“Three windows and Mrs. Clive’s cat all in one morning,” began Mr. Brown sternly.
“I didn’t mean to hit that cat,” said William earnestly. “I didn’t—honest. I wouldn’t go round teasin’ cats. They get so mad at you, cats do. It jus’ got in the way. I couldn’t stop shootin’ in time. An’ I didn’t mean to break those windows. I wasn’t tryin’ to hit them. I’ve not hit anything I was trying to hit yet,” wistfully. “I’ve not got into it. It’s jus’ a knack. It jus’ wants practice.”
Mr. Brown pocketed the key.
“It’s a knack you aren’t likely to acquire by practice on this instrument,” he said drily.
William wandered out into the garden and looked sadly up at the garden wall. But The Little Girl Next Door was away and could offer no sympathy, even if he climbed up to his precarious seat on the top. Fate was against him in every way. With a deep sigh he went out of the garden gate and strolled down the road disconsolately, hands in pockets.
Life stretched empty and uninviting before him without his bow and arrow. And Ginger would have his bow and arrow, Henry would have his bow and arrow, Douglas would have his bow and arrow. He, William, alone would be a thing apart, a social outcast, a boy without a bow and arrow; for bows and arrows were the fashion. If only one of the others would break a window or hit a silly old cat that hadn’t the sense to keep out of the way.
He came to a stile leading into a field and took his seat upon it dejectedly, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Life was simply not worth living.
“A rotten old cat!” he said aloud, “a rotten old cat!—and didn’t even hurt it. It—it made a fuss—jus’ out of spite, screamin’ and carryin’ on! And windows!—as if glass wasn’t cheap enough—and easy to put in. I could—I could mend ’em myself—if I’d got the stuff to do it. I——” He stopped. Something was coming down the road. It came jauntily with a light, dancing step, fox-terrier ears cocked, retriever nose raised, collie tail wagging, slightly dachshund body a-quiver with the joy of life.
It stopped in front of William with a glad bark of welcome, then stood eager, alert, friendly, a mongrel unashamed.