“It looked like mine,” he said in a sepulchral voice, “but it’s not mine.”
A babel of voices arose.
“Where are they, lovey?”
“Boo—hoo—they’ve tooken my clothes.”
“Wait till I gettem, that’s all.”
“Never mind, darlin’. Ma’ll learn ’em.”
With grim despair they saw what seemed to them an army of women running up the hill, and with them a howling boy in a fluttering shirt. One of the women carried a broom.
“Run, William!” gasped Ginger.
William flung his skin into the ditch and ran. Though his suit was so tight that he could only progress in little leaps and bounds, he progressed with remarkable speed.
*****