anyone—’
Ginger, Henry and Douglas sympathised with him for some time, then began to discuss the history lesson. The history master, feeling for the moment as bored with Edward the Sixth as were most of
his class, had given them a graphic account of the life of St Francis of Assisi. He had spent the Easter holidays at Assisi. William, who had been engaged in executing creditable caricatures of Mr
Strong and the doctor, had paid little attention, but Ginger remembered it all. It had been such a welcome change from William the Conqueror. William began to follow the discussion.
‘Yes, but why’d he do it?’ he said.
‘Well, he jus’ got kind of fed up with things an’ he had visions an’ things an’ he took some things of his father’s to sell to get money to start
it—’
‘ Crumbs! ’ interpolated William. ‘Wasn’t his father mad?’
‘Yes, but that din’t matter. He was a saint, was Saint Francis, so he could sell his father’s things if he liked, an’ he ’n his frien’s took the money
an’ got funny long sort of clothes an’ went an’ lived away in a little house by themselves, an’ he uster preach to animals an’ to people an’ call
everythin’ “brother” an’ “sister”, and they cooked all their own stuff to eat an’—’
‘Jolly fine it sounds,’ said William enviously, ‘an’ did their people let ’em?’
‘They couldn’t stop ’em,’ said Ginger. ‘An’ Francis, he was the head one, an’ the others all called themselves Franciscans, an’ they built
churches an’ things.’
They had reached the gate of William’s house now and William turned in slowly.
‘G’bye till this afternoon,’ called the others cheerfully.
Lunch increased still further William’s grievances. No one inquired after his health, though he tried to look pale and ill, and refused a second helping of rice pudding with a meaning,
‘No, thank you, not today. I would if I felt all right, thank you very much.’ Even that elicited no anxious inquiries. No one, thought William, as he finished up the rice pudding in
secret in the larder afterwards, no one else in the world, surely, had such a callous family. It would just serve them right to lose him altogether. It would just serve them right if he went off
like St Francis and never came back.
He met Henry and Ginger and Douglas again as usual on the way to school.
‘Beastly ole ’rithmetic,’ said Henry despondently.
‘Yes, an’ then beastly ole jography,’ sighed Douglas.
‘Well,’ said William, ‘let’s not go. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about that Saint man. I’d a lot sooner be a saint an’ build things an’ cook
things an’ preach to things than keep goin’ to school an’ learnin’ the same ole things day after day an’ day after day – all things like French verbs without any sense in them. I’d much sooner be a saint, wun’t you?’
The other Outlaws looked doubtful, yet as though attracted by the idea.
‘They wun’t let us,’ said Henry.
‘They can’t stop us bein’ saints,’ said William piously, ‘an’ doin’ good an’ preachin’ – not if we have visions, an’ I
feel’s if I could have visions quite easy.’
The Outlaws had slackened their pace.
‘What’d we have to do first?’ said Ginger.
‘Sell some of our father’s things to get money,’ said William firmly. ‘’S all right,’ he went on, anticipating possible objections, ‘he did, so I
s’pose anyone can if they’re settin’ out to be saints – of course it would be different if we was jus’ stealin’, but bein’ saints makes it diff’rent.
Stands to reason saints can’t steal.’
‘Well, what’d we do then ?’ said Douglas.
‘Then we find a place an’ get the right sort of clothes to wear—’
‘Seems sort of a waste of money,’ said Henry sternly, ‘spendin’ it on clothes. What sort of clothes were they?’
‘He showed us a picture,’ said Ginger, ‘don’ you remember? Sort
Ginger, Henry and Douglas sympathised with him for some time, then began to discuss the history lesson. The history master, feeling for the moment as bored with Edward the Sixth as were most of
his class, had given them a graphic account of the life of St Francis of Assisi. He had spent the Easter holidays at Assisi. William, who had been engaged in executing creditable caricatures of Mr
Strong and the doctor, had paid little attention, but Ginger remembered it all. It had been such a welcome change from William the Conqueror. William began to follow the discussion.
‘Yes, but why’d he do it?’ he said.
‘Well, he jus’ got kind of fed up with things an’ he had visions an’ things an’ he took some things of his father’s to sell to get money to start
it—’
‘ Crumbs! ’ interpolated William. ‘Wasn’t his father mad?’
‘Yes, but that din’t matter. He was a saint, was Saint Francis, so he could sell his father’s things if he liked, an’ he ’n his frien’s took the money
an’ got funny long sort of clothes an’ went an’ lived away in a little house by themselves, an’ he uster preach to animals an’ to people an’ call
everythin’ “brother” an’ “sister”, and they cooked all their own stuff to eat an’—’
‘Jolly fine it sounds,’ said William enviously, ‘an’ did their people let ’em?’
‘They couldn’t stop ’em,’ said Ginger. ‘An’ Francis, he was the head one, an’ the others all called themselves Franciscans, an’ they built
churches an’ things.’
They had reached the gate of William’s house now and William turned in slowly.
‘G’bye till this afternoon,’ called the others cheerfully.
Lunch increased still further William’s grievances. No one inquired after his health, though he tried to look pale and ill, and refused a second helping of rice pudding with a meaning,
‘No, thank you, not today. I would if I felt all right, thank you very much.’ Even that elicited no anxious inquiries. No one, thought William, as he finished up the rice pudding in
secret in the larder afterwards, no one else in the world, surely, had such a callous family. It would just serve them right to lose him altogether. It would just serve them right if he went off
like St Francis and never came back.
He met Henry and Ginger and Douglas again as usual on the way to school.
‘Beastly ole ’rithmetic,’ said Henry despondently.
‘Yes, an’ then beastly ole jography,’ sighed Douglas.
‘Well,’ said William, ‘let’s not go. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about that Saint man. I’d a lot sooner be a saint an’ build things an’ cook
things an’ preach to things than keep goin’ to school an’ learnin’ the same ole things day after day an’ day after day – all things like French verbs without any sense in them. I’d much sooner be a saint, wun’t you?’
The other Outlaws looked doubtful, yet as though attracted by the idea.
‘They wun’t let us,’ said Henry.
‘They can’t stop us bein’ saints,’ said William piously, ‘an’ doin’ good an’ preachin’ – not if we have visions, an’ I
feel’s if I could have visions quite easy.’
The Outlaws had slackened their pace.
‘What’d we have to do first?’ said Ginger.
‘Sell some of our father’s things to get money,’ said William firmly. ‘’S all right,’ he went on, anticipating possible objections, ‘he did, so I
s’pose anyone can if they’re settin’ out to be saints – of course it would be different if we was jus’ stealin’, but bein’ saints makes it diff’rent.
Stands to reason saints can’t steal.’
‘Well, what’d we do then ?’ said Douglas.
‘Then we find a place an’ get the right sort of clothes to wear—’
‘Seems sort of a waste of money,’ said Henry sternly, ‘spendin’ it on clothes. What sort of clothes were they?’
‘He showed us a picture,’ said Ginger, ‘don’ you remember? Sort
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