William The Outlaw by Richmal Crompton

youngest child had told him that four boys and a girl had taken the donkey out of the field. It took only a few words to make Farmer Jenks recognise his old enemies,
the Outlaws, as the invaders of his domain and thieves of his donkey, and Farmer Jenks saw red. He had traced the donkey to the Vicarage garden. He didn’t know how it had got there, but he
knew how it had got out of his field, and he was out for his donkey and vengeance on the Outlaws. . . .
    Mr Simpkins had reached town, to be met at the station by a telegram telling him that his great-aunt was better, so with feelings of deep disgust with life in general and great-aunts in
particular, he had returned to his rural retreat – to find his housekeeper vanished and his laboratory wrecked. Again the jobbing gardener’s youngest child had brightly come forward
with all the information it could produce. It had seen four boys and a girl turn a donkey into his lab through the window and then let the donkey break things. Then more people had come and then
they’d all gone up to the Vicarage. So Mr Galileo Simpkins had gone up to the Vicarage in search of more light on the situation, and in search of the Outlaws.
    He and Farmer Jenks caught sight of the Outlaws simultaneously and neither could resist the temptation to make the most of the opportunity. Both flung themselves upon the
Outlaws. The Outlaws fled round the lawn, pursued by Farmer Jenks and Mr Galileo Simpkins. Mrs Gerald Fitzgerald went back to the drawing-room to have a few more hysterics, the Vicar’s wife
dashed into the hall for the fire extinguisher and Maria watched proceedings with interest as she meditatively chewed the Vicar’s hedge.
    Farmer Jenks caught hold of William, lost his balance and fell with him to the ground. Mr Galileo Simpkins fell over Farmer Jenks and caught hold of Maria’s tail as he fell. Maria, annoyed
at this familiarity, went mad again. The Vicar’s wife, with vague ideas of pouring oil on troubled waters, turned the fire extinguisher on to them all. Mrs Hopkins ran into the road shouting
‘Murder’ and Mr Simpkins’ housekeeper went to fetch the police.
    ‘I’ve got to draw the line somewhere,’ said William’s father to William’s mother the next evening. ‘I suppose I’ve got to pay my share
for all the damage the quadruped did in the laboratory, but I don’t see that I need re-stock the Vicar’s garden. As far as I can make out his own wife took the creature there. Well,
I’ve taken everything I can think of from William and done everything I can think of to him – it’s against the law to drown him or I’d do that and be done with
it—’
    ‘Poor William,’ murmured his wife, ‘he means well – and such a lot of people say he’s like you.’
    ‘He isn’t ,’ said his father indignantly, ‘I’m more or less sane, and he’s a raving lunatic. He can’t possibly be like me. Do I go about turning
donkeys into labs and for no reason at all? Do I – Nonsense!’
    ‘Never mind, dear. He goes to school tomorrow,’ said his wife soothingly.
    ‘Thank Heaven!’ said Mr Brown quite reverently.
    Outside in the summer-house sat the Outlaws.
    ‘It’s simply no use explainin’ to them,’ William was saying. ‘They sort of won’t listen to you. They go on as if we’d meant to break all
his ole glass things. Well, how were we to know his aunt was ill? I said that to them but they wun’t take any notice. ’S almost funny,’ he ended bitterly, ‘the way
they blame us for everything – took my bow an’ arrow an’ airgun an’ money an’ everythin ’ off me just as if we hadn’t been tryin’ to do good all the time. An’ no one does anythin’ to that old donkey. Oh, no! It was all its fault but no one does anything to it. Oh, no.
    ‘An’ we go to school tomorrow,’ added Ginger, gloomily.
    ‘Never mind,’ said William with rising spirits, ‘we’ve done all the sorts of things you can do in holidays an’ – an’