in the doorway of the window.
HE MET A BOY WHO FLED FROM HIM WITH YELLS OF TERROR, AND TO WILLIAM IT SEEMED AS IF HE HAD DRUNK IN ECSTASY’S VERY FOUNT.
‘Mother,’ he began plaintively in a muffled and almost inaudible voice, but it would have made little difference had he spoken in his usual strident tones. The united scream of the
mothers’ meeting would have drowned it. Never in the whole course of his life had William seen a room empty so quickly. It was like magic. Almost before his plaintive and muffled
‘Mother’ had left his lips, the room was empty. Only two dozen overturned chairs, an overturned table, and several broken ornaments marked the line of retreat. The room was empty.
NEVER IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF HIS LIFE HAD WILLIAM SEEN A ROOM EMPTY SO QUICKLY.
The entire mothers’ meeting, headed by the Vicar’s wife and the Vicarage cook and housemaid, were dashing down the main road of the village, screaming as they went. William sadly
surveyed the desolate scene before him and retreated again to the woods. He leant against a tree and considered the whole situation.
‘Hello, Billiam!’
Turning his head to a curious angle and peering out of one of the bear’s eye-holes, he recognised Goldilocks.
‘Hello,’ he returned in a spiritless voice.
‘Why did you run away?’ she said.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘I wanted the old skin. Wish I’d never seed it.’
‘You do talk funny’ she said. ‘I can’t hear what you say’
And so far was William’s spirit broken that he only sighed.
‘I saw you going,’ she went on, ‘and I went after you, but you ran so fast that I lost you. Then I went round a bit by myself. I say, they won’t be able to get on with
the old thing without us. I heard them shouting for us. Isn’t it fun? An’ I heard some people screaming in the road. What was that?’
William sighed again. Then he shouted: ‘Try’n pull my head loose. Hard.’
She complied. She pulled till William yelled again.
‘You’ve nearly took my ears off,’ he said angrily in his muffled, sepulchral voice.
But the head was wedged on as tightly as ever.
She went to the edge of the wood and peered across the road.
‘There’s a place there,’ she said, ‘with lots of men in. Go’n’ ask them.’
William somewhat reluctantly (for his previous experiences had sadly disillusioned him with human nature in general) went through the trees to the roadside.
He looked back at the white-clad form of Goldilocks.
‘Wait for me,’ he whispered hoarsely.
Anxious to attract as little notice as possible, he crept on all fours round to the door of the public-house. He poked in his head nervously.
‘Please, can some’n—’ he began politely, but in the clatter that arose the ghostly whisper was lost. Several glasses and a chair were flung at his head. Amid shoutings
and uproar the innkeeper went for his gun, but on his return William had departed, and the innkeeper, who knew the better part of valour, contented himself with bolting the door and fetching
sal-volatile for his wife. After a decent interval he unlocked the door and the inmates crept cautiously home one by one.
‘A great, furious brute,’ they were heard to say. ‘Must have escaped from a circus—’
‘If we hadn’t been quick—’
‘We ought to get up a party with guns—’
‘Let’s go and warn the school, or it’ll get the kids—’
On reaching their homes most of them found their wives in hysterics on the kitchen floor after a hasty return from the mothers’ meeting.
Meanwhile William sat beneath a tree in the wood in an attitude of utter despondency, his head on his paws.
‘Why didn’t you tell them?’ said Goldilocks impatiently.
‘I tell everyone,’ said William. ‘Nobody’ll listen to me. They make a noise and throw things. I’m go’n’ home.’
He rose and held out a paw. He felt utterly and miserably cut off from his fellow-men. He clung pathetically to Goldilocks’s
HE MET A BOY WHO FLED FROM HIM WITH YELLS OF TERROR, AND TO WILLIAM IT SEEMED AS IF HE HAD DRUNK IN ECSTASY’S VERY FOUNT.
‘Mother,’ he began plaintively in a muffled and almost inaudible voice, but it would have made little difference had he spoken in his usual strident tones. The united scream of the
mothers’ meeting would have drowned it. Never in the whole course of his life had William seen a room empty so quickly. It was like magic. Almost before his plaintive and muffled
‘Mother’ had left his lips, the room was empty. Only two dozen overturned chairs, an overturned table, and several broken ornaments marked the line of retreat. The room was empty.
NEVER IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF HIS LIFE HAD WILLIAM SEEN A ROOM EMPTY SO QUICKLY.
The entire mothers’ meeting, headed by the Vicar’s wife and the Vicarage cook and housemaid, were dashing down the main road of the village, screaming as they went. William sadly
surveyed the desolate scene before him and retreated again to the woods. He leant against a tree and considered the whole situation.
‘Hello, Billiam!’
Turning his head to a curious angle and peering out of one of the bear’s eye-holes, he recognised Goldilocks.
‘Hello,’ he returned in a spiritless voice.
‘Why did you run away?’ she said.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘I wanted the old skin. Wish I’d never seed it.’
‘You do talk funny’ she said. ‘I can’t hear what you say’
And so far was William’s spirit broken that he only sighed.
‘I saw you going,’ she went on, ‘and I went after you, but you ran so fast that I lost you. Then I went round a bit by myself. I say, they won’t be able to get on with
the old thing without us. I heard them shouting for us. Isn’t it fun? An’ I heard some people screaming in the road. What was that?’
William sighed again. Then he shouted: ‘Try’n pull my head loose. Hard.’
She complied. She pulled till William yelled again.
‘You’ve nearly took my ears off,’ he said angrily in his muffled, sepulchral voice.
But the head was wedged on as tightly as ever.
She went to the edge of the wood and peered across the road.
‘There’s a place there,’ she said, ‘with lots of men in. Go’n’ ask them.’
William somewhat reluctantly (for his previous experiences had sadly disillusioned him with human nature in general) went through the trees to the roadside.
He looked back at the white-clad form of Goldilocks.
‘Wait for me,’ he whispered hoarsely.
Anxious to attract as little notice as possible, he crept on all fours round to the door of the public-house. He poked in his head nervously.
‘Please, can some’n—’ he began politely, but in the clatter that arose the ghostly whisper was lost. Several glasses and a chair were flung at his head. Amid shoutings
and uproar the innkeeper went for his gun, but on his return William had departed, and the innkeeper, who knew the better part of valour, contented himself with bolting the door and fetching
sal-volatile for his wife. After a decent interval he unlocked the door and the inmates crept cautiously home one by one.
‘A great, furious brute,’ they were heard to say. ‘Must have escaped from a circus—’
‘If we hadn’t been quick—’
‘We ought to get up a party with guns—’
‘Let’s go and warn the school, or it’ll get the kids—’
On reaching their homes most of them found their wives in hysterics on the kitchen floor after a hasty return from the mothers’ meeting.
Meanwhile William sat beneath a tree in the wood in an attitude of utter despondency, his head on his paws.
‘Why didn’t you tell them?’ said Goldilocks impatiently.
‘I tell everyone,’ said William. ‘Nobody’ll listen to me. They make a noise and throw things. I’m go’n’ home.’
He rose and held out a paw. He felt utterly and miserably cut off from his fellow-men. He clung pathetically to Goldilocks’s
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