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

Episode Date: December 8, 2023

William - The Fourth by Richmal Crompton audiobook. Genre: comedy In William - The Fourth, Richmal Crompton returns to the riotous world of eleven-year-old William Brown, self-appointed leader of the Outlaws and constant thorn in the side of respectable village life. William means well, in his own way, but his fierce sense of justice and unstoppable imagination turn every ordinary afternoon into a campaign. After overhearing grown-up talk about politics and equality, William decides it is time for action - and the Outlaws are drafted into a new movement that no one else quite understands. From schoolroom rivalries and would-be entrepreneurial schemes to misadventures involving photography, fairs, costumes, and mistaken identities, William charges ahead with complete confidence, dragging friends, enemies, and bewildered adults along behind him. At home, his long-suffering parents and siblings brace for the latest disaster, while the formidable Great-Aunt Jane proves one of the few people capable of meeting William on his own ground. Warm, sharp, and relentlessly funny, this collection captures the serious intensity of childhood plans and the comic fallout when they collide with the adult world. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:21:17) Chapter 02 (00:44:48) Chapter 03 (01:09:04) Chapter 04 (01:31:45) Chapter 05 (01:49:45) Chapter 06 (02:14:40) Chapter 07 (02:37:49) Chapter 08 (03:06:06) Chapter 09 (03:28:19) Chapter 10 (03:53:27) Chapter 11 (04:23:45) Chapter 12 (04:44:18) Chapter 13 (05:08:53) Chapter 14 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

William the Fourth by Rick Mulcrompton. Chapter 1, The Weeks Bob. You see, said Jameson Jameson, we're all human beings, that's a very important point. You must admit that we're all human beings. Jameson Jameson, aged 19 and 3 quarters, was very eloquent. He paused more for rhetorical effect than because he really needed confirmation on the point. His audience, all under 19, agreed hoarsely. and unanimously. They were all human beings. They admitted it. Well, then, Jameson continued,

warming to his subject, as human beings were equal. As being equal, we've got equal rights. I suppose. Anyone deny that? Robert Brown, aged 17, in whose room the meeting took place, leaned forward eagerly. He was thoroughly enjoying the meeting. The only drawback was the presence of his younger brother William, aged 11. By some mistake, someone had admitted William, and by some still greater mistake, no one had ejected him. And now it was too late. He gave no excuse for ejection. He was sitting motionless, his hands on his knees, his eyes under their untidy shock of air, glued on the speaker, his mouth wide open. There was no doubt at all that he was impressed, but Robert wished he wasn't there.

He felt that the presence of a kid was an insult to the mature intelligence around him, most of whom were in their first year at college. But no one seemed to mind, so he contented himself with sitting so that he could not see, William. Well, continued James and Jameson, then why aren't we equal? Why are some rich and some poor? Why do some work and others not? Tell me that. There was no answer, only a gasp of wonder and admiration.

Jameson Jameson, whose parents had perpetrated on him the supreme practical joke of giving him his surname for a Christian name, so that people who addressed him by his full name always seemed to be indulging in some witticism, brought down his fist upon the table with a bang. Then it's somebody's duty to make us equal. It's only common justice, isn't it? You admit that? Those who haven't money must be given money, and those who have too much must have some taken off them. We want equality, and no more tyranny. The working class must have freedom, and who's going to do it? He thrust his hand into his coat front in a manner reminiscent of the late Mr. Gladstone,

and glared at his audience from under scowling brows. Uh-huh, who? gasped the audience. It's here that the Bolshevists come in. Bolshevists, said Robert, aghast. The Bolshevists are very much misjudged and maligned, retorted Jameson Jameson with emotion, shamefully misjudged, and he wasn't sure whether he pronounced it right, so he ended feebly, what I said before.

I'm not, he admitted frankly, in direct communication with Lennon, but I've read about it in a magazine, and I know a bit about it from that. The Bolshevists want to share things out so as we're equal, and that's only right, isn't it? Because we're all human beings, and as such are equal, and as such have equal rights. Well, that's clear, isn't it?

Does anyone, he glared around fiercely, wish to contradict me? No one did. William, who was sitting in a draft, sneezed, and was annihilated by a glance from Robert. well he continued i propose to form a bolshevist society first of all just to start with you see the bolshevists have gone to extremes but we'll join the bolshev's party and-and purge it of all where it's wrong now now who'll join the society as human beings with equal rights they were all anxious to join they were all fired to the soul by jamison jamison's eloquence even william pressed forward to give in his name but was sternly ordered away by Robert. But I believe all you do, he pleaded wistfully, about wanting other

people's money and think we oughtn't to work. You've misunderstood me, my young friend, said Jameson Jameson, with a sigh. But we want numbers. There's no reason why, if that kid belongs, I'm not going to, said Robert firmly. We might have a junior branch, suggested one of them. So, thus, it was finally settled. William became the junior branch of the Society of Reform to Bolshevists. Alone, he was president and secretary in committee and members. He resented any suggestion of enlarging the junior branch.

He preferred to form the branch himself. He held meetings of his branch under the laurel bushes in the garden and made eloquent speeches to an audience consisting of a few depressed daffodil roots, and sometimes the cat from next door. All got her be equal, he pronounced fiercely. All got her have wrought to money. All human beings. That sense, isn't it?

Is it sense or isn't it? The cat from next door scratched its ear and slowly winked. Well, then, said William, someone ought to do something. The Society of Advanced Bolshevus met next month in Robert's room. William had left nothing to chance. He had heard Robert saying that he'd see no kids got into this one, so he installed himself under Robert's bed before anyone arrived. Robert looked round the room with a keen and threatening gaze

before he ushered James and Jameson Jameson into the chair, or to be more accurate, onto the bed. The meeting began. Comrades began Jameson Jameson. We have, I hope, all spent this time, in thinking things out and making ourselves more devoted to the cause but now is the time for action we've got to do something if we had any money except the mean bit that our fathers allow us we could make people jolly well set up we could hear william who had just inhaled a large mouthful of dust sneezed loudly and robert made a dive beneath the bed in the scuffle that ensued william embedded his teeth deeply into Jameson Jameson's ankle, and vengeance was vowed on either side.

Well, why can't I come? I'm a Bolshevah, too, like what all you are. Well, you've got a branch of your own, said Robert fiercely. Jameson Jameson was still standing on one leg and holding the other in two hands with an expression of fortunately speechless agony on his face. Look, went on Robert, you may have made. maimed him for life, for all you know, and he's the life and soul of the cause, and what can he do with a maimed foot?

You'll have to keep him all his life if he's maimed for life, and when the Bolshevets get in power, he'll have your blood, and I shan't mind, he added darkly. Jameson Jameson gave a feeble smile. "'It's all right, comrade,' he said. "'I harbor no thought of vengeance. I hope I can bear more than this for the cause.' Very ungently, William was deposited on the landing outside. You can keep your nasty little branch to yourself, and don't come bothering us, was Robert's

parting shot. It was then that William realized the power of numbers. He resolved at once to enlarge his branch. Rubbing the side on which he had descended on the landing, and frowning fiercely, he went downstairs and out into the road. Near the gate was Victor Jameson, Jameson Jameson's younger brother, gazing up at Robert's bedroom window, which could be seen through the trees. He's up there talking, he muttered scornfully.

Doesn't he talk? The tone of contempt was oil on the troubled waters of William's feelings. I've just bit him hard, he said modestly. The two linked arms affectionately and set off down the road. At the corner of the road they fell in with George Bell. William had left Ronald Bell, George's elder brother, leaning against a mantelpiece in Robert's room, and examining himself in the glass.

He was letting his hair grow long, and he hoped it was beginning to show. What do they do up there at your house? Demanded George with curiosity. He won't tell me anything. He says it's secret. He says no one's got to know now, but all the world will know some day.

That's what he says. Ma, said Victor scornfully, They talk, that's all they do. They talk. Let's find a few more, said William, and I'll tell you all about it. It being Saturday afternoon, they soon collected a few more,

and the company returned to the summer house at the end of William's garden. The company consisted chiefly of younger brothers of the members of the gathering upstairs. William arose to address them with one hand inside. his code in an attitude copied faithfully from Jameson Jameson. They've got our old society, he said, and they've made me a branch, so I can make all

of you branches. So now you're all branches. See? Well, they say how we're all human beings and equal. Well, they say if we're equal, we oughtn't to have less money and things than other folks, and more work to do and all that. that's what i heard and say here the cat from next door drawn by the familiar sound of william's voice peered into the summer house and was promptly dismissed by a well-aimed stick it looked reproachfully at william as it departed and to-day they said went on william that now is the time for action and how we'd only the mean bit of money our fathers gave us and then they found me and i bit his leg

and they threw me out and i bet i've got a bigger old bruise on my side and i bet he's got a bigger old bite on his leg he sat down amid applause and george acting with the generosity born of a sudden feeling of comradeship took a stick of rock from a-and-a-mereck from a stick of rock from a small of applause and george acting with a generosity born of a sudden feeling of comradeship took a stick of rock from his pocket and passed it round for a suck each. This somewhat disturbed the harmony of the meeting as Ginger, William's oldest friend, was accused of biting a piece off, and the explanation that it came off in his mouth was not accepted by the irate owner who was already regretting his generosity. The combatants were parted by William, and peace was sealed by the passing round of a bottle of licorice water belonging to Victor Jameson. Then William rose for a second speech. Well, we're all branches, so let's do same as them.

They're gone to get equal because they're human beings. So let's try and get equal to. Equal with what? demanded Douglas, whose elder brother had joined Jameson Jameson's society and had secretly purchased a red tie, which he did not dare to wear in public, but which he donned behind a tree on his wife. way to William's house, and doffed in the same place on his way from William's house.

Equal to them, said William, why just think of the things they've got. They've got lots of money, haven't they? Lots more than we have, and they can buy anything they want, and they stay for dinner always, and go out late at night and eat what they want with no one saying, had they better, or certainly not, or what happened last time, and they smoke, and don't go to school, and go to their pictures, and they've got lots of. more things, and we've got bicycles and grammar phones and fountain pins and watches and things what we've not got. Well, we're human beings, too, and we ought to be equal, and why shouldn't we be equal? And now's the time for action. They said so. There was a silence, but, said Douglas

slowly, we can't just take things, can we? Yes, said William. We can, if we're Bolshevists. They said so. And were all Bolshevist branches. They made me and I made you. See? So we can take anything to make us equal. See? We've got to be equal. Here the meeting was stopped by the spectacle of the senior Bolshevus, issuing from the side door, wearing frowns of stern determination. Douglas's brother fingered his red tie ostentatiously. Ronald pulled down his cap over his eyes with the air of a conspirator. Jameson Jameson limped slightly and smiled patiently and forgivingly upon Robert, who was still apologizing for William. The words that were wafted across to listening ears upon the spring breeze were,

Next Tuesday, then! Then the branches turned to a discussion of details. They were nothing, if not practical. After about a quarter of an hour, they departed, each pulling his cap over his eyes and frowning. As they departed, they murmured, Next Tuesday, then? Next Tuesday dawned, bright and clear, with no hint that it was one of those days on which the world's fate is decided. The senior Bolshevist met in the morning. They discussed the possibility of getting in touch with Lenin, but no one knew his exact address

or the rate of postage to Russia, so no definite step was taken. During the afternoon, Robert followed his father into the library. His face was set and stern. Look here, Father, he said, we've been thinking some of us. Things don't seem fair. We're all human beings. It's time for action. We're all agreed to speak to our fathers today and point things out to them.

They've been misjudged and maligned, but we're going to purge them of all that. You see, we're all human beings, and it's time for action. We're all agreed on that. We've got equal rights, because we're all human beings. He paused, inserted a finger between his neck and collar, as if he found its pressure intolerable, then smoothed back his hair. He was looking almost apoplectic. I don't know whether I make my meaning clear, he began again.

You don't, old chap, whatever it may be, said his father soothingly. Perhaps you feel the heat, or the spring. You ought to take something cooling and then lie down for a few hours. You don't understand. and, said Robert desperately, it's life or death to civilization. You see, we're all human beings and all equal, and we've got equal rights, and yet some have all the things, and some have none. You see, we thought we'd all start at home and get things made more fair there, and our fathers to divide up the money more fairly, and give us our real share, and then we could

go round teaching other people to give things up to other people, and share things out more fairly. You see, we must begin at home, and then we start fair. We're all human beings with equal rights. You are so very modest in your demands, said Robert's father. Would half be enough for you? Are you sure you wouldn't like a little more? Robert waved the suggestion aside. No, he said, you see, you have the others to keep, but we've all decided to ask our fathers today, then we can start fair and have some funds to go on. A society without funds seems to be so handicapped, and it would be an example to other fathers all over the world. You see, at this moment Robert's mother came in. What a mess your room's in, Robert. I hope William hasn't

been rummaging in it. Robert turned pale. William, he gasped, and fled to investigate. He returned in a few minutes, almost inarticulate with fury. My watch, he said, my purse, both gone. I'm going after him. He seized his hat from the hall and started to the door. His father watched him, leaning easily against the doorpost of the library and smiling. From the garden as he passed came a wail. My bicycle, gone too.

The sheds empty. In the road he met Jameson Jameson. burglars, said Jameson, Jameson, all my money's been taken, and my camera, the wretches, I'm going to scour the country for them. Various other members of the Bolshevah society appeared, filled with wrath and lamenting vanished treasures. It can't be burglars, said Robert, because why only us? Do you think someone in the government found out about us being Bolshevist and is trying

to intimidate us? James and Jameson thought this very likely. and they discussed it excitedly in the middle of the road, some hatless, some hatted, all talking breathlessly. Then at the other end of the road appeared a group of boys. They were happy, rollicking boys. They all carried bags of sweets which they ate lavishly and handed round to their friends equally lavishly.

One held a camera, or the remains of a camera, whose mechanism the entire party had just been investigating. one more had a large wristwatch upon a small whist. One walked, or rather leapt, upon a silver-topped walking stick. One, the quietest of the group, was smoking a cigarette. At the side near the ditch, about half a dozen, rode intermittently upon a bicycle. The descent of the bicycle and its cargo into the ditch was greeted with roars of laughter. They were happy boys. They sang as they walked. been to the pictures, in the best seats, bought lots of sweets and a mouth organ. We've got a bicycle and a camera and two watches, and a fountain pin, and a razor, and a football, and lots of things.

White, with fury, the senior Bolshevist charged down upon them. The junior Bolshevist stood their ground firmly, with the exception of the one who had been smoking a cigarette, and he, perforce a coward for physical rather than moral reasons crept quietly home relinquishing without reluctance his half-smoked cigarette in the homeric battle that followed accusations and justifications were hurled to and fro as the struggle proceeded you beastly little thieves you said to be equal and why should some people have all the things you little wretches where human beings and got to take things to make equal you said so give it back to me why do you have it and not me it was time for action you said you've spoiled it well as much as mine as yours we've all equal rights were all human beings but the battle was one-sided and the junior branch having surrendered their booty and received punishment fled in confusion the senior branch bending lovingly and sadly over battered treasures walked slowly and silently up the road. About your society, began Mr. Brown after dinner.

No, said Robert, it's all off. We've given it up, after all. We don't think there's much in it. After all, none of us do now. We feel quite different. But you were so enthusiastic about it this afternoon, sharing fairly and all that sort of thing. Yes, said Robert, that's all very well.

It's all right when you can get your share of other. people's things but when other people try to get their share of your things then it's different ah said mr brown that's the weak spot i'm glad you found it out end of chapter one chapter two of william the fourth by rick mal crompton this liverbox recording is in the public domain chapter two william and photography mrs adolphus crane was william mother's mother's second cousin and William's godmother. Among the many senseless institutions of grown-up life, the institutions of godmothers and godfathers seemed to William the most senseless of all. Moreover, Mrs. Adolphus Crane was rich and immensely respectable, the last person whom fate

should have selected as his godmother. Fortunately, she lived at a distance, and so was spared the horrible spectacle of William's daily crimes. His meeting with her had not been fortunate so far, in spite of his family's earnest desire that he should impress her favorably. There had been that terrible meeting two months ago. William was running a race with one of his friends. It was quite a novel race invented by William. The competitors each had their mouths full of water, and the one who could run the farthest without either swallowing his load or discharging it won. William, in the course of the the race encountered Mrs. Adolphus Crane, who was on her way to William's house to pay him

a surprise visit. She recognized him and addressed to him a kindly affectionate remark. Of course, if he had had time to think over the matter from all points of view, he might have conceived the idea of swallowing the water before he answered. But as he afterwards explained, he had no time to think. The worse of it was that the painful incident was witnessed by almost all William's family from the drawing-room window. Mrs. Adolphus Crane's visit on that occasion was a very short one. She seemed a slightly distant. It was felt strongly that something must be done to win back her favor. William disclaimed all responsibility. Well, I can't help it. I can't help it. I don't mind. Honestly, I don't

mind if she doesn't like me. Well, I don't mind if she doesn't come again either. But William, she's your godmother. Well, said the goaded William, I can't help that. I didn't do that. When Mrs. Adolphus Crane's birthday came, William's mother attacked him again. You ought to give her something, William, you know, especially after the way you treated her the last time she came over. What, nothing to give her, said William simply. She can have that book. Uncle George gave me, if she likes. Yeah, she can have that. He warned to the subject. You know the one about ancient history. Don't mind her having it a bit. But you haven't read it. Well, I don't mind not reading it, said William generously. I'd like her to have it, he went on. But it was Mrs. Brown,

who had the great inspiration. Will have Williams' photograph taken for her. It was quite simple to say that, and it was quite simple to make an appointment at the photographers, but it was another matter to provide an escort for him. Mrs. Brown happened to have a bad cold. Mr. Brown was at the office. Robert Williams' grown-up brother flatly refused to go with him. So, after a conversation that lasted almost an hour, William's elder sister Ethel was induced, mainly by bribery and corruption,

to go with William to the photographer. but she took a friend with her to act as a buffer state. William at the appointed hour was in a state of suppressed fury. To William, the lowest depth of humiliation was having his photograph taken. Mrs. Brown had expended much honest toil upon him. He had been washed and brushed and combed and manicured till his spirits had sunk below zero. To William, complete cleanliness, was quite incompatible with happiness. He had been encased in his best suit, a thing of hard,

unbending cloth, with that horror of horrors, a stiff collar. Won't a jersey do, he said plaintively, it'll probably make me ill, give me a sore throat or something, this tight thing of my neck, and I wouldn't like to be ill, because I'm giving you trouble, he ended piously. Mrs. Brown was touched. She was the one being in the world who never lost. lost faith in William. But you wear it every Sunday, dear, she protested. Sundays is different, he said. Everyone wears silly things on Sundays,

but suppose I met someone on my way there. His horror was pathetic. Well, you look very nice, dear. Where are your gloves? Gloves, he said indignantly. Yes, you keep your hands clean till you get there. Is anyone going to give me anything for doing all this? She sighed,

No, dear, it's to give pleasure to your godmother. I know you like to give people pleasure. William was silent, cogitating over this entirely new aspect of his character. He set off down the road with Ethel and her friend Blanche. Busom friends of his, with jerseys, with normal dirty hands and faces, passed him and stared at him in amazement.

He acknowledged their presence only by a cold, stare. On ordinary days he was a familiar figure on that road himself, also comfortably jursied and gloriously dirty. He would then have greeted them with a war-hoop and a friendly punch, but now he was an outcast, a pariah, a thing apart, a boy in his best clothes and kid gloves on an ordinary morning. The photographer was awaiting them. William returned his smile of welcome with a scowl. So this is our little friend. said the photographer, and what is his name? William grew purple. Ethel began to enjoy it. Willie, she said. Now, there were many insults that William had learned to endure with outward equanimity,

but this was not one. Ethel knew perfectly well his feeling with regard to the name Willie. It was a deliberate revenge because she had to waste a whole morning on him. Moreover, Ethel had various scores to wipe off against William, and it was not often that she had him entirely at her mercy. William growled. That is the only word that describes the sound emitted. Pretty name for a pretty boy, commented the photographer in sprightly vein. Ethel and Blanche gurgled. William, dark, and scowling, look unspeakable things at them. Come forward, said the photographer invitingly, any preparations a fancy dress i think not gurgled ethel i have some nice costumes he persisted a little page bubbles but perhaps the hair is hardly suitable cupid i have some pretty wings and drapery but perhaps the little boy's expression is hardly ah no i think not hastily as he encountered the fixed intensity of william's scowling gaze remove the cap and gloves my little chap and gloves my little chap and

He looked up and down William's shining immaculate person. Ah, very nice. He waved Ethel and Blanche to a seat. Now, my boy, he waved the infuriated William to a rustic woodland scene at the other end. Now, stand just there. Oh, that's right. No, no, not quite so stiff. And, no, not quite so watched up, my little chap.

The hands resting carelessly, one on the hip, I think, just even. and natural, oh, that's right. But no, hardly. Relax the brow a little, and, oh, no, not a grimace. It would spoil a pretty picture. Oh, the feet so, and the head, so. The hair is slightly deranged. Oh, that's better. Let it stand to William's eternal credit that he resisted the temptation to bite the photographer's hand, as it strayed among his short locks. At last he was poised. and the photographer returned to the camera. But during his return, William moved feet, hands, and head to an easier position. The photographer sighed.

Ah, he's moved. Williams moved. What a pity. We'll have to begin all over again. He returned to William, and very patiently he rearranged William's feet and hands and head. The toes turned out, not in, you see, Willie, and the hands so, and. and the head is slightly on one side. So, oh, no, not right down onto the shoulder.

Ah, that's right, that sweet, a very pretty picture. Ethel had retired hysterically behind a screen. The photographer returned to his camera. William promptly composed his limbs more comfortably. Oh, what a pity, Willie's moved again. We shall have to commence afresh. He returned to William and again put his unwilling head on one side, his hand upon his hip, and turned William's stout boots at a graceful angle.

He returned. William was clinging doggedly to his pose, anything to put an end to this torture. Ah, right, commented the photographer, splendid, very pretty. The head just a little bit more on one side, the expression of needless, melancholy. A smile, please, just a little bit. smile. Oh, no, hastily, as William savagely bared his teeth, perhaps it is better without a smile. Suppressed gurgles came from behind the screen, where Ethel clung helplessly to blanche. One more, please, sitting, I think, this time, the legs crossed easily and naturally, so,

the elbow resting on the arm of the chair, and the cheek upon the hand, so. He retired to a distance, and examined. the effect with his head on one side. A little spoilt by the expression, perhaps, but very pretty. The expression, a leadless, fierce, if you will pardon the word. William here deigned to speak.

I can't look any different to this, he remarked coldly. Now think of the things I say, went on the photographer brightly. Sweeties, ah, looking narrowly at William's unchanging, ferocious expression, do I see a sassy little smile? As a matter of fact, he didn't, because at that moment, Ethel, her eyes streaming, peeped round the screen for another look at

the priceless side of William in his best suit, in the familiar attitude of the bard of Avon, encountering the concentrated fury of William's gaze, she retired hastily. Seaside with spade and bucket went on the photographer, watching William's unchanging expression, pantomimes, that nice, soft, furry, pussycat you've got a dome. But seeing William's expression changed from one of scornful fury to one of nebuchadnezzard rage and fury, he hastily pressed the little ball, lest worse, should follow.

Ethel's description of the morning considerably enlivened the lunch table. Only Mrs. Brown did not join in the roars of laughter. "'But I think it sounds very nice, dear,' she said. "'Very nice. "'I'm very much looking forward to the proofs coming.' "'Well, it was priceless,' said Ethel. "'It was ever so much funnier than the pantomime. "'I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

"'For years to come, if I feel depressed, "'I shall just think of William this morning his face.' "'His face!' "'William defended himself. "'My face is just like anyone. else's face he said indignantly i don't know why you're all laughing there's nothing funny about my face i never done anything to it it's no different other people's it doesn't make me laugh no dear said mrs brown soothingly it's very nice very nice indeed and i'm sure it will be a beautiful photograph the proofs arrived next week

they were highly appreciated by william's family there were two positions in one william in an attitude of intellectual contemplation, glowered at them from an artistic background. In the other, he stood stiffly with one hand on his hip. His toes, in spite of all, turned irresolutely in, and glared ferociously and defiantly upon the world in general. Mrs. Brown was delighted. Oh, I think it's awfully nice, she said, and he looks so smart and clean. William mystified by Roberts and Ethel's reception of them, carried them up to his room, and studied them long and earnestly. Well, I can't see what's funny about him, he said, at last, half indignantly and half mystified.

It don't seem funny to me. You'll have to write a letter to your godmother, dear, said Mrs. Brown, as Mrs. Adolphus Crane's birthday drew near. Me, said William bitterly, I should think I've done enough for her. "'No,' said Mrs. Brown firmly, "'you must write a letter. "'I don't know what to say to her. "'Say whatever comes into your head.

"'I don't know how to spell all the words that come in my head. "'I'll help you, dear.' "'Seeing no escape, William sat gloomily down at the table "'and was supplied with pen, ink, and paper. "'He looked round disapprovingly. "'Spose I wear out the nib,' he said sadly. "'Mrs. Brown, obligingly placed a box, of nibs at his elbow. He sighed wearily. Life sometimes is hardly worth living. After much

patient thought, he got as far as dear godmother. He occupied the next ten minutes in seeing how far you could bend apart the two halves of a nib without breaking them. After breaking six, he wearied of the occupation and returned to his letter. With deeply furrowed brow and protruding tongue, he continued his efforts. Many happy returns of your birthday. I hope you're very well. I am very well, and so was mother and father and Ethel and Robert. He gazed out of the window and chewed the end of his bin-holder into splinters.

Some he swallowed, then choked, and had to retire for a drink of water. Then he demanded a fresh pen. After about fifteen minutes he returned to his epistolary efforts. It is not raining today. wrote, after much thought, then it did not rain yesterday, and we are hoping it will not rain tomorrow. Having exhausted that topic, he scratched his head in despair, wrinkled up his brows, and chewed his penholder again. I have a hole in my thawking, was his next effort, then I have had my photograph took and sent it for a birthday present. Some people think it

funny, but to me it seems all right. I hope you will like it, your loving God, son, will you? Mrs. Adolphus Crane was touched, both by letter and photograph. I must have been wrong, she said with penitents. He looks so good, and there's something rather sad about his face. She asked William to her birthday tea party. To William, this was the climax of a long chain of insults. But I don't want to go to tea with her, he said in dismay. But she wants you, darling, said Mrs. Brown.

I expect she liked your photograph. I'm not going, said William testily, if they're all going to be laughing at my photograph all the time. I'll just sick of people laughing at my photograph. Of course they won't, dear, said Mrs. Brown. It's a very nice photograph. You look a bit depressed in it, that's all. Well, that's not funny, he said indignantly.

Of course not, dear. You'll behave nicely, won't you? I'll behave ordinary. He said coldly, but I don't want to go. I don't want to go, because, cause, because, he sought silently for a reason that might appeal to a grown-up mind, then with a brilliant inspiration, because I don't want my best clothes to get all wore out. I don't think they will, dear, she said.

Don't worry about that. William dejectedly promised not to. The afternoon of Mrs. Adolphus Crane's birthday dawned bright and clear, and William resigned and martyred, set off. He arrived early and was shown into Mrs. Adolphus Crane's magnificent drawing-room. An air of magisterial, magnificent, shed gloom over Mrs. Adolphus Crane's whole house. Mrs. Adolphus Crane as magisterial and magnificent and depressing and enormous, as her house, entered. Good afternoon, William. Now, I've a pleasant little surprise for you.

William's gloomy countenance brightened. I've put your photograph into my album. There, what an honor for a little boy. William's countenance relapsed into gloom. You can look at the album while I'm getting ready, and then when the guests come, you can show it to them. Won't that be nice? She departed.

William was trapped, trapped in a huge and horrible drawing room by a huge and horrible woman, and he would have to stay there at least two hours, and Ginger and Henry were bird-nesting. Ah, the horror of it! Why was he chosen by fate for this penance? He felt a sudden fury against the art of photography in general. William's sudden furies against anything demanded some immediate outlet. So William, with the aid of a pencil, looked at Mrs. Adolphus Crane's family album, till Mrs. Adolphus Crane was ready.

Then she arrived, and soon after her, the guests, or rather such of them as had not had the presence of mind to invent excuses for their absence. For funeral affairs were Mrs. Adolphus Crane's parties. Livelyness and hilarity dropped slain on the doorstep. The guest came sadly into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Adolphus Crane dispensed gloom from the hearthrug. her voice was low and deep how do you do oh thank you so much i doubt whether i shall live to see another oh yes my nerves by the way my little godson

they turned to look at william who was sitting in silent misery in a corner his hands on his knees he returned their interested stairs with his best company frown on the chair by him was the album have you seen the family album went on Mrs. Adolphus Crane. It's most interesting. Do look at it. A group of visitors sadly gathered round it, and one of them opened it. Mrs. Adolphus Crane did not join them. She knew her album by heart. She took her knitting, sat down by the fire, and poured forth her knowledge. The first one is Great Uncle Joshua, she said, a splendid old man, never touched tobacco or alcoholic drinks in his life. They looked at great Uncle Joshua. He sat, grim and earnest and respectable, with his hand on the table. But a lately added pipe in pencil adorned his mouth, and his hand seemed to encircle a tankard. Quite suddenly, animation returned to the group by

the album. They began to believe that they were going to enjoy it after all. Then comes my poor dear mother. Poor dear mother wore a large eyeglass with a black ribbon and a wild Indian headdress. The group, by the album, grew large. There seemed to be some magnetic attraction about it. Then comes my paternal Uncle James, a very handsome man. Paternal Uncle James might have been a very handsome man before his nose had been elongated for several inches, and his lips curved into an enormous smile, showing gigantic teeth. He smoked a large, vulgar-looking pipe. A beautiful character, too, said Mrs. Adolphus Crane. She continued the family catalog, and the visitors followed the photographs in the album. They were all embellished. Some had pipes,

some had blue noses, some had black eyes, some giant spectacles, some comic headdresses. Some had received more attention than other. Aunt Julia, a most saintly woman, positively leered from her cabinet with a huge nose and a black eye and a cigar in her mouth. The album was handed from one to another. An unwanted hilarity and vivacity reigns supreme, and always there were crowds round the album. Mrs. Adolphus Crane was surprised, but vaguely flattered. Her parties seemed more successful than usual. people seemed to be taking quite a lot of notice of William, too.

One young curate, who had wept tears over the album, pressed half a crown into William's hand. By some unerring instinct, they guessed the author of the outrage. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Adolphus Crane did not happen to look at her album till several months later, and then it did not occur to her to connect it with William. But this afternoon, she somehow connected the stringer, spirit of cheerfulness that pervaded her drawing-room with him and was most gracious to him. He's been so good, she said to Mrs. Brown when she arrived to take William home,

quite helped to make my little party a success. Mrs. Brown concealed her amazement as best she could. But what did you do, William? she said on the way home, as William plotted along beside her, his hands in his pockets lovingly fingering his half-ground. Me, said William innocently, uh, nothing. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of William IV by Rick Mulcrompton. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 3, the Fet and Fortune. William took a fancy to Miss Tabitha Croft as soon as he saw her. She was small and inoffensive-looking. She didn't look the sort of. a person to write irate letters to William's parents. William was a great judge of character. He could tell at a glance who was likely to object to him, who was likely to ignore him, and who was likely definitely to encourage him. The last was a very rare class, indeed. Most people belonged to the first class, but as he sat on the wall and watched Miss Tabitha Croft

timidly and flutteringly, superintending the unloading of her furniture at her little cottage gate, he came to the conclusion that she would be very inoffensive indeed. He also came to the conclusion that he was going to like her. William generally got on well with timid people. He was not timid himself. He was small and freckled and solemn and possessed of great tenacity of purpose for his eleven years. Miss Tabitha, happening to look up from the debris of a small table, which one of the removers had carelessly and gracefully crushed against the wall, saw a boy perched on her wall scowling at her. She did not know that the scowl was William's ordinary normal expression.

She smiled apologetically. A good afternoon, she said. Afternoon, said William. There was silence for a time, while another of the removal. took the door off his hinges with little or no effort by means of a small piano which he then placed firmly upon another remover's foot then the silence was broken during the breaking of silence william scowl disappeared and a rapt smile appeared on his face can't they think of things to say he said delightedly to miss tabitha when a partial peace was restored miss tabitha raised a face of horror and misery. Oh, dear, she said in a voice that tremble. It's simply dreadful. William Chivalry, that curious quality, was aroused. He leapt heavily from the wall. I'll help,

he said airily, don't you worry. He helped. He staggered from the van to the house and from the house to the van. He worked till the perspiration poured from his freckled brow. He broke two candlesticks, a fender, a lamp, a statuette, and most of a breakfast service. After each breakage, he said, oh, never mind, comfortingly to Miss Tabitha, and put the pieces tidily in the dustbin. When he had filled the dust-bin, he arranged them in a neat pile by the side of it. He was completely master of the situation. Miss Tabitha gave up the struggle and sat on a packing-case in the kitchen with some sal volatile and smelling. One of the removers gave William a drink of cold tea. Another gave him a bit of cold sausage.

William was blissfully, riotously, happy. The afternoon seemed to fly on wings. He tore a large hole in his knickers and upset a tin of paint, which he found on a windowsill down his jersey. At last the removers departed, and William proudly surveyed the scene of his labors and destruction. Well, he said, I bet things would have been a lot different if I hadn't helped. Oh, I'm sure they would, said Miss Tabitha, with perfect truth. Seems about tea time, doesn't it? Went on, William gently. Miss Tabitha gave a start and put aside the sow volatile.

Yes, do stay and have some here. Thanks, said William simply. I was thinking you'd most likely ask me. Over the tea, to which he did full justice in spite of his previous repast, of cold tea and sausage, William waxed very conversational. He told her of his friends and enemies, chiefly enemies, in the neighborhood. A farmer Jones who made such a fuss over his old apples of the Reverend P. Craig, who entered into a base conspiracy with parents to deprive quite well-meaning boys of their Sunday afternoon freedom. If Sunday school so nice and good for folks as they say it is,

said William bitterly, why don't they go? I won't mind them going. He told her of Ginger's Air Gun and his own catapult, of the dead rat they found in the ditch and the house they had made of branches in the wood, of the daredevil career of robber and outlaw he meant to pursue as soon as he left school.

In short, he admitted her unreservedly into his friendship. And while he talked, he consumed large quantities of bread and jam and butter and cakes and pastry. At last he rose. Well, he said, I suppose I'd better be going. Miss Tabitha was bewildered, but vaguely cheered by him. You must come again, she said. Oh, yes, said William cheerfully, I'll come again, lots, and let me know when you're moving again, I'll come and help again. Miss Tabitha shuddered slightly. Thank you so much, she said. He arrived the next afternoon. I've just come to see, he said, how you're getting on.

Miss Tabitha was seated at a little table, with a row of playing cards spread out in front of her. She flushed sitely. I'm just telling my fortune, William, she said. Oh, said William, he was impressed. It does sometimes come true, she said eagerly. I do it nearly every day. It's curious how it grows on one.

she began to turn up the cupboard cards and study them intently. William sat on a chair opposite her and watched with interest. There was a letter in my cards yesterday, she said, and it came this morning. Sometimes it comes true like that, but often she sighed, it doesn't. What's in it today, said William, scowling at the cards. A death, said Miss Tabitha, in a sepulchral whisper, and a letter from a dark man and jealousy of a fair woman. and a present from across the sea and legal business and a legacy but they're none of them the sort of thing that comes true i don't know though she went on dreamily the income taxman might be dark i don't know and i may hear from him soon

it's wonderful really i mean that any of it shall come out it's quite an absorbing pursuit shall i do yours m said william graciously you must wish first william wished with his eyes screwed up in silent concentration. I've done it, he said. Miss Tabitha dealt out the cards. She shook her head sorrowfully. You'll be treated badly by a fair woman, she said. William agreed gloomily. That'll be Ethel, my sister, he said.

She thinks that just because she's grown up, he relapsed into subterranean mutterings. And you'll have your wish, she said. William brightened. his eye roved round the room to a photograph on a bureau by the window who's he he said miss tabitha flushed again he was once going to marry me she said and he went away and he never came back spect he met someone he liked better and married her suggested william cheerfully i expect he did said miss tabitha he surveyed her critically perhaps he didn't like your hair not being curly he proceeded some don't my brother robert he said says if a girl's hair doesn't curl, she ought to curl it. Perhaps you didn't, garlet? No, I didn't. My sister Ethel does, but she gets mad if I tell folks, and she gets

mad when I use her old things for making poles and apples and cardboard and things. She's an awful fuss, he added contemptuously. When he got home, he stood transfixed on the dining room threshold, his mouth open, his eyes wide. Crumbs, he ejaculated. he had wished that there might be ginger-cake for tea and there was at tea was the vicar's wife the vicar's wife was afflicted with the sale of work mania it is a disease to which vickers wives are notoriously susceptible she was always thinking out the next but one sale of work before the next one was over she was always praised in the local press and she felt herself to be a very happy woman i'm going to call the first one next one of fate, she said. It will seem more of a change. Fake, said William with interest, she murmured, dear boy, vaguely. We'll advertise it widely. I'm thinking of calling it the king of fates. Such an arresting title. We'll have donkey rides and coconut shy's so democratic,

and we ought to have fortune-telling. One doesn't, of course, believe in it, but it's what people expect, some quite harmless fortune-telling, by cards, for instance. William gasp. She did mine, wonderful, he said excitedly. It came just what I wished. There was it for tea. Who, what? said the victor's wife. Oh, the new one, at the cottage. I did all her furniture for her and got paint on my clothes, and she told me about him not coming back because of her hair, perhaps, and I got some of her things broke out, but not many, and she gave me tea and said to come again. Gradually they elicited details. I'll call, said the vicar's wife, it would be so nice to have someone who knows to do it, someone irrespectable.

Fortune-tellers are so often not quite, you know what I mean, dear, she cooed to William's mother. Of course, murmured William abstractly, it mayn't have been her hair. it may have been just anything. William was having a strenuous time. Fate was making one of her periodic assaults on him. Everything went wrong. Miss Drew, his form mistress at school, had taken an altogether misguided and unsympathetic view

of his zeal for nature study. In fact, when the beetle, which William happened to be holding lovingly in his hand, as he did his sums by her desk, escaped and made its way down her neck, her piercing scream boated no good to William. The further discovery of a caterpillar and two woodlice on his pencil box, a frog in his satchel, and earwigs in his pocket, annoyed her still more, and William stayed in school behind his friends to write out 100 times, I must not bring insects into school.

His addition, because they frightened misdue, made relations still more strained, he met with no better luck at home. His unmelodious and penetrating practices on a mouth organ in the early hours of the morning had given rise to a coldness that changed to actual hostility when it was discovered that he had used Ethel's new cape as the roof of his wigwam in the garden and Robert's new expensive brown shoe polish to transform himself to a red Indian chief. he was distinctly unpopular at home. There was some talk of not allowing him to attend the King of Fates,

but as the rest of the family were going, and the maids had refused to be left with William on the premises, it was considered safer to allow him to go. But any of your tricks, said his father darkly, leaving the sentence unfinished. The day of the King of Fates was fine. The stalls were bedevish, in the usual bright and inharmonious colors, a few donkeys with their attendance surveyed the scene contemptuously.

Ethel was wearing the new cape, brushed and cleaned, to a running accompaniment of abuse of William. Mrs. Brown was presiding at a stall. Robert, wearing a large buttonhole with his shoes well-browned and a new tin of polish purchased with William's pocket money, presided at a miniature rifle range. William, having been given permission to attend, and money for his entrance, hung round the gateway, glaring at them scornfully. He always disliked his family intensely upon public occasions.

He had not yet paid his money and was wondering whether it was worth it after all, and it would not be wiser to spend it on both eyes and gingerbreads and his afternoon in the fields as a solitary outlaw and hunter of cats or whatever other life prey fate chose to send him in a tent at the farther end of the fate grounds was miss tabitha a raid in a long and voluminous garment covered with strange signs they were supposed to be mystic eastern signs but were in reality the invention of the vicar's wife suggested by the free-hand drawing of her youngest son aged three It completely enveloped Miss Tabitha from head to foot, leaving only two holes for her eyes and two holes for her arms. She had shown it to William the day before. I don't quite like it, she had confessed.

I hope there's nothing blasphemous about it, but she ought to know, being a vicar's wife, she ought to know. I only hope she went on, shaking her head, that I'm not tampering with the powers of darkness, even for the cause. of the church organ. Outside was a large placard, fortune-telling by the Woman of Mystery to shilling Sisk fence each. Inside the Woman of Mystery sat trembling with nervousness in front of a table on which reposed her little well-worn pack of cards, each with a neat hieroglyphic in the corner to show whether it met a death or a wedding or a legacy or anything else. William, surveying this scene from the gateway became aware of a figure coming slowly down the road. It was a man, a very tall man, who stooped slightly as he walked. As he came to William, he became suddenly aware

in his turn of William's scowling regard. He lifted his hat. Oh, good afternoon, he said courteously. Afternoon, said William brusquely. Do you know, went on the man whether a Miss Croft lives in the village? He pointed down the hill to the cluster of roofs. I think, said William slowly, I've seen your photo, only it wasn't so old when you had it took. Where have you seen my photo? said the man. In her house, what I helped her to remove to, said William proudly. The man's kind, rather weak face, lit up. Could you show me her house? You see, he went on simply. I'm a very unhappy man. I went away, but I've carried her in my heart all the time, but it's taken me a long, long time to find her. I'm a very tired, unhappy man.

William looked at him with some scorn. You was soft, he said. Perhaps it was because her hair not curling. Where is she? said the man. In there, said William, pointing to the enclosure, sacred to the king of fates. I'll get her if you like. Thank you, said the man. William, still grudging his entrance money, walked round the enclosure, till he found a weak spot in the hedge behind a tent. Through this he scrambled with great difficulty, leaving his cap on route, blackening and scratching his face, tearing his knickers in two places, and his jersey in three. But William, who could not see himself, fingering tenderly the price of admission in his pocket, felt that it had been trouble well expended.

He met the vicar's wife. She was raffling a tea-cozy, highly decorated, with red and yellow and purple tulips on a green ground. She wore her sale of work smile. William accosted her. He wants her. He's come back. Could you get her?

He said. He's had the right one in his inside all the time. He said so. But she had no use for William. William did not look as if he was good for a one-and-six raffle ticket for a tea-cozy. sweet thing, she murmured vaguely, and effusively caressed his disordered air as she passed. William made his way towards the tent of the woman of mystery, but there was an ice-cream stall on his way, and William could not pass it.

Robert and Ethel, glasses of fashion and moles of form, passed at the minute. At the side of William, with torn coat and jersey, dirty scratched face, no cap and tousled hair, consuming ice-cream horns upon a crowd of his social inferiors, a shudder passed through both of them. They felt that William was a heavy handicap to them in life's race. Send him home, said Robert. I simply wouldn't be seen speaking to him, replied Ethel. William, having satisfied his craving for ice cream with the greater part of his entrance money, wandered on towards the tent of the woman of mystery.

He entered it by crawling under the canvas at the back, The woman of mystery happened to be having a slack time. The tent was empty. He's come, announced William. He's waiting outside. Who? said the woman of mystery. The one what you've got a photo of, you know, he's just by the gate. Oh, dear, gasped the woman of mystery.

Does he want me? Said William, oh dear, fluttered the woman of mystery. I must go. Yet how can I go? People will be coming for their fortunes. William waved aside the objection. oh, I'll see to that, he said. But can you tell fortunes, dear? she asked.

I don't know, said William. I've never tried yet. The woman of mystery drew off her curious gown. I must go, she said. With that, she fled, through the back opening of the tent. William slowly and deliberately arrayed himself. He put on the gown and arranged it so that his eyes came to the two holes and his hands out of the two armholes. Then he lifted the hassock on which the woman of mystery had disposed her feet onto the chair,

and took his seat upon it, carefully hiding it with the gown. At that moment the flap of the tent opened and a client entered. She put half a crown on the table and sat down on the chair opposite William. Peering through his eye-holes, William recognized Miss Drew. He spread out a row of the playing cards and began to whisper. William's whisper was such a little-known quantity that it was not recognized. You've got a bad temper, he whispered. True, sighed to Miss Drew.

You've got a cat and hens, went on, William. True. You've been hard on a boy just lately. He may not live very long. You've time to make up to him. Miss Drew started, that's all. Miss Drew, looking bewildered and troubled, withdrew from the tent.

William was surprised on peering through his eyeholes to recognize Ethel in his next visitor. He spread out the cards and began to whisper again. You've got two brothers, he whispered. Ethel nodded. The small one won't live long, probably. You better be kinder to him while he lives. Come into him more, that's all.

Ethel withdrew in an awed silence. Robert entered next. William was beginning to enjoy himself. you've got her brother he whispered well he's not strong and he may die soon this is a warning for you you'd better make him happy while he's alive that's all robert went slowly from the tent at that moment the little woman of mystery fluttered in from the back oh thank you so much dear such a wonderful thing has happened but i must return to my post he'll wait till the end he says still talking breathlessly she drew the robe of mystery from William and put it on herself. William wandered out again into the fate ground. He visited the ice-cream stall again, then wandered aimlessly around.

The first person to accost him was Miss Drew. Hello, William, she said, gazing at him anxiously. I've been looking for you. Would you like some ice cream? William graciously condescended to be fed with ice cream. Would you like a box of chocolates? Went on, Miss Drew. Do you feel all right, William, dear? you've been a bit pale lately.

William accepted from her a large box of chocolates and three donkey rides. He admitted that perhaps he hadn't been feeling very strong lately. When she departed, he found Robert and Ethel looking for him. They treated him to a large and very satisfying tea and several more donkey rides. Both used an unusually tender tone of voice when addressing him. Ethel bought him a pineapple and another box of chocolates, and Robert bought him a bottle of sweets, and apologized for his unreasonable behavior about the shoe polish. When they went home, William walked between them, and they carried his chocolates and sweets and

pineapple for him. Feeling that too much could not be made of the present state of affairs, he made Robert do his homework before he went to bed. Up in his room, he gave his famous. imitation of a churchyard cough that he had made perfect by practice and which had proved a great asset to him on many occasions. Ethel crept softly upstairs. She held a paper bag in her hand. William, darling, she said, I've brought this toffee for your throat. It might do it good. William added it to his store of presents. Thank you, he said with an air of patient suffering.

And I'll give you something to make your wigwam with. tomorrow, dear, she went on. Thank you, said William, and if you want to practice your mouth organ in the mornings, it doesn't matter a bit. Thank you, said William, in a small, martyred voice. The next evening, William walked happily down the road. It had been a very pleasant day.

Miss Drew had done most of his work for him at school. He had been treated at lunch by his family with a consideration that was quite unusual, He had been entreated to have all that was left of the trifle, while the rest of the family had stewed prunes. In the garden of the little cottage was Miss Tabitha Croft and the tall stooping man. Oh, this is William, said Miss Tabitha. William is a great friend of mine. I saw William yesterday, said the man.

William must certainly come to the wedding. William, said Miss Croft. It was kind of you to take my place yesterday. Did you manage all right? oh yes said william after a moment's consideration i managed all right thank you end of chapter three chapter four of william the fourth by rickmall crompton this liverbox recording is in the public domain chapter four william all the time william was walking down the road his hands in his pockets his mind wholly occupied with the christmas pantomime he was going to the christmas pantomime next to the christmas pantomime next week. His thoughts dwelt on the rapturous memories of previous Christmas pantomimes, of Puss in the Boots, of Dick Whittington, of Red Riding Hood. His mouth curved into a

blissful smile as he thought of the funny man, inimitable funny man, with his red nose and enormous girth. How William had roared every time he appeared, with what joy he had listened to his uproarious songs, but it was not the funny man to whom William had had given his heart. It was to the animals. It was to the cat in puss and boots, the robins in the babes in the wood, and the wolf in red riding hood. He wanted to be an animal in a pantomime. He was quite willing to relinquish his beloved future career of pirate in favor of that of animal in a pantomime. He wondered. It was at this point that Fate, who often had a special eye on William, performed one of her lightning tricks. A man in shirt-sleeves stepped out of the

wood and looked anxiously up and down the road. Then he took out his watch and muttered to himself. William stood still and stared at him with frank interest. Then the man began to stare at William, first as if he didn't see him, and then as if he saw him, would you like to be a bear for a bit, he said? William pinched himself. He seemed to be. awake. A bear? He queried, his eye almost starting out of his head. Yes, said the man irritably, a bear, B-E-A-R, bear, animal, zoo. Never heard of a bear? William pinched himself again. He seemed to be still awake. Yes, he agreed, as though unwilling to commit himself entirely. I've heard of a bear, all right. Come on then, said the man, looking once more at his

watch, once more up the road, once more down the road, then turning on his heel and walking quickly into the wood. William followed, both mouth and eyes wide open. The man did not speak as he walked down the path. Then suddenly down a bend in the path they came upon a strange sight. There was a hut in a little clearing, and round the hut was clustered a group of curious people, a father Christmas holding his beard in one hand and a glass of ale. in the other, a rather fat goldilocks in the act of having yellow powder lavishly applied to her

face, several fairies and elves, sucking large and redolent peppermints, a ferocious but depressed-looking giant, rubbing his hands together, and complaining of the cold, and several other strange and incongruous figures. In front of the hut was a large species of camera with a handle, and behind stood a man, smoking a pipe. Kid turned up, he said, William's guide shook his head. No, he said they've missed their train or lost their way or evaporated or got kidnapped or something, but this happened to be passing and it looked the same size pretty near. What do you think?

The man took his pipe from his mouth in order the better to concentrate his whole attention on William. He looked at William from his muddy boots to his untidy head. Then he reversed the operation and looked from his untidy head to his muddy, to his muddy boots, and then he scratched his head. Thames on the big side for the middle one, he said. At this point, a hullabaloo arose from behind the shed, and a small bear appeared howling loudly. They took him, I bit of toffee, yelled the bear in a very human voice.

Ah, shut up, said the man in his shirt-sleeves. The small bear was followed by a large bear, protesting loudly. I gave him half of mine, and he promised to give me how he is, and then he tried to eat it all, and, ah, shut up, repeated the man. Then he turned to William. All you've got her do, he said, is to fix on the middle bear suit and do exactly what you're told, and I'll give you five shillings at the end.

See? These rural places are a beautiful change, murmured Goldilocks' mother, darkening her eyebrows as she spoke. So, calm and quote, These Christmas shows, grumbled the giant, flapping his arms vigorously, are the very dead. devil. Here William found his voice. Crumbs, he ejaculated, then feeling the expletive to be altogether inadequate to the occasion, quickly added, gosh. Take the kid round someone, said the

shirt-sleeved man wearily, and fix on its togs, and let's get on with the show. Here a fairy queen appeared from behind the hut. I don't see how I'm possibly to go through with this ear performance, she said in a voice of plaintive suffering, i had toothache all last night if you think said the shirt-sleeve man that you can hold up this blessed joe for a tupiny halfpenny toothache if you're going to be insulting said the fairy queen in shrill indignation ah shut up said the shirt-sleeve man here for the christmas who had finished his ale led william into the hut a bear suit lay on a chair the kid what was to wear this not having turned up he said said, by way of explanation, and you, by all accounts, being willing to oblige for a small consideration, we shall have to see what can be done. I suppose, he added, you have no objection. Me, said William, whose eyes and the mouth had grown more and more circular every minute.

Me, objection. Golly, I should think not. The little bear and the big bear surveyed him critically. He's too big, said the little bear contemptuously. His hand. hairs too long, contributed the big bear. His face is too dirty. His ears is too long. His nose is too flat. His head's too big. His William speedily and joyfully put an end to the duet, and Father Christmas wearily disentangled the struggling mass. It may be a bit on the small side, he conceded, as he deposited the small bear upside down beneath the table, but we'll do what we can. Here the shirt-sleeve man appeared at the window. That's right, he said, kindly, take all day about it, don't hurry. We all enjoy hanging about waiting for you.

Father Christmas offered to retire from his post in favor of the shirt-sleeve man, and the shirt-sleeve man hastily retreated. Then came the task of fitting William into the skin. It was not an easy task. You're bigger, said Father Christmas, than what you look in the distance, considerable. William could not stand quite upright in the skin, but by stooping slightly he could see and speak through the open mouth of the head. In an ecstasy of joy he pummeled the big bear, the little bear gladly joined in the fray, and a furry ball of three struggling bears rolled out of the door of the hut. The shirt-sleeve man rang a bell.

After this somewhat lengthy interlude, he said, By the way, may I inquire the name of our new friend? william proudly shouted his name through the aperture in the bear's head well biliam he said joccurly do just what i tell you and you'll be all right now all clear off a minute please we've only a few scenes to do here location he read from a paper in his hand hut in wood inter fairies with fairy queen dance how am i expected to dance said the fairy queen bitterly tortured by toothache i can't think You don't dance with your teeth, said the shirt-sleeve man, unsympathetically. Let's go through it once more before we turn on the machine. You've rehearsed it often enough. Now, come on.

They danced a dance that made William gape in surprise and admiration. So dainty and airy was it. Enter Father Christmas, went on the shirt-sleeve-man. What I can't think, said Father Christmas, fastening on his beard, is what a Father Christmas is doing in this event. nor a giant, said the giant, sadly. It's for a Christmas show, said the shirt-sleeve man. You've got to have a Father Christmas in a Christmas show,

or else how people know it's a Christmas show. You've got to have a giant in a fairy tale, whether there is one in it or not. Father Christmas joined the dance, gave presents to all the fairies, then retired behind the hut to his private store of refreshment. Enter Goldilocks, said the shirt-sleeve man. now where the dickens is that kid golly locks fat fair and rosy appeared from behind a tree where she had been eating bananas she peered down the middle bear's mouth it's a new one she said the other one hasn't turned up said the man this is billiam who is taking on the middle one for the small consideration of five shillings

he's put out a tongue at me she screamed in shrill indignation at this the big bear whose adoration of Goldilocks was very obvious, closed with William, and Goldilocks' mothers screamed shrilly. The giant separated the two bears, and Goldilocks came to the hut with an expression of patient suffering meant to represent intense physical weariness. She gave a start of joy at the sight of the hut, which apparently she did not see till she had almost passed it. She entered. She gave a second start of joy at the sight of three porridge plates. She took a second start of joy at the sight of three porridge plates. She tasted the first two and consumed the third. She wandered into the other room. She gave a third start of joy at the sight of three beds. She tried them all and went to sleep

beautifully and realistically on the smallest. William was lost in admiration. Come on, bears, said the man in shirt sleeves. Billiam, walk between them. Don't jump. Walk. In at the door. That's right. Now, Billiam, look at your plate. Then shake your head at the Big Bear. Trembling with joy, William obeyed. The Big Bear, in the privacy of the open mouth, put out his tongue at William with a hostile grimace. William returned it. Now to the little one, said the man in shirt-sleeves, but William was still absorbed in the big one. Enraged by a particularly brilliant feat in the grimacing line, which he felt he could not outshine. He put out a paw and tripped up the big bear's chair. The Big Bear's chair. The Big Bear's. The Big Bear's

Big bear promptly picked up a porridge plate and broke it on William's head. The little bear hurled himself ecstatically into the conflict. Father Christmas wearily returned to his work of separating them. If you aren't satisfied with your bonus, said the shirt-sleeve man to William, take it out of me, not the scenery. You've just done about five shillings worth of damage already. Now let's get on. The rest of the scene went off fairly well.

but William was growing bored. It wasn't half such fun as he thought it would be. He wasn't feeling quite sure of his five shillings after those smashed plates. The only thing for which he felt a deep and lasting affection from which he felt he could never endure to be parted was his bear skin. It was rather small and very hot, but it gave him a thrill of pleasure, unlike anything he had ever known before. He was a bear. He was an animal and a animal. a pantomime. He began to dislike immensely the shirt-sleeve man and the hut and the fairy queen and the giant and all the rest of them, but he loved his bear suit. It was while the giant

was having a scene by himself that the brilliant idea came to William. He was standing behind a tree. No one was looking at him. He moved very quietly further away. Still no one looked at him. He moved yet further away, and still no one looked at him. In a few seconds he was leaping and bounding through the wood alone in the world with the bear-skin. He was a bear. He was a bear in a wood. He ran. He jumped.

He turned head over heels. He climbed a tree. He ran after a rabbit. He was riotously, blissfully happy. He met a boy who fled from him with echoing yells of terror, and to William it seemed as if he had drunk of ecstasies very fount. He ran on and on, roaring occasionally, and occasionally rolling in the leaves. Then something happened.

He gave a particularly violent jump and strained the skin which was already somewhat tight. The skin did not burst, but the head came down very far onto William's head and wedged itself tightly. He could not see out of its open mouth now. He could just see out of one of the eye-holes, but only just. His mouth was wedged tightly in the head, and he found he could not speak plainly. He put up his paws and pulled at the head to loosen it, but with no results. It was very tightly wedged. William's spirits drooped.

It was all very well, being a bear in the wood, as long as one could change oneself to a boy at will. It was a very different thing being fastened to a bear skin for life. He supposed that in time, if he went on growing to a man, he'd burst the bear skin. On the other hand, he couldn't get to his mouth now, so he couldn't eat, and he'd not be able to grow at all. Starvation stared him in the face. He was hungry already. He decided to return home and throw himself on the mercy of his family. Then he remembered that his family wore a while.

all out that afternoon. His mother was at a mother's meeting at the vicarage. He decided to go straight to the vicarage. Perhaps the united efforts of the mothers of the village might succeed in getting his head off. He went out from the woods onto the road, but was discouraged by the behavior of a woman who was passing. She gave an unearthly yell, tore a leg of mutton from her basket, flung it at William's head, and ran for dear life down the road, screaming as she went. William, much depressed, returned to the woods and reached the vicarage by a circuitous route. Feeling too shy to ring the bell and interview a housemate in his present costume, he walked round the house to the French windows of the dining room where the meeting

was taking place. He stood pathetically in the doorway of the window. Mother, he began plaintively in a muffled and almost inaudible voice, but it would have made little difference had he spoken in his usual strident tones. The united scream of the mother's meeting would have drowned it. Never in the whole course of his life had William seen a room empty so quickly. It was like magic. Almost before his plaintive and muffled mother had left his lips, the room was empty. Only two dozen overturned chairs and overturned table and several broken ornaments marked the line of retreat. The room was empty. The entire. The entire Fire mother's meeting, headed by the bickers' wife and the vicarage cook and housemaid,

were dashing down the main road of the village, screaming as they went. William sadly surveyed the desolate scene before him, and retreated again to the woods. He leant against a tree and considered the whole situation. Hello, William! Turning his head to a curious angle, and appearing out of one of the bear's eye-holes, he recognized Goldilocks. Hello? So, he returned in a spiritless voice.

Why did you run away? She said. Dena, he said, I wanted the old skin, wish I'd never seed it. You do talk funny, she said. I can't hear what you say. And so far was William's spirit broken that he only sighed. I saw you going, she went on, and I went after you, but you ran so fast that I lost you.

Then I went round a bit by myself. I say they won't be able to get on with the old thing without us. I heard him shouting for us. Isn't that fun? And I heard some people screaming in the road. What was that? William sighed again, and then he shouted,

Dry and pull my head loose. Hard. She complied. She pulled till William yelled again. You nearly took my ears off, he said angrily in his muffled, suppleful voice. But the head was wedged on as tightly as ever.

She went to the edge of the wood and peered across the road. There's a place. there she said with lots of men in it go and ask them william somewhat reluctantly for his previous experiences had sadly disillusioned him with human nature in general went through the trees to the roadside he looked back at the white-clad form of goldilocks wait for me he whispered hoarsely anxious to attract as little notice as possible he crept on all fours round to the door of the public-house he poked in his head nervously please he waspered hoarse to attract as little notice as possible he crept on all fours round to the door of the public-house he poked in his head nervously please he He's can summon, he began politely, but in the clatter that arose, the ghostly whisper was lost. Several glasses and a chair were flung at his head. Amid shoutings and uproar, the innkeeper went for his gun, but on his return William had departed,

and the innkeeper, who knew the better part of valor, contented himself with bolting the door and fetching a sol volatile for his wife. after a decent interval he unlocked the door and the inmates crept cautiously home one by one a great furious brute they were heard to say must have escaped from a circus if we hadn't been quick well to get up a party with guns let's go and warn the school or it'll get the kids on reaching their homes most of them found their wives in hysterics on the kitchen floor after a hasty return from the mother's meeting meanwhile william sat beneath a tree in the wood in an attitude of utter despondency his head on his paws why didn't you tell them said goldilocks impatiently i tell everyone said william nobody'll listen to me they make a noise and throw things i'm going to go home he rose and held out a paw he felt utterly and miserably cut off from his fellow-men he clung pathetically to goldilocks's presence come with me he said hand and in hand a curious couple, they went through the woods to the back of William's house. If I die, he said at once before we get home, you'd better bury me. There's a spade in the back garden. He took her round to the shed in his back garden. You stay here, he whispered, and I'll try

and get my head took off and then get us something to eat. Cautiously and apprehensively, he crept into the house. He could hear his mother talking to the cook in the kitchen. It stood right in the window, she was saying in a trembling voice, not a very big animal, but so ferocious looking. We got out just in time. It was just getting ready to spring it. William crept to the open kitchen door and assumed his most plaintive expression, forgetting for the moment that his expression could not be seen.

Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, Cook turned round and saw him. The scream that Cook emitted sent William scampering up to his. his room in utter terror. It's gone up, plunging into Master William's room. Oh, the brute, oh, thank Evan, the little darlands out playing. Oh, Mom, the gun and brutes, I shut the door. Oh, my, it turned me inside out. It did. Oh, I doesn't go up and lock it in, but that's what ought to be done. We'll get someone with a gun, said Mrs. Brown weekly. Oh, yeah, oh, here's the master. Mr. Brown entered as she spoke. I've got terrible news for you, he said. Mrs. Brown burst into tears.

Oh, John, nothing could be worse than that John. It's upstairs. Do get a gun in William's room. And, oh, my goodness, suppose he's there. Suppose it's mangling him. Do go! Mr. Brown sat calmly in his chair. William, he said, as eloped with a jeanne premier and a bearskin.

An entire Christmas pantomime is searching the village for him. They've spent the afternoon searching the wood, and now they are searching the village. village. Father Christmas is drinking ale in a pub. He discovered that William had paid it a visit. A fairy queen is sitting outside the pub, complaining of toothache and Goldilocks' mother is complimenting the vicar on the rural beauty of his village, in the intervals of weeping over the loss of her daughter. I gathered that William had visited the vicarage. There's a giant complaining of the cold, and a man in his shirt-sleeves whose language is turning the air blue from

miles around. I was coming up from the station and was introduced to them as William's father. I had some difficulty in calming them, but I promised to do what I could to find the missing pair. I'm rather keen on finding William. I don't think I can do better than hand him over to them for a few minutes. As for the missing damsel, Mrs. Brown found her voice. Do you mean, she gasped feebly, do you mean that it was. was William all the time? Mr. Brown rose wearily. Of course, he said, isn't everything always William all the time? End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of William IV by Rick Mall Crumpton. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5, Aunt Jane's Treat.

William was blessed with many relations, though blessed is not quite the word he would have used himself. They seemed to appear and disappear and reappear in spasmodic succession throughout the year. He never could keep count of them. Most of them he despised, some he actually disliked. The latter class reciprocated his feelings fervently. Great Aunt Jane was one he had never seen, and so he suspended judgment on her. But he rather liked the sound of her name. He received the news that she was coming to stay over Christmas with indifference. All right, he said, I don't care. She may come if she wants to.

She came. She was tall and angular and precise. She received William's scowling greeting with a smile. Best wishes of this festive season, William, she murmured. William looked at her scornfully. All right, he murmured. However, his opinion of her rose the next morning. I'd like to give you some treat, William, dear, she said, at breakfast, to mark the festive season,

something quiet and orderly, as I don't approve of merry-making. William looked at her kind, weak face with the spectacles and scraped back hair and sighed. He thought that Aunt Jane would be enough to dispel the hilarity of any event. Great Aunt Jane's father had been a Plymouth brother, and great Aunt Jane had been brought up to disbelieve and pleasure except as a potent aid of the devil. William asked for a day in which to choose the treat. He discussed it with his friends. Well, advised Ginger, you jolly well ordered to something she can't muck up, like when my aunt took me to a messy old museum and showed me stones and things. No animals nor nothing. What about the zoo? said Henry.

The zoo was suggested to great Aunt Jane, but she shuddered slightly. i don't think i could she said it's so dangerous i always feel those bars look so fragile i should never forgive myself if little william were mangled by wild beasts when in my care william sighed and called his friends together again she won't go to the zoo said william something or other about bars and mangles well what about masqueline's and devons said henry my uncle took me once it's all magic william much cheered at the prospect suggested masqueline's that evening aunt jane thought it over for some time and then shook her head no dear she said i feel that these illusions aren't quite honest They pretend to do something they really couldn't do, and it practically amounts to falsehood. They deceive the eye, and all deceit is wrong. William groaned and returned to his advisory council. She's awful, he said gloomily. She's cracky, I think.

They discussed the matter again. Douglas had seen a notice of affair as he came along. Try that, he said. There's marigle rounds and shows and coconut shies and all sorts. It ought to be all right. That evening, William suggested a fair. Aunt Jane looked frightened. What exactly happens in a fair?

She said earnestly. William had learnt, tact. Oh, he said you just walk around and look at things. What sort of things do you look at? said Aunt Jane. Oh, just stalls of gingerbreads and lemonade. It sounded harmless. Aunt Jane's face cleared. Very well, she said.

of course I could stand outside while you walked around. But upon investigation, it appeared that William's parents had not that perfect trust in William that William seemed to think was his due, and objected strongly to William's walking round by himself. So Aunt Jane steeled herself to Dally openly with the evil power of pleasure-making. We can be quite quick, she said, and it doesn't sound very bad. William reported progress to his counsel. It's all right, he said cheerfully. The old Looney's going to the fair.

Then his cheerfulness departed. Though, when you come to think of it, he said, It jolly well won't be much fun for me. Well, said Ginger, suppose we all try to go there the same time. We can leave your old Aunt Jane somewhere and go off, can't we? William Brightened. That sounds better, he said. I guess she'll be quite easy to leave.

Aunt Jane was so nervous that she did not sleep at all on the night before the day arranged for the treat. Never before in her blameless life had Aunt Jane deliberately entered a place of entertainment. I do hope, she murmured on the threshold, holding William firmly by the hand, that there's nothing really wrong in it. She was dressed in a long and voluminous black skirt, a long and voluminous black coat, and a small black hat, adorned with black ears of wheat, perched upon her prim little head. Inside she stopped, bewildered. The glaring lights, the noise, the shouting,

seemed to be drawing Aunt Jane's eyes out of her sockets and through her large, round, spectacles. It isn't a bit what I thought, William, she said, I imagine just stalls, just quiet, plain stalls. Why are they throwing balls about, William? It's a coconut shy, said William. Can anyone do it? said Aunt Jane. Anyone can try, said William, if they pay tuppence. And what happens if they knock it off? They get the coconut, exclaimed William loftily.

I wonder if it's very difficult, mused Aunt Jane. At this moment, a well-named ball sent a coconut rolling in the sawdust. Aunt Jane gave a little scream. Oh, he did! He did it! she cried. I'd love to try. try. There, there can't be anything wrong in it. With trembling fingers, she handed the man tuppance and took the three wooden balls. A sudden hush of astonishment fell on the crowd when Aunt Jane's curious figure came to the fore. At the first throw, she shook her hat,

crooked, at the second she shook a tail of hair down, at the third she shook off her spectacles. The third ball went wider of the mark than all the others and hit a young man on the shoulder. Aunt Jane, however, he only smiled. She demanded another two-pennyworth. The bystanders cheered her loudly. The crowd round the coconut shy stall grew. People from afar thought it was an accident and crowded up to watch. Then they saw Aunt Jane and stayed.

At last, after her sixth shot, Aunt Jane, flushed and panting and disheveled, turned to William. It's much more difficult than it looks, William, she said regretful, as she straightened her hat and hair, I would have liked to have knocked one off. What about me? said William coldly. Oh, yes, she said you must try too. So she paid another tuppence and William tried too, but the crowd began to melt away at once, and even the proprietor began to look bored.

William realized that he was an anti-climax and felt dispirited. You should use more force, I think, William, said Aunt Jane. and more directness of aim. William growled. Well, you didn't do it, he said aggressively. No, said Aunt Jane, but I think with practice. Here William was cheered by the sight of Henry and Douglas and Ginger, who had all managed to evade lawful authority and come to the help of William.

They had decided to hide from Aunt Jane and then abscond with William, but Aunt Jane hardly saw them. She hurried on ahead, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alight, and her prim little hat awry. It has, she said, a decidedly inspiriting effect, the light and music and crowds, decidedly inspiriting. She halted before a roundabout. I wonder if it's enjoyable, she said musingly. The circular motion, of course, might be monotonous. However, she decided to try it.

She paid for William and Douglas and Henry, enjoy. Ginger and herself, and mounted a giant cock. It began. She clung on for dear life. It went faster and faster. There came a gleam into her eyes, a smile of rapture to her lips. Again the crowd gathered to watch her. She looked at the people as the roundabout slowed down. How happy they all looked, she said innocently. It's quite a pleasant motion, isn't it? It seems a pity to get off. She stayed on, clinging convulsively to the pole with one elastic-sighted boot, waving wildly. She stayed on yet again. She seemed to find the circular motion anything but monotonous.

It seemed to give her a joy that all her blameless life had so far failed to produce. William and Ginger had to climb down, pale and rather unsteady. Henry and Douglas followed their example the next time it stopped. But still Aunt Jane stayed on, smiling blissfully, her hat dangling over one ear. And still the crowd at the roundabout grew. The rest of the fair ground was comparatively empty. All the fun of the fair was centered on Aunt Jane. At last she descended from her mound and joined the rather depressed-looking group of boys who were her escort.

It's curious, she said, how much pleasanter is a circular motion than a straight one. This is much more exhilarating than, say, a train journey, and, of course, the music adds to the pleasantness. Well, said William, you jolly well stayed on. It seemed, she said, quite a pity to get off. The little party moved from the roundabout, followed by most of the crowd. The crowd liked Aunt Jane. They wouldn't have lost sight of her for anything. Aunt Jane, for the first time in her life, appealed to the British public.

William and his friends felt themselves to be in a curious position. They had meant to leave Aunt Jane to her fate and go off to their own devices. But it did not seem possible to leave Aunt Jane, because everything seemed to center round Aunt Jane, and they would only have been at the back of the crowd instead of at the front. But they felt that their position as escort of Aunt Jane was not a dignified one. Moreover, their feats drew forth none of the aplombard. which Aunt Jane's feats drew forth.

They felt neglected by the world in general. Aunt Jane was next attracted by the poster of the fat woman outside one of the tents. She fixed her spectacle sternly and approached the man who was crying the charms of the damsel. Surely that picture is a gross exaggeration, my good man, she said. Exaggeration, he repeated. Arf the truth, that's what it ends. A, a arf the truth. We couldn't get arf the truth.

on the picture if we made her as big as what she is. Exaggeration. Why, she's a walking mountain. That's what she is, a regular walking mountain. Come on and see her. Come in and judge for yourselves. Just come in and see if what I'm telling you isn't gospel. Somehow or other they were swept in. Aunt Jane sat on the front seat. She gazed intently upon the fat woman who sat at her ease upon a small platform. She seems, said Aunt Jane, unnaturally large. certainly. The showman discoursed upon the size of the fat woman, and then invited the audience to draw near. Touch her if you want, he said, touch her and see she's real. No deception. Aunt Jane drew near with the rest and accosted the showman. Has she ever tried any of those fat-reducing foods, she said? The man looked at William. Is she batty? he said simply. If you'll give me her address, I'll talk to my doctor about her. I think something might be done to make her less abnormal. At this, the walking mountain rose threateningly from her gilded couch. Here, she said, O'er you calling names of. You tell me that. O'er you are given of your thoughts to.

You strike to me straight art if you wants to, and I'll talk to you back. Not arf, don't go a hurling of your insults at me through him. My young man, he'll talk to you, nah, if you wants. her young man is the strong man in the next tent explained the man their fiancees they are he's the devil and all to tackle he is i'd advise her as friend to friend clear before she calls of him but aunt jane the imitation wheat in her hat trembling with emotion was already clearing they quite misunderstood she said as soon as she had cleared the word abnormal conveys no insult surely i think i'll return an explain. I'll refer them to the dictionary and the derivation of the word. It simply means something outside the usual rule if she was returning eagerly to the tent to explain, but found the entrance blocked by a crowd, so she was persuaded to postpone her explanation. Moreover, she had caught sight of the hoopla and was anxious to have the system explained to her. William wearily explained it. Oh, I see, said Aunt Jane, a test of dexterity and accuracy of aim. Shall we try?

They tried. They tried till William was tired. She had determined to get something or die. The crowd was gathering again. They applauded her efforts. Aunt Jane was too short-sighted to notice the crowd, but she heard it shouts. Isn't everyone encouraging? She murmured to William.

it's most gratifying. It's really a very pleasant place. She actually did get something. One of her wildly flung hoops fell over a tie-pin of the extremely flashy variety, which she received with a glowing pride and handed to William. The crowd cheered, but Aunt Jane was quite oblivious of the crowd. Come along, she said, let's do something else. Ginger disconsolately announced his intention of going home. Henry and Douglas, followed his example, and William was left alone to escort Aunt Jane through the mazes of the land of pleasure. It was at this point that things really seemed to go to Aunt Jane's head. She went down the helter-skelter four or five times, sailing down on her little mat with squeaks

of joy. She forgot now to straighten her hat or her hair, her eye gleamed with strange light, her cheeks were flushed. There's something quite rejuvenating about it all. William, she murmured. She had her fortune told by a gypsy queen, who prophesied an early marriage with one of her many suitors. She went again on the roundabout. She had another coconut shy. She went on the switchback, the ferry boat, and the wild sea waves. William trailed along behind her. He refused to venture on the wild sea waves and watched her on them with a certain grudging admiration. Crumbs, he murmured, she must have got her inside of iron.

Finally, Aunt Jane espied a stall at a distance. Under a glaring gas flame, a man in a white coat was pulling out long strings of soft candy. Aunt Jane approached. What an appetizing odor, commented Aunt Jane. Do you think he's selling it? William thought he was. And the glorious climax of that strange night was the sight of Aunt Jane, stand by under the flaring gas jet, devouring soft pull-out candy.

Hello, here's the geymol bird, fed a man passing. I don't see any bird to you, said Aunt Jane to William, peering round with a short-sighted eyes, but this is a very palatable confection, is it not? Then a clock struck, and into Aunt Jane's face came to the look that Cinderella must have worn when the clock struck well. William, she said, that surely was not ten. "'Ten?' sounded like ten,' said William. "'Aunt Jane put down her last stick of pull-out candy, unfinished. "'We ought to go,' she said weekly.

"'Well,' said William's mother, when they returned, "'I do hope it wasn't too tiring for you.' Aunt Jane sat down on a chair and thought. She thought over the evening. "'No, she couldn't really have done all that, have seen all that. It was impossible, quite impossible. It must be imagination. She must have seen someone else doing all these things.

She must have gone quietly around with William and watched him enjoy himself. Of course, that was all she'd done. It must have been. The other was unthinkable. So she smiled, a patient, weary little smile. Well, of course, she said, I'm a little tired, but I think William enjoyed it. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of William the 4th by Rick Mall Crompton.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6. Kidnappers. There was quite a flutter in the village when the Darcy's came to the Grange. A branch of the Darcy family, you know? Lord Darcy and Lady Darcy and Lady Barbara Darcy. Lady Barbara was seven years of age. She was fair, frilly, fascinating. Lady Darcy engaged a dancing master,

to come down from London once a week to teach her dancing. They invited several of the children of the village to join. They invited William. His mother was delighted, but William, freckled, untidy, and seldom clean, was horrified to the depth of his soul. No entreaties or threats could move him. He said he didn't care what they did to him. He said they could kill him if they liked it.

He said he'd rather be killed than go to an old dancing class anyway, with that soft-looking kid. Well, he didn't care who her father was. She was a soft-looking kid, and he wasn't going to no dancing class with her. Wildly ignoring the rules that govern the uses of the negative, he frequently reiterated that he wasn't going to no dancing class with her. He wouldn't be seen speaking to her, much less dancing with her. His mother almost wept. You see, she explained to Ethel, William's grown-up sister, it puts us at a sort of disadvantage, and Lady Darcy is so nice, and it's so kind of them to ask William. William's sister, however, took a wholly different view of the matter. It might put them,

she said, a good deal more against us if William went. William's mother admitted that there was something in that. William lay in the loft, reclining at length on his front, his chin resting on his hands. He was engaged in reading. On one side of him stood a bottle of liquorish water, which he had made himself. On the other was a large slab of cake, which he had stolen from the larder. On his freckled face was the look of scowling ferocity that it always wore in any mental effort. The fact that his jaws had ceased to work, though the cake was yet unfinished, testified to the enthralling interest of the story he was reading. black-hearted dick dragged the fair maid by the wrist to the captain's cave a bottle of grog stood at the captain's right hand the captain slipped a mask over his eyes and smiled a sinister smile

he twirled his long black mustatials with his hand unhand the maiden dog he said then he swept her a stately bow fair maid he said unless thy father bring me sixty thousand crowns to-night thy doom is sealed Thou shalt swing from yon lone pine tree. The maiden gave a piercing scream. Then she looked closely at the mask face. Who, who art thou? She faltered. Again the captain's sinister smile flickered beneath the mask. Rudolph of the red hand, he said.

At these terrible words the maiden swooned into the arms of black-hearted dick. Aha! said the grim Rudolph with a sneer. No man lives who does not tremble at those words. and again that smile curved his dread lips as he looked at the yet unconscious maiden for well he knew that the sixty thousand crowns would be his that even let her be treated with all courtesy till to-night he said as he turned away william heaved a deep sigh and took a long draught of liquorish water it seemed an easy and wholly delightful way of earning money they're awfully nice people said ethel the next day of breakfast and it is so kind of them to ask us to tea very said mrs brown and they say bring the little boy the little boy looked up with the sinister smile he had been practising me he said ah ha he wished he had a mask because though he felt he could manage the smile quite well the narrative had said nothing about the expression of the upper part of rudolph of the red hand's face however he felt that his customary scowl would do quite well you'll come dear won't you said mrs brown sweetly i wouldn't make him said ethel nervously you know what he's like sometimes mrs brown knew william a mute scowling protest

was no ornament to a drawing-room. But wouldn't you like to meet the little girl, said Mrs. Brown persuasively? Maha, ejaculated William. The monosyllable looks weak and meaningless in print. As William pronounced it, it was pregnant with scorn and derision and sinister meaning. He curled imaginary mustacios as he uttered it. He looked round upon his assembled family. Then he uttered the monosyllable again, with a yet more sinister smile and scowl.

He wondered if Rudolph the red hand had a mother who tried to make him go out to tea. He decided that he probably hadn't. Life would be much simpler if you hadn't. With another short, sharp, he left the room. William sat on an old packing case in a disused barn. Before him stood Ginger, who shared the same classroom in school, and pursued much the same occupations and recreations out of school. They were not a popular couple in the neighborhood.

William was wearing a mask. The story had not stated what sort of a mask Rudolph of the red hand had worn, but William supposed it was an ordinary sort of mask. He had one that he'd bought last 5th of November, and it seemed a pity to waste it. Moreover, it had the advantage of having the Statsios attached. It covered his nose and changed. cheeks, leaving holes for his eyes. It represented fat, red, smiling cheeks, and enormous red nose,

and fluffy gray whiskers. William, on looking at himself in the glass, had felt a slight misgiving. It had been appropriate to the festive season of November 5th, but he wondered whether it was sufficiently sinister to represent Rudolph of the red hand. However, it was a mask, and he could turn his lips into a sinister smile under it, and that was the main thing. He had definitely and finally embraced a career of crime. On the table before him stood a bottle of licorice water with an irregularly printed label, Grog. He looked round at his brave.

Black-hearted dick, he said, You're got to say present. It was rather vague as to how outlaws opened to their meetings, but this seemed the obvious way. Present, said Ginger. That's not much fun, and it's all going to be like school. Well, it's not, said William firmly, and you can have a drink of grog.

Only one swallow, he added anxiously, as he saw a black-hearted dick, throwing his head well back preparatory to the draft. That was a jolly big one, he said, torn between admiration at the feet and annoyance at the disappearance of a bit of, licorice water. All right, said Ginger modestly, I've got her big throat. Well, what we're going to do first? William adjusted his mask, which was not a very good fit, and performed the sinister

smile. We got her kidnapped someone first, he said. Well, who? said Ginger. Someone who can pay us money for him. Well, who? said Ginger irritably. William took a deep draft of licorice water. Well, you can think of someone. I like that, said Ginger, in tones of deep dissatisfaction. I like that. You set up to be captain and wear that thing and drink up all the licorice water. Grog, William corrected him wearily. Well, Grog, and then you don't know who we're going to kidnap.

I like that. Might as well be rat hunting or catching tadpoles or chasing cats if you don't know what we're got to do. William snorted and smiled sneeringly beneath his bilious-looking mask. Ah, he said, you come with me, and I'll find someone for you to kidnap right enough. Ginger cheered up at this news, and William took another draft of licorice water. Then he hung up his mask behind the barn door and took out of his pocket a battered penknife. We may want arms, he said, keep your dagger handy. He pulled his school cap low down over his eyes.

Ginger did the same, then looked at the one broken blade of his penknife. I don't think mine would kill anyone, he said. Does it matter? You'll have to knock yours on a head with something, said Rudolph, of the red hand. Grimly, you know we may be imprisoned or hung or something for this. Rather, said Ginger, with the true spirit of the bravado, and I don't care. They tramped across the fields in silence, William leading. In spite of his occasional exasperation,

Ginger had infinite trust in William's capacity for attracting adventure. They walked down the road and across a style. The style led to a field that bordered the Grange. Suddenly they stopped. A small white figure was crawling through a gap in the hedge from the park into the field. William had come out with no definite aim, but he began to think that fortune had placed in his way a tempting prize. He turned round to his follower with a resonant sh, scowled at him,

placed his finger on his lips, twirled imaginary mustacios, and pulled his cap low over his eyes. Through the trees inside the park, he could just see the figure of a nurse on a seat leaning against a tree trunk in an attitude of repose. Suddenly Lady Barbara looked up in a sense. despied William's fiercely scowling face. She put out her tongue. William's scowl deepened. She glanced towards her nurse on the other side of the hedge. Her nurse still slumbered.

Then she accosted William. Well, funny boy, she whispered. Rudolf of the red hand froze her with a glance. Quick, he said, seized the maiden and run. With a dramatic gesture he seized the maiden by one hand, and Ginger sees the other. The maiden was not hard to seize. She ran along with little squeals of joy. Oh, what fun! What fun! She said.

Inside the barn, William closed the door and sat at his pecking case. He took a deep draught of licorice water and then put on his mask. His victim gave a wild scream of delight and clapped her hands. Oh, funny boy! she said. William was annoyed. It's not funny, he said. said irritably, it's jolly well, not funny. You're kidnapped. That's what you are. Unhand the maiden, dog, he said to Ginger. Ginger was looking rather sulky. All right, I'm not handing her, he said.

And when you've quite finished with the licorice water, Grog, corrected William sternly, well, Grog then, and I out to make it, perhaps she'll let me have a drink. William handed him the bottle with a flourish. Benish a dog, he said, with a short, scornful laugh. The vibration of the short, scornful laugh, caused his bacchic mask, never very secure, to fall off onto the packing case. Lady Barbara gave another scream of ecstasy,

oh, do it again, boy, she said. William glanced at her coldly and put on the mask again, and then he swept her a stately bow, holding on to his mask with one hand. Fair made, he said, unless thy father bring me sixty thousand crowns by to-night, thy doom is sealed, thou shalt swing from yon lone pine. He pointed dramatically out of the window to a diminutive hoffhorn hedge.

The captive whirled round on one foot, fair curls flying. Oh, he's going to make me a swing. Nice boy! William rose, majestic and stately, still cautiously holding his mask. My name, he said, is Rudolph of the red hand. Well, I'll kiss you, dear Rudolph, and she said, if you like. Williams look intimated that he did not like. Oh, you're shy, said Lady Barbara delightedly.

Let her be treated, William said, with all courtesy till this even. Well, said Ginger, that's. That's all right, but what we're going to do with her? William glanced disapprovingly at the maiden, who had turned the packing case upside down and was sitting in it. Well, what we're going to do, said Ginger, it's not much fun so far. Well, we just got to wait till her people send the money. Well, how are they going to know we got her and where she is and how much we want?

William considered this aspect of the matter had not struck him. Well, he said at last, I suppose you'd better go on. and tell him. You can, said Ginger. You'd better go, said William, because I'm chief. Well, if you're chief, said Ginger, you are to go. The kidnapped one emitted a shrill scream. I'm a train, she said, she's not acting right, said William severely. She ought to be fainting or something. How much do we want for her? Sixty thousand crowns, said William. All right, said Ginger, I'll stay and see she don't get away, and you go and tell her people, and don't tell anyone but her father and mother, or they'll go getting the money themselves.

William hung up his mask behind the door and turned to Ginger, assuming the scowl and attitude of Rudolph of the red hand. All right, he said, I'll go into the jaws of death, and you treat her with all courtesy till even. Who's going to curtsy, said Ginger indignantly? You don't understand book-talk, said William scornfully. He bowed low to the maiden, who was still playing at trains. Rudolph of the red hand, he said slowly, with a sinister smile.

The effect was disappointing. She blew him a kiss. Darling, Rudolph, she said. William stalked majestically across the fields towards the Grange, with one hand inside his coat in the attitude of Napoleon on the deck of the Belarusan. He went slowly up the drive and up the broad stone steps. Then he rang the bell. He rang it with a mighty force with which Rudolph of the red hand would have wrung it.

It peeled frantically in distant regions, an indignant footman opened the door. I wish to speak to the master of the house on a life or death matter, said William, importantly. He had thought out that phrase on the way up. The footman looked up and down. He looked him up and down as if he didn't like him. Oh, do you, he said. Are you aware, you nearly broke our front doorbell? The echoes of the bell were just beginning to die away.

Rudolph of the red hand folded his arms and emitted a short, sharp laugh. His lordship, said the footman, preparing to close the door, is out. His wife would do, then, said Rudolph, just tell her it's a life and death matter. Her ladyship, said the footman, is engaged in any more of your practical jokes here, my lad, and you'll hear of it. He shut the door in William's face. William wandered round the house and looked in several of the windows. He had a lively encounter with a gardener, and finally, on peeping into the kitchen regions with a scornful lap,

was chased off the premises by the infuriated footman. Satined, but not defeated, he returned across the fields to the barn, and flung open the door. Ginger, panting and perspiring, was dragging the Lady Barbara in the, the packing case round and round the barn by a piece of rope. He turned a frowning face to William. A life of crime was proving less exciting than he had expected. Well, where's the money? He said, wiping his brow. She's just about warm me out. She won't let me stop dragging this thing about, and she keeps worrying, saying you promised her a swing. He did, said the kidnapped one shrilly.

Well, where's the money? repeated Ginger. A just about had enough of kidnapping. I couldn't get the money, said William. I couldn't make them listen properly. Let's change, and me stay here and you go and get the money. All right, said Ginger, I wouldn't mind changing to do anything from this. What shall I say to him? You'd better say you must speak to him on life and death. I said that, but they kind of didn't listen. They'll perhaps listen to you. Well, I jolly well don't mind going, said Ginger. She's a wearing kid. He went out and shut the door. Put the funny thing on your face, ordered Lady Barbara. It's not funny, said William coldly, as he adjusted the mask.

She danced around him, clapping her hands. Dear funny boy, and now make me the swing. I'm not going to make you no swing, said William firmly. If you don't make me a swing, she said, I'll sit down, and I'll scream and scream till I burst. She began to grow red in the face. There's no rope, said William hastily. She pointed to a coil of old rope in a dark corner of the barn. That's rope, silly, she said.

He took it out and began to look round for a suitable and low enough tree. Be quick, ordered his victim. At last he had the rope tied up. Now lift me in. Now swing me. Go on. More. More.

More. Nice. Funny boy. She kept him at it for about half an hour. And then she demanded to be dragged round the barn in the package. case. Go on, she said, quicker, quicker. The fine, manly spirit of Rudolph of the red hand was almost broken. He began to look weary and disconsolate. When Ginger returned, Lady Barbara was wearing the mask and chasing William. Go on, she said, tend to be frightened, tend to be frightened,

go on. William turned to Ginger. Well, he said, Ginger looked rather disheveled. His collar was torn away. You might have told me, he said. He said. said indignantly. What? said William. Go on, said Lady Barbara. That they were like wild beasts up there. They set on me soon as I said what you told me. Well, did you get any money? said William. Now, how could I, said Ginger irritably, when they set on me like wild beast soon as I said it. Go on, said Lady Barbara. Well, said Rudolph of the red hand slowly. I'm just about fed up. and you couldn't be fed upper than i am replied his gallant brave well let's chuck it said william it's getting tea-time and we've got no many and i'm not going for it again nor am i said ginger fervently and i'm fed up with his kid so am i said ginger still more fervently well let's chuck it he turned to lady barbara you can go home he said her face fell i don't want to go home she said i'm going to say i'm going to take it

stay with you always and always." Well, you're not," said William shortly, because we're going home. So there." He set off with Ginger across the fields. The kidnapped one ran lightly beside them. I'm going where you go, she said. I like you." They felt that her presence would be difficult to explain to their parents.

Dejectedly they returned to the barn. I'll go and see if I can see anyone looking for her, said William. Get down on your hands and knees. and let me ride on your back, shouted Lady Barbara. Ginger wearily obeyed. William went out to the road and looked up it and down. There was no one there, except a man walking in the direction of the Grange. He smiled at the expression on William's face. Hello, he said, feeling sick or lost, something. We kidnapped a kid, said William disconsolately, and we couldn't get any money for her, and we can't get rid of her. The man threw back his head and laughed.

Awkward, he said, by Joe, jolly awkward. I suppose you'll have to take her home. He was no use. William turned back to the barn. Lady Barbara was riding round the barn on Ginger's back. Go on, she said, quicker. Ginger turned a purple and desperate face to William. If you don't do something soon, he said,

I shall probably go mad and kill someone. We'll have to take her back, said, William grimly. The kidnappers walked in gloomy silence. The kidnapped danced along between them, holding a hand of each. I'm going wherever you go, she said, I love you. Once Ginger spoke, You're a nice kidnapper, he said bitterly. I couldn't help it, said William. It all went different in the book. Near the steps of the front door, a lady was standing. Ginger turned and fled at the sight of her. Lady Barbara held William's hand fast. him hesitated till flight was impossible oh there you are darling the lady said dear nice boy said lady barbara he's been playing with me all the time and the other oh but the other's gone it's been lovely i do love him may we keep him

darling said the lady i've only just heard you were lost nanny's in a dreadful state and this little boy found you and took care of you dear little boy she bent down and kissed the outraged and horrified William. How very kind of you to look after my little girl and bring her back so nicely. Now come and have some tea. She led William, too broken in spirit to resist, up the steps into the hall, then into a room. Lady Barbara still held his hand tightly. There was tea in the room and people. Horror of horrors, it was his mother and Ethel.

There were confused explanations. and her nurse went to sleep, and she must have wandered off and got lost, and your little boy found her and played with her, and looked after her and brought her back for tea. Dear little man. A man entered, the man who had accosted William on the road. He was evidently the father of the little girl. The story was repeated to him.

Great, he said, looking at William with amusement and a certain sympathy in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the situation. William glared at him, and he rode me on his back and gave me rides in the box and made me a swing and put on a funny face to make me laugh. Dear little man, groaned Lady Darcy. They put him gently into a Chesterfield, and Barbara sat beside him, leaning against him. Nice boy, she said. Mrs. Brown and Ethel beamed proudly, and he pretends, said Mrs. Brown, not to like little girls. misjudged children so sometimes. You'll go to the dancing class now, won't you, dear? She ended archly.

Dear, little fellow, said Lady Darcy. It was only the fact that he had no weapon in his hand, and that he had given up the unequal struggle against the malignancy of fate that saved William from murder on a wholesale scale. Barbara smiled on him fondly. Barbara's mother smiled on him tenderly. His mother and sister smiled.

on him proudly, and in their midst, Rudolph of the Red Hand, with rage and shame and humiliation in his art, savagely ate his sugared cake. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of William IV by Rick Mulcrumpton. This Liberbox's recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7, William's Evening Out. William's family had come up to London for a holiday. They had brought William with them, chiefly because it was a little.

not safe to leave William behind. William was not the sort of boy who could be trusted to live a quiet and blameless life at home in the absence of his parents. He had many noble qualities, but he had not that one. So William gloomily and reluctantly accompanied his family to London. William's elder sister and mother lived in a whirl of shopping and theaters. William's elder brother went every day to see a county cricket match and returned in a state of frenzied excite to discuss the play and players all the evening without the slightest encouragement from anyone. William's father foregathered with old cronies at his club or slept in the hotel smoking room. It was open to William to accompany any of the members of his family.

He might shop and attend matinees with his mother and Ethel. He might go, on sufferance, to watch cricket matches with Robert, or he might sleep in the smoking room with his father. he was encouraged by each of them to join some other member of the family and he occasionally managed to evade them all and spend the afternoon sliding down the banisters till firmly but politely checked by the manager of the hotel watching for any temporary absence of the liftman during which he might try to manipulate the machine itself or contending with the most impudent-looking page boy in a silent and furtive rivalry in grimaces. But in spite of this, he was supremely bored. He regarded the center of the British Empire with contempt. Streets, he said, with devastating scorn at the end of his first day here. Shops! Ugh! William's soul pined for the fields and lanes and woods of his home, for his band

of Boone companions, with whom he was wont to wrestle and fight and trespass, and plot daredevil schemes, and set the world at defiance, for the irate farmers who helped to supply that spice of danger and excitement, without which life to William and his friends was unendurable. He took his London pleasure sadly. Oh, history, he remarked coldly when they escorted him round Westminster Abbey. His only comment on being shown the tower was that it seemed to be taking up the whole day, not that there was much else to do anyway. His soul yearned for the society of his own kind.

The son of his mother's cousin, who lived near, had come to see him one day. He was a tall pale boy who asked William if he could foxtrot, and if he didn't adore Axel Hague's etchings, and if he didn't prefer Paris to London. The conversation was an unsatisfactory one, and acquaintance did not ripen. But accompanying his family on various shortcuts in the back streets of London, He had glimpsed another world, a world of street urchins who fought and wrestled and gave vent to piercing whistles, and hung on to the backs of carts, and paddled in the gutter, and rang front doorbells and fled from policemen. He watched it wistfully.

Socially, his tastes were not high. All he demanded from life was danger and excitement and movement and the society of his own kind. He liked boys, crowds of boys, boys who should. shouted and whistled and ran and courted danger, boys who had never heard of any silly old etchings. As he followed his family with his air of patient martyrdom on all their expeditions, it was the glimpse of this underworld alone that would lift the shadow from his furrowed brow and bring a light to his stern, freckled countenance. There were times when he stopped and tried to get into contact with it, but it was not successful. His mother's come on.

along, William, don't speak to those horrid little boys, always recalled him to the blameless and appalling respectability of his own family. Yet even before that hateful cry interrupted him, he knew that it was useless. He was an alien being, a clean little boy in a neat suit with a fashionable mother and sister. He was beyond the pale, an outsider, a pariah, a creature to be mocked and jeered at. The position galled William. he was by instinct on the side of the lawless the anti-respectable his spirits rose as the time for his return to the country approached yet there was a wistful longing in his heart for the boy-world of london still unexplored as well as a fierce contempt for the london his parents had revealed to him william had been invited to a party on his last evening in london william's mother's cousin lived in kensington and had invited to a party on his last evening in london william's mother's cousin lived in kensington and had invited to a party in William to a little gathering of her children's friends. William did not wish to go to the party.

What is more, William did not intend to go to the party, but a wonderful plan had come into William's head. It's very kind of her, he said meekly. Yes, I'll be very pleased to go. That was unlike William's usual manner of receiving an invitation to a party. Generally, there were expostulations, indignation, assertion of complete incapacity to go to anything that particular night. William's mother looked at him. You feel all right, don't you, dear? She said anxiously. Oh, yes, said William, and I feel I'll just like a party. You can wear your eaten suit, said Mrs. Brown. Oh, yes, said William, I'd like that. William's face was quite expressionless as he spoke, Mrs. Brown, pinched herself, to make sure that

she was awake. I expect they'll have music and dancing and that sort of thing, she said. She thought perhaps that William had misunderstood the kind of party it would be. William's expressionless face did not change. Oh, yes, he said pleasantly, music and dancing will be fine. When Mr. Brown was told of the invitation, he groaned, and I suppose it will take the whole day to make him go, he said. No, said Mrs. Brown eagerly. That's the strange part.

He seems to want to go. He really does, and he seems to want to wear his eaten suit, and you know what a bother that used to be i suppose he's beginning to take a pride in his appearance i think london must be civilizing him well said mr brown dryly i suppose you know best i suppose miracles do happen when the evening of the party arrived there was some difficulty as to the transit of william to his place of entertainment the house was so near to the hotel where the browns were staying that a taxi seemed hardly worth while but there was a general reluctance to be his escort ethel was going to a theatre and robert had been out all day and thought he deserved a bit of rest in the evening instead of carting kids about mrs brown rheumatism had come on again and mr brown wanted to read the evening paper william sleek and smooth and brushed and encased in his eaten suit his freckled face shining with cleanliness and virtue broke meekly into the discussion i know the way mother can't i just go myself mrs brown wavered why don't see why not she said at last if you think that boy can walk three yards by himself without getting into mischief began mr brown william turned innocent reproachful eyes upon him oh but look at him said mrs brown and it isn't as if he didn't want to go to the party you want to go don't you dear yes mother said william meekly his father threw him a keen glance

well of course he said returning to his paper do as you like i'm certainly not going with him myself but don't blame me if he blows up the houses of parliament or dams the thames or pulls down nelson's monument william's sorrowful wistful glance was turned again upon his father i won't do any of those things i promise father he said solemnly i don't see why he shouldn't go alone said mrs brown it's not far and he's sure to be good because he's looking forward to it so aren't you william yes mother said william with his most inscrutable expression so he went alone william set off briskly down the street a neat figure and an eaten suit and overcoat a well-fitting cap and patent-leather shoes his expression had relaxed as soon as the scrutiny of his family was withdrawn it became expectant and determined once out of the sight of possible watchers from the hotel he turned off the road that led to his mother's cousin's house, and walked purposely down a side street, and thence to another side street. There they were. He knew they would be there. Boys, boys after William's own heart, dirty boys, shouting boys, whistling boys, fighting boys. William approached. At his own home he would have been acclaimed at once as a leader of any lawless horde, but here he was not known.

His present appearance, moreover, brushed hair, evening clothes, clean face, was against him. To them he was a thing taboo. They turned on him with delightful yells of scorn. Where's your mammy? Look at his shoes. Isn't his air-brushed nice? Yeah, boo, garn. The tallest of them snatched William's cap from his head and ran off with it.

The snatching of a boy's cap from his head is a deadly insult. William, whose one wistful desire, was to be friends with his new acquaintances, yet had his dignity to maintain. He flew after the boy and caught him by the back of his neck, and then they closed. The rest of the tribes stood round them in a ring, giving advice and encouragement. Their contempt for William vanished, for William was a good fighter. He lost his collar and acquired a black eye, and his hair, in the exhilaration of the contest,

recovered from its recent severe brushing and returned to its favorite vertical angle. The two were fairly well-matched, and the fight was a most satisfactory one till the cry of cops brought it to an abrupt end, and the crowd of boys, with William now in the middle, fled precipitately down another street. When they were at a safe distance from the blue helmet,

they stopped, and the large boy handed William his cap, Here you are, he said, with a certain respect. William, with a careless gesture, tossed the cap into the air. Don't want it, he said. Watch a-nime, William. He's called Bill, said the boy to the others. William read in their faces a growing interest, not quite friendship yet, but still not quite contempt. He glowed with pride.

He put his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, and there met a six-pence. Joy. What's your name? He said to his late adversary. Erb, said the other, still staring at William with interest. Come on, Erb, said to William jauntily, let's buy some sweets, eh? He entered a small, unsavouring sweet shop, and the whole tribe crowded in after him. Ian Earb discussed the rival merits of bull's eyes and cockernut kisses at length. Them larses longer, said Herb, but these are tastes nicer. Finally, William airily tasted one of the Cockernock kisses, and the whole tribe followed

his example to be chased by the indignant shopkeeper all the way down the street. Eatin of them, he shouted furiously. Eatin of them without paying for them. I'll set the cops on you, ye young thieves. They rushed along the next street, shouting, whistling, and pushing each other. William's whistle was louder than any. He ran the foremost. The lust of lawlessness was growing on.

him. They swarmed in at the next sweet shop, and William purchased six-penny-worth of bull's eyes, and poured them recklessly out of the bag into the grimy, outstretched palms that surrounded him. William had no idea where he was. His hands were as grimy as the hands of his companions. His face was streaked with dirt wherever his hands had touched it. His eye was black, his collar was gone, his hair was wild, his overcoat had lost its look of tailored freshness, and he was happy at last. He was no longer a little gentleman staying at a select hotel with his family. He was a boy among boys, an outlaw among outlaws once more.

He was no longer a pariah. He had proved his valor in fighting and running and whistling. He was almost accepted, not quite. He was alight with exhilaration. In the next street a watering-car. had just passed, and there was a broad, muddy stream flowing along the gutter. With a whoop of joy the tribe made for it, herb at the head, closely followed by William. William's patent-leather shoes began to lose their damning smartness.

It was William who began to stamp as he walked, and the rest at once followed suit. Splashing, shouting, whistling, jostling, they followed the muddy stream through street after street. At every corner William seemed to shed yet another point. portion of the nice equipment of the boy who's going to a party. No party would have claimed him now, no hostess greeted him, no housemaid admitted him. He had completely burned his boats. But he was happy.

All good things come to an end, however, even a muddy stream in a gutter, an herb still leader, called out, come on you chaps, come on Bill! Bells! Along both sides of a street they flew at breakneck speed, pulling every bell as they passed. Three enraged householders pursued them. One of them, fleeter than the other two, caught the smallest and slowest of the tribe, and began to execute corporal punishment. It was William who returned, charged from behind, left the householder winded in the gutter, and dragged the yelling scapegoat to the shelter of his tribe.

Good old Bill, said Herb, and William's heart swelled again with pride. nothing on earth would now have checked his victorious career. A motor van passed with another gang of street urges hanging on merrily behind. With a yell of battle, William hurled himself upon them, struggled with them in mid-air, and established himself, cheering on his own tribe and pushing off the others. In the fight, William lost his overcoat. His eaten coat was torn from top to bottom, and his waistcoat ripped open.

But his tribe won the day, the rival tribe dropped off, hurling ineffectual taunts and insults, and on-sailed William and his gang, half-running, half-riding, with an exhilarating mixture of physical exercise and joy-riding, unknown to the more law-abiding citizen. And in the midst was William. William, serene and triumphant, William, dirty and ragged. William, acclaimed leader of a leader. at last the motor van put on speed there was a ride of pure breathless joy and peril before at last exhausted they dropped off then erb returned to william what you doin to-night might he said might william's heart glowed

nothing might answered william carelessly oh i'm goin to the pictures said herb if you like to help my old woman with the coffee stalls you'll give you a tanner a coffee stall oh joy was the magic of this evening inexhaustible oil or oil right might said william making an effort to acquire his new friend's accent and intonation oil type er near up to it said herb and to the gang now you're all home kids me and bill is busy he gave william a piece of chewing gum which william proudly took and chewed and swallowed and led him to a street corner from where a coffee stall could be seen in a glare of flaming oil jets. You just say, Urb sent me, and you bet you'll get a tanner when she shuts up, if she's not in a paddy. Go on, good night. He fled, leaving William to approach the stall alone. A large, untidy woman regarded him with arms akimbo. I've come to help with a stall, said William, trying to speak with the purest of cockney accent. Erb sent me. The woman regarded him with a hostile stare, still with arms akimbo. he did he he it's always ready to send someone else is gone to the pictures i suppose he's a nice son for a poor woman to have an e larkin about all day and go on to pictures all night and where do i come in i ask you where do i come in

william feeling that some reply was expected said that he didn't know she looked him up and down her expression implied that her conclusions were far from complimentary and you i suppose one of the young divils picked up from evan knows where told her you'd get a tanner i suppose well you'll get a tanner if you behaves my lichen and you'll get a box on the ears if you don't and come on do don't stand there all night here's an apron buns is a penny each and sandwiches a penny each and cups of coffee a penny each get a move on he was actually installed behind the counter he was actually covered from neck to foot in a white apron his rapture knew no bounds he served strong men with sandwiches and cups of coffee he dropped their pennies into the wooden till he gave change generally wrong he turned the handle of the fascinating urn he could not resist the handle of the little urn when there were no customers he turned the handle to see the little brown stream gush out in little spurts on to the floor or on to the counter his feeling of importance as he handed over buns and received pennies was indescribable he felt like a king like a god he had forgotten all about his family then the stout lady presented him with a bowl of hot water a dishcloth and a towel told him to wash up wash up he had never washed up before he swished the water round the bowl with a dishcloth very fast one way and then quickly changed and swished it round the other it was fascinating he lifted the dishcloth high out of the water and swirled a thin stream to and fro he soaked his apron and swamped the floor finally his patroness who had been indulging in a doze awoke and fixed eyes of heart

upon him what you think you're a delonob she said indignantly you're think you're at the sea side weren't you you think you've got your little bucket a spade aren't wasting a good water spoiling of a good apron where the herb finder i'd like to know picture of a lunatic asylum i should say oh lummy it's toff's coming sharp now be ready with to burn and try and have a bit of sense and everything double-priced for toffs now don't forget But William, with a sinking heart, had recognized the Toffs. Looking wildly round, he saw a large cap, presumably herbs, on a lower shelf of the stall. He seized it, put it on, and dragged it over his eye. The Toffs approached, four of them. One of them, the elder lady, seemed upset.

Have you seen, she said to the owner of the stall, a little boy anywhere about, a little boy in an eaten suit? No, ma'am, said the proprietor. seen no one in a heathen suit he was going out to a party went on mrs brown breathlessly and he must have got lost on the way they rang up to say he hadn't arrived and the police have had no news of him and we've traced him to this locality you-you haven't seen a little boy that looked as if he were going to a party no man said the lady of the coffee stall i ain't seen no little boy going to no party this evening oh mother said ethel and william trying to hide his face his cap brim and his apron, groaned in spirit as he heard her voice. Do let's have some coffee, now we're here. Ah, very well, darling, said Mrs. Brown.

Four cups of coffee, please. William, still cowering under his cap, poured them out, and handed them over the counter. You couldn't mistake him, said Mrs. Brown tearfully. He had a nice blue overcoat over his eaten suit and a blue cap to match and patent leather shoes, and he was so looking forward to the party. I can't think. How much? said William's father to William.

Tuppence each, muttered William. There was a horrible silence. I beg your pardon, said William's father, swively, and William's heart sank. Tupin's each, he muttered again. There was another horrible silence. May I trouble you, went on William's father, and from the deadly politeness of his tone,

William realized that all was over. may I trouble you to remove your cap a moment. Something about your voice and the lower portion of your face reminds me of a near relative of mine. But it was Robert who snatched Herb's cap from his head and stripped his apron from him and said, You, young devil! And Ethel, who said,

Goodness, just look at his clothes. And Mrs. Brown, who said, Oh, my darling little William, and I thought I'd lost you. and the lady of the coffee stall who said, Well, you're going to have him for all he knows about washing up. And William returned, sad but unrepentant, to the bosom of outraged respectability. End of Chapter 7.

Chapter 8 of William IV by Rick Moll Crompton. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8, William advertises. A new sweet shop, a mallards by name, had been opened in the village. It had been the sensation of the week to William and his friends, for it sold everything a half-penny cheaper than Mr. Moss. It revolutionized the finances of the Outlaws. The Outlaws was the secret society which comprised William and his friends Ginger, Henry, and Douglas. Jumbo, William's disreputable mongrel, was its mascot. The Outlaws patronized Mallards

generously on the first Saturday of its career. William spent his whole threpanes there on separate half-pennyworths. He insisted on the half-penny worths. He said firmly that Mr. Moss always let him have half-penny worth. In the end, the red-haired young woman behind the counter yielded to him. She yielded reluctantly and scornfully. She took no interest in his choice. She asked him in a voice of bored contempt not to finger the Edinburgh Rock. She muttered, as she did up his package, waste of paper and time, never heard such nonsense. Hepers, indeed. William went out of the shop, placing his five-minute packets in already over full pockets,

and keeping out the sixth for present consumption. I'm not sure, he said darkly to Ginger and Henry, who accompanied him. Douglas was away from home. I'm not sure as I'm ever going there again. Have a bull's-eye? I didn't like the way she looked at me nor spoke at me, and I have a jolly good mind not to go to Mallard's next Saturday. But it's cheap, said Ginger, taking out his package, have a banana seed ball,

and it's cheap that matters in a shop, I should think. Well, I don't know, said William, with an air of wisdom. That's all I say. don't know i just don't know that cheaps all that matters well what else matters you tell me that said henry crunching up a bull's-eye and an aniseed ball simultaneously and taking out his package have a pear-drop you just tell me what matters besides cheap in a shop william perceiving that the general feeling was against him put another bull's-eye in his mouth and waxed irritable well don't talk about it it so much, he said, you keep talking and talking. Then an argument occurred to him, and he brought it out with triumph. Suppose anyone was a murderer. Well, what would cheap have to do with it? Suppose someone had a shop murdered someone. Well, I suppose if they was cheap, you'd say it was all right?

Huh? With an expression of intense scorn and amusement, William put the last bull's eye into his mouth, threw away the paper, and took out the treacle toffee well who's she murdered said ginger pugniciously just cause she didn't want to give you a heperth you go on and say she's murdered someone well who she's murdered that's all you can't go callin folks murderers and not prove who they've murdered bring out who she's murdered that's all william was at the moment deeply engrossed in his treacle toffee the red-haired girl had given it an insufficient allowance of paper, and to William's pocket it had lost even this, and formed a deep attachment to a piece of putty which a friendly plumber had kindly given him the day before. The piece of putty was at that moment the apple of William's eye. He detached it gently from the toffee, and examined it tenderly to make sure that it was not armed.

Finally, he replaced it in his pocket and put the toffee in his mouth. Then he returned to the argument. How can I bring out who she's murdered if she's murdered them? That's a sensible thing to say, isn't it? If she's murdered him, she's buried them. Do you think folks what murder folks leaves them about for other folks to bring out to show they've murdered them? You've not got much sense.

That's all I say. You don't know much about murders. Why do you keep talking about murderers if you don't know anything about them? Ginger was growing slightly bewildered. Arguments with William often left him bewildered. He was inclined on the whole to think that perhaps William was right, and she had murdered someone. At this point, Jumble created a diversion.

Jumble loved treacle toffee, and he had caught a whiff of the divine perfume. He sat up promptly to beg for some, but the outlaw's mascot was seldom lucky himself. He sat up on the very edge of a ditch, and William could not resist, giving him a push. Jumble picked himself out of the bottom of the ditch and shook off the water, grinning and wagging his tail. Jumble was a sportsman. William had finished a treacle toffee, but Henry threw Jumble and an anteced ball, which he licked, rolled with his paw, and abandoned, and which Henry then carefully put back with the others in his packet. Then William threw a stick for him and the discussion of the red-haired girl's morals was definitely abandoned.

At the corner of the road they espied Joan Crewe. Though fluffy and curled and exquisitely dressed herself, Joan admired William's roughness and untidiness. Hello, said Joan. Hello, said the outlaws. Have you been to Mallards? asked Joan. Muff, said the outlaws. It's a half-penny cheaper than Moss.

Yes, said Ginger, but William says she's a murder. I didn't, said William irritably. You can't understand English. That's what's wrong with you. You can't understand English. What I said was, finding that he had entirely forgotten how the argument arose, he hastily changed the subject. What are you going to do now? he said.

Anything, said Joan obligingly. Have a coconut lump, said William, taking out his third bag. Have a banana seed of all, said Ginger. Have a pair of drugs. said Henry. Joan took one of each and took out a bag from her pocket. Have a licorice treasure, she said. Munching cheerfully, they walked along the road, stopping to throw a stick for Jumble every now and then. Jumble then performed his trick. His trick was to walk between William and Ginger, a paw in each of their hands. It was a trick that Jumble cordially detested. He

generally managed to avoid it. The word trick generally sent him flying towards the horizon like an arrow from a bow. But this time he was hoping that William still had some treacle toffee concealed on his person and did not take to his heels in time. He was finally released with a kiss from Joan on the end of his nose. In joy at his freedom, he found a stick, worried it, ran after his tail, and finally darted down the road. "'Have a monkey nut,' said William.

They partook of his last packet. I once heard a boy say, said Henry solemnly, that people who eat monkey nuts get monkey-puzzled trees growing out of their mouths. I don't suppose, said Ginger, as he swallowed his, that just a few could do it. Anyway, it would be rather interesting, said William, going about with a tree coming out of your mouth. You could slash things about with it. But think of the awful pain, said Henry dejectedly, roots growing inside your mouth.

Joan handed her monkey nut back to William. I don't think I'll have one, thank you, William, she said. All right, said William, philosophically, cracking it and putting it into his mouth. I don't mind eating them. Let them start growing trees out of my mouth if they can. They were nearing a little old-fashioned sweet shop.

A man in check trousers, shirt-sleeves, and a white apron stood in the doorway. generally Mr. Moss radiated cheerfulness. Today he looked depressed. They approached him somewhat guiltily. Well, he said, you come to spend your Saturday money? Uh, no, said William. We've spent it, said Ginger.

At Mallards, said Henry. It's a half-penny cheaper, said Joan. Well, said Mr. Moss, I don't blame you. Mind, I don't blame you. You're quite right to go where it's a half-penny cheaper. halfpenny cheaper. You'd be foolish if you didn't go where it's a halfpenny cheaper. But all I say is, it's not fair on me. They're a big company they are, and I'm not. They've got shops all over the big towns they have, and I've not.

They've got capital behind them they have, and I've not. They can afford to give things away, and I can't. I've always kept prices as low as I could, so as just to be able to keep myself on them, and I can't lower them no further. That's where they've got me. They can undercut. They don't need to make a profit at first, and all I say is it's not fair on me.

They say as this here place is growing and there's room for the two of us. Well, all I can say is not more and ten peoples come into this hair shop since they set up, and it's not fair on me. His audience of four, clustered around his shop door, listened in big-eyed admiration.

As he stopped for breath, William said earnestly, Well, we won't buy no more of their old stuff anyway. The outlaws confirmed this statement eagerly, but Mr. Moss raised his hand. No, he said, you are to go where you get stuff cheapest. I don't blame you. You're quite right. They walked alone in silence for a little while.

The memory of Mr. Moss, wistful and bewildered, with his cheerful hilarity gone, remained with them. I won't go to that old mallards again while I live, said William firmly. Anyway, she wasn't nice. I didn't like her, said Joan. She didn't care what you bought, said William indignantly. She didn't take any interest like what Mr. Moss does. Yes, and if she murders folks, as William says she does, began Ginger, I wish you'd shut up about that, said William. i didn't say she'd murdered anyone you did i didn't you did i didn't do have another liquorish treasure said joan peaceful munchings were resumed anyway said william returning to the matter at hand i'd like to do something for mr moss what could we do said ginger we could stop folks goin into old mallards tis as if she took any interest in what you buy

well how could we stop folks going into old mallards make em go to mr moss well how why don't you say how well we'd have to have a meeting about it an outlaw meeting let's have one now let's go to mr moss well how why don't you say how well we'd have to have a meeting about it an outlaw meeting let's have one now let's go to our woodshed and have one now." Jones' face fell. I can't come, can I? I'm not an outlaw. You can be an outlaw ally, said William, kindly. We'll make up a special oath for you and give you a special secret sign. Joan's eyes shone.

Oh, thank you, William, darling. Joan had taken the special oath. It had consisted of the words, I will not betray the secrets of the outlaws, and I will stick up for the outlaws till death do us part. The last phrase was an inspiration of Henry's, who had been to his cousin's wedding the week before. They sat down on logs or stacks of firewood or packing cases

to consider the question of Mr. Moss. First thing is, said William, with a business-like frown, we've got to make people go to Mr. Moss. Well, how can we? objected Ginger. Just tell me that. How can we make people? go to mosses when Mallard is half-penny cheaper.

Same way as big shops make people go to them, they put up notices and things, they say their things is better than other shops' things, and folks believes them. Well, why shouldn't folks believe them, said Ginger pugnaciously? Henry was engaged upon his last few pear drops and had no time for conversation. Why should folks believe them when they say they're better than other shops, and how can we stick up notices and where, and who will let us stick up notices. You don't talk sense. You're mad. That's what you are. First, you go about calling folks murderers when you don't know who they murdered, nor nothing about it, and then you talk about sticking up notices when there

isn't anyone who'd let us stick up any notices, nor anyone who take any notice of notices what we stuck up, nor if you just stop talking, said William, and deafening us. all for just a bit. You've been talking and deafening us all ever since you came out. Do you think we never want to hear anything all our lives ever till death? But you're talking and deafening us all? There is things that we like to hear, besides you talking and deafening us all. There's music and bird singing and other folks talking. But you go on so as anyone would think that here, Ginger hurled himself upon William, and the two of them rolled on to the floor and wrestled among the faggots. Violent physical encounters were a regular part of the

program of the outlaws meetings. Henry watched nonchalantly from his perch, crunching pear-drops, occasionally throwing small twigs at them and saying, go it! That's right, go it! Joan watched with anxious horror, and William, do be careful, and, oh, Ginger darling, don't hurt him. Finally, the combatants rose, dusty, and disheveled, shook hands, and, and, and, and resumed their seats on the stacks of firewood. Now, if you'll only let me speak, began William. We will, William, darling, said Joan. Ginger won't interrupt, will you, Ginger?

Ginger, who had decidedly had the worst of the battle, was removing dust and twigs from his mouth. He gave a non-committal grunt. Well, you know the sale of work next week, went on, William? They groaned. It was a ceremony to which each of the company would be led, brushed and combed and dressed in gala clothes in a proud parents' wake. Well, went on William, you just listen carefully. I got an idea. They lent forward eagerly.

They had a touching faith in William's ideas that no amount of bitter experiences seemed able to destroy. The day of the sale of work was warm and cloudless. William's mother and sister worked there all the morning. A tent had been erected, and inside the tent were a few select stalls of flowers and vegetables. Outside on the grass were the other stalls. The opening ceremony was to be performed by a real-life duke. William absented himself for the greater part in the morning, returning in time for lunch, and meekly offering himself to be cleaned and dressed afterwards like the proverbial lamb for the slaughter.

William, said Mrs. Brown to her husband, is being almost too good to be true. It's such a comfort. I'm glad you can take comfort in it, said Mr. Brown. From my knowledge of William, I prefer him when you know what tricks he's up to. Oh, I think you misjudge him, said Mrs. Brown, whose trust in William was almost pathetic. Ethel and I can't go to the opening, darling, said Mrs. Brown at lunch. I'm rather tired, so I suppose, you'll wait and go with us later. William smiled his painfully sweet smile. I might as well go early. I might be able to help someone, he said shamelessly. Half an hour later, William set off alone for the sale of work. He wore his super best clothes. His hair was brushed to a chastlylyly

smoothness. He wore kid gloves. His shoes shone like stars. He walked briskly down to the sale of work. Already a gay throng had assembled there. Joan was there looking like a piece of thistledown in fluffy, white, with her mother. Ginger was there, stiff and immaculate, with his mother. William, Ginger, and Henry joined forces and stood talking in low conspiratorial voices, looking rather uncomfortable in their excessive cleanness. Joan looked at them wistfully, but was kept close to the maternal side. the real-life duke arrived. He was tall and stooping and looked very bored and aristocratic.

Everything was ready for the opening. It was to take place on the open space of grass at the back of the tent. The chairs for the committee and the chair for the Duke were close to the tent. Then a space was railed off from the crowd, from the ordinary people. At the other side of the tent the stalls were deserted. His grace stood for a few minutes. in the tent by one of the stalls talking to the vicar's wife. Then he went out to open the sale of work. A few minutes after his grace had departed, William might have been seen to emerge from beneath the stall,

his cap gone, his hair deranged, his knees dusty, and join Ginger and Henry in the deserted space behind the tent. His grace stood and uttered the few languid words that declared the sale of work open. But the committee, who were a few yards behind him, sat in open-mouth astonishment, for a large placard adorned his grace's coat behind. Have you tried moss's coconut lumps? The committee could think of no course of action with which to meet this crisis. They could only gasp with horror, open-eyed, and open-mouthed. The few gracious words were said. The applause rose, his grace turned round to converse pleasantly with the vicar's wife,

exposing his back to the view of the crowd. The applause wavered, then redoubled ecstatically. Some kind of an advertising job, said the organist's wife. But the crowd did not mind what it was. They held their sides, they clung to each other in helpless mirth. They followed that tall, slim, elegant figure with its incongruous placard, as it went with the vicar's wife round the tent to the stalls. The bickers wife talked nervously and hysterically,

Oh, my dear, I couldn't, she said afterwards. I didn't know how to put it. I couldn't think of words, and I kept thinking, suppose he knows and means it to be there. It somehow seemed better bred to ignore it. The committee clustered together in an anxious group. It wasn't there when he came. Someone must have put it on.

my dear someone must tell him or creep up and take it off when he isn't looking my dear one couldn't suppose he turned round when one was doing it and thought one was putting it on the vicar must tell him let's find the vicar i think it would come better from a clergyman don't you yes and he might well he couldn't say much before a clergyman could he and a vicar is so practised in consolation I think you're right, but who did it? Flustered, panting, distraught, they hastened off in search of the vicar. Meanwhile, his grace talked to the vicar's wife. He was beginning to think that she was not quite herself. Her manner seemed more than peculiar. He glanced round. The stalls were still deserted.

They haven't begun to buy much yet, have they? He said, I suppose I must set the example. He wandered over to a stall and bought a pink cushion. Then he looked around again, his cushion under his arm, his placard still adorning the back of his coat. The crowd were engaged only in staring at him. They were fighting to get a glimpse of him. They were following him about like dogs.

I suppose some of these people must know my name, he said. I thought that speech of mine in the house last week would wake people up. "'Er, yes,' said the vicar's wife. "'She blinked and swallowed. "'Yes, indeed, yes, indeed, I quite agree, or quite.' "'Here, the vicar rescued her. "'The vicar had not quite made up his mind, "'whether to be jocular or condoling.

"'A splendid attendance, isn't it, your grace? "'There's a little thing I want to.' "'The bicker's wife tactfully glided away. "'Of course, we all understand, you're not responsible, and on our honor we aren't quite an accident. The guilty party, however, shall be found. I assure you he shall—shall be found. Would you mind, said His Grace patiently,

telling me of what you are talking? The vicar drew a deep breath, then took the plunge. There's a small placard on your back, he said. Well, not small, that is, allow me. His grace, he stilly, felt behind, secured the placard, tore it off, put on his tortoiseshell spectacles, and examined it at arm's length. Then he turned to the bicker who was mopping his brow. The committee were trembling in the background. One of them, miss Spence by name, had already succumbed to a nervous

breakdown and had had to go home. Another was having hysterics in the tent. How long exactly? asked his grace slowly, have I been wearing this? The vicar smiled mirthlessly and put up a hand nervously, as if to loosen his collar. Quite a matter of minutes, of minutes one might say, your grace, since the opening, one might almost put it. Then, said his grace,

why the devil didn't you tell me before? The vicar put out his hand and caught, reproachfully. At this moment, William, Ginger, and Henry emerged from beneath one of the stalls, in whose butter-muslin shelter they had been preparing themselves and awaiting the most dramatic moment to appear. They all wore sandwiches made from sheets of cardboard and joined over their shoulders by string. William bore before him and behind him. Masa's treacle Toffee is the best. Get your bull's eyes at Moss's. Ginger wore before him, and behind him, you will like Moss's monkey nuts. Mosses takes an interest. Henry bore before him and behind him,

go to Mosses for fruity bits. Mosses makes hay-puts. solemnly with expressionless faces and eyes fixed in front of them, they paraded through the crowd. His grace, who had taken off his spectacles, put them on again. His grace was a good judge of faces. Secure that first boy, he said. The bicker, nothing loathe, secured William by the collar and brought him before his grace. His grace held out his placard. Did you attach this to my coat? He asked sternly. William shook off the vicar's hand. Yes, he said, as sternly as his grace, you see, we wanted people to go to Mr. Moss's shop because you see Mallards is a big company and he's not and they've got our capitals behind them and he's not see and we wanted to make people go to mosses and we thought we'd fix up notices

what it make people go to moss like big shops do and we knew no one to take any notice of our notices if we just put them up anywhere but we thought if we fixed one on to somebody important and what everyone's been looking at all the time and he's awful kind and he takes an interest, and he cares what you get, and his coconut lumps is better than anyone's, and he makes hapers without making a fuss, and he's awful worried, and we wanted to help him. And she's a murderer, piped ginger. Before his grace could reply, Joan wrenched herself free from her mother's restraining hand, and flew up to the group. Oh, please don't do anything to William, she pleaded. It was my fault, too. I'm not a real one.

one but I'm an ally, till death do us part, you know. His grace looked from one to the other. He had been bored almost to tears by the vicar's wife and the committee. With a lightening of the heart, he recognized more entertaining company. Well, he said judicially, come to the refreshment tent, and we'll talk it over, over an ice. The news that his grace had spent almost the entire afternoon, eating ices with William Brown and those other children, discussing pirates and red Indians, and telling them stories of big game hunting, made the village gasp. The further knowledge that he had asked them to walk down to the station with him, had called amosses, tasted coconut lumps, pronounced them delicious,

bought a pound for each of them, and ordered a monthly supply, left the village almost paralyzed. But everyone went to Mr. Moss's to ask for details. Mr. Moss was known as the confectioner who supplied the Duke of Ashbridge with coconut lumps. Mallard shop was let to a baker's the next month, and the red-haired girl said she wasn't sorry. Of all the dead and alive holes to work in, this place was the deadest. It was Miss Spence who voiced the prevailing sentiment about William. She did not say it out of affection for William. She had no affection for William. William chased her cat and her hands,

disturbed her rest with his unearthly songs and whistles, broke her windows with his cricket ball, and threw stones over the hedge into her garden pond. But one day, as she watched William progress along the ditch, William never walked on the road if he could walk in the ditch, dragging his toes in the mud, his hands in his pockets, his head poking forward, his brows frowning, his freckled face stern and determined, his mouth pucked up to make his devastating whistle, his train of boy followers behind him,

she said slowly, there's something about that boy. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of William IV by Rick Maw-Krompton. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9, William and the Black Cat. Bunker, the old black cat, had been an inhabitant of William's home ever since he could remember. Bunker officially belonged to Ethel, William's sister,

but he bestowed his presence impartially on every family in the neighborhood. He frequently haunted the next-door garden, where lived another black cat, a petted darling named Luke, belonging to Miss Amelia Blake. William treated all cats with supreme contempt. Towards his own family's cat, he unbent occasionally so far as to throw twigs at it or experiment upon it with pots of colored paints.

But he prided himself upon despising cats and considered that their only use in the world was to give exercise and pleasure to his beloved mongrel jumble. When William lay in bed and Miss Amelia Blake's tender accents rose nightly to his ears from the next garden, Looky, looky, looky, looky, looky, looky, looky, he would frown, scornfully. Huh, all for an old cat, fancy knowing him. His boast was that he did not know one cat from another. Bunker was very old and very mangy.

He employed habitually an ear-splitting and horrible yell, long drawn out and increasing in volume as it neared its nightmares climax, a yell which William loved to imitate. Yeah! Mr. Brown remarked many times that that cat and that boy would drive him to drink between them, but at least that boy slept at night. It was decided one morning when Bunker had spent a whole night in the garden without once relaxing the efforts of his vocal cords, that Bunker should leave this unsympathetic world

for some sphere where one hoped his voice could be better appreciated or, at any rate, submitted to some tuning process. Well, he goes or I go, said Mr. Brown, one or other of us must be destroyed. The world can't hold us both. You can take your choice. Thus Bunker's fate was sealed. Ethel, who had hardly looked at Bunker for months without disgust, began now that his dissolution was imminent,

to dwell upon his engaging kittenhood, to see him in her mind's eye as a black ball with a blue ribbon round his neck, and to experience all the feelings that one ought to experience when one's beloved pet is torn from one by death. She would even have fondled him if he hadn't been so mangy, when his hideous voice upraised her, itself, she would murmur, oh, my darling bunker. And only a week ago, she had murmured, why we keep that cat, I can't think. One afternoon when Ethel was at the tennis club, Mrs. Brown approached William mysteriously. William, dear, I think it would be so kind of you to take Bunker to Gortons now while Ethel is out. I've told Mr. Gordon, and he's expecting him, and it would be much nicer for Ethel just to hear that it was all over.

Nothing loathed to help in bunker's destruction. William took the covered basket from the pantry and went into the garden, caught a glimpse of black fur beyond the summer house, crept up behind it, grabbed it with a triumph, but would you, and clapped it into the basket. Gortons was a wonderland to William, dogs in cages, cats in cages, guinea-pigs in cages, rabbits in cages, white rats in cages, tortoises in cages, goldfish in bowls. Once William had been thrilled to see a monkey there. William had stood outside the shop for a whole morning watching it and making encouraging conciliatory noises to it,

which it answered by an occasional jabber that delighted William's very soul. William was glad of an errand that gave him an excuse for wandering round the fascinations of the shop. He handed his basket to Mr. Gorton and began his tour of inspection. He spent half an hour in front of the cage of a parrot, who screamed repeatedly, Go away, you ass, go away. William would never have tired of the joy of listening to this, but discovering that it was almost tea time, he reluctantly took up his empty basket and returned. When he entered the dining room, Mrs. Brown was speaking to Ethel.

Ethel, darling, William, very kindly took dear Bunker to Mr. Gorton's this afternoon. We wanted you to be spared the pain of knowing till it was all over, but now it's over, and Bunker didn't suffer at all you know, darling, and at that moment there arose from the garden the familiar hair-raising, ear-splitting sound. Yeah! Ethel burst into tears. It's Bunker's Ghost, she said. Oh, it's his ghost. But it wasn't Bunker's ghost, for Bunker's solid, earthly, mangy form appeared at that very moment upon the windowsill. William's heart stood still. In the sudden silence that greeted the apparition of the earthly body of Bunker, his mind grasped the important fact that he must have taken the wrong cat.

and that the less he said about it the better william said mrs brown reproachfully you might have done a little thing like that for your sister i thought said william feeble i mean i meant well you must do it after tea said mrs brown firmly it isn't kind of you to cause your sister all this unnecessary suffering just because you're too lazy to walk down to gortons his sister who was finding it difficult to whip up a loving sorrow for bunker while bunker mangy and alive stared at her through the window said nothing and william muttered oh right after tea i'll go after tea he went after tea he handed the basket to mr gorton with an unblushing There was two really to be done. Here's the other. He stood, oppressed by the thought of his crime, and waited the return of his basket. He had even lost interest in Mr. Gorton's Wonderland.

When the parrot screamed, Go away, you ass, go away! He replied huffily, Oh, go away yourself. As he lay in bed that night, he wondered vaguely whose cat he had consigned to an untimely death. He soon knew. Looky, looky, looky, looky!

Where are you, darling? Lucie, Lucie, Lucie, Lucie, Oh, Lucie, Lucie, Luke, Lucky, what's happened to you, Lucie, where are you, Darloopy, Loki, Loki, Luke, Luke. It seemed to William to go on all night. William's excursions in the character of Robert Chief, Outlaw, or Red Indian, took him many miles outside the radius of his own village. Three days after the day of his ill-ooment mistake,

he was passing a wayside cottage, in the character of a famous detective on the track of crime, when he noticed a large black cat sitting upon the doorstep, washing its face. There was something familiar about that cat. William stopped. It wasn't bunker, but was it? Loaky, said William in a hoarse, persuasive whisper.

The large black cat rose purring and came down the walk to William. Loaky, said William again. The large black cat rubbed a, itself fondly against William's boots. A woman came out of the cottage smiling. You admiring my pussy little boy? In ordinary circumstances, William would have resented most bitterly this mode of a dress and would have passed on with a silent glance of contempt. But from William's heart, the load of murder had been lifted. He almost smiled. Um, he said, he is a nice pussy, isn't he? Went on Lukie's new owner. I bought him at Gorton's,

three days ago. He was just what I wanted. A nice, full-grown cat. Kittens are so destructive. He's called Twinkie. Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie, she murmured fondly, bending down to stroke him, her voice rising affectionately in the scale at each repetition of his name. Lucie rubbed himself purring against her boots. There, she said proudly, Don't the dear dumb creature know its new mistress? There, then, darling, you'll come. in and see the beauty lap up its milk sometime little boy, and I'll give you a gingerbread. I like little boys to be fond of animals, especially cats. Some nasty boys throw sticks and things at them, but I'm quite sure you wouldn't, would you? William muttered something inaudible and

set off down the road, his heart torn between relief at knowing himself guiltless of the crime of murder and indignant shame at being accused of an affection for cats. Cats! But he was horrified at the duplicity of Mr. Gorton and decided to confront him with it at once. He hastened to the cage-hung shop and, spending only ten minutes in front of the box of grass snakes, entered the cool, dark depths where Mr. Gorton, in his shirt-sleeves, was chewing tobacco. Mr. Gorton was a large burly man with a fat, good-natured-looking face and a gentle manner. But Mr. Gorton obeyed the scriptures in combining with his dove-like gentleness, a serpent-like cunning. Now look here, young gent, he said, when William had laid his accusation before him.

You say, I sold that their animal. Now, what you wanted was to be rid of that animal, didn't you? Well, you're rid of it, aren't you? So what if you got to grumble at sea? Is that their animal come back to trouble you? No, I'm as good a judge of a cat's character I am as anyone. "'I know that they're cats soon as I'd see them.' "'I says, there's a animal as will curl up anywhere you like to put him,

"'and so long as he's got his cushion and its saucer of milk regular, "'it won't anchor after nothing else. "'It won't go no long, torturous road journeys trying to find old Oms. "'Not he, he'll rub himself against anyone what'll say, puss-puss. "'Sides which, it's, again, my feelings as that humane man to put to death "'a young, healthy animal.' william stared at him now the second one you brought him well he's ripe for death all right and it's a pleasure and kindness to do it in these surre sides which mr gorton went on as another argument occurred to him what roof have you got that this year animal and miss cliffs is the same animal what you brought to me saturday they're both black cats no marks on em well there must be hundreds of black cats same as that thousands millions just think of them all over the world well just you prove that these two animals is identical william having for once in his life met his match in eloquence moved away despondently all right he said i only asked

he went to the parrot who was still there and who greeted him with an ironical laugh and a cry of my word what a nut oh my word william's spirits rose how much is the parrot he said five pounds said mr gorton William's spirits sank again. Snakes one and six and see here, I'll give you a baby tortoise just to stop you worrying about the animal. William walked home, proudly carrying his baby tortoise in both hands. Miss Amelia Blake was in the drawing room.

She was speaking tearfully to his mother, and I leave a saucer of milk out every night, and I call him every night, my poor, poor Lucie, I can hardly sleep with thinking of my daughter, darling, perhaps hungry and needing me. Oh, William, if you see any traces of my Lucie, you'll let me know, won't you? And William, oppressed by the weight of his guilty secret, muttered something inaudible,

and went to watch the effect of his new pet upon Jumble. That night the plaintive cry arose again to his room. Looky, Looky, Looky, Looky, Looky, Looky, Looky, what are you, darling? Looky, looky, loki. William's conscience, though absolved of the crime of murder, felt heavy as Miss Amelia Blake called her lost pet mournfully night after night. Now, William's conscience was a curious organ. It needed a great deal to rouse it.

When roused, it demanded immediate action. He took one of his white rats round to Miss Amelia Blake, and Miss Amelia Blake screamed and got onto a table. He even rose to supreme heights of self-denial and offered her his baby tortoise, but she refused it. No, William, dear, it's very kind of you, but what I need is something I can stroke, and I don't want anything but my lukey, and I don't like its expression. It looks as if it might buy. I couldn't stroke that.

Greatly relieved, William took it back. That afternoon, perched on the garden fence, his elbows on his knees, his chin, and his hands, He watched the antics of Jumbo round the baby tortoise. Though William had had the tortoise for three days now, Jumbo still barked at it with unabated fury, and William watched the two with unabated interest. But William's thoughts were still occupied with the Twinkie-Looky problem. The ethics of the case were difficult.

It belonged to Miss Blake, but Miss Cliff had paid for it. Then suddenly the solution occurred to him, a week each. They would have it a week each. That would be quite easy to manage. His heart lightened. He jumped down, put his tortoise into his pocket, called High Jumble, took a stick, jumped almost over the bed in the middle of the lawn, and went whistling down the road, followed by Jumble.

The covered basket was very old and very shabby, and it did not need much persuasion on William's part to induce Mrs. Brown to give it to him. Just to keep my things in and carry him about in, mother, he said plaintively, so as I won't be so untidy. I shan't be half as untidy if I have a basket like that to keep my things in and carry him about in. All right, dear, said Mrs. Brown, much pleased. She was eternally optimistic about William. William spent an entire Saturday morning stalking Lucie in the neighborhood of Miss Cliff's garden.

Miss Cliff went into the town to do her shopping on Saturday mornings. Finally, he caught him, put him in the basket, and secretly deposited Lucie and Miss Amelia Blake's garden. Miss Blake was overjoyed. He's come back, Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown, he's come back. William, he's come back. Luke, he's come back.

Miss Cliff was distraught. Little boy, you haven't seen my Twinkie anywhere, have you? My darling, Twinkie, he's gone. Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie! The next four Saturdays, he successfully changed Twinkie Luki's place of abode. On arrival at Miss Cliffs, Twinkie made immediately

for his favorite cushion and went to sleep. On arrival at Miss Amelia Blake's, Lucie did the same. The owners became almost accustomed to the week's mysterious absence. He's gone away again, Mrs. Brown. Miss Blake would call over the fence, I only hope he'll come back as he did last time.

You haven't seen him, have you? Looky, looky, looky, looky, looky, looky. Then William became bored. At first, the glorious consciousness of duty done and the solving of his sense of guilt had upheld him, but he began to feel that this could not go on forever. When all is said and done, Saturday is Saturday, a golden holiday and a drab procession of school days.

William began to think that if he had to spend every Saturday of his life stalking Twinkie-Looky and conveying him secretly from one end of the village to the other, he might as well not have been born. He had put Twinkie-Looky in the basket and was setting off with it down the road. It was very hot and Twinkie-Looky was very heavy, and William was very cross. He had just come to the conclusion that some other solution must be found to the Twinkie-Looky problem when he heard the sound of the bus that made it slow and noisy progress from the neighboring country town to the village in which William lived. A ride in the bus would save him a long hot walk with the heavy basket, and by some miraculous chance he had the requisite penny in his pocket.

And anyhow, he was sick of the whole thing. He hailed the bus by swinging the basket round and putting out his tongue at the driver. The driver put his out in return, and the bus stopped. William, holding the basket, entered. The bus was very full, but there was one empty seat. William had taken this seat before he realized with horror that on one side of him sat Miss Amelia Blake, and on the other, Miss Cliff.

The bus had started again, and it was too late to get out. He went rather pale, pretended not to see, them, stared in front of him with a set stern expression on his face, and clasped the basket containing twinkie-luckies tightly to his bosom. Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff did not know each other, but they both knew William. Good morning, little boy, said Miss Cliff. Morning, muttered William, still staring straight in front of him. Good morning, William, said Miss Blake. Morning, muttered William. Have you been doing some shopping? for your mother, said Miss Blake brightly.

Oh, said William. His eyes still fixed desperately on the opposite window. The basket still clutched tightly to his breast. You must call and see my pussy again soon, little boy, said Miss Cliff. A shadow passed over Miss Amelia Blake's face. You haven't seen Lucie, have you, William? He's been away all this week. William felt a spasmodic movement in the basket at the sound of the name.

He moistened his lips and shook his head. Miss Amelia Blake was looking with interest at his basket. It happened that she wanted a new shopping basket and had called at the basket shop about one that morning. May I look at your basket, William? She said kindly, I like these covered baskets for shopping. The things can't tumble out. On the other hand, of course, you can't get some many things in.

Are the fastenings firm? Her hand was outstretched. innocently towards the fastenings. A cold perspiration broke out over William. He put his hands desperately over the fastenings. I wouldn't touch them. He said hoarsely, it's a bit full. I want like all the things to come tumbling out there. Miss Amelia Blake smiled agreement, and Miss Cliff beamed at him from the other side. William was wishing that the earth would open and swallow up Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff and Twinkie-Looky and himself. At last, the bus stopped at the crossroad, and they all got out.

William's relief was indescribable. That was over, and it was the last time he'd ever change their old cats for him. He turned to go down the road, but Miss Amelia Blake put her hand on his arm. I'll hold it very carefully, William, she pleaded. I won't let anything tumble out, but I do want to see if the fastings of these baskets are secure. Miss Cliff stood by, smiling with interested curiosity. William mutely abandoned himself to fate. Miss Amelia Blake opened one fastening.

The flap turned back, and a black-whiskered head arose and looked around with a purr. "'Looky! Twinkie! He's mine. I bought him at Mr. Gortons. How can you say he's yours?' "'He's mine,' cried Miss Cliff. "'He isn't,' retorted Miss Blake. He knows me, Twinkie, Uki. Both made a grab at Twinkie-Looky, but Twinkie-Looky escaped both and flew like a dart down the road in the direction of Mr. Gorton's.

Like all real gentlemen at Twinkie-Looky preferred death to a scene. William was no coward, but even a braver man than William would have fled. William's fleeing figure was already halfway down the road in which his home lay. At the crossroads, Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff, clung to each other hysterically and sent forth shrill discordant cries after the fleeing Twinkie-Looky, Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie, Twiki, Twiki, Twiki, Twinkie, Looky, Looky, Loogie, Loogie, Loogie, and William ran as if all the cats in the world were at his heels. End of Chapter 9

Chapter 10 of William the 4th by Wickmall Crumpton. This liverbox recording is in the public to me. Chapter 10 William the Showman William and his friends, known to themselves as the outlaws, were in their usual state of insolvency. All entreaties had failed to melt the heart of Mr. Beesham, the keeper of the general store in the village, who sold marbles along with such goods as hams and shoes and vegetables.

William and his friends wanted marbles, simply a few dozen, of ordinary glass marbles. which could be bought for a few pence but mr beesham refused to overlook the small matter of the few pints he refused to give the outlaw's credit my terms to you young gents is cashed down and well you know it he said firmly if you said to william generously let us have the marbles now will give you a half-penny extra saturday you said that once before young gent if i remember right said mr bism adjusting his capacious apron, and turning up his shirt-sleeves preparatory to sweeping out his shop. William was indignant at the suggestion. Well, he said, well, you talk as if it was my fault, as if I knew my people was going to decide sudden not to give me any money that week,

simply because one of their cucumber frames got broke by my ball. I brought back the things what you let me have. I brought the trumpet back and the rock. Yes, the trumpet all broke and the rock all bit, said Mr. Beesam. No, cash down is my terms, and I sticks to him, if you please, young gents. He began his sweeping operation with great energy, and the outlaws found themselves precipitated into the street by the end of his long broom. Mean, commented William, rising again to the perpendicular.

just mean I've got a good mind not to buy him there at all. He's the only shop that sells him, remarked Ginger, and we've got no money to buy him anywhere anyway, said Henry. Suppose we couldn't wait for him till Saturday, suggested Douglas tentatively. He was promptly crushed by the outlaws. Wait, said Ginger, wait. What's the use of waiting? We may be doing something else on Saturday.

we may not want to play with marbles all that long time off. If only you'd save your money, said William severely, instead of spending it the day you get it, we shouldn't be like this, no marbles, and swept out of his shop and nothing to play at. This was felt to be unfair. Well, I like that, I like that, said Ginger. What about you? What about you?

Well, if I was the only one, you could have lent me money, and we could get marbles with it, and if you'd not spent all your money, we could be buy a marbles now, said it stand and swept out of his shop. Ginger thought over this, aware that there was usually some fallacy in William's argument if only one could lay one's hand on it.

Henry turned away. Oh, come along, he said impatiently. It's no good staring in at his old butter and cheese. Let's think of something else to do. Anyway, it's nasty cheese, said Doug, us comfortingly. My mother said it was, so perhaps it's a good thing we've been saved buying his marbles. Something else to do, said William. We want to play marbles, don't we? What's the good of thinking of other things when we want to play marbles? It's all very well

to talk like that, said Ginger with sudden inspiration, and we might just as well say that if you had not spent your money, you could have lent us some, and that's just as much sense as you saying if we, oh, do shut up. talking stuff no one can understand, said William. Let's get some money. How? said Ginger, who was nethled. All right, get some, and we'll watch you. You're going to steal some or make some?

Or you're clever enough to steal some or make some. I'll be very glad to join with it. Yes, well, if I steeled some or made some, you just wouldn't join with it, said William, crushingly. Let's sell something, said Henry. We've got nothing anybody to buy, said Ginger. Let's sell Jumble. Jumbull's mine.

You can just sell your own dogs, said William sternly. We've not got any. Well, then, sell them. That's sense, isn't it? Said Ginger, just kindly tell us how to sell dogs we've not got. But William was suddenly tired of this type of verbal warfare. Let's do something. Let's have a show.

What up? said Ginger, without enthusiasm. We've got nothing to show. And who'll pay us money? to look of nothing. Just tell us that. We'll get something to show. I know, he said suddenly, a selection of insects. Anyone pay to see an exhibition of a selection of insects, won't they?

I don't suppose there are many collections of insects anyway. It'd be interested. Everyone interested in insects. For a moment, the outlaws wavered. Who'd collect them? said Henry, dubiously. I would, said William, with an air of stern. purpose. The collection of insects was almost complete. The show was to be held that afternoon. The audience had been ordered to attend and to bring their half-penies. The audience had agreed,

but had reserved to itself the right not to contribute the half-penies if the exhibition was not considered worth it. Well, was Williams a bitter comment on hearing this, I shouldn't have thought there would be so many mean people in the world. He had taken a great deal of trouble with his collection. He had that very morning been driven out of Miss Euphemia Barney's garden by Miss Euphemia herself, though he had only entered in pursuit of the yellow butterfly that he felt was indispensable to the collection. Miss Euphemia Barney was the local poetess and the leader of the intellectual life of the village. Miss Euphemia Barney was the president of the society for the encouragement of higher thought.

The members of the society discussed higher thought in all its branches once every fortnight. At the end of the discussion, Miss Euphemia Barney would read her poems. Euphemia Barney's poems had never been published. Miss Euphemia said that in these days of worldliness and money worship, she would set an example of unworldliness and scorn for money. I think at best, she would say that I should not, publish. As a matter of fact, she had the authority of several publishers for the statement. She disliked William more than anyone else she had ever known, and she said that she knew just

what sort of a woman Miss Fairlo was as soon as she heard that Miss Fairlo had taken to William. Miss Verlo had only recently come to live at the village. Miss Fairlo was a real, live, worldly money-worshipping author, who published a book every year. and made a lot of money out of it. When she came to live in the village, Miss Euphemia Barney was prepared to patronize her, in spite of this fact, and even asked her to join the society

for the encouragement of higher thought. But to the surprise of Miss Euphemia, Miss Fairlo refused. Miss Euphemia pitied her, as she would have pitied anyone who had refused the golden chance of belonging to the society for the encouragement, of higher thought under her, Miss Euphemia Barney's presidency.

But as she said to the society, her influence would not have tended to the unworldliness and purity that distinguishes us from so many other societies and bodies. It is all for the best. To her most intimate friends, she said that Miss Fairlo had refused the offer of membership in order to mask her complete ignorance of higher thought. Ignorant, my dear, she said, ignorant, like all these popular writers. So the Society for the encouragement of Higher Thought pursued its pure and unworldly path,

and Miss Fairlowe only laughed at it from a distance. Chaste ignominiously from Miss Euphemious Garden, William went along to Miss Fairlowe's. He could see her over the hedge mowing the lawn. Hello, he said. Hello, William. she replied, Got any insects there? Said William.

Heaps, come in and see. William came in with a business-like air, his large cardboard box under his arm, and began to hunt among her garden plants. Would you call a tortoise an insect? He said suddenly. Well, if I wanted to, she replied. Well, I'm going to, said William firmly,

and I'm going to call a white rat an insect. I don't see why you shouldn't. It might belong to a special, branch of the insect world, a very special branch. You ought to give it a very special name. The idea appealed to William. All right, what name? Miss Fairlow rested against the handle of her lawnmower in an attitude of profound meditation. We must consider that, something nice and long. Um shafu, said William suddenly, after a moment's thought, it just came, he went on modestly, just came into my head.

It's a beautiful word, said Miss Fairlo. I don't think you could have a better one, an insect of the Omshafu branch. I think I'll call its name Omshifu, too, said William, picking a furry caterpillar off a leaf. Yes, said Miss Fairlo, it seems a pity not to use a word like that as much as you can, now you've thought of it. William put a ladybird in on top of the caterpillar. It's going to be jolly fine, he said optimistically. What, said Miss Fairlo?

Oh, just a collection of insects I'm doing, said William. Later in the morning, William brought Ongshafu over to visit Miss Fairlo. It escaped, and Miss Fairlo pursued it up her front stairs and down her back once, and finally captured it. Ongshafu rewarded her by biting her finger. William was apologetic. I dare say it just didn't like it. like the look to me, said Miss Farlow sadly. Oh, no, William hastened to reassure her. It's bit heaps of

people this year. It bites people it likes. I don't see why it shouldn't be an insect anyway, do you? William's collection of insects was ready for the afternoon's show. The exhibits were arranged in small cardboard boxes, covered mostly with paper, and these were all packed into a large cardboard box. The only difficulty was that he could not think where to conceal it from curious or disapproving eyes till after lunch. The garden he felt was not safe. Cats might upset it, and once upset in the garden, the insects would be able to return to their native aunts too quickly.

His mother would not allow him to keep them indoors. She would find them and expel them wherever he put them. Unless William had a brilliant idea, he hid them under the drawing room sofa. The drawing room sofa had a creton cover with a frill that reached to the floor, and he had used this place before as a temporary receptacle for secret treasures. No one would look under it or think of his putting anything there. He put the tortoise into a box with a lid and tied on shaffoo up firmly with string in his box and put them in the large cardboard box with the insects. Then he put the large cardboard box under the sofa and went into lunch with a mine

freed from anxiety. The exhibition was not to begin till three, so William wandered out to find Jumble. He found him in the ditch, threw sticks for him, brushed him severely with an old bootbrush that he kept in the outhouse for the rare occasions of Jumbull's toilet, and finally tied round his neck, the old raggy and almost colorless pink ribbon that was his gala attire. Then he came to the drawing room for the exhibits. There he received his first shock. On the drawing room sofa sat Miss Euphemia Barney, wearing her very highest thought expression. She surveyed William from head to foot, silently, with a look of slight disgust, then turned away her head, with a shudder. William sought his mother. What she'd doin in our house, he demanded sternly.

I've lent the drawing-room for a meeting of the higher thought, darling, said to Miss Brown reverently. Because she has the painters in her own drawing-room, you mustn't interrupt. Mrs. Brown was not a higher thinker, but she cherished a deep respect for them. But began William indignantly, and then stopped. He thought, on deliberation that it was better not to betray his hiding-place. He went back to the drawing-room, determined to walk boldly up to the sofa, and drag out the exhibits from under the very skirts of Miss Euphemia Barney. But two more higher thinkers were now established upon the sofa, one on each side of

the president, and higher thinkers were pouring into the room. William's courage failed him. He sat upon a chair by the door, scowling. eyes fixed upon Miss Euphemia's skirts. The members looked at him with lofty disapproval. The gathering was complete. The meeting was about to begin. Miss Euphemia Barney was to speak on the commoner complexes, but first she turned upon William, who sat with his eyes fixed forlornly on the hem of her skirts, a devastating glare. Do you want anything, a little boy? She said. Before William had time,

time to tell her what he wanted, the maid threw open the door and announced Miss Fairlow. The higher thinkers gasped. Miss Fairlo looked round as Daniel must have looked round at his lions. I came, she said, oh dear, Miss Euphemia waved her to a seat. It occurred to her that here was a heaven's and opportunity of impressing Miss Fairlo with a real respect for higher thought. Miss Fairlow must learn how much higher they were in thought than she could ever be. It would be a great triumph to enlist Miss Fairlo as a humble member and searcher after truth under her Miss Euphemia's leadership. You came to see Mrs. Brown, of course, she said kindly,

and the maid showed you in here thinking you were one of us. Mrs. Brown has kindly lent us her drawing room for a meeting. pray and don't apologize. Perhaps you would like to listen to us for a short time. We were about to discuss the commoner complexes. I will begin by reading a little poem. I spent most of this morning putting the final touches to it. She ended proudly. I spent most of this morning on the pursuit of Om Shafu, said to Miss Perlow gravely. There was a moment's tense silence. Om Shafu? The higher thinkers sent glances of death.

desperate appeal to their president. Would she allow them to be humiliated by this upstart? Oh, sheffo said to Miss Euphemus slowly. Of course, it is very interesting. The higher thinkers gave a sigh of relief. I could hardly tear myself away this morning, replied Miss Fairlow pleasantly. It was so engrossing.

Engroasing, some sort of Eastern philosophy, of course. Again, desperate glances were turned upon the embodied of higher thought. Again, she rose to the occasion. I felt just the same about it when I, when I, she risked the expression, took it up. She felt that this implied that she had known about encheful long before Miss Fairlo, and this conveyed a delicate snub. Miss Fairlo's glance rested momentarily on her bandaged finger. It goes very deep, she murmured. Miss Barney was gaining confidence. There, I disagree with you, she said firmly.

I think its appeal is entirely superficial. William had brightened into attention at the first mention of Om Shafu, but finding the conversation beyond him had relapsed into a gloomy stare. Now his state became suddenly fixed, his mouth opened with horror. The exhibits were escaping from beneath the hem of Miss Euphemia's gown. a cockroach was making a slow and stately progress into the middle of the room several ants were laboriously climbing up miss euphemia's dress so far no one had noticed william gazed in frozen horror i hear that om shaffoo has bitten most people this year said miss fairlow demurely miss euphemia pursed her lips disapprovingly she was growing reckless with success i think there's something dangerous It was dangerous in it, she said.

You mean its teeth? Said Miss Fairlow brightly. There was a moment's tense silence. A horrible suspicion occurred to Miss Euphemia that she was being trifled with. The higher thinkers looked helplessly, first at her and then at Miss Fairlo. Then Miss Euphemia rose from the sofa with a piercing scream. Something stung me. It's bees!

Peas coming from under the sofa! Simultaneously, the treasurer jumped upon a small occasional table. Black beetles! She screamed, help! Above the babble rose Miss Farlow's clear voice, and there's Om Shafu himself. I can see his dear little pink nose peeping out.

Babel ceased for one second, while the Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought looked at Omfshafu. Then it arose with redoubled violence. William departed with his exhibits. He had recaptured, most of them. Om Shafu had been taken from the ample silk sash of the treasurer, in a fold of which he had taken refuge. William had left his mother and Miss Fairlow pouring water on the

hysterical treasurer. William was laid as it was. Behind him trotted jumble, the chewed-up remains of his gala attire hanging from his mouth. William! Miss Fairlo was just behind, carrying a cardboard box. Oh, William, she said, I was really bringing this to you when they showed me into the wrong room, and I couldn't resist having a game with them. I found it this morning after you'd gone. In an old drawer I was tidying, and I thought you might like it. William opened it. It was a case of butterflies, butterflies of every kind, all neatly labeled. I think it used to belong to my brother, said Miss Farlow carelessly. Would you like it? Oh, crumbs, gasped William. Thanks. And I've had the loveliest time this afternoon that I've had for ages, said to Miss Farrellow dreamily. Thank you so much. William hastened to the old barn in which the exhibition was to be held.

Ginger, Douglas, and Henry, and the audience were already there. Well, you're early, aren't you? said Douglas sarcastically. Do you think, said William sternly, that anyone what has had all the heart, hard work I've had getting together this collection could be here earlier. The half-dozen little boys who formed the audience grasped their half-penies firmly and looked at William suspiciously. They won't give up the half-penny, said Henry, in deep disgust. No, said the audience, not to have seen if it's worth a half-penny.

William assumed his best showman air, this, ladies and gentlemen, he began, ignoring the fact that his audience consisted entirely of males is the only tortoise like this in the world. Seen a tortoise. Got a tortoise at home, said his audience, unimpressed. Perhaps, said William, crutchingly, but have you ever seen a tortoise with white stripes like what this one has? No, but I could if I got an old tin of paint and striped hour. William passed on to the next box.

He took out on Shafoo. This, he said, is the... only rat insect of the species of omchefu. If you think, said the audience, that we're going to pay a halfpenny to see that old rat what we've seen hundreds of times before, and what's bid us too, well, we're not. Despair began to settle down upon Ginger's face. William passed on to the third box. Here, ladies and gentlemen, he said impressively, is thirty separate and distinct species of... of insects. I only ask you to look at them. I, they're just the same sort of insects as crawl

about our gardens at home, said the audience coldly. But have you ever seen them collected together before? said William earnestly. Have you ever seen them collected? Think of the trouble and time what I took collecting them. Why, the time alone I took's worth more and a halfpenny. I should think that's worth a half penny. I should think it's worth more and a halfpenny, I should think, well, we won't, said the audience. We'd as soon see them crawling about a garden for nothing as crawling about a bog for a halfpenny. So there. Ginger, Douglas, and Henry looked at William gloomily. They ain't worth getting a collection for, said Ginger. They deserve to have the half pennies took off them, said Douglas.

But William slowly and majestically brought forth his fourth box and opened it, revealing rows of gorgeous butterflies, then closed it quickly. The audience gasp. When you've given in your half-pennies, said William firmly, then you can see this wonderful and unique collection of twenty separate and distinct species of butterflies all collected together. Eagerly, the half-pennies were given to William. He handed them to Douglas triumphantly.

Go and buy the marbles quick, he said, horse whisper case they want him back. Then he turned to his audience, smoothed back his hair, and reassumed his showman manner. In Mrs. Brown's drawing-room, the members of the society for the encouragement of higher thought were recovering from various stages of hysterics. We shall have to dissolve the society, said Miss Euphemia Barney. She'll tell everyone, it's a wicked name for a rat anyway, almost blasphemous. I'm shan. sure it comes in the Bible, how was one to know, but people will never forget it. We might form ourselves again a little later under a different name, suggested the secretary.

People will always remember, said Miss Euphemia. They're so uncharitable. It's a most unfortunate occurrence. And setting her lips grimly, as is the case with most of the unfortunate occurrences in this village, the direct cause is that terrible boy, William, Brown. At that moment, the direct cause of most of the unfortunate occurrences in the village, with his friends around him, his precious box of butterflies by his side, and happiness in his heart was just beginning the hard-won, long-deferred game of marbles. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of William IV by Rick Mulcrompton.

This liver-box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11, William's Extra Day. What's leap year? asked William. It's a year that leaps, said his elder brother, Robert. It's leap year, this year, said William. Who told you? inquired Robert sarcastically. Well, I don't see much leaping about this year so far, said William, trying to rise to equal heights of sarcasm.

Oh, go and play leapfrog, said Robert scathingly. I don't believe you know. said William. I don't for a minute believe you know why it's called leap year. You don't care either, so long as you can sit talking to Miss Flower. You don't care about anything else. You're not even got any curiosity about leap year nor anything else. I don't know what you find to talk to her about. I bet she doesn't know why it's leap year. No more than you do. You won't talk about anything sensible. You and Miss Flower, you Robert's youthful countenance, had flushed a doe. read, Miss Flower was the latest of Robert's seemingly endless and quickly changing succession

of grand passions. You don't even talk most of the time, went on William scornfully, because I've watched you. You sit looking, just looking at each other, like what you used to with Miss Crane and Miss Blake and Miss, what was she called? And it does look soft, let me tell you, to anyone watching through the window. rose with murder in his eye. Shut up and get out, he roared. William shut up and got out.

He sighed as he wandered into the garden. It was like Robert to get into a temper just because somebody asked him quite politely what Leapier was. Ethel, William's grown-up sister, was in the drawing room. Ethel, said William. Why is it called Leap Year? Because of February 29, said Ethel. well said William with an air of patience tried beyond endurance if you think that's any answer to anyone asking you why it's leap year if you think that's an answer that means anything to any ornery person

you see everything leaps on February the 29th said his sister callously you wait and see william looked at her in silent scorn for a few moments then gave vent to his feelings anyone would think that any anybody's old as you and Robert would know a simple thing like that. Just think of you and Robert and Miss Flower not knowing why it's called Leapier. How do you know Miss Flower doesn't know? Well, wouldn't she have told Robert if she knew? She might have told Robert everything she knows by this time talking to him and talking to him like she does. For that matters, I don't suppose Mr. Brooke knows. He'd have told you if he did.

He's always, Ethel groaned. Will you stop talking and go? away if I give you a chocolate," she said. William forgot his grievance. Three, he stipulated in a quick business-like voice, give me three, and I'll go right away. She gave him three so readily that he regretted not having asked for six. He put two in his mouth, pocketed the third, and went into the morning room.

His father was there reading a newspaper. "'Father,' said William, "'why is it called leap year?' "'How many times am I to tell you?' said his father, to shut the door when you come into a room. There's an icy blast piercing down my neck. Now, do you want to murder me? No, father, said William kindly.

He shut the door. Father, why is it called leapier? Ask your mother, said his father, without looking up from his paper. She mightn't know. Well, ask someone else, then. Ask anyone in heaven or earth, but don't ask me anything. and shut the door when you go out. William, though as a rule,

slow to take a hint, went out of the room and shut the door. He doesn't know, he remarked to the hat-rack in the hall. He found his mother in the dining-room. She was engaged in her usual occupation of darning socks. Mother, said William, why is it called Leapier? I simply can't think, William, said to Mrs. Brown feelingly.

How do you get such dreadful holes in your heels. It's that hard road on the way to school, I spec, said William, I've got to walk to school. I spec that's it. I spec if I didn't go to school and kept to the fields and woods, I wouldn't get like what I do. But you and father keep saying, I got to go to school. I wouldn't mind not going, just to save you trouble. I wouldn't mind growing up ignorant, like what you say I would, if I didn't go to school, just to save you trouble. I, Mrs. Brown hastily interrupted him, what did you want to know william william returned to his quest why is it called leap year well said mrs brown it's because of february twenty ninth it's an extra day william thought over this for some time in silence do you mean he said at last that it's an extra day that doesn't count in the ordinary year yes that's it said mrs brown vaguely william dear i wish you wouldn't always stand just in my light it was a-and-and-a-lain't always stand just in my light it was

was February 29th. William was unusually silent during breakfast. In the relief caused by his silence, his air of excitement was unnoticed. After breakfast, William went upstairs. He took two small paper parcels from a drawer and put them into his overcoat pocket. One contained several small cakes surreptitiously abstracted from the larder, and the other contained William's disguise. William's disguise was a false beard which had formed part of Robert's hired costume for the Christmas theatricals. Robert never knew what had happened to the beard. He had been charged for it as missing by the theatrical costumer. William had felt that a disguise was a necessity to him.

All the heroes of the romances he read found it necessary in the crises of their adventurous lives to assume disguises. William felt that you never knew when a crisis was coming, and that any potential hero of adventure, such as he knew himself to be, should never allow himself to be without a disguise. So far, he had not had need to assume it, but he had hopes for today. It was an extra day. Surely you could do just what you liked on an extra day. Today was to be a day of adventure. He went downstairs and put on his cap in the day.

the hall. You'll be rather early for school, said Mrs. Brown. William's unsmiling countenance assumed a look of virtue. I don't mind being early for school, he said. Slowly and decorously, he went down the drive and disappeared from sight. Mrs. Brown went back to the dining room, where her husband was still reading the paper. William's so good today, she said. Her husband groaned. 8.30 in the morning, he said, and she says he's good today. My dear, he's not had time to look around yet. William walks down the road with a look of set purpose on his face. Near the school, he met Bertram Roke.

Bertram Roke was the good boy of the school. You're not going to school today, are you? said William. Of course, said Bertram virtuously, aren't you? Me, said William, don't you know what day it is? Don't you know it's an extra day? What doesn't count in the ornery year? Catch me going to school on an extra day that doesn't count in the ordinary year? What are you going to do, then? said Bertram, taken aback.

I'm going to have adventures. You'll miss geography, said Bertram. Geography, said the hero of adventures scornfully. Leaving Bertram gaping over the school wall, his Latin grammar under one arm, and his geography book under the other, William walked up the hill and into the wall. in search of adventures. It was most certainly a gypsy encampment. There was a pot boiling on a campfire and a crowd of ragged children playing round. Three caravans stood on the broad cart track that led

through the wood. William watched the children wistfully from a distance. More than anything on earth at that moment, William longed to be a gypsy. He approached the children. All of them fled behind the caravans except one, a very dirty boy in a ragged green jersey and ragged knickers and bare legs. He squared his fists and knocked William down. William jumped up and knocked the boy down. The boy knocked William down again, but overbalanced with the effort. They sat on the ground and looked at each other. Watch your name, said the boy. William, watch yours. Helbert, what you're doing here? Looking for adventures, said Will. it's an extra day you know i want today to be quite different from an ordinary day i want some adventures i'd like to be a gipsy too he ended wistfully helbert merely stared at him would they take me went on william nodding his head in the direction of the caravans

i'd soon learn to be a gipsy i'd do all they told me i've always wanted to be a gipsy next to a red indian and a pirate and there don't seem to be any red indians or pirates in this way country. Albert once more merely stared at him. William's hopes sank. I've not got any gypsy clothes, he said, but perhaps they give me some. Inviously, William looked at Albert's ragged jersey and knickers and bare feet. Inviously, Helbert looked at William's suit. Suddenly, Helbert's heavy face lightened. He pointed to William's suit. Swap, he said succinctly. Don't you really mind, said William humbly and gratefully. The exchange was effected behind a bush. William carefully transferred his packet of provisions and his disguise from his pocket to the pocket of Helbert's ragged knickers. Then, while Helbert was still donning waistcoat and coat, William swaggered

into the open space round the fire. His heart was full to bursting. He was a gypsy of the gypsies. a lo, he called in swaggering friendly greeting to the gypsy children, but his friendliness was not returned. He stole Albert's clothes. You wait till my dad catches here, he'll wop you. My, he's got a Helbert's jersey on. A woman appeared suddenly at the door of the caravan. She was larger and dirtier and fiercer looking than anyone William had ever seen before.

She advanced upon William, and William, forgetting his dad, dignity as a hero of adventure, fled through the wood in terror till he could flee no more. Then he stopped, and discovering that the fat woman was not pursuing him, sat down and lent against a tree to rest. He took out his crumpled packet of provisions, ate one cake, and put the rest back again into his pocket. He felt that his extra day had opened propitiously. He was a gypsy. William never felt happier. than when he had completely shed his own identity. He did not regret leaving the members of the gypsy encampment.

He had not really liked the look of any of them. There had been something unfriendly even about Helbert. He preferred to be a gypsy on his own. He ran and left. He turned cartwheels. He climbed trees. He was riotously happy. He was a gypsy.

Suddenly he saw a little old man stretched out at full length beneath a tree. The little old man was watching something in the grass through a magnifying glass. On one side of him lay a notebook, on the other a large, japened tin box. William, full of curiosity, crept cautiously towards him, through the grass on the other side of the tree. He peered round the tree trunk, and the little old man, looking up suddenly, found William's face within a few inches of his own. "'Sh!' said the little old man, a rare specimen. ah gone my movement i am afraid never mind i had it under observation for quite fifteen minutes and i have a specimen of it he began to write in his notebook and then he looked up again at william

who are you boy he said suddenly i'm a gypsy said william proudly what's your name elbert said william without hesitation well albert said the little old gentleman would you like to earn sixpence by carrying this case to my house it's just at the end of the wood without a word william took the case and set off beside the little old gentleman the little old gentleman carried the notebook and william carried the jap and tin case. An interesting life at gypsies, I should think, said the old gentleman. Memories of stories he had read about gypsies returned to William. I wasn't born a gypsy, he said. I was stole by the gypsies when I was a baby. The little old gentleman turned to peer at William over his spectacles. Really? He said, that's interesting, most interesting. What are your earliest recollections previous to being stolen?

William was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was William no longer. He was not even Helbert. He was evil and de vere, the hero of Stolen by Gypsies, which he had read a few months ago. Oh, I remember a kinder palace and a garden with statues and peacocks and her waterfalls and flowers and things, and a black man that came in the night and took me off and I've got a birthmark

somewhere that'll identify me. He ended with modest pride. "'Dear me!' squeaked the little old man, greatly impressed. "'How interesting! How very interesting!' They had reached the little old gentleman's house. A very prim old lady opened the door. "'You're late, Augustus,' she said sternly. "'A most interesting specimen,' murmured Augustus deprecatingly.

"'I found it as I was on the point of returning home and forgot the hour. The prim lady was looking up and down William, "'Who is this boy?' she said, still more sternly. "'Ah,' said the old gentleman, as if glad to change the subject, "'he is a little gypsy.' "'Nasty creatures,' said the lady fiercely. "'But he has told me his story,' said Augustus eagerly, peering at William again over the top of his spectacles.

"'Interesting, most interesting, "'if you'll come into my study with me a moment.' The lady pointed to a chair in the hall. "'Sit there, boy,' she said to William. After a few minutes, she and the little old gentleman came into the hall again. "'Where's this birthmark you speak of?' said the old lady severely. Without a moment's hesitation, William pointed to a small black mark on his wrist. The lady looked at his suspiciously.

"'My brother will go back with you to the encampment to verify your strange story,' she said. "'If it is untrue, I hope they will be very severe with you. Don't be long, Augustus. No, Sophia, said Augustus meekly, setting off with William. William was rather silent. It was strange how adventures seemed to have a way of getting beyond control. I don't remember the peacocks very plain, he said at last. Hush, said the old man, taking out his magnifying glass.

He crept up to a tree trunk. He gazed at it in a rapt silence. Most interesting, he said. I much regret having left my notebook at home. And, of course, said William, anyone might dream about statues. They found that the encampment had gone. There was no mistake about it. There were the smouldering remains of the fire

and the marks of the wheels of the caravan, but the encampment had disappeared. They went to the end of the wood, but there were no signs of it along any of the three roads that met there. The little old gentleman was distraught. Oh dear, oh dear! he said how unfortunate do you know where they were going next no said william truthfully oh dear oh dear what shall we do let's go back to your house said william trustingly i should think it's about dinner-time "'Well,' said Sophia Grimley,

"'you've kidnapped a child from a gypsy encampment, "'and I hope you're prepared to take the consequences.' "'Oh, dear,' said the old gentleman, "'almost in tears. "'What a day! "'And it opens so propitiously! "'I watched a perfect example of a scavenger beetle "'at work for nearly half an hour,

"'and then this.' "'William was watching them with a perfectly expressionless face. never mind he said it doesn't matter what happens today it's extra we must keep the boy said augustus till we have made inquiries then he must be washed said sophia firmly and those dreadful clothes must be fumigated william submitted to the humiliating process of being washed by a buxom servant he noticed with misgiving that his birthmark disappeared in the process he resisted all attempts on the part of the maid-servant at interming conversation. A deaf moot, that's what I calls him, said the maid indignantly, and me wasting my kindness on him and taking interest in him, and am treating me with a scornful silence like that.

A deaf mute he is. The lady, called Sophia, had entered carrying a short white, beflounced garment. This is the only thing I can find about your size, boy, she said. It's a fancy dress I had made for a niece of mine about your size. Although it has a flimsy appearance, the thing is made on a warm wool lining. My niece was subject to bronchitis. You will not find it cold. You can just wear it while you have dinner while your clothes are being heated.

A delicious smell was emanating from a sauceman on the fire. William decided to endure anything rather than risk being ejected before that smell materialized. He meekly submitted to Helbert's garments being taken from him. him. He meekly submitted to being dressed in the white, beflounced costume. He remembered to take his two paper bags from the pockets of Helbert's knickers and tried unsuccessfully to find pockets in the costume he was wearing and finally sat on them. Then tastefully arrayed as a fairy queen, he sat down at the kitchen table to a large plate full of stew. It was delicious stew. William felt amply rewarded for all the indignities to which he was submitting.

The servant sat opposite, watching him. Is all gypsy's deaf moods? she said sarcastically. I'm not an ordinary gypsy, said William, without raising his eyes from his plate, or ceasing his appreciative and hearty consumption of Irish stew. I was stole by the gypsies I was. I've got her birthmark somewhere where you can't see it. Well, he'll identify me. "'Lore,' said the maid.

"'Yes, and I recollect peacocks and statues "'and folks walking about in crowns.' "'Crikey,' said the maid, "'filling his plate again with stew. "'Yes,' said William, attacking it with undiminished gusto, "'and the suit I was wearing when they stole me "'is all embroidered with crowns of peacocks and and statues, "'I suppose,' said the servant.

"'Yes,' said William absently, "'and you was wearing silver shoes and sockens, I suppose?' "'Gold,' corrected William, scraping his plate clean of the last morsel. Lord, said the maid, setting a large plate of pudding before him, now, while you're a heaton of that, I'll just pop round to a friend next door, and bring of her in, I shouldn't like to miss here in you talk, all dressed up like you are, too. It's a fair treat it is.

She went, closing the door cautiously behind her. William disposed of the pudding and considered the situation. He felt that this part of the adventure had gone quite far enough, He did not wish to wait till the maid returned. He did not wish to wait till Augustus or Sophia had made inquiries. He opened the kitchen door. The hall was empty. Sophia and Augustus were upstairs enjoying their after-dinner nap.

William tiptoed into the hall and put on one of the coats. Fortunately, Augustus was a very small man, and the coat was not much too large for William. William gave a sigh of relief as he realized that his youth, humiliating costume was completely hidden. Next, he put on one of Augustus hats. There was no doubt at all that it was slightly too big. Then he returned to the kitchen, took his two precious paper packets from the chair, put them into Augustus coat pockets, and crept to the front door. It opened noiselessly. William tiptoed silently and ungracefully down the path to the road. All was still. The road was

empty. It seemed a suitable moment to assume the disguise. With all the joy and pride of the artist, William donned his precious false beard. Then he began to walk jauntily up the road. Suddenly he noticed a figure in front of him. It was the figure of a very, very old man, toiling laboriously up the hill, vending over a stick. William, as an artist, never scorn to learn. He found a stick in the ditch and began to creep up the hill with little faltering steps, bending over his stick. He was thoroughly happy again. He was not, William. He was not even Helbert. He was a very old man with a beard walking up a hill. The old man in front of him turned into the workhouse gates, which were at the top of the hill. William followed. The old man sat on a bench in a courtyard.

William sat beside him. The old man was very short-sighted. "'Hello, Thomas,' he said. William gave a non-committal grunt. He took out his battered paper bag and handed a few fragments of crumbled cake to the old man. The old man ate them. William, a thrilling with joy and pride, gave him some more. He ate them. A man in uniform came out of the door of the workhouse.

"'Aardnoon, George,' he said to the old man. He looked closely at William as he passed. Then he came back and looked still more closely at William. And then he said, here, and whipped off William's hat. Then he said, well, I'm and whipped off William's beard. And then he said, I'll be, and whipped off William's coat. William stood revealed as the fairy queen in the middle of the workhouse courtyard. The short-sighted old man began to chuckle in a high, quavering voice.

It's a lady out of a circus, he said. Oh, dear, oh dear, it's a lady out of a circus. The man in uniform staggered back with one hand to his head. said, "'Gore, blimey,' he ejaculated, "'Have I gone mad, or am I dreaming it?' "'It's a lady out of a circus,' cackled the old man. But William had gathered up his scattered possessions indignantly and fled, struggling into the cold as he did so.

He ran along the road that skirted the workhouse, then finding that he was not pursued and that the road was empty, he adjusted his hat and beard and buttoned his coat. At a bend in the road there was a waist-sized, seat already partially occupied by a young couple. William, feeling slightly shaken by the events of the last hour, sat down beside them. He sat there for some minutes, listening idly to their conversation before he realized with horror who they were. He decided to get up unostentatiously and shuffle away. They did not seem to have noticed him so far, but Miss Flower was demanding a bunch

of the Catkin palm that grew a little farther down the road. Robert William's elder brother, with the air of a night, setting off upon a dangerous quest for his lady, went to get it for her. Miss Flower turned to William. A good afternoon, she said. William shaded the sight of his face from her with his hand and uttered a sound, which was suggestive of violent pain or grief,

but whose real and only object was to disguise his natural voice. Miss Flower moved nearer to him on the seat. Are you in trouble? She said sweetly. William, at a loss, repeated the sound. She tried to peer into his face. Could I help at all? She said, in a voice whose womanly sympathy was entirely wasted on William.

William covered his face with both his hands and emitted a bellow of rage and desperation. Robert was returning with the Katkins. Miss Flower went to meet him. Robert, she said. said, have you any money? I've left my purse at home. There's a poor old man here in dreadful trouble. Robert's sole worldly possessions at that moment were two and seven-pence half-penny. He gave her half a crown. She handed it to William, and William, keeping his face still covered with one hand, pocketed the half-crown with the other. Do speak to him, whispered Miss

Flower. See if you can help him at all. He may be ill. Robert sat down next to William, cleared his throat nervously. Now, my man, he began, then stopped abruptly, staring at all that could be seen of William's face. He tore off the hat and beard. You little wretch! And whose coat are you wearing, you little idiot? He tore open the coat.

The sight it revealed was too much for him. He sank back upon his seat with a groan. Miss Flower sat on the grass by the roadside and laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Oh, William, she said, you are priceless. I just love to walk through the village with you like that. Will you come with us, Robert? No, said Robert wildly.

At every crisis of my life, that boy turns up and always in something ridiculous. He's more like a nightmare than a boy. William faced a family council consisting of his father and mother and Robert and Ethel. William was still attired as a fairy queen. well said william in a tone of disgust you said to-day was extra i thought it didn't count i thought nothing any one did today counted i thought it was an extra day and there's robert taking a half-crown off me and no one seems to mind that and robert telling his flower on the seat how he'd wanted to live a better life since he met her robert's face went scarlet and then taking a half-crown off me william continued i don't call that living a better life she gave it me and he took it off me me. I don't call that being noble like what he said she made him want to be. I don't shut up, said Robert desperately. Shut up and I'll give you the wretched thing back. All right,

said William, receiving the half-ground. What I want to know, William, said to Mrs. Brown almost tearfully, is where are your clothes? William looked down at his airy costume. Oh, she took him off me and put this thing on me. She said she wanted to heat him up. I don't know why. She took off my green jersey and my— You weren't wearing a jersey, screamed Mrs. Brown. Williams' jaw dropped. Oh, those clothes! Crumbs! I had forgotten about those clothes.

I suppose Helbert still got him. Mr. Brown covered his eyes with his hand. Take him away. He wrote— Take him away. I can't bear the sight of him like that any longer. Mrs. Brown took him away. She returned about half a half.

An hour later, William, attired by the events of his extra day, had fallen at once into an undeservedly peaceful slumber. It'll take us weeks, probably, to put whatever he's done today right, she said hysterically, to her husband, I do hope you'll be severe with him. But Mr. Brown, freed from the horrible spectacle of William robed as a fairy queen, had given himself up to undisturbed and peaceful enjoyment of the fire and his armchair and evening paper. Tomorrow, he promised specifically, not today. You forget. Today doesn't count. Eavesdropping, burst out Robert suddenly, simply eavesdropping. I don't know how he can reconcile that with his conscience. Let's all be thankful, said Mr. Brown, that February 29th only happens every four years. Yes, but William doesn't, said Robert gloomily. William happens all the year round.

End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of William the 4th by Rick Mulcrompton This Liberbox recording is in the public domain Chapter 12 William enters politics When William at the charity fair was asked to join a six-penny raffle for a picture and shone the prize, a dingy oil painting in an oval gilt frame, his expression registered outrage and disgust. It was only when his friend Ginger whispered

excited they i say william last week my aunt read in the paper about someone what scraped off an old picture like that and found a real valuable old master painting underneath and sold it for more than a thousand pounds then he hesitated an inscrutable expression came upon his freckled face as he stared at the vague head and shoulders of a lightly clad female against a background of vague trees and elaborate columns all right he said suddenly hold out the sixpence that represented his sole worldly assets and receiving ticket number 33. Don't forget it was me what suggested it, said Ginger. Yes, and don't forget it was my sixpence, said William sternly. William was not usually lucky, but on this occasion the number 33 was drawn, and William, purple with embarrassment, bore off his gloomy-looking trophy. Accompanied by Ginger, he took it to the old barn.

They scraped off the head and shoulders of the mournful and inadequately clothed female, and they scraped off the gloomy trees, and they scraped off the elaborate columns. To their surprise and indignation, no priceless old master stood revealed. Being thorough in all that they did, they finally scraped away the entire canvas and the back. Well, said William, raising himself sternly from the task, when nothing scrapeable seemed to remain, and will you kindly tell me where this valuable old master is? Who said, Davenat, there was a valuable old master, said Ginger, in explanation.

If you kindly remember right, perhaps you'll kindly remember that I said that an aunt of mine said that she saw in the paper that somewhat scraped away an old picture and found a valuable old master. I never said, William was arranging the empty oval frame round his own. neck. Perhaps now, he interrupted ironically, you'd like to start scratching away the frame case you find a valuable old master frame underneath. Will it hoop? said Ginger, with interest, dropping hostilities for the moment. They tried to hoop it, but found that it was too oval. William tried to wear it as a shield, but it would not fit his arm. They tried to make a harp of it by nailing strands of wire across it, but gave up the attempt.

when William had cut his finger, and Ginger had hammered his thumb three times. William carried it about with him, his disappointment slightly assuaged by the pride of possession, but its size and shape were hampering to a boy of William's active habits. So in the end he carefully hid it behind the door of the old barn, which he and his friends generally made their headquarters, and then completely forgot it. The village was agog with the excitement of the election. The village did not have a member of parliament all to itself. It joined with a neighboring country town.

But one of the two candidates, Mr. Chetor, the conservative, lived in the village, so feeling ran high. William's father took no interest in politics, but William's uncle did. William's uncle supported the liberal candidate, Mr. Morris. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the cause. he distributed bills he harangued complete strangers he addressed imaginary audiences as he walked along the road he frequently brought one hand down heavily upon the other with the mystic words gentlemen in the sacred cause of liberalism william was tremendously interested in him he listened and raptured to his monologues quite unabashed by his uncle's irritable refusals to explain them to him politically The uncle took no interest in William. William had no vote.

William's uncle was visibly preparing to hold a meeting of canvassers for the cause of the great Mr. Morris in his dining room. Mr. Morris, a tall, thin gentleman, for some obscure reason, very proud of his name, who went through life saying plaintively, Double S-E, please, was not going to be there. William's uncle was going to tell the canvassers the main features of the process, with which to dazzle the electors of the neighborhood. I suppose, said William carelessly.

You don't mind me coming? You suppose wrong, then, said William's uncle. I most emphatically mind your coming. But why, said William earnestly, I'm interested, I'd like to go canvassing too. I know a lot about the ratchenaries, you know, the old conservies. I'd like to go calling them names, too. I'd like, you may not attend the liberal canvassers.

meeting, William, said William's uncle firmly. From that moment, William's sole aim in life was to attend the liberal canvassers meeting. He and Ginger discussed ways and means. They made an honest and determined effort to impart to William an adult appearance, making a frown with burnt cork, and adding whiskers of matting, which adhered to his cheeks by means of glue. Optimist, though they were, they were both agreed that the chances of William's admittance thus disguised into the meeting of the liberal canvassers was but a faint one. So William evolved another plan. The dining room in which William's uncle was to hold his meeting was an old-fashioned room.

A hatch, never used, opened from it on to an old stone passage. The meeting began. William's uncle arrived and took his seat at the head of the table with his back to the hatch. William's uncle was rather short-sighted and rather deaf. The other liberal canvassers filed in and took their places round the table. William's uncle bent over his papers. The other liberal canvassers were gazing with widening eyes at the wall behind William's uncle. The hatch slowly opened, a dirty oval gilt frame appeared,

and was by no means soundlessly attached to the top of the open hatch. Through the aperture of the frame appeared a snub-nosed, freckled, rough-haired, boy with a dirty face and a forbidding expression. William didn't read sensational fiction for nothing. In the sign of death, which he had finished by the light of a candle at 1130 the previous evening, Rupert the Sinister, the International Spy, had watched a meeting of masked secret service agents by the means of concealing himself in a hidden chamber in the wall, cutting out the eye of a portrait, and applying his own eyes.

to the whole. William had determined to make the best of slightly less favorable circumstances. There was no hidden chamber, but there was a hatch. There was no portrait, but there was the useless frame for which William had bartered his precious sixpence. He still felt bitter at the thought. William felt, not unreasonably, that the sudden appearance in the dining room of a new and mysterious portrait of a boy might cause his uncle to make a little, to make closer investigations, so he waited till his uncle had taken his seat before he hung himself. Ever optimistic, he thought that the other liberal canvassers would be too busy arranging their places to notice his gradual and unobtrusive appearance in his frame.

With vivid memories of the illustration in The Sign of Death, he was firmly convinced that, to the casual observer, he looked like a portrait of a boy hanging on the wall. In this he was entirely deceived. He looked merely what he was, a snub-nosed, freckled, rough-haired boy hanging up an old empty frame in the hatch and then crouching on the hatch and glaring morosely through the frame. William's uncle opened in the meeting, and we must emphasize the consequent drop in the price of bread. Don't you think that point's very important, Mr. Moffat? Mr. Moffat, a thin, a patient. hill youth, with a large nose and a naturally startled expression, answered as in a trance,

his mouth open, his strained eyes, fixed upon William. Uh, very important. Very, we can't overemphasize it, said William's uncle. Mr. Moffat put up a trembling hand as if to loosen his collar. He wondered if the others saw it too. Over-emphasize it, he repeated in a trembling voice. Then he met William's. stony stare and looked away hastily, drawing his handkerchief across his brow.

I think we can safely say, said William's uncle, that if the government we desire is returned, the average loaf will be three-halfpence cheaper. He looked round at his helpers. Not one was taking notes. Not one was making a suggestion. All were staring blankly at the wall behind him. Extraordinary what stupid fellows seemed to take up this work. That chap with a large nose looked nothing more or less than tipsy. Here are some pamphlets that we should take round with us. He spread them out on the table. William was interested.

He could not see them properly from where he was. He leant forward through his frame. He could just see the words at peace and prosperity. He leant forward further. He leant forward too far, accidentally attaching his frame round his neck, On his way, he descended heavily from the hatch. There was only one thing to do to soften his fall.

He did it. He clutched at his uncle's neck as he descended. A confused medley consisting of William, his uncle, the frame and his uncle's chair rolled to the floor where they continued to struggle wildly. Oh, my goodness, squealed the young man with a large nose hysterically. Somehow in the melee that ensued, William managed to present. his frame. He arrived home, breathless and disheveled, but still carrying his frame.

He was beginning to experience a feeling almost akin to affection for his companion in adversity. What's the matter? said William's father sternly. What have you been doing? Me, said William in a voice of astonishment. Me? Yes, you, said his father. You come in here like a tornado half-dressed with your hair like a neglected long. William hastily smoothed back his halo of stubby hair and fastened his collar. Oh, that, he said lightly, I've only just been out of walking and things. Mrs. Brown looked up from her darning. I think you'd better go and brush your hair and wash your face and put on a clean collar, William.

She suggested mildly. Yes, mother, agreed William, without enthusiasm. Father, did you know that the liberals are going to? make bread and everything cheaper and prosperity and all that? I did not, said Mr. Brown dryly from behind his paper. I'd give it a good brushing, said his wife. If there weren't no old ractionary conservey here, said William, I suppose there wouldn't be no reason why the liberal shouldn't get in.

As far as I can disentangle your negatives, said Mr. Brown, your supposition is correct. I simply can't think why it always. always stands up so straight said mrs brown plaintively well then why don't they stop em said william indignantly why do they let the old conservies come in and spoil things and keep bread up why don't they stop em why mr brown uttered a hollow groan william said he grimly go and brush your hair all right he said i'm just going mr chater the conservative candidate had addressed a crowded meeting and and was returning wearily to his home. He opened the door with his latchkey and put out the hall light. The maids had gone to bed.

Then he went upstairs to his bedroom. He opened the door. From behind the door rushed a small whirlwind. A rough bullet-like head charged him in the region of his abdomen. Mr. Chater sat down suddenly. A strange figure dressed in pajamas, and over those a dressing gown and over that an overcoat, stood sternly in front of him.

You got to stop it, said an indignant voice. You got to stop it and let the liberals get in. You got to stop. Mr. Chater stood up and squared at William. William, who fancied himself as a boxer, flew to the attack. The conservative candidate was evidently a boxer of no mean ability, but he lowered his form to suit Williams. He parried Williams' wild onsets.

He occasionally got a very gentle one, in on William. They moved rapidly about the room in a silence broken only by William snortings. Finally, Mr. Chater fell over the hearthrug and William fell over Mr. Chater. They sat up on the floor in front of the fire and looked at each other. Now, said Mr. Chater soothingly, let's talk about it. What's it all about? They're gonna make bread cheaper, the Liberals are, panted William, and you're trying to stop a menu. Ah, said Mr. Chater, but we're going to make it cheaper too. William gasped. You, he said, the ractionaries, but if you're both trying to make

bread cheaper, why are you fighting each other? You know, said Mr. Chater, I wouldn't bother about politics if I were you. They're very confusing mentally. Suppose you tell me how you got here. Well, I got out of my window and climbed along our wall to the road, said William simply, and then I got onto your wall and climbed along it into your window. Now you're here, said Mr. Chater, we may as well celebrate. Do you like roasted chestnuts? Hmm, said William. Well, I've got a bag of chestnuts downstairs.

We can roast them at the fire. I'll get them. By the way, suppose your people find you've gone. Oh, my uncle may have come to see my father by now, so I don't mind not being at home just now. Mr. Chater accepted this explanation. I'll go down for the chestnuts, then, he said. Fortune was kind to William.

His uncle was very busy and thought he would put off the laying of his complaint before William's father till the next week. The next week he was still more busy. Encountering William unexpectedly in the street, he was struck by William's hastily assumed expression of wistful sadness

and decided that the whole thing may have been a misunderstanding, so the complaint was never laid. Moreover, no one had discovered William's absence from his bedroom. William came down to breakfast the next day, with a distinct feeling of fear, but one glance at his preoccupied family relieved him. He sat down at his place with the air of meekness, which in him always betrayed an uneasy conscience. His father looked up. Good morning, William, he said. Care to see the paper this morning? I suppose, with your new zeal for politics? Oh, politics,

said William contemptuously. I've given him up. They're so, so frowning, he searched in his memory for the phrase. They're so confusing mentally. His father looked at him. Your vocabulary is improving, he said. You mean my hair, said William, with a gloomy smile. Mother's been scrubbing it back with water, same as what she said. William walked along the village street with Ginger. Their progress was slow, they stopped in front of each shop window and subjected the contents to a long and careful scrutiny. There's nothing there I'd buy if I'd had a thousand pounds. Oh, isn't there? Well, I just wonder how much have you got anyway? Nothing. How much of you? Nothing? Well, said William, continuing a discussion which their inspection of the general stores had interrupted. I'd rather be a pirate

than a red Indian sail in the seas and find an hidden treasure? I don't quite see, said Ginger with heavy sarcasm. What's to prevent a red Indian finding hidden treasure if there's any to find? Well, said William, heatedly, you show me a single tale where a red Indian finds a hidden treasure. That's all I ask you to do? Just show me a single tale where a, we're not talking about tails. There's things that happen outside tails. I suppose everything in the world that can happen isn't in tails. Besides, think of the warhoops. A pirate's not got a war hoop. Well, if you think, they stopped to examine the contents of the next shop window.

It was a second-hand shop. In the window was a medley of old iron, old books, broken photograph frames, and dirty china. And there's nothing there I want her buy if I got a thousand pounds, said William sternly. It makes me almost glad I've got no money. Must be maddened. and to have a lot of money and never see anything in a shop window you'd want to buy. Suddenly, Ginger pointed excitedly to a small card propped up in a corner of the window. Objects purchased for cash. William, Gastinger, the frame. A look of set purpose came into William's freckled face.

You stay here, he whispered quickly, and see, they don't take that card out of the window, and I'll fetch the frame. Panting, he reappeared with the frame a few minutes later. ginger's presence had evidently prevented the disappearance of the card an old man with a bald head and two pairs of spectacles examined the frame in silence and in silence handed william half a crown william and ginger staggered out of the shop half a crown gasped william excitedly crumbs i hope said ginger you'll remember who suggested you buying that frame and i hope said william that you'll remember who sixpence bought it this verbal fencing was merely a form it was a matter of course that william should share his half-crown with ginger the next shop was a pastry-cooks it was the type of pastry cooks that william's mother would have designated as common on a large dish in the middle of the window was a pile of sickly-looking yellow pastries full of sickly-looking yellow butter cream william pressed his nose against the glass and his eyes widened i say he said only a penny each come on in they sat at a small marble-topped table between them a heaped plate of the nightmare pastries and ate in silent enjoyment

the plate slowly emptied william ordered more as he finished his sixth he looked up his uncle was passing the window talking excitedly to mr morris's agent across the street a man was pacing up a poster vote for tater. William regarded both with equal contempt. He took up his seventh penny horror and bid it rapturously. Fancy, he said scornfully. Fancy people worrying about what bread costs. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of William IV by Rick Mulcrompton. This Libro Box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13, William makes an eye of it. William had disliked Mr. Benison from the moment he appeared, although Mr. Benison treated him with most conscientious kindness. William disliked the way Mr. Benison's hair grew, the way his teeth grew, and the way his ears grew, and he disliked most of all his agreeable manner to William himself. He was not used to

agreeable manners from adults, and he distrusted them. Mr. Benison was a bachelor and wrote books on the training of children. He believed that children should be led, not driven, that their little heart should be won by kindness, that their innocent curiosity should always be promptly satisfied. He believed that children trailed clouds of glory. He knew very few. He certainly did not know William. Mr. Benison had met Ethel William's sister

while she was staying with an aunt. Ethel possessed blue eyes in a riot of Auburn hair, of which William was ashamed. He considered that red hair was quite inconsistent, with beauty, he found that most young men who met Ethel did not share that opinion. Although Mr. Venison had reached the mature age of 40, without having found any passion to supersede his passion for educational theories, he experienced a distinct quickening of his middle-aged heart at the sight of Ethel with her Forget-Me-Not eyes and copper locks.

William never could understand what men saw in Ethel. William, considered, her interfering and bad-tempered and stingy and everything that an ideal sister should not be yet there was no doubt that adult males saw something in her and william had the wisdom to make capital out of this distorted idea of beauty whenever he could william was in that state of bankruptcy which occurred regularly in the middle of each week he was never given enough pocket money to last from saturday to saturday that was one of his great grievances against life and just now there were some pressing calls on his purse it was ginger william's boon companion who had seen the tops in the shock window and realized suddenly that the top season was upon them once more the next day almost the whole school was equipped with tops. Only William and Ginger seemed topless. To William, a born leader, the position was intolerable. It was Wednesday. The thought of waiting till Saturday was not for one moment to be entertained. Money must somehow or other be raised in the interval. Tops of a kind could be bought for sixpence, but the really superior tops, the ones which befitted the age and dignity of William

and Ginger cost one shilling, and William and Ginger never daunted by difficulties determined to raise the sum by the next day. When must get a shilling each, said William, with his expression of grim and fixed determination, and we'll buy him tomorrow. Well, you know what my folks are like, said Ginger despondently. You know what it's like trying to get money out of them? Save your pocket money, they say. If they give me enough, I'd be able to say.

What's six-pence? could anyone save sixpence? It's gone in a day. Sixpence is, and they say save, he ended bitterly. Well, said William, all I can say is that no one's folks can be stingier than mine, and that if I can get a shilling, yes, but you've not got it yet, have you, taunted Ginger? No, said William confidently, but you wait till tomorrow. William had spoken confidently, but he felt far from confident. He knew by experience, the difficulty of extorting money from his family. He had tried pathos, resentment, indignation, pleading, and all had failed on every occasion. He was generally obliged to have recourse

to finesse. He only hoped that on this occasion fate would provide circumstances on which he could exercise his finesse. He entered the drawing-room, and it was then that he first saw Mr. Benison. It was then that he took a violent and definite dislike to Mr. Benison, yet he had a wild hope that he might be a profitable source of tipped. With a mental vision of the tops before his eyes, he assumed an expression of virtue and innocence. So this, said Mr. Benison with a genial smile, is the little brother. William's expression of virtue melted into a scowl.

William was 11 years old. he objected to being called a little anything i heard there was a little brother went on the visitor perpetrating the supreme mistake of laying his hand upon william's tousled head will is the name is it not willie for short i presume mrs brown noting fearfully the expression upon her son's face interposed we call him william she said rather hastily i call him willy for short smiled mr Benison, patting Williams unruly locks. Mr. Benison labored under the delusion that he got on with children. It was well for his peace of mind that William's face was at that moment hidden from him. It was only the thoughts of the top, which might be the outcome of all, that made William endure the indignity.

And I brought a present for Willie for short, went on Mr. Benison humorously. William's heart rose. It might be atop. It might be something he could exchange for a top. Best of all, it might be money. But Mr. Benison took a book out of his pocket and handed it to William. The book was called A Child's Encyclopedia of Knowledge. Mrs. Brown, who could see William's face, went rather pale.

Say thank you, William, dear, she said nervously. Then hastily covering Williams murmured thanks, How very kind of you, Mr. Benison. How very kind! be most interested. I'm sure he will, won't you, William, dear? I'm sure he will. William freed himself from Mr. Benison's hand and went towards the door. You will remember, went on Mr. Benison pleasantly, that in my early training of the young, I lay down the rule that every present given to a child should tend to his or her mental development. I do not believe in

giving a child presence of money before he or she is 16. No, really, really, wise faculty of choice is developed before then. I expect you remember that and my parents' help, I said, William crept quietly from the room. He went first of all to Ethel's bedroom. She was reading a novel in an armchair. Go away, she said to William. In the midst of his preoccupation, William found time to wonder again what people saw in her. Well, if they only knew her as well as he did, but the all-important question was the question of tops. Ethel, he said, in a tone of brotherly sweetness and Christian forgiveness, have you got any tops left? You must have had tops when you were young.

I wonder if you'd like to give them to me, if you've got any left, and I'll use them up for you. Well, I've not snapped Ethel, so go away. William turned to the door, then turned back as if struck by a sudden thought, Do you remember Ethel, he said, that I took a spider out of your hair for you last summer? I wondered if you'd care to lend me a shilling just till my next pocket money. You put it in my hair first, said Ethel indignantly, and I jolly well won't, and I wish you'd go away. William looked at her coldly. How people can say you're attractive, he said.

Well, all I can say is wait till they know you, and that means. man downstairs coming just because of you and worrying folks' lives out and stroking their heads and giving him books, well, you'd think he'd be ashamed, and you'd think you'd be ashamed, too. Ethel had flushed. You needn't think I want him, she said. I should think I'm the only person who can grumble about him being here. I have to stay up here all the afternoon, just because I can't bear the nonsense he talks when I'm down. How long's he saying, said William? Oh, a week, said Ethel viciously. He said he was motoring in the neighborhood, and mother asked him to say a week.

She likes him. He's got three cars and a lot of money, and he can talk the hind leg off a donkey, and she likes him. All I can say, bitterly, is that I'm going to have a nice week. What about a shilling, said William, returning to the more important subject. Look here. If you let me a shilling now, I'll give you a shilling and a penny, when I get my pocket money on Saturday. I'll not forget a shilling and a penny for a shilling.

I should think you'd call it a bargain. Well, I wouldn't, said Ethel, and I wish you'd go away. Away! I don't call you very generous, Ethel, said William loftily. No, and I'm not likely to be generous or feel generous with that man in the house, said Ethel. William was silent. He was silent for quite a long time. William's silences generally meant something. Suppose, he said at last, suppose he went tomorrow. Would you feel generous then? I would, said Ethel recklessly.

I'd feel it quite up to two shillings in that case. But he won't go. Don't you think it? And will you go away? William went, rather to her surprise, without demure. He walked very slowly downstairs. His brow was knit. in thought. Mr. Benison was still talking to Mrs. Brown in the drawing-room. Oh, yes, that is one of my

very firmest tenets. I have laid stress on that in all my books. The child's curiosity must always be appeased. No matter at what awkward time the child propounds the question, he or she must be answered courteously and fully. Curiosity must be appeased the moment it appears. If a child came to me in the middle of the night for knowledge, he laughed uproarly. at his joke, I trust I should give it the best of my ability, fully, and, as I said, oh, here is our little Willie for short. Still holding his child's encyclopedia of knowledge, William turned and quickly left the room. Mr. Benison had had a good dinner and a pleasant talk with Ethel before he came to bed. The talk had been chiefly on his side, but he preferred it that way.

he was thinking how pleasant would be a life in which he could talk continuously to Ethel, while he looked at her blue eyes and auburn hair. He wrote a chapter of his new book, heading at Common Mistakes in the Treatment of Children. He insisted in that chapter that children should be treated with reverence and respect. He laid down his favorite rule, A child's curiosity must be immediately satisfied when and where it appears, irrespective of inconvenience to the adult. Then he got into bed.

The bed was warm and comfortable, and he was drifting blissfully into a dreamless sleep, when the door opened, and William, a clad in pajamas, and carrying the child's encyclopedia of knowledge, appeared. Excuse me, that theremin you, said William politely, but it says in this book what you kindly gave me something about Sock-Graiths.

William pronounced it in two syllables, soft grates, and I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind explain to me what they are. I don't know what soft grates are. Mr. Benison was on the whole rather pleased. In all his books, he had insisted that if the child came for knowledge at midnight, the child's curiosity must be satisfied then and there, and he was glad of an opportunity of living up to his ideals. He dragged

his mind back from the rosy mists of sleep, and endeavored to satisfy William's thirst for knowledge. He talked long and earnestly about Socrates, his life and teaching, and his place in history. William listened with an expressionless face. Whenever the other seemed inclined to draw his remarks to a close, William would gently interpose a question, which would set his eloquence going again at full flow. But Mr. Benison's eyes began to droop, and his eloquence began to languish. He looked at his watch. It was 1230. I think that's all, my boy, he said with quite a passable attempt at bluff, hearty kindness in his voice.

You haven't quite sprained to me, began William. I've told you all I know, said Mr. Benison irritably. William, still clasping his book, went quietly from the room. Mr. Benison turned over and began to go to sleep. It took a little time to get over the interruption, but soon a delicious drowsiness began to steal over him. Going, going. William entered the room again, still carrying his child's encyclopedia of knowledge. It says in this book what you kindly gave me,

he said earnestly, all about compound interest, but I don't quite understand. William was very clever at not understanding compound interest. He had an excellent repertoire of intelligent questions about compound interest. At school, he could, for a good, a consideration, play the mathematics master on compound interest for an entire lesson, while his friends amuse themselves in their own way in the desks behind. Mr. Benison's eloquence was somewhat lacking in lucidity and inspiration this time,

but he struggled gallantly to clear the mists of William's ignorance. At times, the earnestness of William's expression touched him. At times, he distrusted it. At no time did it suggest those clouds of glory that he liked to associate with children. By one-thirty he had talked about compound interest till he was hoarse. I don't think there's anything else I can tell you, he said, with an air of irritation, which he vainly endeavored to hide. Oh, shut the door after you.

It's very draughty when you leave it open. Oh, dear boy. William, with the utmost docility, went out of the room. Mr. Benison turned over and tried to go to sleep. It did not seem so easy to go to sleep this time. There's something about explaining compound interest to the young and ignorant that is very stimulating to the brain. He tried to count sheep going through a style, and they persisted in turning into the figures of a compound interest sum. He tried to call back the picture of domestic happiness with which the sight of William's sister had inspired him earlier in the evening. and always the vision of William's earnest, inscrutable countenance, rose to spoil it.

Sheep. One, two, three, four, five. The door opened, and William appeared with the open book once more in his hand. In this book, What You Kindly Gave Me, he began, it tells about the stars and the lion and that, and I can't find the lion from the window, though the stars are out. I wondered if you kindly let me look through yours, sheep and style vanished abruptly. After a short silence, pregnant with unspoken words,

Mr. Benison sat up in bed. He looked very weary as he stared at William, but he was doggedly determined to act up to his ideals. I don't think you can see the lion from this side of the house, my boy, he said, in what he imagined was a kind tone of voice. It must be right on the opposite side of the house. Then we could see it from my window, said William. brightly and guilelessly, if you kindly come and help me find it. Mr. Benison said nothing for a few seconds. He was counting forty to himself. It was a proceeding to ensure self-control taught him by his mother in early youth.

It had never failed him yet, though it nearly did on this occasion. Then he followed William across the landing to his room. William was not content with the lion. He insisted on finding all the other consequences. constellations mentioned in the book. At 2.30, Mr. Venison staggered back to his bedroom. He did not go to bed at once. He took out the chapter he had written early in the evening and crossed out the words, a child's curiosity must be immediately satisfied when and where it appears, irrespective of inconvenience to the adult. He decided to cut out all similar

sentiments in the next editions of all his books. Then he got into bed, sleep at last, blissful, drowsy, soul-satisfying sleep. Mr. Benison, Mr. Benison, in this book, What You Kindly Gave Me, there's some kind of puzzles. Intelligence tests, it calls them, and I can't do them. I wonder if you kindly help me. Well, I won't, said Mr. Benison. Go away, go away, I tell you.

There's only a page of them, said William. Go away, roared Mr. Benison, drawing the clothes over his head. I tell you I won't. I won't. William quietly went away. Now, Mr. Benison was a conscientious man, left alone in the silence of the night. All desire for sleep deserted him. He was horrified at his own depravity. He had deliberately broken his own rule. He had been false to his ideals.

He had refused to satisfy the curiosity of the young when and where it appeared. A child had come to him for help in the middle of the night, and he had refused him or her. The child, moreover, might repeat the story. It might get about. People might hold it up against him. After wrestling with his conscience for half an hour, he arose and sought William in his room. At four o'clock he was still trying to solve the intelligence test for William. William stood by wearing that expression that Mr. Benison was beginning to dislike intensely. At 4.15, Mr. Benison, looking wild and disheveled, returned to his room.

But he was a broken man. He struggled no longer against fate. Five o'clock found him explaining to William exactly why Charles I. First had been put to death. Six o'clock found him trying to fathom the meaning of plunger and inductance and slider and various other words that occurred in the chapter on wireless. It fortunately never occurred to him that they were all terms with which William was perfectly familiar.

As he held his head and tried to think from what Greek or Latin words the terms might have been derived, he missed the flicker that occasionally upset the perfect repose of William's features. At seven o'clock, he felt really ill and went downstairs to try to find a whiskey and soda. It was not William's fault that he fell over the knitting, on which Mrs. Brown had been engaged the evening before, and which had slipped from her chair onto the floor. His frenzied efforts to disentangle his feet entangled them still further. At last, with teeth bared in rage and wearing the air of a Samson throwing off his enemies, he tore wildly at the wool, and scattering bits of this material and unraveled socks about him.

he strode forward to the sideboard. He could not find a whiskey and soda. After upsetting a crude in the sideboard cupboard, he went guiltily back to his bedroom. His bed looked tidier than he imagined he had left it, and very inviting. Perhaps he might get just half an hour's sleep before he got up. He flung himself onto the bed. His feet met with an unexpected resistance, halfway down the bed, bringing his knees sharp up to his chin. The bed was wrong. The bed was all wrong. The bed was all very wrong.

For a few seconds, Mr. Benison forgot the traditions of self-restraint and moderation of language on which he had been reared. William, standing in the doorway, listened with interest. I hope you don't mind me trying if I could do it, he said. I don't know why it's called an apple-pie bed, do you? It doesn't say nothing. about it in this book, What You Kindly Gave Me. Mr. Benison flung himself upon William with a roar.

William dodged lightly onto the landing. Mr. Benison followed and collided heavily with a housemaid who was carrying a tray of early morning tea. William came down to breakfast. He entered the dining room slowly and cautiously. Only his father and mother were there. His mother was talking to his father. He wouldn't even stay for breakfast, she was saying.

he said his letter called him back to town a most urgent business. I didn't like his manner at all. Oh, said her husband from behind his paper, without much interest. No, I thought it rather ungracious, and he looked queer. Oh, said her husband, turning to the financial columns. Yes, wild and hollow-eyed and that sort of thing. I've wondered since whether perhaps he takes drugs. One reads of such things, you know, and he certainly looked quix.

I'm glad he's gone. William went up to Ethel's bedroom. Ethel was gloomily putting the finishing touches to her auburn hair. He's gone, Ethel, he said in a conspiratorial whisper, gone for good. Ethel's countenance brightened. Sure, she said. Sure, he said. Now, what about that two shillings?

She looked at him with sudden suspicion. Have you? She began. Me, broke in William indignantly. why, I didn't know he'd gone till I got down to breakfast. All right, said Ethel carelessly. If he's really and truly gone, I'll give you half a crown. William, on his way to school, met Ginger at the end of the lane.

I've tried them all, said Ginger despondently, and none of them will give me a penny. William, with a flourish, brought out his half a crown. This'll do for both of us, he said, with a lordly heir. Crumb, said Ginger, with respect and admiration in his way. boys who'd you get that out of well a man came to stay at our house began william ginger's respect and admiration vanished oh a visitor he said disparagingly is easy enough to get money out of a visitor if you think this was easy began william with a deep feeling and then stopped it was a long story and already retreating into the limbo of the past he could not sully the gold and present by a lengthy repetition of it. It had been jolly hard work while it lasted, but now it was over and done with. It belonged to the past. The present included a breathless

run into the village, leaping backwards and forwards across the ditches, a race down the village streets, and tops, glorious tops, superior shilling each tops, with sixpence over. He uttered his shrill, discordant war hoop. Come on, he shouted, for they're all sold out. Race it to the end of the road. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of William the 4th by Rick Mulcrompton. This Libravox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 14, address rehearsal. It was Saturday, but despite that glorious fact, William, standing at the dining room window and surveying the world at large, could not, for the moment, think of anything to do. From the window he saw the figure of his father, who sat peacefully on the lawn reading a newspaper. William was not fond of his own society. He liked company of any sort. He went out to the lawn and stood by his father's chair.

You've not got much hair right on the top of your head, father, he said pleasantly and conversationally. There was no answer. I said, you've not got much hair on the top of your head, repeated William in a louder tone. I heard you, said his father, coldly. Oh, said William, sitting down on the ground. There was silence for a minute. Then William said, in friendly tones, I only said it again, because I thought you didn't hear the first time.

I thought you'd have said, oh, or yes, or no, or something if you'd heard. There was no answer. And again, after a long silence, William spoke. I didn't mind you're not saying, oh, or yes or no, he said. only that was what made me say it again, because with you not saying it, I thought you'd not heard. Mr. Brown arose and moved his chair several feet away. William, on whom hints were wasted, followed. I was reading a tale yesterday, he said, about a man what's legs got bit off by sharks. Mr. Brown groaned. William, he said politely, pray don't let me keep you from your friends.

"'Oh, no, that's quite all right,' said William. "'Well, perhaps Ginger is looking for me. "'Well, I'll finish about the man in the sharks after tea. "'You'll be here then, won't you?' "'Please don't trouble,' said Mr. Brown, "'with sarcasm that was entirely lost on his son. "'Oh, it's not a trouble,' said William, as he strolled off. "'I like talking to people.'

"'Ginger was strolling disconsolately down the road looking for William. His face brightened when he saw William in the distance. Hello, William! Hello, Ginger! In accordance with their usual ceremonial greeting, they punched each other and wrestled with each other till they rolled onto the ground. Then they began to walk along the road together.

I've not got to stop with you long, said Ginger gloomily. My mother's got an old sale of work in her garden, and she wants me to help. Huh, said William, cornfully, you helping at a sale of work? You? She's going to give me five shillings, went on Ginger coldly. William slightly modified his tone.

Well, I never said you can't help, did I? He said in a more friendly voice. She said, I needn't go for about half an hour. What will we do? Dig for hidden treasure? Two months ago, William and his friends had been fired with the idea of digging for hidden treasure. From various books they had read,

Ralph the reckless, hunted to death, the quest of Captain Terrible, etc., they had gathered that the earth is chalk full of buried treasure if only one takes the trouble to dig deep enough. They had resolved to dig every inch of their native village, collect all the treasure they could find, and with it by a desert island, on which they proposed to spend the rest of their lives unhampered by parents and schoolmasters. They had decided to begin with the uncultivated part of Ginger's Back Garden and to buy further land for excavation with the treasure they found in the Back Garden. Their schemes were not narrow.

They had decided to purchase and to pull down all the houses in the village as their treasure grew and more and more land was acquired for digging. But they had dug unsuccessfully for two months in Ginger's Back Garden and were beginning to lose heart. They had not realized that digging was such hard work, or that ten feet square of perfectly good land would yield so little treasure. Conscientiously, they carried on the search, but it had lost its first fine, careless rapture, and they were glad of any excuse for avoiding it.

Dig in your back garden with all those sale of work people messing about and interrupting and getting in the way, said William sternly. Not much. all right said ginger relieved i only suggested it well shall we hunt for smugglers there was a cave in the hillside just beneath the road and though the village in which william and ginger lived was more than a hundred miles inland William and Ginger were ever hopeful of finding a smuggler, or at any rate traces of a smuggler, in the cave. They searched it carefully every day. As William said, it's only likely the really cunning ones wouldn't stay sitting in their caves by the sea all the time. They'd know folks would be on the lookout for them there.

They'd bring their things here where no one expect them. Why, with a fine cave like this, they're sure to be smugglers. When tired of hunting for smugglers or traces of smugglers, they adopted the characters of smugglers themselves and carried their treasure, consisting of stones, up the hillside, to conceal it in the cave, or fled for their lives to the cave with imaginary soldiers in pursuit. From the cover of the cave, Bill the smuggler, often covered the entire hillside with the dead bodies of soldiers. In these phrase, the gallant smugglers never received even the slightest scratch. With ever-fresh hope, they searched the cave again. Ginger found a stone that he said had not been there yesterday and must have been left as a kind of signal.

But William said that he distinctly recognized it as having been there yesterday, and the matter dropped. After a brief and indecisive discussion as to how they should spend the five shillings that Ginger's mother had said she would give him, they occupied themselves in crawling laboriously on their stomachs in and out of the cave, so as to be unperceived by the soldiers who were on the watch above and below. At last, Ginger, moved not so much by his conscience

as by fears of forfeiting his five shillings, set off sadly homewards, and Williams set off along the road in the opposite direction. He walked slowly, his hands in his pocket, dragging his shoes in the dust in a manner which his mother frequently informed him brought the toes through in no time when he came to the school he stopped attracted by the noise that came through the open window of the classroom they were preparing for a dress rehearsal of the pageant of ancient britain which was to be performed the next month william who was not in the cast looked with interest through the window ancient britons in various stages of skins and woed and grease paint stood about the room, or leapfrogged over each other's backs, or wrestled with each other in corners.

William espied a particular enemy at the other end of the room. He put his head through the window. Hello, Monkey Brand, he called in his strident, devastating voice. Miss Carter, mistress of the second form, raised herself wearily from arranging the skin of an infant, ancient Britain. I wish you wouldn't, she began testily, then her voice sinking into hopelessness. Oh, it's William Brown. William, ignoring her, put his fingers to his lips, and still gazing belligerently at his

enemy, emitted a deafening whistle. Miss Carter put her hands to her ears. William, she said irritably. William wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Beg pardon, he said mechanically and without feeling, as he withdrew his head and prepared to retire. Oh, one minute, William, what are you doing just now?

William inserted his untidy head in the window again. Me? He said, oh, nothing, just nothing. Well, I wish you'd come and to be an ancient Britain just for the dress rehearsal. It won't be long, but so many of them can't come this afternoon, and it's so difficult to arrange how they are to stand

with only three-quarters of them here. You needn't be made up, but just put this skin on. She held up a small skin carelessly in her hand. William looked round the room with his sternest and most disapproving scowl. Have I got her come in

with all those boys all over the place and change with all those boys bother me all the time so as I don't know what I'm doing and Miss Carter was in a bad temper. She threw the skin irritably at William through the window. Oh, change where you like,

she snapped. If you'll be back here, in five minutes. William took the skin eagerly. Oh, yes, I will, he promised. Then he rolled up the skin and stuffed it under his arm. It instantly changed into a bale of precious but vague contraband material. Glancing sternly round for soldiers, William crept cautiously and silently down to his cave. There he drew a sigh of relief, placed his gun in a corner, and changed into the skin. Once clad in the skin, his ordinary clothes became the precious but vague contraband material. He crept to the entrance, glanced furtively round, then wrapped his clothes into a bundle, and looked around for some place

of concealment. On the ground at the further end of the cave was a large piece of paper in which he and Ginger had once brought their lunch. Still, with many furtive glances around, he wrapped up his clothes and concealed the bundle on a shelf of rock in a corner of the cave. Then he took up his gun, shot two soldiers who were just creeping towards the entrance of the cave, walked to the doorway, shot again at a crowd of soldiers who fled in panic terror at his approach. Then resplendent in his skin and drunk with heroism and triumph, he swaggered up the hillside and into the school. As an ancient Britain, he was not an unqualified success, and more than once Ms. Carter regretted her casual invitation.

William considered the rehearsal as disappointing as the rehearsal considered him, just standing about and singing and talking and no fighting or shouting or nothing. He was glad he wasn't a Nanchot, Britain, if that's all the poor things could do. However, at last it was over, and he crept again furtively down the hillside to his private dressing room. Ginger was standing near the cave entrance. What have you been doing all this time, he began? Then, as his gaze took in William's costume, his mouth open. Crumbs, he said.

I'm an ancient Briton, said William airily. They just wanted me to go and be an ancient Britain up at the school, and, well, interrupted Ginger excitedly. While you've been away, I've found him at last. What? said William. Smugglers, said Ginger excitedly. "'Golly,' said William, equally thrilled. "'Where?'

"'In the cave. "'When I came to look for you and I come to find you, "'and I looked around the cave again, and I found him.' "'A sudden fear chilled William's enthusiasm. "'What were they? "'Cloes and things. "'I thought I wouldn't look at him properly till you came. "'They was wrapped up in that old paper we brought our food in last week.'

"'The ancient Britain looked at him sternly and accusingly. "'Yes, well, they were my clothes.' what I'd changed out of. That's what they were. You're just a bit too clever taking people's clothes for smugglers' things. Anyway, I'm just getting cold with only a skin on, so just please give me these smugglers' things so I can put them on. Ginger's jaw dropped. I took them home. I didn't want to leave him about here case someone else found them. I hid him behind a tree in our garden. The ancient Britons gaze became still more stern. Well, perhaps you have kindly get him for me out of your garden, for I die a cold, dressed in only a skin.

I should think the ancient Britons all died a cold if they felt like what I feel like. You're just a bit too clever with other people's smugglers' things, and suppose Miss Carter comes down for her skin, and what do you think I'll look like then, dressed in nothing? All right, said Ginger, I'll get them. I won't be a minute. If you will leave your clothes all behind the cave looking exactly like smugglers' things, he was gone.

and William sat shivering in a corner of the cave, dressed in his ancient-Briton costume. The glamour of the cave was gone. William felt that he definitely disliked smugglers. The only people he disliked more than he disliked smugglers were ancient Britons, for whom he now felt a profound scorn and loathing. In about ten minutes' time, Ginger returned. He was empty-handed, and there was a look of consternation on his face. he said meekly, I'm awfully sorry, it's been sold.

They thought it was meant for the rummings sale, and they took it in and sold it. William was speechless with indignation. Well, he said at last, you've gone and sold all my clothes. And now what do you think's going to happen to me? That's just what I'd like to know. If you don't mind telling me what's going to happen to me, perhaps have you sold all my clothes who kindly tell me what's going to happen to me, getting colder and colder, perhaps you'd like me to freeze to death,

how am i going to get home and if i don't get home how am i going to get anything to eat and if i don't get anything to eat how am i going to live i'm dying a cold now well i only hope you'll be sorry then then when probably you'll be being hung for murdering me william returned to earth from his flights of fancy well now perhaps you'll kindly get my clothes back how can i said ginger with the air of one goaded beyond endurance well you can go and find out who bought him i suppose only you needn't tell him who's they're was. Again, Ginger departed, and again the ancient Britain sat shivering and gazing sternly and accusingly around the cave. After a short interval, Ginger appeared again, breathless with running. Mr. Groves bought it, William, from Wayside Cottage. I don't know how I'm to get him back, though, William. William sighed. I'd better come with you, he said, Wearily. Sides, I shall probably get frozen to a glacier or something if I stay in here anymore. The ancient Briton gazed furtively round him from the cave door,

without that bravado and swagger generally displayed by Bill the smuggler. The coast was clear, the two boys crept out. When I get to the road, I'll crawl on my stomach in the ditch like as if I was a smuggler, then no one will see me. Ginger walked dejectedly along the road, while the ancient Britain made a slow and very conspicuous progress in the ditch beside him, ejaculating irascibly as he went, Well, I've just done with smugglers and with ancient Britons.

I'll never look at another smuggler or an ancient Britain while I live. If you hadn't been so jolly clever running off with other people's clothes and selling them, I shouldn't be crawling along and scratching myself and cutting myself and eating mud. Now, in a voice of pure wonder, how did ancient Britons get about? I don't know, all shivering with cold and scratching themselves and cutting themselves. Wayside Cottage was fortunately for the ancient Britain on the outskirts of the village. The front door was conveniently open. There was a small garden in front and a longer garden behind,

with a little corrugated iron building at the end. Come on, said William. Let's go and get them back. Are you going to ask him for him? said Ginger. No, I'm not. I don't want everyone in this village talking about it, said William sternly. I just want to get them back quietly and put them on, and no one know anything about it. I don't want anyone talking about it. No one was about.

They gazed at the stairs from the open doorway. They'll be upstairs, said William, in a hoarse whisper. Clothes are always upstairs. Now come very quietly, creep upstairs. Ginger followed him loyally, fearfully, reluctantly, and they went upstairs. Every time Ginger hit a stair rod or made a stair creak, William turned round with a stern and resonant shh. At last they reached the landing. William cautiously opened the door and peeped within. It was a bedroom and it was empty.

Come on, whispered William, with the cheerfulness of the born optimus, they're sure to be here. They entered and closed the door. Now, said William, we'll look in all the drawers and then we'll look in the wardrobe. They began to open the drawers one by one. Suddenly Ginger said, hush! There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. They drew nearer the door.

Crumbs, gas, William. Under the bed, quick. As they disappeared under the bed, the door opened, and a little old gentleman came in. He looked round at the open drawers and frowned. How curious, he said, as he shut them. How very curious. Then he hummed to himself, straightened his collar at the glass,

took a few little dancing steps around the room, and then stood irresolute his hand on his chin. Now, what did I come up for? He said, what did I come up for? A handkerchief. All might have been well, had not the ancient Britain at this moment, succumbed to the united effects of cold and dust, and emitted a resounding sneeze.

Bless my soul, said the old gentleman. Bless my! He dived underneath the bed, and seizing hold of Williams' bear and muddy foot. He pulled. But William had firm hold of the further leg of the bed, and the old gentleman, exerting his utmost strength, only succeeded in pulling the bed across the room, with William still firmly attached to it. But this treatment infuriated William. If you only can't stop dragging me about on my stomach. He began, then emerged stern and dusty,

and arranging his skimpy and disheveled skin. You, you, you thief! said the old man. I'm not a thief, said William. I'm a nanchant. But the old man made a dash at him, and William dodged and fled out of the doorway. Ginger was already halfway downstairs. The old man was delayed, first by the door,

which William banged in his face, and secondly by the fact that he slipped on the top stair and rolled down to the bottom. There he sat up, looked for his spectacles, found them, adjusted them and gazed round the hall, still seated on the hall map. The two boys were nowhere to be seen, muttering, dear, dear, and bless my soul, let me see, what was it I wanted, a handkerchief, the old man began to ascend the stairs. But William and Ginger had not gone out of the front door. A group of Ginger's mother's friends could be plainly seen passing the little gateway,

and in panic, William and Ginger had dashed out of the back door into the little garden and into the corrugated iron building. A lady dressed in an artist smock, a paintbrush in her hand, looked up from an easel. Please don't come in quite so roughly, she said disapprovingly, I don't like rough little boys. She looked William up and down, and her disapproval seemed to deepen. Well, she said stiffly, it doesn't seem to me. quite the costume. I shouldn't have thought the vicar. However, you'd better stay. Now you've come. Is the other little boy your friend? He must sit down quietly and not disturb us. You may just look at the picture first for a treat. Bewildered, but ready to oblige her, William wandered round

and looked at it. It seemed to consist of a chaos of snow and polar bears. It's to be called the frozen north, she said proudly. Now you must stand in the added. of one drawing a sleigh. So, no, the expression, more gentle, please. I must say I do not care for the costume, but the vicar must know, I'm an ancient, began William, and then decided to take the line of least resistance and be the frozen north. The lady painted in silence for some time, occasionally looking at William's rather mangy's skin, and saying disapprovingly, no, no, I must say, I do not, but of course the bicker, just as the charm of novelty was disappearing from the procedure, and he was devising means of escape, another lady came in.

Busy, dear, she said, and then she adjusted her lorgnets, and she too looked disapprovingly at William. My dear, she said, isn't that rather, well, of course, I know you artists are well, bohemium and all that, but the artist looked worried. My dear, she said, I showed the vicar the picture yesterday, and he said that he had a child's Eskimo costume, and he'd find a boy to fit in and send it round for a model. But I'd an idea that the Eskimos dressed more or more completely than that, hadn't you? I'm an ancient, began William, and stopped again.

You remember Mrs. Parks asking for money to buy clothes for her boy? Went on the artist as she painted. Well, I got John to go to that sale of work this act. afternoon and got a suit from the rummage sale and he got quite a good suit and i've just sent it round to her do stand still little boy you know dear i wish i felt happier about this uh costume yet i feel i ought not to criticise and even in my mind anything the dear vicar well i'll be quite frank said the visitor i don't care for it and i do think that artists can't be too careful any suggestion of the nude is so well don't you agree with you me, I'm surprised at the vicar." The artist held out half a crown to William. You may go, she said coldly, take the costume back to the vicar, and I don't think I shall require you again.

At that moment the little old man came in. He started as his eye fell on William and Ginger. The thief, he said excitedly, the thief! Catch him! Catch him! William dashed to the doorway, upsetting the old man and a wet canvas on his way. The old man landed on top of the canvas and sat there murmuring, Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, what a day, and looking for his glasses.

The visitor pursued the two of them, half-heartedly to the gate, and then returned to help in the work of separating the old gentleman from the wet canvas. William and Ginger sat in a neighboring ditch and looked at each other breathlessly. Parks, said Ginger. That's the shop at the end of the village. Yes, said William, and I'm just about sick. in ditches, and what's wrong with it I'd like to know? He went on, looking down indignantly at his limp skin. It's all right, not as close, but as a kind of dress-up thing, it's all right,

as good as that old penny-for she was wearing, and I jolly nearly said so, and thief, too. Well, I wouldn't go inside that house again, not if, not if they ask me, anyway, his expression softened. Anyway, I got half a crown. His expression grew bitter once more. Half a crown and not even a pocket to put it in. Come on to parks. William returned to the ditch. They only passed a little girl and her small brother. Look, algae, said the little girl. Look at him. He's a loony and others as keeper. He think he's a frog, maybe, and that's why he goes in ditches and he doesn't wear no clothes. William straightened himself. I'm an ancient. He began, but at sight of his red and muddy face, surmounted by his crest of muddy hair,

the little girl fled, screaming. Come on, algae, he'll get your and eat your if you don't. Algae's screams reinforce hers, and William disconsolently returned to the ditch, as the screams, still lusty, faded into the distance. I'm just getting a bit sick of this, muttered the ancient Britain. They reached Parks, William, like concealed behind the hedge, and Ginger wandered round the shop, reconnoitering. Go in, go did William, in a hoarse whisper from the hedge.

Go in and get him. Say you fetch a policeman, make him, give you him, fight him, take them, you let him. I can't stand this much longer. I'm cold and I'm wet. I feel as if I've been in ancient Britain for years and years. Hurry up, are you going to get me my clothes? Oh, shut up, said Ginger miserably. I'm doing all I can.

Doing all you can, are you? Well, you're not doing much. walking around and around the shop. Do you think if you go on walking around around the shop, my clothes will come out of themselves, come walking out to you? Because if you think that, shut up. At this moment, a small boy walked out of the shop. Hello, said Ginger, with a fatuous smile of friendship. Hello, said the boy, ungraciously. Ginger moistened his lips and repeated the fatuous smile. Have you got any new clothes today? The boy gave a fairly good imitation of the fatuous smile. No, he said, have you? Don't go spoiling your face for me. It's beautiful, but don't

waste it on me. Then whistling, he prepared to walk away from Ginger down the road. Desperately, Ginger stopped him. I'll give you, he swallowed then, with an effort made the nobler offer. I'll give you five shillings of, yes, said the boy suddenly if. If you'll give me those clothes, the lady what paints sent you today. Give me the five shillings, then. I won't give you the money till you give me the clothes. Oh, won't you? Well, I won't give you the clothes till you give me the money. They stared hostily at each other.

Get my clothes, said the irate voice from the ditch. Punch him. Do anything to him. Get my clothes. The boy looked round with interest into the ditch. Look at him. He shrieked mirthfully. Look at him.

Naked, just dressed in him off. Ah, look at him. William rose with murderer in his sense. face. Ginger hastily pressed the five shillings into the boy's hand. Get him quick, he said. The boy retreated to the shop and closed the door except for a small crack. Through that crack, he shouted, we didn't want no narsi, mangy, moldy, cast off clothes from no one. We give them to Johnson's up the village. Then he banged the door. William, in fury, kicked the door, and a crowd of small boys collected.

William, perceiving them, fled through the hedge and into the field. The small boys followed uttering derisive cries. Look at him. Look at him. He's a cannibal. He's got no clothes. He's out of a circus. He's balmy. He's wearing his mother's fur. William turned on them in fury. I'm an ancient. He began rushing upon them, and they fled in panic. William and Ginger sat down behind a haystack. Well, you're very clever of getting back my clothes, aren't you, said William, with heavy sarcasm. I'm getting just about sick of your clothes, said Ginger gloomily. Sick of them, echoed William.

I only wish I'd gotten to be sick of. I'm just sick of not having them and walking about and prickles and stones and scratching myself and shiver him with cold. That boy just better wait till I get my clothes and then his eyes gleamed darkly with visions of future vengeance. Well, he turned to Ginger and what we're going to do now? To know, said Ginger despondently. Well, where's Johnson's?

Mrs. Johnson's, my aunt's, my aunt's, charge. woman, said Ginger wearily. I know where she lives. William rose with a determined air. Come on, he said. If we don't got them this time, said Ginger, as they started on their furtive journey, I'm going home. Oh, are you? said William sternly. Well, then, you're going in this ancient Britain's thing, and I'm going in your clothes. You lost my clothes, and if you don't get them back, you can give me yours. That's fair, isn't it? Oh, shut up, said Ginger, in the tone of one, who has suffered all that it's possible to suffer and can suffer no more. It's that five shillings that I keep thinking of. Five shillings, and for nothing. And call on my clothes moldy, said William,

with equal indignation. My clothes moldy. She lives here, said Ginger. From the shelter of a hedge, they watched the house. You'd better go and get them, then, said William, unfeelingly. How? said Ginger. Well, you sold. them. I didn't sell them. Shh, look. The door of the Johnson's home was opening. A small boy came out. He's dressed in my clothes, said William excitedly. Get him. Get him my clothes. His eye brightened and into his face came a radiant look as of one beholding some dear friend after a long absence. My clothes! Ginger advanced to the small boy and smiled

his anxious, fatuous, mirthless smile. Like to come a play with me, he said. Yes, please, said the boy, returning the friendly smile. Well, you'll come with me, said Ginger ingratiatingly. He followed Ginger through the style and gave a shout of derision when he saw William crouching behind the hedge. Oh, look at him, he said, dressed up funny. A masterly plan had come into William's head. He led the party to the next field to the disused barn, which in their normal happy life, that now seemed to him so far away, served as castle or pirate ship. Now, he said, we're going to play as soldiers, and you come and say you want to join the army. But I don't, said the small boy solemnly. That would be a story. Never mind,

said William patiently. You must pretend you want to join the army. Then you must take off your clothes and leave him with me, and this boy will pretend to be the doctor, and he'll tell you if you're strong enough, you know. He'll look at your lungs and things, and then, well, that's all. Now, I'll give you the half-crown, just for a present if you play it properly. All right, said the boy brightly, beginning to take off his coat. You've got bad lungs and a bad heart, and bad legs and bad arms and bad ears, and a bad head, said the doctor, and I'm afraid you can't be a soldier. All right, said the boy brightly. Don't want to B. Now I'll put on my clothes. He came out to the back of the barn where he had left his clothes and burst into a howl.

Oh, oh, oh, he's taken my clothes. Took him my clothes. He took him my clothes. Oh, mama. He's taken my clothes. His shirt fluttering in the wind. He went howling down the road. Ginger went to the ditch, whence William's gesticulating arms could be seen. Quick, William, quick, gasped Ginger. William arose, holding his ancient Britain costume in his sand. He was clothed in a tweed suit, a very, very small tweed suit. The waistcoat would not button across him, and the sleeve came only a little way below his elbow. William, gas timber, it's not yours. William's face was pale with horror. It looked like mine, he said in a sepulchral voice, but it's not mine. A babble of voices arose. Where are they, lovi?

Boo-hoo-mo-hoo, they've took of my clothes. Wait till I get them. That's all. Never mind. darling Ma'll learn him. With grim despair, they saw what seemed to them an army of women running up the hill, and with them a howling boy in a fluttering shirt. One of the women carried a broom. Run, William, gasped Ginger. William flung his skin into the ditch and ran. Though his suit was so tight that he could only progress in little leaps and bounds, he progressed with remarkable speed. At last, exhausted and breathless, he walked round to the side entrance of his home and stood in the hall. He could hear his mother's voice from the drawing-room. Miss Carter's been ringing up all the afternoon, she was saying. She seems to think that William took away one of the

costumes after the rehearsal. I told her I was sure William wouldn't do such a thing. My dear, in his father's voice, you do make the most rash statements. William entered slowly. his father and mother and sister turned and stared at him in silence. William, capped his mother, what are you wearing? William made a desperate effort to carry off the situation. You know, everyone says how fast I'm growing, I keep growing out of my things. Mother, screamed Ethel from the window. There's a lot of awful women coming through the gate and an awful little boy in a shirt.

William was brushed and combed and dressed in his best suit. His weekday suit had been, with great trouble and at great expense, brought back from Mrs. Johnson, and taken from the person of her eldest son, and was now being disinfected from any possible germ, which might have infested the person of her eldest son. Mrs. Johnson and her indignant younger son had been with great difficulty, and also at great expense, soothed and appeased. William had eaten the bread and water considered in the circupt. a suitable meal for the prodigal son, with that inward fury, but with that outward appearance

of intense enjoyment that he always fondly imagined made his family feel foolish. He was not to leave the garden again that day. He was to go to bed an hour before his usual time, but that left him now half an hour to dispose of in the garden. Through the window, William could see his father reclining in a deck chair and reading the evening paper. william considered that his father had that evening shown himself conspicuously lacking intact and sympathy and generosity but william did not bear malice and he knew that such qualities are not to be expected in grown-ups moreover his father was the only human being within sight and william felt disinclined for active pursuits he went out to his father and sat down on the grass in front of him oh about that man what had his legs

bit off by a shark father, well, I promise to tell you about, well, it begins when he starts out in the ship of mystery. William's father tried to continue to read his paper, finding it impossible. He folded it up. One minute, William. How long is there before you go to bed? Only about half an hour, said William reproachfully. But I can tell you quite a lot at that time, and I can go on tomorrow if I don't finish. You'll like it. Ginger and me liked it awfully. Well, he starts off in the ship of mystery, and why it's called the ship of mystery is because every night there's ghostly moanings and rattlings of chain, and one day the man what the tales about went down to get something he'd forgot in the middle of the night, and he saw

a norful figure dressed in a long black cloak with gleaming eyes, and just as he was running away, it put out a norful skinny hand, and said in a norful voice, William's father looked wildly round for escape, and saw none. had overtaken him with a groan he gave himself up for lost and william already thrilled to his very soul by his story the memories of his exciting day already dim pursued his ruthless recital end of chapter fourteen end of william the fourth by rick malcompton