William Again by Richmal Crompton Page B

shower of garden soil at which Mrs Brown shut her eyes and breathed an inward prayer.
    ‘Look here!’ he said. ‘It was all a misunderstanding. I say, suppose you come to tea with me tomorrow and we bury the hatchet instead of the murdered – eh? I say, I’d
better go and change, hadn’t I?’

    WILLIAM DEFENDED HIMSELF. ‘WELL, HOW WAS I TO KNOW? I FOUND HIM DIGGIN’ GRAVES FOR THE FOLKS HE’D MURDERED.’
    ‘I’ll see you down the road,’ said Mr Brown.
    The young man went off, happily clasping his tin and scattering earth thickly around him.
    The rest of the family turned to William.
    ‘Well, you’ve done it now !’ said Ethel.
    ‘I said Sunday wasn’t over!’ said Robert.
    ‘The carpet is simply ruined !’ moaned Mrs Brown.
    ‘Well – how was I to know? said William desperately.
    ‘It’s ever so long after your bedtime, William,’ said Mrs Brown with a sigh. ‘He’s simply trodden the stuff in besides putting it there.’
    ‘I advise you to go to bed before Father comes back,’ said Robert with a superior elder-brother air.
    William inwardly agreed. There was something to be said for being in bed and asleep when his father came home. Explanations, put off to the following day, are apt to lose the keenness of their
edge. He turned to the door.
    ‘Nothing I do ever seems to come out right,’ he said gloomily. ‘How was I to know – diggin’ away like that?’
    ‘I daresay you didn’t mean anything, dear,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘but it was only new last January.’
    William reached the bottom of the staircase, then had a sudden thought and returned.
    ‘Anyway,’ he said, putting his head round the drawing-room door, ‘if you hadn’t made me go to church when I was feelin’ so ill, I wun’t have known anything
about re forming folks.’
    ‘William,’ said Mrs Brown wearily, ‘do go to bed.’
    William complied, but again only reached the foot of the staircase. Here another thought struck him, and he returned.
    ‘Anyway,’ he said, putting his head round the door again, ‘I bet you wun’t have gone right up to a murderer, diggin’ a grave for the folks he’d
murdered, an’ I bet if he had been a real murderer an’ I’d been dead an’ buried by now, you’d be feelin’ a bit—’
    ‘William,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘are you going to bed?’
    William again retired. This time he got halfway upstairs. Then a third thought struck him and again he descended.
    Anyway,’ he said, and his family groaned as the familiar untidy shock of hair and frowning freckled face once more appeared. ‘Didn’t Ethel say that he never had folks in,
an’ isn’t he having me in to tea tomorrow, so I bet you can’t say I haven’t re formed him.’
    ‘William! ’ said Mrs Brown. Are – you – going – to – bed?’
    William was. He had heard the click of the gate at the end of the drive.
    When William’s father entered the house three minutes later, William was in bed and asleep.

 
    CHAPTER 5
    NOT MUCH
    W illiam walked down the village street singing lustily His strident, unmelodious young voice rang out harshly. His face was purple with vocal
effort.
    Dare to be a Daniel,
    Dare to stand alo – o – o – one,
    Dare to have a purpose true – ue – ue,
    Dare to make it know – ow – ow – own.
    Becoming tired of that subject and not knowing the next verse, he abruptly changed his tune –
    I’m longing for the dear ole home agai – ai – ai – ain,
    That cottage in the little winding la – a – a – ne,
    I can see the roses climbing, I can hear the sweet bells chiming,
    And I’m longing for the dear ole home agai – ai – ai – ain.
    Inhabitants of the street along which William was passing hastily shut their front windows or fled from their front rooms or uttered loud objurgations of William according to
their characters. William passed along, singing and unmoved. A parrot, who had refused all invitations to converse since its purchase, suddenly raised its voice