"Well, I felt hot. I felt awful hot, an' I di'n't like Cuthbert."
He appeared to think this sufficient explanation, though he was fully prepared for the want of sympathy displayed by his family.
"Well," he said firmly, "I'd just like to see you do it, I'd just like to see you be in the head and that ole rug an' have to say stupid things an'—an' see folks you don't like, an' I bet you'd do something."
But he felt that public feeling was against him, and relapsed sadly into silence. From the darkness in front of them came the sound of Cuthbert's wailing as Mrs. Clive led her two charges home.
"Poor little Cuthbert!" said Mrs. Brown. "If I were Joan, I don't think I'd ever speak to you again."
"Huh!" ejaculated William scornfully.
But at William's gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness and two little arms crept round William's neck.
"Oh, William," she whispered, "he's going to-morrow, and I am glad. Isn't he a softie? Oh, William, I do love you, you do such 'citing things!"