father, however, soon forgot William. It was a perfect evening. Sabbath calm reigned supreme over the countryside. The trees were just beginning to turn from
green to gold. The birdsong rang through the still evening air. As Mr Brown walked along, a sense of peace and well-being descended upon him. He completely forgot William. Then, suddenly, he turned
a bend in the road and saw a curious figure – so curious that Mr Brown pinched himself to make sure he was awake. Sabbath calm ceased to reign supreme over the countryside and Mr Brown’s
sense of peace deserted him. The figure was that of a hatless, wild-eyed young man, covered to the neck in soil, and bearing traces of it upon his face.
‘I say,’ he began abruptly, ‘are you a resident of these parts?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Mr Brown, debating in his mind on the safest method of dealing with an escaped lunatic.
‘I’ve been robbed. Some most valuable coins. Simply robbed in broad daylight.’
‘You’d better go to the police about it,’ said Mr Brown soothingly. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you the way.’
He thought the police station the best receptacle for the strange wanderer.
‘I’ve taken Beechwood, you know,’ went on the excited young man, ‘and I’m doing some excavating there on my own. I belong to the Archæological Society.
I’ve found traces of Roman occupation here. I’ve had some experts down and there’s no doubt that there was a Roman villa on the site of Beechwood. I found some most valuable coins
this afternoon and I’ve been robbed of them. They’re irreplaceable!’
‘Who stole them?’ said Mr Brown. He was rather bored by the whole proceeding. He was anxious to deposit the strange young man in the police station and continue his walk.
‘Mere boys,’ said the young man. ‘Mere boys. They pushed earth in on me and shouted some gibberish and made off with the coins. Probably some rival collector heard of the thing
and sent them.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Mr Brown without interest. ‘Well, here’s the station. I’ll say goodnight and good luck.’
He touched his hat and was on the point of proceeding with his walk, but the young man was pathetically anxious to confide the whole tale.
‘I’ve really no clue,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘The coins were in an old tin – simply an old tin. Well, I suppose I’d better go in. Goodnight.’
Mr Brown was standing motionless. He seemed to have lost all desire to proceed with his walk. His smile had faded from his face. He was seeing a sudden vision of two small boys, red-faced and
breathless, but wearing looks of innocence that blazoned guilt far and wide, creeping cautiously upstairs. One of the boys had held an old tin in his hand – simply an old tin. He turned to the
young man. The young man had already reached the door of the police station.
‘Here!’ shouted Mr Brown. ‘One minute!’
The man returned to him.
‘You said boys,’ said Mr Brown slowly. ‘What sort of boys? Could you describe them?’
‘One was freckled,’ said the young man. ‘He called the other one Ginger.’
Mr Brown swallowed.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I can help you – if you’ll come home with me.’
‘Have you got a clue?’ said the young man excitedly.
‘I think,’ said Mr Brown, ‘that I have.’
The young man, dropping garden soil with every movement upon Mrs Brown’s drawing-room carpet, clasped his tin box to his breast – William, frowning and injured, stood before an accusing
family circle and defended himself.
‘Well, how was I to know? I found him diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered. I was trying to re form him – like what he said in church. How was I to know that he wasn’t diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered? I wanted to re form someone same as he said. He said he was a murderer too – he as near as near
murdered Ginger an’ me – how was I to know?’
The young man interrupted, with a quick movement and another
green to gold. The birdsong rang through the still evening air. As Mr Brown walked along, a sense of peace and well-being descended upon him. He completely forgot William. Then, suddenly, he turned
a bend in the road and saw a curious figure – so curious that Mr Brown pinched himself to make sure he was awake. Sabbath calm ceased to reign supreme over the countryside and Mr Brown’s
sense of peace deserted him. The figure was that of a hatless, wild-eyed young man, covered to the neck in soil, and bearing traces of it upon his face.
‘I say,’ he began abruptly, ‘are you a resident of these parts?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Mr Brown, debating in his mind on the safest method of dealing with an escaped lunatic.
‘I’ve been robbed. Some most valuable coins. Simply robbed in broad daylight.’
‘You’d better go to the police about it,’ said Mr Brown soothingly. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you the way.’
He thought the police station the best receptacle for the strange wanderer.
‘I’ve taken Beechwood, you know,’ went on the excited young man, ‘and I’m doing some excavating there on my own. I belong to the Archæological Society.
I’ve found traces of Roman occupation here. I’ve had some experts down and there’s no doubt that there was a Roman villa on the site of Beechwood. I found some most valuable coins
this afternoon and I’ve been robbed of them. They’re irreplaceable!’
‘Who stole them?’ said Mr Brown. He was rather bored by the whole proceeding. He was anxious to deposit the strange young man in the police station and continue his walk.
‘Mere boys,’ said the young man. ‘Mere boys. They pushed earth in on me and shouted some gibberish and made off with the coins. Probably some rival collector heard of the thing
and sent them.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Mr Brown without interest. ‘Well, here’s the station. I’ll say goodnight and good luck.’
He touched his hat and was on the point of proceeding with his walk, but the young man was pathetically anxious to confide the whole tale.
‘I’ve really no clue,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘The coins were in an old tin – simply an old tin. Well, I suppose I’d better go in. Goodnight.’
Mr Brown was standing motionless. He seemed to have lost all desire to proceed with his walk. His smile had faded from his face. He was seeing a sudden vision of two small boys, red-faced and
breathless, but wearing looks of innocence that blazoned guilt far and wide, creeping cautiously upstairs. One of the boys had held an old tin in his hand – simply an old tin. He turned to the
young man. The young man had already reached the door of the police station.
‘Here!’ shouted Mr Brown. ‘One minute!’
The man returned to him.
‘You said boys,’ said Mr Brown slowly. ‘What sort of boys? Could you describe them?’
‘One was freckled,’ said the young man. ‘He called the other one Ginger.’
Mr Brown swallowed.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I can help you – if you’ll come home with me.’
‘Have you got a clue?’ said the young man excitedly.
‘I think,’ said Mr Brown, ‘that I have.’
The young man, dropping garden soil with every movement upon Mrs Brown’s drawing-room carpet, clasped his tin box to his breast – William, frowning and injured, stood before an accusing
family circle and defended himself.
‘Well, how was I to know? I found him diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered. I was trying to re form him – like what he said in church. How was I to know that he wasn’t diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered? I wanted to re form someone same as he said. He said he was a murderer too – he as near as near
murdered Ginger an’ me – how was I to know?’
The young man interrupted, with a quick movement and another
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