For a moment William was tempted. Somehow it seemed a terrible waste of a holiday to spend it in self-denial and service instead of in search of adventures with Ginger, Douglas and Henry. But he put the temptation away. When he made up his mind to do a thing he did it....
“Can’t come to-day,” he said sternly, “I’m busy.”
“Oh, go on!”
“Well, I am an’ I’m just not comin’ an’ kin’ly stop throwin’ stones at our cat.”
“Call it a cat! Thought it was an ole fur glove what someone’d thrown away!”
In furious defence of his household’s cat (whose life William in private made a misery) William leapt to the gate. The trio fled down the road. William returned to his meditations. His father had gone to business and Ethel and Robert had gone to golf. His mother drew up the morning-room window.
“William, darling, aren’t you going to play with your friends this morning?”
William turned to her with an expression of solemnity and earnestness.
“I want to help you, Mother. I don’t wanter play with my friends.”
He felt a great satisfaction with this speech. It breathed the very spirit of self-denial and service.