At that moment William was nearer committing murder than at any other time in his life. He caught a gleam in Henry’s eye. Henry would remember. William choked but made no answer.
“You tell me then, Harry boy.”
Henry went purple and William’s spirits rose.
“Ah, you won’t be so shy next week, will they, children dear?”
“No, Mrs. de Vere Carter,” came the prompt, listless response.
“Now, we’ll begin with one of our dear little songs. Give out the books.” She seated herself at the piano. “Number five, ‘Sparkling Water.’ Collect your thoughts, children dear. Are you ready?”
She struck the opening chords.
The Outlaws, though provided with books, did not join in. They had no objection to water as a beverage. They merely objected to singing about it.
Mrs. de Vere Carter rose from the piano.
“Now, we’ll play one of our games, children dear. You can begin by yourselves, can’t you, darlings? I’ll just go across the field and see why little Teddy Wheeler hasn’t come. He must be regular, mustn’t he, laddies dear? Now, what game shall we play. We had ‘Puss in the Corner’ last week, hadn’t we? We’ll have ‘Here we go round the mulberry-bush’ this week, shall we? No, not ‘Blind Man’s Buff,’ darling. It’s a horrid, rough game. Now, while I’m gone, see if you can make these four shy darlings more at home, will you? And play quietly. Now before I go tell me four things that you must be?”