Mrs. Hilton saw him as he flashed by the window. ‘Ah, the butcher-boy,’ she thought. ‘Now Mrs. Moon won’t have to go and fetch the meat again.’
The others greeted Fatty with delight. They were always thrilled when he disguised himself. He pulled off his wig, eyebrows, and apron when he got up into the playroom in case Mrs. Hilton should come in and see him.
He had no sooner done this than a great commotion began downstairs. The children listened, quite startled. They heard wails and groans, and somebody speaking sharply, then more wails.
They went to the head of the stairs and listened. ‘It’s Mrs. Moon - and Mother,’ said Pip. ‘Whatever is happening? Mrs. Moon is crying and howling like anything and Mother is trying to make her stop. Gracious, what can be the matter?’
‘Perhaps Mother’s discovered that Mrs. Moon is the bad letter-writer!’ suggested Bets, looking rather scared.
‘I’ll go down and see what’s up,’ said Fatty, rising to the occasion as usual. He went downstairs quietly. He heard Mrs. Hilton’s stern voice.
‘Now Mrs. Moon, you are not to go on like this. I won’t have it! Pull yourself together at once!’
‘Oh Mam, to think I’d get one of those nasty letters!’ wailed Mrs. Moon’s voice. ‘And such a spiteful one too! Look here what it says.’
‘I don’t want to see, Mrs. Moon. Pay no attention to it,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘You know quite well it is only something written out of somebody’s spiteful imagination. Let Mr. Goon see it, and then forget all about it.’
‘That Mr. Goon!’ wailed Mrs. Moon. ‘Didn’t he come here yesterday and tell me I might be one of them he suspects could have written the letters - me, a law-abiding, peaceful woman that never did no one no harm. Ooooooo-o-oh!’