The small child had wandered round to the wake of William.
"He's not black all the way down," she shrilled. "He is——" She stopped abruptly, remembering the maternal threat. "Well, anyway, he is," she ended decidedly.
"Of course he must be black all the way down. Don't be silly," said the parent.
"They may not be," said an old lady with a kind face. "Of course, one imagines they are, but, after all, one sees nothing but the exposed portions."
At this point William, who was very hot, raised a hand to his brow to wipe away the perspiration. The sun was certainly having some effect upon his complexion. A pale patch followed the track of his hand. His hand in its downward journey rubbed upon his green shirt. A black patch followed its track. There was a sudden silence.
The vicar's wife voiced the general sentiments.
"Curious!" she said.
"Surely," said the old lady in a trembling voice, "we haven't been imposed upon?"
"Impossible," said Mr. Mugg, pale but firm. "I have known Mr. Habbakuk Jones from childhood. He is incapable of deception."
"Perhaps," said the old lady, "it's the effect of the sudden change of climate acting upon the pigment of the skin."