of long things goin’ right down to his feet.’
‘Dressing-gowns’d do,’ said Douglas excitedly.
‘No, you’re thinkin’ of detectives,’ said Henry firmly; ‘detectives wear dressing-gowns.’
‘No,’ said William judicially. ‘I don’ see why dressing-gowns shun’t do. Then we can save the money an’ spend it on things to eat.’
‘Where’ll we live?’
‘We oughter build a place, but till we’ve built it we can live in the old barn.’
‘Where’ll we get the animals to preach to?’
‘Well, there’s a farm just across the way from the barn, you know. We can start on Jumble an’ then go on to the farm ones when we’ve had some practice.’
‘An’ what’ll we be called? We can’t be the Outlaws now we’re saints, I s’pose?’
‘What were they called?’
‘Franciscans . . . After Francis – he was the head one.’
‘Well, if there’s goin’ to be any head one,’ said William in a tone that precluded any argument on the subject, ‘if there’s going to be any head one,
I’m going to be him.’
None of them denied to William the position of leader. It was his by right. He had always led, and he was a leader they were proud to follow.
‘Well, they just put “cans” on to the end of his name,’ said Henry. ‘Franciscans. So we’ll be Williamcans—’
‘Sounds kind of funny,’ said Ginger dubiously.
‘I think it sounds jolly fine,’ said William proudly. ‘I vote we start tomorrow, ’cause it’s rather late to start today, an’ anyway, it’s Saturday
tomorrow, so we can get well started for Monday, ’cause they’re sure to make a fuss about our not turnin’ up at school on Monday. You all come to the old barn d’rectly after
breakfast tomorrow an’ bring your dressing-gowns an’ somethin of your father’s to sell—’
The first meeting of the Williamcans was held directly after breakfast the next morning. They had all left notes dictated by William on their bedroom mantelpieces announcing that they were now
saints and had left home for ever.
They deposited their dressing-gowns on the floor of the old barn and then inspected the possessions that they had looted from their unsuspecting fathers. William had appropriated a pair of
slippers, not because he thought their absence would be undetected (far from it) or because he thought they would realise vast wealth (again far from it), but it happened that they were kept in the
fender-box of the morning-room, and William had found himself alone there for a few minutes that morning, and slippers can be concealed quite easily beneath one’s coat. He could have more
easily appropriated something of his mother’s, but William liked to do things properly. Saint Francis had sold something of his father’s, so Saint William would do the same. Douglas
took from his pocket an inkstand, purloined from his father’s desk; Ginger had two ties and Henry a pair of gloves.
They looked at their spoils with proud satisfaction.
‘We oughter get a good deal of money for these ,’ said William. ‘How much did he get, d’you know?’
‘No, he never said,’ said Ginger.
‘We’d better not put on our saint robes yet – not till we’ve been down to the village to sell the things. Then we’ll put ’em on an’ start
preachin’ an’ things.’
‘Din’ we oughter wear round-hoop-sort-of-things on our heads?’ said Henry. ‘They do in pictures. What d’you call ’em? – Halos.’
‘You don’ get them till you’re dead,’ said Ginger with an air of wisdom.
‘Well, I don’t see what good they are to anyone dead ,’ said Henry, rather aggrieved.
‘No, we’ve gotter do things right ,’ said William sternly. ‘If the real saints waited till they was dead, we will, too. Anyway, let’s go an’ sell the
things first. An’ remember call everything else “brother” or “sister”.’
‘ Everything? ’
‘Yes – he did – the other man did.’
‘You’ve gotter call me Saint
‘Dressing-gowns’d do,’ said Douglas excitedly.
‘No, you’re thinkin’ of detectives,’ said Henry firmly; ‘detectives wear dressing-gowns.’
‘No,’ said William judicially. ‘I don’ see why dressing-gowns shun’t do. Then we can save the money an’ spend it on things to eat.’
‘Where’ll we live?’
‘We oughter build a place, but till we’ve built it we can live in the old barn.’
‘Where’ll we get the animals to preach to?’
‘Well, there’s a farm just across the way from the barn, you know. We can start on Jumble an’ then go on to the farm ones when we’ve had some practice.’
‘An’ what’ll we be called? We can’t be the Outlaws now we’re saints, I s’pose?’
‘What were they called?’
‘Franciscans . . . After Francis – he was the head one.’
‘Well, if there’s goin’ to be any head one,’ said William in a tone that precluded any argument on the subject, ‘if there’s going to be any head one,
I’m going to be him.’
None of them denied to William the position of leader. It was his by right. He had always led, and he was a leader they were proud to follow.
‘Well, they just put “cans” on to the end of his name,’ said Henry. ‘Franciscans. So we’ll be Williamcans—’
‘Sounds kind of funny,’ said Ginger dubiously.
‘I think it sounds jolly fine,’ said William proudly. ‘I vote we start tomorrow, ’cause it’s rather late to start today, an’ anyway, it’s Saturday
tomorrow, so we can get well started for Monday, ’cause they’re sure to make a fuss about our not turnin’ up at school on Monday. You all come to the old barn d’rectly after
breakfast tomorrow an’ bring your dressing-gowns an’ somethin of your father’s to sell—’
The first meeting of the Williamcans was held directly after breakfast the next morning. They had all left notes dictated by William on their bedroom mantelpieces announcing that they were now
saints and had left home for ever.
They deposited their dressing-gowns on the floor of the old barn and then inspected the possessions that they had looted from their unsuspecting fathers. William had appropriated a pair of
slippers, not because he thought their absence would be undetected (far from it) or because he thought they would realise vast wealth (again far from it), but it happened that they were kept in the
fender-box of the morning-room, and William had found himself alone there for a few minutes that morning, and slippers can be concealed quite easily beneath one’s coat. He could have more
easily appropriated something of his mother’s, but William liked to do things properly. Saint Francis had sold something of his father’s, so Saint William would do the same. Douglas
took from his pocket an inkstand, purloined from his father’s desk; Ginger had two ties and Henry a pair of gloves.
They looked at their spoils with proud satisfaction.
‘We oughter get a good deal of money for these ,’ said William. ‘How much did he get, d’you know?’
‘No, he never said,’ said Ginger.
‘We’d better not put on our saint robes yet – not till we’ve been down to the village to sell the things. Then we’ll put ’em on an’ start
preachin’ an’ things.’
‘Din’ we oughter wear round-hoop-sort-of-things on our heads?’ said Henry. ‘They do in pictures. What d’you call ’em? – Halos.’
‘You don’ get them till you’re dead,’ said Ginger with an air of wisdom.
‘Well, I don’t see what good they are to anyone dead ,’ said Henry, rather aggrieved.
‘No, we’ve gotter do things right ,’ said William sternly. ‘If the real saints waited till they was dead, we will, too. Anyway, let’s go an’ sell the
things first. An’ remember call everything else “brother” or “sister”.’
‘ Everything? ’
‘Yes – he did – the other man did.’
‘You’ve gotter call me Saint
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