“You’ve got bad lungs, an’ a bad heart, an’ bad legs, an’ bad arms, an’ bad ears, an’ a bad head,” said the doctor, “an’ I’m afraid you can’t be a soldier.”
“All right,” said the boy brightly. “Don’ wanter be. Now I’ll put on my clothes.”
He came out to the back of the barn, where he had left his clothes, and burst into a howl.
“Oo—oo—oo—’e’s tooken my clothes—tooken my clothes—’e’s tooken my clothes. Ma! Ma! Ma! ’E’s tooken my clothes.”
His shirt fluttering in the wind, he went howling down the road.
Ginger went to the ditch whence William’s gesticulating arms could be seen.
“Quick! William, quick!” gasped Ginger.
William arose, holding his Ancient Briton costume in his hand. He was clothed in a tweed suit—a very, very small tweed suit—the waistcoat would not button across him and the sleeve came only a little way below his elbow.
“William!” gasped Ginger. “It’s not yours.”
William’s face was pale with horror.