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appearance. The marks of the cat’s licks were very evident; grime from William’s
coat adhered to its surface; it wobbled limply over the soap dish, but the little girl’s eyes sparkled as she saw it.
    ‘Oh, William, I never thought you really would! Oh, you are wonderful! And I had it!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Rice-mould for supper, but I didn’t mind, because I thought – I hoped, you’d come with it. Oh, William, you are a nice boy!’
    William glowed with pride.
    ‘William!’ bellowed an irate voice from William’s front door.
    William knew that voice. It was the voice of the male parent who has stood all he’s jolly well going to stand from that kid, and is out for vengeance. They’d got to the pears! Oh,
crumbs! They’d got to the pears! And even the thought of Nemesis to come could not dull for William the bliss of that vision.
    ‘Oh, William,’ said the little girl next door sadly, ‘they’re calling you. Will you have to go?’
    ‘Not me,’ said William earnestly. ‘I’m not going – not till they fetch me. Here! You begin. I don’t want any. I’ve had lots of things. You eat it
all.’
    Her face radiant with anticipation, the little girl took up her spoon.
    William leant back in a superior, benevolent manner and watched the smile freeze upon her face and her look of ecstasy change to one of fury. With a horrible suspicion at his heart he seized the
spoon she had dropped and took a mouthful himself.

    WILLIAM LEANT BACK IN A SUPERIOR, BENEVOLENT MANNER AND WATCHED THE SMILE FREEZE UPON HER FACE AND HER LOOK OF ECSTASY CHANGE TO ONE OF FURY.
    He had brought the rice-mould by mistake!

 
    CHAPTER 3
WILLIAM’S BURGLAR
    W hen William first saw him he was leaning against the wall of the White Lion, gazing at the passers-by with a moody smile upon his
villainous-looking countenance.
    It was evident to any careful observer that he had not confined his attentions to the exterior of the White Lion.
    William, at whose heels trotted his beloved mongrel (rightly named Jumble), was passing him with a casual glance, when something attracted his attention. He stopped and looked back, then,
turning round, stood in front of the tall, untidy figure, gazing up at him with frank and unabashed curiosity.
    ‘Who cut ’em off?’ he said at last in an awed whisper.
    The figure raised his hands and stroked the long hair down the side of his face.
    ‘Now yer arskin’,’ he said with a grin.
    ‘Well, who did ?’ persisted William.
    ‘That ’ud be tellin’,’ answered his new friend, moving unsteadily from one foot to the other. ‘See?’
    ‘You got ’em cut off in the war,’ said William firmly.
    ‘I didn’t. I bin in the wor orl right. Stroike me pink, I bin in the wor and that’s the truth. But I didn’t get ’em cut orf in the wor. Well, I’ll stop
kiddin’ yer. I’ll tell yer strite. I never ‘ad none. Nar!’
    William stood on tiptoe to peer under the untidy hair at the small apertures that in his strange new friend took the place of ears. Admiration shone in William’s eyes.
    ‘Was you born without ’em?’ he said enviously.
    His friend nodded.
    ‘Nar don’t yet go torkin’ about it,’ he went on modestly, though seeming to bask in the sun of William’s evident awe and respect. ‘I don’t want all
folks knowin’ ’bout it. See? It kinder marks a man, this ’ere sort of thing. See? Makes ’im too easy to track , loike. That’s why I grown me hair long.
See? ’Ere, ’ave a drink?’
    He put his head inside the window of the White Lion and roared out, ‘Bottle o’ lemonide fer the young gent.’
    William followed him to a small table in the little sunny porch, and his heart swelled with pride as he sat and quaffed his beverage with a manly air. His friend, who said his name was Mr Blank,
showed a most flattering interest in him. He elicited from him the whereabouts of his house and the number of his family, a description of the door and window fastenings, of the