holiday. He could give all his attention to it all day . . .
He looked forward to the new experience with feelings of pleasant anticipation. It would be interesting and jolly – meantime there was a whole half of today left and it was no use
beginning the life of self-denial and service before the scheduled time.
He joined his friends Ginger, Henry and Douglas after school and together they trespassed on the lands of the most irascible farmer they knew in the hopes of a pleasant chase. The farmer
happened to be in the market town so their hopes were disappointed as far as he was concerned. They paddled in his pond and climbed his trees and uttered defiant shouts to his infuriated dog, and
were finally chased away by his wife with a fire of hard and knobbly potatoes. One got William very nicely on the side of his head but, his head being as hard and knobbly as the potato, little
damage was done. Next they ‘scouted’ each other through the village and finally went into Ginger’s house and performed military manoeuvres in Ginger’s bedroom, till
Ginger’s mother sent them away because the room just below happened to be the drawing-room and the force of the military manoeuvres was disintegrating the ceiling and sending it down in
picturesque white flakes into Ginger’s mother’s hair.
They went next to Henry’s garden and there with much labour made a bonfire. Ginger and Douglas plied the fire with fuel; and William and Henry, with a wheelbarrow and the garden hose,
wearing old tins on their heads, impersonated the fire brigade. During the exciting scuffles that followed, the garden hose became slightly involved and finally four dripping boys fled from the
scene and from possible detection, leaving only the now swimming bonfire, the wheelbarrow and hose to mark the scene of action. A long rest in a neighbouring field in the still blazing sunshine
soon partially dried them. While reclining at ease they discussed the latest Red Indian stories which they had read, and the possibility of there being any wild animals left in England.
‘I bet there is ,’ said Ginger earnestly. ‘They hide in the day time so’s no one’ll see ’em, an’ they come out at nights. No one goes into the
woods at night so no one knows if there is or if there isn’t, an’ I bet there is . Anyway, let’s get up some night ’n take our bows ’n arrows an’ look for ’em. I bet we’d find some.’
‘Let’s tonight,’ said Douglas eagerly.
William remembered suddenly the life of virtue to which he had mentally devoted himself. He felt that the nocturnal hunting for wild animals was incompatible with it.
‘I can’t tonight,’ he said with an air of virtue.
‘Yah – you’re ’fraid !’ taunted Henry, not because he had the least doubt of William’s courage but simply to introduce an element of excitement into the
proceedings.
He succeeded.
When finally Henry and William arose breathless and bruised from the ditch where the fight had ended, Douglas and Ginger surveyed them with dispassionate interest.
‘William won an’ you’re both in a jolly old mess!’
Henry removed some leaves and bits of grass from his mouth.
‘All right, you’re not afraid,’ he said pacifically to William, ‘when will you come huntin’ wild animals?’
William considered. He was going to give the life of virtue, of self-denial and service a fair day’s trial, but there was just the possibility that from William’s point of view it
might not be a success. It would be as well to leave the door to the old life open.
‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ he said guardedly.
‘All right. I say, let’s race to the end of the field on only one leg . . . Come on! Ready . . . One, two, three . . . GO!’
II
William awoke. It was morning. It was the morning on which he was to begin his life of self-denial and service. He raised his voice in one of his penetrating and tuneless
morning songs, then stopped abruptly, ‘case I disturb
He looked forward to the new experience with feelings of pleasant anticipation. It would be interesting and jolly – meantime there was a whole half of today left and it was no use
beginning the life of self-denial and service before the scheduled time.
He joined his friends Ginger, Henry and Douglas after school and together they trespassed on the lands of the most irascible farmer they knew in the hopes of a pleasant chase. The farmer
happened to be in the market town so their hopes were disappointed as far as he was concerned. They paddled in his pond and climbed his trees and uttered defiant shouts to his infuriated dog, and
were finally chased away by his wife with a fire of hard and knobbly potatoes. One got William very nicely on the side of his head but, his head being as hard and knobbly as the potato, little
damage was done. Next they ‘scouted’ each other through the village and finally went into Ginger’s house and performed military manoeuvres in Ginger’s bedroom, till
Ginger’s mother sent them away because the room just below happened to be the drawing-room and the force of the military manoeuvres was disintegrating the ceiling and sending it down in
picturesque white flakes into Ginger’s mother’s hair.
They went next to Henry’s garden and there with much labour made a bonfire. Ginger and Douglas plied the fire with fuel; and William and Henry, with a wheelbarrow and the garden hose,
wearing old tins on their heads, impersonated the fire brigade. During the exciting scuffles that followed, the garden hose became slightly involved and finally four dripping boys fled from the
scene and from possible detection, leaving only the now swimming bonfire, the wheelbarrow and hose to mark the scene of action. A long rest in a neighbouring field in the still blazing sunshine
soon partially dried them. While reclining at ease they discussed the latest Red Indian stories which they had read, and the possibility of there being any wild animals left in England.
‘I bet there is ,’ said Ginger earnestly. ‘They hide in the day time so’s no one’ll see ’em, an’ they come out at nights. No one goes into the
woods at night so no one knows if there is or if there isn’t, an’ I bet there is . Anyway, let’s get up some night ’n take our bows ’n arrows an’ look for ’em. I bet we’d find some.’
‘Let’s tonight,’ said Douglas eagerly.
William remembered suddenly the life of virtue to which he had mentally devoted himself. He felt that the nocturnal hunting for wild animals was incompatible with it.
‘I can’t tonight,’ he said with an air of virtue.
‘Yah – you’re ’fraid !’ taunted Henry, not because he had the least doubt of William’s courage but simply to introduce an element of excitement into the
proceedings.
He succeeded.
When finally Henry and William arose breathless and bruised from the ditch where the fight had ended, Douglas and Ginger surveyed them with dispassionate interest.
‘William won an’ you’re both in a jolly old mess!’
Henry removed some leaves and bits of grass from his mouth.
‘All right, you’re not afraid,’ he said pacifically to William, ‘when will you come huntin’ wild animals?’
William considered. He was going to give the life of virtue, of self-denial and service a fair day’s trial, but there was just the possibility that from William’s point of view it
might not be a success. It would be as well to leave the door to the old life open.
‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ he said guardedly.
‘All right. I say, let’s race to the end of the field on only one leg . . . Come on! Ready . . . One, two, three . . . GO!’
II
William awoke. It was morning. It was the morning on which he was to begin his life of self-denial and service. He raised his voice in one of his penetrating and tuneless
morning songs, then stopped abruptly, ‘case I disturb
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