There were some quite interesting things to do outside. In the road there were puddles, and the sensation of walking through a puddle, as every boy knows, is a very pleasant one. The hedges, when shaken, sent quite a shower bath upon the shaker, which also is a pleasant sensation. The ditch was full and there was the thrill of seeing how often one could jump across it without going in. One went in more often than not. It is also fascinating to walk in mud, scraping it along with one’s boots. William’s spirits rose, but he could not shake off the idea of the party. Quite suddenly he wanted to have a party and he wanted to have it on Saturday. His family would be away on Saturday. They were going to spend the day with an aunt. Aunts rarely included William in their invitation.
He came home wet and dirty and cheerful. He approached his father warily.
“Did you say I could have a party, father?” he said casually.
“No, I did not,” said Mr. Brown firmly.
William let the matter rest for the present.
He spent most of the English Grammar class in school next morning considering it. There was a great deal to be said for a party in the absence of one’s parents and grown-up brother and sister. He’d like to ask George and Ginger and Henry and Douglas and—and—and—heaps of them. He’d like to ask them all. “They” were the whole class—thirty in number.
“What have I just been saying, William?”
William sighed. That was the foolish sort of question that schoolmistresses were always asking. They ought to know themselves what they’d just been saying better than anyone. He never knew. Why were they always asking him? He looked blank. Then:
“Was it anythin’ about participles?” He remembered something vaguely about participles, but it mightn’t have been to-day.
Miss Jones groaned.