, gratified. Ladies and gentlemen, he continued. Isaac and Waxworth is, Crumbs, whispered Ginger, looking at the open door behind the stage. The vicar's coming with a man. He's going to come right up on the stage.

He's going to spoil it all. Now he's not, said William firmly. It's our show, and certainly the vicar and the other. men were coming up onto the stage. William, with admirable presence of mine, threw himself into the breach. Ladies and gentlemen, our next Waxworth is Mr. Monk, coming up onto the stage. Kindly notice Mr. Monks walking up onto the stage. The hall was full of excited murmurs. The figure of the new vicar was seen to appear on the stage, as though in obedience to William's stage directions and speak to William. The murmurs in the

Paul were too loud to admit of anyone's hearing what the bicker was saying to William. Everyone was talking excitedly. General Mould had found his voice and was shouting, Impudence! Damned impudence! I'll tell his father, confound his impudence, I say confound! Mrs. Brown was past all power of interference. She merely watched William with a helpless, fascinated look.

Above the babble rose William's strident voice. Waxworth, number three, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Monk's talking and Mr. Monk's talking to me, kindly notice Mr. Monk's talking to me, ladies and gentlemen, natural-like and lifelike. The use in the back of the stage applauded frenzidly. William bowed. The vicar began to lose his self-control. He hit the palm of his left hand with his right clenched fist as he expostulated. William imitated the gesture.

Waxworth, number four, ladies and gentlemen, he shouted Mr. Mons doing this, kindly notice Mr. Mons doing this, life-like and natural. Mr. Mons caught hold of William's collar. Waxworth, number five, shouted William Horsley, Mr. Mons and me, going to have a fight. The audience had decided how to take the situation. It rocked with laughter. The youth at the back clapped and stamped. The vicar, who was deeply attached to his sense of dignity,

retired hastily. Now, said William, who was slightly put out by the Contrartant, we have King Charles discovering America. I mean the other way around. Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll kindly notice, the bicker and Professor Smith were interrupting him again. William turned upon them sternly, no longer trying to save the situation.

We'd all be glad, he said indignantly, if you kindly stop, keep constantly. coming up here and interrupting. This is a birthday party, and all these people have come special to see the waxworth, and you keep coming spoiling things. If you want to watch,

we'd be glad, and if you go down to where the others is watching instead of coming up here and erupting. The vicar was speechless with fury. Professor Smith was staring at William Strange attire with bewildered horror.

But I've come here, he began. you come here to a birthday party, said William sternly, if you've been invited, and if you've not been invited, we'd be kindly glad if you kindly go home instead of staying here and interruptin. Ladies and gentlemen, will you kindly notice, Mrs. Brown had decided to relieve the tension by having hysterics, and the spell that bound the members of the Committee of the New Era Society was broken suddenly. They searched upon the platform and surrounded William, explaining, expostulating, scolding. But she said, to come here, protested William, it's her birthday party,

and these is her friends, it's a party, and you've all gone and spoiled it, and Ruppton. He was finally convinced of the absence of Miss Flowerdue and of the mistake, but it was still pained and aggrieved. Ladies and gentlemen, he said to his audience with great dignity, this Waxworth show that you've seen the beginning of is going on in the old barn across the field. He had a sudden inspiration. The other parts, jolly good, better than the bit what we've seen, and is free and open to all on payment of one half-penny.

Then with great dignity, he led his troop across the field to the barn where Miss Flowerdew sat in solitary patience. The parish room settled down with an audible gasp and sigh. Mrs. Brown, seeing that all was over, came out of her hysterics. General Mould ceased to shout and settled down to a fierce and sustained muttering. The committee of the New Era Society came down from the platform to their places. The vicar, pale and tense, took the chair. Professor Smith smoothed back his hair, took a deep draft of water and began. Ladies and gentlemen, the earliest mention of Egypt in the Bible, is a number of

to the name of Mizraam, which word probably is a plural form, testifying to the fact that lower and upper Egypt were regarded as distinct. The chief objects of cultivation in Egypt are millet, wheat, barley, dirha, maize, peas, beans, lentils, clover, rice, sugar, etc. The philologist E.I. Taylor is of opinion that the Egyptian alphabet, although incomplete, is one of the oldest known. Even at the time of the 11th and 12th dynasties, the hieroglyphic writing was a venerable system of vast antiquity. The hall was very dimly lighted, but Professor Smith began to have a vague suspicion that his audience was mysteriously thinning. It was. Shadowy forms were creeping from the room, and making their way an a furtive procession across the field

to the old barn. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of William the Conqueror by Rick Malk Crumpton This Liverbox recording is in the public domain Chapter 3 The Leopard Hunter Mr. Faulkner had been staying at the Brown's house for a very long time He had written to Mr. Brown to remind him of the fact that they had been at school together and to ask if he might pay him a short visit

Mr. Faulkner was like that. Also, his idea of a short visit was not Mr. Browns. Not that Mr. Faulkner needed much entertaining. He entertained himself. He talked. William had never met anyone who talked quite as much as his father's guest. Mr. Faulkner talked perpetually, and the subject of all his conversation was Mr. Faulkner. Mr. Faulkner was a never-ending source of interest to Mr. Faulkner. He talked about his exalted social position, his many and varied talents, his marvelous exploits, his ingenuity, his aristocratic friends. Oh, yes, the Duke and I are the greatest of pals, always have been, the way the man pesteres me to go and stay with him. But all my friends are the

same. There's the Honorable Percy Wakefield. You've heard of him, of course. I ran into him quite last week. He simply wouldn't take no, I meant. managed to put him off at last, quite a nuisance these people simply won't let one alone. Politeness prevented Mr. Brown from remarking that he did not grudge Mr. Faulkner to the Duke or to the Honorable Percy. Instead, Mr. Brown sat, silent and oppressed, trying to read the evening paper, which lay carelessly on the arm of his chair, and to look as if he weren't doing so, and Mr. Faulkner talked on. Mr. Faulkner was small and rather stout, with a round face, a small blighted mustache, a glassy stare,

and a very squeaky voice. During term time, Mr. Faulkner did not trouble William much. William merely watched him curiously in his brief respite from school. William practiced diligently and acquired a very good imitation of Mr. Faulkner's squeaky voice and glassy stare. He practiced them alone every evening in his room. At meals, he rather welcomed the presence of Mr. Faulkner than otherwise. Mr. Faulkner's accounts of his varied exploits of dauntless bravery and dazzling cleverness

seemed to induce in William's family a certain apathy of hopelessness which William thought a very proper attitude on the part of a family. No one told him to go and wash his hands and brush his hair again. No one made sarcastic remarks about his table manners. they simply had not the spirit in fact such as the humanizing effect of a common misfortune they almost felt drawn to him they had thought that no family could be afflicted with an affliction worse than william they had discovered their mistake they had discovered mr faulkner then came the end of the term the end of the term was a time of mixed feelings for william on the one hand there was the glorious prospect of the holidays on the other hand there was the glorious prospect of the holidays on the other hand there was his report. William's best friends could not assert that he was intellectual or industrious. He was a daring and capable leader. He was at different times and in different moods,

robber, chief, pirate, Red Indian, explorer, castaway, desperado. But he was not at any time or in any mood, a student. William's attitude towards the question was one of humility and self-effacement. He'd let other chaps win the prizes and things he'd do without them. There were enough swats in the world without him. So there was a certain monotony about Williams' reports. Masters who had a delicate shrinkage from the crude and brutal truth wrote, Fair, those who had the courage of their convictions wrote, poor. The mathematical master, who was very literal, wrote uniformly bad.

The horror and disgusts of William's father, father at these statements was generally as simulated as William's penitents. They knew their respective roles and played them, but they had gone through the scene too many times to be able to put much spirit into the parts. But this time Mr. Faulkner was there. Before Mr. Brown could begin his set speech, expressive of horror and disgust, he took the paper from him and began to comment on it squeakily, by Joe, very different from the things I used to get,

excellent and all that sort of thing all over them. Some of them simply couldn't say enough. Remarkable talent and very industrious and splendid work and all that sort of thing. I remember the headmaster saying to my father one speech day, Brilliant boy of yours that, very keen-sighted man he was too, never made a mistake. I believe I was a great favorite of school. I have no doubt I'm still remembered there. No, neither have I, said Mr. Brown.

yes, pleaded Mr. Faulkner, it's extraordinary how someone at all above the average makes himself felt their life, so often I find that people who've only met me once remember me when I've quite forgotten them. Again, Mr. Brown had no doubt of it. Now, this boy of yours, went on, Mr. Faulkner, quite a good fellow, no doubt, well-meaning and all that, but he tapped his hand upon the damning report. If anything, below the average and intellect. I hope I don't annoy you by saying that.

Mr. Brown hastened to assure him that he didn't. We can't all be above average, of course, but a boy like this wants a little friendly advice, that's all. I've no doubt that I shall be able to help him a good deal during the holiday. I always get on well with children. I could tell you most interesting stories about young friends of mine, a march difference in them from the minute they know me.

Again, Mr. Brown didn't doubt it. I'm sure that if I stayed here through the... the next term, you'd find a very different report at the end of it. Mr. Brown thought that on the whole he'd prefer the same report and the absence of Mr. Faulkner, but with great exercise of self-control, he remained silent. Very different indeed, when on Mr. Faulkner, I wish I got some of my old school reports to show you, really remarkable. I remember my formmaster saying when I left that the school would be a very different place without me. For the fourth time, Mr. Brown remarked that he'd no doubt of it. During this interview, William sat with his most inscrutable expression

and stared at the guest unblinkingly. The next day was the first day of the holidays. William wandered out into the garden after breakfast, and to his horror saw that the guest was accompanying him. Now, my boy, squeaked Mr. Faulkner, tell me about how many names of flowers you know. William cleared his throat sternly and threateningly, and when, on as though he had neither seen nor heard Mr. Faulkner. None, bleated his companion. Come, come, tut, tut, that's sad for a boy your age? Where are you going?

Out into the road? Oh, very well, I'm at your service. I can join in all your little activities, you know. What do you like to do on the holiday? It's stamp collecting, I'm no doubt. Most instructive. And a little school work every day so as not to forget all you learned last term. And a nice quiet walk sometimes for exercise.

That's what you like. I have no doubt. That's what I liked when I was a boy. What were we talking about? Ah, flowers. Now, here in this hedge, you will see the arum or cuckoo-pint. Notice the large hood, which is botanically termed as spayth. Notice also the spedics and the stamens. At the end of the road stood Ginger, Douglas, and Henry. Their faces dropped as they saw William's companion. Ah, he said, these your friends, Willie? They're going to join us for the morning? Very well. little boys, come along with us quietly, and what are we all going to do this morning? I propose a nice little walk along the road, and you can all listen to what I'm telling,

Willie, about the Arum or Cuckoo-Pent. Notice, as I said, the spade and the spadix and the stamens, don't drag your toes in the dust, little boy. Think of your kind father who pays for them, and don't whisper to each other when I'm talking. It's not polite. I like my little friends to be polite. Now would you like me to tell you about the habits of the busy little ant? The outlaws were nonplussed. They had meant to go to the old barn where they generally played, but they felt they could not go with this. It would spoil the old barn for them forever,

and they couldn't escape it. Mr. Faulkner's harsh, squeaky voice had a sort of hypnotizing effect. It seemed to fill the whole world. It paralyzed all their faculties. Once in the middle of the discourse on the busy little ant, they caught each other's eyes, into their dejected faces, came a gleam of hope, and they set off running. But their self-appointed friend ran too. Despite his stoutness, he could run. A little run, he gasped. Oh, yeah, certainly, nothing like exercise. Nothing like exercise that will do

now, I think, though, and so utterly were their spirits broken that they let that do, they slowed down. rest here, I think. Now, I'll give you a little practice and mental arithmetic. Let us see who can get the right answer. It was a nightmare of a morning for the outlaws. They could not shake him off. They could not shut out the terrible sound of his voice, and there was his glassy eye. The ancient mariner was nothing to him. He gave them a little lecture on history and another on geography and another on astronomy. He spoke to them at great length on patriotism and manliness and industry and the British Empire. Well, he said brightly when he had led them back to the Brown's house at lunchtime, I'm afraid I can't come out with you this afternoon, but tomorrow morning Willie and I will be with you early. The outlaws stared at each other blankly for a minute. Then Douglas, Ginger, and Henry turned on William.

Well, they said sternly, you've given us a nice morning. "'Nothing to do with me,' said William. "'I didn't make him. "'I didn't want him. "'You'd think you'd be sorry for me. "'You've only had him a morning. "'He's staying with us. "'How long's he staying?'

"'We don't know,' said William, gloomily. "'Well, we'll wait for you "'tomorrow morning, but if we see him "'comin with you, we'll just run off alone.' "'Your cowards,' said William, bitterly. "'Just cowards. "'That's what you are, cowards.' "'They parted.

moodily, William walked slowly up the drive, oppressed by the thought of tomorrow morning spent in the sole company of Mr. Faulkner. In the morning room, Mr. Faulkner was talking to Mr. Brown. No, I never judge the time I spend with children, and they always enjoy it so tremendously. You should have seen them hang on to my words this morning. I expect they'll remember it all their lives. I shouldn't wonder if it proved the turning point of their lives in a way. I opened up fresh fields of interest for them on all sides. I showed them how fascinating the pursuit of knowledge can be. I stimulated them. There was a distinct difference in their expressions, even at the end of the morning. More soulful somehow. I always had that effect on children.

The outlaws spent the afternoon together, but it was not a happy one. The shadow of Mr. Faulkner lay heavy over it. In William's mind was a nightmare vision of morning after morning, spent alone with Mr. Faulkner. In the minds of Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, was a nightmare vision of morning after morning spent without Williams' inspiriting leadership and company. When William returned home, Mr. Faulkner was still talking to his father. He was talking now about a mounted leopard skin

which lay across the back of the sofa. Where was a shot? he said. In Africa by my brother, said Mr. Brown shortly. What easy things to shoot, leopards. leopards bleated mr faulkner ridiculously is in fact you shot many said mr brown oh yes i've never actually counted how many in africa you know fact is leopards know a good shot when they see him now no leopard would dream of attacking me i simply race my gun the thing turns to flee and i get him on the run never failed don't know what fear is simply don't know the meaning of the word never have and they know it turn and run from me at once always invariably Big game shooting is like knocking down skittled to me. It was late that evening when William came into the room and said excitedly,

The leopards escaped from the circus had offered. Ginger just heard down at the village. They're out trying to find him and shoot him. He's a wild leopard. Mr. Brown turned to his guest. An opportunity for you, Faulkner, he said. Mr. Faulkner turned rather pale. He laughed nervously.

Mr. Brown looked almost as if he were enjoying himself. You simply look at him, you know, he said, and shoot him as he turns to flee. Ha, ha, ha, ha, laughed Mr. Faulkner again, mirthlessly. They know a good shot when they see one, you know, went on Mr. Brown, warming to his subject. No leopard would dream of attacking you, you know. I haven't got a gun, said Mr. Faulkner, with a ghastly grin.

Oh, I've got one, said Mr. Brown, loaded, too. I'll get it for you. Mr. Faulkner's jaw dropped open loosely. I wouldn't dream of putting you to all that trouble. He spluttered, don't trouble, pray don't trouble. Oh, no trouble at all, said Mr. Brown, with beaming politeness as he went from the room. Mr. Faulkner sat down and mopped his brow, smiling in inanely. The hope that his host would not be able to find the gun, shown like a beacon from his face. William sat in a corner of the room and watched him. Mr. Brown returned with the gun. Here it is, he said, quite ship-shape. Now, don't let me detain you, my dear fellow. I'm sure a sportsman like you must be longing to

join the fray. Mr. Faulkner took the gun gingerly. A pallid green had replaced the usual rosyette hue of his round face. But suppose it comes here, he said with a sudden gleam of hope, and I better stay and protect you? Not at all, not at all, said Mr. Brown heartily. We wouldn't spoil your sport for anything. We'd much prefer to think of you out there shooting it as it turns to flee from you. Why, you know, you've shot more than you can count. He pushed the reluctant sportsman to the front door.

Goodbye, old chap, good luck. Then he returned to the dining room. The slow and cautious footsteps of the big game hunter could be heard, threading gingerly on the gravel outside, stopping every now and then to listen. William had mysteriously disappeared. Well, I'm going to bed, said Mr. Brown. I've stood him every night for three months, and tonight I'm going to have a holiday. I don't care whether the leopard eats him or he eats the leopard.

I'm going to bed. And what shall I do, read, said Mrs. Brown. Come to bed, too, if you've got any sense, you can leave the front door unlocked. he'll come back soon enough you bet meanwhile the courageous hunter was creeping cautiously down the garden path his idea was to creep round the garden several times then return to the house with an account of his long and fearless but unsuccessful search for the leopard but there was a cold sweat of fear upon his brow suppose the creature happened to be in the garden could oh could he get back in time he kept one determined of

upon the front door as he prowled. He held the gun very cautiously. He hoped the beastly thing wouldn't go off. Nasty, dangerous things, guns. As he crept cautiously about, he was composing his account of his adventure. I should think I'd traverse the whole village trying to come upon the creature without warning before it could have time to escape. It's a bitter disappointment to a sportsman like me to miss such an opportunity. The brute must have felt my coming and slung off. Suddenly he was startled by a sound in the bushes behind him. The sound was between him and the house. With a scream of terror, he dashed away down to the end of the little path.

At the end of the path was a summer house, and on to this the intrepid game hunter, who knew not the meaning of the word fear, clambered, panting and moaning, and displaying in his assent, singular determination, and lack of grace. He clung on with his hands while his legs dangled in the air. He tried to hoist himself up. His legs waved wildly in the air. The little sound in the bushes was repeated. With a quivering little scream,

the leopard hunter hurled himself onto the roof of the summer house. He sat down and began to rub his bruises. He had barked his shins. He had aroused echoes in his funny bones. He thought he had sprang to both ankles. but he wasn't quite sure. He had certainly got the skin off his knees. He examined them tenderly.

He was rather surprised to find that he still had the gun. He had thrown it up to the roof before he began his climbing exploit. He gazed down through the darkness into the bushes. Go away, you brute, he said sternly, shoo, choo! It didn't shoo. On the contrary, there came the sound of some stealthy creature creeping through the bushes, Twigs cracked. He could see the bushes move as the thing approached. I told you to go away, he squeaked hysterically from his roof.

Go away, go away! He flung out his arms in a gesture of dismissal. The thing came on. Perhaps it might be a cat or a dog, thought the hunter, and at the thought, Hope sprang afresh in his heart. Puss-puss, he said through the darkness. There was no response. dog," he panted. Rats, cats, patch him out, come for walk, oh, trust, what's the bone? Good dog. Good dog. There was no response. Something fairly large, not a cat or a dog, banged against the summer house. Could it be a donkey or a sheep or a cow? Oh, couldn't it be a donkey or a sheep or a cow? He peered anxiously over the edge of the roof. E-ha, he greeted the unknown

with eager propitiation in his voice. Bah, mu. For answer, there came through the darkness a low growl. It certainly wasn't a cat or a dog or a donkey or a cow. It was certainly a leopard. He'd never heard a leopard's voice before. For the matter of that, he had never seen a leopard before, but there was no doubt that this was a leopard's voice.

Through the darkness came the sound of teeth chattering, they weren't the leopards. Then the man on the summer house began to think out plans. He leant over the edge and gave a ferocious growl. The growl that answered his, through the darkness, made his blood curdle. Oh, ho! He moaned. Oh, my holy aunt!

The thing was prowling round and round the summer house. Mr. Faulkner saw himself suddenly as he might be in the morning light, a mass of whitened bones, or did the creature eat you bones and all? The tears rolled down his fat cheeks at the thought. Soon he realized that all was silent. Perhaps the creature had gone away again. He waited for what seemed hours. Still silence.

Surely now he might creep back to the house. He lowered one foot cautiously from the roof. Then he gave a yell. Something had grabbed it in the darkness. He wrenched it free and cowered on his roof, rubbing it. Oh, ho! He moated, oh, my only aunt. The agony of that night will live forever in the memory of the leopard hunter.

Most terrible was the moment when the leopard tried to clamber up the summer house. Sometimes there was silence for so long that the weary watchman almost fell asleep. He had given up all thoughts of escape, but no sooner did he doze than the creature below, would arouse him by growls and bumps or threatening sniffs. Mr. Faulkner was cold and miserable. Every bone in his body ached, and the creature would not let him rest. It growled on one side of the roof and drove him to the other. Then it growled on the other side and drove him back again.

Many times did his moaning, Oh! Fall upon the midnight air. Mr. Faulkner had had no idea before that a night was so long, It was an eternity. He dared not strike a match to look at his watch in case the creature should spring, but he was sure that it was longer than any other night had ever been. It was a phenomenon. It was like a month of nights. But at last the first faint rays of dawn appeared. They grew less faint. Mr. Faulkner's pallid, anxious, dishevelled countenance peered over the edge of his roof.

He could hear no sound. Then he saw it, saw it unmistakably, a leopard's head among the bushes. With a sudden spasm of desperate courage he took his gun, shut his eyes and fired, and he hid it. By a miracle, he hid it. He saw it roll over among the bushes. Then all was still. He waited.

After about half an hour, he descended cautiously from his perch. He dared not approach his bag. He had heard terrible stories of the ferocity of wild animals in their death throes. He tiptoed slowly and furtively to the front door. They all met at breakfast. Both Mr. Faulkner and William looked as though they had spent sleepless nights. But Mr. Faulkner, though pale, was his usual debonair self. Any luck, said Mr. Brown.

Oh, yes, Mr. Faulkner carelessly. I caught the brute. found him in your garden too came upon and face to face in the path he gathered to spring i just stood and looked at him simply look he turned and began to slink away and then i raised my rifle and fired just as i told you perfectly simple with a sportsman of my caliber lucky it was i who met him you'll find the body somewhere in the garden they all trooped out might have been noticed that the leopard hunter kept modestly in the rear got over there by those bushes i believe he said airily mr brown strode into the bushes and pulled out the leopard-skin rug. There was certainly a new bullet hole in its head. The gallant sportsman began to splutter inarticulately. What? began Mr. Brown. William, wearing his most zinc-like expression, stepped forward. Well, I thought it smelled a bit kind of stuffy, and so I brought it out here last night to be in the fresh air a bit like what

it was in spring cleaning in that. The gallant sportsman was still gibbering. But I heard I, William turned his inscrutable countenance to him. I afraid perhaps it was me you heard, he said, I can't sleep. So I got up and just played about the garden a bit, just to make me sleep better, fresh air and exercise like what they say makes you sleep. I was playing mostly round the summer house. Mr. Faulkner looked sharply at William, but William's face was a blank. Excuse me a minute. murmured Mr. Faulkner and quietly went indoors. The gardener came past.

Did you hear anything about a leopard escaping from the circus at Offord? asked Mr. Brown to him. There ain't no circus at Offord, replied the gardener gloomily as he passed on. There ain't no circus anywhere around here. Mr. Brown turned to William. Who told you about this leopard? He said sternly. Ginger, said William, unblinkingly.

Who told him? He's not quite sure, said William. in the voice of one repeating a lesson, he's forgot, he thinks perhaps it was someone in the village. Well, you'd better go and tell Mr. Faulkner that you're sorry you made a mistake. William went slowly indoors, but Mr. Faulkner had gone. He had found a train just going up to town, and he had accompanied it. He had left a note to say that he had been called suddenly to town, and would they kindly send his things after him.

Dear me, what a pity, said Mr. Brown, looking as if he had suddenly discovered the elixir of perpetual youth. You can't apologize after all, William. Well, never mind. He slipped a half-crown into William's hand and went off. His face wreathed in smiles. It was two hours later, the outlaws sat on the floor in their beloved old barn. In the midst of them were large paper bags of bull's eyes, licorice lumps, barley sugar, and chocolate cigars. The half-ground had been well expended. The outlaws were munching happily.

What sort of a noise did you make, Ginger was saying, as he puffed out imaginary smoke from his chocolate cigar. William emitted a blood-curdling growl. And what did he say? Oh, my homey aunt! It was an excellent imitation of the leopard hunter's quavering moan. And what did he do? William Rose. You come round to our summer house and I'll show you. Ginger be me, growling, and I be him

Karen on. Come along. They collected the bags and strode off happily with their leader. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mulcrompton. This Libra Box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4, William leads a better life. If you go far enough back, it was Mr. Strong, William's formmaster, who was responsible for the whole thing. Mr. Strong set for homework more French than it was convenient for William to learn. It happened that someone had presented William with an electric motor, and the things one can do with an electric motor are endless. Who would waste the precious hours of a summer evening over French verbs with an electric motor simply crying out to be experimented on?

not William. It wasn't as if there was any sense in the French verbs. They had been deliberately invented by someone with a grudge against the race of boys, someone probably who'd slipped on a concealed slide or got in the way of a snowball or foolishly come within the danger zone of a cataple. Anyway, whoever it was, had devised a mean form of revenge by inventing French verbs, and somehow or other, persuading schoolmasters to adopt them as one of their choicest tortures. Well, I never will want to use them, said William to his mother, when she brought forward the time-honored argument. I don't want her to talk to any French folks, and if they want to talk to me, they can learn English. English is easy, easy to talk. It's silly having other language.

I don't see why all the other countries shouldn't learn English instead of us learning another. languages with no sense enum English is sense. This speech convinced him yet more firmly of the foolishness of wasting his precious hours of leisure on such futile study, so he devoted all his time and energy to the electric motor. There was some sense in the electric motor. Williams spent a very happy evening. In the morning, however, things somehow seemed different. He lay in bed and considered the matter. There was no doubt that Mr. Strong could make himself extremely disagreeable over French verbs. William remembered that he had threatened to make himself more disagreeable than usual if William did not know them next time. This was next time, and William did not know them.

William had not even attempted to learn them. The threats of Mr. Strong had seemed feeble, purposeless, contemptible things last night when the electric motor threw its glamour over the whole world. This morning they didn't. They seemed suddenly much more real than the electric motor. But surely it was possible to circumvent them. William was not the boy to give in weekly to any fate. He heard his mother's door opening and assuming an expression of intense suffering called weekly a mother, Mrs. Brown entered the room fully dressed.

Aren't you up yet, William? She said, be quick, or you'll be late for school. William intensified yet further his expression of suffering. I don't think I feel quite well enough to go to school this morning, Mother dear, he said faintly. Mrs. Brown looked distressed. He had employed the ruse countless times before, but it never failed of its effect upon Mrs. Brown.

The only drawback was that Mr. Brown, who was still about the house, was of a less trustful and compassionate nature. Mrs. Brown smoothed his pillow. Bore, little boy, she said dendily. Where's the pain? All over, said William, playing for safety. Dear, dear, said Mrs. Brown, much perturbed as she left the room. I'll just go and fetch the thermometer.

William disliked the thermometer. It was a soulless, unsympathetic thing. Sometimes, of course, a hot water bottle judiciously placed, would enlist its help, but that was not always easy to arrange. To William's dismay, his father entered the room with a thermometer. Well, William, he said, cheerfully, I hear you're too ill to go to school. That's a great pity, isn't it? I'm sure it's a great grief to you.

William turned up his eyes. Yes, father, he said dutifully and suspiciously. Now, where exactly is the pain and what sort of pain is it? William knew from experience that descriptions of non-existent pains are full of pitfalls. By a master stroke, he avoided them. It hurts me to talk, he said. What sort of pain does it hurt you with, said his father brutally. William made some inarticulate noises, then closed his eyes with a moan of agony.

I'll just step around and fetch the doctor, said Mr. Brown. quite cheerful. The doctor lived next door. William considered this a great mistake. He disliked the close proximity of doctors. They were equally annoying in real and imaginary diseases. William made little brave reassuring noises to inform his father that he'd rather the doctor wasn't troubled, and it was all right and pleased no one was to bother about him, and he'd just stay in bed and probably be all right by the afternoon. But his father had already gone. William lay in bed and considered his position. Well, he was going to stick to it anyway. He'd just make noises to the doctor, and they couldn't say he hadn't got a pain where he said he had if they didn't know where he said

he had one. His mother came in and took his temperature. Fate was against him. There was no hot bottle handy, but he squeezed it as hard as he could in a vague hope that that would have some effect on it. It's normal, dear, said his mother relief. I'm so glad. He made a sinister noise to imply that the malady was too deep-seated to be shown by an ordinary thermometer. He could hear the doctor and his father coming up the stairs.

They were laughing and talking. William, forgetting the imaginary nature of his complaint, felt a wave of indignation and self-pity. The doctor came in breezily, well, young man, he said, what's the trouble? William made his noise. By much practice, he was becoming an expert at the noise. It implied an intense desire to explain his symptoms, thwarted by physical incapability, and it thrilled with suffering bravely endured. Can't speak. Is that it? said the doctor. Yes, that's it, said William, forgetting his role for the moment. Well, open your mouth and let's have a look at your throat, said the doctor.

William opened his mouth and revealed his throat. The doctor inspected the recesses of that healthy and powerful organ. I see, he said at last. Yes, very bad, but I can operate here and now, fortunately. I'm afraid I can't give an anesthetic in this case, and I'm afraid it will be rather painful, but I'm sure he's a brave boy. William went pale and looked around desperately.

French verbs were preferable to this. I'll wait just three minutes, said the doctor kindly. Occasionally, in cases like this, the patient recovers his voice quite suddenly. He took out his watch. William's father was watching the scene with an air of quiet enjoyment that William found maddening. I'll give him just three minutes when on the doctor, And if the patient hasn't recovered the power of speech by then, I'll operate. The patient decided hastily to recover the power of speech.

I can speak now, he said, with an air of surprise. Isn't it funny? I can talk quite ordinary now. It came on quite sudden. No pain anywhere, said the doctor. No, said the patient quickly. The patient's father stepped forward. Oh, then you better get up quickly as you can, he said. You'll be late for school. but doubtless they'll know how to deal with that.

They did know how to deal with that. They knew, too, how to deal with William's complete ignorance on the subject of French verbs. Excuses, and William had many, some of them richly ingenious, were of no avail. He went home to lunch, embittered, and disillusioned with life. You'd think knowing how to work a motor engine to be more useful than, say, in French verbs, he said.

suppose I turned out an engineer. Well, what used the French verbs be to me, and I'd have to know how to work a motor engine. And I was so ill this morning that the doctor wanted to do and operate on me. But I said I can't miss school and get all behind the others. And I came awful ill, and all they did was to carry on something terrible. Because I was just a minute or too late and just at time to do those old French verbs that aren't no use to anyone.

Ginger, Henry and Douglas sympathized with him for some time, then began to discuss history lesson. The history master, feeling for the moment, as bored with Edward the 6th, as were most of his class, had given them a graphic account of the life of St. Francis of Assisi. He had spent the Easter holidays at Assisi. William, who had been engaged in executing creditable caricatures of Mr. Strong and the doctor, had paid,

little attention, but Ginger remembered it all. It had been such a welcome change from William the Conqueror. William began to follow the discussion. Yes, but why'd he do it? He said. Well, he just got kind of fed up with things, and he just had vision of things, and he took some things of his father's to sell to get money to start it. Crumbs, interpolated William. Wasn't his father mad? Yes, but that didn't matter. He was a saint, was St. Francis. So, So he could sell his father's things if he liked, and he and his friends took the money and got funny, long sort of clothes, and went on, lived away in a little house by themselves, and he used to preach to animals and to people and call everything brother and sister, and they cooked

all their own stuff to eat, and jolly, fine it sounds, said William Mbisly, and did their people let him? They couldn't thop him, said Ginger. And Francis, he was the head one, and the others all called themselves Franciscans, and and they built churches and things. They had reached the gate of William's house now, and William turned in slowly. Goodbye till this afternoon, called the others cheerfully.

Lunch increased still further, William's grievances. No one inquired after his health, though he tried to look pale and ill, and refused a second helping of rice pudding, with a meaning, no, thank you, not today. I would if I felt all right, thank you very much. Even that elicited no anxious inquiries.

No one thought William, as he finished up the rice-putting in secret in the larder afterwards, no one else in the world surely had such a callous family. It would just serve them right to lose him altogether. It would just serve them right if he went off like St. Francis and never come back. He met Henry and Ginger and Douglas again, as usual, on the way to school. beastly old arithmetic, said Henry despondently. Yes, and then beastly old geography, sighed Douglas. Well, said William, let's not go.

I've been thinking a lot about that saint man. I'd a lot sooner be a saint, build things, and cook things, and preach to things, that I keep going to school and learning the same old things day after day and day after day and things like French verbs without any sense in them. I'd much rather be a saint, wouldn't you? The other outlaws looked doubtful, as though attracted by the idea. They won't let us, said Henry. They can't stop us being saints, said William piously, and doing good and preaching,

and if we have visions, and I feel as if I could have visions, quite easy. The outlaws had slackened their pace. What did we have to do first, said Ginger. Sell some of our father's things to get money, said William firmly. It's all right. He went on anticipating possible objections. He did, so I suppose anyone can, if they're setting out to be saints. Of course, it would be different if we're just stealing, but being saints makes it different.

Stans to reason saints can't steal. Well, what do we do then, said Douglas. Then we find a place and get the right sort of clothes to wear. Seems sort of a waste of money, said Henry sternly, spending it on clothes. What sort of clothes were they? He showed us a picture, said Ginger, don't you remember? Sort of long things going right down to his feet. Dressing gowns'll do, said Douglas excitedly.

No, you're thinking a detective, said Henry firmly. Detectives wear dressing gowns? No, said William judicially. I don't see why dressing gown shouldn't do. Then we can save the money and spend it on things to eat. Where will we live? We ought to build a place, but until we built it, we can live in the old barn. Where do we get the animals to preach to?

Well, there's a farm just to cross the way from the barn, you know. We can start on Jumbo and then go to the farm once when we've had some practice. And what'll we be called? We can't be the outlaws. Now we're saints, I suppose. What were they called? Franciscans, after Francis. He was the head one.

Well, if there's going to be any head one, said William, in a tone that precluded any argument on the subject, if there's going to be any head one, I'm going to be him. None of them denied to William the position of leader. It was his by right. He had always led, and he was a leader they were proud to follow. Well, they just put Cairns onto the end of his name, said Henry. Francis Cans. So we'll be William Cans.

Sounds kind of funny, said Ginger dubiously. I think it sounds jolly fine, said William proudly. I vote we start tomorrow, because it's rather late to start today. And anyway, it's Saturday tomorrow so we can get well started for Monday, because they're sure to make a fuss about or not turning up at school on Monday. You all come to the old barn directly after breakfast tomorrow and bring your dressing gowns and something of your fathers to sell. The first meeting of the William Cairns was held directly after breakfast the next morning. They had all left notes dictated by William on their bedroom mantelpieces, announcing that they were now saints and

had left home forever. They deposited their dressing gowns on the floor of the old barn, and then inspected the possessions that they had looted from their unsuspecting fathers. William had appropriated a pair of slippers, not because he thought their absence would be undetected, far from it, or because he thought they would realize the vast wealth, again, far from it, but it happened that they were kept in the fender box of the morning room, and William had found himself alone there for a few minutes that morning, and slippers can be concealed quite easily beneath one's coat. He could have more easily appropriated something of his mother's,

but William liked to do things properly. St. Francis had sold something of his father's, so St. William would do the same. Douglas took from his pocket an inkstand, poor loin from his father's desk. Ginger had two ties and Henry a pair of gloves. They looked at their spoils with proud satisfaction. We ought to get a good deal of money for these, said William.

How much did he get, do you know? No, he never said, said Ginger. We'd better not put on our saint robes yet, not till we've been down to the village to sell the things, then we'll pull them on and start preaching and things. Then we order wear round-house. hooped sort of things on our head, said Henry. They do in pictures. What do you call them? A halos? You don't get them till you're dead, said Ginger, with an air of wisdom.

Well, I don't see what good they are to anyone dead, said Henry, rather aggrieved. No, we've got to do things right, said William sternly. If the real saints waited till they was dead, we will do. Anyway, let's go and sell the things first. And remember, from now, we've got a call each other saint and call everything else a brother or sister. Everything? Yes, he did. The other man did. Yes, but William, you got to call me St. William now, Ginger. All right, you call me St. Ginger. All right, I'm going to. St. Ginger, St. William. All right. Well, where are you going to sell the slippers? Brother slippers, corrected William. Well, I'm going to sell brother slippers at Mr. Marsh's if he'll buy him. And I'll take brother ties along too, said

Ginger, and Henry take brother gloves and Douglas' brother inkstand. Sister inkstand, said Douglas. William, St. William, corrected William patiently. Well, St. William said we could call things brother or sister, and my inkstand's going to be sister. Swank, said St. Ginger severely, always wanting to be different from other people. Mr. Marsh kept a second-hand shop at the end of the village. In his window reposed side by side, a motley collection of battered and despised household goods. He had a less optimistic opinion of the value of brothers, slippers and ties and gloves, and Sister Inkstand than the Saints. He refused to allow them more than sixpence each. Mean, exploded St. William indignantly, as soon as they had emerged from Mr. Marsh's

dingy little sanctum to the village street and the light of day. I call him simply mean. That's what I call him. I suppose now were saints, said St. Ginger piously, that we've got to forgive folks what wrong us like that. I'm not going to be that sort of a saint, said William firmly. Back at the barn they dawned to their dressing gowns. St. Henry still grieve. grumbling at not being able to wear the little hoop on his head. Now, what do we do first? said St. Ginger energetically as he fastened the belt of his dressing gown. Well, anyway, why can't we cut little bits of our hair at the top like they have in pictures? said St. Henry disconsolately. That'd be better than nothing. This idea rather

appeal to the saints. St. Douglas discovered a penknife and began to operate at once on St. Henry, but the latter saints yells of agony soon brought the proceedings to a premature end. Well, you've suggested it, said St. Douglas rather hurt, and I was going to do it gently as I could. Groned Henry, still nursing his saintly head. You were tearing it out by the roots. Well, come on, said St. Ginger impatiently. Let's begin now. What did you say we were going to do first? Preachin to animals is the first thing, said William, in his most business-like manner. I've got Brother Jumble here, Ginger, I mean St. Ginger, you hold Brother Jumble while I preach to him because he's not used to it, and he might try to run away, and St. Henry and St. Douglas

go out and preach to birds. The St. Francis man did a lot of preaching to birds. They came and sat on his arms. See if you can get him to do that. Well, now, let's start, Ginger. I mean St. Ginger, you catch hold of Brother Jumbo. Henry and Douglas' dressing-gown, made by a thrifty mother, with a view to Douglas' further growth, was slightly too big and tripped him over every few steps. Henry's was made of bath-towling and was rather conspicuous in design.

They made their way slowly across a field and into a neighboring wood. St. Ginger encircled the reluctant Jumbo with his arms, and St. Williams stood up to preach. Dearly, beloved, Jumbo, he began. Brother Jumbo, corrected St. Ginger with triumph. He liked to catch the founder of the order tripping. Jumble, under the delusion that something was expected of him, sat up and begged.

Dearly, beloved, brother Jumbo, repeated William, he stopped and cleared his throat in the manner of all speakers who were not sure what to say next. Jumble, impatient of the other saints encircling arms, tried another trick, that of standing on his head. Standing on his head was the title given to the performance by Jumbo's owner. In reality, it consisted of rubbing the top of his head on the ground. None of his legs left the ground, but William always called it Jumble standing on his head

and was inordinately proud of it. Look at him, he said. Isn't that jolly clever? And no one told him to. God did it without anyone telling him to. I bet there's not many dogs like him. I bet he's the cleverest dog there is in England. I wouldn't mind saying he's the cleverest dog there is in the world.

I wouldn't... I thought you was preaching to him, not talking about him, said St. Ginger sternly. Ginger, who was not allowed to possess a dog, tired occasionally of hearing William sing the praises of his. Oh, yes, said St. William, with less enthusiasm. Ah, I'll saw her all over again. dearly beloved brother jumbo i say what did that st francis say to the animals to know said st ginger vaguely i expect he just told him too well to do good and that sort of thing dearly beloved brother jumbo said william again you must do good and stop chasing cats why he said proudly there's not a cat in this

village that doesn't run when it sees jumbo coming i bet he's the best dog for chasing cats anywhere around this part of England, I bet Jumbo, seizing this moment for escape, tore himself from St. Ginger's unwary arms, and leapt up ecstatically on William. Good old Jumbo, said the saint effectively, good old boy. At this point, the other two saints returned. Well, did you find any birds, said St. William? There was heaps of birds, said St. Douglas, in an exasperated tone of voice, but the minute I started preaching, they all flew off. It is. didn't seem to know how to act with saints. They didn't seem to know they got to sit on your arms and things, made us feel mad. Anyway, we got a thrush's egg, and Henry, I mean St. Henry,

just wanted one of those. Well, said St. William, rather sternly, I don't think it's the right thing for saints to do, to go preaching to birds, and then taking their eggs. I mean, their brother eggs. There were lots more, said Henry. They like you, just take them one. It makes it less trouble for him, hatching him out. Well, anyway, said William, let's get on with this animal business. Perhaps the tame ones will be better. Let's go across to Jenks' farm and try on them. They crept rather cautiously into the farmyard.

The feud between farmer Jenks and the outlaws was one of long-standing. He would have probably not realized that the William Cairns were a saintly organization, whose every action was inspired by a love of mankind. he would probably imagine that they were still the old unregenerate outlaws. I'll do brother cows, said St. William and St. Ginger do brother pigs, and St. Douglas do brother goats, and St. Henry do sister hens. They approached their various audiences. Ginger lent over the pigsty, and then he turned to William, who was already striking an attitude before his

congregation of cows and said, I say, what have I got to say to us? At that moment, Brother Goat, being approached too nearly by St. Douglas, blotted the saint's stomach and St. Douglas, sat down suddenly and heavily. Brother Goat, evidently enjoying this form of entertainment, returned to the charge. St. Douglas fled to the accompaniment of an uproarious farmyard commotion. Farmer Jenks appeared, and seeing his old enemies the outlaws actually within his precincts, he uttered a yell of fury and darted down upon them. The saints fled swiftly, St. Douglas, holding up his two-flowing robe as he went.

Brother Goat had given St. Douglas a good start, and he reached the barn first. Well, said St. William panting, I've finished with preaching to animals. They must have changed a good deal since his time. That's all I can say. Well, what do we do now, said St. Ginger. I should almost think it's time for dinner. said William, must be after two, I should think. No one knew the time.

Henry possessed a watch which had been given to him by a great uncle, though it may possibly have had some value as an antique, it had not gone for over twenty years. Henry, however, always wore it, and generally remembered to move its hands to a correct position whenever he passed a clock. This took a great deal of time and trouble, but Henry was proud of his watch,

and liked it to be as nearly right as was possible. He consulted it now. He had put it right by his family's hall clock as he came out after breakfast, so its fingers stood at half-past nine. He returned it to his pocket hastily before the others could see the position of the fingers. Yes, he said, with an air of an oracle, it's about dinner time, though they all knew that Henry's wash had never gone, yet it had a certain press-te. well we've got to buy our dinner said william suppose two of us goes down to the village and buys it now with the two shillings we got for selling our father's things we've got her by all our meals now like what they did well how do we get the money when we're finished this we can't go on selling our father's things they get some ad we beg from folks after that said st ginger who was the only one who had paid much attention to the story of the life of st francis

Well, I bet they won't give us much, if I know them, said William bitterly. I bet both folks and animals must be nicer in those times. It was decided that Douglas and Henry should go down to the village to purchase provisions for the meal. It was decided also that they should go in their dressing gowns. They always did, said Ginger firmly, and folks may well get used to us going about like that. Oh, yes, said Douglas bitterly. It's easy to talk like that when you're not going down to the shop. Mr. Moss, the proprietor of the village sweet shop, held his sides with laughter when he saw them.

Well, I never, he said, well, I never, what boys you are for a joke to be sure. It's not a joke, said Henry, were William Kent's. Douglas had caught sight of the clock on the desk behind the counter. I say, he said, it's only 11 o'clock. Henry took out his watch. Oh, yes, he said, as if he had made a mistake when he looked at it before. For their midday meal, the two saints purchased a large bag of chocolate creams, another of bull's eyes, and to form the more solid part of the meal,

four cream buns. Ginger and William and Jumbo were sitting comfortably in the old barn when the two emissaries returned. We've had a nice time. exploded St. Henry, all the boys in the place running after us and shouting at us. You should have just stood still and preached to him, said the founder of the order calmly. Preach to him, repeated Henry. They were to listen to they were shouting and throwing things and running at us. What'd you do? Run, said the gallant saint simply, and Douglas has tore his robe, and I've fallen in the mud and mine. Well, they've got to last you all the rest of your life,

said St. William, so you ought to take better care of them, and added, with more interest, what have you got for dinner? They displayed their purchases, and their choice was warmly and unanimously approved by the saints. Wish we'd thought of something to drink, said Henry. But William, with a smile of pride, brought out from his pocket a bottle of dark liquid. I thought of that, he said, holding it out with a flourish, have a drink of brother-licorice water. Not to be outdone, Douglas took up one of the bags and have a sister cream bun, he said proudly. When they had eaten and drunk to repletion, they rested for a short time from their labors. William had meant to fill in the time by preaching to Jumble, but decided instead to put Jumble through his tricks.

I suppose they know now at home that were gone for good, said Henry with a sigh. Ginger looked out of the little window anxiously. Yes, I only hope to goodness they won't come and try to fetch us back, he said. But he need not have troubled. Each family thought that the missing member was having lunch with one of the others and felt no anxiety, only a great relief. And none of the notes upon the mantelpieces had been found. What do we do now, said William, rousing himself at last.

They built a church, said Ginger. Crumbs, said William, taken aback. Well, we can't do that, can't. can we oh i dunno said ginger vaguely just keep on putting stones on each other it was quite a little church well it takes us more in quite a little time yes but we gotta do something instead of going to school and we may as well do that it's almost as bad as going to school said william gloomily and where'd they get the stones oh they just found em lying about well come on said william rising with a resigned air and gathering the folds of his dress gown about him, let's see if we can find him lying about. They wandered down to the road. They still wore their dressing gowns, but they wore them with a sheepish air and went cautiously and furtively. Already their affection for their saintly garb was waning. Fortunately, the road was

deserted. They looked up and down, then St. Ginger gave a yell of triumph, and pointed up the road. The road was being mended, and there lay by the roadside. among other materials, a little heap of wooden bricks. Moreover, the bricks were unguarded and unattended. It was the British workman's dinner hour, and the British workman was spending it in the nearest pub. Crumbs, said William Kuntz, in delight. They fell upon the wooden bricks and bore them off in triumph. Soon they had a large pile of them just outside the barn where they had resolved to build the church. almost enough, the head of the order decided, to begin on. But as they paid their last visit for bricks,

they met a little crowd of other children who burst into loud, jeering cries. Look at them, dear little girlies, wearing nice long pennies. Oh, my, oh, don't they look sweet? Oh, hello, little darlands! William flung aside his saintly robe and closed with the leader. The other saints closed with the others. Quite an interesting fight ensued. The saints, smaller in number and size than the other side,

most decidedly got the best of it, though not without many casualties. The other side took to its heels. St. William, without much enthusiasm, picked his saintly robe up from the mud, and began to put it on. Don't see much sense in wearing these things, he said. You ought to have preached to him, not fought him, said Ginger severely. well, I bet he won't preach to them if they'd start to making fun of him. He'd have fought him all right.

No, he wouldn't, said Ginger firmly. He didn't believe in fighting. Williams' respect for his prototype, already on the wane, waned still further, but he did not lightly relinquish anything he had once undertaken. Well, anyway, he said, let's get a move on building that church. They returned to the field, and their little pile. of bricks. But the British workmen had also returned from his dinner hour at the nearest pub, and had discovered the disappearance of the larger part of his material. With lurid oaths,

he had tracked them down, and came upon the saints just as they had laboriously laid the first row of bricks for the first wall. He burst upon them with fury. They did not stay to argue. They fled. Henry cast aside his splendid robe of multicolored bath, dowling into a ditch to accelerate his flight. The British workmen tired first. He went back after throwing a brick at their retreating forms and informing them lustily that he knew their fathers, and he go and tell them, danged if he wouldn't,

and they'd find themselves in jail, saucy little hounds, danged if they wouldn't. The William Cuns waited till all was clear before they emerged from their hiding places and gathered together dejectedly in the barn. William and Ginger had sustained black eyes and bleeding noses as the result of the fight with the village children. Douglas had fallen during the flight from the British workman and cut his head. The British workman's parting shot had caught Henry on his ankle, and he limped painfully.

Their faces had acquired an extraordinary amount of dirt. They sat down and surveyed each other. Seems to me, said William, it's a wearing kind of life. It was cold. It had begun to rain. Brother rain, remarked Ginger brightly. Yes, and I should think it's about Sister T. Time, said William dejectedly. And what are we going to buy it, her with? How are we going to get money? I've got sixpence at home, said Henry. I mean, I've got her brother sixpence at home. But William had lost his usual optimism. Well, that won't keep all of us for the rest of our lives, will it, he said. And I don't feel like start

and begging after the time I've had today. I haven't had much trust in folks. Henry, I mean St. Henry, ought to give his brother's expense to the poor, said Ginger, biasedly. They used to give all their money to the poor. Give it, said William, incredulously, and get nothing back for it? No, just to give it, said Ginger. William thought deeply for a minute. Well, he said at last, voicing the opinion of the whole order, I'm just about sick of being a saint. I'd sooner be a pirate or a red Indian any day. The rest looked relieved. Yes, I've had enough, said William,

and let's stop calling each other saints and brothers and sisters and wearing dressing gowns. There's no sense in it, and I'm almost dying a cold and hunger and I'm going home. They set off homeward through the rain, cold and wet and bruised and very hungry. The saintly repast of cream buns and chocolate cream, and bull's-eyes, though enjoyable at the time, have proved singularly unsustaining. But their troubles were not over.

As they went through the village, they stopped in front of Mr. Marsh's shop window. There in the middle were William's father's slippers, Douglas' father's inkstand, ginger's father's tie, and Henry's father's gloves, all marked at a pound. The hearts of the William guns stood still. their fathers were probably not yet have returned from town. The thought of their seeing their prize possessions reposing in Mr. Marsh's window marked a pound was a horrid one. It had not seemed to matter this morning. This morning they were leaving their homes forever. It did seem to matter this

evening. This evening they were returning to their homes. They entered the shop and demanded them. Mr. Marsh was adamant. In the end, Henry fetched his six-pence. William, a treasured penknife, ginger, a compass, and Douglas a broken steam engine, and their paternal possessions were handed back. They went home dejectedly through the rain. The British workmen might or might not fulfill his threat of calling on their parents. The saintly career, which had looked so rosy at in the distance, had turned out, as William aptly described it, Waren. Life was full of disillusions. William discovered with relief that his father had not yet come home.

He returned to slippers, somewhat damp, to the fender box. He put his muddy dressing-gown beneath the bed. He found his note unopened and unread still upon the mantelpiece. He tore it up. He tidied himself superficially. He went downstairs. Had a nice day, dear, said his mother. He disdained to answer the question.

There's just an hour before tea, she went on. Don, hadn't you better do some of your homework, dear? He considered, One might as well drink of tragedy the very dregs, while one was about it. It would to be a rotten ending to a rotten day. Besides, there was no doubt about it. Mr. Strong was going to make himself very disagreeable indeed

if he didn't know those French verbs for Monday. He might as well, if he'd had any idea how rotten it was, being a saint, he jolly well wouldn't have wasted a whole Saturday over it. He took down a French grammar and sat down moodily before it without troubling to put it right way up. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mal Crompton. This Libra Box recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 5, William and the Lost Tourist William, Ginger, Douglas, and Henry were on their way home from school. Owing to the absence of one of the masters, they had been given an extra hour to learn their homework. William had not used it to the best advantage. He had spent the first part of it making rats out of ink sodden blotting paper till he was summoned to the front of the room where his activity should be under the eye of authority. There, under compulsion, he opened his Shakespeare, and idly committed to memory the lines chosen for his edification by his English master.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them. The good is often interred with their bones. He murmured, monotonously, to himself, rubbing his eyes with his ink-stained fingers till the ink gradually overspread his freckled countenance. There was nothing unusual in that.

As his mother plaintively remarked, William could never touch ink without getting all over with it. She would have felt almost uneasy had William ever returned home from school without his customary coating of ink or mud. William wandered home with Ginger and Douglas and Henry, chanting blithely friends, Romans, the countryman, lend me your ears. Who was this Shakespeare anyway? said William.

He was a poet, said Douglas anxiously, and he, well, he just lived and died. Didn't he do anything, said William? He wrote poetry. That's not doing anything, said William contemptuously. I can write poetry. I mean, didn't he fight or something? It says in the beginning of the book, he acted, said Henry, rather vaguely. "'Ah,' said William,

"'that's nothing. I can act. "'I don't think much of him.' "'The statues up to him in places,' said Henry, "'still with his air of comprehensive knowledge. "'Well, if that's all he did,' "'said William with disgust, "'they might just as well put statues up to me. "'I can write poetry and act if that's all he did.'

"'William's heroes were a man of action. "'He was not a patron of the arts. They were passing Mrs. Maloney's cottage. Mrs. Maloney lived alone with a dog and a cad and a canary. She was very old and very cantankerous. She hated everyone, but her hatred of boys was the absorbing passion of her life. And of all boys in the world, the boys she most hated were the outlaws. It was probably that alone which kept her alive.

She visibly failed in health on the days on which she had no income. counter with the outlaws. On the days when she had joined battle with them, she looked less infirm. On the days when she successfully routed them, she looked almost hale and hearty. The outlaws were afraid of Mrs. Maloney and Mrs. Maloney's dog and Mrs. Maloney's cat. They firmly believed her to be a witch. It was that fear which made it a point of honor with them, never to pass the cottage, without some act of daring aggression. To the outlaw, danger was the very breath of life. There was a hole in the side of her garden hedge that bordered the fields by this side of the road, and on their way home the outlaws took it in turn to enter the

field, crawl through the hole, and walk, or generally run, down Mrs. Maloney's garden path to her gate and out into the road. They did no harm to the garden, but the sight of the hateful creatures in her garden threw the old lady into a frenzy. Considering her age and infirmities, she could move with remarkable speed, and not infrequently, one or other of the outlaws fell into her clutches. That was a thrill full of ecstasy and terror for the outlaws, a thing to dream of and talk of with bated breath and dare again. Her cat and dog were loyal lieutenants who shared her hatred of the whole race of boys.

The dog had bitten Henry and the cat had scratched ginger, only the week before. Today it was William's term to creep through the hole. Mrs. Maloney was standing near the door. She was generally there ready for the fray when the outlaws came home from school. Today, fate was not on their side. Ginger, Henry, and Douglas were at the gate, ready to open it for William's flying figure, but on this occasion William's figure did not fly. It stuck in the hole. When it emerged it was to face a furious Mrs. Maloney, who grabbed his ears with claw-like hands, and thrusting her witch's face close to his, shook his head till it seemed to him that every one of his teeth was permanently loosened from its setting. He tore himself away at last and fled down to the

gate that his friends were holding open for him. But that was not the end. William's cab had been shaken off, and with horror, they now saw Mrs. Maloney pick it up, carry it up to her door, and fling it down furiously and contemptuously upon the bench outside. The outlaws held a hasty meeting. It was unthinkable to go home in defeat, leaving their leader's cap in the hands of the enemy. They would never hold up their heads again. They discussed plans, standing in the middle of the road, watched suspiciously by the enemy from her back door, where she still kept guard over her trophy. We're got to get a back, said Ginger sternly.

It's William's cap, so how about's William goes in and gets a back? Yes, you'd feel like going back, said William bitterly, if she'd shook everything loose in your head. All the bones and muscles and brains and things, the order be sticking together is all loose all over the place. You don't know what it feels like. William, being literally shaken from his position of leadership, and being able to discuss nothing but the hypothetical condition of the inside of his head,

Ginger evolved a masterly plan. He found a long stick, and while William, Douglas, and Henry drew down the enemy to the gate, by short and daring excursions into the garden as if in attempt at rescue, Ginger leant over the hedge by the side of the cottage and fished up William's cap with his stick. The outlaws then marched off, yelling triumphantly, carrying William's cap proudly upon the end of the stick, while its late cap door jibbered at them over the gate in inarticulate rage. It was a half-holiday, and after, at his mother's earnest request, removing as much ink from his face and hands as could be removed by that hurried process known to William as washing,

he sat down to lunch with a clear conscience. Half holiday, he murmured, and I've done my homework. At least, he qualified his assertion. I've done some of it. The good has often entered into bones. What are you talking about, William? said his mother, and your face isn't clean yet. Well, I've done all I can to it, said William virtuously.

I've washed it. He threw a glance at his reflection in the glass. you ought to be able to tell by my hair that I've washed it. William's hair stood up round his face in damp vertical spikes. Go and brush it, William, said Mrs. Brown wearily. Well, you know, said William, as though delivering a final, deeply considered judgment, I've sometimes thought it's the best to let your hair grow the way it grows naturally. Some hair grows flat naturally.

Then you ought to brush it flat. But mine doesn't. it naturally grows up like this and i've sometimes thought it's better to leave it to grow its own way it's more natural if go and brush it william said mrs brown william went slowly upstairs he came down his hair sleek and plentifully damp murmuring friends rome and countrymen lend me some ears i come to well anyway the evil and the good men do lives into em now william "'William, stop talking nonsense and eat your lunch,' said Mrs. Brown patiently. "'That's just what I think,' said William, "'and yet he's got statues put up to him, and no end of a fuss.' After a hearty meal, William set out joyously to join his companions.

They had made no plans for the afternoon. They usually left things to fate, and fate seldom failed to provide them with an exciting program. They had arranged to meet at the corner of the road that led to Ginger's house. William was early at the Tristing Place. There was nothing to be seen at the corner but a car, and in the car were a weeping young woman and a sleeping old man. William stood and gaped.

The weeping young woman was astonishingly beautiful, and William, in spite of his professed scorn of the feminine sex, was very susceptible to beauty. William blinked and coughed. The young woman turned a sapphire blue swimming eyes to him and gulped. Say, kid, she said with an American twang and intonation that completed the enslavement of William. Say, kid, what's the name of this little old town? William was too much confused to reply for a moment. During that moment, fresh tears welled up into the blue eyes. I feel just like nothing, sobbed the lady. I've lost the way and I've lost the map,

and I don't know where I am, and Pop's gone to sleep, I don't know where I've got to. Where did you want to get to? asked William. Stratford, said the lady, Stratford on Avon, that Shakespeare guy's place. If we don't do it today, we'll never do it. We've not got one single other day left, and it'll kill me not to do it. Everyone I know has done it, and to go back home and say, I've not seen Stratford, well, I'd never hold up my head again, never, and I've lost the way, and the map and pops gone to sleep, and she ended in a sob that reduced Williams' already melting heart to complete liquefaction. It's all right, he said consolingly. He didn't mean anything in

particular. It was only a vague expression of sympathy and comfort, but the lady looked at him, her eyes suddenly alight with hope. You mean she got? You mean this is Stratford? Oh, how dandy. Do you really mean that? Stronger and older characters than William would have decided to mean that, when fixed by those pleading, hopeful blue eyes. Yes, said William after a moment's silence, which represented a short, victorious struggle with a never-very recalcant conscience. This is Stapford, all right. The lady leapt in her seat. Gone were all traces of tears. Say, kid, I just adore you. Now, I've got to see it all just as quick as I can. Never mind, pop, he can go on sleeping. He hates looking at things anyway. He goes to sleep on purpose. She opened the door and jumped down.

Now, the first thing I want to see is Anne Hathaway's Cottage. Can you direct me to that little boy? or, say, are you doing anything particular this afternoon? No, said the unscrupulous William, deciding that Ginger Henry and Douglas would get on very well without him. Well, now, would you be a real cherub and personally conduct me? Yes, I would, said William eagerly. He did not repent his rash statement as to the precise locality of Stratford on Avon. He almost believed it.

If this vision wished it to be Stratford, it was Stratford. They set off down the road together. Is it far? said the fair American eagerly. William began to consider. He realized that he had embarked upon an adventure that would require careful handling. But William was not the boy to retire from any adventure before he was compelled. He looked up and down the road.

Whose cottage did you say? He said at last. Anne Hathaway's. Uh, no, it's not far now, said William, hoping for the best. The lady became confidential. She told him that her name was Miss Burford, Sadie Burford, and she just loved this little old country, but Stratford was the thing she longed most passionately to see,

and this was the happiest day of her life, and wasn't it just the cutest little place, and she'd be grateful to him all her life, she would sure. William enjoyed it. He enjoyed walking with her. He enjoyed watching her astounding beauty. He enjoyed her twang. He was already practicing it silently in his mind. They turned the bend in the road, and there in front of them was Mrs. Maloney's cottage. Miss Burford gave a little scream of ecstasy. Thatched, she said. This must be Anne Hathaway's cottage. Yes, this is it, agreed William, torn between relief, at having discovered an Anne Hathaway's cottage and consternation at the prospect of a second rencontre with Mrs. Maloney in one day. He could see Mrs. Maloney looking out of the window. William, as an artist, occasionally overreached himself. He made the mistake of not leaving

well alone. Now, wishing to give a further touch of versimilitude to the whole situation, he said carelessly, and there's Anne Hathaway looking out of the window. Does Anne Hathaway still live here? said Miss Burford excitedly. Well, I thought that was what you said, said William, bewildered. But I met the one that lived hundreds of years ago. William was still more bewildered.

She'll be dead by now, he said, after a slight pause, but he wished the radiant vision to have everything she wanted. if she wanted an N, whatever it was, she should have it. There's another living there. Now, he went on. How dandy, said Miss Burford, a descendant, I suppose. Oh, yes, agreed William. Yes, that's what she is. Well, I've got to hurry. Will you knock, or shall I? Perhaps you know her. Oh, yes, I don't know her. All right, stammered William, edging away as he spoke.

His eyes fixed fearfully upon the cottage door. You, you don't want her go right in, do you? I sure do, asserted Miss Burford. I wouldn't, if I was you, said William earnestly. I wouldn't go. She's awful bad-tempered, Mrs. Maloney is. I mean, Anne, what you said is. But I must go in.

People do, I know. Better not, said William desperately. She's deaf, too. But I can shout. That's no use. She can't hear shouting, and she's mad, too. She's sort of forgotten her name. She sort of thinks she's someone else.

So it's no use going in. What will her be in deaf and mad? It's not really safe, and it's best from outside. It's not anything like as nice inside as it is outside. But I've known people who've gone inside, persisted Miss Burford. I've known them personally. It must be possible. It can't be.

very dangerous. She advanced boldly and knocked at the door. William stood in the background, palely composed, but ready to flee if necessary. The door opened a few inches, and Mrs. Maloney's wrinkled face appeared round it. Outside of William, it became distorted with rage. Bah, she growled you a little pestier. William, whose valor was wholesomely intermingled with discretion, was on the point of turning to flee and leaving this strange situation to disentangle itself as best it could, when he saw Miss Burford slip something into Mrs. Maloney's hand, at which Mrs. Maloney's wrath simmered down into a sullen distrust. Could I, said Miss Burford, with disarming sweetness?

Could I just look at your historical cottage, Miss Athamay? You hysterical yourself. Nap the owner and names Mrs. Maloney, I'll have you to know. Miss Burford turned to William with a sad smile. Poor woman, she whispered. Then she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Maloney stood holding her ten-chilling note with both hands and watching her guest suspiciously.

William's sole thought was to keep as near the door as possible in view of possible developments. Miss Burford looked round at the old-fashioned cottage, the old dresser and the flagged floor with a sigh of rapture. How lovely, she breathed. How perfect! Mrs. Maloney's suspicions deepened. Then Miss Burford looked rather puzzled. I've seen photographs of it. I've sure got a wretched memory, but I had an idea there was more things in it somehow. I've only a vague kind of idea of it, but I certainly thought there were more things in it. In his capacity of stage

manager, William, spoke up with desperate boldness. There was, he said. There was a lot more things, but they had to take him away when she got like this. Eh, said Mrs. Maloney sharply, what's he saying? Nothing, nothing, said to Miss Burford, pacifically. But the suspicious rage upon the old lady's face was not without effect. Miss Burford herself began to edge hastily towards the door. Mrs. Maloney, purple-faced, uttered.

a threatening sound, expressive of fury, and Miss Burford, throwing dignity to the winds, followed William's already fleeing figure. How awful, she panted, when they had reached the safe refuge of the road. Poor woman, she sure plumbed crazy, but, with a sigh of content, I've seen it, that's all I wanted to do, I can say, I've seen it now. She took from her pocket a little notebook, opened it, and ticked, off Stratford and Anne Hathaway's cottage. There, now I don't care how soon Pop takes me home. I've not brought my guidebook, went on Miss Burford to William, but I reckon there's other things I

oughter thee in Stratford. She looked across a field and caught side of the stream that made its sluggish way through William's native village. The Avon, she said, with an ecstatic sigh, isn't it just handy? But now, say, kid, isn't there anything else I'm to see belonging to Shakespeare? I suppose, I suppose now, wistfully. There aren't any other of his folks about the place, kind of descendants, you know? The adventures seemed to be drawing to a close,

and William did not want it to draw to a close. The beautiful sapphire eyes fixed on him wistfully had a strange effect on him. Before he knew what he was saying, he said modestly, Well, there's me. I'm one of his folks. He was secretly aghast when he heard himself say that, but he merely continued to gaze at her with his most ingenuous expression. Well now, she cried in Raptor, isn't that just luck?

You're one of his descendants, but not in the direct line, I reckon. If William was going to be a descendant at all, he was most certainly going to do the thing properly. Oh, yes, he said, I'm direct, all right. then you're related to the old lady she said excitedly again this took william out of his depth he replied to it only by an uncertain smile fancy said miss berford fancy that i reckon you've got letters and records and relics of your house oh yes no end of them said william all over the place miss berford thrilled visibly i guess i was plumb lucky to strike you first go off she said she looked at william almost with reverence i can see a most distinct likeness she said at last i reckon kid you've been simply brought up on him aven't you i expect you just about know his works by heart oh yes said william and quoted dreamily friends rome and countrymen lend me thamirs i come to bury caesar in his grave the evil what he did is in his bones the the good has entered, entered.

He had a vague suspicion that he had gone wrong somewhere, and began again. Friends, Roan, countrymen. But Miss Burford was delighted. Fancy, she said at last. Fancy, I once read the tempus. He wrote that, didn't he? Or am I thinking of the rivals?

But I couldn't ever remember a line. What's your name? William. Of course she breathed. After him. At that minute, Ginger, Henry, and Douglas appeared. They stood in a row gazing with interest at William's new friend. William felt that their presence needed accounting for.

Friends of mine, he introduced them laconically. Miss Berford determined to them. I'm just congratulating William, she said, on his famous ancestor. William was never one to grudge honors to his friends. They're all famous descendants, too, he said, graciously, Ginger or William's acquaintance with classical poets was limited, but he did his best. Scots and Douglas, Douglas Wordsworth, and Henry or Henry's, he left the realm of poets in disgust for one with which he was more familiar. Henry's Nelson's.

Miss Sadie Burford had come over to England with a firmly fixed impression that it was a country in which anything might happen, and her expectation, were being gloriously fulfilled. Well, isn't that just dandy, she burst out with enthusiasm. I'm just thrilled. Now, we're all going to William's home where he's going to show me some of those wonderful relics. William was nonplussed.

The situation was growing beyond him. He was rather pale as he walked along the road with her. Ginger, Douglas, and Henry hadn't the remotest idea of what was happening, but they gladly joined the party, as to be in any excitement that might be going. Excitement was never far away from William. Miss Burford was the only happy member of the party. She chattered joyously about the Avon and Ann Athaway's Cottage and the Tempest and the strong family likeness between William and the Bard of Avon. In a futile attempt to postpone the fatal moment of exposure, William resolutely

led the party past the turning that led to his home. but Ginger, ever obtuse, called out lustily, I say, if you're going to William's home, this is the way. William glared at him ferociously, then turned to Miss Burford with a sickly smile. He was beginning to wish he'd left her alone. She was pretty, but not pretty enough, he decided sternly, to make up for all this mess she was getting him into.

I thought we'd go round home by the longer way, he said, so, so, then with a burst of inspiration, so as to give a better view of the Avon. What's the Avon, said Henry innocently, and yelled with unnecessary loudness when William kicked him. William walked on one side of Miss Burford, Ginger on the other, Henry and Douglas behind. William's depression increased. To add to his troubles, Ginger was supplanting him in the vision's favor. Ginger was prattling engagingly to the vision about the details of his daily life, and the vision was smiling at him affectionately.

It was all very well for Ginger to prattle engagingly, thought William Blumily. She wasn't going to walk into Ginger's home and demand to see somebody's relics, whatever relics were. He couldn't put off the fateful moment any longer. At last, the party came within sight of William's house. here's William's house, said Ginger gaily, leading the way into the gate. Stop, a minute, said William Horsley. I must just go in and ask. He hastened into the house and stood a moment in the hall, trying to evolve some plan.

But for once he was at a loss. He could only stem the fatal tide. It would be easier to do something if he knew what relics meant. He returned, looking paler and fiercer than ever. I'm afraid, he began. I mean, I've just found out that they've hit away most of what you said. Relics? Yes, that.

Well, they've hit him away, case of burglars. This was an inspiration, but it failed of the desired effect. Miss Burford's countenance fell, but she did not retreat. What a pity. Well, I'm just disappointed, but I quite understand. I reckon I'd do the same myself, but I must just just. just go in and have a look just so that i can tell him about it way back home determinedly she went up to the front door and rang william stood behind her betraying his consternation only by the blank expressionlessness of his face his untidy hair was by this time standing vertically almost hiding his cap in spite of his midday smoothing mrs brown herself came to the door good afternoon said miss bruce

as she entered the hall followed by the boys you'll pardon me i'm sure for intruding like this but i simply had to see the house where the family lives now though i understand that all the relics are put away for safety mrs brown gazed at her in open-mouthed amazement i see fine the likeness to the great man and your little boy declared miss berford enthusiastically i suppose you haven't kept the name as a surname i mean what is your name? Bubba Brown stammered William's mother, who was wondering whether or not to ring up the police at once. But Shakespeare, as well, I'm sure, went on Miss Burford, placing a hand on William's tousled head, and smiling down at his expressionless face.

As a Christian name, I mean, it's William Shakespeare Brown, I'm sure. I expect you're quite used to people forcing their way into your house, aren't you? It's so wonderful. I'm so glad I actually came because you don't get half the information from the books. I've read The Tempahs, but it's about all. I've had a real grand time, and it's so good of you to let me come here, standing in the very house where his direct descendants live. Mrs. Brown sat down weakly in a chair because her knees were too unsteady to support her anymore.

I must fly now, said to Miss Burford, or Pop will wake up and wonder what's the matter, and we ought to be getting back to London at once. Goodbye, and it's been a real honor to me to stand here in this house talking to you. I shall tell them all about it way back home. She went off gaily calling back farewells and thanks as she went. William, after one glance at the bewildered face of his mother, hastily followed her, murmuring something incoherent about seeing her off. He saw the moment of explanation looming near, but wished to postpone it as far back as possible.

He heard his mother calling him back, but hurried on with the fair sightseer, leaving Miss Brown to demand explanations from the other outlaws, whose professed ignorance she regarded with deep distrust. When William and Miss Burford reached the car, a pop was just waking up, What? Where? Why? He says, leapily. Where are we? At Stratford, Pop-Darling, said his daughter brightly. Seen it? Asked her parent laconicly. Got it ticked off? Sure, said Miss Sadie happily. I've had a real grand time. Well, come on, then, he said, and let's get back to London for dinner. And Jess, one raging vacuum.

She got up beside him, smiling brightly. I guess I won't miss the way back, she said. We came pretty straight. Say, kid, she slipped something into William's hand. Buy yourself some candy. They were gone. William stood in the middle of the road, watching the cloud of dust till it had vanished. Then he stared, almost incredulously, at the ten-chilling note he held. He had decided on his course of action when he reached home. Mrs. Brown had recovered slightly, but she was still curious and suspicious. I felt she might become violent any minute and murder us all, she said. William, who was she? And why on earth did you bring her ear? Well, I didn't know who she was, except that she said she was called Miss Burford, and I didn't bring her, she just said she wanted to come.

But why? You heard her talking, she just kept going on like that. She just said she wanted to come to our house. That's all I can tell you. You heard her talking, she just told me that her name was miss, but where did you find her? In a motor car, crying, she told me she was called Miss Burford. Do stop saying that. What else did she say? What made her come with you? I've told you, she said her name was, all right, I won't say it, but I keep telling you what happened. She said that, and we walked about a bit, and she said she wanted to come into our house. I didn't want her to, I didn't ask her to. I didn't think you'd like it. But she asked to come in, and I couldn't stop her. I did all I could. I took her a longer way round. I simply don't know anything about her,

except that she said her name was Miss Burford, and, virtuously, I think I better go do my homework because I want to get on and get good marks and not waste your money and all that. The startling nature of this last announcement deprived Mrs. Brown of the power of speech. Retreated to the morning room and sat down at the table with a book. After a few minutes, he opened the door cautiously. He could hear his mother talking to his sister. It was the saddest thing, she was saying. I have no idea how William got hold of her, or where she is now.

She was quite young, but absolutely mad, raving. I wanted to ask William more about it, but he's doing homework and I don't like to disturb him. William closed the door again silently, opened to the morning room window, lightly bolted into the garden, and sauntered down to the gate. There he found Ginger, Douglas, and Henry. He took his tin-chilling note out of his pocket and held it up. Ginger, Douglas, and Henry turned head over heels in the road with delight. William climbed to the top rung of the gate and looked down at them. Franz, Rome, and Gantriman, he began.

then proudly and self-consciously through his nose, "'Say, kids, you're sure blam crazy!' When Miss Burford returned home, she gave a little lecture on her English travels. She told of her visit to Anne Hathaway's cottage, whose present occupant was very old and suffering from senile decay. She told how, in the same town, she met four boys, one a descendant of Shakespeare, another a descendant of Scott,

another a descendant of the poet Wordsworth and the fourth a descendant of Nelson. It was wonderful, wasn't it? Her lecture was a great success. That Christmas, one Christmas card, was sent to William that never reached him. It was sent from America, and it was addressed to Master William Shakespeare Brown, Stratford on Avon, England. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mul Crompton. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6.

The Midnight Adventure of Miss Montague William was relieved to hear that his family was not going away for August. William disliked holidays spent away from home. He was not one of those people whose nerves require a frequent change of scene. William could never tire of his beloved food. woods and fields and ponds, his outlaw friends, his dog, and a whole long summer stay before him to do in exactly as he liked. Holidays away from home involved tidy clothes, hands and face and air in a perpetual and uncomfortable state of washedness and brushedness,

monotonous outings with his family, whose ideas of pleasure were always a source of amazement and horror to William. Politeness to people whom he had never wished to see again, and unceasing admonitions from every member of his family not to disgrace them. Any following of his natural inclinations in any direction at all appeared to disgrace them. But at home, besides the ordinary delights of a carefree holiday, strange things often happened in August. The bicker, who's quite justifiable dislike of William was returned with interest, was generally away, and a locum reigned in his stead. There was always a sporting chance that the locum might be better tempered than the vicar, and the vicarage garden held endless possibilities of delight as jungle or prairie or goldfield,

as well as the thrill of a real live enemy in the shape of the vicarage gardener, who shared his master's well-founded dislike of the outlaws. This August, however, the locum was disappointing. He proved to be an elderly peevish gentleman, who shuddered at the very sound of the human boy's voice. To be quite fair to him, less elderly, less peevish men, had shuddered at the sound of William's voice. One glance at him told William all he wished to know about him,

and he promptly relinquished any dreams of authorized hunting or gold-digging in the vicarage garden that he may have cherished. After all, unauthorized hunting and gold-digging were really far more exciting, crawling in through the hole in the hedge, creeping along through the shrubs with red-Indian precaution and silence, and occasionally flying like another Adam from Eden, before the rheumatici avenging angel that was the vicarage gardener. On the whole, though friendship with the vicarage had its advantages, William considered that enmity with the vicarage was a far, far better and more exciting thing. It was not for nothing that William and his friends called themselves the outlaws. But just after William had discovered that the locum possessed none of the attributes that would

have endeared him to the outlaws, he made another discovery. He discovered that he discovered that Mrs. Frame, who lived next door, was going away and had let her house for August. All William could discover was that the lettee was of the female sex. That told him little. His experience had taught him that while women can be much nicer than men, they can, on the other hand, be much more objectionable. On the whole, he would rather have had a man. You know more where you are with men. Henry and Douglas had been, reluctantly dragged to the seaside in the wake of families on pleasure bent. Only ginger was at home, and ginger, as untidy and tousled and unwashed as William himself,

was in William's eyes the ideal companion. They had raced and rambled and scrambled and wrestled and climbed trees and trespassed to their heart's content. Their internal mechanism, though fortified through the morning by a heavy dive, of unripe wild crab apples, unripe hazelnuts, green blackberries and grass, which they chewed meditatively between their more violent pursuits, told them that the luncheon hour was approaching. Still munching merrily and humming discordantly, they approached William's house. They crept furtively round to the back of it behind the shrubberies.

William did not know what he looked like, but he took for granted that his appearance was such as to provoke exclamations of horror and disgust from his family. He was right. His wiry hair stood up as usual in a thick jungle in the midst of which, at a crooked angle, nestled his cap. They had spent part of the morning damming a stream in the meadow with mud, which they also used as ammunition against each other during any divergence of opinion. and William's face and collar bore plentiful traces of that material. He had rubbed one eye with a mud-covered hand,

and that eye was muddier than all the rest, which is saying a good deal. His collar and tie were at the angle they usually attained after a morning of William's normal activities. William was just going into the potting shed, where he and Ginger were keeping a tin of beetles, when Ginger, who was peering through a hole in the fence, said in a sharp whisper, I say, I say, she's come.

William joined him, putting his eye to the hole. He saw in Mrs. Frame's garden, a tall woman, who was not Mrs. Frame. She sat in a chair reading, William could not see much of her face because it was hidden by the book, so he hoisted himself up and sat on the fence, looking down at her. She looked up. He saw a face that did not reassure him, middle-aged and distinctly fierce. She saw, well, what we have described, it is only fair to her to say that what she saw did not reassure her either. But William, to do him justice, always made an attempt to establish friendly relationships.

Hello, he said, I live here, next door. She looked at him as though she could not believe her eyes, as though he were surely part of a nightmare, and must vanish if she looked at him long enough. But no, he stayed there. He was real. This dreadful apparition was real, and it said it lived next door. Horror and disgust settled upon her face. You impertinent little boy, she said, go away, get down.

William considered this command in silence for a minute. He was a stern lover of justice. I'm not in your garden, he said judicially, and I suppose we join at this fence. You've got half, and we've got half. Well, I'm sitting on our half. I wouldn't mind you're sitting on your half, and I don't see why. Get down! William got down.

Did you hear that? He said to Ginger. Did you hear her carrying on? Won't let me even sit on just our bit of the fence, thinks it's all hers. If I knew a policeman, I'd just go and ask him about it. I bet you could get put in prison for doing that, for not letting people sit on their own sides of a fence.

Look at cats. Cats sit on fences. Is she going to try and stop all cats in the world sitting on fences? You'd think from the way she went on that no one was allowed to sit on fences. Well, I'd just like to know what fences is for if folks can't sit on them. At this point, William's mother saw, him from the morning room window. William! she screamed in horror. Come in at once and wash your hands and face and brush

your hair. William gave a sigh, expressive of philosophic resignation, yelled goodbye to Ginger, who at the maternal scream had already begun to make his guilty way out of William's garden and went indoors. I see Mrs. Frames' tenant is here, said Mrs. Brown at lunch, she's a Miss Montague, I must call. I wouldn't if I was you, said William. Why ever not? said his mother. Well, if she treats you like what she treats me, he ended with a dark look and attacked his rice pudding with bigger.

That evening came a letter from the new tenant, complaining that the noise by William and Ginger in the garden had completely, underlined, spoiled her afternoon's rest, which was most, underlined, important to her health. The next morning came a letter saying that William singing in his bedroom in the early, underlined morning, was not only audible to her, but had given her a headache, underlined, from which it would probably be many days before she recovered. In the evening came another note to demand that William should not be allowed to look over the fence at her,

as the sudden appearance of the boy's head had a most disastrous, underlined, effect upon her nerves. She added that if these persecutions, underlined, continued, she would be obliged to consult her legal advisor. William spent the next day with Ginger roaming far afield in search of adventure. But a note arrived in the evening to say that the boy's whistling as he passed her house on the main road was so penetrating, underlined, that she had been obliged to shut all, underlined, the windows on the front of the house, and her health had suffered considerably, underlined, as fresh air was essential, underlined, to it. William's father divided his wrath impartially between the absent Miss Montague and the present

William. The present William came off the worse. The auction sale was William's idea, He had attended an auction sale with his uncle the week before, and his uncle had purchased a lot, which included two small pictures of so hideous execution and design that he had generously presented them to William. William, who had been thrilled and surprised by the proceedings of an auction sale, decided to dispose of his two pictures by auction and invited a select band of potential bidders to his garden. "'We won't make a noise,' said William to his mother, when she remonstrated. "'We won't disturb her. We'll do it all in whispers.' Mrs. Brown went indoors, hoping for the best.

Mrs. Brown spent most of her life, hoping for the best. From her, William had inherited some of his glorious optimism. The potential bidders arrived. They were not representative of William's friends. Most of William's friends were away for August. They were merely a heterogeneous collection of such of his schoolfellows as he could muster. Most of them would at normal times have been beneath his notice on the score of extreme youth. They sat down on the grass in William's back garden and stared around them suspiciously and critically. William stood behind the upturned wheelbarrow on which were the two pictures and held a gardening fork to represent the hand.

hammer. Ginger stood next to him. William held up one of the pictures. It was about 10 inches square and represented a female with incredibly long hair and incredibly flowing robes chained to a stake on a lonely seashore. She was simpering coyly at the spectators out of her ornate frame. It was called The Martyr. Ladies and gentlemen began William, first of all, we're going to sell this picture What for? said a very small person of the female sex who was sitting on the grass in front. William turned on her a glance that would have annihilated her utterly. What do you mean what for? He said contemptuously.

Why shouldn't we sell a picture? Why should you? said the small female, quite unannihilated. William felt nonplussed. No one at the auction sale he had attended with his uncle had behaved like this. He didn't quite know how to deal with it. He decided to take the line of the high hand. We shall sell, he said loftily, exactly what we like. We shall sell of camels if we want to.

Camels was an inspiration. He felt that camels was rather good. He prepared to go on with the sale. Ladies and gentlemen, he began again, but the small female, who had been deeply considering his last remark, burst forth again. Camels, she said. What for do you want to sell camels? First of all, went on, William. We're going to sell this picture. First of all, ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at this picture. Who wants to buy camels? said the small

female, passionately. What's the good of selling them? Just look at this picture, went on, William, it's probably a picture you'll never see again. You'll never again have a chance of buying a beautiful picture like this cheap. Anyway, said the small female, looking round the garden with the air of one delivering a crushing argument, where are your camels? Why don't you bring out your camels and start selling them? That are talking about them? Kindly stop interrupting, said William, glaring at her sternly. We've not come here to. listen to you. We've come here to sell these things. Ladies and gentlemen, this picture is one of the most beautiful pictures in the world, if you'll just look at it for a few minutes. A very small

boy in the front suddenly burst into tears. He saw it, watered by a camel. The small female encircled him with tiny motherly arms and turned an indignant glance upon William. Now look what you've done, you nasty cruel boy. She said, you've made him cry. Well, where are your camels you keep talking about? The goaded William turned on her. I don't keep talking about him, he said. I never said I had any camels.

The small female opened eyes and mouth in horror. Oh, she gasped. You did. Oh, you storyteller. The small boy's whales increased in volume. Want a camel! He yelled as the tears ran down his jeep. You just don't know how to act at auction sales, stormed William indignantly.

I'm trying to sell pictures, and here you keep caring on about camels. At this point, the proceedings were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Brown. She looked pale and harassed and carried a note in her hand. Oh, William, she said, how could you? She's written again. She says that the noise is ear-splitting and that her nerves can't stand it. She says—she turned the note over. Helplessly. She says a lot of things all underlined, and, oh, William, you did promise to be quiet.

I was being quiet, said William. Then they all started talking about camels, and I can't stop them making a noise. William and Ginger sat disconsolately on the still, upturned wheelbarrow. The spectators of the auction sale had indignantly departed, the small boy still wailing pitifully, and William and Ginger. conversing in whispers. We'll have to have another sometime, whispered William. That one didn't go right somehow. We'll have to have another and just not letting them get talking about camels and things.

What do we do now? said Ginger, looking down with distaste upon the two pictures that shared the wheelbarrow with them. Something quiet, groaned William. Let's play ball. William fetched a ball and threw it to Ginger. Ginger caught it, and threw it to William. William missed it, and it went over the fence into Miss Montague's garden.

William fetched another ball and threw it to Ginger. Ginger missed it, and it went over the fence into Miss Montague's garden. Ginger went home and got his ball. He threw it to William. They threw it to each other and caught it for ten or eleven times. Then it went over the fence into Miss Montague's garden. William fetched his bow and arrows. The fence by Miss Montague's garden was the only place to fix the target. Every other side of the garden consisted of flower beds. They shot busily at the target for ten minutes. At the end of the ten minutes all their arrows were in Miss Montague's garden. Well, whispered Ginger gloomily, what we've got to do now. William, with all his faults, never lacked courage. He hoisted

himself upon the fence cautiously to survey the enemy's ground. He was somewhat taken aback to meet the stern gaze of the enemy in person. But even so, he was not routed. He met her gaze unflinchingly. There's a few of our balls and things. He said, boldly come over into your garden. Can I come and get them, please? No, you may not, you naughty little boy, said the enemy furiously.

I have collected them, and I will keep them. Get down. William deliberately drew his features into a horrible contortion and then descended from his perch. He had been slightly gratified and cheered by the shudder of horror that passed over the face of his enemy at his grimace. It is almost impossible to describe the gargoyle-like masks into which William could twist his countenance. Well, what are we going to do now? whispered Ginger forlornly, William looked. around. At their feet stood his beloved mongrel Jumble. Jumble had joined in all his master's late pastimes of dam-building and mud-slinging. The plight of Jumble's coal was indescribable.

Let's wash Jumble, said William, making a grab at the unfortunate animal, before the fatal word wash could send him off like an arrow from a bow. He took off Jumble's collar and hung it carelessly over the fence. Half an hour later, one fairly dry dog and two fairly damp boys emerged from the wash-set and made their way over to the fence. There they stood looking around in dismay. Where is it? said William. You put it just here, said Ginger. They searched the ground at the foot of the fence.

It was nowhere to be seen. William again hoisted himself onto the fence and looked down. Again, he found himself gazing down into the face of his enemy. His enemy held Jumbo's collar in her hand. "'Scus me,' said William severely. "'That's mine. I mean, it's Jumbulls.' "'I found it in my garden, snapped his enemy.

"'It must have fell down, then,' said William. "'I shall confiscate everything of yours I find in my garden,' said the enemy sternly. She walked indoors. William sat motionless upon his fence. Through the window he could see her enter her dining-room and placed Jumbo's collar in a cupboard. He descended from the fence. Upon his freckled, frowning face was a set look of purpose.

It was midnight. William, wearing an overcoat and a black mask, climbed cautiously over the fence, and crept up Miss Montague's garden to Miss Montague's dining-room window. In one pocket of his overcoat, code was his penknife, in the other a handsome pistol, which had cost originally one shilling and sixpence, and which figured in most of the outlaw's adventures. When he reached the dining-room window, he took his penknife out of his pocket and began to

attack the catch. His black mask kept slipping over his eyes, so he took it off and put it in his pocket. Miss Montague's dining-room window was exactly like his own dining-room window, and William, in his character of Robert Chief, had often slipped back the catch of that with his penknife. It was, in any case, a catch which an infant burglar could have manipulated in his sleep. William opened the window and entered Miss Montague's dining room. Here he donned his black mask. William, though sternly bent on what he looked upon as an errand of justice,

was nonetheless thoroughly enjoying himself in his role. He opened the cupboard, and his eye beneath the black mask gleamed. There they were. His two balls, Ginger's ball, all his arrows, Jumbo's collar. With a little snort of triumph, he put them all into his overcoat pocket. Then a sound at the door made him turn, and his heart seemed to leap up to the top of his head and then down to the bottom of his boots. Miss Montague stood in the doorway, clutching a pink dressing-gown about,

her. William looked round wildly for escape. There was none. The only alternative to flight was courage. He had recourse to that. He whipped his one and six-penny pistol out of his pocket. Hands up! He croaked in a deep, base voice, hands up or a fire. It was a very dark night. All Miss Montague could see was a vague form behind what was most certainly some sort of a revolver. She put up her hands. I'm unarmed, she said with chattering teeth. I'm a poor, defenseless woman. Think of your wife.

Think of his sister. Think of your mother. Don't I beg of you, do nothing, do anything, rash. Sit down? Or did William in his raucous base. She sat down. Do be careful, she pleaded. You know, sometimes she's just an involuntary movement, makes them go,

off, I haven't anything really valuable, I assure you, oh, do be careful, she screamed, as William made a movement with his pistol. William was backing past her slowly to the open window. At last he reached it, to his trembling victim on the chair who still held up her hands, rather in the attitude of a lapdog in the act of begging. It seemed as if he vanished suddenly and completely into the night. She made her way, unsteadily to the window and peered out into the darkness. There was no sign of him. The danger was over, and it was obviously time for her to faint or have hysterics. But there is something unsatisfactory in fainting or having hysterics without an audience. She rang the bell

violently. She screamed, a fire, murder, at the top of her voice. Her domestics in various stages of undress gathered round her. Then, most effectively, and dramatically and carefully, she fainted onto the hearth rug. Meanwhile, William in his bedroom in black mask and pajamas, was dancing a war dance round three balls, a heap of arrows, and a dog-collar. William was down in good time the next morning, but he found his next-door neighbor already in the dining room. She was hatless and looked disturbed, but important.

Did you hear nothing? she was saying excitedly to Mrs. Brown, who was smiling quite pleasantly in her relief that the visit had not the usual purpose of complaining of William. My house has been ransacked, ransacked from top to bottom, and when I disturbed him, well, I believe there were two or three of them, yes, I'm quite sure there were at least two of them, great big men, my dear Mrs. Brown, both wearing masks. They covered me with my little. revolvers. She became dramatic, and William looked on with great interest. He saw Miss Montague cover Mrs. Brown with an imaginary revolver. Mrs. Brown edged behind the sofa. They threatened me

with instant death if I moved hand or foot, continued Miss Montague. She advanced threateningly upon Mrs. Brown the imaginary revolver in her hand. Mrs. Brown sat down, shut her eyes, and gave a little scream. Ah, it was a most terrible experience, I assure you. I've been fainting on and off ever since. She sat down in Mrs. Brown's easy chair, evidently with every intention of fainting on and off again. Ellen, the housemaid, was just bringing in the coffee.

Mrs. Brown flew to meet her, poured out a strong cup, and flew back to Miss Montague, who was wondering whether, after all, hysterics wouldn't be more effective. Ellen startled out of her professional calm said, What's happened? And William watched the scene with his most inscrutable expression. Mrs. Brown, in her panic, spilt half of the hot coffee over Miss Montague. And Miss Montague decided not to have hysterics after all, in case Mrs. Brown, who was obviously losing her head, should use the rest of the hot coffee in an attempt to bring her around.

Then William's father entered. He greeted Miss Montague curtly. Mr. Brown, though a well-meaning man, wasn't at his best before breakfast. Well, he said with an eye sternly fixed on William and the other apprehensively fixed on his visitor, what's he been doing now? Oh, John, dear, said Mrs. Brown, it's burglars. Miss Montague had burglars in the night. three of them said miss montague with a sob the thought of all she had endured together with the shock of the hot coffee that mrs brown had spilt over her was almost more than she could bear

three great giants of men they've ransacked the place they've stolen all my jewelry they cover me with revolvers and threaten to take my life they have you told the police said mr brown his eyes wandering wistfully to the dish-cover beneath which reposed his eggs and a bacon yes they're coming round to interview me i'm completely unstrung by it i can't tell you the state i'm in if i've fainted once i fainted a dozen time oh there's the vickers locum passing the gate do fetch him in mr brown i do need spiritual solace after all i've been through mr brown wearing a hang-dog air went out to intercept the vickers locum the vickers locum wearing a still-more hang-dog air, followed him up the drive and into the room. It's Miss Montague, explained Mr. Brown shortly. She's had burglars. She's rather upset. I'm unstrung, said Miss Montague, wringing her hands,

and visibly cheered by her increasing audience. A gang of masked men. I resisted them, and they shot. They missed me, but such was the shock to my nerves that I fainted. and when I returned to consciousness, they were gone. But the place was ransacked. Here's a policeman, said Mr. Brown cheerfully, just going into your house.

Hadn't you better go and interview him? Oh, fetch him in here, dear Mr. Brown. I feel too much upset to move. Muttering something inaudible beneath his breath, and with a long agonized look at the coffee pot and bacon dish, Mr. Brown went out to intercept the policeman. The policeman entered jauntily, taking his notebook out of his pocket. The Pickers Locum seized the opportunity to slink away.

It's burglars, hissed Miss Montague, with such violence that the policeman started and dropped his notebook. My house was entered last night, and I was attacked by a gang of men. Masked! The policeman licked his pencil and turned his eye upon Miss Montague. Was you aroused by the noise, miss? Yes, said Miss Montague. eagerly, I went down to confront them, and there I found five or six. Five or six, asked the policeman, magisterially.

Six, said Miss Montague, after a moment's hesitation. Six, repeated the policeman, licking his pencil again, and beginning to write in his notebook, six. He wrote it down with great deliberation, and then said a third time, six. I confronted them, went on, Miss Montague, but they gagged me, and bound me to a chair. Mr. Brown, unable to control any longer the pangs of hunger, had sat down at the table, and with a fine disregard of everyone else in the room, was attacking a large helping of bacon and eggs. A chair, did you say, miss? said the policeman,

brightening, as though they had arrived at last, at the most important part of the evidence. Yes, a chair, of course, said Miss Montague impatiently. They gagged. me and abound me to it, and then I fainted. When I recovered consciousness, I was alone. The house was ransacked. My jewelry was gone. Ransacked, murmured the policeman, writing hard and moistening his pencil every other second. It seemed to be the sort of pencil that only acts when used in constant conjunction with human saliva. Ransacked jewelry. He closed his book and a assumed his pontifical hair. You've left everything, he said,

as they left it. Miss Montague considered this question for a minute in silence. Then she spoke in the tone of a voice of one who has been soaring in the clouds and suddenly fallen to earth with a bump. Oh, no, she said in a flat tone of voice.

Oh, no, I tidied up after them. Mr. Brown, who had reached the marmalade stage and was feeling upish, said, A great mistake, and was at once crushed by a glance from the eye of the law. What exactly is missing, Miss, then said the law, pompously. Miss Montague spoke in the same voice, I can't be quite sure, she said.

The policeman put his notebook into his pocket and squared himself, as if for a fight. I'd better come and visit the scene of the crime with you now at once, miss, and collect what. evidence I can. He said, I'll come with you, said Mrs. Brown, compassionately, to Miss Montague. I'm sure you aren't fit to go alone. Oh, thank you very much, said Miss Montague. I feel that I might faint again any minute. Led by the policeman and supported by Mrs. Brown, she made her way slowly to her own domain. William's father snorted contemptuously and poured out another cup of coffee.

Over William's inscrutable countenance, there flickered just for one moment, a smile. Miss Montague was resting in her deck chair in the garden. She had had a tiring day. She had had a constant stream of visitors who came ostensibly to inquire after her health, but really to elicit the whole thrilling story of the burglary. She sat, exhausted,

but she had the satisfaction, up knowing that nothing was being talked about in the village but her burglary. Suddenly she looked up. That wretched boy was sitting, actually sitting on her fence. After all, she said to him, in his arms he held a nondescript dog that looked as if it had numbered among its ancestors, a sheep and a cat and a monkey.

She was just going to order him to descend at once and go in to write to his father again when something attracted her attention. The dog was wearing a collar. And the boy was looking at her in a meaning sort of way, a very meaning sort of way. Then still looking at her, he took from one pocket a handful of arrows

and threw them carelessly down into his garden. Then from the other pocket he took three balls and began carelessly to play with them. The words she had meant to say, not come. Instead, she said faintly, where did you get those? The boy's look became still more meaning, from your house, he said, still carelessly playing with his ball last night. Don't you remember? I was wearing a mask, and you was wearing a pink dressing gown, and you said you was a poor, defenseless woman, and you told me to think of my wife and not do anything rash?

Don't you remember? Then, apparently losing all further interest in the side, subject, he returned to playing with his ball. There was a long, long silence, the longest silence Miss Montague ever remembered in all her life. She blinked and went rather pale. Then, after what seemed to her several hours, she spoke. She said in a small, faraway voice, they'll never believe you. Oh, said William casually, I'm not going to tell him if, I mean, there's really no reason why I should tell him. There was another long silence, longer even than the first. But during it, Miss Montague's brain worked quite quickly. She understood what William if had meant. She looked up at that horrid, freckled, untidy, added boy who was whistling so unconcernedly upon her fence

and said sternly, how can you tell such an untruth about last night? William stopped whistling for a and looked at her. I hope you won't tell such a silly untruth to anyone else, she said severely. If you don't, I mean, with a slight display of embarrassment, I mean I was going to tell you that my nerves have quite recovered now, and that no noise from your garden will disturb me. Also, if your arrows or things come over here, you may come over to fetch them. Then, with great dignity, she got up and swept into the house.

William watched her retreat with apparent unconcern. Cuth was all he said. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mul Crompton. This liver box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 The Mysterious Stranger. It was William's Uncle Frederick who was responsible for the whole thing. He gave William a book called Hunted by the Reds,

a spell of wet weather was also partly responsible. The outlaws met in the old barn while the rain came down in torrents on and through the roof, and having nothing else to do, read the story aloud in turns. Though the reading was frequently interrupted by criticism of each member's reading by the rest, resulting occasionally in physical conflict, and by long heart-searching discussions as to the conventional pronunciation, of such words as a catastrophe. The interest of the story was proof against all interruption.

It gripped. It did more than grip. It thrilled. At first, the outlaws had taken for granted that the Reds must mean red Indians, but they did not. They meant the Reds of Russia. Modern Reds, the dreaded Bolshe's. The villain of the story was one Demetrich,

which the outlaws pronounced. Demtrich, chief of the Reds. He murdered everyone he met on principle. He flung bombs about as carelessly as other men fling used matches. Finally, he captured a princess of the whites and kept her a prisoner in his castle, trying to extort from her by cruel threats, the secrets of the whites. In the last chapter, she was rescued from the villain by her faithful lover, Polovich. The descriptions of Demetriks were intriguing. He was cross-eyed and had a crooked nose. He was a most satisfactory villain in every way. Most of his remarks were prefaced by oaths represented on the

printed page by blanks and dashes. This rather annoyed ginger. Why can't they print what he actually says? He asked indignantly. It'd be much more interesting. They dare it, said Douglas in an odd whisper, they derent print the actual words. They're too bad for print. What sort of words, though, persisted Ginger? That's all I want to know. It's not fair, putting blanks. I bet they don't know themselves. They do, said William, with an air of an oracle. Of course they know. It's bad words, words like, damn and and, and hell and damn. Bad words like that, hell and damn. Well, that's only two said ginger still dissatisfied there's one two three four blanks in what he says here he says one two three four blanks and then oh would you then curse you for a fool and then two more blanks well that must be more than just hell and damn there's six blanks and what he says there william was slow to own himself in the wrong well those are the only two bad words

there are. I know they are. He'd say them over and over again, of course, like this. Damn hell, damn, hell. Oh, there, what would you? Curse you for a fool, hell, damn. Like that, over and over again. Damn hell, hell, hell, damn. William seemed to derive a certain pleasure from the repetition. I don't think you ought to keep on saying him like that, William, said to Douglas piously. well, I like that, said William indignantly. I don't want to say him, but I have to to explain about them properly. Ginger was saying there must be more and two bad words, and I was only explaining to him, and there's only two bad words,

but you use them over and over again. I think there is mourn two bad words, said Henry, slowly and thoughtfully. What about by Jove? Oh, that's not bad, said William. well, my mother won't let me say it, said Henry mournfully. Well, what about darn, said Ginger? William seemed to regard darn judicially. Yes, that's bad, he said at last, as though darn had just passed some severe test.

Darn's bad, all right. Well, he'd just put that in somewhere, too. Anyway, he must have been a norful look a man, said Ginger, whether he said two bad words or three or only blanks. He must have been an orful who will come man, just fancy, cross-eyed and a crooked nose, and just think of all the awful things he did, murdering people and chucking bombs about him,

and sand those bad words all over the place, and Karen off the princess. I know what I'd have done with him if I'd met him. What, said William, I'd have killed him, said Ginger boldly. I've gone up to him and stuck a night. into him. Would you? cheered William. I guess he'd be too quick for you. He'd see you coming and throw a bomb or something at you. He'd just say darn damn hell to you, and William, protested Douglas patiently.

You've got to stop saying those words. Well, he said him, didn't he? said William aggressively. If I'm saying what he'd have said, I've got or say the sort of words he did. You need it say, you can say blank, can't you? Oh, all right, said William obligingly. I don't mind doing that. Well, then, he'd simply look at you with his cross eyes and say, blank, blank, blank, blank, blank. Curse you for a fool, blank, blank,

and shoot you, or bomb you, or cut your head off before you've got a chance to move. You talking about killing them a clever man like him. You? Ginger was annoyed. You talk, he said indignantly. as if I'd say I'd go up to him with a knife in my hand so he'd know I was going to do it. I wouldn't either.

Where'd you put it, then? In my pocket. You can't get any size of a knife that'd kill him into your pocket. Maybe I wouldn't kill him with a knife at all, said Ginger, shifting his ground. I dare say I wouldn't, after all. I'd pretend to take him a walk, and when I got him into the middle of a bridge, I pushed him into the water. and he'd swim out, said William with contempt. All right, said Ginger huffily, kill him yourself.

I had to poison him, said William. I get some deathly poison and put it in his tea. How'd you know he drinks tea? said Ginger contemptuously. I should think he's the sort of man who drinks beer, more tea. Oh, do shut up about him, said Henry. I've just about had enough of him anyway. I say it's stopping raining and it's dinner time. Let's go home.

It was on their way home that they met him, unmistakably cross-eyed and broken-nosed. They stopped still in amazement to stare at him. Demetrich, they gasped together. He looked at them furtively, as he passed. That's him, that's simply him, gasped Ginger, absolutely straight out of the book. Out of the book, repeated William scornfully.

That book's not a book. i mean it's true it must be i guess someone just wrote it to put people on their guard against him cause they daren't do it except in the book cause they're afraid of him and his bombs supplied ginger eagerly i was going to say that said william coldly you keep on interrupting i believe i can see a bomb in his pocket said henry look it's all bulging out at that side it looked to me exactly like a bomb you ever seen a bomb said william well I may have done, said Henry. I may quite possibly have done. Anyway, it looked to me like a bomb. That's all I say. I can only say how it looks to me. I don't know how bombs look to other folks. The figure was already disappearing round the bend and the road. The outlaws hurried after it. Hope his bomb doesn't go off suddenly, said Henry, who was keeping in the rear, looks to me rather as if it would. Well, it'd kill him first, wasn't that? said William. Well, I don't know.

he might turn around and throw it back at a sudden. He doesn't know we're here. Oh, doesn't he? He knows everything. Do you remember when he led that other man, what'd you call him, Apollovich, on and on, thinking that he was following, and that Demetriks didn't know he was there,

and suddenly Dmitricks turned and stabbed him and left him for dead? Do you remember? The outlaws perceptibly slackened pace. He's gone in at Mr. Jonesgate. He's going to kill Mr. Mr. Jones, perhaps? Oh, don't be silly. Mr. Jones gone away. He must be the man who's taking Mr. Jones' house while he's away. What's he come to live here for anyway? Some plot, you bet. Somebody he wants to bomb or murder or revenge somehow. I think he's got a princess imprisoned there in Mr. Jones's house, said Douglas, and I think we ought to rescue her.

How? said William. Well, we've got her think of some plan for that, said Douglas. The discussion was resumed on the way to school the next afternoon. What we've got her do, said William, is to find out what he's doing here. We don't even know what he's calling himself, said Henry. He's sure to be calling himself something different from Dintricks now. How are we going to find that out, said Ginger. Once, said Henry thoughtfully, I heard about a man who wanted to find out the name of a man who lived in the house, and he went to the door and asked if Mr. Brown lived there,

and they said no and told him who did live there. It's just half-past two, said William severely, and we're going to be jolly late for school if we don't run jolly quick. So the outlaws ran jolly quick. It happened that they all came out of school at different times. Henry's chemistry division was let out very early because something had gone wrong with the gas supply for the Bunsen burners, and they popped in a most fascinating manner instead of light,

properly. The class would have preferred to stay and pop them, but old stanks sent them home. Of course he would, said Henry bitterly, when there's anything interesting to do, but on an ordinary dull day, when they light all right, we've got to stay on till the end. That's like him. By him, he meant the mysterious and exasperating race of grown-ups, who always seemed bent on ridding life of its glamour and romance. Fancy being able to pop a bunsen burner like that, time after time indefinitely, and not wanting to do it, more than that, wanting to stop other people doing it. But Henry's dejection soon vanished, and he walked along briskly. Instead of going straight along the road, he went in at Mr. Jones's front gate,

and with quickly beating heart, went up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. There was still no answer. He raised the knocker and beat a fierce rattad-a-tat-tat upon the door. If nothing happens now, I'll go away, he said, almost hoping that nothing would happen. But something did happen. The door opened a very slightly, and an old woman's face appeared round it.

Henry was thrilled. She was wizened and lined and bent and sinister. Just the sort of old woman, one would guess, would guard Demeter's house. Does Mr. Brown live here? he said boldly. The old woman looked at him suspiciously. She said, does Mr. Brown live here? said Henry. She said again. Some of Henry's assurance departed. Does Mr. Brown live here? He said again rather nervously.

The old woman went away without a word, but she left the door open. Soon she returned with an ear trumpet. She put this into her ear and fixing a red, angry eye upon Henry, again said, eh? Henry was taken aback, but undaunted. He knew how to deal with a near-trumpet. His great-aunt had one. Does Mr. Brown live here? He yelled into it. Now he doesn't, she said, and slammed the door in his face. Henry stared at the slammed door. He had just been going to ask who did live there when it was slammed in his face. He put up his hand and knocked again, loudly. then suddenly, overcome by panic, at his daring, he turned and fled down the drive.

He hadn't succeeded, but anyway he'd tried. He'd have quite a lot to tell the others. He'd gone to the sinister door and seen the sinister old woman and caught a glimpse of the sinister dark interior with a sinister-looking hall table just visible in the sinister gloom. He'd be able to make quite a good tale of it. Ginger went home at the ordinary. time, the close of afternoon school. He came home alone because both William and Douglas had been kept in by the Frenchmaster, and Henry had come home earlier. He made no effort to go straight home.

With set stern face, he went to Mr. Jones's house. The idea had come to him while putting on his coat and hat. He walked boldly up to the front door and knocked. He had knocked loudly and imperiously, and the old woman answered his knock after only a very short interval. She opened the door a few inches and glared out. Now, the old lady was very short-sighted, and the outlaws were, as the saying, is much of a size. She could see no difference in them. Here was, in her eyes, the same boy who had been there a few minutes ago. What do you want now? she snapped. Does Mr. Brown live here? said Ginger. ginger very pleasantly.

Eh, said the old groan. Does Mr. Brown live here? said Ginger, with an ingratiating smile. Eh, said the old crone again. Ginger's voice was a failing with nervousness. Does he began hoarsely? The old crone went away and returned with the ear trumpet. Does Mr. Brown live here?

Ginger whispered into it faintly. The old woman bared her teeth with a snarl of fury. How many times do you want me to tell you, your saucy little hound? She said, It don't live here. I've told you so once you, but Ginger, terrified by the sound of her high-pitched angry voice and the sight of her toothless, bared gums, turned to flee and headlong panic, back to the safety of the main road. He did not stop till he reached the turning into the road, where his home was. Then he stopped, looked back fearfully,

and uttered the one word, crums. Douglas was kept in half an hour by the French master and William an hour. William was kept in half an hour longer than Douglas, because his ignorance of French verbs was half an hour deeper than Douglas's ignorance of French verbs.

Douglas made occasional spasmodic efforts to learn French verbs, verbs, and William didn't. Between William and the French masters was waged a perpetual feud. William often explained to both the senior and junior French masters that he didn't see what good French was to him as he decided never to go to France, and if any French people wanted to talk to him in England, they could learn English. He didn't see why he should learn the language of people he wasn't ever going to talk to

When he spoke thus to the junior French master, the junior Frenchmaster reasoned with him. When he spoke thus to the senior French master, the senior French master smacked his head. Of the two methods of dealing with him, William understood and preferred the latter. It took less time, and you knew where you were. He possessed a father and an elder brother and was quite used to having his head smacked. It was an argument that appealed to him. Anyway, this explains why Douglas set off alone half an hour after afternoon school had ended, leaving William still staring moodily at a French grammar,

and absently making darts out of blotting paper. It was no sudden whim on Douglas's part to go to Mr. Jones's house. Henry's words had suggested the idea to him as soon as they were uttered, and he had decided then to call at Mr. Jones's house. his house on his way home. He walked quite jauntily up to the door and knocked. No one came. He knocked six times. Finally, someone, breathing very hard, opened the door, and a wizened old face appeared round it. The breathing changed to a snort as her eyes fell on Douglas. That boy again. Blarst him, that boy again. Does Mr. Brown live here? said Douglas. She couldn't hear what he said.

she hesitated a minute, then went to get her ear trumpet. It might be an important message or anything. Does Mr. Brown live here? Shrieked Douglas into the ear trumpet. He was surprised at what happened. The wizened old creature seemed to spring at him with a snarl of rage. Douglas, in whom the instinct of self-preservation was strong, was in headlong flight down to the gate

before the old hag could recover her breath from her snarl. Then she screamed after him and quavering fury. You come asking me that again, you saucy little round, and I'll half kill you. Douglas did not stop running till he reached his own front door. Then he wiped his brow, said, Crikey to himself, and turned his mind to the invention of plausible-sounding excuses to account for his lateness for tea. William was at last released from his detention, less because he had mastered the intricacies of his

French verbs than because the French master wanted his tea. William had not meant to call at Mr. Jones's house. The idea never occurred to him till he had left Mr. Jones's house far behind and had almost reached his own home. As he went along the road with his characteristics louch, he was thinking about the mysterious a stranger with a crooked nose and cross eyes, and quite suddenly Henry's words occurred to him. He wheeled round and began wearily to traverse the distance between his house and Mr. Jones's. The thought of the tea he was deliberately sacrificing made him feel rather bitterly towards the French

master. He consoled himself by the hope that, like his own family, the French master's family did not allow tea to be kept hanging round. The phrase is William's mothers. After five o'clock, he walked in at Mr. Jones's gateway with a firm step and knocked loudly at the front door. No one answered it. William was feeling hot and irritable. He lifted the knocker and wrapped it with all his might seven or eight times. He was in no mood to be trifled with. At last a very old woman came to the door. William glared at her. Does Mr. Brown live here? He said coldly and distinctly. William had a very confused impression of what happened next.

As far as he remembered afterwards, the old woman set upon him without the slightest warning and knocked him down the front steps. From there he picked himself up, and throwing valor to the winds, fled down to the gate. Shrill cries from the aged lady behind, informed him that she'd learn him something to come plague him folks,

all afternoon with his saucy tricks, the saucy little hound him. William was thrilled to learn thus unmistakably that Mr. Jones, hitherto innocent abode, was now a nest of criminals who set upon honest people at sight and tried to break their necks. His mother was out when he reached home, and there was no sign of tea. He went into the drawing room where Ethel, his grown-up sister, was writing a letter. where's tea he demanded morosely tea's over said ethel without looking up from her letter you shouldn't be so late how could i help it said william indignantly one of the masters wanted me to stay behind after school to do something for him and i didn't think it polite to say i wouldn't well i can't help it said ethel absently you'll have to wait till supper now extraordinary said william distinctly how some foes can see other folks starvin and knocked about.

A hasty movement brought his bruised side in contact with the table. His feelings demanded some outlet. Blank, he said, after a moment's deep thought, blank, blank, blank. I found out something about that house, said William, mysteriously and complacently, as soon as he met the others the next morning. The others who had been also looking mysterious and complacent and proud

seemed taken aback. So did I, said Ginger and Douglas and Henry, speaking simultaneously. Then they all stared at each other in amazed silence. Henry broke the amazed silence. I called there on my way home, he said, to ask if Mr. Brown lived there, and so did I on my way home, broke in Douglas,

and me too, said Ginger. William looked at them bitterly. Yes, and I called last, he said, and got half killed with all you, go and messing about first. If you'd left it to me, but his bitterness was soon lost in interest. They discussed their impressions excitedly. They agreed that she was probably Demetri's mother, and, if possible, more wicked than Demetrik. They agreed that the couple were probably imprisoning a white princess and planning to bomb the whole village in the interests of communism.

Just as they had agreed upon this, the villain himself was seemed to be coming down the road. Aware that he was probably in the habit of killing his victims on sight, they hid behind the hedge, but overcome by curiosity, threw caution to the winds and looked over the top of the hedge as he passed. The object of their scrutiny was somewhat disconcerted as he passed down an apparently deserted lane to see four boys' heads suddenly pop up over the top of the hedge and gaze at him with mingled eagerly. and hostility, turning slowly to watch him the more closely as he pursued his way. As soon as he had passed, they came out of their imperfect hiding.

Let's follow him again, said William. Douglas, who was ever cautious, suggested that it might not be safe, but his caution was overborne by the others. After a slight delay, caused by a scuffle between Douglas and William, who had used the approprious word, coward, the outlaws set off with elaborate secrecy to stock their prey. They crept along in single file by the side of the road, in the shadow of the hedge, crouching down as they walked. Their progress would have arrested attention anywhere and at any distance, but the outlaws fondly imagined that proceeding in this way, they made themselves

practically invisible to the naked eye. Dmitri, fortunately did not turn round he walked fairly briskly and had soon left the village behind and was out in the open country followed ever by four crouching figures in single file when he disappeared into a wood the four figures held a hasty consultation what we're going to do asked ginger in a penetrating whisper you said you kill him with a knife didn't you said william unkindly well suppose you go and do it now go and kill him with a knife you said you could i haven't got a knife with me said ginger coldly else i would well then you said you'd take him to the middle of a bridge and push him in well there's a bridge when he gets out of the wood suppose you do it now we'll watch you go and take him to the middle of the bridge and then push him in like you said you would and what about you said ginger then you say you have poison them put poison in his tea well go on suppose you go and do it how can you go and do it how can you

can I put poison in his tea now, said William, irritably. Now, when he's out walking, why don't you talk sense? You couldn't anyway, said Ginger sternly. You don't know what is poison, or where you get it, or where his tea is, or anything. You couldn't poison his tea if you tried. I could poison his tea much as you could push him off a bridge, said William heedily. How'd you know, said Ginger. I've not tried pushing him off a bridge yet.

and I'm not tried poisoning him, retorted William. Henry interposed before the argument could develop further on these lines. Well, we're letting him go now, he said. We ought to hurry up to catch him before he gets away, and we ought to find out what he's coming out to do. I bet he's coming out to make bombs or something, said Douglas vaguely, but I don't think it's safe. Oh, shut up about it being safe, said William irritably. I think he's coming out to meet other people in the plot. You know, communals and people like that, well, let's go on, said Henry, or we'll be losing him. But fortunately, Dmitri had taken a rest on a fallen tree trunk and had only just resumed his walk when they entered the wood. They followed him through the wood in a silence

broken only by Henry's whispered, I believe I can see a bomb in his pocket. And William's sibilant, shh! William was beginning to suspend. that he was not that morning, justifying his position as leader of the outlaws. He hastily evolved a plan. I tell you what we've got to do, he said, we're got to creep up behind him, and spring on him and overpower him sudden, and, and, and get all his secrets out of him. How, said the practical Douglas, by threats, said William, by threats, and threats. When we get quite near, I'll say spring, and all.

of youth spring on him. They crept up abreast still crouching. The man in front heard a slight sound and turned suddenly. He saw the backs of four boys running violently away in the opposite direction. The sudden sight of the cross-eyes and crooked nose had been too much for the outlaws. The man, slightly surprised, continued his walk. At the end of the wood, the outlaws ceased their headlong flight and clustered together panting. They fell to distinctly sheepish. Each one was hoping someone else would explain their actions first.

William, as leader, undertook the noble task of clearing their consciences. Well, he gasped, we were jolly lucky to escape alive. I guess he was just going to kill us. I saw his hand go into his pocket where he keeps his bombs, said Henry,

breathlessly. Well, said William, we just got or think of some other way. We'll have a meeting tonight, and think out, plans. Ginger went home with William to fetch a bow and arrow, which he and William jointly owned. They crept as silently as they could up the hall. Each of the outlaws accepted as a matter of course this dislike of the families of the other members. They would have regarded with deep suspicion any evidence of a warmer feeling. It would have embarrassed them terribly. To Ginger, it was natural

for the grown-up members of Williams, Douglas's, or Henry's family to dislike him as it was for the flowers to bloom in the spring. Therefore, on his way up to William's bedroom, where the bow and arrow were kept, he tried instinctively to attract as little attention from William's family as possible. At the foot of the stairs, they paused. The morning-room door was open, Mrs. Brown evidently had a visitor. have you heard anything of the man who's rented the limes from mr jones the visitor was saying no said mrs brown with interest who is he it's a mr finchley very ugly but very distinguished i believe an author or something like that is he keeping the jones maids on no they've gone on holiday he's got his old nurse they say to look after him deaf and very old but a good worker he's come here to be quiet he's writing something or other. Well, I really must go, dear. Evidently they were coming to the door.

William and Ginger flew with haste, but not without sound, up to William's bedroom. As the echoes died away, they heard Mrs. Brown's plaintive but resigned voice, ejaculate the two words, those boys. Upstairs in William's bedroom, William turned to Ginger with a meaning look. Writing something. he repeated, old nurse, that's all they know. Ah! The outlaws met in the old barn. They discussed the affair in all its bearings.

They went over again the previous history of Dimitri as related in Unted by the Reds. They wondered where the noble Polovic was now and what had happened to the fair princess. I bet he's somewhere round here, said Ginger earnestly. I bet he'd never leave old Dimitri to do his dastardly deeds without trying to stop him. I bet he wrote that book to let people know. People like us, what had the sense to see, it must be real, and bet he's somewhere around here,

doggin' old Dimitri, and trying to catch him, and, gentlemen, said a voice at the open door of the barn, you are right in everything. I am Polovic, and I am here trying to foil the old villain once more. The outlaws gasped. A tall young man stood framed in the sunlight of the open door, smiling at them. Certainly such might well be, Polovich, but surprise had deprived the outlaws of their usually so ready speech. The young man came into the barn and stood looking down at them. I was resting there by the hedge outside, he said simply, and I heard everything you said. it is all quite true. I knew that I had found some trusty friends at last. You, your Polovitch? Gassed William. The young man bowed.

That is my name. He said. You wrote the book? Gassed William again. I wrote the book, said the young man. And did he imprison the princess like what you said, said William? Yes, said the young man. And you rescued her? Gaffed Douglas. Alas, no, said the young man. The attempt was unsuccessful. For the purposes of the book, I pretended that I had rescued her. In reality, he still holds her captive. No, no, no, no, nod at the limes, stammered Henry, quivering with excitement.

Yes, said the young man at the limes. I'm going to try to rescue her tonight. The outlaws thrilled visibly. Can we help? Squeak Tenry, almost hysterical with excitement. Yes, said the young man, I think you can help quite a lot. Mr. Finchley was sitting alone in his study. It was his old nurse's day out, and Mr. Finchley was guarding the house.

He never left the house unguarded. He was guarding it quite comfortably with a pipe and whiskey and soda and a pile of foolscap paper. Suddenly there came a violent knock at the door. Mr. Finchley groaned and cursed softly to himself, and then he went to answer the door. Four boys stood on the doorstep, curious. And only the other day four boys had suddenly appeared, first looking at him over a hedge, and later fleeing down the road behind him. Four boys seemed to be haunting him, most curious.

May we speak to you? said one of them in a deep voice. "'Er, yes, I suppose so,' said Mr. Finchley, "'without much enthusiasm, come in, come in.' They trooped into the hall. Suddenly Mr. Finchley felt rather touched. He found generally that his crooked nose and cross eyes put children off. On the whole, he was not sorry that this should be so, but he felt rather touched that these children had sought him out of their own accord.

We want to show you something at Mr. Jones's back garden. if you don't mind, said William, the expression of his freckled face, stern and forbidding. Most curious children. However, all right, he said, all right, come on. He closed the door very carefully and shuffled with them down the hall and out at the other door into the back garden. As soon as they had gone down the little garden path to the right, Henry murmured that he had dropped his handkerchief in the hall and ran back.

In the hall he cautiously opened the front door, then hastily returned to the others. He had seen Polovitch crouching in the shadow of the laurels waiting for the opening of the door. It would not be long now before he had his princess again. Mr. Finchley was beginning to feel irritable. He'd had a splendid idea for the next chapter, and this would entirely put it out of his head. He began to feel distinctly annoyed. Well, well, well, well, he said, what is it? What is it?

We just want to show you something down at the bottom of the garden, said William. He spoke with excessive politeness, and Mr. Finchley was softened. Funny things, children, and anyway, he might get some copy out of them. He always found a difficulty with any child characters he had to introduce into his books. It might be worth it. It certainly might be worth it. Not that these were normal children, he thought moodily far from it. They were most, most strange children.

Still, he was growing interested in spite of himself. After all, anything might happen. It might be the beginning of a real adventure. He'd never had a real adventure. The greatest romance of his life had been the collecting of old English spoons. He had a valuable and almost unique collection. of them. He'd brought them away with him for safety. He kept them in a safe in his study. He gloated over them every night. He loved them. Oh, bother these boys. He wanted to get back to

his spoons and his writing. That splendid idea he had for the next chapter had evaporated already. He knew it would. Oh, bother these boys. Now, come come, he said, trying to speak breezily, but firmly, I'm rather a busy man, you know, I can't waste all the afternoon. We know you're a busy man, said William, meaningly. We know all about that. Curious the way he said it, thought Mr. Finchley. He felt suddenly apprehensive. There was something strange about them.

He hoped, he hoped they weren't dangerous or anything. It's this we want to show you, said William. They had arrived at an empty pig's tie that stood. at the farther end of Mr. Jones's back garden. Mr. Finchley stared at it in amazement, his apprehension growing stronger each moment. What? he stammered. Just go in and you'll find something interested, said William.

Mr. Finchley had not the slightest intention of going in, but he was taken unawares. One of the terrible boys suddenly opened the gate and another of the terrible boys suddenly pushed him in. Then they banged to the gate, bolted it, and stood in a row glaring at him sternly over the wall. There was no doubt at all in Mr. Finchley's mind. Now he was in the presence of four youthful lunatics. Quite possible.

There must be an institution for youthful lunatics in the neighborhood, from which these had escaped. He must be very careful. They were probably endowed with lunatic strength, as they were. were certainly endowed with lunatic cunning. He smiled at them uneasily over the pigstye door in an attempt to propitiate them. It would, of course, be fatal to anger them. They probably had weapons concealed about them even now. Your Dmitrich, aren't you? said William, certainly. Mad. Hopelessly, ravingly mad. He must humor them, of course. Uh, yes, he said, looking around, for an unguarded spot in the pig-sty wall.

And, you know, Polovich, went on William. Yes, said Mr. Finchley, very well, very well indeed. And you've taken the princess prisoner, haven't you? Said William sternly. Yes, admitted Mr. Finchley. His eye picked out a nice unguarded spot in the wall, and he made for it and scrambled up, only to be pushed down by a combined attack of the four,

young lunatics. Well, he's rescued the princess now, said William triumphantly, rescued her. So there, really, said Mr. Finchley, feigning great interest in the communication, really? Yes, said William, he's foiled you and rescued her, and you better be careful. And exactly, said Mr. Finchley. He attacked another likely spot in the wall as he spoke, climbed over, successfully, eluded his captors and sprinted up the garden path more nimbly than he had ever sprinted anywhere in his life before. The four young lunatics pursued him equally nimbly into the house. She's gone, shouted William. He's taken her away, all right?

They followed him into his study. The safe door hung open and the safe was empty. My spoons, screamed Mr. Finchley in dismay. I'm taking my spoons. The young man was caught before he reached London. He was carrying the professor's spoons in a leather bag. At his trial, he made quite a racy story of his coup. William and his friends were addressed as Dmitrich and Polovitch

for many weeks afterwards. They went about morose and bitter. William said that that's what came of trying to help people, and Henry said it was enough to turn you into a communal yourself. Very gradually the memory of the affair, faded and the outlaws again held up their manly heads but if you want really to annoy William and the others you've only to mention Dmitrich or Polavitch or the princess end of chapter seven chapter eight of William the Conqueror by Rick

Maw-Krompton this Liberbox recording is in the public domain chapter eight the Sunday school treat William was going to the village Sunday school treat He had been attending the village Sunday school under protest for the last year, and his enforced attendance had qualified him for an invitation to the annual treat. The year before, William had attended a superior Sunday school for the sons of gentlefolk held by one Miss Lomas at her home. Since her nervous breakdown, however, which occurred shortly after William joined her class, he had, with the majority of her scholars, joined the village Sunday school.

The smile with which the vicar received the intimation that William was to return to the fold had been a mirthless one. He had enjoyed William's short-lived removal to the more rarefied atmosphere of Miss Lomas's Sunday school for the sons of gentlefolk. William himself, though philosophical, was little better pleased. He endured Sunday school in the same spirit in which he endured clean collars and having his hair brushed. He knew that he went there because his father said that he might as well go into an asylum straight off if he didn't get a little piece from that boy on Sunday afternoons.

William looked forward to the treat with mixed feelings. On the one hand, his friends, known as the outlaws, would be there. that would make for mirth and freedom. On the other hand, his grown-up sister Ethel would be there, and that would not make for mirth and freedom. Ethel always made it her duty to keep a stern eye upon her younger brother. Ethel was to help with the tea, not because she had any official connection with the Sunday school,

but because she was in the transitory state of falling back on the curate. Between her more exciting flirtations, Ethel always fell back on the curate. He was a pale, dreamy youth with a long neck who proposed to Ethel several times during each of the falling back periods, but without much real hope. As a matter of fact,

he had grave and quite justifiable doubts as to her suitability for the position of clergyman's wife. She was too pretty for one thing. Still, he proposed regularly and indulged in a certain half-pleasurable mournfulness each time she rejected him. William allowed himself to be washed and brushed and put into his best suit. His mind fixed hopefully upon the treat to come. He had heard that there were to be races and coconut-shies and a roundabout.

It was not so much upon these lawful pleasures that his mind was set as upon such lawless ones as were likely to offer themselves to him in the company of his beloved outlaws. There was Ethel, of course. He considered her presence at a Sunday school treat as little short of an outrage, but he looked competently to the curate to occupy most of her time. William always kept a wary eye upon his pretty sister's affairs. He had on more than one occasion found a knowledge of them useful. He did not walk with Ethel to the field where the treat was to be held. He always avoided walking with Ethel. She objected to any interesting mode of progression, such as leaping along with a stick, or crawling through the hole in the

hedge, or dragging one's feet through the dead leaves. So William, spick and span and shining with cleanliness and neatness, set off alone some time after Ethel. He walked along the top of the fence by the side of the ditch. It was a difficult balancing feat and more than once proved too much for him. However, he picked himself up from the muddy ditch and climbed up for another attempt. When the fence came to an end, he walked along in the ditch by the side of the hedge. Neither was that an easy feat, as the bottom of the ditch was full of water, and he had to walk with one foot halfway up either bank. Occasionally, he slipped. he very cleverly cut off a long corner by road climbing through a hole in the hedge and walking across a ploughed field on reaching the treat field the first person he saw was ethel talking to the curate by the gate

as her eyes fell upon him they dilated with horror ethel had left at home a small boy clean and tidy and arrayed at his best there met her gaze now a creature whose cap nestle crooked among spiky disheveled locks, whose rosyette face was streaked with mud, whose collar was awry and begrimed with muddy finger-marks, whose nether limbs were encased in mud up to the knees, who slashed on all sides as he walked with a muddy stick salvaged from the ditch. What on earth have you been doing, she said severely? William's eyes opened innocently. me he said surprised and indignant do you mean me nothing just coming here same as anyone else i've just come straight here i've not done anything ethel turned angrily on her heel and walked away followed by her enamored curate william walked on whistling to himself and slashing gaily with his stick every boy knows that there are few sensations more delighting than the sensation of slashing with a stick.

But occasionally a slash goes further than you mean it to. A stout gentleman who had come to help with the races gave a yell and seized William by the shoulders. Look here, my little man, he said, trying without success to sound more pleasant than he felt. Look here, my little chap, don't go about hitting people's ankles like that. Let me have your stick, my little man,

it's dangerous, you know, in these crowds. William, seeing that resistance would be useless, surrendered his stick and walked on, his hands in his pockets, whistling. Miss Lomas, who had risen from the bed of her nervous breakdown for the first time, in order to watch the dear little children enjoying themselves, heard the sound of William's whistling and hastily retired again. Mere words cannot do justice to William's whistle. suggested the violent squeaking of a slate pencil drawn forcibly across a slate.

He made his way across the field, his whistle opening away for him, through the crowds as by magic, and at the farther end of the field met the other outlaws, Henry, Douglas, and Ginger, with a whoop of joy. All had set out from home in a condition of spotless glenliness, and all had in a remarkably short time managed to return to their more normal and disheveled condition. An impromptu wrestling match, which was merely an expression of joy at reunion, was completing the transformation when the ringing of a bell summoned them to the middle of the field. There stood the fat gentleman surrounded by a crowd of boys. He saw William and gave him an apprehensive and sickly smile.

He didn't like the look of William at all. There was a certain absence of meekness and conformity about William's expression that he felt boated no good. Besides, there was the memory of that stick. He was already half regretting that he'd offered to help at all. Fall in for the first races, little boys, he said, we'll have ten in the first eat. He put William among the first ten. He thought he'd like to get William over. He was the sort of man who goes to the dentist at once if he feels a twinge of toothache.

He arranged the tin in a nice straight row. William crouched in correct position, hands on the ground, and looked about him. Ready, said the stout gentleman. William suddenly noticed his next-door neighbor. It was Hubert Lane, a school fellow and a mortal enemy. Between William and his friends and Hubert Lane and his friends, raged a deadly feud. Steady, said the fat gentleman.

Slowly and deliberately Hubert Lang put out his tongue at William. Go, said the fat gentleman. To his surprise, the line did not move forward as he had expected. Instead, the boy, that boy, the boy he disliked, the boy who looked so untidy and possessed that fiendish whistle and had hit him on the ankle, hurled himself suddenly upon his next-door neighbor, and a general scrimmage ensued. All the other competitors joined the fray.

Apparently half were on that boy's side and half on the other. More and more boys joined in from among the bystanders till every boy present was engaged in the combat on one side or the other, and the race course was a bedlam of fighting, shouting, scrimmaging boys. The fat gentleman rang his bell frenzidly, and finally ran almost in tears to find someone in authority to quell the riot. He found the curate first. The curate was standing with Ethel near the entrance gate.

He was flattering himself that he was getting on with her better than he had ever got on before when the fat man came up. Please come at once, panted the fat man. The boys are all fighting and I can't do anything with them. The curate looked at him coldly for a minute and then said, I'll come in a minute, and turned back to Ethel. I beg your pardon, he said, what were you saying just now when he interrupted?

The fat man wrung his hands hopelessly, and ran off to try and find someone else. The fight was brought to an end by the victory of William's side and the consequent flight of Hubert Lanes. William's side pursued the other through the gate and some way down the road, then return black-eyed and disheveled, arm-in-arm,

chanting discordant peons of victory. Some of them demanded races, but the fat man had gone home, and after ringing his bell in turn for some time, for the sheer love of the noise it made, they scattered among the other parts of the tree, combining again with a rush to blockade the entrance gate at any attempt on the part of the routed army

to return to the festal ground. The vicar, who hated boys, had taken refuge in the tea tent and was pretending not to see or hear anything of what was going on. The outlaws went to the coconut shies. Fate was favoring William. Not only had he routed his enemy, but by a lucky shot, he knocked down a coconut. He swaggered off, whistling shrilly, his coconut under his arm, his admiring outlaws around him.

They sat down in a secluded part of the ground. Then, after a few minutes, rose and swaggered on again, leaving only the empty shell behind them. Near the toffee stall, they met the curate and Ethel. Ethel was smiling sweetly upon the curate, and the curate, delirious with happiness, and seeing her little brother through a rosyette haze of sentiment, slipped a shilling into William's hand as he passed.

He regretted it instantly because he did not like William, and he knew that generosity to William was no magic pass into Ethel's good graces, and a shilling is a shilling. But William took no chances and had hastily converted the shilling into a large and sticky-looking mixture of treacle toffee, plentifully mingled with desiccated coconut at the next. nearest stall, before the curate had time to explain that he'd given him a shilling by mistake for a three-penny piece, and would he please give it back? The outlaws retired to the hedge

with their booty, and again in a few minutes walked on, their faces freely ornamented with coconut and toffee, leaving a large empty paper bag behind them. The roundabout was next to the Toffy saw and the outlaws, still sucking, climbed upon the giant cocks and held on to the poles. The man in charge looked at them rather suspiciously as he started the machine. His suspicions were justified. He had no sooner started it than challenged by William. The outlaws all began to climb their poles in an attempt to gain the roof. The man in charge, however, was equal to the occasion.

He had boys of his own. He stopped a machine, ordered them down, boxed their ears, and sent them off, still, sucking they wanted on. The grown-ups who were to help with the tea were now coming onto the ground. Suddenly three of these bore down upon the outlaws with cries of horror. They were Ginger's mother, Henry's mother, and Douglas' mother. Ginger, Henry, and Douglas turned to flee, but to... late. Each mother had her offspring firmly by the arm, and was gazing down with horror into countenances upon which the battle and the coconut toffee had left their copious traces.

Go home at once and wash, they said. William slunk away hastily in the opposite direction, feeling grateful that his mother had been prevented by a previous engagement from helping with the tea. Once clear of danger, for he had been afraid that Ginger's mother or Henry's mother or Douglas' mother, with the grown-up's usual gift of officious interference in other people's business, might order him home to wash too. And seeing that Ethel was still at the other end of the field, concerned only with the curate, he thrust his hand into his pockets, and uttered again his nerve-wracking whistle, strolled on through the grounds. He met no friends or enemies,

and nothing happened. William began to feel rather dull. He was conscious, too, of a heavy sensation of sleepiness, caused probably by the combined effects of the battle, the roundabout, the heat, and a surfeit of coconut toffee. In the hedge at the end of the ground was an inviting hole, and William, who never could resist inviting holes, crawled through into the next field,

and through that to the path beside the river. There he lay down on the grass by the roadside and surrendered himself to his sensation of drowsiness and went to sleep. He awoke to hear people talking just near him. He looked around cautiously. Two men sat on the seat by the river. I've decided to kill Ethel. One of them was saying,

William sat up with a start of horror and indignation. He had often imagined himself reeking terrible and dramatic vengeancees on his sister after some more than usually unwarranted piece of interference on her part, but he'd never gone so far as to kill her, even in his imagination. Besides, he decided it would be one thing for him to think of killing her, but quite another thing for a perfect stranger to think of it. William's indignation increased. It was little short of impertinence for a complete stranger to contemplate killing his sister. Cautiously he peered over the long grass that evidently concealed his recumbent form

from the speakers. The man who had just spoken was a good-looking young man with brown curly hair. His companion was middle-aged and bald. How are you going to do it? said the older man. Push her into the river, I think, said the young man. William turned and crept cautiously through the hole and back into the treat ground. He felt that he must warn Ethel at once of this dastardly plot against her life. He hurried up to her, still agog with horrified excitement, where she stood talking to the curate. She was looking rather peevish.

The curate always bored her after half an hour, and she was beginning to wish she hadn't come. I say, gasped William as he joined them. Do go and wash your face and do something to yourself, said Ethel with disgust. William ignored her and spoke to the curate. I've just heard two men plotting to push Ethel into the river. What? said the curate. Two hours in Ethel's company had gone to the curate's head. In his own mind, he had been rescuing her from far more dramatic dangers than this.

This seemed quite credible, almost contemptible. Push her into the river, did you say, he repeated. Yes, said William, his imagination getting the better of him. They were planning to wait till she came out of the field and then spring out and push her in the river and drown her. What, cheek, said Ethel, indignantly. The curate put a hand on her arm. Leave this all to me, he said hoarsely.

Keep quites calm. Ethel shook off his hand. I am keeping calm, she said irritably. Keep calm yourself. I'm quite calm, he said reproachfully. I'm only thinking what is the best measure to adopt. My instinct is, of course, to attack them in person. But the law being what it is,

I think that it would perhaps be better policy to approach the policeman. Where did you say these men are, William? On the seat by the river, said William, and they were plotting to get Ethel by herself and tie her arms up so she couldn't swim, and then throw her into the river. But why, said the curate? Because they don't like her, I suppose, said William.

Well, I can understand that, but I don't see why it's any reason for throwing her into the river. You oughtn't to say that, said the curate reproachfully, you are, but Ethel interrupted, stamping her foot. Isn't anyone going to do anything, she said? Yes, I am, said the curate with dignity. I'm going to consult the police. The policeman was standing just inside the entrance gate, leaning against the fence,

and engaged in the occupation of looking bored. He was new to the job and inclined to be rather punctilious. He took out a new clean notebook and a new clean pencil and interviewed William in an official manner and with an official frown. William, who was beginning to feel that his story sounded a bit thin and needed embellishing, duly embellished it. They were talking about Ethel, my sister, and they said they were going to kill her,

and one of them wanted to shoot her, but the other said, no, it would make too much noise, and the best thing to do would be get her gag her and tie her up and throw her in the river, and I came back to tell someone, because I know she's a maddenant sometimes, but I think killing her is a bit thick, and be quiet, said Ethel,

stamping her foot again. The policeman, put his hand on William's neck and ordered him to lead him to the spot where he had overheard the men. The policeman was secretly worried because he couldn't think of the exact name of the offense. Murder seemed rather a premature name for it. Attempted murder wasn't much better, and he couldn't think of anything else. Behind him walked Ethel and the curate, and behind them the participants in the Sunday school

tree, seeing the policeman leading William off the field. by the neck, they imagined that a long-overdue nemesis had overtaken that young scoundrel at last and followed gleefully. There they are, said William, pointing to the two men who were still on the seat. The policeman marched forward with massive dignity and laid a hand on their shoulders. I arrest you, he said dramatically, on a charge of the word suddenly occurred to him, and he brought it out impressively, conspiracy. In order that the word might not elude him again,

he took out his nice new notebook and wrote the word conspiracy on the first page. But gasped the young man, anything you say, said the policeman majestically, may be used as evidence against you. I protest, said the young man. But the curate brought face to face with the would-be murderer could not restrain himself,

You scoundrel, he said, I learned that you've just been planning to throw this young lady, pointing to Ethel, into the river. The young man's eyes rested upon Ethel, amazement and admiration, succeeded each other in his face. Certainly not, he said. I've never seen this young lady before. The policeman took out his notebook to enter this statement, then thought that he might as well make quite certain of it.

Are you quite sure of that? He said. A smile, boyish and disarming, came into the young man's face. Well, he said, I should hardly be likely to forget, should I? Ethel blushed and lowered thick curling lashes over her blue, blue eyes. Yes, broke in William indignantly, but I was sitting here, and I heard you talking about Ethel and you were saying, the middle-aged man broke in.

I think I see a light. he said. My friend here is a writer of serial stories, and we have taken a cottage near for a short holiday. We were discussing one of his plots, in which there seemed to be an overabundance of characters, and in which another mysterious disappearance, more or less, would make no difference. We were deciding that Ethel might go. Perhaps this young lady's name is Ethel? Yes, said Ethel, with another glorious blush. The policeman made a sound expressive of annoyance, took out an India rubber, and erased the word conspiracy from his nice new book, turned on his heels scornfully, and went moodily back to his post.

Silly mess up! He'd never had any real luck since he joined the force just over a month ago, not even a burglary. The participants in the Sunday School tree, seeing that nothing was happening, trailed back to the ground, and someone sent an urgent message to the curate to come and give away the competition prizes, as the vicar had a headache and had gone home. The curate gave a sardonic laugh as a tribute to the vicar's headache, and a dark, threatening scowl at the man whom he still looked upon as Ethel's murderer. He half-contemplated throwing him into the river even now,

then decided that it would be an anti-climax, and followed the policeman gloomily back to the ground. What's happening up there? said the curly-haired young man. His eyes still fixed ardently upon Ethel. A Sunday school treat, said Ethel. What are you doing at it? I'm just helping, said Ethel. Could I come and help too? said the young man.

Ethel gave him her shattering smile. I don't see why you shouldn't, she said. The middle-aged man sighed and set off by himself down the road. road. The young man went back with Ethel to the scene of the treat. William stood and watched them. Nah, he said scornfully, when they had finally disappeared from his view. Then he went down the road towards his own house. On the road he met Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, looking clean and depressed. Hello, they greeted him. You've been sent home to wash, too? William ignored the question. I've just been saving Ethel's life, he said. And how much?

much do you think she'd give me for it? To know, said the outlaws. Nothing, said William bitterly. Let's go and play Red Indians. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of William the Conqueror by Rickmore Crumpton. This Libra Box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9, William the philanthropist.

William tramped loudly down the stairs, singing lustily, I want to be happy, but I can't be happy. Neither can anyone else, while you're making that foul row, said Robert, his elder brother, coming out of the morning room and slamming the door behind him. Do you think, said William sternly, that no one can sing in the house but you, do you think? Oh, shut up, interrupted Robert furiously, going into the dining room and slamming the door behind him. William went into the garden, continuing his interrupted song, till I've made you happy to. His two-hoo-hoo range from E-flat to F-sharp.

The dining-room window was thrown open, and a book whizzed past William's ear, narrowly missing him. Robert's infuriated voice followed the book. Will you shut up? He said, you're driving me mad. I'm not driving you mad, Robert, said William meekly. That's nothing to do with me, Robert. Robert leapt over the window seal and started in pursuit. William was prepared for this and fled down the drive.

Robert returned to the dining room. At the gate, William hesitated, then raised his untuneful voice in a challenging, I want to be happy. He looked expectantly towards the house, but Robert had slammed both window and door and had taken up his novel. William, slightly disappointed,

continued his raucous progress down the street. Here he met the other outlawful, They joined him and his song. Their ideas of key and actual notes varied. No one, even though he were familiar with the immortal ditty, would have recognized it as rendered by the outlaws. It had become merely an inferno of untunedful sound. They made their way to the old barn where they always held their meetings.

Their exuberance died away somewhat when they entered the barn and found that Violet Elizabeth awaited them. Violet Elizabeth was the daughter of Mr. Bot, of Bot's digestive sauce, who lived at the hall. Violet Elizabeth was six years old. She possessed bobbing curls, blue eyes, a lisp, and an imperious temper, and she had, without invitation or even encouragement, attached herself to the outlaws. The outlaws had tried to shake her off by, every means in their power, but she possessed weapons, chiefly the weapons of tears and her

tenacity, against which they were defenseless. Violet Elizabeth, following them, wherever they went, weeping tears of rage, and screaming screams of rage whenever they attempted to send her away, had broken their nerve. They now accepted her presence as an inevitable evil. They led her into all their plans and counsels simply because they had tried every means except physical violence to keep her out and all had failed. She accepted their lack of cordiality as part of their charm and was inordinately proud of her position. She greeted them cheerfully now from her seat on the floor. Hello? They ignored her and gathered round in a circle which violet Elizabeth promptly joined. she was no whit abashed.

Your faith is dirty, she said scornfully to Ginger and to William. They a call that noyth you wath makin' down the road thinging. William felt that the dignity of his position as leader of the outlaws must be upheld. He looked at her sternly. If you don't shut up speak him without being spoke to, he said. We'll chuck you out. If you do, said Violet, Elizabeth serenely, I'll scream and scream and scream until I'm thick, and added with pride,

I can. Well, said William, hastily turning to the others what we're going to do. A thin drizzle was falling, and the countryside was unusually uninviting. Let's go on reading the book, said Douglas. It was found that in anticipation of this demand, Ginger had brought the book, and William had brought a bottle of licorice water. The act of reading was in the outlaw's eyes inseparable from the act of imbibing liquid refreshment. They read aloud in turn, and those who were listening passed from hand to hand the bottle of licorice water. It was an indispensable right.

Who'll read first, said Ginger, taking the book out of his pocket. I will, piped Violet Elizabeth with an eager flutter of her bobbing girls. You won't, said William sternly. You can't read straight. You can't. You can't say words. How old are you? Thick, said Violet Elizabeth proudly.

Thick, cheered William. Thick, Violet Elizabeth, only beamed proudly. You, you can't read straight, ended William, slightly deflated by her complacency. I can, said Violet Elizabeth. I am at book, too. I am in reading. I've finished book one. I must be a good reader if I'm in book two. Well, anyway, said William, who'll ask you to come here?

He felt that this was unanswerable, but if I let Elizabeth answered it, I ask myself, she said with dignity. Oh, come on, said Douglas, impatiently. Let's get on with a reading. You began, Ginger. Yes, said Ginger bitterly. You'll get me reading, and then you'll go and drink. up all the licorice water. No, we won't, Ginger, William reassured him.

I've got another in my pocket. He took it out and held it up. Promise you won't begin that till I've finished reading, said Ginger. Promise, said William. Thay croth my throat, prompted Violet Elizabeth. You shut up, said William rudely. Tha up your theft, rejoined Violet Elizabeth with spirit. The book was the story of Robin Hood, and it made a special

appeal to the outlaws. They was outlaws same as us, said William with satisfaction. I think that was a jolly good idea, said Douglas, taking a deep draft and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in conscious imitation of the gardener whom he greatly admired. It was a jolly fine idea taking money from rich folks to give it to the poor. I think it was a jolly good idea. He ended handing the bottle to Henry, who was sitting next to. He was sitting next to him. Henry held it gloomily up to the light. You've taken a jolly long drink, he said mournfully. You've drunk more and a half of it and one swallow. Well, I bet you couldn't do it, said Douglas. I bet you couldn't drink all that straight off like that without thopping to breathe.

There's nothing to be proud of, rejoined Henry indignantly, and having a mouth like a rhinoceros. Douglas fell upon him to avenge the insult, but William separated them. There's no room in here, he said, wait till it's finished raining, and then you can have a proper fight outside. And anyway, you'll be spilling the licorice water. Give it me, Henry. He took it and drained it to the last draw. Well, said Ginger, in the voice of one who is a gas at the depravity of the human race, well, he's drunk it all up before my turn. Well, there's the other bottle, said William. Yes, but I don't think you'll go and drink up all the first one straight off like that. It had to be drunk up sometime, hadn't it? said William.

Well, repeated Ginger, fancy saying that. Fancy drinking it all up and then saying that, saying that it had to be drunk up sometime before it came to be my turn. Douglas, foe, said Henry, who was still nursing his grievance, Douglas drinking up all that lot in one drink like a rhinoceros. You're thinking of camels, said William. It's camels that drink a lot. They've got lots of stomachs, and they can fill them all with water at once, and it takes them all over the desert. When they get thirsty, they just drink up one of their stomachs.

You're thinking of camels. Excuse me, said Henry, with dignity. I think I ought to know what I'm thinking of, and I'm not thinking of camels. It was above it Elizabeth, who put an end to the incipient quarrel. I think it would it be thome knife, she said, in her shrill a little bit. boys if you did that took think from rich people to give to poor people fame as they did this suggestion was received in silence the outlaws looked at william the leader william screwed his freckled countenance into a thoughtful frown and ran his hand through his wiry hair william's best friends could not have called him a handsome boy nor did they violet elizabeth's idea appeared to William's adventure and romance-loving soul. But it had one serious drawback. It had been proposed

by Violet Elizabeth, for whom William had always professed a most profound contempt. His contempt for the proposer, which was almost a point of honor with him, struggled hard with his secret delight at the proposal. I was just going to say that, he said at last, rather sternly, that's just like a girl, saying just what I was going to say, not giving anyone else time to say anything, talking and talking all the time. Well, he said, what do we do and how we do it? Let's get guns and shoot all the rich people, said Ginger, therociously. Yes, said William scornfully, and then get put in prison. No, we've either got to find some, some unfathomable woods where we can attack the travelers and no one ever be able to find us,

or else do it all in secret. Well, there aren't any on any woods like that, you said around here, said the practical Douglas. How can we do it in secret anyway, said Henry, rather contemptuously. Like robbers do, of course, said William. Do you think robbers walk up to people with guns and shoot them straight off? Because if you do, let me tell you they don't. There won't be any sense in it, would there, Ginger?

"'I don't know,' said Ginger gloomily. "'All I say is he might have left a drop at the bottom "'that of drinking it all up like that.' "'Well, I think,' said William, "'that we ought to do it in turns. "'Each one of us take something from a rich person "'and give it to a poor, "'not all at once, or else people get suspicious.'

"'Wath-petheth,' inquired Violet Elizabeth. "'William ignored her. "'Well, who will do it first?' said William. me firth chanted violet elizabeth i should say not said william severely you're going to be last i'm not i'm going to be firth said violet elizabeth well let me tell you you're not said william violet elizabeth eyes brimmed with tears her lip quivered i am she said my father's rich i ought to be firth because my father's rich the truth of this was irrefutable mr. bought of bot digestive sauce was very rich indeed he lived and breathed and had his being in an atmosphere of all enveloping plutocracy it's all our money said Henry lugubrously we eat his sauce we don't said William

severely it's made of black beetles I once met someone who lived near the works and they said that you see carts and carts full of black beetles going in every morning, and then carts and carts of sauce going out every night. It's all made out of black beetles. I don't care if it if, said Violet Elizabeth. We never oothe it. We once got a bottle, said Douglas, and it went bad. I don't care if it did, said Bylet Elizabeth.

And if you don't let me be furth, I'll scream and scream and scream till I'm thick. I can. The out was looked at her in apprehension. William, I called to his aid. his dignity as leader of the outlaws. He had had experience of Wyatt Elizabeth screams. Well, he said judicially, we'll give you an hour to get something, and if you don't, we'll put someone else first. We'll stay here and wait for you, and if you don't come with something in an hour, we'll give someone else a turn. All right, thank Violet Elizabeth,

peer-wedding around joyfully, her fair girls bobbing. I'm Firth, I'm first, I'm going to be deal, and I don't care if an if made out a black beetles. It was still raining. They finished the Robin Hood book while she was away. William took out the second bottle of licorice water and ginger spirits rose. He had the first drink, one swallow only allowed, and claimed that it beat Douglas's swallow by several lengths. Douglas disputed his claim and the rain, having stopped, they all went out to the field for the fight, which was to decide the capacity of their respective swallows. The decision was never reached, for Violet Elizabeth arrived just as they were carrying on an indecisive wrestling match on the ground.

Violet Elizabeth danced gaily up to them. In her hand, she held a string of pearls worth several thousand pounds. I found Vieth in a box in the mummy's drawer! She shrilled excitedly. She's left the key in the hole, though I just turned it and took them. Wasn't I clever? William took them and looked at them contemptuously.

Beads, he said, was scorn. Their ninth beathed, William, said Father Elizabeth, with pleading in her voice, their pearled beads. But beads is no good, said William patiently. We don't want to give beads to the poor that are starving for food and drink. Let's sell them, said Ginger.

This suggestion was considered a good one, and the five of them went down to the village. At the end of the village was a small and dingy second-hand shop, in whose window reposed a dirty collection of old iron, photograph frames, bits of tawdry jewelry, and old furniture. This collection was seldom disturbed. William, as spokesman, entered the shop carrying the string of pearls, followed by the other outlaws. Mr. Marsh, who owned the shop, was out, and his mother, deaf and almost blind and very old,

sat behind the counter. We want to sell this, please, said William, a business-like scowl upon his freckled countenance. Ah, said the old dame, her hand to her ear. When he had repeated it four times, she seemed to understand, and stretched out a skinny hand for the part, pearls. She peered at the pearls through her ancient spectacles. What is it,

lovey, she said. Beads, said William, said the old dame again. When he had repeated it four times, she said, what sort of beads, dearie? Pearl beads, yelled William. Pearl beads, she muttered to herself. Yes, she remembered they'd had some pearl beads last week, and Jim had given the owner's sixpence, marked them two shillings, and sold them within a week. She handed William's sixpence, and the outlaws filed out of the shop. Sixpence, said William, not much, isn't sixpence? It'll do to start on, said Ginger optimistically. It'll have to, agreed William.

Anyway, I steal them, squeaked Violet Elizabeth with pride. I steeled them for the poor. Now we've got to find the poor, said Henry brightly. they looked up and down the road. One solitary figure was shambling down at James Finch, the village reprobate. He was a merry, unprincipled, good for nothing ne'er do well. He looks poor, said Ginger pitifully. Look at him, poor old man. He looks awfully poor. Heath got holth in his booth, squeaked by the Elizabeth, and holth in his clothe, poor old man. Give him the money, William, said Henry. Poor old man. William stepped forward with the sixpence and accosted the dilapidated figure. Are you hungry and thirsty? asked William.

I'm thirsty, said the old man with a wink. Here you are then, said William. Thank you, said the old man. He took the sixpence and went into the blue lion. The allaws watched him, their hearts warmed by the glow of virtue. Poor man, said by it, Elizabeth, he must be thirsty. he'd come for a nice drink o lemonade starvin for drink put in ginger sentitiously isn't it nice to think what pleasure we've been able to give the poor old man said henry and all with just a few beats, said Douglas.

Whose turn is it to get something next? said Ginger. Bags me, said William. Old Lady Markham, who lived at the manor house in the next village, was on her way in her carriage to visit Mrs. Bot. Beside her was Angela, her six-year-old granddaughter, who had been staying with her, and whose home was a few miles beyond the Bot Mansion. The carriage was to drop Lady Markham at the Botts,

then proceed to Angela's home to drop Angela, then return to the bot mansion to pick up Lady Markham. Where you going, Grandma? said Angela, to visit a Mrs. Bot, dear, said Lady Markham. She sighed as she spoke. The bots were Lady Markham's pet aversion. She had long known of and delighted to disappoint Mrs. Bot's frenzied attempts to know her. She had managed for a very long time to escape an introduction to, Mrs. Bot. But last week she had been caught unawares and introduced at the vicarage.

She had, however, managed to infuse into her greeting a whole refrigerator full of ice. But suddenly she found that she needed Mrs. Bot. She was holding a charity fat on her grounds and found herself hampered on all sides by lack of funds. Ask Mrs. Bott to be on the committee, said her neighbors. She'll stock every stall in the place. She's made a money, and she loves throwing it about as long as it makes a splash. At first, old Lady Markham had merely laughed scornfully. Finally, she had capitulated. She was on her way to the Bot mansion now to ask Mrs. Bott to be on the committee.

I've had a lovely stay with you, Grandma, darling, sighed Angela. So glad, dear, said Lady Markham absently. I meant to borrow you a goodbye present, Grandma, darling, but I hadn't time before we came away. So may we stop at the first shop we pass and me buy you something? Oh, no, dear, said Lady Markham. You mustn't buy me anything. Oh, I must, please, said Angela, in distress.

Oh, very well, said Lady Markham with a smile. Then we'll stop at the first shop we pass. Said Angela happily. The first shop was Mr. Marsh's. Angela descended from the carriage and entered the shop, important. holding a half-crown tightly in her hand. Good afternoon, she said. Please have you anything for two and six?

The old lady took up the pearl necklace, which was still lying on the counter. You can have these beads for two and six, Missy, she said. Oh, thank you, said Angela. They are pretty. She danced back to the carriage. I've got some beads for you, Grandma, she said. You will wear them, won't you?

Oh, darling, said Lady Markham in dismay. Angela's face fell. Oh, Grandma, she said reproachfully, they're very good beads. They cost two and sixpence. Very well, darling, said Lady Markham, with a sigh of resignation. Put them on.

Lady Markham was extremely short-sighted. All she knew was that her granddaughter had slipped a string of whitish beads round her neck. She covered them carefully with her scarf, then completely forgot them. The carriage stopped, at the Bot Mansion. Lady Markham said goodbye to her granddaughter, slipped a 10-shilling

node into her hand, and descended from the carriage. The carriage proceeded to Angela's home, and Lady Markham entered the Bot Mansion. Mrs. Bot was so excited at the news that Lady Markham had called that she was afraid she was going to have hysterics and not be able to receive her. But she mastered her emotion and went to the drawing room where Lady Marcombe markham was waiting. Mrs. Bott was quivering with apprehension, lest she should fail to live up to this high honor done her. She had striven long and earnestly to get in with society, as typified by Lady Markham. She felt that the day of her dream had come at last. With Lady Markham's card on the tray in the hall table, she could now die happy. She hoped that Boughty would stay in the study, where he was

engaged in studying a novel and a cigar, and not joined them in the drawing-room. Boughty was a hard-working man and a good husband, but there was no denying that he dropped his aches. He generally picked them up as quickly as he could, but he dropped them with a bang, and the picking-up only drew attention to their fall. Mrs. Bott, small and plump, dressed in an expensive dress, was sitting on an expensive chair hoping that Lady Markham guessed how much they'd had to pay for it at an antique dealers. She moved her hand about frequently to show her rings,

and she chattered excitedly, glowing with pride and pleasure. Oh, yes, Lady Markham, I'll be on the committee with the greatest pleasure. I'll certainly have a stall. Oh, what stall? Oh, any stall at all, Lady Markham, the provisions stall. If you like, I could stock it complete out of the garb. you know, the gardeners would see to the cutting of the things, and one of the chauffeurs could bring the stuff over in one of the cars. It was nice to say, one of the chauffeurs and one of the cars.

The only drawback to the phrases was that they gave no inkling of how many cars there were. On the other hand, one of the three chauffeurs and one of the seven cars were rather cumbersome for ordinary conversation. Or the fancy stall, went on Mrs. Brightly. I could stock a complete in town, jewelry and leather and such like, regardless, you know. Oh, I wouldn't mind taking on one or two stalls.

Stocking them both, regardless. It's such a pleasure to work in the cause of charity, I always think. I say to Botti, Botti, said her ladyship, rather faintly. Yes, Botti, my hubby, i say to him why is all this here boundless wealth given to us i say except to give others a leg up believe me lady markham when i had a stall in the fete here crowded as it was of course our guarding holds hundreds i spent six hundred pounds on stuff for the stall i did indeed and didn't take a penny out of the profits for expenses either believe me Lady Markham sat upright in her pseudo-jaco-jacobean chair and stared in front of her.

Mrs. Bott was rather disappointed. Nothing friendly or chatty about her visitor, she thought, didn't seem a bit interested in things. Of course, the place is a responsibility. Forty acres, believe me, 20 indoor servants and 10 outdoor ones, a responsibility. Not from the money point of view, of course. Oh, no, we don't have to think of that. body can do things regardless, but it's the feeling of responsibility. Why, last week I was quite queer, and I put it down to that.

Queer, said Lady Markham. Yes, liver, said Mrs. Bott. Oh, queer, you mean ill. That's right, said Mrs. Bott. No, she wasn't easy to talk to, thought Mrs. Bott, with an inward sigh. Funny how stiff some of these society people were, really difficult to entertain. nothing to say for themselves. Of course, went on, Mrs. Bot, it was a relief and no mistake to get the furnishing of this place

off our minds. You'd hardly believe me if I told you what body had to fork out for the furnishing of the place. She paused, but Lady Markham asked no question. Again, Mrs. Bott sighed to herself. Like mummies, these people were, took no interest in anything. Guess how much I paid for that chair you're sitting. on now. I've no idea, said Lady Markham, without even looking at the chair. A hundred quid, down. Oh, did you? said Lady Markham, without the slightest interest. Perhaps thought Mrs.

Bott, she took no interest because she didn't believe that it was a real antique. Perhaps she didn't believe that her diamonds were real. That was a horrid thought when Baudy had paid so much for them. the first time she began to notice the visitor's jewelry. She had thrown open her scarf and revealed a string of pearls. Very good pearls, thought Mrs. Bot. Very like her own upstairs. Very, very like her own pearls upstairs. In her own string of pearls, there was a pearl near the middle of a much darker color than the others. There was a similar pearl here. In her own string of pearls upstairs, they were graduated in size, there was one which always seemed to Mrs. Bought to be not quite the right size. There was just such a one here. A small diamond was missing

from the clasp of her own string of pearls upstairs. Allow me to draw that curtain, said Mrs. bought, the sun's on your back. She slipped behind her visitor's back to the window and drew the curtain. Her eyes fastened on her visitor's neck. Yes, the same diamond was missing. It was all Mrs. Bach could do not to scream for help. It must be. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

Must be. She must, at all costs, go up to her room and see if her pearls were there. She collected her faculties as best she could. Er, I'm sure like to meet my little girl, Lady Markham. She said, I'll go and try to find her. She ran upstairs, Panthers. her fat little face purple. Heaven's alive.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. She opened her drawer, and there lay the open case where she kept her pearls. Empty. It was, it couldn't be. But it was. With a firm hand,

she repressed another incipient attack of hysterics, and went down to her husband in the study. But, blah, blah, body, she gasped. She's stolen my pearls. Mr. Bot stared at her in amazement. He, too, was short and stout, and as a rule, amiable-looking. Ooh, who has love? inquired Mr. Bot. That lady, Markham has sobbed his wife.

She c-c-c-c-culled, and I was in the garden, and she must have slipped upstairs and taken him gone. Oh, how do you know? She'd taken him, love, said Mr. Bott. She said, wearing him, Boddy, sobbed him. Mrs. Bot, she's c c-c-c-c-c-g-g-g-tham-on. I've seen them, the diamonds gone out of the clas and all. Now, don't have, have hysterics. A hysterics love, said Mr. Bott soothingly. It can't be true, body, can it? She pleaded, wiping her eyes. The sight of the real lace on her

handkerchief and the thought of what it had cost soothed her somewhat. She can't have taken them. Mr. Bot shook his head wisely. I'm afraid it's true love, he said sadly. I was reading an article in last week's Sunday paper, and it said that practically all these aristocrats are a deck. He hunted the elusive word a minute in silence, then gave it up. Decade. Most of them, thieves, some of them, brilliant figures in society,

and secretly the ads, ads, of a gang. of thieves. She must be one of them. Oh, but Boddy, why should she wear them? Nerve, said Mr. Botts solemnly. She thought you'd never notice some nerve. Now, look here, old lady, go in and talk to her agreeable like, you know, seem quite happy, happy, and keep her there, and I'll send for a policeman. Oh, Bothy, screamed Mrs. Bost. You mustn't. Yes, I must, said Mr. Bop firmly. If you'd read that article, you'd feel the same as what I do now. They ought to be exposed. That's what I feel. Decent citizens, same as what I am, to show them up. Now you go back to her old lady and leave all the rest of me.

Mrs. Bot went back. Lady Markham tried to stifle a yawn. Really, these people were amazing. The woman goes out of the room in a most peculiar and abrupt manner, stays away nearly 20 minutes, and then returns in a state that her ladyship can only diagnose as partially inebriated, red in the face and talking in a strange and disconnected fashion. Lady Markham began to wish that she'd not come. After all, they could have managed without Mrs. Bott's money. She'd had no idea these people were so peculiar. Then suddenly the door opened and the village policeman appeared.

Now, the village policeman was a youth who had lived on Lady Markham's estate, all his life, and looked up to her as lower in rank, and only just a little lower even so, to the queen alone. It was Lady Markham, who had kept his grandmother out of the workhouse, had provided his mother with nurses and nourishment in her recent illness, and had been instrumental in getting him into his present position. He looked round the room blankly. He'd been sent in to arrest a lady who was in the drawing-room and had stolen Mrs. Bought Spurls. He looked round and round the room gaping. It happened that Lady Markham had sent for him that morning, but the messenger had not been able to find him. Oh, Higgs, said her ladyship kindly,

you shouldn't have come here after me. It was nothing important, only the orchards been robbed again. If you call it the manor at half-past six, I'll give you all details. She turned to Mrs. Bot. Excuse his coming here after me, she said graciously. I sent for him about a small matter this morning, and he probably thought it was urgent. Outside, in the passage, the unhappy Higgs, faced a furious Mr. Bott. Haven't, haven't you done it? Stormed Mr. Bot?

No, sir, Gaffed Higgs. There was no one there, sir. No one but Mrs. Bott and Lady Markham, sir. But it is Lady Markham, stormed Mr. Bot. Bott. it is lady markham i tell you didn't you hear me saying it was the lady with mrs bought i've got proof oh no sir protested young higgs earnestly i couldn't do that sir honestly i couldn't do that sir for answer mr bot opened the drawing-room door and pushed higgs into the room well higgs said her ladyship the miserable higgs put his hand to his collar as if to loosen it did you say six sir half-past six your ladyship He stammered. Half past six, said her ladyship coldly.

Higgs returned to the impatient Mr. Bott. Well, said Mr. Bott, Higgs took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his brow. I can't, sir, he gasped. Honest, I can't. You can, and you will, said little Mr. Bott. Come in with me. He entered holding Higgs by the arm.

Higgs looked wildly round for escape. Lady Markham looked from one to the other in a maze. now higgs prompted mr bob but at this point a diversion took place violet elizabeth entered followed by the four outlaws the four outlaws looked sheepish this was violent elizabeth's stunt not theirs they had been in the wood for the last hour lying in wait for unwary travellers but no travellers wary or unwary had passed their sole bag had been a tin box deposited by a naturalist in what he thought was a safe hiding-place while he went into the village for a drink. Violet Elizabeth addressed herself to her father. Do you want a snake to make into that? She said, because we'll tell you one for three shilling. What, bellowed Mr. Bott?

William then, lisp Violet Elizabeth placidly, that you make thoth out of black beetled. Mr. Bott turned a red and ferocious eye upon William, though we thought that perhaps she'd like a snake, Two. What? boomed Mr. Bot. He looked as if he were going to burst with fury. Mrs. Bot wondered whether to have hysterics now or wait till later. She decided to wait till later. Lady Markham pinched herself to see whether she was awake and found rather to her surprise that she was. We thought, continued to violet Elizabeth unabashed, that a snake

might do it well. It's the knife-nake, a-leep now. she took off the lid of the box and peeped in but the snake was apparently no longer asleep with a strong untwisting of its coils it came out upon the carpet it was of the grass snake variety but rather unusually large in size and unusually light in color and for that reason had been collected by its collector the naturalist mr bot leapt upon the grand piano send for the gamekeepers he shouted tell them to bring them to bring up to the naturalist mr bot leapt upon the grand piano send for the gamekeepers he shouted tell them to bring their guns. Higgs stepped forward, took up the snake, and dropped it out of the window. Mrs. Bot could restrain her hysterics no longer. She burst into tears, leaning for comfort upon Lady Markham's breast and flinging her arms around her neck. Oh, you wicked woman, she said, why did you steal my pearls? Of course, there were explanations. There were explanations between Mrs. Bott and Lady Markham, between the outlaws and Lady Markham,

between Higgs and Mr. Bott, between Violet Elizabeth and everyone, and later, and far less pleasant, between the outlaws and their respective parents. But explanations are wearisome things, and best left to the imagination. As William said, extraordinary how some people in this world like to make a fuss over every single little thing. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mal Crompton. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10, William the Bold Crusader.

It was the curate, a well-meaning but misguided young man, who, in a quite justifiable attempt to enliven the atmosphere of Sunday school, gave on the spur of the moment a stirring lesson on the history of the Crusades. The curate was very young and only discovered when he had actually launched into the subject that his knowledge of it was less wide than he had imagined. So his account of the great movement was perhaps slightly bewildering to the uninitiated. But what he lacked in knowledge he made up in enthusiasm, even William, Douglas and Ginger, who with Henry were known as,

the outlaws and who attended Sunday school under protest in order that their parents' Sabbath afternoon calm might be as undisturbed, and the Sabbath afternoon calm of the vicar and curate as disturbed as possible, caught the enthusiasm. They caught it late, it is true. They were only weaned from their interest in the race between Ginger's tortoise and Douglas's tortoise when the curate was well into a subject, and partly because of that, and part because the curate's knowledge contained some startling gaps, the impression the outlaws gleaned was more inspiring than accurate.

They certainly found the main fact inspiring enough. It seemed to put religion in an entirely new light. That meekness and humility and turning the other cheek, generally enjoined by their religious teachers, had never been really acceptable to the outlaws. But this spreading religion by an array of banners and swords and spears and coats of mail, this marching upon unbelievers with all the glorious panoply of war, was quite another matter. Henry, who had not been to Sunday school, met them afterwards, and to the best of their ability they imparted to him what they had heard.

Just all joined together and fought him and made him join religion, said William, went about just fighting anyone who worshipped idols, added Douglas, and people let them, because they was doing it for religion, contributed Ginger with a certain wistful envy. Just fighting everybody that didn't belong to religion, put in William to make the idea yet clearer. But what I can't understand, said Ginger slowly, was how they could fight folks properly going about with their legs crossed.

They didn't fight with their legs crossed. They didn't fight with their legs crossed, explained William earnestly. They only went cross-legged after they died. There was silence while this stupendous idea sank slowly into the listening Henry's brain. Then, gosh, he ejaculated, impressed. It's true, said William, because he told us it in Sunday school. Any small excitement at this time would have diverted the outlaw's interest from the subject of the crusaders, but no excitement of any sort took place.

School life was unusually dull. Home life was unusually dull. Nothing happened. Life flowed on with a calm and almost unbearable monotony. Even the ordinary school feuds seemed to be temporarily in abeyance. There were no enemies to fight, no coups to plan, no insults to avenge. Lessons were duller than ever. Worse of all, their ordinary games.

of Red Indians, Robbers, and Pirates seemed to have pauled. The outlaws were bored, and all the time, like the lump of leaven in the parable, the idea of the Crusaders was silently at work in their minds. It was William who first broached the subject as they sat rather moodily in the disused barn where they held all their meetings. They had made abortive attempts to play Red Indians, robber, chiefs, and pirates, and had given them up, because obviously their hearts were not in them. Suddenly, William remarked tentatively, I suppose there isn't any folks worship and idols left nowadays, is there? Sudden interest gleamed in every face. I dare say there is, if only you knew, said Ginger darkly. They do it in secret,

of course, because they know they get hung if the vicar found him. The outlaws all brightened visibly. well, let's keep a look out, said Henry. Let's look round in church on Sunday and see who isn't there and then go and see what they're doing and said. Full of new ardor, the outlaws went home and spent a good deal of time collecting weapons. Ginger tried to make a coat of mail out of an old fireguard, but after tearing his coat in two places, gave it up. William polished up his one-and-six-penny pistol and lent his air gun to Henry. whose only weapon was a poker, which, though probably more efficacious as a weapon of offense than either the pistol or the air gun, certainly had an unprofessional appearance.

The congregation at church next Sunday was disconcerted by four separate small boys, each with his family near the front of the church, who spent the entire service when they were not being forcibly tweaked into position by the nearest member of their families, turning round and fixing every member of the congregation severally with what appeared to be a baleful stare. As a matter of fact, it was only a stare of concentration, while the outlaws memorized those inhabitants of the village

who attended church, and were, therefore, outside the sphere of their prospective activities. The recipients of the stairs, especially if they had any personal knowledge of the church, outlaws, felt apprehensive. Had they known the truth, they would have felt only relief. William, said Mrs. Brown, on the way home, I felt simply ashamed of you, turning round and staring at people all the time. I don't know what, the vicar thought. Well, if he only knew why, said William, enigmatically, he'd feel glad. And I don't know what your father would

have said if he'd been there, went on, Mrs. Brown severely. His father. That was an idea. His father seldom went to church. It might be a good plan to begin on his father. But on second thoughts, William decided that it mightn't. It might annoy his father. And William had a wholesome awe of his father, not from any vague speculations as to what his father might do if annoyed, but from actual painful knowledge of what his father could do and had done when annoyed. He decided that after all, it might be wiser to begin operations outside his family circle. The Crusade, however, did not move very fast at the beginning. The first step had been the collecting of their armor, and that had been, in its own way,

enjoyable. The second step had been a marking down of the non-attenders at church, and that had held a certain interest, though the list had turned out to be an unexpectedly large one. We can't fight all those, William had said, slightly depressed, they'd conquer us first battle. Yes, said Ginger hopefully, but we'd attack them one by one, singly, you know, before they've had time to warn each other. But Ginger's optimism failed to communicate itself to the others, though Henry tried to lighten the atmosphere of gloom by saying, well, we've got some jolly fine weapons anyway. Yes, but not enough to conquer half the village, said William irritably. I think it's simply disgraceful, the amount of disbelievers there is. It's unbelievers, he called him, William,

said Henry, with an annoying air of knowledge. Well, it's disbelievers I call him, said William, crushingly. And then, turning his mind temporarily to fresh woods and pastures new, let's go and collect conkers anyway. But the next day things brightened. It was Henry who brought the news. I say, he said breathlessly as he joined them, General Mold's got an idol. I heard someone talking about it. It's an engine idol, and he keeps it in his drawing room. The Crusader's spirits rose. Good, said William, the leader, in a business-like tone of voice. That'll do to begin on then. They held a parade. William drilled them. for a few minutes. The drilling was not an entire success, owing to the divergence of opinion

as to the relative positions of right and left, and each order entailed several minutes' argument on the subject. But their equipment was a subject for justifiable pride. Ginger had returned to his attempts to make a coat of mail, and had this time partially succeeded. He had found an old meat safe and discovered that it was quite possible to encase the upper part of his person in it. It hampered his movements considerably. But he affirmed that it would probably save his life by keeping bullets and spears from his more vital parts. William had his pistol. Henry had Williams' air gun. Ginger had his coat of mail, and Douglas had a murderous-looking gardening fork. What about a banner? said Henry suddenly.

A banner, they all agreed, was an absolute necessity, and a further meeting was arranged for the designing and fashioning of a banner. After some discussion, they decided that the legend should be down with idols, and William was to bring the material for it. He arrived, proudly bearing a broom handle, a large square of white cardboard, and a blue pencil. Their first difficulty was the spelling of the word idols. It was Henry who came to the rescue. It's I-D-Y-L-S, he said. I know, because my mother's got a book called Idols of the King, and it spelt that way on the back. Gosh, said William, deeply shocked. Does the King worship him? Then slowly and laboriously, he printed the words down with idols upon the white cardboard, nailed it upon the broom handle, and decided,

that the time was ripe for action. The outlaws, for all their bravery, were not devoid of the virtue of caution. General Mould was very large in the body and short in the temper, and William, who drew up their plan of action, decided that the idol must be removed in its owner's absence, and that on this occasion a pitched battle must, if possible, be avoided. At two o'clock that afternoon, General Moult might have been observed, setting forth in the direction of the golf links.

At quarter past two, the crusaders might have been observed, setting off in the direction of General Mold's house. They carried their panoply of war as unobtrusively as possible. William held his banner downwards so that its legend might not be read by the passerby. The others carried their weapons in a drooping furtive manner. They did not wish to be overpowered by possible enemies before they had gained their object. But once inside General Malt's garden, they formed themselves boldly in fighting a ray. William, with his banner, was in the van.

Behind him walked Ginger in his meat safe, and behind Ginger the other two. They marched up to the front door, meeting with no accident on the way, except that Ginger tripped over a stone and had to be helped up by his leader, as his coat of mail imprisoned his arms. The front door stood conveniently open. They marched in. Still, meeting with no opposition, they entered the drawing room. There stood the idol on a pedestal behind the wall.

William seized it with a dramatic flourish and tucked it under his arm. Then they formed up again to march out. But this time an enemy barred their way, an enormous woman in a print dress and a cooking apron. She held a rolling pin in her hand. It was General Moults Cook. Yeah, young blackards, she roared with a thick brogue. I'll teach you to come plan your trips and days and post-houses, I will.

She proceeded to impart the promised instruction. William and Douglas received boxes on the ear that sent them staggering out into the hall, and Henry received the full impact of the rolling pin in the small of his back. Ginger's coat of mail fulfilled its wearer's highest expectations by receiving the full brunt of the cook's palm, but disappointed him by dealing him itself a startling blow on the head. It says much for the crusader's presence of mind that they withdrew with a certain degree of order. That is to say, William still carried his banner, ginger his meat safe, Henry his air gun, and Douglas his gardening fork. The idle lay, fortunately unbroken on the hearth-rug to mark the scene of the brief and in-glory,

its conflict. The cook picked it up and replaced it with an irate bang on its pedestal. Bad cussed to them, she muttered fiercely. The outlaws ran too hard to find breath for speech till they had safely reached the road. Then Ginger summed up the situation quite aptly with a remark, No luck there. And Douglas said breathlessly, crumbs, wasn't she wild? And William, who was feeling slightly dizzy, added, well, let's go home now, must be about tea time. If it had not been for the banner and the coat of mail, probably the whole matter would have ended there. But William was proud of his banner, and Ginger was proud of his coat of mail, and they had much enjoyed the sensation of marching to battle, thus be decked, though they had to admit that the actual battle had proved a

disappointment. So it was Ginger who found fresh fuel for their crusading zeal, and William, who, to mix our metaphors, seized eagerly upon it. Ginger arrived at the meeting place the next day, breathless with excitement. That Miss Frampton, what lived at the end of the village, he said, she's a spiritous. What's a spirit of what you said, demanded William sternly. She, she worships things called mejums, said Douglas, rather doubtfully. What's a mejum? demanded William. It's a sort of ghost, said Douglas. Gosh, ejaculated Henry. Fancy worship a ghost. Well, let's go there, said Ginger, already girding on his meat safe. All right, said William, taking up his banner. The other two were less eager. I can still feel her

rolling-pin on my back, said Henry. Well, we're not going to her. this time, said William, encouragingly, we're going to someone quite different. Yes, but how do you know there'll be any better? said Douglas gloomily. This question was unanswerable, so William wisely did not attempt to answer it, but they were not really reluctant to follow William's leadership.

They took up their weapons, and soon they were walking down the road in the direction of Miss Frampton's house. Once inside the Garden Gate, they proudly displayed their warlike panoply, forming in order of battle and marching up to the front door. William first with his banner, then Ginger with his meat safe, then the other two. The front door was open, but the Crusaders had had a salutary lesson

in entering open front doors uninvited. They halted. Better ring, perhaps, whispered to Douglas Horsley. Yes, said William, so all very well for you to say that right at the back. you can get away quick enough if anything goes wrong. There's someone in the garden, said Ginger. Let's go round there. So they marched round there.

A young man was in the garden. He came forward to meet them. Hello, he said in amazement. We've come to see Miss Frampton, said William, scowling fiercely. The young man read the legend on William's banner and burst into a hearty laugh. No, I don't agree with you, he said. I don't agree with you at all. I'm in the middle of quite a promising one myself,

and I don't agree with you. By the way, may I introduce myself? I'm Miss Frampton's nephew. A very pretty girl came out of the French windows of the house onto the lawn. What's the matter, Bobby? She said laughing, who are they? He pointed an accusing finger at William Spanner.

They're Puritans, their kill joys. Look at them. Down with idols. Indeed. Don't take any note. said then paula don't listen to we'll make you said william pugnaciously we'll fight you the young man at once squared his fists and adopted a fighting attitude all right he said come on now take on the lot of you put down your guns and pitchforks and come on they laid down their weapons and charged in a body the young man seemed to make a gentle movement with his fists and a second later william and ginger picked themselves out of a bed of hardy annuals and Douglas and Henry from the bottom of the bank where they had rolled.

Come on, said the young man again. They came on again, and exactly the same thing happened. Don't hurt them, Bobby, said the girl, still laughing. I'm not hurting them, he said. I'm only tickling them up a bit. Come on now, put some ginger into it this time. They came on. They put some ginger into it, and they received some ginger in return.

William, as he crawled out of a holly bush, whether the impact of his ginger with the young man's ginger had impelled him, decided in his capacity as leader that the exhibition was too ignominious to be allowed to continue. He went to his banner and picked it up with the air of a guest preparing for departure. We came to see Miss Frampton, not you, he said coldly to the young man. Well, won't you wait, said the young man. She'll be here any minute now. no thank you said William we'll call again and added perhaps for he was on the whole a truthful boy and didn't mean to call again he didn't mean ever to go anywhere where there was a possibility of meeting this young man again the other crusaders picked up their weapons and accompanied him you put up a jolly good fight called the girl after them he's a lightweight champion the crusaders slightly battered walked home. Well, it wouldn't have been right to hurt him in front of her, said Ginger,

whose gift for putting a good face on things amounted almost to genius. It didn't seem to mind hurting us, said Douglas bitterly. It didn't mean to hurt us, said Henry judicially. He just thought of made strong. They entered the barn and sat down. Well, said Henry gloomily, it doesn't seem to be coming to much, does it? I can still feel where she hit me on the back with the Roland pen yesterday and now i've got awful bruise right down my leg where he knocked me onto the path i don't wonder they got cross-legged if they got as much knocking about as what we're getting i feel i'm going to get cross-legged and cross-eyed and cross-armed and cross everything if it goes on much longer william had not been listening he had been sitting on the ground by his beloved banner gazing

absently into vacancy a frown upon his freckled face and so he had not been listening to the ground upon his freckled face And suddenly the frown faded from it, and a light seemed to shine forth. It was the light of inspiration. His followers knew it well. Their spirits rose when they saw it. I know what will do, said William. You see chapels disbelievers, isn't it? Well, on Sunday, the Crusaders gathered round and listened in breathless excitement.

It was rather a fortunate Sunday for William, because his father had gone away for the weekend. and was not coming back till Monday morning. William displayed an unusual willingness and punctuality and setting off for Sunday school. Had anyone cared to watch his departure, which nobody did, they would have noticed that he went out in rather a furtive manner by the side gate, and that he carried with him a piece of white cardboard nailed to a broom handle. The church Sunday school began at 3 o'clock,

but the chapel Sunday school began at quarter to 3, it was generally supposed that this arrangement was an unprincipled attempt on the part of the chapel to draw into their fold such mothers as considered an extra quarter of an hour's peace on sunday afternoon of more importance than many doctrines it was however the habit of the members of the church sunday school to assemble outside the school at about a quarter to three in order apparently to work up their youthful spirits to that pitch of exuberance necessary to the full enjoyment of sunday school the curate never came to unlock the door till the third stroke of three he did not like sunday school and rather counted on his pupils taking a quarter of an hour to get into their places before he need begin operations but this sunday there was surging excitement outside the school william and his supporters were making speeches fiery speeches inflammatory speeches warlike speeches william stood balanced precariously on the the edge of the rain butt, and Ginger stood on a window seal. William held up his banner, and Ginger held up his meat safe. The members of the Sunday school understood little of the confused rhetoric delivered by William and Ginger, but they understood one thing quite clearly.

They understood that instead of the usual dreary repetition of collocks and hymns, William was proposing a scrap of some sort under his leadership, and they hail the idea with joy. When William ended his speech with the question, will you all come now with us and fight him? They answered, yes, as one boy, and cheered and turned to somersaults to march their complete agreement with his sentiments, whatever they might be. And out they surged into the main road. William walked first with his glorious banner, and by his side walked Ginger in his glorious meat safe. The others followed behind, a seething, dancing, scuffling, singing crowd of small boys, all eager for the fight that William had promised them. One small boy had dashed home for a trumpet,

which he blew loudly and incessantly all along the road. People watched the strange procession from the windows, open-mouthed with astonishment. The chapel Sunday school was generally supposed to be better organized than the church. Sunday school. Certainly its pupils sat round quietly, while a large man with a beard drew from the story of Cain and Abel the moral that it is very wrong indeed to murder one's only brother. But suddenly a faint, far-away sound reached this peaceful scene, and the listeners pricked up their ears. It was a strange sound, singing, shouting, the noise of a trumpet, the tramping of many feet were its component parts. It drew nearer. It roused a certain martial excitement in the breasts

of the board chapolites. It drew nearer still, the large man faltered in his graphic description of Cain's brand. Then suddenly it happened. The door burst open, and for just one second, there was a clear view of a freckled boy carrying a banner inscribed down with idols. Another boy in a meat-safe and a crowd of boys behind. Then all was confusion. They swarmed into the room with obviously hostile intent, and the chapolites rose without hesitation and with gleeful abandon to close with them.

The room suddenly became an inferno of fighting, shouting boys. The man with the beard did what he could. His lesson on Cain and Abel seemed to have been pitifully wasted. Someone sent to fetch the vicar, and the curate, and they came and also did what they could. The curate joined the fray and thoroughly enjoyed himself. It was a much more exhilarating affair, even to him, than the lesson on the Athanasian creed he had prepared.

As I have remarked before, he was a very young man. The vicar received a butt in the abdomen and retired to the little room at the back to wait till it was over. He thought, and rightly, that this sort of thing was, more in the curates line than his. The man with the beard tried to calm the tumult by playing peaceful hymns on the harmonium, but that only seemed to inflame the combatants. It was a glorious fight, a red-letter fight in the annals of the village, a fight which the combatants would describe to their children and children's children. No one except the outlaws knew what they

were fighting about. It was just a fight, a primitive fight. The surprise. The surprise. invasion of alien territory by one army and the defense of their native heath by the other, the sort of fight that dates from pre-homeric days, the sort of fight that rouses primitive emotion and satisfies dimly felt primitive needs. It lasted an hour. Mr. Brown returned home on Monday morning shortly after breakfast. He saw at once that something had gone wrong. Everything gone all right? He said tactfully. to his wife. Oh, no, John, said Mrs. Brown tearfully.

Everything's gone wrong. For instance, said Mr. Brown, surreptitiously glancing through the morning paper. Well, I just heard from old Jenks, and he can't come and cut up those logs for us this morning, and we've none to be going on with, and much worse than that. Yes, he prompted gently, William. Oh, she gasped. Have you heard? I've heard nothing, he said dryly.

I'm merely suggesting the most unlikely source of trouble I could think of. It's awful, John, moaned Mrs. Brown. The most terrible thing happened yesterday. I'm afraid Williams got religious mania. She told him the story and just the flicker of a smile passed over Mr. Brown's countenance. He folded up his paper. Well, he said, it sounds like the sort of religious mania

that can be treated at home. Where is the Lionheart? The Lion—oh, you mean William. I mean, William. I think he's upstairs. Mr. Brown stepped into the hall. William, he called. Yes, father, answered William meekly, with the old, old attempt to propitiate, outraged authority by a tone of deferential humility. But Mr. Brown's voice was suavely polite. Can you spare me a minute?" William's heart sank. Of his father suavely polite and his father furiously angry, he much preferred the latter. Of course it hurt at the time, but it was soon over.

He realized, however, that in the matter of parental manners, offenders can't be choosers. He came slowly downstairs. His father led him out into the back garden where lay a pile of logs. are some idols for you to demolish, William," he said pleasantly. They're not idols, said William. No, but you can imagine they are. You can work off your crusading energy on them, without, I may add, the assistance or the company of your friends.

You know the size we have them chopped into, don't you? William glared furiously at the logs. Had chopping the logs been forbidden, William's soul would have yearned to chop them. Had the chopping been an act of wanton destruction, it would have appealed immeasurably to William's barbarian spirit. But the chopping was a task enjoined on him by authority, so William loathed it. You mean chop them all up, he said, at last, in horror. I see you're beginning to get the idea, William, said his father encouragingly. Your brain works slowly, but surely.

but, said William, I'll take me all morning. That is precisely the idea, William, said Mr. Brown. As it happens, I'm not going to the office today, so I can keep a friendly eye on you from the morning room window and see how you're getting on. And it did take him all morning, and all morning Mr. Brown sat comfortably reading

in an easy chair at the morning room window. That is why, when anyone mentions Crusades or Crusaders, a bitter, bitter look comes into William's face. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of William the Conqueror by Rick Mal Crompton. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11 The Wrong Party

It was arranged that William was to give a party. Neither William nor his parents particularly wanted to give a party, but it was demanded by the Social Code. Certain boys had asked William to their parties, and William, responding reluctantly to pressure applied by authority, had attended those parties. Therefore, whether William wanted to or not, William must have a party to ask back the boys whose parties he had attended. As a matter of fact, he was more ready to fulfill his social duty this year than he generally

was. Robert and Ethel, William's elder brother and sister, had given a party, and so William was eager to show himself as good as they and have a party, too. Roberts and Ethel's party certainly had not been an unqualified success, chiefly owing to the fact that William had mistaken one of their guests for a burglar and kept him imprisoned in the greenhouse for part of the evening. But William considered that his mistake had been quite justifiable and that it was silly to have let a little thing like that spoil a party. William left all the arrangements of his party in his mother's hands, except the invitations, upon which he kept an anxious and rather distrustful eye. He had a deep suspicion that his mother would sacrifice his pride on the altar of the Social Code,

by inviting some of his deadly enemies to his party, just because their mothers had asked her to lunch, or Ethel knew their elder sister, or some equally futile reason. Mothers never seem to realize the serious and deadly nature of a school feud. They say such things as, Yes, dear, you may not like him, but I think you ought to try to love everyone.

Or, I think we must have him to tea, dear, because his mother sent in those nice flowers from her garden last week. The origin of the feud between William and his supporters and Hubert Lane and his supporters was, as they say in history books, hidden in the mists of antiquity. No one knew exactly when or how it had arisen. It seemed to have been there from time immemorial, a heaven-sent institution to enliven the monotony of school life by fights and ambushes, and guerrilla warfare.

School life would be dull indeed without such occasional relaxations. William kept an eye upon the invitation list for his party because he was afraid that a Hubert Laneite might somehow creep upon it unobserved. A Hubert Laneite whose parents with mistaken zeal would probably force him to attend the festivity, and then trouble would ensue. But the feud was a feud of many years standing, and Mrs. Brown, who had suffered more than once in her well-intentioned attempts to act as peacemaker, was quite willing to honor William in this, and no Hubert Laneites were asked, though to William's horror Mrs. Lane sent in a pod of her homemade chutney to Mrs. Brown just a week before the party. For a few hours in which the fate of the world seemed to tremble in the balance, Mrs. Brown hesitated, but on Williams hinting darkly that if Hubert Lane came to the party,

he, William, would not attend it in any circumstances or in any capacity. She decided to ask Mrs. Lane to tea instead, and explain to her how much they were all hoping to see Darling Hubert at William's party next year. When the week before the party arrived, William allowed his mind to set itself at rest. All the invitations had been set out, and the answers received, and the list remained pure and unspotted from the Hubert Laynites. William himself behaved with a certain amount of circumspection. When he met a Hubert Laynite, he contended himself with a boxing match,

or merely the hurling of those primitive vitupirations so dear to boyhood, such as, oh, it's you, is it? Sorry, I thought just at first it was a monkey. It was William's prospective guests who made the mistake. They could not keep themselves from taunting the Hubert Laynites with the fact that they had not been invited to William's party. They impressed the fact of William's party so deeply on the Hubert Laynites that Williams' party seemed to loom in their minds as the only important event of the year. William began to have an uneasy suspicion that the Hubert Laneites were planning some goo.

They talked together in little groups. They laughed, nasty sniggering secret laughs, as if in anticipation of some future joyful triumph. William looked forward to his party with a certain amount of apprehension. A boy who is giving a party is at a disadvantage in dealing with his foes. I hope it'll go off all right. He muttered the night before. Well, it's got more chance than most people's, said Robert bitterly. I suppose you won't mess up your own party as you mess up most things.

No, but somebody else might, said William darkly. Ginger arrived first, and it was Ginger who announced the fact that the Hubert Lainites were concealed among the bushes in William's garden, engaged in the enjoyable occupation of Jim. Shearing from the darkness at each exquisitely dressed guest as he or she stood in the light of the porch on the front steps waiting to be admitted. Soft cries of, oh my, oh, Christ, look at him. Someone's washed his face for him. Oh, look at his hair. He's been and put treacle on it. Oh, isn't she be beautiful. Watch this one. Isn't he lovely?

he's got new shoes with bows on there's old douglas don't he look hungry he's wondering what they've got for supper not much poor old douglas they've not got much we've had a look through the window the guests entered one by one embarrassed and indignant they were only restrained from hurling themselves into the bushes to mortal combat by memories of frequently repeated maternal injunctions as to their party clothes and part manners. William made loud complaints to his family and insisted on the necessity of his leading his party out into the night to do battle with the enemy, but Mrs. Brown was firm. No, William, you're most certainly not too, she said. I shan't think of it. I never heard such an idea, going out, fighting in the garden indeed, at a party. Well, I can't help it. They're very rude little boys, that's all I can say, but you must take no notice of them. Simply behave as if they weren't there.

That's the only dignified thing to do. But I don't want to do anything dignified, persisted William. I want to fight him. Most certainly not, William, said Mrs. Brown. If your father were here, of course. Her tone implied that Mr. Brown would have made short work of the Hubert Laynites. But Mr. Brown was a wise man, and when any of his offspring were giving parties, went out to spend the evening with a friend.

William appealed to Robert, but Robert was not sympathetic. It's a pity, he said, if someone messes up your party, but when's all said and done, you messed up hours. Yes, but I thought he was a burglar, said William, with exasperation in his voice. When Robert, however, showed himself at the front door for a minute, he was greeted with loud murmurs of mock admiration and river. to derision from the darkness. Robert's dress suit was not of long-standing,

and he still felt self-conscious in it. He flung himself furiously in the direction of the murmur, tripped over something, and fell full-length into a laurel bush. The murmur changed to a muffled peon of joy and triumph. Robert went indoors and slammed the door, and then went upstairs to change his shirt. He felt that he disliked his young brother's friends more than he had ever disliked them in his life before.

Downstairs, William and his friends were making a sincere effort to forget the presence of their enemies outside, but it happened that the drawing-room curtains had been taken down because the conjurer, who was to perform afterwards in the morning-room, wanted them. And so William and his guests in the drawing-room felt themselves exposed to the unsympathetic and mocking gaze of countless Hubert Laynites lurking in the bushes. Over the proceedings there was a strange air of constraint.

In every youthful breast seethed only a bloodthirsty desire to sally forth into the night in search of vengeance. Failing this, they didn't want to do anything else. They were certainly not going to play silly games or dance silly dances or do anything that might give their watching enemies outside, further handles against them. They were painfully conscious of unseen, but all-seeing eyes outside, noting their every movement for possible derisive reproduction on future occasions.

The safest thing was to disappoint them by having no movements and speaking as little as possible. They refused to play games or dance at all. I can't get any go into it, almost sobbed Mrs. Brown. to Ethel. Well, let's turn the conjurer on, said Ethel, and see if that melts the ice. The conjurer was therefore dragged much against his will from the dining-room, where he was comfortably consuming a very satisfactory meal, to the morning-room where his outfit awaited him, and the guests were summoned from the drawing-room. They came with joy and relief,

glad to get anywhere where they felt that their every movement was not watched by hostile, mocking eyes. I wish they began to get rough, whispered Mrs. Brown pathetically, to Ethel as they filed in. You said you hope they wouldn't, said Ethel. Yes, but I didn't know they'd be like this, said Mrs. Brown. The guests had thrown anxious glances at the window curtains as they entered. To their partial relief they found them partially drawn. The heavy curtains did not quite meet, and the window was open, so that there was a distinct

if small space through which unseen enemies might watch the scene. The guests fixed their gaze on that space with mingled apprehension and ferocity. Then gradually they forgot it. He was a very good conjurer. He drew yards of colored paper out of an empty tumbler. He turned a penny into a half-crown and, a less exciting transformation, a half-crown into a penny. He did wonderful things with a pack of cards. He gave a card to Ginger and then found it inside his own watch, having shrunk to an eighth of its size.

Then he took a box and put a table napkin into it. He put it on his magic table under his magic cloth, and then he whipped away the cloth and took up the box again. I believe it's changed to a rabbit, said the conjurer with a smile. But it hadn't. It had changed to a dead cat. There came a muffled snigger from the window. Slowly the truth dawned on William and his guests. The Hubert Laneites had actually dared to tamper with the conjure's outfit. Wild beasts could not have restrained them then.

They rose in a body and surged out into the night. The Sally, of course, was a failure. The Hubert Laneites had wisely not awaited vengeance, but had beat a strategic retreat immediately on seeing the successful result of their coup. The rabbit was discovered a few minutes later by the frantic conjurer underneath the bureau, where Hubert Lane had provided it with a little pile of assorted greens, which it was sampling with appreciation. It was decided by William's family that, on the whole, his party had not been a success.

This belief was shared by the mothers of the guests. The mothers of the guest based their belief chiefly on the state of the guest's toilets when the guests returned to the bosom of their families. His dancing pumps simply covered with mud, wailed one. His suit all messed up as if he'd been falling about among bushes, said another. The outlaws went about for the next few days, looking grimly determined. It was extraordinary how elusive and self-effacing the Hubert Laneyce had become all of a sudden. Though the outlaws searched the village from end to end with murder in their hearts. They met not a single one. The Hubert Laneites went into the village, when they did go into the village, in bands,

and took to flight on sight of the outlaws. They had met the outlaws in deadly combat before, and had no false pride about admitting that discretion is the better part of valor. It was William who first heard the rumor that Hubert Lane was going to give a party. The outlaws abandoned the idea then of vengeance by pitched battle. They still wanted an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, but they decided that it was a meter that the punishment should fit the crime. The first thing to do, of course, was to discover the date of Hubert Lane's party, but this was less easy than at first it seemed, for Hubert Lane had not invited a single one of William's supporters and had furthermore sworn all his guests to secrecy. The outlaws

exercised all their ingenuity in various attempts to discover the all-important date. It was, of course, almost impossible to plan any sort of coup before they heard when the party was to take place and what was to happen at it. They held several meetings at which the chief item on the agenda seemed to be mutual recrimination for the non-discovery of the date of Hubert's party. Ginger lived nearest to Hubert Lane, so he came in for the lion's share, of abuse. I simply can't think why you don't find out when he's having his old party, said William, scathingly. I simply can't think why you don't, retorted Ginger with spirit. Well, aren't I doing all

I can, said William, with righteous indignation? What you doing? said Ginger pugnaciously. I'm, well, I'm going about asking folks, said William. So am I, said Ginger. But there came a day when Ginger entered the meeting place, his face wreathed in proud smiles. I've found out, he said simply. Tell us, how, when, gasped the outlaws excitedly. I was in the cake shop, exclaimed Ginger breathlessly, buying some humbugs, the big sort, the kind they make there, you know. Got any left, put in Douglas tentatively.

Oh, never mind about the old humbug, said William. Get on. I finished them all, said Ginger apologetically. to Douglas. They don't last long, that sort, and I only got two pennyworth. Get on, repeated William. Ginger got on. Well, just when she'd finished weighing them, and I was watching her jolly hard, I can tell you, they're jolly mean in that shop, you know, they don't stop till the scales get right down. They just get them moving a bit, and then they take them off and put them in the paper, and often's not they want go right down. I think they ought to let them go

right down with the bang, and if they don't, they ought to put some more on. Why, once, when they was weighing me something, it only just woggled a teeny bit, and they began taking them off to put in the bag, and I said, what were they, humbugs? said Douglas, with interest. What did you say to him, Ginger? said Henry. Get on about Hubert Lane's party, said William, who was a boy of one idea. No, it was acid drops, said Ginger, and I said, Oh, as William laid him low and took his seat astride on his chest. All right, all right, I keep trying to tell you, and you keep on interrupting. Well, Mrs. Lange came in and ordered 30 chairs for December the 28th in the evening

and a lot of cakes and stuff, so that must be the day of the party. William arose from Ginger's chest and raised his discordant young voice in a yell of triumph. On the evening of December 28th, four small boys might have have been seen creeping through the Lane's garden in the darkness at half-past six. The party would be sure to begin about seven. Parties always began about seven. The outlaws wished to be firmly entrenched in their position by seven. William, as usual, had drawn up their plan of operations.

A tree grew up the house and from its branches an open window on the first floor could easily be gained. This William knew was the box room. here in the midst of the enemy's castle the outlaws had decided to entrench themselves till the party had begun their plan of operation included among other things a complete failure of electric light throughout the house exactly how this was to be accomplished william was less certain than he pretended to be but he had read up the chapter on electricity in his boy's book and was hoping for the best successfully and with far less noise than anyone who knew them might have expected the outlaws climbed the tree in the darkness and took up their positions in the box-room it was dusty and not very comfortable william insisted on their hiding in case anyone should come into the room and caused a certain amount of discontent among his followers by claiming as his perquisite the only comfortable hiding-place a roomy cupboard only the gravity of the situation and the certainty that a noise of any sort would probably bring the whole nest of hubert laynites about their ears prevented there putting the matter to the only test recognized by the outlaws that of physical strength a diversion was caused by douglas who with a little scream of joy which was instantly shushed by the other outlaws with a shmust louder than the original scream said that

he could see a rat. Investigation, however, proved that it was an old bedroom slipper of Mr. Lanes, and, at the sound of a door opening on the landing, the outlaws hastily retired to their hiding places. William, too, was comfortable covered, Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, to their cramped positions behind boxes and packing cases that were several sizes too small for them. Someone went downstairs and then came unmistakable sounds of the arrivals of guests. Motors, greetings, the constant ringing of the front doorbell. The outlaws strained their ears to distinguish actual individual Hubert Laynites,

but all they could hear was the confused murmur as each guest arrived. Gradually this was followed by silence. They're all doing something, said Ginger. Dancing, suggested Henry. There's no music-same. said William, I bet it's games. You'd hear more noise if it was games, said Douglas. I bet it's the conjurer. Well, I bet it isn't. I bet they're not having a conjurer, said William. Then I'm going down to see what it is. This bold statement was received with a gasp of dismay.

They'll get you, said Ginger apprehensively. Well, I bet they won't, said William, anymore. And if I was an injun, I can creep down just as quiet as it. if I was an engine. If an engine wanted to know what they was doing, he'd just creeped down there and back, and nobody'd hear him. Well, that's what I'm going to do. With deep misgivings, watching his departure with anxious eyes from their hiding places, the outlaws let him go. William crept on to the landing. The landing was empty. Cautiously, he peered over the banister. The stairs were empty. As far as he could see, the hall was empty. Very close. cautiously he crept down the stairs.

A door just inside the front door was open, and from it came a buzz of conversation. William's curiosity was aroused. Evidently, the party was there, and something was going on. William wanted to know what was going on. He crept along the hall and peeped through the hinge of the half-open door. Then he stood emotionless, paralyzed with amazement. Where was Hubert Lane's party? This room was full of grown-ups.

Suddenly, the door opened and someone came out. Yes, it's in here, she said to William, go straight in. Before William could resist or think of any excuse or explanation, he found that he was being piloted into the room. The room was full of chairs in rows, and the chairs were full of people. There is a lot of room in the front row, said somebody, and William found himself being led up to the lots of room in the front row. He was too astonished to do anything but sit on the chair to which they had led him.

He looked around him wildly. In front of him was a table which contained a glass of water, and behind which stood a learned-looking, spectacled man, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand. Behind William sat rows of grown-up people. Some he knew and some he didn't, but all looked earnest and intelligent. A very fat lady and a very fat gentleman had,

now taken the two seats next to him, hymming him in and cutting off his retreat. The fat lady leaned towards him with a fat smile. It's so nice to see a boy like you taking an interest in this subject, she said kindly. You may find some of it a bit above your head, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Upstairs the other outlaws awaited their leader in breathless suspense, and their leader did not return. They've got him, said Douglas gloomily. I said they would.

"'Well,' said Ginger, "'then we've got to go down and rescue him, that's all.' At the thought of this long-deferred pitched battle with the Hubert Lainites, their spirits rose. They crept on to the landing. The landing was empty. They looked over the banisters. The stairs were empty.

They crept down the stairs. The hall was empty. Then suddenly a woman came out of a door near the front door. They turned to flee, but it was too late. In here, she said pleasantly, are you with the other little boy? He's in the front row. Apprehensive, aghast, bewildered. They allowed themselves to be ushered into the room and up to the front row. They sat down on the other side of the fat lady and gentlemen. The lecturer was just beginning to lecture.

Ginger lent across. William, he said. Sh, said everyone. He shh, ladies and gentlemen, began the lecturer. It was an interesting. Lecture, interesting, that is, to a certain type of mind. It did not interest the outlaws. It abounded in such strange words as ethics and utilitarianism and Spinoza and Cartesian's, and empiricism, and Nietzsche and evolution. It would not, in the most favorable circumstances, have interested the outlaws, and these were not the most favorable circumstances. Williams' paralysis of bewilderment was gradually disappearing, and the truth of the matter was gradually dawning on him. This was not Hubert Lane's party at all. This was a drawing-room

meeting given by Mrs. Lane, and it was for this that Ginger had heard her ordering chairs and refreshments. Moreover, it had been easier to get in than it would be to get out. He doubted whether he could push past the fat lady and gentleman. He doubted whether he dared stir in this densely packed, breathlessly silent room. He was sure they'd turn him back at the door, even if he got as far as that. But he decided to have a jolly good try. He remembered a device that had occasionally secured him a temporary retreat from a tight corner in school. He clapped his handkerchief to his nose, as though that organ had suddenly begun to bleed. Rose hastily, walked over the fat lady's toes, fell over.

the fat gentleman's umbrella scrambled up and fled down the room to his surprise and relief no one barred his way or questioned the sanguinity of his nose the lecturer was slightly put out by the incident but quickly recovered himself and continued his discourse he was discoursing now on cant ginger looked at william's empty seat what william had done he could do as the lecturer was raising his right hand To emphasize the fact that Kant often offends against his own principles, Ginger clapped his handkerchief to his nose and followed his leader's example, even to the lady's toes and the gentleman's umbrella. Hardly had the door closed on him when Douglas, his handkerchief to his nose, made his hasty and noisy exit. Henry was left alone.

He had not acted quickly enough. He felt certain that no one in the room would believe, that his nose was bleeding if he put his handkerchief to that organ and followed his friends now. But he brightened. There were other bodily afflictions, puffing out one cheek to its fullest extent, clapping his hand to it, and assuming what he fondly imagined to be an expression of extreme agony, he started from his seat and rushed from the room. He did not stop till he had reached the garden.

There among the bushes, crouched William, Ginger, and Doug. they hailed him with joy look what i've got said william gleefully found it on the hat-stand in the light from the hall he proudly displayed his trophy it was hubert lane's school cap every schoolboy knows that the filching of his cap is the deadliest insult that can be offered him let's go home and quick said douglas just a minute said william a light came from an open window on the other side of the house william crept round to this is noiselessly, followed by the others. From the lighted window came a boy's voice. I am looking forward to your party next Thursday, Hubert. And Hubert's answer, Well, don't you tell anyone it's next Thursday anyway?

The outlaws went home, and as they went, they lifted up their strong young voices and chanted. Thursday, it's going to be next Thursday, it's going to be next Thursday. But next Thursday is another story. of chapter 11 chapter 12 of William the Conqueror by Rick Maul Crompton this libber box recording is in the public domain chapter 12 William starts the holidays the Christmas holidays had arrived and William and the other outlaws whooped their way home from school at the unusual hour of 11 a.m. to the unaffected dismay of their families

they had listened to a stirring address from their formmaster who felt as little regret at parting from the outlaws, as the outlaws felt at parting from him. But they had been more intent upon the unauthorized distribution and mastication of a bag of nuts they had bought on the way to school than upon the high ideals which their form master was holding up for them, and so missed many words of counsel and inspiration, which might or might not, have made a difference to their whole lives. Anyway, having finished the nuts and deposited the shells in the satchel of their enemy, Hubert Lane, the outlaws leapt out of the school building, and whooped and scuffled and shouted their way home. We broke up, yelled William as he entered the hall, and flung his

satchel with a clatter upon the floor. Mrs. Brown came out of the morning room, rather pale, at this invasion of her usual morning quiet. I'd forgotten you were breaking up. today, William, she said, her tone betrayed no ecstatic joy at the realization of the fact. William turned a somersault and came into violent collision with a small table which held a vase of flowers. Sorry, said William, still cheerfully, as he repaired the damage as best he could. That is to say, he picked up the table, replaced the vase on it, picked up the flowers, put them in the vase, mostly wrong way up, and rubbed the spilt water into the carpet with his

foot. Oh, don't, William, boned his mother. I'll ring for Emma. Your boots are so dirty. Sorry, said William again, slightly heard. I'm only trying to help. Haven't you come home rather early, said Mrs. Brown? No, said William heartily. We always come out this time, breaking up mornings. We've broke up. He chanted on a note that made Mrs. Brown draw her brows together and raise her hands to her ears. William Darling, she said plaintively. Then what are you going to do, dear? Just till lunchtime, I mean? There was a note of resigned hopelessness in her voice. Mrs. Brown was a woman without any political ambition, whatever. But if Mrs. Brown had been put in charge of the Education Department of the government for a month, she would have made several

drastic changes without any hesitation. She would have made a law that no holiest. She would have made a law that no holidays should last longer than a week, and if they did, free treatment for nervous breakdowns was to be provided for all mothers of families, and that on breaking up days, school should continue until late in the evening. Mrs. Brown considered it adding insult to injury to send children home at 11 o'clock in the morning on the last day of term. What are you going to do till lunch, dear? said Mrs. Brown again. William considered the possibilities of the universe. Why, I might go into the garden and practice with my bow and arrow, he said,

Oh, no, dear, said Mrs. Brown, closing her eyes. Please don't do that. It does annoy your father, so when the windows get broken. Oh, said William indignantly, I keep explaining about that. I wasn't aiming at that window. It was just that my hand slipped just when I was shooting it off. I was aiming at something quite different. Yes, dear.

said Mrs. Brown, but your hand might slip again. No, I don't think it will, said William, hopefully. I'll try and keep it steady, and it doesn't always break windows, you know, even when it slips. No, said Mrs. Brown, not the bow and arrows, William, and added with consummate tact, you don't want to risk breaking things so near Christmas, you know, William. There was certainly some sense in that. It was an argument that appealed to William. well, he said thoughtfully, there's the air gun.

It's quite different from the bow and arrows, he put in hastily. I think perhaps I ought to keep on practicing with the air gun in case there's another war. No, William, said Mrs. Brown, not the air gun. Then tentatively, and without much hope, you wouldn't like to do a little quiet schoolwork, would you, William, dear, so as to keep your hand in for next term? No, thank you, said William. quite firmly. I think it would be rather a good idea, said Mrs. Brown, still clinging to the vision of peace that the proposal summoned up to her eyes. William considered for a moment in gloomy

silence the vision of unadulterated boredom that the proposal summoned up to his eyes. And then he brightened. I don't think so, Mother, he said at last. I don't think it fair on the other boys to go working on the holidays. While Mrs. Brown was slowly recovering from this startling vision of William conscientiously refraining from holiday work for the sake of his classmates, William had yet another idea. Suppose I try to mend that clock that's gone wrong, the one in the dining room, he said brightly. Mrs. Brown groaned again. William had hoped that she'd forgotten that the last occasion he'd tried to mend a clock, but she hadn't. William had certainly succeeded in reducing it into its component parts, but having done that, had been a lot. But having done that,

had not been able to resist the temptation of trying to make a motorboat of the component parts, and when finally they were taken to the clockmaker, it was discovered that three or four important component parts were missing. William suspected a duck who had been on the pond when William had launched his motorboat, and the pond had taken the motorboat to its bosom. William insisted that he had salvaged all the parts that the muddy bosom of the pond could be induced to yield, and that if there was any missing, that duck must have taken them. William watched the duck with morbid interest for some days and imagined several times that it looked pale and unhappy. Anyway, the upshot of it all was that William's father had

to buy a new clock and that William went without pocket money for several months. But all this had been more than a year ago. William wished that the memories of grown-ups were not so inordinately long. He'd have liked to dry his hand at a clock again. No, William, said Mrs. Brown, most certainly not. Well, what shall I do, said William, slightly aggrieved. Mrs. Brown had an idea. Well, William, it's so near Christmas time, wouldn't you like to be thinking about some little presents for people? I've hardly any money, said William, and added enigmatically, what, with windows and things. Well, said Mrs. Brown, encouragingly, it isn't the money you spend on them that people value. It's the thought behind it, and I'm sure that with a little thought you can make

some very nice presence for your relations and friends. William considered the idea in silence for some minutes, and then he brightened. It seemed to appeal to him. All right, he said, I'll go and think upstairs, shall I? Mrs. Brown drew a breath of relief. Yes, William, I. I think that will be very nice. The plan seemed to succeed beyond Mrs. Brown's fondest dreams. She did not see or hear of William for the rest of the morning. It was almost as if he were still at school. He appeared at lunch, but was silent and thoughtful. A sense of peace stole over Mrs. Brown. After lunch, Ethel and Robert came to her in the morning room. I say, said Robert, in a mystified voice, I thought William was breaking up today. He is, said Mrs. Brown,

he has broken up. He came home about 11 o'clock. He's very quiet, said Ethel, lugubriously. Mrs. Brown smiled, a fond maternal smile. Dear little boy, she said, he's upstairs thinking out his Christmas presents to people. Well, said Robert, let's make the most of it and talk over the party. Robert and Ethel were giving a party to their friends, and William was being led into it as little as possible. Mingled with an elder brother and sister's instinctive feeling that the admission of a small schoolboy brother into their plans would in some way cheapen the whole thing, was an equally instinctive fear of William. Pies, in which William had a finger, had a curious way of turning into something quite unexpected. William could certainly prove that it had

nothing to do with him, but still the result was the same. So Roberts and Ethel, party was a secret, only to be discussed when William was safely out of the way. William, of course, knew that it was to take place and professed an utter indifference to it, while privately he spent a good deal of time and ingenuity trying to ferret out the details of it. So far, they had managed to keep secret from him the fact that after supper there was going to be a short one-act play. Ethel and Robert had lately joined a dramatic system. and at present no function of any kind was complete to them without a one-act play. The shining lights of the dramatic society, including Ethel and Robert, were going to take part in the play.

They kept this part of it, particularly a secret from William, because William rather fancied himself, both as actor and playwright, and they felt that if William knew that a play was going to take place under his roof, it would be practically impossible to protect the play from the devastating effects of William's interest in it. They discussed the dancing, which was to take place before supper, and the supper, and the play, which was to take place after the supper, and Ethel's dress and Mrs. Brown's dress, and the invitation list, and the extra help they would need for the evening, and whether Robert's dress suit had better go to the tailors to be pressed or not. Finally, Mrs. Brown became a little anxious and said to Ethel,

Ethel, dear, I wish you'd just run upstairs and have a look at William. He's so quiet. I hope he's not feeling ill or something. Visible gloom settled on the faces of Robert and Ethel at the mention of William. Ill, repeated Robert with deep feeling. Yes, you know, mother, said Ethel. We'd hear enough row if he felt ill, but... She went obediently from the room, and Mrs. Bray said... and robert continued the discussion just as they were deciding that robert's suit had better go to be pressed they were interrupted by a cry of mother from ethel upstairs and leapt to their feet oh it's william moaned to mrs brown he is ill

more likely he set the house on fire said robert gloomily they dashed upstairs william his face and hands and hair and clothes freely adorned with green paint sat on his bedroom hearth-rug which had shared in the wholesale application of green paint on the hearth-rug was a once white straw hat of ethels upon which william had obviously devoted much labor and green paint he had moreover filled it with earth and planted in it a cycloman from the greenhouse look said ethel almost but not quite speechless with fury my my best hat why it's quite an old hat ethel said william i've seen you wear it heaps i thought you just might have done with it but but william gasped mrs brown what on earth have you been doing well you said think out christmas presents and make them and don't spend money on him so i thought i'd start on ethels and it took me ever so long to think of anything that i could make and that wouldn't cost money and then i thought that i could paint one of ethel's hats and make it look like a kind of fancy plant pot with the paint from the shed and put a plant into it from the greenhouse.

I thought it was rather a good idea, he added modestly. But my hat almost sobbed, Ethel. It's a straw hat, urged William. You don't want a straw hat in the winter, but it was almost new. I want it for next summer. Oh, next summer, said William patiently. I guess this flower won't last as long as that. I guess you just use it again next summer? And have you taken any of my things, demanded Robert sternly? No, Robert, said William meekly. I haven't, honestly. I was just thinking how I could make a nice cushion for Mother

out of two of your colored handkerchiefs, stuffed with some old things of mine, but I hadn't taken them not yet. That was why, when William discovered about the play, he was told that he was not to see it either at, rehearsal or on the evening of the party. Well, said William, if you messed up one of my old caps, do you think I'd make that fuss? Not that I mind not seeing the old play, he added hastily.

In fact, putting himself well out of Robert's reach, it's rather a relief to me. I'm jolly sorry for the poor folks that have got her watch poor old Ethel and Robert trying to act. Then he left lightly over the window seal into the garden before Robert could get it. him. The day of the party arrived, William, shining with cleanliness, his hair brushed and greased to a resplendent sleetness, encased in his Eton suit, an expression of frowning intensity upon his freckled face, stood a little way from the rest of his family as the guests began to arrive. Some of the guests called out, Hello, William! Others ignored him. William tried to look bored and indifferent, and as if he didn't think.

much of the whole show. But really he was looking forward to the dancing and the supper, and he meant to watch the play from the garden through the window, even if he were not officially allowed among the audience. Absurd to let a perfectly good weapon against Robert and Ethel that would probably do service for months and months, escape him like that. The guests had all arrived. The music for the dancing had begun. William stood in the drawing room, which had been turned out for the dance and looked round him critically. He slowly eliminated from his list of possible partners, a girl with red hair, another with a too long neck, another with the wrong-shaped nose, and another with a slight cast in

her eye. Slowly, by a process of elimination, he determined on the prettiest girl in the room, and walked across to her, bearing his teeth in what was meant to be an ingratiating smile. Just as he was a few yards from her, Robert came up and claimed her, and they both moved off without looking at him. William's smile died away, he looked round the room again. Well, that girl wasn't bad, the one with curly hair and the yellow dress. William assumed the smile again and walked across to her.

Just as he was approaching her, a friend of Roberts came up, put his arm around her waist, and off they went together. took off the smile. His face wore an expression of sardonic bitterness. All the girls seemed to be dancing now. No, there was the one with the wrong-shaped nose, still sitting by the window. William glared at her critically across the room. She wasn't so bad, really, if you didn't look at her sideways. William summoned up his painful grin and went across to her. May I, he began with excessive politeness. A large man stepped in front of him, took the girl's hand, and let her off among the dancers. William was boiling with fury. A nice set of people, Robert and Ethel had invited. They

didn't seem to know how to behave. There was only the girl with a squint left. William looked at her for a long time with an intent frown. She wasn't really so bad, especially when she was looking at the ground. William bared his teeth again. His jaws were aching by this time, and walked up to her. Excuse me, he began. A man stepped up from the other side. Shall us, he said to the girl, and off they went. William stood his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall, a ferocious frown upon his polished face. Everyone was dancing now, except a few couples who were sitting in the alcohol, talking and laughing. Nice lot of manners they got, thought William bitterly,

simply no one taking the slightest notice of him. Not that he cared, of course, but you'd have thought that someone would have wanted to dance with him. Nice thing when you wasted every Wednesday afternoon at a beastly dancing lesson, and then when you went to a dance, no one wanted to dance with you. nice thing going to all this trouble of washing and hair-brushing and putting on your best suit just to watch other people dancing maw amy william turned and went with scornful dignity from the room the only thing that in his eyes spoilt the effect of his scornful exit was a definite and very well-founded suspicion that no one had noticed it he went to the other door and looked out into the night ginger douglas and henry were coming cautiously up the walk. Now, the outlaws, though never encouraged socially by each other's families, yet took a great interest in the social activities of each other's families. Whenever any of them gave a party,

the outlaws would be there, uninvited and very unofficial guests, generally in the garden, keeping a friendly eye on the affair through the windows. William was glad that his friends had only just arrived and had not witnessed his ignominious failure to secure a partner a few minutes ago. To his friends, William exaggerated his own importance at his family's festivities. Hello, whispered the outlaws, how you're getting on? Fine, said William, with rather overdone enthusiasm. We thought perhaps you'd be dancing, said Ginger. Oh, I got a bit tired of dancing, said William airily, and came out to get cool. Come round and have. have a look at him. Glad to be with his friends once more, he led the outlaws round to a part of the

garden where they could see the drawing room and hidden among the bushes, watch the festive scene within. Quite a lot of them, said Ginger, impressed. Oh, yes, said William, and there's really a lot more than their looks. Has Ethel got a new dress for it? said Douglas. Oh, yes, said William, everyone's got new clothes for it. I better go in again soon. They don't want me to be away long. "'Which ones was you dancing with?' said Henry. William gave a short laugh. "'Goodness, I can't remember all the ones I was dancing with,' he said. "'Is there a good supper?' said Ginger.

"'There just is,' said William. "'Come and look at it.' They crept through the side door into the dining room. There William proudly pointed to the table, resplendent with ices and creams and fruit and trifles and jellies of every kind. The outlaws licked their lips. "'Crumbs,' gas, Ginger. "'Don't they make you feel empty?'

"'You can have a go at it when they've finished,' "'promised William generously. "'I'll tell you, when they've all gone back, "'they're going to do a play afterwards.' "'Crum,' said Ginger again. "'Is it a good one?' "'I should just think so,' said William, enthusiastically. "'Can we watch through the window?' said Henry.

"'Certainly,' said William kindly, "'and I'll come out and watch it with you. "'I don't suppose they'll notice I'm not sitting with them in the room.' perhaps we'd better be going now said henry case they come the music stopped and the kind of moving about but it was too late there came the sound of the opening of the drawing-room door and an influx of guests into the hall get under the table quick said william so the outlaws got under the table quick the guests entered they found william apparently alone an expression of mingled innocence and boredom and long-enduring patience upon his frowning, freckled face. He was engaged in arranging the chairs round the table. Here's the ubiquitous, William, said one of Robert's friends.

William hoped that the look he received in return made him feel small. Ubiquitous, indeed, when he'd washed his face and brushed his hair and put on his best suit and looked as smart as any of them. They sat round the table. William was right at the corner next to a tall pale man, who was suspected of cherishing a romantic passion for Ethel. The food was in the center of the table, so the tall, pale man had to hand the dishes to William and keep him supplied.

He tried at first to talk to William, but found this difficult. I suppose you've broken up, he said. Yes, said William, his voice and face equally devoid of expression. Do you like the holidays? Yes, said William, in the same tone of voice. Are you fond of lessons? no i expect you'll look him forward to christmas william considering this remark beneath contempt vouchsafed no answer the tall thin man crushed transferred his attention to the lady on the other side of him Now, William was painfully conscious of the presence of Ginger and Henry and Douglas beneath the table.

He realized, too, that he had towards them the duties of a host. He could not eat in comfort with Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, cramped and uncomfortable and hungry in his so immediate vicinity. He took two bites at the sausage roll, with which the tall thin man had supplied him. Then, looking dreamily at the opposite wall, slipped his hand under the table. There, another hand, grateful and unseen, promptly relieved him of the rest of the sausage roll.

His plate was empty. The tall, thin man looked at it, and then he looked at William. William met his eyes with an aggressive stare. The tall thin man looked at William's plate again. It was true. This child really had consumed a large sausage roll in less than a minute.

He handed him the plate of sausage rolls again, Again, William took one. Again, William took two small bites and handed the rest to his invisible friends beneath the table. Again, he turned his aggressive stare upon the tall, thin man. Again, the young man looked with rising horror from William to the empty plate in front of him, and then from the empty plate back to William. He then took the whole dish of sausage rolls, put them just in front of William, and turned to continue his conversation with his other neighbor.

William felt cheered. This was just what he wanted. He took a roll onto his plate and looked round. No one was watching him. With a lightning movement, he transferred the roll to his knee and held it out beneath the table. The unseen recipient grabbed it eagerly. William did the same with a second, a third, a fourth. He grew reckless. He put down a fifth, a sixth, a seventh. That was two each. He was doing them jolly well. There were three more on the he'd give them those too and then he'd begin to eat something himself one two three he twitched them all quickly from the dish to his plate from his plate to the unseen hand no more were within his reach he turned his aggressive stare upon the tall thin man as though hypnotized by the stare the tall thin man turned slowly to william he looked at the empty plate and the empty dish in front of william and his jaw dropped open weak He put his hand to his head and pinched himself to make sure he was awake.

He simply couldn't believe his eyes. It was like a dreadful nightmare. In a few seconds, this child had eaten up a large dishful of enormous sausage rolls. He must be suffering from some horrible disease. William did not speak, merely fixed him with that hungry, unflinching stare. The tall thin man tried to say, And what can I pass you now? But he couldn't.

Words wouldn't come. The sight of that enormous empty dish had broken his nerve. Just then a diversion occurred. A friend of Ethel's almost opposite had slipped off her shoe under the table, and a few minutes later reached out for it and could not find it. She made a large circular sweep in search of it with her stalking foot, and just caught Ginger on the neck above his collar, where he was most ticklish.

Ginger dropped his half-eat-le-le-lawed. sausage roll and gave a loud yell. A sudden tense silence fell over the table. Had the proverbial pen been dropped, it would have been heard for miles. Then the girl who had tickled Ginger gave an embarrassed little giggle. I'm afraid I kicked your dog or your cat or something, she said. She lifted up the tablecloth and grew pale. It's boys, she said, in a breathless whisper, ever so many of them. It was half an hour later. Ginger, Douglas and Henry had been ignominiously ejected. William had been dispatched to spend the rest of the evening in his bedroom. The dining room was empty. Only three pathetic, half-eaten sausage rolls beneath

the table were left to tell the tale. William lent out of his bedroom window. The shadowy forms of the outlaws lurked in the bushes beneath. What they're doing now, whispered William. Their act in the play, whispered Douglas, and everyone is watching, maids and all. Well, go on and watch it, whispered William, and tell me about it tomorrow. Tell me about Robert and Ethel, especially if they do anything silly, and I say, yes, whispered the faithful outlaws from the bushes. I'm awfully hungry. I only had a few bites at roll.

Go and see if there's anyone in the dining room and if the stuff's still there. There won't be anyone in the dining room, whispered Henry, because everyone's in watching the play. Well, go and get a lot of grub. Ordered William and a sibilant commanding whisper. Keep some for yourself and put it. some in a basket and i'll throw down a rope to draw it up this method of obtaining food appealed greatly to william's romance-loving soul the outlaws departed and in a few minutes returned very quickly william said ginger excitedly there's a burglar in the dining-room what said william a burglar with his bag of tools and his bag of booty and everything he's drinking wine or something at the sideboard in less than a minute william had joined the outlaws in the garden and to

together they all went round to the dining-room window. Yes, there he was, a real burglar in dingy clothes and shabby necktie. A cap pulled low over his eyes, his bag of tools, and a half-filled sack by him. He was standing at the sideboard drinking a whiskey and soda. The outlaws retired to the bushes to discuss their tactics. We'd better go and tell your father, said Douglas. No, we won't, said William. We'll catch him ourselves. What's the fun of finding a burglar and letting someone else catch him. Henry and Ginger agreed with him. William assumed the position of leader.

There was an enormous curtain in a box upstairs. They'd used it for theatricals once. Robert and Ethel had got a new one for this year, but the old one would do nicely to catch the burglar in. It hadn't many holes. What'll we do with him then, said Ginger. We'll lock him up somewhere, said William, as he went up to fetch the curtain. In less than a minute he returned with it.

It was certainly voluminous enough. The outlaws laid their plans. They crept into the dining room silently, and, sealing up behind him, enveloped their prey, just as he was in the act of pouring out some more whiskey. He was taken completely by surprise. He lost his footing and fell forward into a dusky mass of all-enveloping green surge. He was not a big man or a strong man.

He tried to regain his footing and failed. In his green serge covering, he was being dragged somewhere, he shouted. It happened that in the morning room, where the play was being held, Ethel, in her capacity of heroin, had just finished singing a song, which was greeted with frenzied applause by her loyal guests. The applause drowned the burglar shouts. Douglas flung open the French windows that led from the dining room to the garden, and panting, tugging, and perspiring, the outlaws'

dragged their victim out into the night and across the lawn. Douglas opened the greenhouse door. They hoisted the large green curtain, which still contained its struggling inhabitant, into the greenhouse, shut the door, and turned the key in the lock. Then, still panting and purple-faced, the outlaws went back to the house.

Well, he was a wait, commented Douglas. Shall we go and tell him now, said Ginger? But William was still rent by the pangs of hunger. Oh, he's all right for a bit, he said he can't get out. Let's take a bit of food upstairs first. We can tell him after. The outlaws approved of this. It was certainly a wise plan to make sure of the food.

They returned to the dining room, heaped several plates with dainties that particularly appealed to them, and crept silently upstairs to William's bedroom. There they sat on the floor, munching happily and discussing their capture. They were just deciding that it would be rather fun to be policemen when they grew up, when Ginger pricked up his ears. Seems a sort of noise going on downstairs, he said. Very softly the outlaws opened the door of William's bedroom and crept onto the

landing. There was most certainly a sort of noise going on downstairs. Everyone seemed to be bustling about and talking excitedly. Do be quiet a minute while I ring up his mother, said Ethel's voice, distraught and tearful. Hello. Hello. Hello, is that, Mrs. Langley? Has Harold come home? Has he No, he's completely disappeared? No one knows where he is. We got to the point in the play where he comes on, just after my song, you know? And I waited and waited, and he never came, and I had to leave the stage without finishing the scene. My nurse had absolutely all gone. I'm still simply trembling all over, and everyone was hunting and hunting for him, and we had to stop the play, tearfully.

We couldn't go on without him. He was the burglar, you know. I do hope nothing awful happened. I mean, I hope he didn't get so nervous he lost his memory, or went out and got some awful accent or something. We're all so distressed. It's quite spoiled the party, of course, and ruined the play. We only got through the song, I don't know, when I felt so awful.

She was interrupted by Mrs. Brown's voice, high and hysterical. Oh, Ethel, go fetch your father. it's too dark to see anything, but there's the most awful commotion going on in the garden. Someone's breaking all the glass in the greenhouse. The entire party sallied out excitedly into the garden. They were not there long, but during their absence two things happened. The outlaws, acting with great presence of mind, seized their share of the food, and fled like so many flashes of streaked lightning to their several homes,

and William got into bed and went to sleep. He went to sleep with almost incredible rapidity. When his family entered his bedroom a few minutes later, demanding explanation, William lay red and breathless, but determinedly and unwakably, asleep. The grim set lines of his mouth and the frown on his brow testified to the intense and concentrated nature of his sleep. Oh, don't wake him, pleaded Mrs. Brown. It's so bad for children. to be startled out of sleep.

Sleep, said Robert sarcastically. Well, I don't mind. It can wait till tomorrow for all I care. The party's ruined anyway. Fortunately, they did not look under the bed, or they would have seen a large plate piled with appetizing dainties. They went away with threatening murmurs, in which the word tomorrow figured largely.

When they had gone, William got out of bed with great caution and sat in the darkness munching iced cakes. That sleep idea had been jolly good. Of course, he knew it couldn't go on indefinitely. He couldn't go on sleeping for a month. He'd have to wake up tomorrow, but tomorrow was tomorrow, and when tonight holds an entire plate of iced cakes, many of them with layers of real cream inside,

tomorrow is hardly worth serious consideration. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of William the Conqueror by Rickmall Crompton. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13, Revenge is Sweet. The outlaws were agog with excitement for the day of Hubert Lane's party was drawing near. This may sound as though the outlaws were to be honored guests at Hubert Lane's party, were to join in the cracker pulling and cake-eating and dancing and parlor games

that were being laboriously prepared for it by the Lane parents. Far from it, for between the Outlaws and the Hubert Laneites, a deadly feud raged, and tradition demanded that they should treat each other's parties with indifference and contempt. It was the Hubert Laynites who had broken that tradition. They had deliberately wrecked Williams' party the week before Christmas. They had gathered round the windows to jeer at the outlaws, disporting themselves within, and had dispersed miraculously in the darkness whenever a Sally

had been made from the house against them. They had, moreover, substituted a deceased cat, which Hubert had found in a ditch, for the rabbit which the conjurer had brought with him, and which was to appear mysteriously from his hat. Even the adult relations of the outlaws had resented this outrage, but they had told the outlaws that, little gentleman would regard the matter as beneath contempt. The outlaws, however, did not regard the matter as beneath contempt. They were not out to prove themselves, little gentlemen. They were out for revenge. They were determined to wreck Hubert Lane's party as Hubert Lane had wrecked theirs. They wisely hid their resolve, however, from their elders and betters. Their elders and

bedders fondly imagined that the outlaws had accepted the insult like little gentleman. But the outlaws with silent determination were only biting their time. They were awaiting the day of Hubert Lane's party. The news that Mr. and Mrs. Lane would be away for the party and that Hubert's aunt eminy would preside, heartened the outlaws considerably. Mr. and Mrs. Lane had flown to the sickbed of an aunt of Mr. Lane's, of whom he had expectations, and against those expectations, the success of Hubert's party seemed a negligible matter. The outlaws felt that Providence was on their side. The conviction was strengthened when they heard

later that outside of her nephew, the sick aunt completely recovered and did not even offer to pay his railway fare. Of course, Aunt Emmy in command simplified matters considerably for the outlaws. the outlaws had met Aunt Emmy. Anything vaguer, kinder, more short-sighted, and more devastatingly well-meaning than Aunt Emmy could scarcely be imagined. Aunt Emmy should not be difficult to deal with in any crisis. The outlaws had made no definite plans. They had simply decided that somehow or other,

they must gain admittance to the Hubert Lane Mansion on the night of the party and then let things take their own course. William, the head of the outlaws, like all the best generals, preferred not to draw up his own plan of action till he had ascertained the enemies. The party was to begin at seven. At half-past six, ten boys in single file might have been observed creeping through a hole in the fence that bordered the Lane Garden. At the head crept William, his freckled face contorted into a scow expressive of determination to do or die. behind him came ginger, behind him, Henry, and behind him, Douglas, and behind Douglas came six anti-laneites and supporters of the outlaws.

A pear tree grew conveniently up the side of the lane mansion. And it was possible with a certain amount of danger to life and limb, which it was beneath the outlaw's dignity to consider, to climb up the pear tree and in at an attic window. William led the way, the others followed. with a puffing and panting and a rustling and a cracking of twigs and muttered imprecations such as coo and crumbs and golly, which on a more normal night might have attracted the attention of the whole household, but tonight was not a normal night.

Hubert was in his bedroom at the other side of the house, anxiously arraying himself in an eaten suit and shining pumps. The maids were in the kitchen, giving the final touches to mountains of sandwiches and trifles and creams and cakes and jellies and blanc-mange. Mr. and Mrs. Lane, whose bedroom was on the direct path of the pear tree, were at the bedside of the exasperatingly recuperative aunt, and Aunt Emmy was in the kitchen with the maids, driving them to distraction by her well-met efforts to help. She had already sprinkled salt over a trifle under the impression that it was sugar, and made a jug of coffee out of knife powder, because she was too short-sighted to read the labels on the tens.

So there was no one to oppose or even notice the outlaws, as one by one they climbed up the perilous branches of the pear tree and in at the open attic window. There were a few minor casualties of the march, of course, ginger whose foot became firmly wedged in a fork of the branches, with great presence of mine, undid his shoe, and performed the rest of his journey without it. A small boy christened Marmaduke by his parents and renamed Jam by his contemporaries, who had insisted on joining the expedition,

lost his footing and nerve, just as he was about to leave the pear tree and clamber into the attic window and uttered a yell that might have been heard a mile away. But William grabbed the youthful climber by his ear, Ginger grabbed him by the hair, and together they hauled him into safety. Then they sat on the floor and looked at each other, collars and ties, awry, jackets torn, knees scratched and dirty, trousers plentifully adorned with some white material

that had evidently been used in a bane endeavor to beautify the lane attic window-sails. Then William drew a deep breath and said, That was a climb and a half. Yes, Santa Douglas. I went to a film thing on Mount Everest, and a jolly well wasn't half as steep as this old pear tree. Jam was glowering at his rescuers. You needn't have tore my ear and hair out by the roots, he muttered malevolently, nursing the injured organs with both hands.

But no one listened to his lamentations. The Army of Brabos was busy by this time inspecting their eerie. The lane addicts proved to consist of three fair-sized rooms, packed with boxes of rubbish of all kinds, water cisterns, spiders webs, and mysterious pipes. On the tiny landing outside was a small window leading straight out onto the roof. It was a boyhood's paradise. The eyes of the outlaws gleamed as they explored it. It said much for the general futility of Hubert Lane and its satellites

that they never utilized this heaven-sent playground, but regarded it merely as an ordinary room in an ordinary house. I say, let's play robbers, said Ginger, in a horse whisper. No, let's be shipwrecked on a desert island, said Henry, his eye roving about the scene, and already picking out the outstanding features of the scene, the sea, the shore, the rock, the octopus, the log hut, the lagoon, the, but William called the attention of his band to the immediate object of the expedition. We've not come here to play, he hissed fiercely.

Henry had opened a little window and ventured out upon the roof. Two other daring explorers had climbed up to the water cistern. Others were balancing themselves upon pipes or clambering upon packing cases or rummaging inquisitively through huge boxes of rubbish. You've got them all up, said William angrily, and then what will you do? Fight him, responded, Jam, who had by this time recovered his nerve and warlike spirit,

and had fixed an old wicker plant pod upon his head in lieu of a helmet, and was brandishing a bamboo curtain pole that he had found lying on the floor. Fight him, he repeated, drunk. With valor. But William's words had recalled his followers to a sense of the realities of life.

They descended from pipes and back, in cases and water cisterns and a clustered round him. William dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, We've got to creep out and see what's happening, first of all, he said hoarsely, and then we'll think what to do. Very creakingly, on tiptoe, the outlaws crept out after him, and hung over the banisters of the attic staircase. On Emmy's voice, clear and flute-like, rose from the hall. That's right, Hubert, darling, you look. look very nice, my cherub, very nice indeed. Quite a little man. Now, I'm sure you know how to be a little host, don't you, darling, and look after your little guests. You must think always of

their pleasure, and not your own. Your hair's coming down, Auntie, said Hubert. Little boys mustn't make personal remarks, darling, said Aunt Emmy. The outlaws were listening with silent rapture to this. William, with frowning concentration, was story. up every word of the conversation in his mind for future use. There came the sound of wheels on the gravel outside the front door, and the sound of the front doorbell. The first guest, darling, said Aunt Emmy, I'll open the door, and you'd better stand just there to receive them. Smile, a little, darling, and remember to say, how'd you do, nicely. Then came the sound of the arrival of fat Bertie Franks, the most odious of the Hubert Laynites next to Hubert himself.

Arrivals followed fast and furious after that. The Hubert-Leynites all bore a curious physical resemblance to Hubert their leader. They were all pale and they were all fat. They rallied round Hubert chiefly because of his unlimited pocket money, and like Hubert, when anyone annoyed them, They told their fathers, and their fathers wrote notes about it to the fathers of those who had annoyed them. The guests hung up coats and hats in the hall, and changed into pumps, and drifted into the drawing-room. A dismal, very fast beginning of the party's silence, reigned. Now, what shall we play at first? said Aunt Emmy, with overdone brightness. Puss in the corner?

This suggestion was met with chilly silence. Postman's knock? went on ah emmy her brightness becoming almost hysterical silence again something almost ominous in it this time hunt the slipper quavered a emmy the silence this time was suggestive of fury supper said ah emmy striving vainly after her first fine careless rapture of brightness she hadn't meant to have supper till much later but she come to the the end of her other suggestions. A murmur signified, qualified approval. One of the guests took the matter into his own hands. What about a game of hide-and-seek and then supper? Hide and seek, quavered on Emmy. That's rather a rough game, isn't it? But they assured her that it wasn't, and drew lots for who should be it. The outlaws, craning necks and ears over the

attic staircase, gathered that Hubert was it. The guest led by Bertie Franks swarmed upstairs in search of hiding places. They swarmed up the first floor and the second floor and began to swarm up to the attic. Meekly and devoid of initiative, they simply followed Bertie Franks. The outlaws withdrew hastily to their lair. Here's a little window squeaked a hubert lay night, going out on the roof. Let's go hide on the roof. No, said Bertie Franks earnestly. It's dangerous. We don't want to go anywhere. dangerous we might hurt ourselves and we don't want to do anything to get our best clothes dirty said another lay night they entered the attic opposite to the one where the elbows were concealed we could

all height here said a lay night behind the boxes and things the laynites always followed meekly anyone who would take the lead it's rather dusty said another lay knight with distaste never mind said a third it's not for long ugh there's spiders and things said a fourth disgustedly. This conversation tells you all you need, and I hope want to know, about the Hubert Laynites. Let's shut the door so we won't see us, said Bertie Franks. Someone shut the door, and from within came sounds of Hubert Laynites settling into hiding places, moving boxes, clambering over obstacles, and uttering exclamations of disgust as they did so. Very quietly, William slipped across and turned the key in the lock.

Evidently, no one heard him. Coming, yelled Hubert Lane from downstairs. Don't shout so, darling said on Emmy's flute-like voice. Say it quietly. Little gentlemen never raised their voices. Hubert Lane came slowly upstairs. He paused at each landing, but did not explore. Some instinct seemed to lead him straight up.

to the attic. He stopped at the open window that led out onto the roof. His orderly mind knew that that should be shut, and it was open. They must have gone out onto the roof. After a moment's hesitation, he got out of the window and began to explore the recesses of the chimney-pots, like a flash, William, who was watching behind the door, streaked to the window, shut it, and bolted it. Hubert turned in dismay, and William had a vision of Hubert's fat, pale face, staring open mouth through the pain, before, with admirable presence of mind, he moved two large table leaves that stood near to shut out the sight, that disposed of Hubert. There was no real danger. The window gave on to a stretch of flat roof,

bounded by a parapet, and there was no fear of the cautious Hubert venturing even near the parapet. The outlaws streamed out of their hiding place to join their leader, who was evident that William had some plan. Come along, he said Tersely, and do just what I do. They followed him trustfully on his bold course downstairs, right down to the hall where Aunt Emmy stood smiling painfully and pinning up her ever-descending hair. Very faintly from upstairs, from behind the barrier of window-pane and table-leaves, there came to them, and an indignant protesting eye it was only just audible and fortunately aunt emmy as well as being near-sighted was what she called a little short of hearing not really deaf you know as to most of us

hens are just hens though we realize that they must have distinguishing marks of feature and expression invisible to us whereby their nearest and dearest know them so to aunt emmy boy were just boys. About ten boys had ascended the stairs, and now about ten boys descended. It did not occur to her that they might not be the same boys. Even had she been less short-sighted, that possibly would not have occurred to her. She certainly did notice that their former Spick-and-SPAN appearance was sadly blurred, but she knew that there is no power on earth that can keep a boy tidy longer than five minutes. She knew that there is a powerful law of attraction between boys and dirt, and that you cannot with impunity interfere with the laws of nature.

She threw a glance of distaste at the outlaw's ruffled hair, crooked collars, and suits covered with whiting and cobwebs. She closed her eyes for a minute at the sight, as though enduring untold agony. Then she mastered her feelings and inquired. Wired faintly, where's Hubert's dears? He should have conducted his little guest downstairs. William, his freckled face as expressionless as a mummy, spoke in a mincingly polite tone of voice. Hubert said he was coming down in a minute, and would we begin supper without him, please? Aunt Emmy was taken aback, so she went to the bottom of the staircase. Hubert, darling, she said.

Very, very faintly from the far away came the indignant protest. eye of Hubert locked out upon the tiles. The real guests were all crouching behind packing cases in the attic waiting to be found. Hubert's eye was too faint to reach Aunt Emmy's short earring. She might, of course, have gone on a voyage of discovery in search of the missing Hubert, had not the sight of the guest surging forthwith into the dining room, recalled her to the scene of action. she looked at them reproachfully. I think perhaps Hubert has gone to tidy himself, she said, and I think perhaps it would be as well if you little boys did the same. The little boys ignored this suggestion,

and sitting down at the table began to eat. Aunt Emmy had always had a vague suspicion that she disliked boys, and the suspicion now grew to a certainty. These boys might have made up their minds to consume all the most attractive food on the table in the shortest possible time. They refused sandwiches and bread and butter. They devoured ice cakes as fast as poor Aunt Emmy could hand them around. They demanded trifle and blancmange and creams. They ate ravenously as though it were some mighty task they had set themselves. They got through enormous quantities of food. They ate in silence,

ignoring all Aunt Emmy's polite remarks about the weather and to questions as to how they were getting on with their lessons at school. They worked like Trojans. The dish of iced cakes was empty. The trifle dish was empty. The cream dish was empty. The Blamage dish was empty. The cream cake dish was empty. Only plates of wholesome bread and butter, of sandwiches and of plain cake, stood untouched. On Emmy looked round, aghast. Louder and more indicted. Gignant grew the Huberti and the eyes from upstairs, and another sound had joined them, a sound as of the pattering of many hands on a distant door. The real guests had evidently awakened to the fact that something had gone wrong somewhere.

Do you hear a sort of sound? said Aunt Emmy, doubtfully, putting her hand to her ear. William looked up as if straining his ears to catch the ever-growing racket. What sort of sound? demanded, fixing Aunt Emmy with his stern, unblinking gaze. Ah, I think I'll go and see whatever, dear Euberts doing, said Aunt Emmy faintly, and her hair coming down more violently than ever, she fled from the horrible spectacle of these ungentlemanly little boys eating like, well, like nothing Aunt Emmy had ever seen before.

William opened the dining-room window and the outlaws, their bodies sated, with the joy of the lay-night feast, their souls, sated with the joy of vengeance, crept out into the night. The lay-nights had openly mocked them and spoilt their conjuring show. They had eaten the lay-night supper. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, a supper for a dead cat. They were quits. A Emmy found and rescued the infuriated lay-nites, brought them down to the relatively Spartan fair, left them by the outlaws, and then,

went away to have a nervous breakdown quietly by herself. Never would she have anything to do with boys again? Never, never, never! She got through her nervous breakdown as quickly as she could and then returned to brighten up the victims of this terrible catastrophe. But the gloom that had fallen over the proceedings was too heavy to be lifted even by Aunt Emmy's brightness. Mr. Lane was not in the best of tempers when he returned

home. He was taking a gloomy view of life generally. The vindictive cheerfulness and persistent healthiness of his aunt had had a very embittering effect on him, and the story of the outlaws' marauding expedition proved to be the last straw. So he sat down at once and wrote a very strong letter to the outlaw's fathers. The fathers of the outlaws were quite accustomed to receiving strong letters from Mr. Lane. Whenever a boy, he was a boy, annoyed Hubert, Hubert's father, wrote a strong letter to the boy's father, and quite often the father did nothing at all beyond dropping the strong letter into the waste paper basket. But this was, of course, a serious matter, verbal or even bodily insults to Hubert Lane and his followers,

might be, metaphorically speaking, dropped into the waste paper basket, but consuming vast quantities of lane food uninvited, was, in the eyes of the adult world, a serious matter, and the heavy hand of parental retribution descended upon the outlaws that night. But the effect of the heavy hand of parental retribution is always short-lived. The next morning the outlaws sallied out to school, undaunted, even to buncheousness. The laneites looked gloomy and infuriated, and they glowered ferociously at the outlaws, silently during school. After school, the outlaws in a body approached the lay nights in a body. You jolly well caught it last night, said Hubert derisively.

Ah, starving, said William in a shrill falsetto. Say it quietly. Little gentlemen never raised their voices. I'll tell my father, said Hubert in fury. Don't take any notice of them, Council Bertie Franks. My mother told me never to have anything to do with them. But the outlaws now began to rub their hands round their stomachs in vulgar mock show of appreciation, smacking their lips and screwing up their faces. Cream cakes, said William. Ho jolly, good. Triphal, murmured Ginger rapturously. Sugar cakes, said Ginger, oh, crumbs. This was more than even the Hubert Laneites could stand. Unwarlike, as they

were accustomed to take their stand behind Mr. Lane's strong letters and avoid open conflict, they threw caution to the winds and hurled themselves to mortal combat with the outlaws. It was a good fight and revealed unsuspected resources of courage and prowess in the Hubert Laynites. It ended in a general mix-up of Outlaws and Laynites in a muddy ditch. There Outlaws and Lay-Nites sat up panting and covered with mud. and looked at each other, and slowly over the faces of all dawned a grin of satisfaction. Go home and tell your father now, said William to Hubert, and Hubert, swelling with pride and joy after his first real fight, said,

No, I won't, and we'll fight you again, and added hastily, for though he'd enjoyed it, he'd had quite enough for one day, tomorrow. End of Chapter 13. William the Conqueror by Rick Mall Crompton.